On a Cold Dark Sea

by Elizabeth Blackwell

  “Do you want to stay? In America?”

  That question, at least, had an easy answer. “Yes. I was told Agneta had arranged a job, as a housecleaner.”

  “We’ll talk to her tomorrow.” Josef’s face relaxed as he sat back in his chair. “Good. I’m glad.”

  “I’ll have to see about lodgings . . .”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Agneta and Tomas will be happy to have you, for as long as you like. We are as good as family, aren’t we?”

  So Mrs. Norling had been right. Josef thought of Anna as a younger sister. Which meant she would never be anything else.

  “Do you know, it’s made me feel better, talking about Emil,” Josef said. “Like he’s here with us.”

  To Anna, it was horrible to think of Emil’s restless spirit clinging to her, refusing to be set free. But if talking about his brother gave Josef even a minute of happiness, then Anna would do it. She would join Josef in reminiscences of Emil as he used to be, when they were boys back in Sweden. She would help him escape to a time when everyone he loved was alive—his parents and Sonja and Emil—and the berries were ripe and the harvest was in and there was enough to eat for everyone. That was the Emil Anna must choose to remember. Not the Emil who’d wanted to marry her, or the one who’d called out from the sea.

  The next morning, Agneta told Anna the job was still hers if she wanted it, but there was no rush to start. Anna was welcome to stay at the farm as their guest for a few days first. Anna helped with the children and the cooking and fed the chickens and other livestock. In the late afternoons, she went to Josef’s barn and watched him feed and groom the horses. The familiarity of the routine seemed to lull Josef into a confessional mood, and Anna nodded admiringly as he talked of his plans for the house and the new farming methods he hoped to try out. He spread out his life before Anna like a jeweler lays out his wares, hoping she’d be dazzled.

  Anna didn’t know why her approval gave him particular pleasure, but he seemed to crave it. For every quiet compliment she gave—“I like the red you chose for the shutters”—Josef grinned and tilted his head in a way that was meant to deflect her praise even as he savored it. It required no deception on Anna’s part; she was genuinely astonished by what he’d achieved in only a few years. He was already well on his way to running his own farm, and in the winter, he’d earn good money doing carpentry in town. Josef had always been a hard worker, and here in America, he was rewarded for it.

  A week after Anna arrived, Agneta arranged a visit with Anna’s new employer. The woman was elderly and being looked after by a housekeeper who was nearly as ancient; Anna would be doing the heavy cleaning. The house was quiet and orderly, and the pay—in Anna’s eyes—was extravagant given the relative ease of her duties. She agreed to start the next day.

  She told Josef early that evening when she went to fetch him for dinner. Spring in Minnesota was no match for its lingering winter, and the air was sharp with cold. Still, Josef appeared in no hurry to arrive at Tomas’s house. He slowed his pace when they reached the top of the rise by his house and pointed to the fallow fields.

  “None of this is mine, you know.”

  “But it’s your farm.”

  “It’s my uncle’s land. He doesn’t charge me to use it, and whatever I grow is mine to keep, which is more than fair. But I came to America so I could own something of my own. Not work another man’s property.”

  Josef stopped walking. He seemed to have decided that being on time for dinner wasn’t as important as what he wanted to say.

  “When I first came to Minneapolis, I worked at a lumber mill six days a week. Twelve hours a day. On Sundays, after church, I came out here and cleared fields and planted crops. I started collecting scraps from the lumberyard—planks that had flaws or had been cut the wrong size—and I started designing this house. I’ve always been a farmer, and maybe I always will be. But building is more satisfying. With a farm, you grow crops, and you harvest them, and then you start over. When you build something, it lasts.”

  How lucky Josef was, to have such clear ambitions. Anna couldn’t think of anything she was particularly good at. Or anything she could do that would leave a lasting mark.

  “I like living on a farm—growing my own food, having fresh milk and eggs. But farming’s no way to rise up in the world. I’ve met men from Sweden and Norway and Finland who came here with nothing, and now they’re living in big houses and driving new cars. America changes your thinking, Anna. It makes you believe anything’s possible.”

  And it was, for people like Josef. People who were willing to take risks. But Anna no longer thought much further than her next meal. As she’d learned when Josef left Sweden, it was foolish to set your sights on a future that might never be yours.

  “I had plans of starting my own business. Andersson Construction, with Emil as my partner. But with him gone . . .”

  Josef took a deep breath, and Anna sensed his determination to keep steady, to fight back the temptation of tears.

  “This was the year I was going to be married.” Josef spoke softly, without self-pity. “The year Emil and I set up shop. To have it all taken away, in an instant—it doesn’t seem possible.”

  “I know.” The familiar whisper of guilt sidled up to her, like a persistent beggar who won’t be ignored. Why did you let go of Emil’s hand? You could have saved him . . .

  “You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this.” Josef turned to Anna, and she felt a familiar surge of gratitude. Josef was the only person who ever really looked at her. “It’s because I wanted you to know everything. You’ll be earning your own money soon, and you’ll be able to do whatever you like. But before you leave, I wonder if you’d consider marrying me.”

  It felt as if Anna’s body had suddenly filled with air, and she might float off into the sky. She kept her face expressionless, an outer fortress protecting the weakness within.

  “We’d make a good match, don’t you think? We know each other’s families, we get along, and we’re both hard workers. What do you think?”

  It was the offer she’d hoped for, wasn’t it? The offer that had crossed her mind like a whisper from the devil, when she knew Sonja was dead. She had no right to feel disappointed.

  “We’re family already,” Anna murmured.

  “Exactly,” Josef said. He looked somber, not at all like an eager soon-to-be groom. “I mean no disrespect to Sonja. We’ll have to wait a while—Agneta will know what’s proper.”

  Anna tried to summon an appropriately pleased expression, but she’d always been a terrible liar. And Josef had known her long enough to see through her deception.

  “Please don’t agree out of kindness,” Josef said quietly. “Do you want to marry me?”

  “Yes.” But not like this, Anna thought. Never like this.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Emil and Sonja,” she blurted out. “It’s not fair.” She couldn’t tell him what she really meant, that she’d never intended her wish to come true through another’s death.

  “Don’t you see?” Josef asked. “They’re the reason we should marry. We must live and have children and build this house. Do all the things they were never able to.”

  Josef believed Sonja and Emil’s spirits were still with them, and in that moment, Anna had a vision of Sonja’s face when they’d spoken after Josef had sent his proposal of marriage. Sonja had apologized and begged forgiveness; she’d promised not to accept if it would cause Anna distress. Anna knew, as surely as if Sonja had confessed it herself, that Sonja would be pleased to see Anna take her place as Josef’s wife.

  And Emil? She could almost hear his voice on that moonlit deck, the first time she’d seen him as a man rather than a boy. Emil hadn’t blamed Anna for loving Josef, and he wouldn’t want his beloved older brother to be alone. He would tell Anna to say yes.

  If the dead did send their blessings, they came in chilly waves that made Anna shudder. She leaned into Josef, and his arm r
eached out, around her shoulders. Anna thought of her father, a man who never spoke of love but showed it in a hundred silent ways. She could not expect romantic speeches from a man like Josef, but he would be a good husband. Reliable and kind.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Josef said, his voice nearly a whisper in the dark. “Mrs. Josef Andersson won’t go around town in a charity coat, and a man’s one at that.”

  Anna glanced down at the hem grazing her ankles, the rolled-up sleeves. Protectively, she pulled it tighter around her body.

  “It’s good quality wool,” Anna said. “I can restyle it to suit me.”

  “That’s my girl,” Josef said, and patted her on the cheek. Not a kiss, but the next best thing, and enough to nudge Anna into a slow, shy smile. “Resourceful and frugal. I knew we’d make a good match.”

  Anna saw then how it would be: she and Josef hitched together like oxen, working side by side. A marriage built on shared labor and the satisfaction of a job well done. Until the donation from the Immigrant Aid Society, Anna had never had new clothes of her own; she had always worn her sisters’ castoffs. Now, she would have a hand-me-down husband. Perhaps that was the best she could hope for.

  Anna was nineteen when she married Josef in the Lake Crossing Lutheran Church six months later. She suffered none of the stereotypical mishaps of a young bride; there were no burnt breakfasts or shrunken socks to serve as holiday-dinner fodder in years to come. From the very beginning, she was a diligent housekeeper and cook, and Josef said his shirts had never been so well ironed. They were, as Josef had said, a good match, each politely considerate, each helping the other without needing to be asked. They ended most evenings yawning in the bed Tomas and Agneta had given them as a wedding present. Josef would kiss Anna on the forehead and say good night; Anna would curl up, her knees to her chest, to give Josef the space he needed to stretch out. On Sunday evenings, Josef would shift closer and wrap his arms around her waist; Anna would place her hands around his back and squeeze. Their marital relations proceeded with a solemnity appropriate to the Lord’s day, and Anna submitted to her wifely duty with neither dread nor anticipation. A woman wasn’t meant to enjoy it, she thought, but she always smiled when Josef had satisfied himself, the same way she smiled at the barn cat when he caught a mouse: Good job. Well done.

  When the weather made its definitive shift into winter, Anna pulled out the black coat from her storage trunk. She decided where to cut and where to sew new seams and marked the measurements with pins. Then she began ripping out the lining, only to discover its secret. Behind the thick tailor’s label—“Haviland & Sons”—she found three banknotes, each for ten British pounds. There were two more folded lengthwise into the collar. Anna had no idea how much fifty pounds might be in dollars, but the bills were smooth and crisp, fresh from a bank. Anna thought with a pang of the English woman, Charlotte. The coat must have belonged to her husband or father, a man who was most likely dead. Had Charlotte known about the money? She couldn’t have, if she had given the coat so freely to Anna.

  Anna allowed herself a few minutes to admire the money, shuffling it back and forth in her hands. Then she gathered it into a neat pile and hid it in the top drawer of her dresser, beneath her undergarments, while she worked out what to do next.

  Anna fully intended to return the money to Charlotte. The problem was that she didn’t even know Charlotte’s last name, let alone where she lived. The problem nagged at Anna for the rest of the day, but she said nothing when Josef came in to wash up nor when they sat down to supper. She told herself that it wasn’t worth worrying him with the problem until she’d decided on a solution. The shameful truth was that even then, Anna was wondering if there was a way she might keep it.

  She didn’t give in to temptation right away. The next time she was in Saint Paul, she paid a visit to Mrs. Norling and asked if she still had the newspapers from the days after the Titanic sank. Mrs. Norling did indeed; she had put them in a box of collectibles that she was convinced would be quite valuable one day.

  Even with Anna’s limited English, it was upsetting to see page after page devoted to the sinking. She understood only a few of the words: “lost” and “saved” and “tragedy.” Eventually, she found a list of survivors, arranged by class. Anna wasn’t used to analyzing the subtle differences in status that showed themselves in hats and shoes, but she knew Charlotte had been too well dressed for third class. Anna saw no one named Charlotte in first or second class. Then she realized only unmarried ladies were listed with their given names. If Charlotte was married, she’d be listed under her husband’s name. And Anna had no idea what that might be.

  Goaded by frustration, Anna scanned every page, her eyes running through line after line of stories. There were names everywhere; it seemed everyone who’d gotten off the ship had given a reporter their tale of woe. Anna couldn’t imagine telling a stranger what had happened—it had been difficult enough telling Josef. But others had reveled in the attention. Charlotte, however, did not appear to be among them.

  Anna closed the last of the papers, her eyes itchy and her shoulders sore. She realized to her dismay that she’d spent an hour on this fruitless search, reliving a night she’d vowed to put behind her. And she still wasn’t any closer to finding Charlotte.

  Anna did consider other possibilities. She could write to the White Star Line office in New York, which would have passenger records. She could ask the Swedish Immigrant Aid Society for help. Somehow, Anna never got around to writing those letters. She kept intending to, every time she opened her top drawer and pulled out a clean pair of stockings. It was one of those important but nonurgent chores that never seemed to get done.

  And the longer the money stayed in the house, the more Anna came to think of it as hers. Josef worked from sunup to past dark, running the farm while also hiring himself out on building sites. Anna never coveted Charlotte’s money for herself, only for how it might help Josef. What if they could afford a hired hand? What if Josef bought one of those new electric drills? The more Anna considered the possibilities, the easier they became to justify: Josef needed the money more than Charlotte, who most likely didn’t even know it was hidden in the coat. Charlotte would never miss what she didn’t know she had.

  And if Anna hadn’t been meant to keep the money, would a perfect excuse have come so easily? A year into her marriage, Anna received word from Papa that her great-uncle in Stockholm had died. He was a bachelor, a loner, and a bit of an eccentric, whom she barely remembered from a long-ago visit. But his death felt like a sign. A few weeks later, Anna told Josef she’d inherited some money, which would soon be wired to a bank in Minneapolis.

  Josef never thought to question her story. He didn’t ask to see proof of her inheritance or the bank transfer; he didn’t ask why a man Anna never spoke of had left her a legacy. Anna took the pounds to the downtown branch of the Minnesota Bank & Trust, where she exchanged them for $250.

  That night, mimicking the clerk who’d handed her the pristine, crisp currency, Anna laid the dollars out on the dining-room table as Josef watched, astounded. When he’d added up how much it was, he pulled Anna into his arms, pressing his face into her hair.

  “Our luck’s turned at last!” he marveled.

  They laughed and kissed and laughed as they kissed, both of them surrendering to joy they’d never been carefree enough to embrace. In that euphoric moment, Anna knew she’d made the right decision. She’d given Josef the gift of freedom.

  With the money for new tools and hired labor, Andersson Construction finished its first house ahead of schedule, and Josef soon signed contracts for three more. By the time Anna was expecting her first child, they had two farmhands and Josef was spending most of his days in town. When Sarah was learning to walk, they added a second floor to their house, and Anna spent the summer clearing stray nails away from her curious daughter. When Sarah was four and John a gurgling baby, Tomas sold Josef his portion of the farm, and they were landowners at last. Anna’s
children were never true farmers’ offspring, not like she and Josef had been. They regarded the horses as playmates rather than work machines and the barn as their playground. They had daily chores, but they never knew what it meant to live solely off the food you grow. By the time Susan was born, the fields were no longer being cultivated, and all but two horses had been sold to pay for a new Oldsmobile.

  If Anna came face-to-face with her past self, she had no doubt the girl in the lifeboat would be astonished by all she’d accomplished. She’d had a good life. A happy life. Sarah was now the same age Anna had been when she married, but her daughter had greater ambitions; she was at a secretarial college in Saint Paul. John, though only fourteen, was already learning about the family business; he had a quiet depth that reminded Anna of Emil. John could achieve great things, she believed, if he ever came out of his shell. Susan was still a work in progress, an eight-year-old who shifted moods as quickly as a clotheshorse sorts through new gowns. Spoiled, as the youngest often is. Anna knew her children thought her dowdy and old-fashioned, that they rolled their eyes at her broken English when they thought she wouldn’t see. She couldn’t fault them for favoring Josef over her. Anna would have done the same, in their place.

  Anna was sitting on the bed, the coat wrapped around her like a blanket, when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It must be Susan, home from school. Anna knew she should get up but couldn’t quite muster her arms and legs to obey. The steps came closer, and Anna looked up and saw Josef in the doorway, looking at her, surprised.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Anna’s only response was to reflect Josef’s own confusion back at him.

  “I’m meeting Mr. Wilton at the factory at four o’clock. I was going over the plans last night and left them on my desk.”

  Josef walked over to the bed and put a hand on Anna’s cheek. She was moved by the gesture, until he slid his hand to her forehead: he was checking for fever. Josef looked down at the coat, and his lips dipped into a frown.