“Tell her in plenty of time,” Sigrid said. “Forty miles is a long ride. They may spend the night halfway there, but in any case they’ll leave before sunup.”
“Thank you,” Kristin repeated. She folded the flier once again and tucked it into a deep pocket in her skirt.
“I won’t keep you,” Sigrid said. “I want to get back in time to enjoy the maypole dancers.”
Kristin watched Sigrid return to the Midsommarfest before she resumed her walk down the road.
She knew the way, but she had not been to the Olsens’ farm before, and the walk was longer and hotter than she had imagined. Kristin had been sure she’d find Johan, so she felt lost when there was no answer at the house and Johan wasn’t in the barn. She shouted his name, but he didn’t answer.
It occurred to Kristin that he might not want to see her, but it didn’t really matter now. The place had an empty feel to it. Johan wasn’t there.
As Kristin sat on the edge of the well and tried to think of where he might be, a picture popped into her mind of Johan with his fishing pole. Of course. He was at the lake.
She followed a footpath that led into the woods and down to the lakeshore and continued along it until she spotted him sitting silently on a rock, the pole propped in the ground and the line hanging limp in the water.
“Johan,” Kristin called as she stepped through the trees to the small rocky cove, “will you let me talk to you?”
At the sound of her voice he glanced up, startled, but Kristin saw him pull into himself as he turned his face away from her. “In this country you have the freedom to say whatever you want,” he said.
Kristin climbed up beside him on the rock. “Please don’t be angry,” she told him. “I came to apologize for being so rude and thoughtless Friday evening. I was so surprised at what our fathers had arranged, I spoke without thinking. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“What difference does it make?” Johan asked. “No matter how much you had thought about the offer of marriage, you still would have rejected it, wouldn’t you?”
“I would have had to.”
He shrugged as though her answer settled the question, but Kristin had more to say. “I rejected our fathers’ arrangement. I didn’t reject you.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is.”
Kristin, perched close to Johan, laid the palm of one hand against his cheek and turned his head so that he had to look at her. “Listen to me. Look at me,” she said.
His eyes were so dark and unhappy, Kristin wanted to throw her arms around him, hold him tightly, and comfort him, but slowly and calmly she said, “Which is better, to have a father say ‘My daughter will marry you,’ or to have the daughter say ‘I want to marry you’?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “That’s not the way it’s done.”
Johan turned his head away, but with determination Kristin pulled it back. She was aware of the warmth of his skin under her hand, the line of his jaw, the strength in his face; and her fingers trembled. Jenny was right. There were many girls who would be eager to be married to Johan—and for good reason.
“I’ve known you only a short time, but I like you very much,” Kristin said. “Someday that like could turn into love, and I’d come to you and say, ‘Johan, I love you.’ ” The words, spoken aloud, seemed so natural, so real, that Kristin drew in a sharp breath of surprise.
Johan’s eyes widened, and she could feel the muscles tense in his cheek. “Kristin, this is how I feel about you. This is why I was eager to have the prenuptial agreement.”
“Forget the agreement,” Kristin insisted. “That was something between our fathers. Liking, loving … that’s something between you and me, just the two of us.”
He moved so that he was facing her, and she could feel the warm pressure of his thigh against hers. “Do you think that love will come to us?”
Johan was wonderful, so kind and good … and exciting. Kristin rested her hands on his shoulders and looked into the depths of his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I think someday it will.”
His face was close to hers, his mouth too tempting to resist. Kristin leaned forward and kissed him.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she drifted into the warmth of his lips and the salty, earthy fragrance of his skin.
Suddenly Johan pulled away and gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. With shock in his eyes he mumbled, “Kristin! I apologize. I have no right to endanger your reputation!”
Kristin smiled. “You didn’t endanger my reputation. Remember, I kissed you,” she said, “and don’t look so upset. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a man.”
“Kisses are supposed to be only for those who are married, or at least engaged.”
“Haven’t you ever been to a cornhusking bee? If a boy finds a red ear of corn, it gives him the right to kiss the girl who’s his partner.”
“A light kiss on the cheek? That’s different.”
“There was nothing wrong with our kiss, Johan. It was just my way of showing that I care about you.”
“I care about you, too,” he admitted. She could feel his muscles relax, and finally he smiled. “I’ve never kissed like that.”
“Did you like it?” she teased.
“Of course I did.”
“Then let’s have our own, private, agreement—a kiss now and then, when we want to show each other that we care.”
Johan’s answer was in his eyes. Kristin lifted her face and kissed him again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE day after Midsommarfest Pappa left on a short hauling job, and again the workload for Kristin and her mother doubled. Johan did not show up to help, which didn’t surprise Kristin, even though they had parted on the friendliest of terms. What did surprise her was how much she missed him.
When Pappa returned, Mamma perked up. She was obviously more comfortable when he was home, and even the spöken she blamed for their troubles seemed less threatening to her.
The Fourth of July, which Kristin had heard was one of the United States’ biggest holidays, passed without celebration in the community, although Pastor Holcomb spoke eloquently on the following Sunday about America’s fight for independence.
Independence for whom? Kristin wondered. How could people fight for independence but leave women out?
The Young People’s Society didn’t meet during the summer months, and the group meals after church services were curtailed because of the heat, so Kristin had little time in which to chat with Jenny. As far as all the other girls were concerned, what did it matter? They had made it clear they didn’t approve of her behavior, but that was their problem, not Kristin’s.
Johan attended church with his family, and Kristin was very much aware of his presence on the opposite side of the aisle. She tried to catch his eye, but when she realized that others were watching her, she blushed and stared straight ahead, refusing to allow herself so much as a glance in his direction. It was hard for Kristin to keep her mind on the service and at the same time battle the unfamiliar aching emptiness in her chest.
After the service Johan’s family and hers hurried in opposite directions, so she had no chance to speak with him, and it was not long before the Swensens left the gathering and headed for home.
Kristin immediately ran up the stairs to her room. She had no sooner removed her cap, folded it, and placed it in the top drawer of the chest than her mother tapped lightly at the door, calling, “Kristin, may I come in?”
Hurrying to open the door, Kristin said, “Mamma, I’m coming right down. I’ll help make dinner in a—”
Mamma gently shook her head and took Kristin’s hand, leading her to a seat on the bed. “It’s time to talk,” she said.
“About what?”
“About you and Johan. I saw the way you looked at him in church. I saw how uncomfortable and unhappy you were, squirming away like a child kept after school.”
&nbs
p; “Mamma!” Kristin was shocked. “I wasn’t squirming. I sat very still and kept my eyes on our pastor.”
Mamma nodded. “Perhaps others couldn’t see how you felt, but I could. I’m your mother.”
Kristin looked away and didn’t answer.
After waiting patiently for a moment Mamma said, “I think no matter how you behaved or what you said, you do care for Johan.”
Furious because she felt her face flushing red, giving her true feelings away, Kristin murmured, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters more than you think, because it concerns your future.”
Kristin pulled her hand from her mother’s. “Please, Mamma, I don’t want to talk about Johan, and my future is something I have to be responsible for myself—not you and not Pappa—just me.”
Kristin cringed at the sorrow she heard in her mother’s voice. “I thought perhaps you had reconsidered. It’s obvious to me that you miss him.”
“Yes, I do miss him.” Kristin angrily rubbed at a tear that slid down her cheek. “But I don’t regret what I did, and I don’t want to talk about Johan anymore. Please!”
“Very well, Kristin,” Mamma answered. She left the room, quietly shutting the door.
In the bottom of the chest in her room Kristin had hidden the folded paper that told about Anna Shaw’s lecture. If Pappa came across it, he’d be sure to object. Kristin’s only chance to attend the lecture was to approach Mamma. Knowing that Fru Dalquist would be attending might be reassuring to Mamma, and she in turn could influence Pappa. As each day passed, bringing her closer to July tenth, Kristin became more determined to go to Minneapolis.
She had worked out a plan. She’d be gone for at least three days—maybe four—but that was a short time, and Pappa could do her chores for her, couldn’t he? It was only fair. She’d been doing most of his chores each time he worked away from home. Nervous about approaching her parents, knowing that each word would be crucial and she couldn’t dare make a mistake, Kristin kept postponing the first step, her discussion of the lecture with Mamma.
On the morning of July seventh Kristin knew she could wait no longer. The moment Pappa left the house, heading for the barn, Kristin carried the dirty breakfast dishes to the sink for washing and asked, “Mamma, before we begin our chores, could we talk about something very important?”
A sudden spark of hope flashed in her mother’s eyes. “Have you changed your mind about Johan? Do you want to talk about him?”
Kristin sighed. “This is not about Johan. I like him very much. Maybe even more than very much,” she said, “but I want to talk about something else. Please sit down, Mamma. This is important to me.”
Warily Mamma settled back into her kitchen chair and waited.
Kristin dropped into a chair opposite her mother and smoothed out the flier, placing it on the table. After a couple of hoarse attempts to speak, she was finally able to say, “The Dalquists are going to Minneapolis tomorrow. They’re taking a wagonload of quilts to an arts fair.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Mamma looked puzzled.
Kristin took a deep breath and let the story spill out. “The next evening a woman named Anna Shaw is coming to Minneapolis to speak about women’s right to vote. Fru Dalquist is going to the lecture, and I—we’ve been invited, too.”
“Fru Dalquist’s sister is Fröken Larson. I can understand her attending the lecture to please her sister, but I can’t understand her expecting you to go with her. She knows your help is needed at home.”
Kristin shook her head. “Fru Dalquist doesn’t even know I want to go.”
“Well, then …” Mamma began to get to her feet, but Kristin reached out and clasped one of her hands.
“Please, Mamma, listen to me. I want very much to hear what Anna Shaw has to say. The fight for votes for women is a part of America. It’s a part of my life.”
“It is not a part of your life,” Mamma said. “Your life is bound with the lives of your parents. We are a family. We came to America together, and we are working to establish a successful farm together. When you are older, your life will branch out from ours, but not now.”
“It’s only for three or four days,” Kristin pleaded. “I’ll be with the Dalquists on the journey, and I’ll stay with Fröken Larson while I’m in Minneapolis.”
“Your father will never agree.”
“You could tell him it would be all right,” Kristin said. “He’d listen to you.”
They heard deep voices calling to each other outside the house, and Mamma jumped to her feet. “Someone is here,” she said. She whipped off her apron and trotted to the front door, Kristin on her heels. They reached the parlor just as the door opened and Pappa stepped through.
“That was Herr Peterson with a message from the lumber mill,” he told them. “They need me to leave tomorrow on a delivery job that will take three days.”
Sick with disappointment, Kristin saw her last chance disappearing. Not tomorrow. No!
Pappa held out two stamped and postmarked envelopes. “Herr Peterson also brought these. One is from your mother,” he said as he handed a letter to Mamma. “And one is from your shipboard friend, Rebekah Levinsky,” he told Kristin with a smile.
Kristin couldn’t return the smile. Woodenly she accepted the letter.
Mamma carefully ripped one end of her envelope and shook out her mother’s letter. “Listen,” she said, a quaver in her voice. “I’ll read the letter to you.” She did, right from the beginning, and as Mormor related all the small details of encounters with friends and relatives, Kristin could visualize the marketplace, with stalls set up on the square, the church socials with fiddle music and candlelight, her cozy home in Leksand, and the happy, uncomplicated childhood she had known there. She missed her grandmother so much, she could hardly bear it.
At the end of the letter, as she read the endearments and the special message of love Mormor had sent to Kristin, Mamma’s voice broke with a sob.
No one spoke. Pappa simply put a hand on Mamma’s shoulder as though to lend his strength. Kristin, clutching Rebekah’s letter to her chest, slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She sat on the neatly made bed for at least five minutes, staring at the letter she’d been so eager to receive, unable to open it.
“Kristin?” Mamma called.
“Just a minute!” Kristin shouted back. If she were going to read the letter from Rebekah, she had better stop daydreaming and do it now.
Tiny handwriting covered both sides of the sheet of paper as Rebekah brought Kristin up-to-date on family news, then told her about classes offered at the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society center in New York City.
Someday I want to attend Columbia University. Who knows? I may even teach there! I can tell you this, Kristin, because I know you won’t laugh at my dream. I’ll always remember that you promised me I could make my wish come true in America, and I’m counting on that promise.
Kristin folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. How well she remembered that promise she had made to Rebekah and Rose. Maybe Rebekah could fulfill her dream. Perhaps Rose could, too. But Kristin was being kept from realizing her own dream, and there was little or nothing she could do about it.
Pappa’s voice thundered from the foot of the stairs. “Kristin! Come down here this minute!”
Kristin clattered down the stairs, startled by the anger in Pappa’s voice. He waited for her, waving the flier she had left on the kitchen table.
“Your mother tells me you want to go to Minneapolis and hear this woman’s lecture.”
Kristin gulped. “Y-yes,” she answered.
“What has come over you, Kristin? Your foolish ideas and actions have already caused great damage to you and to us, as well as to others.”
What is the matter with my parents? Kristin thought bitterly. Don’t my dreams mean anything to them? “Why should I care what the people who live in Great Rock Lake think of me?” she exploded.
“You should care becau
se in any community it’s important for neighbors to live together in harmony.”
“The only way the people around here want to live is the way they lived in Sweden!” Kristin complained.
Pappa’s features hardened and he said, “We will have no more discussion about this lecture.”
“But, Pappa, you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough to tell you that you cannot go to Minneapolis to hear this … this idiotic discussion about women voting. I forbid it!”
“Pappa!” Kristin wailed, but he had turned his back on her, and there was no use at all in trying to plead with him.
In despair Kristin dropped to the bottom stair and hunched over, her head on her arms. Tears didn’t come. She was far too angry to cry. How could Pappa decide who she was to marry, what she was to read, and where she was to go? The United States was a land of freedom, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t she have a right to that freedom, too?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DURING the day, as Kristin went from one task to the next, she made plans. Pappa would be away on his job, so he wouldn’t be on hand to stop her if she left for Minneapolis. However, if she did leave, then Mamma would be alone for three or four days and have the care of the animals as well as the house. Kristin pushed away the uncomfortable lump that tightened her throat. The task wasn’t impossible, she told herself. Mamma could handle it.
Pappa left as soon as the cows had been milked and led to pasture. He entreated Kristin, “You mother needs you. I’m counting on your help.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Mamma told him.
“We’ll both be fine,” Kristin murmured, but didn’t meet his eyes.
Diligently she weeded the kitchen garden and the potato field, swinging her hoe with sure, deft strokes. The chamber pots gleamed by the time she was through washing them, and the privy got an extra scrubbing. Kristin hated leaving the daily mucking out of the barn to Mamma, but there was no way she could do this chore in advance any more than the chores of milking the cows and feeding the animals.
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