“I wanted to see my goddaughter on her birthday. Couldn’t make it, though.”
They went inside and sat down in the big room. Karl Oskar called Marta and told her to prepare something for their guest. But Ulrika explained that she was in a great hurry; she must get home and help Henry prepare for the Baptist love feast which they would celebrate tomorrow with the breaking of bread. She had been to St. Paul, to her eldest daughters wedding. Elin had married none less than the chief of police of St. Paul. Her daughter was now in safe hands, and she hoped she could trust the police in America. Elin had worked in his house as a maid, and then a year ago his wife had died, and less than two months later the widower had proposed to her.
“Your girl has done well,” said Karl Oskar.
Elin had a strong will, explained the mother. From the very first day in America she had shown she wanted to get ahead. Even that winter when they lived with Danjel in his old log cabin, the girl sat up half the nights and learned the American names for knives, forks, plates, spoons, and everything about the house. She wanted to be a maidservant. But when she got her first job with Mr. Hanley in Stillwater she still didn’t know the names of the days. She dressed for church on Friday, and did housecleaning on Sunday, and sent out the wash on the wrong day. The girl had started from the beginning and worked her way up. And since the day before yesterday Elin was Mrs. William A. Aldridge, and she needn’t be ashamed of that name in St. Paul.
“Well, well,” said Karl Oskar. “So you’ve been to a wedding. Last time you were in this house . . .”
He stopped short and looked aside.
Ulrika had not been to see them for almost two years; the last time had been at Kristina’s funeral. During his wife’s last illness Mrs. Jackson and her husband had been in Chicago but they had returned in time for the burial. And not until after Kristina’s funeral had Ulrika heard that she had died from a miscarriage.
“Yes, last time I was here there was mourning in this house.”
A silence ensued for a moment. It was difficult for either one of them to continue. Dr. Farnley’s strong admonition had never been referred to between them after Kristina’s death. Ulrika was not one to reproach a wretched man, but sooner or later she aimed to let him know what she thought.
“I feel sorry for you, Karl Oskar. It’s hard to live single.”
“What you must go through, you manage . . .”
“I guess you keep thinking about it?”
“Thinking about what?”
“What you did. Causing it yourself.”
Karl Oskar raised his head with a sudden jerk.
“You didn’t take care of Kristina. You got her with child again. That’s why you’re single and alone!”
His face had turned deep red. He swallowed and swallowed but said nothing.
“You were warned!” she continued. “The doctor’s report was delivered to you: She cannot survive another childbed! But you exposed Kristina to that danger.”
He stared straight at her but let her go on.
“I never blame you for Kristina’s death. I know you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t control yourself any longer, of course. You have a man’s need. You were weak and sinned in weakness. But those sins are the smallest . . .”
“You think . . .” His voice was thick and he swallowed hard. “You think . . . I myself killed Kristina . . .”
“I’m not calling you a wife-killer! You did it out of weakness. Your kind of body isn’t built to stay away from your wife. It’s excusable. I don’t blame you for it!”
“You’re wrong! You’re very wrong!”
“It hurts to talk about it, of course. I shouldn’t have started. You’ve lost your wife and can’t get her back. What’s the use of talking about it. I must hurry!”
She rose to leave.
“Yes, we must talk about it! Sit down, Ulrika! Sit down!”
Suddenly Karl Oskar had become quick in his movements; he pushed the chair toward Mrs. Jackson again.
“You’re wrong, exactly wrong! But I’ll tell you! Just sit down!”
“All right, I will—if you yourself want to talk about it.”
Ulrika sat down again and listened intently for a few minutes while Karl Oskar Nilsson spoke. She learned that she had been wrong. She learned that he had obeyed the doctor for three months, and that he had intended to keep on obeying. But one evening Kristina had come to him and said that she didn’t believe God had burdened them with this. She trusted more in God than in the doctor in Stillwater. That was how it had happened.
“It was Kristina who wanted it!”
“She did? Poor dear child!”
Ulrika was deeply moved by what she had heard, tears quivered in her eyes and her voice vibrated:
“The dear child! She trusted her God! Good, honest Kristina!”
She could not remember when she had last wept. She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dried her eyes.
“But I’m not trying to blame it on Kristina—I should have had better sense.”
“No one can hold it against you, of course.”
“I should have known better. It’ll always be on my conscience.”
“You only committed a sin of weakness. The Lord is eager to forgive sins of weakness. God will forgive you, I know it! You can be sure of it, Karl Oskar!”
“God . . . forgive . . . me . . . !”
Karl Oskar Nilsson jumped up so suddenly that his chair turned over and was thrown against the wall. His big nose shot out as if it had been a weapon to use against Ulrika, his eyes glittered and his mouth worked. His last word was a roar, and Ulrika shot up from her chair as fast as he.
“Shall I ask God for forgiveness? Because he took Kristina from me?”
“What’s come over you, man?”
She had never seen such an explosion of anger in Karl Oskar. Ulrika had never let men frighten her, but now she was as frightened as a woman of her sort could be.
“Are you going crazy? I don’t recognize you!”
“You said God will forgive me! It’s he who ought to ask my forgiveness! For he tricked Kristina!”
“God tricked . . . ? You are crazy, man!”
“Kristina lost her life because she trusted in God. He tricked her!”
“You blaspheme, poor man! You curse the High One!”
“She died and left me alone! God is to blame!”
“Have you lost your mind, Karl Oskar?”
“No—now I’ve got it back again. But I had lost it that time. And now I only listen to my own common sense . . .”
“You talk as if you were out of your mind.”
“No! I'll never forgive God for cheating Kristina! Never, as long as I live!”
“But when you die—do you mean to die and not be reconciled to your God?”
He stood with his back to her and did not reply; he had turned toward the wall.
Ulrika had heard him blaspheme and she was frightened. How could a wretched, helpless human being get the notion to turn against the Almighty? Either she had never known who Karl Oskar was or he had changed after losing his wife.
“God will find you too, Nilsson! God will bend you!”
He had suddenly become so alien to her that she used his surname.
He still kept his silence, with his back to her, staring before him as if he had suddenly discovered something remarkable on the bare wall. Ulrika felt perplexed; what had happened to Kristina’s widower? Perhaps he mourned her so inconsolably that she must overlook his behavior. He was a bereft man, a suffering man. Above all, she must console him. It was comforting he needed.
Mrs. Jackson laid her hand on his shoulder, her voice sweet and pleading: “God has taken Kristina home to him. She is in heaven now, as you surely know . . .”
“She didn’t want to die . . .” he stuttered forth. “She wanted to stay with me and the children.”
“It must be a comfort to you that she’s in eternal bliss.”
“But she want
ed to be here with us—she said so many times: I don’t want to die yet!”
When Karl Oskar didn’t show any joy because Kristina was happy in her eternal home in heaven, Ulrika no longer knew what comfort to offer him.
But she went on: He was the most ungrateful person she had ever known. How much didn’t he have to thank God for? All had gone well for him—he was well-to-do and needn’t worry about earthly things. Kristina had borne him many children, all well shaped and healthy. Many parents were given blind, deformed, or feeble-minded offspring. He himself was still in good health and had his strength. The Lord had until now helped him through all life’s vicissitudes. How many times might he not have perished? Indeed, God had held his protecting hand over him! Instead of blaspheming the Almighty he ought to thank and praise him! He ought to go down on his knees, as he had just done while scrubbing the stoop, and thank God in humble submission!
She talked, but no one listened to her. Karl Oskar didn’t hear her. He only stared at the wall. What in the world did he see there? Nothing but the paper—old pink roses, faded, spotted. He stared at the empty wall. He stared as if he saw a vision, as if his ears were plugged up; he stared at nothing.
How could one talk sense to a person who acted like that? Staring at a wall he had seen every day for many years! There was nothing to be done with Karl Oskar; she could do nothing but feel sorry for him. He did not move, he did not hear—it seemed he would remain in that position and stare at the old, spotted, faded wallpaper forever. Yet, perhaps he saw something in the emptiness.
Ulrika silently opened the door and walked out onto the stoop and away.
In this house she left behind today a man who did not wish to submit—a man who hated his God.
XIX
THE LETTER TO SWEDEN
New Duvemåla Settlement at Center City Post
Offis, April 23, 1865.
Dear Sister Lydia Karlsson,
May all be well with you is my daily Wish.
You write at long Intervals but you shall not think I have forgotten my only Sister. I have been sitting a few Evenings now and writing a letter to You.
First I want to tell you that the War is over and the Enemy beaten. The hard-necked Rebels are giving up everywhere. On the Battle Fields all is Stillness and Silence, all soldiers are going back to their homes. 100,000 Dollars has been promised to the one who can catch President Jefferson of the South. Much destruction has taken place but the Union between the States is safe for time to come.
Great Joy was spread here because of all the good News but like turning a Hand it became Sorrow instead. Our greatly beloved President Abraham Lincoln fell from a murderer’s Bullet the 14 April. It happened in the evening when he had gone to view a Theatre in Washington, the message flew like a bolt of lightning over the whole land by the Telegraph. That moment I shall never forget.
I was in Stellwater with a load of potatoes that day. In all places of labor the tools were laid down and each one went to his home. Stores and Houses were draped in black, and many flags on half mast to show the sorrow. Much Lamentation was heard in the streets. Old men cried like Babies.
For here nothing is like in Sweden, people are not ordered to Mourn when the Head of the Nation passes but all happens of free Will. Our President was called the country’s Father and we mourn him like a Father in the Flesh. He fought for the Right of the Poor, He made the Black free from Slavery, unchained their chains. The People had entrusted their government to Him. His portrait hangs in many houses for all to see. A man worthy of Honor is honored in Our Republic.
Father Abe’s murderer is Taken, shot through the head, for he did not wish to be taken in Life. Old Honest Abe will be brought to his home village in Springfield and will be buried there. His Corpse will be brought 1,300 miles and People will meet up and gather along the Whole way to say Farewell.
This might be of small interest to My sister in Sweden, but it has just happened and my mind is full of it. The Indian savages in Minnesota made an uproar and started a cruel war. But afterwards the Indians were told to keep 20 miles away from any house or white settlement. Now we are safe from the reds.
I want to tell you about my family now since Kristina left us. Her death I have not gotten over and don’t think I will in Life. But otherwise all is well with us, I have had good luck in worldy matters, I have now 3 horses and one colt and 10 cows not counting young ones. Last year I fatted 18 Pigs. I sold most of the Pork, but since the war, prices are low. 20 acres of my claim still lies in wilderness but my Sons will help me break it. My six children are all well and full of Life. My oldest daughter takes care of my house, she is 18. And my good boys will be of great help. The youngest goes to school and is learning English fast.
After the end of the war the Country is improving. They are building one railroad after another through Minnesota and we can all ride the Steam Wagon. Good times are promised to us by our Government.
The Astrakhan tree from Kristina’s home bears every fall. You can see it to the right in the Portrait I send of our House, taken by a photographing man from Stellwater. Now you can see how we live, they take portraits much like the object here in America.
My hope is that my thoughts which I have tried to put on Paper will find you and Yours at good health. Hope you don’t forget to write and let me know about My beloved Sister.
Your Devoted Brother
Karl Oskar Nilsson.
Part Three
XX
THE FIRST CHILD TO LEAVE THE HOUSE
—1—
It was Mr. C. A. Persson who had persuaded Karl Oskar to buy it. The storekeeper ordered all kinds of new inventions and displayed them in his shop, and one after another he palmed them off on the settlers. But this one appeared to be a most useful invention. Klas Albert promised to assemble it himself and show how to use it. He brought it one dark fall evening and everyone gathered around the rectangular wooden box.
Karl Oskar wanted to surprise his children and had not mentioned the purchase to them. He acted as if he didn’t know what was in the box.
Mr. Persson broke open the box and displayed an object, the like of which had never been seen before in this house—a brass stand, a foot and a half high, which the storekeeper placed on the table. It stood there quite firmly on its solid, round base.
Marta had already guessed that Father had bought some useful kitchen utensil but she could not figure out what this brass stand could be used for. She could neither cut nor cook with it. It seemed to have no purpose. But it was beautiful, with its greenish tint, perhaps it was meant as a table decoration.
“What kind of knickknack have you brought, Klas Albert?” she asked.
“Wait till I’m ready—then you’ll see something!”
And from the box the Center City merchant drew out several more strange objects: a porcelain globe, a glass pipe a foot long, and at last a kind of flask filled with a transparent fluid. Each object was exceedingly fragile and Klas Albert was most careful in handling them. His audience, standing in a circle around him, realized that the pieces must in some way be put together.
“Wait till I’m ready! Then you’ll understand!”
Mr. Persson opened a lid over an enlargement at the upper end of the brass stand, and into this hole he poured the white fluid from the flask. Then he slowly turned a screw fastened to the stand. No one could guess the purpose of this screw. But it appeared that something was going to happen. And so it did.
Klas Albert struck a match and held it over the brass stand. A flame leaped up from its upper end—the brass stand was burning!
The circle of spectators broke apart; they all stepped back. What was this? Everyone in this house had been instructed to handle fire most carefully; Father had told them to stamp out any flame or spark outside the fireplace. Yet here he stood and smiled while Klas Albert appeared to be trying to set the house on fire!
A tall flame burned lustily at the upper end of the brass stand, but Mr. Persson remained calm
. He picked up the glass pipe and placed it around the flame, enclosing it. He then placed the porcelain globe on a ring and turned the screw again. The tall flame withdrew a little and stopped smoking. He kept turning the screw until the flame burned evenly inside the pipe.
A clear, warm light spread through the whole kitchen. The flame in the pipe spread its light to the farthest corner.
And now Karl Oskar said in a solemn voice, “Tonight we have a new light in our house—I have bought a kerosene lamp.”
He was very much pleased with the surprise he could read in his children’s faces. And Klas Albert was even more pleased; he looked as if he had just performed a very difficult magician’s trick.
“How clever you are!” exclaimed Marta. “What do you do to make it light up?”
Eagerly Klas Albert showed the girl how the trick worked: The brass stand formed the foot of the lamp. This enlargement held the fluid that burned—it was called the oil chamber. Into the oil he had stuck some twisted yarn, called the wick, and the other end of the wick came up into the glass pipe. The yarn kept burning because it was soaked in oil and was being fed from the oil chamber. By turning the screw he could change the flame, make it strong or weak, any way he wanted it. The glass pipe protected the flame and the porcelain globe softened the light.
“As simple as that!” said Klas Albert, acting as if it were the easiest thing in the world to make a flame come out of the end of a brass stand.
The kerosene lamp would give as much light as ten tallow candles, he explained. Yet the strangest part was that it would burn indefinitely. When the flame grew weak one only had to pour more oil into the oil chamber.
And they were long to remember that autumn evening when Klas Albert brought the new light to their house. The kerosene lamp brought them more satisfaction and pleasure than any other new invention. The nights were dark at every season; between sunset and bedtime a black wall stood outside the windows, and they needed light. They had made their own candles from sheep tallow, they had also used pitch splinters which they fastened to the walls; and in winter the fire on the hearth gave them light. But candles had to last, pitch splinters burned only a short moment, and the fire must be fed constantly. Candles, splinters, and the fire burned out, but the lamp lasted. One had only to refill the oil chamber. It was an eternal light.
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