Threads of Hope

by Andrea Boeshaar

  But then someone reached out and grabbed hold of her arm just in time, bringing her upright.

  Kristin stared into the sea-blue eyes of Sam Sundberg.

  “Excuse me, but I thought you were walking toward the wagons.”

  She only understood the English word wagon. “Beg your pardon.” The stammer in English came breathlessly. She knew that much of the new language from traveling on the ship, the train, and the steamship. But then she reverted to her native tongue. “I changed my mind at the last minute.”

  His eyes twinkled. “My mother says it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” he stated in perfect Norwegian. A slow grin stretched across his mouth. “So long as she does not get herself run over doing it.”

  Kristin’s breath returned, and she appreciated the way the man joked about the accident rather than be angry with her.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  He gave a polite nod and released her arm. “I, um, do not believe we have been formally introduced.” He took a step back. “I am Sam Sundberg.”

  “Ja, I know.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I am Kristin Louisa Danielsdatter Eikaas. My American name is Eikaas—from the farm on which my father was a cotter, same as my Uncle Lars.” She pressed her lips together to forestall her babbling.

  Sam’s grin never left his face. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Eikaas.”

  A low male voice interrupted them. “Sam!”

  He turned toward the speaker.

  Kristin watched as an older man hailed him from several yards away. A frown clouded the man’s face as he spoke abruptly in English.

  “That is my father, Karl Sundberg. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Eikaas, he needs my assistance.”

  “Ja … of course. And thank you.”

  Sam dipped his head and strode toward his father, who seemed to give him a good tongue-lashing. And it was then that Kristin recalled her uncle’s warning not to associate with the Sundbergs. Perhaps the same was true with them—they were not allowed to converse with an Eikaas.

  Kristin gazed up at the church and deemed the practice quite un-Christian. She wondered why the reverend—or God Himself—didn’t intervene.

  Gathering her skirts, she turned to make her way to the churchyard and the wedding celebration. She could hear strains from a fiddle and accordion, playing a festive melody.

  Uncle Lars stepped in front of her. His features bowed like tree limbs beneath heavy snow. Had he seen her speaking with Sam Sundberg?

  He folded his thick forearms across his chest, and Kristin guessed that he had.

  “It was an accident, Onkel.”

  “I should horsewhip you!”

  Her eyes grew. “But … but—” Horror gripped her.

  “For all I know, that Sundberg boy could have cast a spell on you.” Uncle Lars’s arms fell to his side. “He touched you. I saw him!”

  “Spell?” Sam came forward. “My family does not cast spells on anyone or anything. With all due respect, sir, any spells are the product of one’s imagination.”

  “I’ll give you my imagination, boy.” Uncle Lars shook his fist at him.

  “Onkel, please … try to understand. Mr. Sundberg only kept me from falling and injuring myself.”

  “You are in enough trouble, niese.”

  Sam’s father stepped forward, eyed Kristin, then regarded Uncle Lars. “You would horsewhip a girl? Really? Now why am I not surprised? You are a monster!”

  Kristin backed away from the two angry men. A small gathering looked on nearby.

  Uncle Lars puffed out his chest. “If I am a monster, you are the devil himself!”

  “Watch your tongue, Eikaas!”

  Uncle Lars balled his meaty fist again.

  A collective gasp emanated from the crowd.

  The reverend quickly approached the men and set his hand on Uncle Lars’s shoulder. His gaze lingered on Mr. Sundberg. “Gentlemen, there are ladies present. This is a day of celebration, and I do not have to remind you that Sheriff Brunette is in attendance.” His eyes swung to Uncle Lars. “Come. Drink some berry punch and relax in the shade. The midday heat is vexing.”

  The reverend, still garbed in his purple robe with its blue yoke, managed to dissuade Uncle Lars and Mr. Sundberg for the time being. They accompanied him to the table on which a large silver punch bowl sat.

  Sam shook his head, and Kristin noticed the light-brown sprigs curling at his neck in the heat. He glanced at Kristin. She looked back, unsure of what to say or even think. Poppa never solved problems with violence, but her uncle’s anger frightened her. Would he really have horsewhipped her for a mere collision with Sam Sundberg?

  The onlookers dispersed, and Peder approached. Reaching her, he set his arm around Kristin’s shoulders.

  “What do you think you are doing?” He whispered the question close to her ear. “You are to stay away from the Sundbergs.”

  “It was an accident, Peder.” She shook inside, afraid of her uncle’s bad temper. “A simple misstep on my part.” She glanced around for Sam, but it seemed he’d disappeared.

  CHAPTER 3

  AS SAM CARRIED a host of items from the wagon, he spied the man with carrot-colored hair walking Kristin toward the table that Mrs. Eikaas had set for her family. Was that her betrothed? Clearly he comforted her now.

  Sam’s biceps flexed, not from the load in his arms, but from sheer disappointment. And yet, hadn’t he heard his father’s warning loud and clear? Kristin was Lars Eikaas’s niece. Even if she wasn’t already promised to another, Sam couldn’t think of courting her. Look what had happened between the two men after he and Kristin innocently bumped into each other!

  What a shame, and what a sin that Pa and Mr. Eikaas behaved like two boys about to brawl in the schoolyard. They needed to settle their differences once and for all. He wondered what it would take. Pa served as an important liaison between the government and the Indians, and yet he couldn’t get along with Lars Eikaas. Pitiful. Sam was dismayed with Pa for his display of temper. But on the other hand, he was grateful too that Pa called Mr. Eikaas on the horsewhipping threat. Sam hoped it carried no weight.

  Reaching the table, he set down the contents in his arms on the grass. Thankfully, Ma had a respite from her chronic pain. She came over and pulled out the patchwork quilt and covered the rough-hewn plank. Men from the church, including Sam, had hammered these tables and benches together last spring. The wood had been donated from various construction sites in Green Bay. When not needed, the tables could be stacked and stored away until another churchwide event called for their use. They came in quite handy.

  Sam watched his little sister lift the pot containing Ma’s wild rice from the crate. He rushed to help her so she wouldn’t drop it. Sam couldn’t help feeling strains of protectiveness toward her. After all, she was only ten years old.

  “I can carry it, Sam.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Mary bobbed her head, and strands of her nut-brown hair fell onto her forehead.

  “All right, then.” Sam didn’t think the kettle was all that heavy.

  He watched as she carried it to the front table where everyone had donated a meal. The idea was that everyone would sample each other’s food. The result was a delicious feast.

  Luke Smith, the flock’s newest husband, motioned for the group to be silent. “Thank you all for coming. Reverend Wollums will say grace, and then Rachel and I will share our first meal as husband and wife with our closest friends and family members.”

  Applause, cheers, and laughter filled the evergreen-lined churchyard. When the merriment wound down, the reverend prayed over their food, and then a queue formed near the food table.

  Sam hung back so he could observe Kristin Eikaas. How had she captured his curiosity—and why couldn’t he shake it off? Seconds later, her robin’s-egg blue eyes met his before she quickly looked away. Happenstance or purposeful?

  She peeked at him again, and Sa
m’s heart swelled in the most peculiar way. He stifled a grin. It would seem that Kristin Eikaas was capable of casting a few spells of her own.

  With each passing hour, Kristin felt her spirit lighten as the wedding celebration escalated around her. Uncle Lars was jovial, and she rather preferred him that way than angry and hollering.

  By evening a cooler breeze blew off Lake Michigan, and everyone seemed to catch their own second wind. Tables had been moved to the edge of the churchyard to make room for dancing. In addition to the piano accordion player, a gifted fiddler turned out one lively melody after another, accompanied by an interesting variety of homemade bells and flutes. Lanterns were lit and dancing continued. Kristin smiled and clapped her hands to the music.

  Suddenly the newlyweds strode into the midst of their guests.

  “May I have your attention,” Luke Smith, the groom, called. “Attention, everyone!”

  The instruments fell silent.

  “This is the moment that all the bachelors have been waiting for.” He chuckled. “It’s time for the curtain dance!”

  Whoops and cheers rang from the men while female squeals of delight filled the churchyard. Kristin watched in awe as several agile men strung up a long, mismatched drape, extending from one tree to another. Kristin laughed to herself as the grinning young men and giggling ladies parted like the Red Sea.

  “Come with me, cousin.” Inga grabbed hold of Kristin’s arm. “Far said we can play.”

  “Play what?” Kristin didn’t know about this strange custom.

  “Let us get in line, and I will explain.” Inga led her to the one side of the linen panel where ladies removed the shoes and stockings from their right legs.

  “The boys will walk down the line and select a dancing partner by examining, not her face, but her feet!” Inga’s broad smile hiked up her round cheeks. “Perhaps tonight Oskar Frantzen will choose me to dance with him.”

  “Lykke til—good luck.” Kristin turned to go back to her seat and watch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I am not playing, Inga.”

  “But you must!” She snatched a hold of Kristin’s elbow. “Far said that I can only participate if you come with me.”

  Kristin glanced over to where her uncle laughed with friends.

  “He is right there. He can watch you from the sidelines.”

  “Ja, except in the past there has been trickery behind the curtain.”

  Kristin frowned. “What sort of trickery?”

  “Sundberg trickery.” Inga squared her shoulders. “But at least now Rachel Decker has married Mr. Smith, so she’ll not be dancing with my Oskar again like she did last year.”

  Folding her arms, Kristin tilted her head. “It is a game of chance, Inga.”

  “No. Mrs. Sundberg hexed Oskar; otherwise he would not have chosen Rachel.” Inga leaned closer. “She has a deformed foot from a childhood accident.” Inga nodded as if the fact proved her superstition.

  But Kristin found the likelihood of such magic difficult to believe.

  “Now off with your shoe and stocking!” Inga pouted. “Or I shall tell Far you are consorting with the Sundbergs again.”

  Kristin enlarged her gaze. “You would not!”

  “Just try me and see.”

  Blinking once, twice, Kristin couldn’t believe the nerve of her cousin. Her impulse was to call Inga’s bluff. However, her uncle’s threat of a horsewhipping still sounded in her memory.

  Her jaw set against her actions, Kristin kicked off her right slipper. Then she rolled down one black stocking. Following her cousin and the other young ladies, she placed her foot just outside the curtain. With any luck she’d get passed by altogether.

  The music began to play and the men whooped and laughed and clapped their hands. Kristin inched her foot back, but then suddenly a large, dusty brown boot gently landed across the tops of her toes. Disappointment, dread, and a tinge of anxiousness flooded Kristin’s being. But what was this compared to the journey she’d just endured? Squaring her shoulders, she determined one dance wouldn’t be so bad.

  Soon all the girls were spoken for, and as Kristin gazed down the row she noted the different shades of boot leather, wide and narrow, covering each feminine foot.

  The curtain was yanked open, revealing dance partners. Kristin stood in shock as she stared at the man across from her.

  “Mr. Sam Sundberg.”

  He gave her a tiny bow, looking a bit taken aback himself.

  “We cannot dance together,” she said.

  “If you say so.”

  Kristin couldn’t discern his expression beneath the light of the lamp and the moon above. He had removed his overcoat and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows.

  “It is not I, but my uncle … and your father.”

  “I chose you by accident, not out of spite or disobedience to either man.”

  Before Kristin could reply, a well-dressed man appeared beside Sam, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulders. He said something in English that Kristin didn’t understand, although she recognized the use of her last name, Eikaas. Then, she noted the hint of a grin that pulled at one side of Sam’s mouth before he nodded. Next he gave Kristin a hooded glance. Were they poking fun at her and her family?

  Sam seemed to sense her discomfort and explained in Norwegian. “That is Judge Jensen, the territorial judge here in Wisconsin. He is a friend of our family and is familiar with the strife between the Sundbergs and the Eikaases. He, um, finds it amusing that I chose you for my curtain dance partner. He said there is no getting out of it. Rules of the game state one cannot refuse the dance partner once the choosing has taken place.” Sam took her hands. “Looks like we have, at least, the law on our side.”

  “I am not sure about this.”

  “You are afraid of your uncle?”

  Kristin gave a timid nod.

  Sam’s expression grew serious beneath the moon’s glow. “More than just my father and I heard your uncle’s threat earlier today. If he lays a hand on you, the sheriff will get involved, and your uncle will go to jail.” Sam glanced over his shoulder. “But for now, it looks like Judge Jensen has him and my father occupied.”

  Kristin arched a brow. “Oh, to be a fly on the food table now.”

  Sam’s features lit up, and he slipped one arm about her waist. He pulled her close enough to him that she could feel the heat of the evening’s celebration radiating from his moist skin. He smelled manly, yet she detected the subtle scent of pine emanating from his linen shirt. As the music played and they stepped out together, his warm breath touched her cheek.

  Kristin worked to follow his lead in the unfamiliar pattern of steps. Her parents had seen to her education back in Norway, which included music and dancing, but she’d never experienced anything like this before. It seemed a cross between a waltz and Norway’s traditional gangar dance. She guarded her bare foot so it wouldn’t get trampled on by Sam’s heavy boots. It felt odd to dance with only one shoe on.

  Finally able to take her eyes off her footwork, she glanced up at Sam. He gave her a broad smile. She returned the gesture before noticing several hard stares from onlookers.

  “People will have something to say about our dancing together.”

  “I am sure of that.” Sam drew his chin back and regarded her. “Are you afraid of what people say?”

  “I am new to America …” She left it at that.

  “And what are your plans, now that you are here?”

  “Oh, I have my plans.” Kristin wondered if he mocked her.

  “Such as?” His tone sounded more interested than amused.

  “I am gifted with a needle and thread. Perhaps I will someday work in a store.”

  Sam pushed out his bottom lip and gave a single, sideways nod as though such a thing were possible. “So you are an ambitious girl?”

  “Hardly a girl.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Hmm … well, if you hope to enter into the business wo
rld, you will need to learn English.” Beneath the lantern light Kristin thought his eyes darkened. “And you will have to grow accustomed to hearing people speak their minds. Norwegians make up only a small portion of Brown County. The French, English, and Germans have settled here too. All opinionated people, I assure you.”

  Kristin found the information quite interesting. “I do not think people are so very different from each other. On the train in New York, I met people from all different ethnic backgrounds. When the car became too hot, we all perspired. At lunchtime, we all felt hungry.”

  After a moment’s pause, Sam replied, “You’re a wise young lady, Miss Eikaas.”

  Had she impressed him? Kristin couldn’t help a little smile.

  The music stopped and everyone applauded. Laughter flitted around the churchyard. Kristin stared up into Sam’s face.

  Starlight hallowed his head. As his gaze sank into hers, she wondered what it would it be like if he gathered her in his arms and … kissed her.

  Surprise and shame speared her being. How could such a thought enter her head?

  A hard clap on Kristin’s shoulder shattered the remainder of her romantic delusions.

  “The curtain dance is over.” Uncle Lars’s voice boomed close to Kristin’s right ear. “Get away from this evil Sundberg man!”

  She felt herself being yanked backwards.

  “Hey, Eikaas, do not speak to my son that way!” Mr. Sundberg immediately stepped in beside Sam.

  The wedding party quieted until Kristin could only hear the crickets’ night song.

  “Tell your boy to stay away from my niece!”

  Kristin cast an I told you so glance at Sam.

  He grimaced an apology.

  “Tell your niece to stay away from my boy!”

  The reverend stepped between the two angry men. “Enough!”

  “I apologize, Mr. Eikaas,” Sam said. “The judge thought it would be all right just this once.”

  Uncle Lars couldn’t seem to find a way to argue. “Out of my way!” he finally bellowed. He elbowed his way around Sam and glared at Kristin. “How dare you drag my daughter into the curtain dance when she is not old enough!”