Peder clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Keep up this reverie and we will consider including you two in a double wedding tomorrow.”
“Ah no,” Garth said with a laugh. “Just a young man’s dream. Maybe someday. But I’m afraid you’ll be the only Ramstad to marry for a while.” Garth turned his attention back to Elsa. “Carina is peaceful. But life with this Anders girl will be an adventure.”
Elsa smiled, feeling her blush climb again.
Peder placed a warm hand at the small of her back, and she glanced up at him, a bit shocked at his forwardness in public. “That is my hope,” he said. “To adventure forward with my wife beside me.”
“And I with you,” she said, relishing Peder’s words. After a quick glance around the yard, she stood on tiptoe to give him a surreptitious kiss.
Pastor Konur Lien and his wife, Amalia, greeted Kaatje, Soren, and each parishioner as they entered the spare sanctuary that doubled as a schoolhouse. They would return for the wedding tomorrow. Kaatje smiled, thinking of Elsa and Peder. They were a good match and would no doubt find much happiness in marriage.
Then her smile faded as she thought about her own marital life. Would she and Soren ever find their footing again? As they sat down on the wooden pews, Kaatje contemplated their own beginning. Two years ago, Soren had been her world and she seemed to be his. Out of all the young women who populated the cottages that surrounded Bergen on acres of rolling farmland, Soren had chosen her to be his wife. He had always been popular with the girls, and Kaatje’s heart had thrilled when she learned that he wanted to court her. In her naiveté, she never dreamed that she would not be the last.
Kaatje unconsciously placed her hand on her stomach and rubbed it in a small circle. She hated to leave the only home she had ever known, but farming here was an endless chore, with no hope of getting ahead. Most of the farmers she knew worked until they could do so no more, only to hand off most of their income to wealthy landowners who lived in the heart of the city, never appreciating the beauty of the land about them.
In America … in America, one could have a hundred and sixty acres as his own. Imagine that! They were giving it away and only expected the new Americans to do what she and Soren had always wanted to do: work their own soil. Kaatje sighed, finding hope again in their future. A hundred and sixty acres was bound to be a long way from any other women. Better yet, perhaps the other settlers would be male, going ahead of their wives and families to make a home out of a homestead.
The church service began with a hymn of hope and praise, led by Amalia Lien’s clear, sweet soprano and the pastor’s off-key, booming bass. Pastor Lien was in rare form today, clearly excited about their upcoming trip. Peder Ramstad had wisely sold Konur on the idea of immigration first, and Konur, in turn, had helped sell the idea to many of his congregation. Although they intended to split up into two groups, one heading to a place called Maine to work on a new shipyard, and the other to a place called North Dakota to work the land, they were leaving together in spirit. And that was bound to make them stronger.
“I know that my Redeemer lives … He lives to wipe away my tears; He lives to calm my troubled heart; He lives all blessings to impart.” Kaatje found strength in the words of the hymn as they sang two verses in Norwegian and two in English. She would focus on the hope of the future, the promise of her Redeemer. For in both, she would find her true happiness. Kaatje wiped away her tears as the congregation finished the hymn and sank once more to the hard benches.
“This morning, I want to introduce the new pastor to the congregation that will remain here. I am honored to present Pastor Maakestad, just arrived from Christiania.” The people applauded and wove their heads back and forth, trying to get a good look at the youthful man. He seemed terribly young in comparison to Konur’s fifty years, probably just out of seminary, Kaatje mused. She found comfort in the fact that the pastor who had baptized her as an infant would be going with them on their new venture. They would still be able to worship together in North Dakota!
As the new pastor spoke, Kaatje sensed the sorrow within the group. For half of them would be departing shortly, and the other half would remain. It was sad, but part of life, she supposed. Once again she wished her parents had lived to immigrate with her. It would not be nearly as hard. A pang of sorrow crossed her heart. Who would care for their graves? Who would go and talk to them? She sighed at her own foolish thoughts. She could still talk to them. They were as bound to hear her in America as they were in Bergen. And what did they care of their graves? They had gone on to paradise! Which was what North Dakota sounded like to her—nearly heaven.
She thought back on the American railroad pamphlets that Soren had brought home to study. According to the promises made within, one only had to set a seed down and it became a garden! How could they fail on land so fertile? Why, it sounded almost easy to grow an entire crop there!
Pastor Lien read from the Bible and then launched into his sermon on new beginnings. A new start, Kaatje thought. It would be like springtime—for both of them. She glanced up at Soren with a smile and saw his eyelids begin to droop as they customarily did in church. Setting her lips in a grim line, she gave him a swift jab in the ribs. That will do, she thought with satisfaction as he gave a soft “oof.” Yes, it would be a new start for them.
Tora was so relieved when church was over that she nearly ran down the aisle. She needed to get out in the fresh air, to think clearly, to lay her plans. She was almost at the door when she heard her friend Laila call her name. “Tora!”
She turned and searched the sanctuary for her school friend. The two looked very similar with their dark hair and sculpted faces. Many times people had mistaken them for sisters. A brief feeling of sorrow passed through Tora’s heart. She would miss Laila. But she dismissed the feeling right away. Laila was a poor milkmaid. She, Tora Anders, would be a great lady someday.
Laila reached her, her cheeks flushed a ruddy hue. “I have something to tell you!” she said excitedly, taking Tora’s hand.
Tora’s heart skipped a beat. She loved secrets, and judging from Laila’s face, there was much to tell. “Come on,” Tora said, pulling her around the group at the door and out, without greeting Pastor Lien and the new minister. “I have something to tell you too!”
They ran down the steps, as giddy as twelve-year-olds, and settled under a huge pine that bordered the yard. There, Laila turned toward her with big eyes. “I’ve been kissed!” she said.
Tora smiled, feeling wise and maternal. “Well, it’s high time, I’d say. Who was it?”
Laila’s face fell. “That’s the horrible part.”
Tora felt a shiver up her arm and grew more interested. “Who? Who is it?”
Laila’s eyes searched the courtyard and settled on Soren Janssen, talking with some other farmers. “Isn’t he … beautiful? I love his curly hair and those broad shoulders, and you should see the way he looks at me with those deep blue eyes!”
Tora watched the man along with Laila. Within seconds, he scanned the group congregating outside of church. When his gaze reached the two girls, his secret smile was meant for Laila. But Tora felt his eyes studying her too. Another shiver ran down her back, and she tossed her head as if even the idea of flirting with him was repugnant.
“He is leaving, Laila,” she said. “Besides, he’s married.”
“Yes, but I don’t think he loves Kaatje.” Her voice held such hope.
Tora scoffed at her naiveté. “Laila, he does love her. He just has a taste for more than one woman.”
The girl turned shocked eyes on her. “More than one? Is that possible? I thought he loved me!”
“No, dear,” she said, feeling all the condescension she heard in her own voice. “You were convenient, available. But he’s leaving in two days—with Kaatje.”
Laila’s face grew red as she held in the tears that pooled in her eyes. “But he said I was beautiful! Like a ripe peach!”
“Oh, you are beautiful, Lai
la,” Tora said, surprised by a sudden rush of empathy for her friend. “Someone else will discover you soon. You’ll see.”
Laila turned away as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and nodded quickly. “And what is your news?” she asked after a moment.
“I’m leaving on the Herald too,” Tora said softly. This time she boldly met Soren’s roving glance.
A church picnic followed services that day, honoring the immigrants and celebrating their last meal together as a congregation. Peder ate his meal as a guest of the Anders family and could not stop smiling at Elsa. “Mrs. Anders, that was a wonderful meal,” he said, settling back, full and satisfied. “I can only hope that my bride will be as good a cook as her mother.”
“Ah, pshaw.” Gratia Anders waved his praise away. “There is no cooking when it comes to this picnic. I think that even Tora could fix this sort of meal.”
The family laughed, and Tora, for once, simply smiled along. She was acting very amiable today, Peder thought, and was relieved. Elsa had told him the stir her younger sister was making about going with them, and he was worried. He didn’t want her on his hands. She was trouble from head to toe, that one. Not like his Elsa. His eyes were drawn to his beloved once again. What would it be like to hold her in his arms at last as a husband held his wife? Moreover, what would life be like with her day to day?
He popped another piece of flatbread in his mouth and stood. The other men were heading back into the building for their final meeting. In two days’ time, all these people would be aboard the Herald. As the captain, he would lead today’s meeting.
Before he joined them, Peder knelt and took Elsa’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “Tomorrow, my bride?”
She smiled and looked down prettily, and Peder’s heart swelled with pride. “Tomorrow, my groom,” she said, bravely meeting his gaze again. He stared into her eyes for a moment, hoping she could read his mind and be reassured by his thoughts. Like a flower, she was just beginning to bloom. What would she be like as a married woman and a mother? He hoped their children would inherit her intense blue eyes rather than his own muddy green.
Peder stood then and nodded to the other Anders women, then held out his hand to Amund. “Sir. Thank you for welcoming me into your family.”
“Glad to have you, my son. My daughter has chosen well.” Amund gripped his hand firmly for a moment longer than necessary and stared intently into his eyes. Peder had no problem reading his mind. Treat her well. I am entrusting her life to you.
Peder returned his future father-in-law’s gaze until the older man released his grip and looked away. One thing Leif Ramstad had always taught his sons: A man never looked away from a challenge. And Peder wanted Amund Anders to have faith in the man he had become. Peder knew that Elsa was Amund’s favorite daughter, although the man would never admit it. And he wanted both Amund and Gratia to have confidence that she would be safe and happy when they waved good-bye to her.
With one more tender smile toward Elsa, he turned on his heel and climbed the church steps. Inside, he walked the wood floor to the front, taking stock as the others moved to their seats. Of the people that would help build the American Ramstad Yard, there was Bjorn Erikson, Kristoffer Swenson, and Mikkel Thompson, all of whom had families. Of those who would make their way west to North Dakota, there was Soren Janssen—a man who troubled Peder—and Birger Nelson, a shepherd who would leave his sheep behind, but not his wife, Eira, a natural healer. Einar Gustavson was also a good, strong farmer. Nels and Mathias were young, single men who intended to make their way on the prairies of North Dakota, as did Nora Paulson, the teacher who had taught all the immigrants English. Together with the Liens, the children, and Karl Martensen, their group numbered twenty-one. Searching the crowd for Karl, he decided his friend must not be coming and began the meeting.
Sonje poured another cup of strong coffee for her son and herself as she gazed out the window. With Gustav still absent, she dared to speak openly.
“Your father,” she said, cocking her head toward the door as if visualizing him leaving again, “is afraid. He is afraid that he made the wrong decision in dishonoring God so long ago, but is too proud to admit it.”
“And you, Mother?” Karl asked quietly. “How could you turn your back on Christ?”
“I am a married woman, and I had to abide by your father’s decision.”
A rush of anger flowed through Karl. “How? I admire your respect for my father, but how? If you’ve seen the face of God, how can you turn your back?”
With wise eyes, Sonje studied her only child. “Like anything, it becomes easier with time. When I was a young woman …” her voice trailed away as she looked out the window. “It was harder. Gustav and I attended church each week. But then your father’s father came to live with us.”
“I remember him. A little.”
“Yes, you were quite young. I am surprised you remember him at all. In public, he said all the right things, but in private, he was a mean man who used the faith in evil ways. Even as an old man, he seemed bent on belittling your father, much as he had your grandmother. Poor dear. She was a wonderful woman. He destroyed her.”
“How?”
Sonje shook her head. “It is not my place to tell you specifics. But I will tell you that she had planted a seed of faith in Gustav that was just beginning to sprout in those early years with me. Away from his father, he could tend the garden—and I could see it.” Her eyes were cloudy with tears, as if she were witnessing a scene from their life twenty years past. “I could see that he was going to become a man with an impressive faith. It brought us ever closer.” A single tear dripped down her cheek and glistened in the window’s light. “And then your grandfather tore it all down. I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces ever since then—to hold us together as a family.”
Karl reached across the table and held her wrinkled hands in his own. “But Mother, you know it is not enough, do you not? I appreciate all you have done for me. But Christ calls constantly. Do you not hear him? Regardless of Father’s decision, you need to stand up for your faith. I don’t know much, but I do know that.”
His mother nodded, two trails of tears glistening now. “I know, Karl.” She removed her hands from his and padded to the window. Outside, Karl glimpsed his father, coming in for his noontime meal. “I’ve heard God calling me for some time now,” she said. “I guess I just needed time to gain strength for the fight.” She turned back to him. “For now, I will find solace in the fact that you have found God. Someday you must tell me how.”
“I will.”
“Was it Peder?” she dared ask, just as Gustav opened the door.
“In some ways,” Karl said, turning to face his glowering father.
“Are you still here?” Gustav thundered. “Out! At once! You are no longer welcome in my home.”
It is stunning,” Elsa said in gratitude, standing back from the altar and hooking an arm around each of her sisters.
Indeed, the church looked like a reflection of the hills that surrounded it, artfully decorated with wildflowers. There were the rosy red of heather, the purple of lupine, the gold of buttercups, and the white of daisies and caraway. Carina, dear Carina, had walked high into the hills to gather Elsa’s favorite, pink and purple fireweed. On either side of the altar was a small tree, mounted in a pail of sand, decorated with prestekrage, the white flowers that looked like Pastor Lien’s clerical collar. In each of the six windows stood a fat candle that Gratia Anders had hand dipped, with flowers all about them. Although it would be a morning wedding, as was traditional, Elsa had wanted candlelight.
“It is beautiful!” Carina exclaimed, clasping her hands.
Tora moved away, suddenly conscious that she was being friendly with a sister who had refused to help her. Elsa ignored her withdrawal, not wanting anything to shade the light of this day. The morning had begun with a traditional wedding breakfast, a hearty stew served to both the Anders and th
e Ramstads at the bride’s home. They had kept Peder blindfolded throughout, determined to keep him from seeing his bride until the wedding. He had laughed along with the rest, accepting help from his mother in feeding himself, yet had borne it all with a quiet dignity. Watching him had made Elsa’s stomach tighten and her hands shake, thinking of how beautiful her husband-to-be was, inside and out. Had she ever been as sure of anything as she was of him? Elsa thought not.
“Come,” Carina said gently, pulling at her younger sister’s hand. “We must get you home and dressed. The processional will begin very soon.”
Elsa nodded and walked out behind her sisters, then turned back once more to look at the sanctuary. She would leave now as an Anders. The next time, it would be as a Ramstad. “Thank you, God, for this happiness!” she whispered, elated. Nothing compared to the joy of this day.
At home, Carina and Tora hustled her into her bedroom and into the clothes that their mother had so lovingly laid out for her. Along with the rest of the wedding party and congregation, Elsa would wear her bunad, the traditional costume of Bergen. But as befit a grown woman, she would wear her hair in a graceful chignon instead of a long braid, along with her great-grandmother’s wedding cap—worn by her grandmother and mother before her—and the wedding brooches passed down through her family.
She giggled as Carina pinned yet another sølje to her vest, making six in all. “It’s a bit gaudy, don’t you think?”
“Nonsense,” Carina said gently. “It befits a bride to wear all the special jewelry she can get her hands on.” Elsa shifted in her chair, and the tiny gold and silver streamers from each pin jingled softly against the pewter buttons of her vest.
“There, you see?” Carina said. “It sounds like bells from heaven, far, far away.”
Tora snorted from her perch on the bed. “You mind your manners, Tora Anders,” Gratia said, shaking a brush at her youngest. “This is Elsa’s day, and I do not want you to put a damper on it.”
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 3
