Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Fru Olsen, Mamma, Fru Berglund—they reminded Kristin of the barnyard hens scurrying to throw protective wings over their chicks.

  She smiled, and Fru Olsen appraised her with sharp eyes. “Kristin,” she said, “do you like to do needlework?”

  Kristin hesitated, then tried to avoid a direct answer. “From the time Mamma taught me, she demanded only the tiniest of stitches.”

  “It is good to be a skilled seamstress,” Fru Olsen said. She pointed to the empty bowls on the table. “I hope you’re also as good a cook as your mother is.”

  Kristin knew her answer would sound as though she were being modest, but unfortunately it was the truth. “I could never be as good a cook as Mamma is. I can only copy her wonderful recipes.”

  Fru Olsen nodded, apparently pleased with Kristin’s answer. Two of her children ran to her, tugging at her sleeves and noisily demanding she settle a squabble. By the time she had scolded them both and rendered a firm decision, Mamma had changed the subject to the Midsommarfest, and the two women were off on this interesting subject.

  Kristin was glad to have escaped any further questioning. Maybe she could be a better cook if she really tried, but did she have to be—just because she was a woman?

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALTHOUGH Pappa was filled with good spirits on the ride home, Mamma was quiet, and from the moment she entered the house and changed from her church clothes to a simple cotton dress, she bustled about the kitchen, banging pots and pans as though she were angry.

  “I’ve really upset Mamma,” Kristin told her father. “I’d better talk to her and tell her how sorry I am.”

  Pappa smiled as though he knew a secret joke. “Why don’t you go for a little walk?” he asked. “Mamma and I need to talk.”

  Worried, Kristin asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Even better than all right,” Pappa answered. “Now, run along, Kristin. I want to talk to your mother.”

  Kristin strolled down to the lake, breathing in the fragrance of sun-soaked grass, the sweet-sharpness of clover in bloom, and the perfume of tart wild strawberries, which were tucked under scraggly leaves in the shady, sandy patches near the path. The lake lay still in the warm, sluggish air, with barely a ripple to break its surface. The cove was a silent, lonely place, and Kristin wished she had someone to talk to—Jenny, maybe, or Johan. She didn’t like feeling so left out, so terribly alone.

  She waited at least a half hour before returning home and entered the kitchen door timidly calling, “Hello?”

  “We’re in the parlor,” Mamma called in return, and Kristin was relieved to hear the usual no-nonsense strength in Mamma’s voice.

  Kristin found her parents looking through a box of papers and photographs.

  “Our wedding picture,” Pappa said, and handed it to Kristin.

  She had seen it before. Her parents, looking very young, were seated at least two feet apart on straight-backed kitchen chairs on the lawn in front of Mormor’s house. Mamma wore a small, round hat perched on top of her head and a high-necked, long-sleeved dark dress with a tiny pinched-in waist and ruffles around the hem of the skirt. Pappa looked uncomfortable in a stiff collar and a dark wool suit. Neither of them smiled as they held very still for the camera’s long exposure, but they both had pleased expressions on their faces.

  “That was a very happy day,” Pappa said. “I won the most beautiful girl in Dalarna Province for my wife.”

  Mamma chuckled. “It was a happy day for both of us. I have always been glad that my parents arranged our betrothal.”

  “Always?” Kristin asked. “Even when you had disagreements or when Pappa decided to do something you didn’t want to do, like coming to America, or—”

  “Always,” Mamma repeated. “Disagreements can be settled, problems can be worked out. Two people caring about each other enough to go through life together—that is what brings happiness.”

  “And children that come from a marriage,” Pappa added. “Children bring happiness.”

  Kristin thought of the soft, warm bundle called Tilde Olsen, and she smiled. “I guess they do,” she said.

  “You and I, Kristin,” Mamma said, “are going to make up for a great deal of lost time. There is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to make cakes as light as any in Great Rock Lake. And with practice your weaving and embroidery can improve. You can make up your mind to learn, can’t you?”

  So that’s why Mamma had been upset, Kristin thought. She’d been embarrassed by Kristin’s half-truths to Fru Olsen. “Yes, Mamma,” Kristin murmured reluctantly. “I’ll try.”

  Mamma suddenly took the picture from Kristin, put it back inside the box, and stood up. “There’s too much to do to just sit here all evening,” she said. “It’s time for the cows to be brought back and milked, the vegetables to be added to the broth, and tomorrow’s bread to be set out to rise.”

  Kristin was reluctant to intrude on her parents’ closeness. “Let me bring in the cows and milk them, Pappa,” she said. “It will take me only a few minutes to change my dress and shoes.”

  He smiled and nodded indulgently. Pappa must be earning more money than he thought he would, Kristin decided. Why else would he be in such a happy mood?

  The next afternoon Jenny came to visit, riding sidesaddle on a lumpy-shouldered, sway-backed horse, and found Kristin hunting for eggs in the henhouse, which had been built at one side of the barn.

  “Want me to help you search for hidden nests?” she asked Kristin.

  “I’ve already spotted a couple,” Kristin said, “but the hens are setting on them, and we’re hoping the chicks will hatch.” She shifted the bowl holding eggs to one hip and said, “Tether your horse and come into the house. Would you like coffee? Cold buttermilk?”

  “Buttermilk, thanks.” As Jenny fastened the reins of her horse to a post outside the barn door, she said, “I told my mother I wanted to come and visit you. I convinced her that it took a little while for a newcomer to get used to our ways and you’d soon settle down.” She grinned. “But I hope you don’t. I like you the way you are.”

  Warm with gratitude, Kristin said, “You’re probably the only person in Great Rock Lake who does.”

  Jenny laughed. “That’s not the way I heard it.” Before Kristin had a chance to answer, she said, “Tell me, what did Pastor Holcomb say when you and Johan gave him your apology? Did you look properly humble and repentant? Did he scowl down his nose and give you one of his fearsome looks? He used to scare me to death when I was little.”

  Kristin laughed and led Jenny into the kitchen, where Mamma greeted her warmly. She placed glasses of buttermilk and crisp cinnamon-sugared rusks on the table for them to share before she left the room.

  Jenny immediately noticed the Dala-horse. “I have one exactly like that—even the same size,” she said. “My aunt sent it to me from Dalarna.”

  Kristin lovingly ran one fingertip down the decorated mane of her horse. “My grandmother gave this to me when we last said good-bye. I’ll always treasure it because it was hers when she was a little girl, and because she gave it to me with so much love.”

  “Are you still as homesick as you were?” Jenny asked.

  Kristin thought about it. “Not as much,” she answered, “but there are moments.”

  “Having friends helps,” Jenny said matter-of-factly, and went on to tell Kristin something funny Clara had done.

  They ate and chatted and laughed for more than an hour, and when it was time for Jenny to leave, Kristin was sorry to see her go.

  “Come to our farm and visit me next,” Jenny said.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Kristin told her. “We have only the one horse, and when Pappa takes the wagon on a hauling job, we have no transportation at all.”

  Jenny wasn’t fazed. “Then I’ll come here again, but not until after Midsommarfest. I’ll have to help Mamma get everything ready for it.”

  Kristin knew how much preparation went into the festival. It was on
e of the most important days of the year. “What kind of games will there be for the people our age at your Midsommarfest?” she asked.

  “At our Midsommarfest. You live here, too,” Jenny reminded her. She laughed at Kristin’s embarrassment and said, “Lots of circle games like ‘Skip to My Lou’ and ‘Jolly Is the Miller’ and ‘Tre Glada Gossar i en Ring,’ and then everything ends with a Grand March.” Her eyes sparkling, Jenny said, “I’m hoping Paul will ask me to be his partner in the Grand March, and I know who you’ll want to ask you.”

  Kristin laughed, and she began to be excited about joining in the celebration.

  That afternoon and the next, Pappa and Herr Olsen met down by the lake path, and on both occasions Pappa didn’t return home until it was time for the cows to be brought back from pasture. “We’ve been discussing property,” Pappa explained with a smile. Kristin guessed that if Pappa was thinking of acquiring even more land, things must be looking up.

  Although Mamma still kept a watchful eye out for unwelcome spirits, she also seemed happier than in recently past days.

  On Friday morning Pappa made an announcement that made Kristin happy as well: The Olsen family would be coming that evening for dessert and coffee.

  Kristin’s heart jumped. She hadn’t seen Johan since Sunday, and she missed him.

  “Perhaps,” Mamma said, “we should bake something special for the occasion. Cookies would be nice for the children. Sandbakelser and spritz, or maybe butter rings with vanilla sugar.”

  “Do we have dry cocoa?” Kristin asked. “You could …” She looked at the expression on Mamma’s face and quickly added, “That is, I guess that I could bake a chocolate roll.”

  “Fine,” Pappa said. “Nothing tastes better than a chocolate roll with cream filling.”

  “I just thought of something,” Kristin said. “This is the first time since we moved to Great Rock Lake that we’ve invited guests to our home.”

  “Then it’s an occasion worth remembering,” Pappa said, his eyes twinkling.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KRISTIN washed her hands and began the baking preparations, working side by side with her mother. The kitchen soon filled with the mingled fragrances of cinnamon, sugar, vanilla, and chocolate; and Kristin was pleased with the array of cookies and cakes. The work hadn’t been that hard, and she couldn’t wait to eat all the good food.

  She picked up a strip of the buttery-thin spritz and popped it into her mouth. “Perfect,” she told her mother. “The Olsen children are going to love these cookies.”

  Mamma handed Kristin a rag. “Polish the furniture—every inch of it. I want Fru Olsen to see that our house is every bit as clean as hers is.”

  “How do we know how clean hers is?”

  “Never mind,” Mamma said. “Just do it.”

  Kristin’s mother was a hard taskmaster. With the extra cleaning to do in addition to her regular chores, Kristin was exhausted. Why did this have to be such a major event? she wondered. They had entertained Sigrid Larson without all the fuss and had had a very good time, and Kristin’s visit with Jenny in the kitchen had been the most fun of all. “When I have a house of my own,” she said, “I’m going to entertain company without so much bother.”

  Mamma looked at her sharply. “That remains to be seen,” she said. “Now, hurry upstairs and get ready. Your brown dress will be nice. If you like, I’ll rebraid your hair.”

  For years Kristin had competently managed the long, flaxen braid that hung down her back, so she was surprised and touched by Mamma’s offer. Her mother was sparing with loving words and hugs, but Kristin recognized her love in many other ways.

  Finally all was ready. On every gleaming surface bowls of blue spiderwort, with their spiky leaves, mingled with shafts of pink-and-white lady’s slipper; and the parlor lamps sparkled with light, in spite of the long, sundrenched twilight.

  Soon the Olsens arrived, and Kristin was delighted when Tilde ran to her, holding up her arms to be picked up.

  Greetings were hearty and overloud, and to Kristin’s surprise even Johan seemed nervous. But Tilde demanded Kristin’s complete attention, so any questions she might have had were soon out of mind.

  The children were fed milk and cookies in the kitchen, and as soon as they were settled, the adults congregated in the parlor.

  “I’ll stay with the children,” Kristin said. “When they’ve finished eating, I can take them out to the meadow to play.”

  “No, Kristin,” Mamma said. “I want you to come with us.”

  After taking her Dala-horse to the parlor, out of the reach of the children, Kristin dutifully helped her mother serve steaming cups of coffee and slices of chocolate roll, which were exclaimed over, praised, and enjoyed.

  “Kristin made the cake,” Mamma said proudly.

  And Fru Olsen remarked, “I must have the recipe. This cake is even lighter than my own.”

  “I added two extra egg whites to the batter and used the yolks in the cream filling,” Kristin said. She cringed as she heard herself sounding so much like Mamma and her housewife friends.

  Pappa put down his coffee cup and turned to Herr Olsen. “This is a good time to tell Kristin and Johan about our pact,” he said.

  “What pact?” Kristin asked. She looked from face to face.

  No one answered her. Herr Olsen nodded and beamed at everyone in the room as he said, “In less than a year and a half Johan will be twenty-one, old enough to have his own farm and establish his own family. I am giving him the good pastureland and fields between our farm and the Swensen farm.”

  “And I am adding to it a fine section of lakeshore land,” Pappa said. His smile grew broader. “This land will be presented to Johan and Kristin soon after her eighteenth birthday when they marry.”

  “What!” Kristin dropped her cup, coffee splashing across her skirt. “What do you mean, ‘when they marry’?”

  “It should be a happy surprise for you, daughter,” Pappa said. “We’ve been well aware of your interest in this fine young man and his interest in you.”

  “We’ve agreed on a prenuptial arrangement,” Herr Olsen told her. “Both mothers think the two of you are still too young for marriage, which is why we have set the date for a little over a year from now.”

  “But you can’t!” Kristin said. Everyone stared at her, but she was so stunned, she didn’t care.

  Bewildered, Pappa said, “Kristin, this is good land—the best.”

  Kristin got to her feet, although her legs were so weak, she wondered if they’d hold her up. “You’re trading me for a piece of land? You can’t! This is the United States, not Sweden. In this country I should have the freedom to make up my own mind. I should be able to choose the husband I want when I want and if I want!”

  “Kristin! Think about what you are saying!” Mamma’s face was white.

  Startled by the look of horror in her mother’s eyes, Kristin tried to calm down. There were manners to remember, polite things to be said. But how could she? They had no right to do this to her!

  She glanced toward Johan, who sat bent over, staring at the floor, his forearms resting on his thighs, and Kristin felt as though she’d been hit in the stomach. “Oh, Johan,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I like you very much. We’re friends, and I want us to stay friends. You understand, don’t you?”

  Johan didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up. The two sets of parents sat like statues, unable to speak or move.

  Gulping a long breath to steady herself, Kristin tried to explain. “I don’t mind the hard work of running a farm. I’m used to it. I’ve lived on a farm all my life. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing what I’ve always done. I want to go to the city. I want to get a job in Minneapolis.”

  Fru Olsen was the first to speak. “What kind of a girl are you?” she asked. “A proper young woman doesn’t travel by herself to a city and live there alone. It’s not right. It’s not even safe.”

  “Fröken Larson—
”

  “We are not discussing Fröken Larson and her nonconforming ways. We are discussing you.” She carefully put down her cup and got to her feet. “You are a foolish girl for rejecting my son and all that his family offers.”

  “I’m not rejecting Johan. I—I like Johan.”

  Before she sailed toward the kitchen, Fru Olsen said to her husband, “Bring the buggy around. I’ll get the children.”

  Mamma jumped to her feet and ran after Fru Olsen. “Don’t be angry,” she begged. “This is our fault. Knowing how independent Kristin has always been, we should have prepared her. But I thought she cared for Johan. I thought she’d be as pleased as I was when my father arranged my marriage. I remember my own surprise and joy—”

  Fru Olsen spoke loudly enough for her voice to carry back to Kristin. “We were willing to overlook your daughter’s misbehavior because we believed she would outgrow her young, willful ways and because Johan wanted her for his wife. But there are many other, better-behaved young women in this part of Minnesota. He can look elsewhere and have a happier marriage as a result.”

  Without a word Herr Olsen strode through the front door, and Pappa followed him, shutting the door loudly as he left.

  Kristin dropped to her knees in front of Johan and tried to take his hands, but he didn’t respond. “I thought you understood what I wanted to do,” she cried. “You told me you believed that women should have the same rights as men. You told me!”

  For the first time he raised his head and looked into Kristin’s eyes. Johan’s own eyes were so dark and deep with pain that Kristin shuddered. “If you wanted to go to meetings and work for women’s right to vote, I would have let you,” he said, “because you’d be supporting something you believed in, and I would never try to stand between you and your beliefs. But there are other parts of life, Kristin. I would have loved you. I would have been a good husband to you and a good father to our children.”