Married. Married to Karl. She wondered if Pappa was terribly angry with her. And Mamma? Mamma would still be crying. Of course, her younger sisters would all be envious. They would understand what a wonderful thing Thea had done, running away to join the man she loved.
It was like a fairy tale, her elopement. Or it would be soon. Exciting and romantic, as it should be. Two lovers, separated by an ocean, desperate to be together, defying their families, willing to do anything in order to reach the other. She sighed, forgetting the nightmarish train ride to New York City and the horrible rooming house where she’d stayed since.
Then she saw him, his sun gold hair making him stand out from those around him.
“Karl!” She waved her arm frantically. “Karl, I am here!”
He heard her. His entire face beamed with a smile as he moved through the crowd. Finally, he broke free of the other immigrants and ran to her. Suddenly she was in his arms and he was spinning her around and around. Then he kissed her, still holding her off the ground.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t be here,” he whispered when their lips parted.
“Nothing could have kept me away.”
“I am glad. Oh, Thea, I am glad.”
“Put me down,” she demanded. “Now look at me. Do you like my wedding dress? Is it pretty?”
He obediently perused her attire, then said, “Any dress would look pretty on you, Thea, and you know it.”
“But I want you to say it. Oh, Karl, I can’t believe you are truly here and we are to be married.”
“It is true.” He kissed her again. “Now, show me this city which is to be our home.”
Iowa’s respite from winter didn’t continue for long. The month of March began with a blast of icy wind hurtling down from the north.
And with it came disaster.
The family had retired early for a change, and Dirk was just drifting off to sleep—Inga lying nestled in the circle of his arms, her head on his shoulder—when the pounding started on the front door.
“What the—?” he muttered.
Huskily, Inga asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, but somebody’s sure raisin’ a racket for some reason.” He tossed aside the blankets and reached for his trousers. A few moments later, he hurried down the stairs, shouting, “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
He yanked open the door. Sven Gerhard stood on the front porch. One look at his face confirmed this was no late night social call.
“What is it, Sven? What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident. We need your help.”
“Come inside.”
“A sleigh full of young people went off the bridge.” Sven glanced toward the stairs where Inga was standing, wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Lowering his voice, he continued, “They were returning from Thunder Creek when it happened. The sleigh broke through the railings and landed half in the water, half on the bank. We’ve found four of the passengers. Orbert Finster is bringing them here, yours being the closest place. He should be right behind me. I came ahead to ask your help. There are still two missing. Vilhelm Dolk and”—his voice lowered further—“Gunda Linberg.”
Dirk glanced toward his wife, hoping she hadn’t heard. Judging by her expression, he guessed she hadn’t.
“Tilford Starr and Klas Hallström are still out there looking, but if we don’t find them soon…” Sven let his voice trail into silence, his meaning clear.
“I’ll get my boots and be right with you.” Dirk headed toward the stairs, brusquely adding, “Inga, make some coffee. Lots of it. And get out some blankets. They’ll be needed.”
He took the steps three at a time. He didn’t have to be told every second counted. The warming spell they’d enjoyed a week ago had started breaking up the ice that had covered the river since December. Anyone falling into the frigid water would have a hard time making their way toward shore due to the bobbing obstacles, and that was only if the shock of the cold river didn’t make them pass out and drown almost immediately.
Just as Dirk headed down the stairs again, the front door opened and those who’d been rescued spilled into the house. He recognized Vilhelm’s twin brother, Valdemar, by the old scar on his right cheek, but the other young man was a stranger to him. He glanced at the two girls who were clinging to each other and crying, their teeth chattering. He didn’t recognize either of them.
But apparently Inga did. “Julia?” he heard her say from the kitchen doorway.
The girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age, broke away and hurled herself at Inga. “Oh, Mrs. Bridger, we could not find them. We could not find either of them. It was so terrible. I was so afraid, and when we could not find them—”
Inga gathered the girl in her arms. “Hush, Julia. The men will find your friends. I am sure they will. It will be all right. You will see.”
“But I heard Herr Hallström say Gunda and Vilhelm could not survive in this cold.”
“Gunda?” She glanced over Julia’s head toward Dirk. “Gunda is out there?”
He nodded.
She paled.
Gruffly, he said, “I’ll find her, Inga.”
As if his promise was all she’d needed to renew her strength, she stiffened her back and gave him a brief nod. Then she turned and ushered the four survivors into the kitchen where they could warm themselves by the stove.
“Come on, Sven,” Dirk said to his neighbor. “Time’s a-wastin’.”
They rode in the sleigh that had carried Valdemar, Julia, and the two others to the Bridger farm. The driver, Orbert Finster, pushed the team as fast as he dared. Luckily, the moon was nearly full, providing enough light for Orbert to make out the road ahead.
“We happened upon them just minutes after the accident,” Sven said in a loud voice. “We were on our way back from the Hadrian farm. Found the Dolk boy hanging onto the side of the bridge where they went over. The other three had managed to cling to the sleigh. It was a miracle we were able to get them out.”
It would be an even greater miracle if the other two were still alive, Dirk thought grimly.
Inga made another pot of coffee for the shivering young people in her kitchen. They had all changed into the dry clothing Inga had found for them. They didn’t speak, but the silence said more than words. None of them believed Gunda and Vilhelm would be found alive.
But Inga had to believe. Dirk had said he would find Gunda, and she had to believe God would help him keep his promise. She couldn’t bear the alternative.
When she heard the knock at the front door, she ran to it, her heart pounding crazily, fear and hope warring in her chest. She yanked open the door.
“Pappa!” Relief flooded her. “You’ve come.”
“Is she here?” Olaf demanded angrily. He swept into the house. “Is it not bad enough her sister has run away to New York City? Now Gunda thinks she can stay out with that Dolk boy into the night and worry her mamma sick. Did you encourage her like you did Thea?”
Her heart sank. His words were like darts, wounding her, but she ignored the pain for now. “You don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“There has been an accident, Pappa.”
“An accident?” The pastor’s anger vanished in an instant. “What sort of accident?”
Inga glanced toward the kitchen. “The sleigh they were in slid into the river. The other young people, they are by the stove to get warm. But…” She swallowed the sting of hot tears, then looked at her pappa again. “But Gunda and Vilhelm Dolk are not among them. Dirk and several other men are out looking for them now.”
“Dear God,” Olaf breathed, clasping his hands in front of his chest and bowing his head. His lips moved as he prayed silently.
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting hers, she said, “Dirk will find Gunda, Pappa. I know he will.”
His expression was sad. “I wronged you, Inga. I am sorry.”
“It does not
matter.”
“Ja, it matters, dotter. Will you forgive me?”
“Thea’s leaving has hurt you, and so have I. I understand, Pappa. There is nothing to forgive.”
Olaf turned, walked to the sofa, and sank onto it. Staring into the fire, he asked, “Did I make a mistake, bringing my family to America?”
“Nej. It was not a mistake.”
He looked up. “I wonder.”
“Gunda! Vilhelm!”
Moving along the bank of the river was slow going. Dirk held the torch aloft as he stumbled through the deep snow. His exposed skin ached with the cold. If either of those kids were alive…
Behind him, Sven shouted their names again. “Gunda! Vilhelm!”
Dirk saw the faint flicker of two more torches moving along the opposite bank. He heard the other men’s shouts and wondered if they felt the same sense of despair he did.
“Gunda! Vilhelm!”
They couldn’t possibly feel the same. It wasn’t their sister-in-law out there, and only he had the image of Inga’s eyes etched in his mind, beseeching him not to let her down, not to fail.
He stopped suddenly. Had he heard something? “Gunda!”
“Here.” The voice was faint. “H-here I am.”
He looked behind him at Sven, then shouted, “Gunda!”
“Help m-me.”
Adrenaline surged as he pushed through the snow and underbrush, stumbling in his haste. “Keep talking, Gunda.”
“O-over here. I’m over h-here.”
Suddenly he saw her, lying on the bank between two tall trees. “There she is, Sven. I’ve found her.”
What happened next, no one would ever know for sure. One minute Dirk was rushing along the snow-covered bank of the river. The next minute his feet went out from under him and he was in the water, sinking fast.
The cold was unbelievable. He fought his way toward the surface, gasping for air when he broke through. He caught a glimpse of Sven’s torch, flailed his arms as he tried to haul himself in that direction. His coat and boots acted like anchors, and he felt his strength rapidly draining from him.
Inga.
Something hit him from behind. Pain exploded in his head, and he sank into a watery darkness.
“There is someone coming,” Olaf announced from the front entry. “I can see torches.”
Inga checked the mantel clock. An hour ago, Valdemar Dolk had taken the Bridger sleigh into Uppsala, carrying the other young folk home to their parents, along with the news about his brother and Gunda Linberg. He had promised to send the doctor back to the Bridger farm to be on hand for Vilhelm and Gunda. Inga expected Bjorn and Sonja Dolk and her own mamma to accompany Dr. Swenson, but this could not be them arriving so soon. Even if Valdemar had pushed the team of horses to the peak of their endurance, he would have made Uppsala no sooner than a quarter of an hour before.
“Dirk,” she whispered as she rose from her chair near the fire and hurried to join her father in the entry hall. To Olaf, she said, “They have found them, or else Dirk would not have returned.” She reached for her coat. “She will be all right. You will see, Pappa.”
“I want you to stay inside,” he replied.
“But—”
“Listen to me.” He put one hand on her shoulder. “Do not argue. You must wait inside.”
“Gunda will be all right. We have prayed for her safety. She will be well.”
Olaf’s skin was ashen. “We cannot know she is all right. That is up to God. Please, wait inside.”
Fear shivered up her spine as she realized he was equally afraid. “All right, Pappa. I will wait here.”
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat, then opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him. She heard him hail the driver. Waning moonlight followed him as he approached the sleigh that had come to a halt not far from the porch.
Please let Gunda be all right. And Vilhelm, too.
Blankets. They would need more blankets.
She rushed to get them, then hurried back to the front door just as it opened and Olaf carried Gunda into the house. Her sister lay utterly still in his arms.
“Pappa?” she whispered, lifting her gaze to meet his.
“She is alive,” he answered.
Inga had only a moment to feel relief before two more men—their clothing stiff and frozen—entered the house, carrying another man between them. Her view was partially blocked, but she assumed it must be Vilhelm. Then she recognized the coat.
Dirk!
She thought she had cried his name aloud, but no sound came out, terror having temporarily stolen her voice.
“Put him on the floor near the fire,” Olaf commanded. “Get him out of those wet things.”
She wasn’t sure how she got there. She couldn’t remember moving. But there she was, kneeling beside Dirk’s eerily still body. She laid her fingers against his icy cold cheek.
“He almost drowned,” Sven Gerhard said.
He looked as if he had drowned.
Inga leaned forward, put her ear near his nose, waited to feel his warm breath on her lobe. It was there. Barely.
“Dirk? Can you hear me?”
No reply. Not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
She took one of his cold hands between hers and began to rub. “You are going to be all right. Wake up, Dirk. Look at me. You are going to be all right.”
She heard the murmur of men’s voices from behind her, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Didn’t care what they were saying as she began to remove her husband’s damp and ice-covered clothing.
“Wake up. Look at me, kära du. You must look at me.”
I cannot lose him, God. He is my world. He is my everything. Do not take his life. Take me instead. Take anything I have. Anything! But do not take Dirk. Please save him. I will never ask for anything else if only you will spare his life. Please, oh please, spare his life.
When the last of his clothes had been tossed into a heap, she wrapped Dirk in several blankets, then resumed rubbing his hands and arms, feet and legs, attempting to bring warmth back to his limbs. Her father tried once to tell her to rest, to let him tend to her husband, but Inga refused his help. Dirk needed her, she insisted, and nothing would take her from his side. When he opened his eyes, she was going to be there. She was going to be the first person he saw.
In a voice so low only Dirk—if he were conscious—could have heard, she told him she loved him. She told him he was going to be a pappa. She commanded him to live. “We need you to live, Dirk,” she whispered, unaware of the tears streaking her cheeks. “Martha and Suzanne and the baby and me. We need you to live. Do not leave us this way. Not now. Not this way. On my word, I will never hold you to me or to this farm, but do not die. Just do not die.”
Dear Father, I will never ask for another thing if only you will spare him. I will not ask that he learn to love me. I will not ask that he forget his dreams and choose to stay with us. I will let him live the life he chooses without complaint. I swear it. Dear God, I swear it.
Gentle hands held her shoulders. Her mamma’s voice said, “Inga, come with me.”
She glanced up, surprised to find she wasn’t imagining it. Her mamma was there. So was Dr. Swenson.
“Come, Inga. Let the doctor tend to your husband.”
“But I—”
“Come with me, dearest. You are exhausted.”
“He cannot die.” Her throat hurt. “He cannot die. Do not let him die.”
“No. Of course not. Shh.” Bernadotte pulled her close in a tight embrace. “Of course not.”
“I love him so very much.”
“Of course you do.”
But her mamma didn’t understand. Couldn’t possibly understand. “I wanted too much,” she confessed. “I wanted too much.”
“What are you saying, darling? You are distraught. Come and lie down. You will feel better soon.”
Let him live, God, and I promise not to want for more
than what I have. I promise.
The apartment that was to be Mr. and Mrs. Karl Gustav’s home was a cold-water, third-story walk-up with two rooms. For furniture, there were two leather-seated ladder-back chairs, a small table with one uneven leg, and an even lumpier looking mattress than the one Thea had slept on at the rooming house. But they had been searching for hours, and this was the best they had found for the price they could pay.
Perhaps the place wouldn’t have seemed so dismal to Thea if her wedding hadn’t also been a disappointment. They had taken their vows in front of a dour-faced justice of the peace who, obviously, couldn’t have cared less about the young couple before him. There had been no gifts, no food, no music and dancing. There had been no one there to bless them and wish them well. No friends. No family. Just Thea and Karl.
Why had it seemed so romantic when she had imagined it all in her mind? Instead of romantic, it had felt rushed and shoddy and a little bit shameful.
Still, she reminded herself, she was married to Karl. That was all she had thought about for more than a year. He was going to make her happy.
After their landlady left, clutching the first week’s rent in her filthy hands, Karl shut the door and turned toward his bride. “We will find something better as soon as I am working at the factory.”
She nodded.
“I love you, Thea.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Karl.”
He moved toward her. “Are you afraid?”
“Nej,” she lied, while trying not to cry.
Vilhelm’s body was found the next morning, five miles downriver from the place of the accident. No one had expected to find him alive after a night in the subfreezing weather, but his death still came as a shock to his family and friends.
Gunda—bright, flirtatious, pretty Gunda—suffered from severe frostbite in her left leg. Dr. Swenson insisted Reverend and Mrs. Linberg take their daughter immediately to a surgeon he knew in Minneapolis, for he suspected amputation was the only course open if they were to save her life.
Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] Page 17
