Sophie's Dilemma (21 page)

I am writing by lamplight, as all of our daylight is used for fishing. Were I not writing to you, I would be sound asleep like most of the others. Every night before I fall asleep, I think of my beautiful Sophie and thank God that you are my wife.

Love,

Your Hamre

P.S. You can write to me here at the cannery. They will hold our letters until we dock again. H.

Sophie wiped the tears away. Not one hint of resenting the way she had sent him off. Or rather, didn’t send him off. Before he left he’d taken her on board the fishing boat to show her what his life would be like. She’d seen his narrow bunk, the galley and where they ate, the dories and the pew that resembled a wooden pitchfork but with only two points and used for scooping fish instead of pitching hay or manure. Now she could picture him there, writing at the wooden table with a kerosene lamp swinging overhead, the entire room so low he had to stoop to come through the door. He’d be wearing his oilskins, a jacket that came to his hips, with the turtleneck sweater underneath and wool long johns and pants.

‘‘Ah, Hamre, I don’t know if I can bear this all winter long.’’ Of course, he thought she was warm and snug here in the boardinghouse. He had no idea she was standing on the fish line with a slender knife in one hand, slicing from the tail up the belly to the gills, pulling out the guts, and sliding the fish on to the next in line, where it would be washed, fins and head removed, and sent on to the next. The assembly line of silver fish started at dawn and ended just before dark.

She eyed the small packet of letters she had written to him. Not telling him about the job left her with little to say, other than the news from Blessing and the gossip she heard in the dining room at the boardinghouse. She’d tried hard not to whine about the unending gray days but knew some had leaked through her pen.

Reading his letter again, she had to smile. Hamre had not wasted a word—so typical for him.

She thought of addressing the letters but decided to put them all in one envelope and send them that way instead of individually. Sitting down on the bed to reread the letters she had written had been a mistake. She knew it as soon as her head felt the pillow, but moving took more energy than she had to give.

A knock at the door woke her. ‘‘What? Ah, I’m coming. I’ll be right down.’’

‘‘No, I brought you some supper. Are you all right?’’ Mrs. Soder-strum pushed open the door as she spoke.

‘‘You didn’t need to do that.’’

‘‘You slept through supper, and I knew you needed the rest, so here you go. Bring the tray down with you when you come in the morning.’’

She set the tray on the low table by the chair. ‘‘I brought you tea because I thought it might sit better. Would you rather have coffee?’’

‘‘No thank you, dear Mrs. Soderstrum. You are so good to me.’’ Sophie rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the knuckles of her fingers, making a face at the fish smell she’d not washed off. Would she ever be free of the odor again? The smell made her stomach roil.

The next morning she woke more sluggish than ever. Turning over set her stomach to sloshing, so she lay flat for a few moments, massaging her middle. Whatever was the matter with her? She sat up, then stood and drew the chamber pot out of the stand. The smell made the gorge rise in her throat, and the next thing she knew, she was heaving into the basin. When finished, she wiped her face with the washcloth still damp from the night before.
How can I possibly get dressed and . . .
You will do this, Sophie Bjorklund. You said you would work, and you will
. She dressed and clung to the rail down the stairs. But when they passed the platter with sausage patties, usually her favorite, she handed them on. Perhaps toast and tea was her best option this morning, although now she was feeling a whole lot better.

‘‘Are you all right, dear?’’ Mrs. Soderstrum whispered in her ear as she went around refilling coffee cups.

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘You’re just a mite pale. I worry about you.’’

‘‘No, I’m better.’’ She had dumped her chamber pot in the slop pail on her way down to breakfast so no one would know. ‘‘No need to worry.’’

But when the same thing happened three days in a row and once on the way home from work, she’d begun to worry herself. Should she tell someone? What if something was seriously wrong? If only she could talk with her mother.

Two days later the smell of the cannery line made her gag. She fought the feeling all morning until suddenly the world around her tilted, and the next thing she knew she was lying on the floor, her head pillowed in a woman’s lap, a voice saying, ‘‘No, she’s coming out of it. Sophie, can you hear me?’’

Sophie nodded. ‘‘What happened?’’

‘‘You fainted.’’

‘‘F-fainted?’’
I have never fainted in my life. Oh, Lord, what is wrong
with me?

‘‘Okay, ladies, back to work. Smith, you move into her place. Mrs. Bjorklund, you go sit in the lunchroom until you get your strength back.’’ The supervisor gave the orders, and everyone went back to work.

Sophie tried to stand, but the world went around again, and she clutched a wooden post.

Her neighbor left the line, shot the supervisor a look of contempt, and put an arm around Sophie’s waist. ‘‘Here, dearie, let me help you. Don’t worry none, I’ll be right back. Them fish ain’t going anywhere without us.’’ Together they made it to the relative quiet of the eating room, and Sophie sat on a bench.

‘‘Put your head between your knees now, and it’ll pass.’’

Sophie did as instructed and in a few moments did indeed feel far better. She raised her head to find the woman watching her, one hand holding up the other elbow.

‘‘You been missing any of your monthlies?’’

Sophie shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. Why?’’

‘‘Just look suspicious to me. You been feeling like heaving your guts every morning?’’

‘‘How did you know?’’

‘‘Hmm.’’ She nodded as she studied Sophie. ‘‘Breasts tender?’’

‘‘Only when I roll over.’’

More nodding. ‘‘I’d be willing to bet you are in the family way.’’

‘‘Family way?’’

‘‘Pregnant . . . with child . . . carrying.’’

‘‘But . . .’’ Sophie could feel her eyes widen and her mouth fall open. Of course. She had all the symptoms, but no one to point them out to her. ‘‘Does every woman feel like I’ve been feeling lately?’’

‘‘Not every woman. Didn’t your mother tell you about these things?’’

‘‘No. I ran off before she had a chance. I’m sure she’d have told me more otherwise, but you know no one talks of such things to innocent young girls.’’

‘‘I know.’’

‘‘How long? I mean, will I be sick like this for long?’’

‘‘Couple of months possibly. Perhaps not.’’

‘‘Lady, get back out here. We’ll have no lollygagging on my shift.’’

She made a face. ‘‘You come out when you can, or they’ll dock your pay.’’

Sophie worked the rest of the day, wanting to rub her middle as if to reassure herself. She was carrying Hamre’s baby. A shiver of excitement tickled her backbone. And he wasn’t there to get the news. She plummeted into sadness. Cupping her hands over her lower belly brought back the thrill. What a surprise. No wonder she’d been so tired.

Hugging the secret to herself, she made her way home and up to her room, where she washed and lay down for a nap. She would not miss the supper bell this time. She had to eat to keep up her strength, both to work and to feed the baby floating inside of her. Tonight she would write again to Hamre, and tomorrow send the letter. If only she could be there to see the delight in his eyes. Hamre was going to be a father.

But I thought you didn’t want to have children so soon?
The thought caught her by surprise.
That’s right. How can I go with Hamre on his
fishing boat when I have a baby to take care of?

In spite of her excitement, the next morning she felt worse than ever. She lay in bed with her eyes closed, trying to breathe around the nausea. But no matter, she was heaving into the basin within minutes, only this time when she lay down for a few moments more, it didn’t go away. How could she get up and get to the cannery when the room kept spinning? Instead, she fell back asleep.

‘‘Sophie, you’re going to be late for work.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum shook her gently.

Sophie drew in a deep breath, and this time when she opened her eyes, she felt weak but not sick. ‘‘I know. I couldn’t go earlier.’’

‘‘You’re carrying, aren’t you?’’

‘‘If you mean I am going to have a baby, I think you are right. One of the women figured it out yesterday when I fainted on the line.’’

‘‘Oh, my dear, how wonderful.’’

Sophie threw back her covers. ‘‘And now I’m going to be late. I just pray he doesn’t fire me.’’

‘‘Do you think you should go?’’

‘‘I don’t remember my mother ever taking a day off because she didn’t feel well. Of course she would not have told me what the matter was. I don’t know how she disguised such things. She had two more children after Grace and I were born.’’ All the while they were talking, Sophie had gone behind the screen to get dressed, putting on layer after layer to keep warm.

‘‘I’ll warm you up some breakfast.’’

‘‘Please fix something that I can eat as I walk.’’

‘‘I will, and your lunch is waiting for you.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum bustled out, and Sophie sat down to brush her hair and braid it to stay out of her way. When she stepped out the door, she blinked against the shining sun. She’d begun to believe it would never shine again, so at the corner she lifted her face to the warmth as a heavy wagon with four up drove by.

‘‘A good day to ye, miss.’’

‘‘And to you.’’ She waved to the driver and continued on to the cannery.

‘‘You are late.’’ The superintendent turned on her when she donned her apron and made her way to the line.

‘‘I know. I was sick.’’

‘‘But now you aren’t?’’

‘‘I’m here.’’

‘‘That’ll cost you the morning’s pay.’’

‘‘I understand.’’ She kept her shoulders straight and looked him in the eye.

‘‘Get to work, then. But remember, one more mark and you’re out of here. Go on down there and relieve Miz Hanson.’’

Sophie did as told and stepped back into the sea of scales and slime that flowed by on the moving belt.

In the lunchroom she sat next to Alice Hanson and opened her lard pail, just what she’d had all those years in school. For a moment she wished she were back there, laughing with Grace and Astrid, groaning about the homework assigned by Pastor Solberg.

‘‘How you feeling?’’

‘‘Better now. This morning was terrible. I thought to close my eyes for a moment, and Mrs. Soderstrum woke me an hour later.’’

‘‘You might try waking earlier and eating stale bread, just a bit, then lay back. My sister said that worked for her.’’

‘‘I’ll try that.’’ Sophie took a bite of her beef and cheese sandwich, wishing she had a cup of hot tea to go along with it.

‘‘This isn’t a good place for you to work, Sophie. All the cold and standing all day.’’

‘‘So where else can I work? I can’t sit in my room and twiddle my thumbs all day.’’

‘‘Perhaps someone needs house help.’’

‘‘Perhaps. But they pay a lot more here. I’ll stay as long as I can get up to the table.’’

That evening after work, she took her packet of letters to the captain’s wife, who promised to get them on the next supply boat going north.

‘‘Good to hear they are having such a good run, wasn’t it?’’ Mrs. Jorgeson said with a smile.

‘‘Yes. Perhaps next year Hamre will have a boat of his own.’’

Mrs. Jorgeson leaned a little closer. ‘‘Don’t tell anyone, but I think the captain has a proposition to offer Hamre. To make him a partner and let him pay off his boat over time. That way they could work together.’’

‘‘Does Hamre know this?’’

‘‘No, so don’t write it to him. But Captain Jorgeson mentioned again how pleased he is with Hamre’s work, and they’ve been talking about ways to work this out that will make both of them happy.’’

‘‘Ah, thank you for telling me.’’

‘‘He’s looking for a boat. I’m sure he will mention it to Hamre soon if he hasn’t already.’’ She thought a moment. ‘‘In fact, I know he has, because he said he would soon, and you know how long it took to get the letters down here.’’

Sophie’s feet didn’t touch the ground as she hurried back to the boardinghouse. Hamre was going to have his dream—two dreams. A family and a boat. The more money she could earn, the sooner they would pay it off.

‘‘My, you look like you swallowed a candle.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum handed her a pitcher of warm water to wash with.

‘‘I know. I just took my letters over to Mrs. Jorgeson, and she told me that the captain is planning on going into partnership with Hamre and buying another boat. We will be paying it off as soon as we can.’’

‘‘Why, that is wonderful. Captain Jorgeson has such a fine reputation. Such good news all around.’’ She held a bite of stew on a spoon. ‘‘Taste this and see if it needs more salt.’’

Sophie chewed and thought before shaking her head. ‘‘Tastes fine to me.’’

‘‘All right. Supper in a few minutes. I’ll be ringing the bell. Oh, and Sophie, I forgot. There’s a letter for you on the table.’’