Song of Sampo Lake

by William Durbin

  At Winston City the only hints of the original town were a dozen collapsed tar-paper shacks, some rusting machinery, and a few piles of broken bottles and rotting timbers. South of the town site stood a broken-down saloon called Sally’s. A tattered canvas awning stretched across the front. Mother clicked her tongue in disgust at a disheveled lumberjack snoring on the porch. A sleeping dog raised one eyebrow.

  The building on the opposite side of the road had a long sign hanging from the eaves that read WINSTON’S TRADING POST AND EMPORIUM. The oldest part of the store was built of logs, but the next two sections were sided with rough-sawn boards. Each addition was taller than the one before it, making the building look like a half-opened telescope. The far part had a LIVERY STABLE sign. A low porch ran the entire length of the building.

  Matti was amazed at all the supplies inside. Copper kettles, cast-iron pans, logging chains, ropes, and leg-hold traps hung from log beams. The shelves in the front of the store displayed work clothes, boots, and tools, while the racks in the rear were stocked with food. Mingled with the scents of candy and spices were the odors of freshly tanned leather, last fall’s potatoes, and a pickle barrel.

  Mother walked toward the main counter. A short, wiry man stood behind a glass case that housed ammunition, hunting knives, chewing tobacco, and cigars. The wall behind the counter was papered from top to bottom with embossed stock certificates that read MINNESOTA MINING COMPANY.

  Matti stepped up to the counter. He’d promised Mother that he would do all the talking, but he was having second thoughts.

  “Top of the morning to ye,” the man said, twisting the end of his handlebar mustache. “Billy Winston’s the name. What can I do for you?” Billy’s skin was darkly tanned, his uncombed hair had a reddish tint, and his eyes were deep blue. When Matti didn’t answer right away, Billy said, “Speak up, lad. Has the cat got your tongue?”

  “Cat?” Matti repeated, wondering if he’d heard right.

  “Forget it, son,” he chuckled. “How can I help you?”

  Wanting to get his English words right, Matti spoke slowly. “Good morning to you,” he said. “I am Matti Ojala.”

  “It’s fine to meet you, Matti Ojala,” Billy said. Nodding toward Mother, he asked, “And who might this pretty young lady be? Your sister?”

  “No,” Matti said, wondering if he’d misunderstood. “This is my mother.”

  Matti didn’t know he was talking so loud until Billy stepped back and said, “Hold it down, son. My hearing is fine. I’m just amazed that this fine flower of womanhood could be old enough to be anyone’s mother.”

  “It is the truth,” Matti said.

  Though Mother nodded, Matti could tell that she wasn’t sure what Billy was talking about.

  A pyramid-shaped chunk of quartz and granite stood on top of the counter. Matti stared into the milky crystal and saw what looked like flecks of gold.

  “If you’re thinking there’s gold in that rock, lad, you’re right.” Billy grinned. “The trick is getting it out.” Billy’s words had a musical lilt to them, and his r’s rattled as they rolled off his tongue. Matti studied the golden specks.

  “If you could come up with a way to separate that gold, you’d be a rich man,” Billy continued. “The stock behind me is proof that lots of fellows have tried.” He waved his hand toward the wall that was covered with hundreds of fancy-bordered Minnesota Mining Company stock certificates. “Why, every piece of equipment back along that trail was brought here for the sole purpose of extracting gold.” Billy ran a thick finger over the crystal. “Try as they might, they couldn’t build a stamp mill tough enough to break up the quartz without breaking the machine, too. So,” Billy asked, “what can I do for you folks?”

  “My mother would like to make a trade.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Mother unfolded her handkerchief and showed Billy the sparkling ruby brooch. He shook his head. “It’s a pretty bauble for sure, but I’m in the fur and livery business. Give me a marten or a fisher pelt and I can tell you the value in two shakes of a dead lamb’s tail, but I don’t know a lick about—”

  “What do you have there, William?” A lady stepped through a curtained doorway and leaned over Billy’s shoulder.

  “It’s nothing, Clara,” Billy said.

  “It looks like something to me,” she said. Her voice was low and breathy. She looked twenty years younger than Billy. Her black hair was pinned up with a pearl comb, and her dress was a satiny green. She rested one hand on Billy’s shoulder and leaned closer to the brooch. Her perfume was so soft it almost wasn’t there.

  Matti tried not to stare as she blinked her big green eyes, and extended one finger to touch the gold prongs of the ruby setting and the circle of diamonds that surrounded it.

  “I’m sorry, folks,” Billy said. “You might try the jeweler in Ely, but I couldn’t ever—”

  “William, may I have a word?” she interrupted.

  She led Billy down the counter and whispered something. He began to nod. Returning, he said, “What sorta goods were you thinking of swapping for?”

  “We would like to trade for a horse and a wagon, please.”

  “That’s a bit steep,” Billy replied, stepping back as if Matti had talked too loud again. “I—”

  “William?” His wife’s voice was cool this time.

  “But,” Billy added, “I’m sure we can work something out. I don’t have a workhorse right now, but I could trade a pair of mules and a farm wagon.”

  Matti translated the word wagon for Mother, and she nodded. But when Matti saw Mrs. Winston hold the brooch up to her dress, he said, “Be patient, Mother,” in Finnish.

  Taking a chance, he said, “And we would like that gun, please.”

  “Gun?” Billy frowned.

  Matti pointed toward the rack.

  “That’s an 1873 Springfield rifle. I couldn’t begin to throw that in. It’s worth three doll—”

  His wife stepped forward again. “That sounds fair, doesn’t it, William?” She touched the ruby with her fingertip. “And I’m sure this young man could use a box of cartridges.”

  Billy was about to object, but his wife patted his forearm and said, “Giving up one little gun won’t hurt, will it?”

  “It’s a rifle, dear.” Billy shrugged his shoulders and extended his hand. “You drive a hard bargain, sir,” he said, “and you’ve got a good eye for firearms.” After he shook Matti’s hand, Mother leaned forward and whispered, “Good job!” His face flushed with pride as Billy reached under the counter for a box of cartridges. Then he stepped toward the gun rack. “This is my all-time favorite hunting rifle.” He opened the action and handed it to Matti. “They call her a Trapdoor Springfield. These 45:70-caliber bullets will take down a deer or a moose or caribou, but if you load her with bird shot, she makes a great duck and partridge gun.”

  As Billy showed Matti how to load the rifle, Mrs. Winston gathered up the brooch and disappeared through the curtained doorway.

  CHAPTER6

  Billy talked the whole time he showed Matti how to hitch the team to the wagon. “Miss Maude here is a lady,” he said, “but Katie leans toward the feisty side. That double bell cut on her tail warns folks to watch her close because she is both a kicker and a biter.”

  Matti helped Mother into the wagon. As he started down the road, she patted his shoulder. “Our wagon!” They grinned at each other.

  Matti watched the mules carefully. Though Katie had a strange habit of turning her head and looking at him every few minutes, the team kept a steady pace. As they drove past the gold town ruins, Matti asked, “How do you suppose a fancy lady like Mrs. Winston ever ended up living at a wilderness trading post?”

  “Didn’t you notice Billy’s eyes?”

  Matti frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Every woman dreams of having a man who is dedicated to her heart and soul,” Mother said. “One look in that man’s eyes told me that he would do absolutely
anything in the world for his Clara. And you know, he’s a real charmer.”

  Matti still frowned. Mother had clearly seen something in Billy that had passed him right by.

  When Matti parked the wagon in front of Aunt Hilda’s house, the whole family came running out. “Where on earth have you two been?” Father said. “And what are you doing with that wagon?”

  When Matti reached into the back of the wagon and handed him the rifle, Father looked confused.

  “They call it a Trapdoor Springfield,” Matti said proudly. “It will come in handy when we move to our homestead.”

  “What?” Father’s eyebrows went up.

  “You should have seen how clever Matti was,” Mother said. “I would have settled for the wagon, but he got us the rifle, too.”

  “There’s no way we have enough money saved to start a homestead.”

  “We won’t need much money,” Mother said, “now that Matti’s helped us get a wagon and a rifle.”

  Matti showed Maude and Katie to Father. Before Matti could warn him about Katie’s moods, she laid back her ears and kicked at his leg. Father dodged aside. “I see we’ve got a spirited little lady here,” he said. “What a strange trim job on her tail.”

  “Mr. Winston said the double bell cut warns people that she kicks and bites,” Matti said. “But he guaranteed she and Maude are a well-matched team.”

  When Father patted Katie’s neck, she eeoowed and bit at him.

  Anna and Kari squealed, but Father laughed. “Easy, gal.”

  “It would be fine to break some fresh ground,” Father said, “but there are a million things that we’d need. We couldn’t—”

  “Don’t be such a worrier, Leo,” Mother said. Everyone laughed because that was what Father usually said to her. “Hilda’s promised to give us her kitchen range, her utensils, and all sorts of—”

  Father shook his head. “No. We—”

  Hilda interrupted this time. “The only thing I ask in return is that you see me to the train.” Father opened his mouth to speak, but she said, “It’s been decided, Leo.”

  Father studied the women with a half smile. “So how long have you and Miss Minna been planning this?”

  Mother and Hilda both chuckled. When Mother got stubborn, Father called her Miss Minna after Minna Canth, a writer from Kuopio who was famous for supporting women’s suffrage.

  “It may just work,” Father said. “We do have a little saved.” His brown eyes darkened. “I’ll never forget the first time I had to write down my landlord’s name in place of my own. Timo was just a baby back then, but I swore that even if I had to plow another man’s land for fifty years, the day would come when my son would be free to reclaim his rightful name.” Now he was smiling. “If Timo stayed on at the mine, and Mother kept the girls here, Matti and I could put up a sauna and live in it while we worked on our cabin.”

  The whole family laughed. Once Father got sauna building on his mind, there would be no stopping him.

  Two days later Father went to the courthouse and filed a homestead claim. He returned home even more excited. “Our land is only nine miles south of Tower,” he said. “Best of all, it’s on the shore of a lake called Sampo. Can you believe it?”

  “There’s a lake in Minnesota named after the magic mill of the Kalevala?” Matti asked. From the time Matti was little, Father had told him tales of how the hero Väinö had used his powers of song and magic to defeat his enemies and capture the Sampo.

  “And it’s right down the road,” Father said.

  “Since the Sampo was famous for yielding both gold and grain,” Matti said, “maybe we’re finally heading for golden shores after all.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The whole family rode to the train depot to say goodbye to Aunt Hilda. Everyone was on the verge of tears until Anna got the hiccoughs, making them laugh. Matti was glad to see that Aunt Hilda laughed the hardest of all. He hated to think of her going, but returning to Finland might help heal her pain.

  That evening Mother was silent during supper. While Father teased the girls and made them giggle, Mother stared out the kitchen window toward the depot. As Timo sipped his coffee, Matti helped Mother and the girls clear the table. “Don’t worry, Mother,” Matti said. “When we sell the first crop from our farm, we’ll send Hilda a ticket so she can come and visit.”

  “That’s sweet, dear,” Mother said. But Matti sensed that she thought she would never see her twin sister again.

  At dawn the next day Father and Matti loaded their wagon and set out for Sampo Lake. “Clear a good field for our rye and potatoes,” Mother said as she kissed them each goodbye.

  For most of the way the road ran parallel to the railroad grade. “With a straight route like this we should reach Sampo Junction in an hour or two,” Father said. He whistled to himself as Matti drank in the sights and scents of spring. The ditch banks were lined with marsh marigolds. Clusters of white blossoms covered the chokecherry bushes, and catkins hung from the birch and alder. A rich pollen smell filled the air.

  “These ladies have an even gait,” Father said. “They’ll be a perfect pair for plowing, if I can only get used to this harnessing.” Like Matti, Father was used to driving mules harnessed in a line rather than side by side.

  When they reached a badly washboarded part of the road, Father pulled on the reins and yelled, “Ptrui! Ptrui!” but the mules continued forward.

  “Say ‘Whoa’ if you want them to stop,” Matti said.

  “Whoa!” Father shouted. But his accent was so strange that the mules still ignored him. “Stupid American mules,” he hollered.

  Matti yelled, “Whoa!” and the mules immediately stopped. Father shook his finger at the back of their heads. “Once you gals get to our homestead,” he said, “your first job will be to learn proper Finnish.”

  Though Maude lowered her head at Father’s scolding, Katie turned and stared at him, looking bored.

  “Well, even if those mules are illiterate,” Father said, “you got us a fine wagon.” He patted the oak seat and began whistling again.

  A half mile farther on, the road veered away from the railroad and narrowed. For the next half hour the wagon bounced over rocks and lurched through mudholes. Once the left wheel got mired in a hole, and they had to cut a long pole to pry up the axle and block the wheel. Tiny black gnats buzzed around Matti’s head, biting his neck and face and chewing the backs of his hands.

  When they reached a logged-over area, the bugs were better, but the trail was even rougher. The wagon barely fit between the stumps and the brush piles, and Katie looked over her shoulder as if checking to see if they knew where they were going. “You follow your nose, like your good sister Maude, Miss Sassy,” Father called.

  Just when Matti decided that Katie had been right to worry, Sampo Junction appeared. Matti had expected a real train depot, but the junction consisted of one side track and a single building that wasn’t much bigger than a switch shack. Father introduced himself to the stationmaster, Eino Saari.

  “You’re lucky to catch me in,” Eino said. “We’re only a whistle-stop in the summer when the logging camps are shut down.” Eino was a short man with a gentle smile and yellow hair that stuck out from under his engineer’s cap. A fellow homesteader, he was happy to welcome them to his “neighborhood.” But when Father asked for directions to Sampo Lake, Eino frowned. “Did you file on the north or the south side of the lake?”

  Father pulled his map out and showed Eino the mark that the man in the courthouse had made.

  Eino shook his head. “The lake is right over there.” He pointed over the tracks to the west. “But—”

  “Is something wrong with the north side?” Father asked.

  “The land is fine, but a big stretch of swamp lies between your land and the main road.”

  “They didn’t mention that at the courthouse,” Father said.

  “They never do,” Eino said. “You won’t have trouble after the freeze-up. But it would be rou
gh getting in there now.”

  “Is there a place we could store our wagon?” Father asked.

  “A man named Black Jack Mattson lives on the south shore. He might be willing to watch your things for you,” Eino said. “The only problem is he’s a bit strange.”

  “Strange?” Father said.

  “He’s not dangerous,” Eino said. “He’s just an old bachelor who likes to keep to himself. We call him Spirit Jack.”

  When they got within view of Black Jack’s house, Father said, “What do you think?”

  Matti stared at the crude log cabin. The homesteads near Tower had been surrounded by cleared fields, but Black Jack’s house was crowded right into the trees. Other than a rocky path between his cabin and the lake, his property was unbroken pine forest.

  Father put the break on the wagon. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  Black Jack’s log cabin was roofed with moss-covered sheets of birch bark. Smoke drifted from a rusty stovepipe. When they reached the front door, a gray dog charged around the corner with his teeth bared. Matti crouched and extended an open hand. Luckily the dog stopped and sniffed him.

  Matti was scratching the dog’s ears when the door opened. Black Jack’s hair was long and scraggly. His cheeks were sunken, and a wild gray beard hung down to the middle of his chest. Despite the heat, he wore wool pants with suspenders and a long-sleeved wool undershirt.

  Black Jack snarled, “What’s this?” His brow was furrowed, but as he watched Matti petting his dog, his mouth turned up in a smile. “Looks like Louhi’s found a friend,” he said. “That mutt usually makes meat out of strangers.”

  “Did you say Louhi?” Father brightened. Louhi was the famous witch in the Kalevala.

  “What else would you call a dog that lived on Sampo Lake?” Black Jack said. As Black Jack shifted his feet, Matti noticed that his left leg was a wooden peg from the knee down. Matti tried not to stare, but Black Jack said, “Haven’t you ever seen a man with a stump? It might not be pretty, but it makes for a fine pile driver.” He pounded his wooden leg down so hard that a tin plate rattled inside the cabin.