Threads of Hope

by Andrea Boeshaar

  They walked in silence to where his horse had been tethered to a nearby post.

  The sheriff donned his black hat. “I am sorry about all this, Miss Eikaas.” He packed the silver into his brown leather saddlebag.

  Kristin worked her lower lip between her teeth and managed a nod even though she felt like sobbing. If only Sam were here to help and protect her.

  “The missus and I have a home in town and … well, maybe it would be best if you stayed with us or the Wollumses until Karl cools down.” He faced her. “It is amazing he hired you to be Mrs. Sundberg’s house girl, but—”

  “It was Sam’s idea. He wanted to help me.”

  A certain knowing light entered the sheriff’s eyes. “I see. Well, Sam is in Madison now, and I hear it could be a while before he returns.”

  “Mrs. Sundberg needs me. I must stay … for her sake.”

  “If you say so.” He mounted his steed. The animal snorted and tossed his chestnut-brown head when Sheriff Brunette pulled the reins toward the road. “I suppose if you can beat off school bullies, you can handle Karl Sundberg.” A grin inched across his bearded face. “But if you change your mind, you can seek refuge with my wife and me or with the Wollumses.”

  And then do what? She couldn’t hide from her uncle and Mr. Sundberg forever. Still, it helped to be offered an alternative. “Takk.”

  After a polite tip of his hat, the sheriff spurred his horse down the road.

  Kristin stood there for several long minutes, watching the lawman ride off. She glanced at the Sundbergs’ house next, knowing she must force herself to go back inside. Closing her eyes, she desperately wished that Sam would return … soon.

  The pungent scent of Miss Evans’s perfume caused a vicelike squeezing between Sam’s ears. She said the fragrance was Lilies of Paris and an expensive gift from her father, who had purchased the bottle in Chicago. However, Sam knew he’d never smelled any kind of lilies like the ones she wore tonight.

  Miss Evans shifted in her chair, sending another flowery plume his way. Sam winced as the throbbing at his temples increased. Escape was impossible, with her seated on his righthand side and Mr. Evans on his left. At the front of the room an orchestra played a loud, dissonant number that did nothing to ease his headache.

  Finally the intermission came, and Sam made straight for the balcony doors. He breathed in deeply of the cool, October air, trying to clear the scent of Miss Evans’s floral presence. The autumn night breeze carried a sweet aroma of its own—one Sam recognized.

  The wind from a sudden rainstorm this afternoon had scattered tree leaves. Harvest colors littered lawns and walkways. The clean, damp, earthy smell always signaled a reminder to Sam to make hay before the weather turned bitter cold and a foot of snow buried the landscape.

  “There you are, son.”

  Sam turned to see Mr. Evans step out onto the balcony, carrying two short glasses.

  “Since you’re being antisocial, I brought the punch to you.” Holding out the tumbler, the man smiled. “Apple cider. And not to worry. The only alcohol involved here tonight would be that in the flask Mr. Jones happens to be carrying.”

  Sam chuckled and decided the cider might help to alleviate his headache. He sipped the sweet-tasting mix. “Mmm, very good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies for being, as you said, antisocial, but I can’t seem to shake my headache.”

  Mr. Evans pursed his lips and frowned. “Too bad.”

  “It’ll abate.” Again, Sam wished he were home. Ma knew better than he what herbs would help. She had remedies for most ailments—except her episodes.

  “It’s probably tension. I understand the importance of this morning’s hearing. You’re feeling it too.”

  “Yes, perhaps.” Although his daughter’s perfume hadn’t helped matters.

  “You’re a serious young man.”

  Sam grinned. “What makes you say so?”

  Mr. Evans regarded him from beneath arched brows. “Your reaction to Samantha, that’s what. Most young men are drawn to her beauty and amused by her charm. You seem indifferent.”

  “I mean no offense, Mr. Evans. Your daughter is lovely.” Sam paused to carefully choose his words, then gave up and decided to let honesty dictate. “There’s a young lady back home whom I’m interested in courting.”

  “Ah …”

  Sam spared the details as Mr. Evans already knew of the contention between Pa and the Eikaas family.

  “Your father is aware of your intentions?”

  “Yes, except, unfortunately, he doesn’t approve.”

  “I didn’t think so. During your father’s frequent visits he and I often discussed the possibility of matching you and my daughter.” He drained his glass.

  “Is that right?” Like so many puzzle pieces coming together, Sam thought he saw the entire picture. “You and my father? Discussed a possible match between me and—”

  “Sam and Sam.” Mr. Evans chuckled.

  Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes at the wearisome quip. He pondered, yet once more, his father’s objections to his pursuance of Kristin.

  Sam and Sam.

  Suddenly a lot of strange things made perfect sense.

  CHAPTER 17

  KRISTIN AWOKE to voices talking directly above her basement room. She recognized them at once, Mr. Sundberg’s angry tone and Mrs. Sundberg’s gentle voice of reason. Climbing out of bed, she lit a lamp and checked the time. It was early, so she knew she hadn’t overslept. She wondered if either Jack or Mary had taken ill.

  Pulling on her housecoat, she lifted the lamp, yawned, and made her way upstairs and into the main kitchen. The Sundbergs weren’t there and their voices had quieted, so Kristin assumed they’d gone upstairs. She lit the stove and prepared the morning’s usual pot of coffee. Then she returned to her room and dressed for the day.

  Two more thoughts crowded Kristin’s mind as she brushed her hair. First, Sam had been gone exactly one week, and second, ever since the sheriff had come by with the spoons, Mr. Sundberg’s attitude toward her had grown increasingly hostile. Thankfully yesterday had been Wednesday, market day, and Mr. Sundberg left before Kristin arose. She didn’t see him until supper that evening. He’d stayed in town all day, perhaps hoping for some word from Sam.

  A knock sounded, and Kristin set down her hairbrush and strode across the small room. Placing her hand on the knob, she turned and opened the door. Mrs. Sundberg stood there and pushed out a sad-looking smile.

  “I must speak with you.”

  “Of course. Come in.”

  The woman entered, and Kristin sensed something was very wrong. “Are Jack and Mary all right?”

  “Oh, they are fine. They can sleep a bit longer this morning because Karl will drive them in to school.” The Oneida woman, whom Kristin thought of as a friend, averted her gaze and spoke to the plank floor. “Kristin, I am afraid we must let you go.”

  A wave of disbelief hit her, knocking her off balance. She lowered herself down on the bed.

  “The tension in my home is, well, not healthy for any of us. As it is, I feel another episode approaching. I slept very little last night.”

  “And that is my fault?” Kristin asked, a bit defensively.

  “No.” Mariah met her gaze squarely. “But Karl is my husband, and my loyalties in this house cannot be divided. I want Jack and Mary to look up to their father with respect. However, they defend you against him. So do I. The fact does not change Karl. It infuriates him.”

  “Because he is wrong. For all the reasons we spoke about on Sunday evening.”

  “Correct.” Mrs. Sundberg whispered her reply and glanced over her shoulder at the half-opened door. “But only God can change a man’s heart. As Karl’s wife, my duty is to see to his happiness and that of my children’s welfare.”

  Stunned, Kristin could only blink. “Are you sending me back to my uncle Lars?”

  Mrs. Sundberg shook her head. “No, I want peace in my household again, but not at the p
rice of your safety. You will live with Mrs. Brunette and the sheriff.” Once more, Mrs. Sundberg lowered her dark eyes. “The Wollumses would take you, but they might be leaving Green Bay.” Meeting Kristin’s gaze again, she added, “The divisiveness in our church is driving our good reverend and his family away.”

  Kristin was sorry to hear it, and yet she refused to take blame. “I have done nothing wrong, Mrs. Sundberg. I have not spoken to my uncle since he pointed his gun at me and Sam came to my rescue that day.”

  “I know you are innocent of the charges my husband makes against you. But he believes them, and I cannot persuade him otherwise. And now … my health is waning again. I felt it coming on late last night.”

  “Sit down beside me, Mrs. Sundberg.” Kristin scooted over.

  “No, thank you. You must quickly pack. Karl will want you ready to go after breakfast. He does not want Jack and Mary to be late for school. We will tell them that you are moving on to another job—a better one in town.”

  “A lie?”

  “No. You will be working for Mrs. Brunette.”

  “I see.” A rigid formality stole into Kristin’s voice and made its way to her heart.

  Mrs. Sundberg walked slowly to the door. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  “I do not want to hear about your prayers. You said yourself that they do nothing. Look at your husband. Do your prayers change him? No. Look at our small church.” Kristin gave a wag of her head. “I do not think God is here in America.”

  “Oh, but He is, Kristin.” With her eyes brimming with tears, Mrs. Sundberg swallowed hard. “This is not a punishment. You will see.”

  Looking away, Kristin stood and walked to where her few dresses hung. She refused to grace the statement with a reply.

  Instead, draping her garments over one forearm, she moved to her trunk, opened the lid, and dropped them inside.

  Mrs. Sundberg quietly left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Kristin stood there, staring at it, feeling her self-worth deflate, second by second. She felt abandoned, by her parents and brothers, Uncle Lars and Aunt Esther, and even by the Olstads. Could Peder and his father not have left a short note for her, saying good-bye? And now Mrs. Sundberg—and maybe even God too.

  Kristin decided the Brunettes were the ones getting the real bargain. They were about to acquire a free maid, housekeeper, and cook—all because Kristin had been turned out of two households and had nowhere else to go. True, the sheriff seemed like a kindhearted man, but she supposed time would tell.

  Beneath the lamplight she resumed packing. Maybe she judged the sheriff too harshly just now. But everyone was nice upon the first few meetings. What if the sheriff proved as ornery as Uncle Lars—or as stubborn and hateful as Mr. Sundberg? Worse, the charges that she had been party to a theft would likely follow her everywhere she went.

  Smells of breakfast cooking wafted down into her room, but Kristin didn’t feel like eating and continued to collect her things. When she finished, she sat down on the cot and just waited to be told when to go out to the wagon. Mr. Sundberg would have to carry out her trunk. What would Sam say when he discovered his family rid themselves of her? Would he, like Mrs. Sundberg, go along with his father’s illogical biases in order to keep that curmudgeon appeased?

  Oh, Sam … please come home!

  At long last the Sundbergs came for Kristin. Mr. Sundberg grunted as he lifted Kristin’s trunk.

  “I have appreciated all you have done here,” Mrs. Sundberg said. “I want you to know that.”

  Together they walked to the wagon, where Mr. Sundberg now sat waiting, his back turned, shoulders stiff.

  Kristin didn’t speak. To do so would mean dissolving into a pool of tears.

  “Please do not be angry with me.”

  Angry? Kristin had always thought Mrs. Sundberg was quite adept at discerning emotions. But the woman missed the mark entirely just now. Crushed, heartbroken—that’s how Kristin felt. Not angry.

  “Good-bye.” Mrs. Sundberg held out her arms, but Kristin turned away. What an ultimate betrayal, an embrace!

  Mrs. Sundberg stepped back and then moved to place kisses on her children’s foreheads. After a quick farewell to Mr. Sundberg, she returned to the house, moving slowly, already in evident pain.

  Kristin banished the concern from her heart. Mrs. Sundberg wasn’t any of her business. Not anymore. She climbed into the wagon bed without speaking to Mr. Sundberg.

  “You can sit here with me,” Mary offered, patting to the place beside her in the backseat. Jack climbed up in front with his father.

  “I prefer right here, thank you.” Kristin squared her shoulders and prepared herself for the bumpy ride into town.

  On the way, sensing the mood of their father, the children were unnaturally quiet. And with a mind cluttered with doubts and fears, Kristin didn’t feel much like talking anyway.

  At last Mr. Sundberg halted the wagon in front of a weathered wood-sided home. A split-rail fence ran the perimeter of the property.

  Sheriff Brunette sauntered out the front door, followed by his smiling wife. Kristin thought her fate with the couple might not be as horrible as she first imagined. As a conversation in English between them and Mr. Sundberg ensued, Mary tugged on Kristin’s arm.

  “Will you walk me to school?”

  Kristin did her best to ignore the girl.

  “Plee-eeze?”

  Kristin rolled her eyes at the ten-year-old’s pleading.

  “It is just down the street, Kristin,” Jack said. Tossing a glance at his father, he called a good-bye before sprinting across the road and disappearing down the way.

  “Jack plays ball on the playground until Teacher rings the bell to come inside.”

  Again, Kristin didn’t respond to Mary’s explanation.

  “Walk me to school? Please.”

  “Oh, all right.” Kristin expelled a huff laden with great inconvenience. But it was lost on Mary, who beamed.

  Kristin lifted her hems and carefully picked her way across the mucky lane.

  “Maybe I can stop and visit you after school sometimes.” Mary looked up and squinted into the morning sunshine.

  “I am sure we will both be too busy for visits.”

  “Maybe on Sundays, then.”

  “Maybe.” Kristin thought she could concede that much.

  The heels of their boots thumped rhythmically against the wooden walkway as they passed shops, including Miss Betsy’s Foundations & Pinnings. Kristin had learned what the sign above the door read. Reaching the playground, Kristin paused.

  “Have a good day, Mary.”

  Unabashed, the girl hugged Kristin around the waist. “Do not worry. We will see each other again soon.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” Kristin’s eyes grew misty. “Now go. I see your teacher is about to ring the bell.”

  Mary took off running. She waved as she climbed the steps to the door.

  Kristin waved back. Then she glimpsed Jack. His shirt had come untucked and his hair looked mussed. He saw Kristin and tossed her a gesture that resembled a mock salute. In spite of herself, she smiled and waved good-bye. She would miss both children very much.

  Spinning on her heel, she made her way back to the Brunettes’ home. Autumn sunshine spilled across her path. But as she passed Miss Betsy’s shop, an idea sprouted. Should she? Dare she?

  She slowed her pace and glanced at the heavy lace, which covered the tall windows. Her dream had always been of owning a shop, but perhaps working in one would suffice.

  Making her way up the four wooden steps to the door, Kristin let herself in. Tiny bells jangled, signaling her entry. Miss Betsy walked in from the back of the store.

  “Good morning.”

  “God morgen.” With her nerves tingling, she forgot herself.

  Miss Betsy paused. “Oh, yes, I remember you.” She spoke in Norwegian, and her smile produced more etchings on her wrinkled face. “Miss Eikaas, isn’t it? You purchased some undergarments not lo
ng ago.”

  “Ja, and I wondered …” Kristin shifted and ran her tongue along her lower lip. “I wondered if you had a position to fill here. You see …” She paused again, unsure of how to describe the situation in which she now found herself.

  “It did not work out at the Sundbergs’ place for you?” Miss Betsy tipped her head. “I did not think it would. You are an Eikaas. They are Sundbergs.”

  “It worked out fine with everyone except Mr. Sundberg.” Kristin didn’t mean to share so much so soon. “I mean no disrespect to him, of course.”

  “Of course.” A little grin threatened at the corner of Miss Betsy’s mouth. “In truth, I always thought that your uncle and Karl Sundberg were the two most stiff-necked men in Green Bay, Wisconsin.”

  “Ja, I would have to agree.” Surprisingly, it didn’t please Kristin to admit it.

  “Well, I am sorry, I cannot afford hired help.”

  Kristin replied with an understanding nod. “Takk.” She made a slow spin for the door.

  “Although …”

  Kristin’s gloved hand paused at the polished brass knob.

  “I recall the way you mended Mary Sundberg’s dress that day, and you would be an asset to my business.”

  The compliment meant little at this point.

  With disappointment sitting like a knot in her throat, Kristin pulled the door open. But maybe a good position awaited her with the Brunettes. Or perhaps the sheriff could find her work at another shop.

  “I could offer room and board, but that’s all.”

  Kristin halted and glanced at Miss Betsy. “Room and board?”

  “You could help with the mending I routinely take in. And, of course, assist me around the shop.”

  “Ja, I could do that.” Kristin closed the door with more enthusiasm than necessary.

  “Maybe someday I could afford to pay you, but not now.”

  “That is fine with me. I accept your offer.”

  The older woman’s face lit up. “Ja?”

  “Ja!”

  Miss Betsy smiled. “It is settled then.” Additional crinkles appeared at the corners of her hazel eyes. “We will share the apartment upstairs. It is small, but you will have your own bedroom.”