Threads of Hope

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “I did not have a chance to speak with you after church. Did you see Oskar Frantzen this morning?” Inga whispered. “I believe he smiled at me.”

  Kristin hadn’t even noticed the man. She’d been in too much pain.

  They strolled toward the well, passing Erik, who struggled to carry a bucket of water toward the horses. Kristin opened her mouth to offer some assistance, but seeing his determined expression, she snapped it closed again. If he wanted help, he could say so.

  “Tell me about your afternoon at the Wollumses’.” Inga smiled. “Beatrice and Margaret are precious, eh?”

  “Ja, they are.” Kristin eyed her cousin warily. Why was she being so nice? Another prank?

  “I watch the girls sometimes when Reverend and Mrs. Wollums are called away for an afternoon.”

  Kristin sat down on the grass in a shady patch of the yard.

  “Your foot is better,” Inga observed. She lowered herself down several feet away and arranged her skirt over her knees. Kristin admired how the coral color of the miniscule-checked fabric matched Inga’s complexion.

  “Ja, my foot is much better. I soaked it in cold water at the Wollumses’ home.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Inga picked at the blades of grass. “Maybe we can be friends.”

  “Maybe.” Kristin was willing to start anew. She gazed up at the sky just as several white, puffy clouds blew by.

  “I will admit that it is not easy living here.”

  Kristin turned her gaze back to her cousin.

  “I am sure you have seen that Far is not the easiest man to live with.”

  Pressing her lips together, Kristin refused to comment. She still didn’t trust her cousin.

  “I do not mind working hard, but when Momma, Anna, and I break our backs in the field while Far putters around in the barn all day, accomplishing nothing …” She paused. “A neighbor man plowed our fields this spring, but then Momma got sick.” Leaning closer to Kristin, she whispered, “She did not know she was going to have a baby until she got sick.”

  “She miscarried?”

  “Ja, so she could not plant the seed. I had to take care of Momma, and Anna and Erik tried to plant with Far looking on and hollering at them that they were doing it all wrong.” Inga gazed heavenward and shook her head. “Why he did not take over the job and plant the seed himself, I cannot understand.”

  “He has an impediment of some sort?”

  “He is lazy,” Inga spat. “I hate him, and I cannot wait to get married and leave this place!”

  “Inga!” Kristin’s eyes widened. “You must not disrespect your father.”

  “Some father. He thinks only of himself.”

  Kristin stared at the grass beneath her and knew in her heart Inga spoke the truth about Onkel. She had only been here two days, but her uncle’s character had already revealed itself.

  And no wonder Tante was so unhappy that she lashed out at others.

  A sudden ruckus behind her made Kristin turn. She saw Uncle Lars storm from the barn. After sending an angry glare her way, he thundered off in the direction of the woods.

  Kristin slowly stood to her feet. Prickles of unease fell over her as she watched the reverend take his leave.

  Peder had followed Onkel out and strode toward her and Inga.

  “What has happened?” Inga got up from the lawn. “Why is Far so … so angry?” Her gaze went from her father’s retreating back to Kristin. Curiosity brightened her blue eyes.

  “He says you are cursed, Kristin,” Peder told her. “The Sundbergs cursed you with their remedy for your foot.”

  “That is absurd!”

  “Your uncle said it is witchcraft of the heathens, meaning Mrs. Sundberg and her daughter.”

  “That is why your foot is better?” Inga carefully backed away.

  “Mrs. Sundberg put a poultice on my foot. That is all.”

  “But I hid around the door and watched how she and her Indian daughter spat on the plant first, putting a spell on you.”

  “Peder!” Kristin’s cheeks burned with incredulousness over both his actions and his words. “How could you spy on me?” She set her hands on her waist and tipped her head. “And how can you believe such nonsense?”

  “It is not me, Kristin. It is your uncle.”

  Inga lifted her hems and ran for the cabin. “Momma! Momma! Wait until you hear!”

  “And your cousins will believe too. And soon your aunt.”

  “They will hate me now.”

  “Your uncle said he will not allow you to sleep in the house or his barn for fear your spell will harm his family and the animals.”

  “Then where shall I sleep?” A deep sense of hurt spread through Kristin’s being. She was truly an outcast here.

  “He will put your pallet in the wagon bed and park the vehicle nearby.”

  “But …” Kristin felt like she might cry. “What about bears? What if it rains?” She paused in thought. “What did Reverend Wollums say about this—arrangement? Surely he could not have left knowing of it. He would try to change Onkel’s mind.”

  “The reverend had been speaking with my father when your uncle muttered his decision.”

  “Well, that is just fine with me.” Kristin hiked up her chin. “I will not mind sleeping in the wagon. It will be more comfortable there than in the loft in Onkel’s hovel or on a mound of hay in his precious barn.” Peder’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “I knew we should not have dined with the Wollumses’ once I learned the Sundbergs were guests too.”

  “But—”

  Kristin clamped her mouth shut. It was no use trying to explain. In silence she watched as Peder strode back to the barn.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE PINKS OF dawn crept over the horizon as Kristin climbed into the wagon. She wondered how much longer she could last with no one in the family speaking to her. For two solid days her aunt, uncle, and cousins spoke through the Olstads, and either Peder or his father relayed their messages. In that manner she learned which chores were now her responsibilities. From mucking stalls to weeding neglected vegetable gardens, the work had kept Kristin busy from sunup to sundown. But, thankfully, she slept peacefully at night in the back of the wagon, too exhausted to worry about bears and uncivilized Indians, and so far, God had kept away the rain.

  “Tell that girl to hurry up,” Uncle Lars suddenly barked. “We do not have all day!”

  Halfway into the wagon, Kristin looked over her shoulder and caught Peder’s gaze.

  He shrugged. “You heard him.” Setting his hands on Kristin’s waist, he all but tossed her into the flatbed. Her pallet had been removed, and now she nearly fell into the basket of freshly picked green beans.

  She narrowed her eyes at Peder. “You are a toad. A toad!”

  “So now you cast spells on people too? Like the Sundbergs?” He laughed while inspecting his hand. His lingering grin mocked her. “But your magic did not seem to work on me.”

  “A pity!” She grit her teeth.

  He chuckled again before swinging himself up into the wagon. Mr. Olstad sat on the bench beside Uncle Lars. Kristin’s aunt and cousins would remain home this morning. However, Tante didn’t want Kristin to stay with them and insisted she help the men at the street market in town this morning. That was fine with Kristin as she had purchases to make—secret purchases, since she’d never told her uncle about the extra money left from her journey.

  Uncle Lars slapped the reins, and the wagon jerked forward, causing Kristin to fall hard onto her backside, which, of course, made Peder laugh all the more.

  Smarting in more ways than one, Kristin seated herself and did her best to ignore him. Sometimes he was her friend—and sometimes not. She focused on the trip ahead of her. For the first time in days she felt hopeful and glad. She hadn’t seen much of Green Bay, other than its docks and many warehouses, and she longed to explore the city and make her purchases—that is, if she could sneak away from her uncle long enough to do so.

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nbsp; Kristin eyed the many baskets beside her in the wagon bed. Her uncle’s crop, while plentiful, looked puny in her estimation. If only Uncle Lars would take interest in his harvest and his home …

  The wagon rolled along at a good clip, and Kristin only half paid attention to the men up front talking of their dreams. Uncle Lars didn’t sound so angry when he talked about his goals of owning a large house and many more farm animals, other than his one cow and the team of horses. Kristin wasn’t all that surprised to learn that they and the cow had been gifts from the community a while back.

  Buildings came into view, signaling their arrival in town.

  Uncle Lars steered his team through the unpaved roads until they reached their destination in the city. Kristin noted the many wagons parked in neat rows all the way down the wide street. Already farmers were selling their milk, eggs, cheese, fruits, vegetables, flowers, and other homemade goods.

  Uncle Lars cursed a blue streak. “Again I did not get my desired spot on the street, and I came even earlier than last week. Look how I will have to sit in the hot sun!”

  “Oh, it is not so bad, Lars.” Mr. Olstad jumped from the wagon. “You might get shade by early afternoon.”

  “By early afternoon I hope to be sold out. Today I want to beat Karl Sundberg at his own game. His wagon is always empty by noon.” He barked at Kristin. “Help me get set up, and be sure to smile at the customers.”

  Kristin tossed a glance at Peder before she started unstacking the baskets of vegetables. Silently he began helping her.

  Before long the street filled with people, women mostly, who walked from one wagon to another, bartering and sharing snippets of news and gossip.

  “Watch the wagon, Peder. I should like to introduce your father to my friends,” Uncle Lars said.

  “Ja.” Peder agreed, but looked none too pleased about it.

  Uncle Lars and Mr. Olstad sauntered down the street. When they disappeared in the crowd, Kristin decided to make a dash to find her necessities.

  “I will return soon, Peder.”

  “And where might you be running off to?”

  “Do you really want me to discuss a lady’s practices with you?”

  Peder looked away. “Go!”

  Kristin lifted her hems and headed in the opposite direction of her uncle and Mr. Olstad. As she strode down the plank walkway, she passed shoppers as well as a group of uniformed men, whom she guessed to be soldiers. On the street side, farmers called out in loud voices, but Kristin couldn’t understand a word they said. She could only assume they hailed customers.

  An overwhelming feeling came over her like a fog. She felt suddenly lost. Everywhere she looked, in shop windows, on the tops of buildings, on street signs, there were words she could not read. She decided that Sam had been correct when he said she needed to learn English—and somehow she would!

  With tentative steps she made her way farther down the busy walk, peering into windows, hoping to find a store that carried what she wanted. She came to an intersection. Turning left, she prepared to cross the road when she realized the man who occupied her thoughts more often than not stood just a few feet away. She decided not to acknowledge him. However, a lovely array of flowers fanned in a large jar drew her attention. She paused to inhale their heady fragrance. It was then she noticed bunches of brown leaves, hanging upside down from the side of the wagon. And inside the bed were baskets of shining red apples and flats of deep-red cherries, purple grapes, and pink raspberries. On the street, surrounding the wagon, were more baskets filled with sweet corn, beets, broccoli, carrots, onions, squash, and potatoes.

  “God morgen, Miss Eikaas.”

  She glanced at Sam in time to see him politely remove his hat. “Good morning.” The phrase was part of only a handful of English phrases she knew, mostly from her travels. She reverted back to Norwegian. “You have a fine harvest here.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and then a customer beckoned him.

  “Please excuse me.”

  “Of course.”

  As he took care of business, Kristin inspected the Sundbergs’ healthy crop. She lifted a bunch of meaty carrots for closer inspection. Uncle Lars’s vegetables could not compare to these.

  Replacing the bunch, Kristin watched Sam finish with his customer. He appeared washed and clean-shaven, and the sleeves of his beige shirt had been rolled to his elbows. Attached to his brown trousers were suspenders that crisscrossed over his broad back.

  Sam turned toward her then, and she quickly lowered her gaze. How could she stare at the man so openly? What if her uncle saw her? What if Sam noticed?

  But he was so appealing …

  “Can I interest you in anything today, Miss Eikaas?” The smile in his voice sounded somewhat patronizing, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He noticed, all right!

  She changed the subject. “What are these?” She pointed to the curious dried brown leaves hanging off the wagon.

  “Tobacco. It is a crop that is primarily grown on the western side of the state, but Pa wanted to try it out, and we have done surprisingly well with it.”

  “Hmm …” Kristin pressed her lips together in disapproval.

  “Not to your liking?” Sam chuckled.

  “I should say not!” She jerked her chin. Was he teasing her, or did women in America smoke tobacco like men?

  Sam laughed again. “Perhaps some delicious raspberries will suit you better. Here … have a sampling.” He plucked several berries from the wooden flat and held them out to her.

  “No, thank you.” Kristin shook her head. “I cannot accept.” Uncle Lars would be furious if he caught her tasting the Sundbergs’ wares, let alone speaking with Sam. “I have errands to do.”

  “Oh?” He leaned one shoulder against the wagon and popped a deep pink berry into his mouth. “Where are you headed?”

  “Well … I am looking for a …” How did she say it? “…a woman’s shop.”

  His light brown brows drew inward, and he kneaded his jaw. “You can try Betsy Biddle’s place first. If Miss Betsy cannot help you, she will, at least, send you along to someone who can.”

  Relief flooded Kristin’s being. Now she had an idea of where to go.

  “Cross the street and keep walking straight. Miss Betsy’s is right down the road. The last shop on the block. You can’t miss it. But if you do, you’ll find yourself at the schoolhouse.”

  “Takk.”

  “In English, please.” Sam grinned and his blue eyes twinkled.

  Kristin tucked a few strands of her hair beneath her white bonnet. “Th–thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He dipped his head politely before glancing down the row of wagons. “No traffic. It is safe.” He waved her across the street.

  She replied with a parting smile, lifted her hems, and picked her way to the other side of the mucky lane. As she headed toward Miss Betsy’s, she felt grateful for Sam’s assistance—and worried too. Her troubles would multiply if one of her aunt’s or uncle’s friends had seen her conversing with Sam and reported her.

  As she neared the end of the plank walk, she heard children playing. No, wait—Kristin brought herself up short and listened harder. Venomous, taunting tones reached her ears, along with a girl’s cries to stop. Kristin knew that English word too. Stop.

  She stepped out again and quickened her pace. A clearing came into view, and her eyes widened when she spied a group of boys accosting one little girl. Strands of the girl’s brown hair had worked loose or been pulled from their braids, and her pretty dress had been torn. Rage welled up inside of Kristin, doubling when she realized the girl was Mary Sundberg. Next young Jack came into view, his nose bloodied. He fought with two other boys.

  Without a second thought, Kristin ran toward the group. “Nok! Nok av dette—enough of this!”

  Her heart sank as reality set in. The boys hurting the Sundberg children didn’t seem to hear her or couldn’t understand her Norwegian—or they didn’t care.

 
; Spotting a large stick nearby, Kristin had a hunch they’d understand a good whack on the shoulders. She stooped and curled her gloved fingers around the switch. Lifting it from the dirt, she began striking the bullies hard, as if she were beating off a pack of mad dogs.

  Her efforts worked. After several shouts, the slem gutter—nasty boys—ran away. Breathless, Kristin watched their retreating backs as they passed the schoolhouse. She turned her gaze to Jack first, then Mary, who covered her face. Her shoulders began to shake.

  She seemed to need the most comfort, so with opened arms, Kristin stepped toward her. “There, there … do not cry.” She looked back at Jackson, who struggled to stand.

  “Are you hurt, Jackson?”

  “Naw …” He brushed the dirt off the seat of his pants.

  “Go fetch your older brother. He is just down the road.”

  After wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve, Jackson sent her a nod and took off down in the direction of the farmers’ market.

  Mary’s head fell onto Kristin’s shoulders. “Those horrible boys! I hate every last one of them!”

  “You know them?”

  “Some, not all.” Mary drew in a ragged breath.

  “Are you badly injured?” Kristin gently took Mary by the shoulders. She searched the younger girl’s tear-streaked face.

  “They called me a heathen half-breed and jumped on Jackson when he tried to help me.”

  “Those terrible boys will not get away with this.”

  “If you had not come along,” Mary sobbed, “I do not know what they might have done to Jack and me.”

  Kristin hugged the ten-year-old close. “God works in mysterious ways. I was on my way to Miss Betsy’s shop.”

  Mary clung to her.

  “Shh … you are safe now.”

  Just then Kristin saw Sam sprinting toward them. When he reached them, he stopped so quickly that his boots slid on the gravel. With one hand on Mary’s shoulder he stared down the road.