by Amanda Boone
A knock at the front door startled the pair, and they both shot their eyes to the foyer. Desperate for a reprieve from the conversation, Elise shouted that she would get it a bit louder than she had anticipated.
There stood Lars, his blue eyes sparkling as always. With a grin, he waved an envelope before her and said, “I believe this is what you were looking for.”
“Thank you,” she replied, taking the letter from him. Sure enough it was from Bridget. “Do you want to visit for a while?”
“I wish I could, but I don’t have time. I’ll return this evening.”
“All right.”
Without another word, Lars strode down the steps and off the property before Elise moved to the rocking chair on the wooden porch. Excited about the prospect of returning to New York City for a wedding, she ripped into the envelope and read the letter. Her heart dropped. Bridget wasn’t getting married after all? She had found her fiancé in the bed of another woman and had called off the wedding.
Now what? Elise wondered. She had been looking forward to a trip to New York City to see her friend, but Bridget said that she was not in the mood for visitors yet. Should she postpone her trip, or should she cancel it? A letter to Bridget should answer that question, and she went to her room to write one.
Chapter 3
Elise didn’t realize how much she would miss Lars. He’d been gone for two weeks now, and she was about as lonely as she had been when her father died. With no siblings nor aunts or uncles in the United States, she had gone to an orphanage. Plenty of children lived there, but none her age. There were no prospective parents for a teenage girl, so she had lived her life in relative solitude, despite taking care of younger children. At eighteen, she was forced out of the orphanage.
With a sigh, Elise collapsed onto the porch swing to read another letter from Bridget. Although the wedding had been canceled, Bridget’s missive sounded upbeat. After having some time to put things in perspective, she realized that she was lucky to have found out about her fiancé’s infidelity. She was better, Bridget told her in the letter, but she still wasn’t ready for Elise to come visit.
Disheartened by the news, Elise sat on the porch swing, absently pushing herself back and forth with her feet. It was Friday evening, and Stina and her year-younger sister Karin were off at another party. The younger children were in bed. Elise could have gone to the party, but she didn’t want to attend alone.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Bengtson asked from the doorway.
“I’m fine,” Elise replied. “I’m just a little lonely with Lars gone. I’ll get over it.”
“You should have gone to the party tonight.” Mrs. Bengtson, Elise had noticed, spent a great deal of time on her sentences, usually avoiding words with letters she had difficulty pronouncing. “You could meet anudder man.”
“I’m not ready to meet another man, Mrs. Bengtson. I think I want to wait until I’m done missing Lars. I’m afraid I will expect all men to be like him.”
“He is special—very kind and smart.”
“Very smart. He should have gone to school longer. He could have been anything he wanted, even a doctor. I simply don’t understand why he wants to be a lumberjack.”
“I did not tink you cared for him as much as it seems,” Mrs. Bengtson said as she joined Elise on the swing.
“He was a good friend, but I wasn’t interested in marriage,” Elise admitted. “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss him, though. He was always available if I wanted a friend, so it’s like part of my family has gone away—again. I’m getting tired of losing loved ones, even if that loved one is just a dear friend.”
Mrs. Bengtson took Elise’s hand in one hand and patted it with the other. “Are you sure you could not marry him?”
Bowing her head, Elise stared at their hands. Mrs. Bengtson was the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother, and maybe confiding in her would help ease her distress.
“I don’t know anymore, Mrs. Bengtson,” Elise admitted. “Before he left, I wasn’t interested in him like that. Now that he’s gone, though, I miss him. Maybe I do love him more than I thought.”
“You should follow him.”
Elise shot her startled gaze to Mrs. Bengtson, and the woman laughed as she patted Elise’s hand again. How could Stina’s mother possibly think that she should follow Lars to California? Lars had never proposed marriage; he had never even indicated that’s why he was seeing her. To follow him without even knowing if he wanted her, to seemed ridiculous, even foolhardy.
“I followed …” Mrs. Bengtson hesitated a moment as though looking for the right word. Then she continued in Swedish. “min man … to America.”
“But as you say, he is your husband. That’s entirely different than following a suitor who has moved across the country without even giving you a hint of wanting more than a friendship.”
“He vill vant you to yoin him. You vill see.”
With those words, Mrs. Bengtson rose and bid Elise a gott natt as she went into the house. Elise absently responded with her own good night as she toyed with Bridget’s letter.
So Mrs. Bengtson thought she should go after Lars. Was that something she should consider without an invitation from him? He might have already found someone else and might not want her there.
Elise had probably saved enough money to make the trip in the ease of a sleeper car on the train. In fact, she had saved almost every penny she had earned from the Bengtsons. They had provided her room and board, as well as paying her a healthy salary to teach their family English, so the children could go to an American school. She had no reason to spend her money, except on incidentals and a few dresses she had wanted.
The children didn’t need her so much now, and she was getting bored. Yes, she helped around the house and with the cooking, but she had discovered that she loved teaching. Maybe she could set up classes where she taught all newly-arrived Swedes—and there were a lot of them lately. Most of them didn’t understand English, so she could probably earn a little money while doing something she loved.
Before she had time to delve deeply into the idea, however, Elise received a letter from Lars.
My dear Elise,
Life without you is very lonely. I miss you very much. I wanted to ask you to join me here, but I wasn’t sure what conditions would be and didn’t want to burden you.
It is not wonderful here, like in Bishop Hill, but it isn’t terrible, either. Forestville, where I am living, is dry right now, but I understand the rains will come this winter. Here, it doesn’t get very cold, according to the men I’ve spoken with. Nor does it get terribly hot in the summer. I think you would like the weather.
The life of a lumberjack is hard. We work long hours, but I do enjoy the work. And when work is done, we want to enjoy ourselves. There is a saloon here, with the prostitutes that go with it, but I have never been a drinking man. I don’t frequent the saloon.
I’m not the only man in this company town who is lonely. There are very few women here. Some of the men are even trying to find one of those mail-order bride catalogs or newspapers. They are desperate for female companionship. The only women here are already married or prostitutes—and the prostitutes are few for the number of men. Then there are those of us who prefer the company of a lady.
We could also use a translator. Many of these men are from Sweden and don’t understand much English. You would probably make a lot of money teaching them.
Please come to Forestville, Elise. I need you more than I ever imagined I would. And if you can find women who would join you on the journey, please bring them, as well.
That’s one reason for this letter—a kind of mail-order bride letter, I suppose. We want ladies willing to marry us. I hope one of those women will be you.
Forever yours,
Lars Olson
Chapter 4
Elise stared at the letter after rereading it. Lars had said nothing about loving her. How could she possibly go to Forestville, Californi
a, if she didn’t know where her life would lead? At least, here she had a place to live and people she knew. There it would just be Lars, nobody else, at least for a while.
Mail-order brides, indeed, she thought. Aloud, she said, “I wouldn’t want any man so desperate.”
“Why do you say that?” Stina asked as she mounted the steps.
Startled, Elise watched Stina sit down in the rocking chair before she answered with a question to change the subject. “Where have you been?”
“I took a walk over to the general store to talk to Sven.”
“Did you buy anything?”
“No,” Stina said. “Now, stop changing the subject. Why do you say that you wouldn’t want a man so desperate? And desperate for what?”
“I got a letter from Lars today.”
Stina’s eyes brightened at the notion. “What did he say?”
“He misses me,” Elise admitted, her voice without emotion.
“That’s all?” Stina prompted. “Does he like where he’s living? Does he like his job? Are there a lot of people there? Or is it a small town like Bishop Hill?”
Unable to remain somber, Elise grinned at her enthusiasm. That was Stina, though, always happy and eager to know everything she could about the world.
“Yes, Stina, he likes it there. He says that he likes his job, even though it’s hard work, with long hours.”
“I know he was your suitor, but I miss him, too. People were always laughing when he was around. Did he say what it’s like there?”
Elise handed Stina the letter to read herself. When Stina finished, she looked up at Elise with an excited expression and said, “He wants you to go to this place in California. He wants you to be with him.” She paused a moment before she exclaimed, “He wants you to bring friends! Do you mind if I go?”
“I would think that would be your parents’ decision, not mine,” Elise said with a smile. “What about all of your suitors in Bishop Hill?”
“I am not interested in marrying them, and I would love to go to California. I heard in school that it’s warm there all year long.”
“It doesn’t sound like it is where he is.”
“I don’t care. I would still like to go. There are many men there, different men than we have here. Would you take me with you, Elise? Please?”
“Do you really want a man who is so desperate for a woman that he would look for one in a newspaper or catalog—or brought in by a friend for that purpose?”
“Just because they’re desperate doesn’t mean they aren’t good men. They might make fine husbands.”
Elise considered Stina’s words as she fiddled with the edges of the envelope in which the letter came. Stina had a valid point. These men, whoever they were and wherever they came from, could be just as good as the men in Bishop Hill or nearby Galva or even Galesburg or New York. It didn’t matter where they came from; it mattered that they were just as deserving of love as any other man.
What the heck, Elise thought. Why not take a chance? I might just find love.
“If your parents are willing to let you go, and if they’ll fund your trip, I’ll take you.”
“You’re going?” Stina asked in excitement.
“Why not? Your parents and mine all took a long trip without guarantees of happiness and found it. There’s no reason we shouldn’t, unless your parents say no, of course.”
Two weeks later, Elise, Stina, and Karin boarded the Rock Island Line in Galesburg to begin a new, uncertain future in Forestville, California.
***
The train ride from Galesburg to Omaha, Nebraska, was an adventure of its own. They had crossed into Iowa, not even sixty miles away, when the train stopped unexpectedly. They were barely out of Davenport when a loud bang shook the vehicle.
Karin Bengtson grabbed hold of her seat and clung on as if the train would derail, and other female passengers released screams. But Elise knew that a derailment wouldn’t happen in this case. It sounded more like something had happened to the boiler on the locomotive.
When the train came to a halt and calm returned, the conductor came through the passenger car and let everyone know that it was safe to get up and move around. Unfortunately, he explained, they had engine issues, which should be fixed within the hour if they could get a part at the Rock Island Line exchange across the Mississippi River in Rock Island, Illinois.
The repairs, however, took two hours, and they weren’t back on the move until nearly three hours later. Once they were going again, the trip to Omaha, Nebraska, was uneventful.
In Omaha, they bought tickets for the Union Pacific Railroad for the next day since that day’s train had already left. After a night’s sleep in a nearby hotel, the trio boarded the Union Pacific and made their way to the Pullman car, where they had two long, padded seats facing each other. At night, the conductor came around and pulled down a bed from the wall, and made up the lower and upper bunks. The sisters took the bottom, and Elise climbed into the top bunk each night.
During the days on the trip, Elise marveled at the variety of scenery they passed. Acre upon acre of wheat fields and cattle ranges lined the tracks in Nebraska, while Wyoming melted into cattle and horse ranches and mountains in the distance.
At Ogden, Utah, they changed trains again, this time to the Central Pacific Railroad. This train took them across the upper part of Utah into California and on to San Francisco.
After spending a couple of days exploring the city, Elise, Stina and Karin boarded a stagecoach for their final leg of their journey—to Forestville, California, and the logging community.
On the stage, Elise’s nervousness increased steadily. What would happen when they reached their final destination? Would Lars be there waiting for their arrival? She had told him when they would be arriving, but she hadn’t received a response to her letter before they’d left Bishop Hill. She wasn’t even sure he knew they were coming, because sometimes the mail was pretty slow.
“You okay, Elise?” Karin asked.
“The people in your family ask me that question a lot,” Elise replied, trying her best to be cheerful. “I’m fine.”
“She’s nervous,” Stina added.
“You two have learned English far too well. I can’t keep any secrets from you like I could your parents.”
Stina and Karin laughed, and Stina retorted, “We had a very good teacher.”
“That’s right,” Karin said. “You have only yourself to blame.”
But Elise couldn’t shake the notion that they weren’t expected at the company town, as Lars called it. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she assumed that some company owned it, probably a logging or mill company given the industry there. What would they do if Lars had changed his mind about their joining him in Forestville?
Forestville, Elise thought as she turned her gaze out the window. What an appropriate name for the town. She’d never seen such large trees. They seemed to reach heaven in some places.
“Have you ever seen trees to tall?” Stina asked in amazement.
“Never,” Elise replied. “I wonder what kind they are. We’ll have to make it a point to ask Lars.”
Elise turned her gaze back out the window. In the distance she saw some men working on one of the enormously tall trees. The massive trunk had a large wedge cut out of it, large enough for two men to lie down in, head to foot, and still not fill the space. Four men chopped away at the wood with axes that looked like mere hammers against the tree. Two other men worked with a saw that had to be more than fifteen feet long. Unable to believe how hard that work must be, Elise watched them, awed by their stamina.
From the other side of the coach, a man’s shout echoed through the air. “Timber!” She looked out the opposite window in time to see a gigantic tree crash to the ground, its sound reverberating throughout the area.
“Forestville is about ten minutes from here!” the driver announced loudly.
In an instant, Elise forgot the trees. She almost panicked. In on
ly a few minutes, she would know if they’d come all this way for nothing. If only she’d waited until she heard from Lars again before she’d made these plans and left Bishop Hill.
Chapter 5
Much to Elise’s dismay, Lars Olson was nowhere in sight when the women arrived in Forestville. Elise looked down the street to see if he was coming, but all she saw was a church, a general store, a livery stable, and a silversmith’s shop.
She looked the other way. At that end of the street sat a large mill, its waterwheel moving slowly through the river beside it. Several other buildings lined the short street, but no one even looking like Lars came out of them. Where could he be?
A tall man in a plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow, a pair of suspenders on his pants, and a wide-brimmed hat approached them.
“Elise?” he asked the trio.
Elise gazed up into a pair of blue eyes, the shade unlike any she’d ever seen. “I’m Elise.”
“I am Mauritz Sten,” he said in a thick Swedish accent. “Lars Olson sent me.”
“Underbar!” Wonderful, but she used Swedish so he would know that she spoke it. She introduced her traveling companions by pointing to each as she said the name. “This is Stina Bengtson, and this is Karin Bengtson.”
“Dere is a house ready for you,” he told them. “Ve vill go dere.”
“Tack.” Thank you.
By now, the stagecoach driver had taken their bags from the top of the wagon and set them on the boardwalk. After Elise told him in Swedish which ones were theirs, he picked up the largest of the six small bags and tucked it under his arm. Then he picked up two large bags, and the young women each took one.
They followed him through the streets of Forestville until they reached a small house about three blocks away. There he mounted the steps to the front door and set the bags on the porch. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and opened it for the trio.
“Tank,” they chorused as they entered the small house.
