“Can I go see?” Peder cried, getting to his feet.
“In a moment, son,” his father answered. “First we would like to have a family prayer for Eric and Olaf.”
“And for you and the family, Papa,” Eric added.
“Yes, that too.” Edvard moved to the simple wooden table and knelt beside it. The others came and joined him. He looked at his wife as though he were going to ask her to offer the prayer, but she shook her head quickly. He turned to Eric.
“You should do it, Papa,” his wife said softly.
He paused, then nodded. “Yes.”
“O God, our beloved Father,” he began. And then, Edvard Pederson found that he was no better at this than his wife would have been. His voice caught. “Please, God, bless our two boys who are about to go before us to America.”
He had to stop. Beside him his wife groped for his hand, then held it tightly. Olaf began to cry softly, and Eric buried his face more deeply into his hands to try and stop the burning behind his eyelids.
“Watch over them, dear Father,” Edvard finally managed. “They go to Zion in keeping with Thy will. Keep them in the hollow of Thy hand until we can meet again.”
Again there was a long silence, but finally he just said, “In Jesus’ name, amen.”
They hugged, standing together in a tight circle until the shrill whistle sounded again, this time much closer. Eric’s father wiped at his eyes with one hand. “It’s almost at the dock, Mama. We have to go.”
“Just one moment,” Katya Pederson said, not even trying to stop her tears. With her eyes glistening, she walked past them and into the small alcove that served as Edvard and Katya’s bedroom. It was separated from the rest of the room by a heavy cloth partition. After a moment, she was back, carrying something in both of her arms. She came back to the table and spread the two items out in front of them. They were two thick woolen sweaters, both of matching royal blue wool with a triangular design of reds and oranges in the center of the chest. One was obviously larger than the other. Both represented hours of knitting and an incredible amount of love.
“Oh, Mama,” Eric said, stepping forward. He picked the larger one and held it up to himself. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s for when you get to Utah,” she said softly. “Uncle Gustav says the winters are very cold there.”
Olaf had his up as well now. He sniffed, blinking rapidly. “Thank you, Mama.”
She started to answer that, but then dropped her head. “Good-bye, my sons.”
“It will be cool on the boat, Mama,” Olaf said, rubbing the thick weave with the palm of his hand. “Can I wear it now?”
“Of course.”
Eric went to his mother and took her into his arms. He was a full head taller than she was and it was as if she disappeared into his embrace. They clung together tightly for a long time. Then she tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Watch over your brother, Eric. Keep him safe until we can join you.”
“I will, Mama. I promise.”
She was not trying to stop the tears now as she moved away from Eric and took her second son in her arms. “You listen to Eric, Olaf. You do whatever he tells you.”
“I will, Mama.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, Mama.”
A soft sound brought Eric around. Kirsten was standing beside her father, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want you and Olaf to go, Eric.”
He set the sweater back on the table and went to her. He gave her a fierce hug, picking her up off the floor so that her feet dangled free. “It’s only for a year, Kirsten. Olaf and I will have everything ready for when you and Peder come.”
He looked down. Peder had gotten off his chair and had come to stand beside them. He was starting to sniffle too now. Eric let Kirsten down and went to one knee, gathering one sibling in each arm. “You promise you won’t forget us in a year, Peder?”
His head went back and forth, his eyes filled with the utmost gravity. “I won’t ever forget you, Eric. And Olaf too.”
“Good. And you can help Papa. Right?”
That won him a smile, and it was filled with pride and determination. “Yes.”
“Good.” As he stood, the blast of the ferry’s whistle shook the windowpanes. It would be at the wharf in another minute or two. He took a deep breath. Olaf was hurriedly putting on his sweater, and Eric decided to do the same. On the water it would be considerably cooler, and there certainly was no more room in their suitcases.
“We’d better go,” his father said. But he did not move. As Eric finished pulling the sweater down around his body, his eyes caught those of his father. In two steps they reached each other and hugged tightly.
“Godspeed, Eric,” Edvard said in a husky voice.
Eric could only nod now, his chest constricted to the point that he could no longer speak.
“Be safe until we are together again.”
Olaf came over and stepped into his father’s crushing hug while his mother looked on, weeping openly now. And then in a moment they were all together, standing in the center of the room in one tight cluster, everyone trying to hold everyone else all at once. They stood that way for almost a full minute, and then, without anyone giving a signal, they stepped back from each other. Hands came up to brush away the tears. Eric walked to where the two pieces of luggage were and picked them up. He squared his shoulders. Olaf, seeing the movement, followed. And then Eric’s father opened the door and they walked out, going down the path to the main road of Balestrand, then turning east toward the wharf where the ferryboat awaited.
•••
Edvard and Katya Pederson stood on the wharf for a long time after the ferry had disappeared. Kirsten and Peder went back to the house once the boat was no longer in sight, but father and mother stood together, not speaking, looking at the spot where they had last seen two small figures waving their arms in final farewell.
“What have we done, Edvard?” Katya said in a bare whisper. “What have we done?”
“We have answered the call of the Lord.” His head lifted a little and his jaw set in a firm line. “Our sons go now so that we can follow. It is the only way.”
She looked at him for several seconds, then slowly nodded. “Yes,” she said simply. “Yes, that is it, isn’t it.”
III
Wednesday, 23 April 1856
“Eric?”
Eric turned away from the rail. They were near the bow of the large steamer that was moving slowly out of the harbor at Copenhagen. He was looking forward, watching the ship move past the last of Copenhagen’s shoreline. As he turned, he saw Olaf looking back toward the receding city, now silhouetted by the setting sun. “Yes, Olaf?”
Olaf didn’t look at his older brother, but Eric saw that his face was filled with longing and melancholy. Finally he shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What, Olaf?”
“Nothing.” He turned away, staring down at the gray water slipping past the hull with a quiet hissing sound.
Eric watched him for another moment, tempted to push harder to find out what was troubling him, but then he decided against it. He knew without asking. Olaf was suffering from a severe case of longing for home. And leaving Copenhagen—“Koobnhaun,” as they pronounced it in Danish—meant that they were now leaving Scandinavia.
It had been hard up to this point, but as they sailed down the coast of Norway and then around to Christiania, where a few other Norwegian converts had come on board, it had still felt like home. Elder Ahmanson, true to his word, had come on board this morning and had been careful to see to Eric’s and Olaf’s needs since. However, Sister Ahmanson had a young child and so her husband had plenty to keep him occupied. Like now. He had planned to be topside when they left the harbor so as to be with the two brothers, but he was down in the hold helping his wife care for their baby boy, who was having a difficult time today.
When Eric and Olaf crossed the channel to Denmark, it was still not a break from all
they knew. The Danes were not Norwegians by any means, but they were close cousins. Danish and Norwegian were sister tongues, more of a difference of dialect than language, though some people said that Norwegian was rapidly taking on its own unique character. But they could converse freely with the Danes who joined them at Copenhagen, bringing the number of their Scandinavian contingent up to about a hundred people.
But now as they sailed away from the capital of Denmark, this signaled a final break with their homeland. When they stopped again they would be in England, and they would be foreigners, and the language would not be theirs. That knowledge had only sharpened Olaf’s longing for the family and their native village.
Eric reached out and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He turned to look at him, then turned away again. “It’s only for a year, Olaf,” Eric said softly. “And the first three days are already done. We’ve started.”
“I know.”
“One year and then we’ll all be together again and—”
“God dag.”
Eric turned to see who had spoken. There were a few others out on deck, but most were below, getting their things stowed for the six-day journey to Liverpool. Now he saw a man and a woman coming toward him. A young girl was beside the woman, and the man held the hand of a little boy who bore a striking resemblance to his father.
“God dag,” Eric responded. Good day. Hello. The man had used the Norwegian pronunciation, and it surprised Eric.
“May we join you?” the man asked pleasantly.
Olaf had turned to watch now too. Both brothers nodded automatically. “Of course,” Eric said. “We are just watching the sunset.”
“We wanted to do the same,” the woman said with a warm smile. She was a tiny thing, no more than five feet, and maybe an inch short of that. If she weighed a hundred pounds, it would have surprised Eric. But she had a pleasant face and large dark eyes that were filled with friendship and welcome.
The man stuck out his hand. “We are the Nielsons. I am Jens and this is my wife, Elsie.”
Eric extended his hand and was pleased with the firmness of the grip. Elsie Nielson might be a tiny thing, but her husband was not. He was solidly built and stood two inches taller than Eric’s own six feet. He probably weighed in at two hundred twenty or thirty pounds, more than double what his wife must be. He also looked to be significantly older than his wife. “Eric Pederson, from Balestrand, Norway,” Eric said, gripping the hand back. “And this is my younger brother Olaf.”
Elsie also took their hands and shook them. She touched the boy beside her husband. “This is our son, little Jens. He is five and very excited that he will have his next birthday in America.”
They laughed as she turned to the girl by her side. “And this is Bodil Mortensen. She is nine. She is traveling with our family. She has some family already in America, so Bodil is going this year and the rest of her family will come next season. Her mother asked that we take her with us.”
Olaf leaned forward in surprise, looking at the girl, who smiled shyly at them. “We are doing the same thing. Eric and I are going ahead to earn money. Then our family shall come next year.”
Bodil smiled and nodded. “It is very hard, isn’t it?” she asked softly.
“Yes, very hard,” Olaf answered gravely.
“But we have to be brave, don’t we?” Bodil said with a smile. “It’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do.”
Olaf nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, almost as though he had forgotten that important point, “yes, it is.”
Eric watched in amazement. It was as though Olaf had just stepped out of a dark room. Bodil was seven years his junior, but she spoke with quiet faith. It seemed to prick Olaf a little. If a nine-year-old could maintain good cheer in the face of leaving her family for a year, then perhaps Olaf ought to try more diligently to do the same.
Brother Nielson let go of his son’s hand so he was free to walk around. He seemed a little unsteady, so Bodil went to help. On impulse, Olaf stepped forward and took the boy’s other hand. “Come, little Jens,” he said. “Let’s take a walk around the ship.”
As they moved off, the senior Jens turned to Eric. “Where is Balestrand?” he asked.
“In the Sognefjorden, north of Bergen. We live about a hundred and twenty miles inland up the fjord.”
“They say that Norway is so beautiful,” Elsie said wistfully. “Denmark unfortunately is more like the top of a dinner plate turned upside down.”
Eric laughed, watching Olaf and Bodil stopping near the wheelhouse. “Norway is very beautiful. Are you from Copenhagen?”
“No,” Jens answered, coming over now to lean on the rail beside Eric. Elsie came to stand beside her husband, leaning over to peer forward into the deepening gloom. “I was born on the island of Lolland,” he said, “which is to the south, in the Baltic Sea. But most recently we are from the town of Aarhus, which is to the north in Jutland.”
“We saw Jutland as we came down,” Eric noted.
“Yes,” Elsie responded.
“I wish we were in Liverpool right now,” Eric said. “I am ready to be started on this journey to America.”
“As we are,” Jens said with a trace of wistfulness. “Elsie and I had planned to go shortly after we joined the Church. That was on the twenty-ninth of March, just over two years ago now.”
Eric thought he understood what Jens was implying. “Our family has been saving to get enough money to emigrate as well, but a heavy frost last season took much of it. That’s why my parents decided that Olaf and I should go ahead.”
Jens glanced at his wife. “Fortunately, money is not our problem. I have been blessed with a prosperous farm and success in other endeavors as well.”
At Eric’s look he went on. “No, our delay came for another reason. After we were baptized, I planned to sell the farm and go. But then the president of our conference came to me and told me that I had been warned and that now I had a duty to warn my neighbor. He asked that I serve a mission among my people.”
“Oh,” Eric said.
“That went contrary to my natural feelings,” Jens went on. “We were ready to come to America, but I decided that, as the prophet Samuel taught King Saul, ‘obedience is better than sacrifice.’ So we delayed our departure until now. I do not regret it for a moment. It was a wonderful experience and I had great success.”
“The Church is having great success in Denmark in many places,” Elsie said.
“But not without persecution,” Eric noted. At least, that was the report they had received in Norway. In Norway, too, the missionaries had been badly treated in some places.
Jens’s face momentarily darkened. “Yes, there were those times as well.” But he said nothing more, and Eric decided that it would not be polite to ask for more details.
“But now we go to America,” Elsie said brightly. “We are so happy.”
“We are too,” Eric responded immediately. “Except for leaving our family, of course. Olaf is excited at the prospect of pulling a handcart.”
“Ah, yes,” Jens answered. “Elsie and I won’t be doing that.”
“Really?” Eric thought everyone was going by handcart.
“No, there will be two or three independent wagon companies. We have sufficient funds to purchase a wagon and team and go with them.”
“I didn’t know that,” Eric said.
“Yes. In fact, I think the plan is to have our wagon companies carry some of the heavier freight for the handcart companies. They say you will only be allowed a small amount of personal things.”
“They told us seventeen pounds,” Eric agreed.
“Well, I think we’ll be carrying furniture and other heavier items for the rest of you.”
At that moment Elsie turned away from the rail, then smiled. “Look.”
Eric and Jens turned as well. Olaf and Bodil had young Jens between them, helping him walk the edge of a narrow trunk that was near the bow of the ship. “I think your brother will be
good for Bodil,” she murmured. “We have been afraid that she would be very lonesome.”
“This is good for Olaf as well,” Eric responded. “He needs to think about something besides our family.”
Sister Nielson looked up at him. “We would be very pleased to have you as our friends, Eric. I think it would be very good for our children, and Jens and I would like it too.”
“Yes, very much,” Jens agreed quickly. “Would that be all right with you?”
Eric was pleased and surprised. “Vær så snill,” he said softly. In Norwegian, it was a phrase often used in the sense of “please.” But literally it meant, “Be so kind.” He added, “We would like that very much as well.”
Chapter Notes
The creation of the Pederson family from the Sognefjorden region of Norway is the author’s.
Jens (pronounced “Yents”) and Elsie Nielson were Danish converts who emigrated to America in 1856 and were part of the Willie Company. They had their only child with them and also Bodil Mortensen, whom they were bringing for another family. While on a trip over the Hole-in-the-Rock Trail in southeastern Utah in 1997, the author had a chance to meet with some of the posterity of Jens and Elsie Nielson. From them he learned that Elsie was about four foot eleven inches tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds, while Jens was around six foot two and weighed about two hundred and twenty pounds.
Johan (sometimes reported as Jacob or John) Ahmanson, and his wife, Grethe, are likewise actual historical people. Born in Sweden, Ahmanson moved to Denmark in 1849, where he joined the Church in 1850. He was a missionary in Norway from 1851 to 1853, and in 1856 served as the leader of the Scandinavian group who journeyed to Liverpool. He was later appointed as a counselor to Elder Willie on board ship and a subcaptain over his group on the journey across the Atlantic and also in the Willie Handcart Company (see Martin, “John Ahmanson vs. Brigham Young,” pp. 1–2; Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 2).
The following excerpts are from the life story of Jens Nielson:
We have no account of [Jens Nielson’s] childhood, and much of the little we know of his early manhood is gleaned from a letter he wrote to his son, Uriah, in 1901. In that letter, he says, “I was born April 26, 1821, on the Island of Laaland [Lolland], Denmark, son of Niels Jensen and Dorothe M. Tomson.” . . .
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