“But now I will have Kristin—”
“We don’t know that, Mariah.” Pa’s tone was even, steady. “I would prefer to be here and let Sam go with Chief Oshkosh and his men.”
“When would I leave?” Sam wasn’t opposed to the idea.
“Tomorrow morning if that Eikaas girl comes to work here.”
“What?” Sam tapered his gaze.
“Oh, Karl, really.” Ma laughed softly and folded her arms.
“You leave at the end of the month,” Pa grumbled.
“What about the late harvesting and turning the fields over before winter?”
“I’ll make do without you. There are neighbors who will lend a hand if needed.”
Sam thought it over. “At the end of the month, huh?”
“Right.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Pa, if this is about me associating with Kristin, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I think maybe I do. Every time I turn around, you’re with that girl in spite of my warnings to keep your distance.”
“Happenstance, Pa. Pure and simple.”
“Hmm.” He ground out the curt reply, stood there for several long seconds, and then strode toward Sam with purposeful strides.
“Son, we’ve talked about the kind of woman you should be looking for in a wife. We’re praying to that end. We want a woman who is cultured and sophisticated. One who can advance the political career you’ve dreamed of. So far you’ve only dabbled in politics … which is another reason I’d like you to go to Madison. It’s time, Sam.” Pa set a hand on his shoulder. “Time for you to get serious about your future.”
“I think so too, Pa.” They had this discussion many times in the past. “But you’re wrong about my having feelings for Kristin. I’m concerned for her welfare, is all. Just like I’m concerned about the Menominee losing their last parcel of land.”
“Am I wrong, son? Am I really?”
A foreign emotion shook Sam to the core, and suddenly he couldn’t look his father in the eyes and claim he wasn’t, at least, attracted to Kristin Eikaas. She’d been on his thoughts far more than the Menominees’ plight—even more than his chores on the farm.
“Mmm-hmm, I thought so.” Pa inched his head to one side. “Well, need I remind you that the girl has no knowledge of American history, particularly Wisconsin history, and she can’t read English, let alone speak the language.”
“The same could be said of you once.”
“That’s different … oh, for heaven’s sake, Sam, take hold of your common sense!”
Sam set his hands on his hips, not knowing how to respond. He hadn’t acknowledged his attraction to Kristin, even if it was only to himself, until now. But he enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms as they danced. He liked making her smile, comforting her, and being of assistance, which she didn’t get from her family. He admired her pluck and the glints of determination that entered her eyes. In addition, he had to admit that the idea of kissing her ripe and rosy lips appealed to him more and more, each time he saw her.
“The best thing is for you to leave for a while,” Pa said. “A month … maybe two.”
“Two months?”
Pa’s hand slowly slid off Sam’s shoulder. “Get your thoughts in line, son. While you’re in Madison, you can gauge the first step in your career. Garner advice from men who’re in the real political arena.”
“We’ll take good care of Kristin,” Ma promised in that smooth, honeyed voice of hers.
Pa’s features fell as if in defeat.
Sam grinned. “I’d like the Lord to find me a wife. I want to marry for love, not political gain.” His smile grew. “As I recall, many people warned you not to marry Ma. But you followed your heart.”
“That’s different!”
Sam noted Pa’s repetitive argument, proving it had no substance.
“There’s not too much difference, Karl.” Ma came to stand beside him and threaded her hand around Pa’s elbow. “But let’s set aside this debate for now. And there’s time to talk about Sam’s trip to Madison later. It’s near suppertime, and we’ve got a cow to hitch to the wagon and take over to the Eikaases’ place.
Kristin will need time to pack her things and then unpack once she gets here.”
“Lars will never agree to this arrangement,” Pa growled.
Sam’s equilibrium returned. “Well, we’ve got some persuading to do then too.”
CHAPTER 8
KRISTIN HEARD THE jangling of harnesses and the thunder of horse hooves coming up the road leading to her uncle’s cabin. She locked her trunk. Uncle Lars planned to drive her to the Wollumses since he had no place for her here. He said the reverend and his wife would have to deal with her now. And that was just fine with Kristin. She would rather live with the Wollumses.
Even so, sadness gripped her heart. Despite everything, Onkel, Tante, and her cousins were the only family she had. And the Olstads …
Kristin felt more angry than sad over Peder’s and his father’s behavior. Instead of defending her, they kept their silence. But, perhaps, going to the Wollumses’ home would not be the worst fate imaginable. She liked the family very much.
But would they want her?
She strolled toward the shanty’s entryway and saw Sam and his father coming up the dirt road in their two-seated wagon. Hand over her mouth, she gasped, glimpsing the brown cow tethered to the back of it. Sam must have said something about this afternoon’s misfortune. But had he told his father about their meeting in the orchard?
Kristin’s hand fell to her side and she nibbled her lower lip, watching the wagon’s approach. Would she be in even greater trouble now? Perhaps they would think she was wanton for being alone with Sam in the orchard.
Entering the yard, Mr. Sundberg pulled his fine-looking team to a halt then braked the wagon. Uncle Lars immediately burst from the barn, carrying his long-barreled hunting rifle.
“Get off my property, the both of you!”
“Now, hold on a minute, Lars.” Mr. Sundberg climbed from his perch. “I come to make you an offer.”
Sam jumped down.
Kristin watched her uncle’s features relax as he eyed the cow.
“What kind of offer?”
“This here fine cow for your niece.”
Kristin straightened. Surely Mr. Sundberg didn’t mean to purchase her. For a cow?
Aunt Esther, Inga, and Anna suddenly appeared in the yard, wearing curious expressions. Peder and his father marched in from a nearby field while young Erik sat a ways off, toying with a grass snake.
Kristin remained stock still.
Mr. Sundberg continued. “We need a house girl now that Rachel is married.”
Uncle Lars lowered the gun then pursed his lips, looking just like Poppa did when contemplating an important issue. Was he actually considering the idea?
But no! Everything inside her knotted tightly in blatant refusal. She did not travel from Norway to be a slave here in America. Not to the Sundbergs. Not to anyone!
“We will give her room and board, and you can keep this here cow …”
Kristin strained to hear the rest of the conversation but couldn’t. Next she spied Mr. Sundberg walking to the back of the wagon and untying the animal. Kristin noticed how much healthier it appeared than the one that just died.
Aunt Esther, Inga, and Anna smiled at each other.
“Go ahead.” Uncle Lars waved one hand in the air. “You Sundbergs are the ones who cursed the girl, so you might as well take her.”
“No!” Kristin ran to her uncle. “My father would not approve of this arrangement!” She ground out each word.
“Kristin!” Sam’s voice reached her ears. She looked at him and noted his wide-eyed expression. He shook his head ever so slightly as if warning her to keep silent. But how could she?
Uncle Lars raised the gun, pointing it in her direction. “You have no choice, liten niese. I only took you in because of family honor. But you are more trouble t
han you are worth!”
Looking down the barrel of his gun, Kristin’s knees began to quake.
“Mr. Eikaas, please, put away the gun.”
Sam’s voice sounded close by. Then just as her legs would have buckled from fear, his hand cupped her upper arm and steadied her.
“We will leave right now. You can keep the cow.” Sam pulled Kristin in the wagon’s direction. “That cow is one of our finest.”
“Ja, I can see that.” Uncle Lars ever so slowly lowered the gun.
Kristin continued to follow Sam’s lead until they reached the wagon. She stayed close, praying Onkel would not lose his temper and kill them both.
“We will give you a sow too, if you’d like.”
“What?” Mr. Sundberg’s voice held deep indignation. “Are you crazy, boy?”
“Ja, I would like a sow.” Uncle Lars smirked.
“Then I will be back with it first thing in the morning.” Sam turned, his face just inches from Kristin’s. “Get up in the wagon. Quickly.”
She didn’t think twice about it. Suddenly being sold into slavery seemed a far sight better than living with her aunt and uncle.
Uncle Lars called for Peder. “Fetch her trunk, will you?”
Kristin had almost finished her climb into the wagon when Sam gave her an added lift into the seat. Mr. Sundberg sat beside her while Peder carried her trunk on his shoulder. Kristin refused to look at him or Mr. Olstad—or any of her family. They all treated her like a discarded old shoe.
Peder said nothing as he hoisted her trunk into the wagon bed. Sam climbed into the backseat, and moments later, Mr. Sundberg gave a flick of the reins. The wagon jerked forward. Clutching to the rail on the side of the seat, Kristin held back the onslaught of tears threatening from the backs of her eyes. She would never forget how her family forsook her this way. Then, again, she lost everyone she’d ever loved. Poppa and Mor, her siblings. Now the rest of her family had abandoned her. Kristin shuddered. What would happen to her now?
The evening sun penetrated the sleeve of Kristin’s dress and branded her skin. She would never get ahead, working as a slave. Her dreams of someday owning a shop where she could display and sell her needlework vanished, and a dismal emptiness—as dismal as Uncle Lars’s cabin—took its place in her being.
A short time later they reached the Sundbergs’ yard. Mr. Sundberg slowed the horses to a halt and yanked on the brake. A black and white dog barked until Mr. Sundberg commanded him to stop. Mary ran to greet them, and after Sam helped Kristin to the ground, the girl hugged her around the waist. Kristin nearly lost her composure.
“I am so glad you are here!”
Kristin pressed her lips together. She hadn’t expected such affection. Bending, she pet the dog’s head to conceal her emotions.
“Come. I will show you where your room is.”
“My … room?” Kristin had somehow expected her accommodations would be equal to or worse than at Uncle Lars’s. But she should have known the Sundbergs would be different.
Tugging on her hand, Mary led her into the house. “This is the mudroom.”
Kristin saw that the room had been built around the well. An ingenious idea, really. The well was protected from the winter elements.
“Ma makes us wash up before we can enter the house. But I did already, and you look clean enough.”
“Ja, I guess I am.” She’d had her swim in the pond only hours ago and hadn’t done much to get soiled since.
Mary led her down a flight of steps. Cool air whisked across Kristin’s face and neck.
“This is the summer kitchen.”
Kristin glanced around in amazement. A black cookstove occupied one wall. She smiled. A stove—a real stove! A blocktop table stood in the center of the room. Cupboards lined the far wall. “Very nice.”
“And over here …” Mary waved her farther into the basement. “This is your room.”
Mary opened the door and showed Kristin into a quaint space. The walls were whitewashed brick and there wasn’t a window. But she didn’t mind. Kristin hadn’t slept in a room this nice since leaving the Old Country.
A cot, complete with mattress, had been pushed up against one wall, and a small chest of drawers stood opposite it. There was even a place to hang her dresses, as a thick wire had been nailed between two low-lying rafters.
Sam burst through the doorway, balancing Kristin’s chest of belongings on one thick shoulder. He set it down under the wire without a single grunt. Straightening, he glanced at Kristin. “Ma will be in shortly.” His gaze wandered the room before coming back to rest on her. “So what do you think?”
Sheer and utter gratefulness enveloped her. “I think I will never be able to repay you for what you did for me, Mr. Sundberg.”
“It’s Sam.” His smile was warm and genuine.
“Can we call you Kristin?” Mary asked with wide, hopeful brown eyes.
“Of course.” She touched the girl’s cheek, then looked back at Sam, recalling how he stepped between her and Uncle Lars’s rifle. “You saved my life. Takk … I mean, thank you.”
“I only did what any decent man would do.” Chagrin flitted across his face. “If it is any consolation, I do not think your uncle would have really harmed you. Like Pa says, your uncle’s bark is worse than his bite.”
“I am not sure about that.” Kristin hugged herself as a chill ran through her. She’d seen the hatred in her uncle’s gaze.
“Well, do not let it trouble you any longer. You are safe here.” Sam’s voice held a note of promise that soothed her frayed nerves.
Mrs. Sundberg’s willowy frame suddenly graced the doorway. “Welcome, Kristin.”
“Thank you.” She smiled then quickly lowered her gaze. She didn’t know how to be a slave exactly, but she’d seen servants in Norway accompanying the rich with downcast looks. Once she’d heard from Sylvia that slaves must never look their superiors in the eye.
“May I show you around the rest of our home?”
Without looking up, Kristin gave a nodded reply. When Mrs. Sundberg moved away from the door, Kristin took her cue from Sam and followed with Mary in tow.
Upstairs they walked back through the mudroom. Kristin toured the main kitchen, which would be used more often now that autumn rapidly approached. In fact, something delicious wafted from the oven and two pots simmered on the stove. Kristin tried not to think about how hungry she felt. Her last meal had been a bite of repast just before dawn.
The tour continued. Adjacent to the kitchen was the dining room and, next to it, a quaint sitting room. Above the hearth’s polished mantel hung the head of a great, dark brown beast. Just looking at it caused prickles of unease to climb Kristin’s limbs.
“That’s the bear Pa shot a couple of years ago.” Jackson came up from behind them. “We did not go hungry that winter.”
“A bear …” Kristin regarded the mounted thing. “I have never seen one up so close. I am glad it is not alive.”
“Me too. Good thing Pa killed him with only two shots.”
“Jack, where are your manners?” Mrs. Sundberg’s tone sounded both warm and admonishing. In many ways she reminded Kristin of her own mother.
He quickly swiped off his floppy-rimmed hat. “Hello, Miss Eikaas.”
Kristin noticed that one of his eyes was puffy and bruised from this morning’s brawl. Other than that, he seemed all right. “Hello, Jackson.”
Looking back at his mother, he asked, “When’s supper? I am starved.”
“In a few minutes.” Mrs. Sundberg set her hand on Kristin’s forearm. “I hope you have not eaten yet. I made extra so you could join us.”
“No, I have not eaten yet.” Her stomach rumbled as proof to the statement.
The Sundbergs laughed and Kristin’s cheeks flamed.
“We will hurry and show you the rest of the house so we can get supper on the table,” Mrs. Sundberg said. “Jack, go wash up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Sam,
would you fetch your father?”
“Good as done, Ma.” He gave Kristin a parting smile before leaving the room.
The heat in her cheeks spread downward into her neck.
A moment later Mrs. Sundberg led her across the front hallway and slid open a pair of paneled doors. “This is our parlor. We only use it for special guests or on holidays.”
Mary piped in, “Ma and I like to sew in the sitting room at night. Sometimes Pa, Sam, and Jack go sit on the front porch.”
Kristin grinned at the child’s enthusiasm.
And then she spotted it. The spinning wheel in the corner, next to the far side of the parlor’s hearth. It looked just like Mor’s. “It is beautiful!” She strode across the room and knelt beside the large wooden wheel.
“That was Sam’s mother’s.” Mrs. Sundberg tipped her head. “My people did more weaving than spinning.”
“Do you know how to spin?” Mary hunkered down beside Kristin.
“Oh, ja, my mother taught me.”
Mrs. Sundberg smiled. “Then perhaps you can show Mary and me how to spin sometime.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“For now, we had best continue with our tour. Supper is already a half hour later than usual.”
They ambled upstairs where Kristin saw three bedrooms. Sam shared a room with Jack, and Mary slept in her own small chamber, not much larger than Kristin’s room. The biggest room belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Sundberg.
“I am frequently ill, Kristin,” Mrs. Sundberg told her. “Lately I have been feeling fairly good, but on the days when my malady takes over, I barely have the strength to climb out of bed.” Her dark eyes bore into Kristin’s gaze. “That’s when I will have to count on you to help me and also care for my family.”
“Ja, I will be glad to help.”
Mrs. Sundberg smiled again, and Kristin realized she had forgotten about being a slave.
“I mean … yes, ma’am.” She would commit those words to her English vocabulary.
Mrs. Sundberg led the way back down the narrow inside stairwell. In all, Kristin was impressed. While the home was hardly a mansion, it was a glorious sight compared to Uncle Lars’s shack.
Back in the main kitchen, Kristin did her best to help Mrs. Sundberg and Mary with supper preparations. Unfamiliar with the layout, Kristin felt burdensome rather than of any use. But when the meal was ready, she made trips back and forth into the dining room, carrying in the plate of sliced pork, the basket of dinner rolls, a bowl filled with cooked red potatoes, and another containing an assortment of cooked greens. She’d learned that six days out of seven, supper consisted of repast. But on Wednesdays, when the men went to market in town, the meal was more like the noon dinner.
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