Threads of Hope

by Andrea Boeshaar

  When the service ended, Kristin filed out of the pew. She glimpsed her uncle and his family, along with the Olstads, and chose to ignore them. She’d been terrified when Uncle Lars pointed that gun in her direction. Neither Peder nor his father stepped in. Only Sam.

  Outside, the sun had made its way out of the clouds, warming the late summer day. Mary and Jackson took off with their friends, and Mr. Sundberg and Sam were in a deep discussion with several other men. Kristin glanced to her left and saw Mrs. Sundberg talking with Mrs. Wollums. Unsure of where to wait, she decided to make her way back to the wagon. Perhaps someday soon she would have friends to talk with after church.

  Kristin thought of Sylvia and wondered if, instead of saving for a shop, she should save for Sylvia and Mrs. Olstad’s passage to America. The sooner Sylvia arrived, the better.

  But Peder had been right. What would she and Mrs. Olstad find when they arrived here? Uncle Lars’s accommodations were worse than the Olstads’ in Norway. What would Sylvia and her mother think of America if they saw the impoverished way the Eikaases lived? Sadder yet, Kristin didn’t think it had to be that way. If Onkel could build such a sturdy barn, he could put some effort into a house for his family.

  Kristin reached the Sundbergs’ wagon and leaned against it. Shielded by the shade of a large willow, she felt content to wait. But moments later she saw Peder sneaking around the tree.

  She turned her head, refusing to acknowledge him.

  “Kristin.” His voice was low but insistent. “Kristin, kommer hit—come here.”

  She set her jaw and pretended she couldn’t hear him. Did he really think that she would agree to meet him on the sly?

  “I am sorry about your uncle’s show of temper last week. I just want to make sure that the Sundbergs are treating you all right.”

  And what if they weren’t? What would Peder do about it? Nothing!

  Kristin folded her arms, still gazing in the opposite direction.

  “Oh, fine, be that way.” Exasperation tainted his tone. “But you are the most stubborn girl in all of America!”

  She did her best not to grin.

  A rustling sound, followed by a second man’s voice, caught her attention. She gazed toward Peder and saw Sam standing beside him. They exchanged words that Kristin couldn’t hear before Peder took off in a jog. Sam turned toward Kristin and rolled his broad shoulders as he strode forward.

  “What did he say?” Kristin asked once Sam was within earshot.

  “Nothing really.” Sam glanced back over his shoulder. “I caught him off guard, and he did not appreciate it.” Despite the fact, he grinned.

  “Good. Now Peder knows how it feels to have someone sneak up on you. He does that to me all the time.” Kristin gave a shake of her head. “He finds it amusing.”

  “Hmm …” Sam shrugged out of his jacket and put it and his Bible under the seat of the wagon. “Well, Mary and Jack should be along shortly. Pa told me to round those two up, and I gave it my best shot.”

  “They do not listen to their older brother?”

  “Not even a little.”

  Kristin smiled at the happy sound of Sam’s chuckles and realized that she liked him far better than Peder Olstad.

  Then, all at once, she realized that Onkel’s rejection had been a part of God’s special blessing, bringing her to a far better place. She wasn’t the one cursed at all. In time she hoped her relatives would realize it and perhaps even speak to her again.

  CHAPTER 10

  A WEEK PASSED IN a succession of hot days and cooler nights. Kristin fell into a comfortable routine. Mrs. Sundberg’s health held out, so the woman felt strong enough to show Kristin how she ran her household. Kristin learned quickly.

  Now today, Monday, she and Mrs. Sundberg lingered at the dining room table, planning the week’s menus. Kristin discovered that keeping the men fed was priority. Sam and his father worked hard outdoors and expected hearty dinners at noon. She checked the food pantry to be sure they had all the ingredients needed for the next seven days.

  “It is all there,” Kristin said, bringing Mrs. Sundberg another cup of coffee.

  “Good. And Jack snared a couple of rabbits this morning before school.” Mrs. Sundberg smiled, looking pleased by another of her youngest son’s accomplishments. “We’ll make good use of them.”

  “Indeed.”

  The planning continued. In a while they would brush off the Sunday clothes and hang them outside to air out. Then they would soak the soiled clothes in preparation for tomorrow’s laundry day. They’d feed the chickens and spend a couple of hours in the garden, gathering potatoes, beets, carrots, and onions. Then it would be time to make noon dinner, rabbit stew and freshly baked biscuits.

  This afternoon would find them cleaning up after dinner, then scrubbing the kitchen cupboards. Supper would be served at six, and after dishes were washed and homework completed, Jackson would read while Kristin, Mary, and Mrs. Sundberg did mending. Mrs. Sundberg promised Kristin a portion of those wages earned as well as her own monthly salary. Kristin had caught some of the Sundbergs’ enterprising spirit.

  Kristin rose from the table. “I’ll feed the chickens and meet you outside.”

  Mrs. Sundberg set her cup into its saucer. “I’ll be out shortly.” “Take your time.”

  Humming, Kristin strode to the mudroom where she donned her bonnet before heading out to the barn. The chickens sensed her intentions and clucked at her heels. Entering the barn, she met Sam on his way out.

  “Hello, Kristin.” He inched his floppy hat higher on his forehead. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. I am just about to feed my squawking little pets.”

  Sam smiled. “Do not get too attached. One might be Sunday’s dinner.”

  “All the reason I had best feed them.” Kristin smiled. “I came from a family of farmers and know better than to grow too fond of any of the animals. Although, I must admit, I learned that lesson of certain heartbreak the hard way. You see, I once fell in love with a piglet. The sweetest pink thing you would ever want to see. But when it reached maturity Poppa had it slaughtered and the meat smoked. I cried for weeks.”

  Sam grinned and sat on a covered rain barrel in the shade of the barn.

  “And I could hardly choke down any pork that winter.”

  He lowered his head and chuckled. “Sounds like Mary. She is forever taking shines to the calves, baby rabbits, and chicks. Some she actually wraps in blankets and carries them around like they are real infants.”

  “They are.” Kristin gave a little laugh. “I did that too. Mor used to say it’s God’s way of making women out of girls. He put that mothering instinct in us, so it is not our fault, really.”

  “Really?” Sam’s semi-echoed reply held a note of laughter mixed with incredulousness.

  Kristin couldn’t hold back her mirth any longer. Sam’s chuckles joined hers.

  “You seem much happier of late.”

  “Oh, I am very happy. Your mother is very kind to me. She is teaching me many things about running an American household. Mor had taught me much, but I was nearing seventeen when she died. It was a year of a terrible fever … well, I cared for my family the best way I could.”

  “I am sure you did, Kristin.”

  All the gladness she felt only moments before turned to gloom. “I do not know why God spared me from the epidemic.”

  “He still had a purpose for you.” Sam’s voice was calm but insistent. “For instance, if your family had lived, you would not be here in America, helping my mother, who, you will see when she has one of her episodes, needs you desperately.”

  Kristin smiled. The idea that God had a plan for her made her feel special. But was it really true? How she could know for sure?

  Mr. Sundberg suddenly appeared at the edge of the yard. “Sam!” He spoke in English, so Kristin didn’t understand him. However, his tone said he wasn’t pleased. Next she noticed the look of chagrin spreading across Sam’
s face like soft butter on hot bread.

  “Excuse me, Kristin.” Sam slid off the barrel. “Pa’s been waiting on me. I sort of forgot.”

  “Of course. I am sorry to have kept you.”

  “Do not be sorry. I enjoy talking with you.” He gave her a parting smile and, hat in hand, he walked toward his father.

  Kristin watched him go, thinking she would definitely miss Sam while he was away in Madison.

  Mrs. Sundberg stepped from the house, and Kristin finished feeding the pecking hens. She hurried to catch up with the other woman near the vegetable garden, and that’s when Kristin noticed a pained expression on her employer’s face.

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Sundberg?”

  After a moment’s pause, she shook her head. “I think an episode is coming on.”

  “Let me walk you back to the house.”

  “No. I should pick these vegetables first.”

  Kristin saw the look of determination in Mrs. Sundberg’s brown eyes. “I will make you a deal.” She took Mrs. Sundberg’s elbow and led her to a grassy patch near a tall pine tree. “I will pick all the vegetables you want, and you can watch me from here. You can see how fast I am at picking.”

  Mrs. Sundberg squared her shoulders. “I am not an invalid.”

  “True. But from what I have heard, you become bedridden when your episodes are in full swing.”

  She rubbed her arms. “Oh, Kristin, I pray to God the pain leaves my body now and I don’t get ill. I have been doing so well …”

  “Then rest yourself while I gather the vegetables. When I am done, we’ll go back to the house.”

  Mrs. Sundberg gave a grudging nod before lowering herself onto the grass.

  Kristin drew in a breath of thick, hot, summer air. Some of the last of the season, most likely. She wasn’t accustomed to this kind of heat and humidity, but she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

  Pushing up her sleeves, she bent over and began pulling carrots. When she’d finished one row, she looked to Mrs. Sundberg, who directed her over toward the onions. Basket in hand, Kristin walked several feet to where that vegetable had been planted. A short distance away she could see Sam rolling the drying hay. She waved to him. He smiled and returned the gesture.

  Hunkering, she began pulling up onions. Perspiration trickled down her neck, and to get her mind off her discomfort, she imagined what it might be like to be a proprietress of her own shop—like Miss Betsy—except Kristin would offer threads, yarns, all different kinds of cording, material, and, of course, dress-making. She figured that in a city the size of Green Bay, more than one of the same sort of shop existed. Perhaps she could find out details, although she was hardly in a position to open a shop yet.

  The sun continued to beat down hard, and the front of Kristin’s fawn-colored dress dampened. She wiped the droplets of sweat on her face away with her sleeve.

  When a row of onions had been harvested, Mrs. Sundberg waved Kristin over.

  “I think you need to rest a while, Kristin. Your face is bright red, and it is growing hotter by the minute.”

  “Ja, and I could use a tall glass of water.” Placing her hands on the small of her back, Kristin stretched and glanced off in the distance at the house. It wouldn’t take her but a few minutes. Looking at Mrs. Sundberg, she asked, “Shall I fetch some water for the both of us?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Would you like to walk back to the house with me? I can help you into bed.”

  “No, I feel good to sit right here in the shade.”

  Kristin smiled. “All right. But do not pick anything until I get back. I know you will be tempted, but resist.”

  Mrs. Sundberg laughed, and the sound was light and breezy to Kristin’s ears. “You know me well already.” Her smile grew. “I promise I will not move until you get back with the water.” Her gaze moved to somewhere behind Kristin. “Perhaps you should bring enough for Sam too.”

  “Ja, all right. I will.”

  As Kristin made her way toward the house, she pushed back her bonnet, allowing what little wind there was to waft through her moistened hair. She’d braided it and pinned it in its usual band around her head. However, even wearing her thick tresses off her neck didn’t make her feel any cooler today.

  She entered the mudroom and walked to the well, filled the bucket, but then realized the pail would be too heavy for her to carry. Turning to enter the kitchen, she nearly collided with a bare-chested, tanned-skin man who was apparently on his way out. He wore soft-looking moccasins and a breechcloth over the most private part of him, and a sleeveless animal skin robe that hung open enough so Kristin glimpsed the handle of a long, sheathed blade in his leather belt. Her gaze went upward, and she saw his weathered face and deep brown eyes. His thick black hair had been tied back and was held in place by a piece of leather and adorned with feathers.

  Kristin stood as still as possible as if waiting for a poisonous snake to strike.

  The man spoke to her—in English! She understood when he made mention of Sam, Mariah, Karl. Was he asking where they were? Unsure, she could only shrug.

  The dark-eyed man spoke to her again, and this time, reached for her hair. She jumped back and screamed and everything she’d ever read about the “savages” in America inflicting horror and death on white settlers came to mind.

  “Berør ikke meg—do not touch me!” She slapped his hand away.

  The native man’s chuckle rumbled low inside his smooth, tanned chest. He spoke again, and Kristin screamed louder. She wanted to run, but the man had worked his brown fingers through the braid in her hair.

  “Vennligst ikke vondt meg—please do not hurt me!”

  He spoke to her in an urgent tone, and Kristin thought he said the word friend. But his hand remained in her hair, and each time she pushed him away, desiring to create more space between them, her hair pulled painfully.

  “La meg ga! La meg ga!” She begged for him to release her. Still, he hung on fast.

  Then all at once Sam burst through the mudroom door. His chest rose and fell, and Kristin guessed he’d sprinted from the field.

  “Sam, hjelp meg!” Kristin covered her face, fearing a bloody fight. The native man possessed a knife, after all.

  But Sam spoke to the man in a familiar tone and then chuckled. “Kristin, his ring is tangled in your hair. If you can be still for a minute, he can—”

  “Ouch!”

  “—pull it out.”

  The native man held out his hand, and strands from Kristin’s head dangled from the metal ring he wore on the middle finger of his right hand.

  Kristin massaged her scalp.

  The bronze-skinned man said something and gave her a polite bow.

  Sam cleared this throat. “Kristin, may I present to you Running Deer.” Sam turned and spoke to Running Deer in what sounded like English. When Sam faced her again, he smiled. “Running Deer is my uncle—or step-uncle, if you will. He is my stepmother’s brother.”

  “She is very beautiful.”

  Sam eyed his uncle speculatively, hoping the man hadn’t gotten any big ideas about Kristin. Since his wife died last year, Running Deer had been searching for another woman.

  “She is the one I saw swimming in the pond over a week ago.”

  “I figured, since you would have recognized the other Eikaas girls, Inga and Anna.”

  “Old Weasel Eyes’s daughters?” Running Deer sent a glance upward. “Yes, I know of them.”

  Sam had to chuckle over the Oneida name for Lars Eikaas. He’d earned it over the years from ranting at the Indians who dared to cross his property line. Any damage done to the Eikaas farm came from Eikaas himself and not the Indians.

  “But there was someone else watching the beauty swim like a white swan. It was a red fox, looking on from the bushes as one who hunts his prey.”

  “Peder Olstad.” Sam thought his uncle’s description fit. So the man unashamedly watched Kristin swim that day. The cad.

  “But
I kept my eye on the red fox. Made sure he did not do anything.”

  “I appreciate it.” Sam hadn’t ever liked the fact that Running Deer paused to actually watch Kristin. But he hated it more that Olstad was there too.

  “She doesn’t speak English, eh?”

  “No, and I hope you’re aware that you scared the liver out of her just now.”

  “How was I supposed to know she’s here? No one told me you hired a new house girl.”

  “You haven’t been around since last week.”

  His uncle grinned, and tiny crinkles appeared at the corners of his dark eyes. “I went north to hunt for bear.”

  Sam’s interest was piqued. “Any luck?”

  “None.” Running Deer drew in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed. “The trappers had gotten there ahead of me. They skin their animals, take the fur, and leave the rest to rot, unlike our people who make use of it all, leaving nothing to waste.”

  He’d seen and heard the same story before, so Sam knew his uncle spoke the truth.

  “The number of animals they slaughter and leave littering the countryside would feed my entire village through the winter months.”

  “It’s a shame.” Sam put a hand on his uncle’s shoulders. “But maybe I can help. Pa’s sending me to Madison to mediate between the Menominee and a U.S. government committee that agreed to hear the band’s charges involving their treaty. Perhaps I can bring up this matter of the trappers’ wastefulness.”

  “Ugh! Sam …” Running Deer shook his head. “The more the white government gets involved, the worse it becomes for Wisconsin Indians and our brothers on the Plains. Maybe just keep your mouth shut.” He grinned.

  Sam replied with a helpless shrug and lowered his arm. “Just trying to help.”

  Running Deer clapped him on the shoulder. “Indians might get a fair piece if you were in charge of the white government. Your father is right. You should someday run for president.”