“No, we haven’t, Mamma,” Kristin said, and tried to sound encouraging. “Pappa has his land and the animals, and we can work to build another house.”
“That’s true,” Mamma said, and she sat back, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. “But think of all the possessions we’ve lost. How will we get enough money to replace the food and clothing and furniture?”
“Maybe I can get a paying job,” Krisnn said. “Perhaps the Lundgrens need help in their store, or the milliner in her shop. There must be something.”
Mamma shivered, so Kristin quickly led her back to her own bed and tucked her in. “I’ll get dressed and go downstairs to make you some tea,” she said, then stopped, putting her hands to her face. “I can’t wander around in my nightgown,” she said. “What am I going to wear?”
The door suddenly opened, and Anna, the six-year-old Olsen girl, stood there. “I’m supposed to tell Mamma when you wake up,” she said. “And I’m not to come in without knocking. Oh. I forgot.”
“It’s all right,” Kristin told her, and smiled reassuringly. “Thank you, Anna.”
The child disappeared, and in just a few moments Fru Olsen knocked at the bedroom door.
Kristin opened the door, and Fru Olsen bustled in, a pile of clothing over one arm, a steaming cup of tea in her other hand. She looked at Mamma with a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to see you are much improved over last night. I was prepared to send for the doctor.”
With a quick gesture to Kristin to prop her mother up with pillows, Fru Olsen handed Mamma the cup of tea. She then held out the clothes to Kristin. “Fru Berglund sent some of these to you, and some are from Fru Linden and Fru Nelson. You know their daughters, I think—Esther and Josie.”
“They know about the fire already?”
“Of course. The women of Great Rock Lake are gathering together quilts, dishes, clothing—everything you’ll need to replace what you’ve lost. The men are clearing the land for the house raising.”
“The what?” Mamma cried. Kristin was speechless.
“When the land is cleared,” Fru Olsen said, “the men will get together and build you a new house. The women of course will bring food. It will be quite a party.”
“They would do all this for us, even though we’ve been here such a short time?” Mamma asked.
“And in spite of disliking me?” Kristin murmured.
Fru Olsen put an arm around Kristin’s shoulders. “Kristin, dear,” she said, “no one dislikes you. We may not understand you, and we may disapprove of some of the things you do, but we know you’re a good girl from good parents, and we like you—very much.”
Kristin, immersed in guilt for her attitude toward the people in Great Rock Lake, was suddenly blinded by tears, but Fru Olsen didn’t allow her a minute of remorse. “Hurry and dress,” she said. “You offered your help, and, among other things, I need you to watch the younger children. Tilde is being even more naughty than usual and needs some extra attention. There’s a hairbrush and mirror for your use on the dresser.”
With no time to think, Kristin dressed, brushed and braided her hair, took her mother’s empty teacup, and trotted downstairs and out to the kitchen. Fru Olsen insisted on carrying a bowl of beef broth to Mamma, but she had prepared a hearty breakfast for Kristin.
Kristin ate quickly, washed the dishes that were still in a pan on the drainboard of the sink, and tidied the kitchen, even sweeping the back porch. Tilde, who had been pulling on her skirts, wanted to go outside, so Kristin shepherded Tilde and Anna through the back door.
Because the kitchen garden needed weeding, Kristin made a game of it, and even Tilde, who plucked a carrot or two by mistake, joined in the fun. Kristin let her pick a few more and brought them into the kitchen, washing them and leaving them in a neat pile on the drainboard.
Fru Olsen was pleased when she saw what Kristin had done, and she didn’t hesitate to give her other tasks to do. “When my girls are old enough, it will be such a pleasure to have them work beside me as you are doing,” she said.
“Maybe the boys would also like a chance to work beside you,” Kristin said. “I saw rhubarb in your garden, and I know where I can find wild strawberries. I’m still learning how to bake, but I know enough to be able to teach Arnold and Carl to bake a pie.”
Fru Olsen broke into laughter. “That’s a good joke. Can you imagine a man setting foot inside a kitchen, except to carry in wood or enjoy eating what has been cooked?” She handed Kristin utensils and napkins to set around the table and busied herself putting finishing touches on the noon meal.
“Why shouldn’t a man be able to bake a pie? I’d be glad to let Kristin teach me.”
Kristin whirled to see Johan standing in the doorway, his hair in wet ringlets around his face, his neck and arms still damp from his washing up in the basin outside the door.
“You’re early, son,” Fru Olsen said, and began firing off questions, not waiting for answers. “Find a wooden box—a large one—and help me wrap up some of this food. Are there many men on hand to help? Will this be enough, do you think? Here … put in an extra loaf of bread.”
Johan had time only to wink at Kristin before his mother had filled his arms and shooed him out the door. Had Johan been teasing?
The kitchen was hot, and Kristin brushed an arm across her sweaty forehead. For that matter, why couldn’t women have the opportunity to cool off in the lake?
Kristin took a plate of food upstairs to Mamma, who had just awakened from a morning nap and was gaining color in her cheeks. She chatted with Mamma, telling her what she’d been doing, then hurried back to the kitchen to join the others.
Carl and Arnold sneaked grinning looks at Kristin and tried to snatch buttered noodles from each other’s plate. Anna spilled her milk, and Tilde kept trying to climb out of her chair and into Kristin’s lap, until her mother tied her in place with a dish towel across her chest and under her arms.
As though she knew Kristin would have questions, Fru Olsen said, “It will take a few days to clear and level the land. Did I tell you that they were able to save the barn?”
“What can we possibly do to repay all of you?” Kristin asked.
“The next time someone else in the community needs help, you can step in and give it,” Fru Olsen answered. “That’s the only way to repay what is given to you.”
Kristin stroked the skirt of the pretty blue cotton dress she was wearing. “All this wonderful generosity—repayment would take a lifetime.”
But I don’t plan to be here for a lifetime, Kristin thought just as Tilde dropped her bowl upside down in her lap and howled, ending the conversation.
While Fru Olsen cleaned up her youngest child and carried her upstairs for her nap, Kristin sent the boys out to fetch wood for the stove and handed Anna a clean dish towel. The dishes were soon washed, and Anna was allowed to play.
When Fru Olsen returned, Kristin told her to rest. “But show me first where you keep the yeast and the flour,” she said. “I’ll be glad to set a batch of bread dough to rise.”
“What a good girl you are! I would love the help!” Fru Olsen said. Her eyes sparkled. “But before you start with mixing the dough, there is a guest waiting to see you in the parlor.”
“A guest?”
“And she has a gift for you. Go and see.”
Kristin hurried to the parlor—a duplicate of every Swedish parlor—and stopped at the door. “Jenny!” she exclaimed as she saw her friend waiting for her.
“Oh, Kristin!” Jenny cried, and ran to hug her. “I’m so sorry about your house!”
“It’s hard to believe it happened,” Kristin said. “This morning I thought it was only a terrible dream.”
Jenny reached into the pocket of her skirt and slowly brought forth a bright red Dala-horse. “I brought you a gift,” she said.
“Your horse?” As Jenny nodded, Kristin cried, “Oh, Jenny, I couldn’t take it!”
“It didn’t come from your grandmother
, but it will remind you of her,” Jenny said. “Please, Kristin. I want to give it to you.”
As Kristin took the little horse and clutched it to her chest, mourning the Dala-horse her grandmother had given her, she realized that for everyone there is always a tugging in the heart for home. Sigrid … Johan … Mamma, in her own way … how many people had tried to tell Kristin that change must come in its own time.
But eventually it will come, Kristin thought, and she bent her head to hide her tears.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAMMA was completely well by the day of the house raising. Entire families arrived at the Swensen property, beginning at sunup. While the men and older boys worked to frame the house, the women presented food in great quantities. Some formed circles in which they sewed and embroidered and even worked on a large hooked ryamattor for the floor of the Swensens’ new parlor. Small children darted in and out underfoot, occasionally climbing the large piles of cut lumber—still fragrant with oils from the heart of the wood—heedless of shouts to get off and stay off.
As Pappa, with Herr Olsen at his side, took command, Kristin was amazed to see the force and vitality her father possessed. He had been stunned at news of the fire and badly shaken at the loss of all their possessions. But he had recovered, strengthened by the support of the neighbors in Great Rock Lake, and now he was like a young man, working with the others to hoist beams and nail supports in place, his hair glistening with sweat, his shirt plastered to his back.
Kristin could see him through her mother’s eyes, much as Mamma must have seen him when they were both very young, and she understood more about two people needing each other and wanting to be together and sharing dreams.
No matter what chore she was assigned during the day, from washing drinking cups to watching the littlest children, Kristin found herself looking for Johan. And sometimes, to her delight, she discovered that his eyes were already on her.
Once he stopped, stepping back into the shade of a large elm tree in order to wipe his dripping face with a towel, and she hurried to bring him a cup of cool water. “I can’t thank you enough for all you are doing for us,” she told him.
Johan shook his head. “There’s no need for thanks. This is something we all want to do.” He smiled. “You’d do the same for any of us, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Kristin said. “Johan …” She hesitated, and he waited for her to continue. Finally she took a deep breath and blurted out, “Johan, you are sweaty and dirty, and there’s a streak of mud down one side of your face.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Kristin took a step closer and dropped her voice. “No. I’m saying that in spite of all that, the way that I feel about you I wish I could kiss you right now.”
Johan looked startled. “Kristin, there are people all around us.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t do it. I just told you what I’d like to do.” She glanced back and saw Fru Olsen watching her intently. When Fru Olsen’s eyes met Kristin’s, she smiled and turned away. Kristin said to Johan, “I think your mother likes me now.”
“She always has.”
“I mean, I think she’d be happy if we—”
“If we what, Kristin?”
Kristin’s pulse quickened, and she found it hard to breathe. “Johan,” she said, “independence means a great deal to me. I couldn’t be happy in a country that promised freedom to all its citizens yet gave it to only some of them.”
He nodded. “This is the way you are. I understand.”
Kristin gulped and continued before she lost her courage. “You said you wouldn’t stand in the way if I wanted to go to meetings in Minneapolis and work for women’s right to vote.”
“That’s true.”
“And you said it was because you’d respect my right to work for causes I believe in.”
“Of course.”
The sinking feeling in her stomach began to disappear, and she felt almost light-headed. “Would you really let me teach you how to bake a pie?”
He grinned. “Why not?” Cocking his head to one side, he studied her. “Does this mean that you’ll be staying in Great Rock Lake?”
Kristin blushed. “The idea of living in a city is exciting, but that was before you … that is, before I … I can see that much of the work I want to do needs to be done here, too, and I’m glad because …” It was all Kristin could do to keep from throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Johan, this is hard for me to say, but when I am eighteen and you’re twenty-one, will you marry me?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
Kristin’s smiled vanished. She suddenly felt frightened and cold, but Johan took her hands, and his voice was warm.
“You set certain conditions. I have conditions as well. I believe that marriage is a partnership, and a husband and wife should work together to make it a strong partnership, putting each other first.”
Kristin thought of her own parents. “So do I,” she answered quickly.
“And I believe that wives should be cherished, but husbands deserve to be cherished, too.”
Kristin giggled. “We’re still in agreement.”
There was a long pause, and his eyes grew serious. “Now, this is even more important. You’ve made me believe that love given freely is necessary to a happy marriage. You said someday you’d tell me you love me. Do you love me, Kristin?” he asked.
Her heart pounding at the sound of the words, Kristin was sure of her feelings. “Yes,” she whispered. “I love you.”
With a mischievous light in his eyes Johan said formally, “Then, Kristin Swensen, since I love you, too, I accept your proposal of marriage. The next step is for your father to talk to my father.”
Kristin burst into laughter, and Johan laughed with her. A few of the men working nearby turned to see what was happening and smiled at them indulgently before going back to their jobs.
“I’ve got to work,” Johan told her. “But after your house is built, we can talk to our parents about our decision. We might even be in for another celebration.”
Kristin, dangling the drinking cup from one finger, strolled back to where her mother was seated with a group of other women, all of them taking tiny, almost-invisible stitches in the narrow, rolled hems of large napkins. “Would you like me to help?” she asked as she sat with them.
Fru Berglund handed Kristin a large square of cloth and a threaded needle, and the women, with smiles and nods in Kristin’s direction, resumed their conversation.
Kristin looked around at the people working to help them, and she felt such a rush of belonging, she could hardly contain her happiness. It seemed like such a long time ago that she had been angry and resentful about having to move to the United States, and now she was glad her family had come. Life wasn’t going to be easy. There was a great deal of hard work ahead. But here in America she’d have the freedom to reach her dream.
The United States was a land in which there was more than one way of doing things and more than one person making decisions. It was a land in which more than one dream was possible. She smiled to think that because of her pact with Johan her parents’ dreams could also come true.
One of the women in the group said to Mamma, “Fru Swensen, would you mind repeating the story of the spöken in your house? Olga Johnson hasn’t heard it.”
Before her mother could say a word, Kristin said, “Mamma, the spöken are gone with the old house. The new house is ours, and there’ll be no spöken in it. In honor of chasing away any and all spöken, I’m going to paint a sign to hang over the front door. It’s going to say Welcome to the Happy Home of Linnart and Gerda Swensen.”
The women smiled, and Mamma said, “Don’t forget to add Kristin. It’s your home, too.”
Hugging her secret happiness to herself, Kristin nodded agreement. Great Rock Lake—for a while with her parents and then with Johan—would be her home, but there would be trips to Minneapolis and Saint Paul, maybe even to Washington, D.C.
Kri
stin knew she had a great deal to learn about the work women had done in the United States to gain the right to vote and about the work still needed to be done, but when changes would be made, she—Kristin—would actually take part in them.
Be patient, she told herself, and smothered a giggle as she added, Well, at least try to be.
The day was glorious, Johan was wonderful, and the future was exciting. Even though it might be true that change sometimes came slowly, Kristin’s dream was about to be realized, and she was ready.
JOAN LOWERY NIXON has been called the grande dame of young adult mysteries. She is the author of more than 130 books for young readers and is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Novel. She received the award for The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore, The Séance, The Name of the Game Is Murder, and The Other Side of Dark, which also won the California Young Reader Medal.
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 38
