The Emigrants (30 page)

For a moment she fought back her tears; carefully she put the shoes back into the sack.

Then she pushed down the coffee kettle, which made the sack look out of form: it stood there on the floor like a hunchback.

The America chest was locked and tied with the thickest ropes they could find; it had already been carried out into the entrance hall in readiness. On its front Karl Oskar had printed in red chalk the owner’s name and destination—there it stood in flaming red letters:
Homeowner Karl Oskar Nilsson, N. America.
Now the chest would not be lost or mixed up with another.

The Bible, the hymnbook, and the almanac were still on the table; these were the books to be taken along; their place was in the knapsack, they were to be used on the journey.

Karl Oskar came in. He had been to the village to fetch the new high boots which the shoemaker had made for him and which had not been ready until the last moment. No one knew what kind of slipshod footgear they were using in America, and to be on the safe side he had ordered a pair of high boots, to be made of oak-bark-tanned ox leather, the best to be had. The uppers came all the way up to his knees, they could be used in all weathers and on all types of roads. On the boggy roads in the wilds of America one had better be well shod if one wished to get through.

He pulled on the new boots and took a few steps across the floor so Kristina could admire and praise them. They were polished shining black and reinforced at the heels with irons, like small horseshoes. In these boots he could step on shore in America without having to feel ashamed. These boots he could show to the Americans with pride.

But the irresponsible cobbler had almost not finished them in time.

Kristina was brushing his Sunday-best clothes, which he was to put on tomorrow morning. She had put the children to bed and they were already asleep, newly washed and newly combed, in new clean night clothes. Johan and Lill-Märta knew that they were to get out and ride on a wagon tomorrow, that they were to go on a long journey, but the mother felt a sting in her heart as she reflected that otherwise they knew nothing. They had no idea of the long road they were to travel with their parents; it would be long before they were to sleep again in the peace of a home’s protection.

Now, this evening, she ought to speak to Karl Oskar; before they began their journey he must know that still another life was on the way.

“I had better tell you. I am that way again.”

He looked at her, confounded. Before he had time to ask questions she assured him she was not fooled by false signs: they were to have a little one again, he could rely on it.

“Hmm.”

Karl Oskar looked around at the bare, empty walls of the home they were to leave forever tomorrow. At last they were ready, at last all the long, tiresome preparations were over, and when finally this evening he had fetched his boots, which he had worried about, he had felt satisfied with practically everything. Then he was given this piece of news, for which he was unprepared.

A sentence escaped him: “It could not be more ill-timed or awkward.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean, it is ill-timed just now.”

She flared up. Her voice rose: “I cannot be pregnant to suit you!”

“Now, dear, don’t take it so . . .”

“What exactly do you mean, then? Is it only I? Is it only
my
fault that I get to be with child?”

“I haven’t said that.”

“You have said it’s ill-timed. Can you deny that? But is it not your fault also? Have you not had part in it, perhaps? Even more than I? Is it not you who have put me in this condition? Isn’t it you also who come ill-timed?”

“Kristina! What has come over you? Father and Mother in there can hear you!”

But his wife’s flare-up convinced him of her pregnancy more than anything else; at those times she was always short-tempered and irritable and caught fire at every little word that could be interpreted as an insult.

“Must you take it so hard?”

Her eyes were flaming, her cheeks had turned red. “It sounds as if you accuse me! As if I alone were responsible! I’m to blame less than you! You should feel it yourself! If you for one day, for one hour, had to feel so ill as I . . .”

She threw herself face down over the kitchen table, her arms folded in front of her, and burst out crying.

Karl Oskar stood there helpless. He couldn’t understand his wife’s acting thus. He almost flared up himself. But he must keep his head, for he had no indisposition to excuse him. Kristina, besides, must be worn out with all the preparations for the journey.

He put his hand on her shoulder, patting her clumsily: he had used ill-advised words, which she had interpreted wrongly. He regretted them, but he had meant no harm. He had not tried to shun his responsibility in the pregnancy. How could she think anything as foolish as that? He had not accused her of anything. He had only meant that it was bad luck she happened to be pregnant just now, when they were starting out on their journey—which in this way would be harder for her. And perhaps they would barely have arrived in their new home when she would have to go to bed in childbirth; that also wasn’t so good.

“You’re afraid I’ll be trouble,” she sobbed.

“I’ve never said that. But I’m afraid it will be harder on you when we have one more.”

It was during the first months of her pregnancy that she always felt indisposed and irritated. This difficult time, during which it was impossible to please her, would now fall during the actual crossing. But he would have acted more wisely if he had never voiced his apprehensions.

He took hold of her hand, which was limp and without response. But he kept it in his own and continued.

Things had to be as they were; no one could change them. And as long as they had nothing to accuse each other of, they might as well forget their quarrel. Now, when they were to travel so far away and build their home anew, they must stick together. Otherwise they would never succeed. They would ruin things for themselves if they quarreled and lived at odds with each other. They would hurt only themselves and their children if they pulled in different directions; they would ruin their good natures and their joy in work, now when they more than ever needed to be hardy and fearless. Shouldn’t they, this last evening at home, agree to be friends and peaceful at all times? She wanted to be his friend, as before, didn’t she?

“Of course I want to, but . . .”

She sobbed dryly and was seized with hiccoughs after crying.

“Why but? As long as you want to.”

“Karl Oskar . . . You understand . . . I don’t feel well.”

“I know it.”

“You must speak kindly to me.”

“I won’t speak unkindly to you, Kristina.”

“Will you promise?”

Kristina was becoming more calm; she realized that she too had been unjust. She had lost her temper. But he had used such irritating words: “It could not be more ill-timed.” Those words had escaped him and he must have meant something by them. Didn’t he mean that she would ruin the journey for him through her pregnancy? It had sounded as if she had done all she could in order to be with child again. When, on the contrary, it always was he who was ready in bed! Perhaps she had misunderstood him; however, it was difficult to forget such ugly words.

But she remembered also how kind he mostly was toward her. Like that first time she was with child: her complexion had changed, her face had been covered with ugly brown spots. She used to be shocked when she looked in the mirror, she had looked like an old woman although she had been barely nineteen. She had felt she must run away and hide from people, particularly from Karl Oskar. She had never dreamt that wedded life would distort her. She had complained to her mother, who only laughed and said her brown complexion would soon disappear. The one to comfort her had been Karl Oskar, who had said that the brown spots were becoming to her. He was happy over them! She had the spots because she was to bear a child, she was to bear a child because she had been with him, and she had been with him because she loved him. The ugly brown complexion was to Karl Oskar a proof of her love for him. How could he be anything but happy over it?

She would never forget the time he said this. And now she was again expecting the brown spots which would ruin her skin. She knew that she otherwise had a fairly nice face, perhaps even handsome, with evenly rounded, fair cheeks. But her face remained pretty such short times—only in between pregnancies.

Kristina’s hand grasped her husband’s fingers more firmly. “Karl Oskar, we must be friends . . . for all times!”

“We agree, then.”

“Yes. It’s true, as you say; we must hold together. Nothing else will help us.”

And she rose hastily and busied herself; how could she have time to sit here and shed tears an evening like this when she had a hundred chores to do, chores which could not be delayed till tomorrow—not one of them. Now she must hurry as if it were butter to be raked from a fire; the buttons must go on Johan’s new jacket, Lill-Märta’s newly washed nightshirt must be mended and ironed, and her own nightshirt, and Karl Oskar’s shirt for tomorrow, and then—then—She was a foolish woman, causing trouble this last evening.

Karl Oskar was soon adjusted to the thought that in seven or eight months his family would increase.

He said this was really good luck for them because now the captain would be cheated out of the passage for one person; their fourth child would accompany them without a penny’s expense! What mightn’t one day become of this emigrant who already was so clever that he managed to get a free passage to America?

Then Kristina burst out in joyful laughter. Shortly before she had wept; now she attended laughingly to the last chores for the journey to the land where she and Karl Oskar were to build their second home.

THE FIRST EMIGRANTS

from Ljuder Parish, who left their homes April 4, 1850

Karl Oskar Nilsson, homeowner, 27 years.

Kristina Johansdotter, his wife, 25 years.

Their children:

Johan, 4 years.

Märta, 3 years.

Harald, 1 year.

Robert Nilsson, farmhand, 17 years.

Danjel Andreasson, homeowner, 46 years.

Inga-Lena, his wife, 40 years.

Their children:

Sven, 14 years.

Olof, 11 years.

Fina, 7 years.

Eva, 5 months.

Arvid Pettersson, their servant, 25 years.

Unmarried Ulrika of Västergöhl, status unknown, 37 years.

Elin, her daughter, 16 years.

Jonas Petter Albrektsson, homeowner, 48 years.

WHY THEY EMIGRATED

Karl Oskar Nilsson: I seek a land where through my work I can help myself and mine.

Kristina: I go with my husband, but I do so with hesitation and half in regret.

Robert Nilsson: I do not like masters.

Danjel Andreasson: I wish to freely confess the God of the twelve apostles in the land He shall show me.

Inga-Lena: “Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried.”

Arvid: I want to get away from the “Bull of Nybacken.”

Ulrika of Västergöhl: Sweden—this hellhole!

Elin: My mother has told me . . .

Jonas Petter of Hästebäck: I can no longer endure cohabitation with my wife Brita-Stafva; from now on let happen to me what may.

XII

ALL GATES OPEN ON THE ROAD TO AMERICA

—1—

They set out on a Thursday, and the day was well chosen. The heathen god with the hammer—Thor—had been a mighty god in whom their forebears had put their trust, and still far into Christian times his weekday was considered an auspicious day for the beginning of a new venture. Besides, there was a new moon, a good omen for the emigrants.

Nearly a thousand years had passed since people of this region had gathered into groups to sail the sea toward the west. At that time women and children had remained at home. But then as now the departing men had taken edged tools on their journey; the forefathers had armed themselves with weapons, this time the weapons were implements of peace, packed in the bottoms of the chests—broadaxes, augers, hammers, planes. This time the people traveled on a different errand.

Karl Oskar had hired a team of horses and a flat-wagon from the churchwarden in Åkerby, and the team and its driver arrived shortly before sunup. He, Robert, and the driver loaded the wagon; the America chest was so heavy that the three of them had to use their combined strength to get it onto the wagon.

The leave-taking from the relatives took little time. Lydia had a day off to say farewell to her brothers. Karl Oskar called his sister aside and begged her to look after their parents, particularly later as they grew older and couldn’t manage for themselves: he would pay her for this. Märta took each of her grandchildren into her arms and said: “May God protect and keep you, you helpless little creature!” The sons shook hands with their parents, a bit awkwardly, perhaps shamefacedly, almost like little boys who had been disobedient but were embarrassed to ask forgiveness. Neither one of them had ever said that he intended to return. Now Karl Oskar remarked, with an attempt at a smile, that when he had earned enough money in America he would come home and buy the manor at Kråkesjö, and for his sister Lydia he would buy back Korpamoen. All knew he was joking, but no one smiled. Nils and Märta felt they were seeing their sons for the last time this bleak April morning.

Kristina had already said goodby to her parents, a few days earlier in Duvemåla. She had not cried while there, but returning home she had been unable to hold back the tears any longer as she thought of her mother’s parting words: “Remember, my dear daughter, I wish to meet you with God.”

All that they owned in this world was now on the wagon. The load was high and wide, with the two large sacks on top; yet Karl Oskar thought there was room for more—it still didn’t reach the sky!