Mamma looked puzzled. “Universal suffrage? What is that?”
“Voting, Mamma,” Kristin broke in. “It means everyone who is a citizen of the United States can vote, women as well as men.”
Mamma turned to Sigrid. “Thank you, but I have no wish to vote. Politics, government, laws … those are a man’s concern, not a woman’s.”
“They should be a woman’s, too.”
“Why? Will being able to vote help me maintain a cleaner house? Bake lighter cakes? Care for my husband and daughter?”
Sigrid looked thoughtful. “Don’t you see, Fru Swensen, if laws are unjust, they hurt your family. If politicians are stupid or greedy, they also hurt your family.”
Mamma raised her chin stubbornly. “I told you, my husband is the one who studies the issues and protects the family through his vote.”
Kristin expected Sigrid to best Mamma with a powerful argument, but instead she smiled and leaned back in her chair. “One of our difficulties in persuading the legislature to give women the vote is that there are many women who think as you do, Fru Swensen.”
Mamma looked surprised but gratified. “And rightly so,” she answered.
Sigrid stood and nodded to Mamma and to Kristin. “This has been a very pleasant afternoon for me. Thank you for your kind hospitality. Tack för i dag!”
“And thank you for your most enjoyable visit and for the delicious pepparkaka,” Mamma said.
She bade good-bye to her guest inside the front door, but Kristin followed Sigrid out to the buggy. “Thank you for lending me the book,” she said, “and no matter what Mamma said, I do want to read about Susan B. Anthony.”
“Only with your parents’ permission,” Sigrid said.
“But they may not give permission,” Kristin complained.
Sigrid smiled and slowly shook her head. “I hope you’ll obey your parents’ wishes and try to be patient. As I told you before, change takes time.”
Johan had told her the same thing, but Kristin sighed and said, “It’s hard to be patient.”
“Think about Susan B. Anthony. She has worked for women’s rights since she was a young woman, and many women have worked with her, but we still do not have the right to vote.”
“If only women like Mamma—”
“Respect your mother’s opinions. You want her to respect yours.”
Kristin smiled. “You’re right, Sigrid. I want everything to change immediately—today if possible.”
Sigrid climbed into the buggy and picked up the reins. “I’ve heard that Anna Shaw is coming to Minneapolis to speak. When a date is set, I’ll invite both you and your mother to come visit me and hear her. In the meantime I’ll see you at Midsommarfest.”
It would be no use, Kristin thought, sick with disappointment. Not only would Mamma never agree to go to the lecture in Minneapolis with her, but Pappa would refuse to allow either of them to go. She watched the buggy until it was out of sight, then hurried into the house to help Mamma with preparations for dinner.
It was during the meal that Mamma told Pappa about Sigrid Larson’s visit. A scowl darkened his face, and as though Kristin were not with them at the table, he said, “We do not want Kristin associating with this Fröken Larson. I have been told about her. She is a great embarrassment to her sister, Fru Dalquist, because of her outlandish ideas about men and women, and Kristin seems overly receptive to ideas of this sort.”
“Pappa,” Kristin tried to explain, but he raised a hand, palm out, a signal to be silent.
“There is no room for discussion,” he said.
“You used to discuss things with me.”
“You see,” Mamma broke in. “When she was young, you gave her too much freedom. I told you at the time that nothing good would come of it.”
Pappa shrugged and frowned. “A few fishing trips, working together with the animals …”
“From the beginning she should have been raised as a daughter, not as a son.”
“What’s done is done,” Pappa said. He turned to Kristin. “Nothing more will be said about Fröken Larson in this house.”
“But the book about government …”
“When I have time, I will read the book and decide if it is appropriate reading for you.”
Kristin stared at her plate, too angry to eat. Pappa might stop her now, but he couldn’t stop her forever. Just wait, Pappa! she thought. I’ll show you what I can do!
CHAPTER NINE
KRISTIN was still angry as she finished washing the dishes. She hung the damp towels over a rack to dry, then slipped out the kitchen door, striding down the path to the lake. The sky was still light, a silvered blue that shimmered over long, bright evenings.
She walked down to the shore, hugging her arms and thinking how unfair her father had been. She wanted to read the book Sigrid had brought her! She had a right to!
A twig snapped in the forest behind Kristin, startling her. As a branch scraped softly against another branch, she whirled around, her heart pounding, and demanded, “Who’s there?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Johan said as he pushed aside a tree limb and stepped out of the woods. He pulled a fishing pole free, examining it carefully.
“Fishing in the woods?” Kristin could hear the remnants of fear still in her voice and she tried to cover it with a joke. “Have the bass and muskie taken to the trees?”
“They may have, because I’ve been fishing along the west shore and haven’t been able to find them.” Johan gave a wave of one hand toward the promontory behind him, adding, “I didn’t want to get my feet wet, so I cut across the land. This cove is a pretty good place to fish.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Often enough,” he said. “So do a couple of my friends. I know this is your father’s land, but we’ve used this spot for years. I hope he doesn’t mind.”
Kristin, remembering her dip in the pool, turned warm from the top of her head to her toes. There was no question about it—she had lost her right to enjoy cooling off in the lake. She had no rights—not even the right to read a book about something as innocent as a country’s government. A woman had no rights at all.
“Johan,” Kristin blurted out, “that Methodist singing school you told me about … I want to go.”
He raised his head, surprised. “When we talked about it, I thought you were teasing.”
“I was then … a little, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go. You said they meet every Wednesday evening, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The word was drawn out, reluctant.
“Then take me to the singing school. Please?”
“Kristin, I told you our pastor doesn’t approve.”
“What does that matter? The Methodists aren’t going to harm us.” When Johan didn’t answer immediately, she said in challenge, “Are you afraid of what will happen if we should get caught?”
Johan hesitated for just an instant before he replied, “You’re not afraid of anything, are you, Kristin?”
When Kristin didn’t answer, Johan asked, “What will your parents say?”
“I won’t ask them,” she answered, and wished the sudden uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach would go away. “I’ll just tell them that I’m going for a ride with you.”
“All right, Kristin,” Johan said. “If you really want to go, I’ll come for you around six-thirty.”
As he walked off, following the path around the lake, Kristin heard him mumble, “There’s nothing wrong with singing. And going to another church to sing—not to pray of course—well, what’s the harm in that?”
Thoroughly miserable and wishing tomorrow night would never come, Kristin slapped away the mosquitoes that had gathered in the damp night air and hurried up the path to her house.
Pappa left early Wednesday morning with the promise to return by Saturday evening. It wasn’t until supper was finished that Kristin told her mother she’d be going out riding with Johan to visit some friends. Embarrassed
by the knowing look on her mother’s face, Kristin wanted to insist, You’re wrong—it isn’t like that, but she couldn’t say anything at all.
In her room she washed her face, neck, and upper body with the cool water she poured into the china bowl, then dressed in the plain, dark brown dress she usually wore to church on Sundays. She wished she didn’t have to go to the singing school. Oh, how much she wished she didn’t have to go! But when she heard Johan’s knock on the door, her heartbeat quickened, and she hurried down the stairs to meet him.
“I’ll bring Kristin home between nine-thirty and ten o’clock,” Johan told Mamma.
Kristin, unable to meet her mother’s eyes, turned and followed Johan to his father’s buggy, allowing him to help her inside and drive out to the road before she said a word.
“If you’ve changed your mind …” she murmured.
“I haven’t,” he said, and turned to look at her. “Have you?”
Kristin gulped. “No.”
“If you’re afraid—”
“I am not afraid.” Kristin sat up a little straighter and stared directly ahead.
On the way to the church Johan talked about family members Kristin hadn’t met. He had two cousins and an uncle who worked in the lumber mills during the winter months. Kristin didn’t tell him this was her father’s plan, too. It was too difficult to talk.
When they arrived at the Methodist church meeting room, however, her mood changed. Johan introduced her to Will, his friend, and Will saw to it that Kristin met everyone in the group.
“Do you know many of the latest songs?” Will asked.
Kristin giggled. “I know the words to ‘Yankee Doodle.’ I learned it on the ship coming to America.”
A plump girl, as blond as Jenny, handed Kristin a song sheet and said, “That song is as old as the United States itself. People sang it during the Revolutionary War. We can teach you songs everyone’s singing today.”
Kristin was delighted to see that most of the songs on the sheet were written in English.
A tall, long-legged boy had brought a fiddle, and a small, shy girl named Alice took charge of the piano.
Will, who was the song leader, announced, “Let’s start with ‘In the Good Old Summertime,’ ” and Kristin turned to smile at Johan, whispering, “Won’t they be surprised that you know the words?”
Johan smiled back, and Kristin was glad to see he was already enjoying himself. She joined in the singing with enthusiasm.
A few hymns were sung. They were unfamiliar to Kristin, but she sat with the others, smothering an uncomfortable guilt that she was participating in prayer that wasn’t strictly Lutheran and glad that Pastor Holcomb would never know.
Kristin was surprised when nine o’clock arrived and the singing school was over.
“Come back next week,” people called to her as she left with Johan.
“Do you want to?” he asked as he took the reins and guided the horses to the roadway.
She looked up at him. “You’d bring me here if I said yes, wouldn’t you?”
Johan nodded, and Kristin, still filled with the fun and the friendship of the evening, reached over and placed a hand over his. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I had a wonderful time, but tonight was enough.”
“I understand,” he said. “You had to prove to yourself you could do it.”
Indignantly Kristin pulled back her hand. “I was not trying to prove anything to myself!”
“Yes, you were. And this wasn’t the first time.”
“If you’re referring to my Sunday-school class—”
“That was just part of it.”
“The men’s clothes—that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? They were the only things I could put on. And the lake—”
“What about the lake?”
“Nothing,” Kristin said quickly. “What I mean is, I’m not trying to prove anything to myself. I just want to be able to do all the things that men do.”
“I can accept that,” Johan said.
Kristin’s mouth dropped open, and it took her a moment to collect her thoughts. “Do you mean you think that women should have the same rights men do?”
“I guess I do,” Johan answered, “because I can’t think of a good reason why they shouldn’t.” He glanced at Kristin and smiled. “It’s getting cool. Aren’t you chilly sitting way over there?”
Kristin slid toward Johan, moving close as he put an arm around her shoulders. “You wouldn’t object if women won the right to vote?”
“Not if that’s what they want.”
Encouraged, Kristin said, “Someday I’m going to go to Minneapolis and work for women’s suffrage.”
Johan chuckled. “That’s fine,” he said, “if you haven’t got anything better to do.”
Kristin sighed. Johan didn’t understand, after all, but at least his attitude was better than Pappa’s. The night was cool, but Johan’s arm was warm, and his shoulder was strong. She snuggled even closer.
How Pastor Holcomb found out, Kristin couldn’t imagine. Although he didn’t mention her by name, he thundered from the pulpit about the dangers of attending activities organized by the Methodists. “It is more than simply taking part in such frivolities,” he said. “It’s important that our young people not dilute the Lutheran church in America by associations that could lead to marriage with those of other faiths.”
“I am considering the fact,” he added with a quick scowl in Kristin’s direction, “that one of our two young people who attended the Methodist singing school could possibly be unaware of our ways, but there will be no excuse in the future for involving herself or others in detrimental pursuits.”
There was a rustle in the pew behind Kristin, and she heard Clara whisper her name. Of course everyone would know who Pastor Holcomb was talking about, just as everyone seemed to know about her Sunday-school disaster. Kristin squirmed in her seat, wishing she could slide under the pew and disappear.
Mamma sat stiffly beside her, staring straight ahead, and Kristin imagined that she and Pappa would have a great deal to discuss with her once they were on the way home.
Directly after services, however, Jenny and some of the girls Kristin had met clustered around her.
“You didn’t!” Jenny squealed with delight.
“Who went with you?” Minnie asked.
Jenny nudged Ida with an elbow. “Johan Olsen. Isn’t that obvious, the way he looks at her?”
Kristin stared down at her toes. “I’m sorry it happened. It was all my fault. I didn’t think Johan and I would get into trouble. I didn’t think Pastor Holcomb would find out.”
Josie spoke with an older, superior attitude. “What it comes down to is that you didn’t think at all.”
Fru Berglund joined the group, clapping a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she glanced at Kristin with disapproval. “Jenny,” she said, “will you come with me, please? I could use your help in getting our food on the table.”
The twins’ mother called to them, and the other girls—expecting the same from their mothers—left Kristin. She hurried to join her parents, realizing too late that they were in conversation with Johan and his parents. The conversation broke off abruptly as they saw Kristin.
Her face burning with embarrassment, Kristin quickly said, “The blame is all mine, and I’m sorry, Fru Olsen, Herr Olsen. I asked Johan to take me to the singing school. I didn’t mean to get him into trouble.”
To her surprise Herr Olsen smiled. “Don’t be distressed, Kristin, and don’t take the blame on yourself. The responsibility lies with Johan. It’s up to a young man to know what is proper or improper to do.”
“I asked him to take me. He was only trying to please me.”
“I imagine he was.” Kristin couldn’t believe it when Herr Olsen chuckled and glanced at her father. At least not everyone in the parish disapproved of what she had done.
Pappa said, “You and Johan have both apologized to us, and once you have made your peace with
Pastor Holcomb, the episode need not be referred to again.”
“And it will not be repeated,” Mamma said quietly. The look she gave Kristin was one that meant business.
Herr Olsen patted his stomach. “Enough of this talk,” he said. “I, for one, am hungry. Why don’t the Swensens join the Olsen family and share a meal?”
Fru Olsen and Mamma began to open baskets, shake out tablecloths, and set out the platters and bowls they had brought, while their husbands stood to one side, watching in anticipation.
As the younger Olsen children ran past them to the table, Kristin looked up at Johan and whispered, “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have involved you, and I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “My only problem is that some of my friends are jealous of me. Besides being an exciting girl, you’re very pretty, Kristin.”
She brushed off the compliment with a quick shake of her head. “I’m also an outcast,” she said.
“You won’t be for long. It’s just the mothers’ way of teaching their daughters a lesson. People like you. They just don’t approve of what you did. You’ll find they’re quick to forgive and forget.”
Resentment stung like the prick of a needle. Kristin said, “I did nothing to any of them. There’s nothing to forgive.” She turned so that her back was to the Berglund family, seated at a table a short distance away. “Besides, it makes no difference what any of them thinks of me. I don’t care.”
She hoped Johan couldn’t see in her face how much she really did care.
There was no meeting scheduled for the Young People’s Society, so Kristin played with the youngest Olsen child—two-year-old Tilde—who finally fell asleep on Kristin’s lap. Tilde was warm and snuggly, and as Kristin held her close, she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with brothers or sisters. For the first time she allowed herself to think about the babies Mamma had lost. They would have been her older brothers—tall and strong like Johan. She had never known them, had never even known about them until now. For an instant the full realization of their loss was almost too painful to bear.
Fru Olsen broke into Kristin’s thoughts by sending Johan to find Carl, his twelve-year-old brother. “Whenever that boy is out of sight, I know he’s getting into mischief,” Fru Olsen scolded, but Kristin could hear the love and pride in her voice.
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 33
