“I might agree with that, Karl. I’ve treated Lars for some cuts and bruises over the years, due to his scrapes with other men in town. It’s never his fault. Always someone else to blame.
Unfortunately, anger is contagious, and his has become a virtual epidemic in our small Norwegian church.”
“It’s a plague, all right.” Sam thought it began with small congregations and spread to governments that swindled land away from Indians.
“His niece is quite different, isn’t she?” Dr. Støen rolled down his shirtsleeves. “A lovely, well-mannered young lady.”
“Yes, she is.” Sam gave Pa a pointed look.
Pa snorted.
Dr. Støen looked suddenly disappointed. “Karl, you keep up this hatred between you and Lars Eikaas, and you’ll have apoplexy.”
“Oh, now, Doc … I’ve tried to make amends with that stubborn ol’ mule. Look! I’ve taken in his niece, given her a job!”
Dr. Støen stroked his beard. “I don’t know what more can be done. The reverend feels the same way. It takes all his strength just to keep the peace between the divided congregation.” With a hooded glance at Pa, the doctor walked to his desk and retrieved his dress jacket. “Reverend Wollums is thinking of moving on himself.”
“What?” Pa was obviously taken aback. “After we built that fine church and parsonage for him?”
“Brick and mortar don’t make a church, Karl. Believers do.”
“I know that.” Pa folded his arms, looking as stubborn as ever. “I don’t need another sermon today.”
“All right, but if you’d been listening to Reverend Wollums this morning, I wouldn’t be lecturing you right now. The hatred’s got to stop.”
“I agree! No argument here!” Pa shifted and appeared suddenly more thoughtful. “Maybe if we invite the Wollumses to dinner and discuss this matter …”
“That’d be a start, I’d say.” Dr. Støen shrugged into his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join the missus over at the hotel’s eatery for a noon dinner.”
“Enjoy,” Sam said. “And thanks again.”
The doctor gave him a nod and a friendly slap on the back. “Nice to see you again, Sam.”
“Same here.” After the doctor left, Sam turned and looked at Pa. “Are you ready to call a truce now?”
“Son …” Pa picked up pacing where Sam had left off. “I’ve been ready to make peace with that mule-headed Lars Eikaas for years.” Pa stopped. “But, I’m telling you, he won’t have it. Know why? He’s got a guilty conscience. I still believe he stole those silver spoons I acquired in a trade for a team of horses.”
“But we can’t prove it, so let the Lord be the judge.”
Pa grumbled. “Ja, ja …” He reverted to his native language. “But coin silver is worth more than a dollar an ounce these days. Those spoons would be worth almost thirty dollars!”
“I know, Pa. But the fact is they’re gone. So let the matter go.”
Pa raised his hands in a helpless gesture.
Sam arched a brow. “And I would like you to know that I hope to court Kristin when I return from Madison.” He’d been praying—no, dreaming—about courting her for days now, since his uncle showed interest in Kristin.
“Now, that’s a whole ’nother matter.” Pa walked up to Sam so they nearly stood chest-to-chest. “You don’t want to marry that girl. She can’t speak a lick of English.”
“On the contrary. She can say, ‘I am not interested in you’ quite well.” Sam couldn’t subdue a short chuckle.
Pa found no humor in the attempt at levity. “We will have this conversation at another time and in my office at home.” He growled the statement. “But get ideas of courtship out of your head or I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Pa?” Sam knew his father loved him, so he had no problem challenging his implied threats. “You’ll disown me?”
“Of course not. Don’t be foolish.”
“Throw me off your land? Disinherit me?”
“Don’t give me any ideas.” A facetious note rang in Pa’s voice.
In spite of himself, Sam felt a grin threatening.
“Seriously, Sam, I’ve lost enough people in my life. Friends. Family. Your mother …” Pa stared at the half-curtained windows facing the main road. “I don’t want to lose you. I want the best for you.” He tipped his head and met Sam’s gaze. “And marrying an Eikaas isn’t the best.”
Sam shook his head. “Like you said, we’ll have this conversation at another time and in your office at home.” With that, Sam strode to the door, opened it, and left the doctor’s office for the wagon, parked on the street.
CHAPTER 12
FROM HER CHAIR on the Sundbergs’ covered front porch Kristin watched the dark clouds gathering in the distance.
“God willing, we’ll see some rain and a reprieve from today’s heat.” Sam sat on the edge of the white porch, his feet on the first step and his forearms dangling over his knees.
“Ja, that would be nice.” Kristin ran her fingers across her jaw. It hurt to talk.
“Would you like another cool rag?” Mrs. Sundberg leaned over and touched Kristin’s wrist. “Mary will fetch it.”
“Sure I will.” The girl glanced over her shoulder from her place beside Sam.
Mr. Sundberg and Jack were tending to the animals.
“I think I am fine for now. Thank you.” Kristin hated to be an object of copious attention, but that’s all the Sundbergs had done today; they had seen to her every need. Never had an employer treated her with such kindness. She knew she could never repay this family for everything they’d done for her.
“I still say Olstad ought to be jailed for assaulting you and Jack,” Sam said. Still in his Sunday best, he’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and removed his black ribbonlike tie.
“No, Sam. I think that would only make matters worse. Peder is so angry with me.” Kristin felt a shudder coming on despite this afternoon’s heat. “I am shocked by his intense hatred. We grew up together. His sister is my very best friend. How can he say he hates me?”
“Maybe because it is easier to blame someone else than face his situation head-on.” Sam gazed at the growing storm clouds. A roll of thunder warned of their approach. “Kristin, you did not shackle the man and force him to come to America. Peder and his father made their own decisions based upon your uncle’s letters. If there is anyone to blame, it is Lars Eikaas.”
“True. My uncle is not a good man—like my father was. I realize that now. Even though Poppa had talked about his brother and the trouble that seemed to follow him, I believed Onkel had turned his life around because of his letters. He made it sound as though he had a farm as productive and as attractive as … as yours.” Kristin thought it over. “In fact, he may well have described your place in his letters.”
“But surely Lars knew you and the Olstads would see the truth with your own eyes upon your arrival in Brown County.” Mrs. Sundberg sat forward wearing a curious frown.
“But by then Onkel knew he would have my inheritance.” Kristin looked at her and then Sam. “As you know, a woman cannot legally inherit anything in Norway. I realize now that Uncle Lars wanted everything my parents left—but it only amounted to my poppa’s gold watch, which, I believe, Onkel promptly sold.”
“That devil,” Sam muttered.
“But perhaps Lars will use that money to make improvements to his home and property.” A sympathetic chord sounded in Mrs. Sundberg’s voice. “We should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Why?” Sam turned toward his mother, skepticism written on his face. “Mr. Eikaas has not done much since he arrived here five years ago. We supplied the lumber for his barn, and the community pitched in for its raising. Then Mr. Eikaas picked up scraps of wood and erected that shanty of his. Each winter everyone worries Mrs. Eikaas and children will freeze to death. Now fall is coming, and soon another winter will be upon us.
He has not done preparations to the house a
s far as I could see when we picked up Kristin a couple of weeks ago.”
Kristin had already feared every word of Sam’s remark, and how blessed she felt to be here with the Sundbergs!
“Perhaps now that two able-bodied men are visiting him, they will help Lars rebuild his home.” Mrs. Sundberg gave Kristin a hopeful smile.
“It will take more than lumber and nails to make my relatives a home. Mor always said that a house is not a home and that it is a woman’s job to make it such.” Kristin wondered if Tante did what she could with what she had. However, there was no love inside those four unhewn walls. Little wonder Inga set her mind on escaping in any way possible. Even if it meant lying and entrapping poor Mr. Frantzen.
But, of course, that was mere speculation on Kristin’s part.
“I am sure you miss your family very much,” Mary said.
“I do.” Kristin talked about her younger brothers and her parents. Poppa had farmed and worked part-time at the post office. Mor had taught her how to use a spinning wheel and sew.
Finally she realized how much she’d monopolized the conversation.
“I am terribly embarrassed for babbling on like a little brook.”
“Why?” Sam grinned. “We enjoy it—helps us to become better acquainted with you.”
“We sheered our sheep this spring.” Mrs. Sundberg narrowed her gaze, and Kristin sensed she pondered an idea. “I wonder if we have more wool in the barn. Karl sold some in town, but …”
“I’ll go see, Ma.” Mary sprang from her chair, ran down the porch steps, and sprinted across the front yard in her good Sunday dress.
Mrs. Sundberg clucked her tongue.
Kristin felt a tad confused.
Mrs. Sundberg turned to her. “If we have more wool, would you like to spin it? You may use Sam’s mother’s spinning wheel.” She glanced at Sam for confirmation.
He gave a nod of approval.
Kristin smiled in a way that sent a painful jolt through her head. “Oh, ja, I would like that very much.” She couldn’t help a wince. “I can spin it into yarn or thread, whichever you desire.”
“Good. However, you need another cool rag for that jaw.” Mrs. Sundberg rose. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“I’ll get it, Ma.” Sam stood.
Mrs. Sundberg held out a forestalling hand before she walked gracefully to the door. She lifted the hems of her printed dress and entered the house.
Sam took a few long strides and then sat on the porch rail. “I think if my mother can look down from heaven and see us, she would be pleased that you will use her spinning wheel.”
Kristin smiled, careful not to move too quickly and hurt her injured jaw. “It is my pleasure. It will bring me happy memories of my own mother.”
Sam returned her smile before glancing at the storm, growing ever closer. “You know, when you spoke about Olstad’s hatred and how it was so difficult to understand, I started thinking about Ma’s people, the Oneida, and the Menominee, and the hatred they face daily. You saw firsthand what happened to Jack and Mary as they walked to school. And what happened with Jack today.”
“More hatred?” Kristin frowned. “But Peder has no reason to hate Jackson.”
“Well, I do not believe Olstad knocked my brother down for no reason. And it wasn’t just because Jack butted into Olstad’s so-called business.”
“I suppose you are right.” Peder’s disgraceful behavior sickened Kristin.
“You heard him call Jack a savage and a half-breed. Olstad hates my brother because of who—make that what—he is. Oneida Indian.”
“Sam, it makes no sense. First and foremost Jackson is a boy like any other. He is a soul, whom our heavenly Father deeply loves.”
“Prejudice doesn’t make sense to people like us, Kristin. We’re people who can see beyond any particular race. Perhaps it is a gift, because the Good Book says the Lord Himself doesn’t look at a man’s appearance but at his heart.”
Kristin recognized the truth and gave a nod. “I never thought of it that way.” But she did suddenly see Sam as possessing all the potential his father boasted about. Earlier Mrs. Sundberg had told Kristin that Sam’s father had big plans for his son’s future—and that future involved a leadership role in this country’s government. Kristin could envision it for Sam. He had a mild temperament and the courage to speak the truth.
He chuckled. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Kristin blinked. “I apologize. I did not mean to be rude.” She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. “I just realized that what your father wants for your future seems to fit you perfectly. I think you will someday be an important man, Sam.”
He laughed. “My father is ambitious for me, no doubt. The truth is that I don’t have to be a politician in Madison or Washington to make a difference in this world. I would be happy to bridge the prejudicial gap in my local church—in this community.” He pressed his lips together in momentary thought. “All I know is that I want to fight against it somehow.”
“You will make a difference, Sam, because that is where your heart is.”
“Part of it, anyway.” Another rumble of thunder caused Sam to glance off in the distance before he looked back at Kristin. “Where is your heart?”
“That is a good question.” Lowering her gaze, she watched her left forefinger trace a square in the fabric of her blue, green, and white plaid dress. “My dreams to build a life for myself in America have blurred.” She shook her head, so as not to give Sam the wrong impression. “But I am not unhappy.” She brought her eyes back up to meet his.
“Good.” Sam’s deep-blue gaze pierced through to her soul. “I want you to be happy, Kristin.”
“I am—for the most part.”
“But you wish things were different between your family, the Olstads, and you?”
“No. How can you ask me that? Those people are dead to me. My uncle would have liked to kill me. I saw it in his eyes.”
“Kristin, I know you’ve been hurt, but you must forgive them.”
“Never!”
“Ma likes to say that unforgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”
“Hmm …”
“Unforgiveness will only eat you up inside, little by little.”
Kristin didn’t know how to reply. On the one hand, she believed Sam, but on the other, she felt such deep, abiding anger at her uncle and his family as well as the Olstads.
“Years ago Pa and his best friend, John Sylvester, were ambushed on their way to the trading post. Pa had married Ma, and she was expecting Jackson. Well, when Pa didn’t come home when he said, Ma began to worry. No one in our settlement at the time would listen to her because she was an Indian, so I had to find the Territorial marshal and report Pa’s disappearance. Days later Pa was found, barely alive. Sauk Indians, specifically some leftovers of Black Hawk’s warriors who wandered back up into the Menominee Nation to wreak havoc on the white settlers, beat Pa and John, stole their furs, took their horses, and burned everything else. John was killed. My father survived.”
“That is horrible!” Kristin had heard such stories about the brutal “savages” in territorial America.
“It is horrible, all right, but Pa doesn’t hate those men. Never did. He forgave them.”
“And the Indians? Were they ever brought to justice?”
Sam shook his head. “Not in American courts. They were brought up before a tribal counsel and released.”
“That does not seem very fair.”
“No …” Sam stared at the floor of the porch. “But the Sauk felt their braves had a right to attack. You see, back then, Black Hawk, a fierce Sauk leader, opposed the treaty that pushed his people west of the Mississippi River. Anger ran rampant.
Hatred developed out of that anger.”
“But is there not enough land in America for everyone?”
“I guess there is. But it is the principle. The U.S. government thinks it is savvy business to g
et the Indians to cede their land.
When the Indians discover it, they feel tricked—cheated.”
Kristin could understand how they would.
“They have been ousted since Europeans entered this country, even though they are willing to share their land. However, sharing has not been good enough for American leaders. The Oneida, for instance”—Sam shifted his weight and looked back at Kristin—“were originally from the state of New York. More than fifty years ago, they signed a treaty giving up millions of acres so the Erie Canal could be built. My mother was an infant when her people arrived in Wisconsin. Years later, her people made a pact with the Menominee and Winnebago Nations to share the land among them. The Sauk and Fox Nations lived in the southern half of Wisconsin and have, little by little, lost their land to the government also. They are angry. My father understands this and, for that reason, refuses to hold a grudge against them.”
“But there are those,” Kristin said, putting all the pieces together, “who resent the Indians for fighting to keep their land.”
“Yes, you are correct.”
“Like my uncle.” She blew out a breath, trying to think how a solution would be reached. “You have a lot of work ahead of you, Sam.”
He chuckled. “So it seems.”
From out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Mr. Sundberg came into view and walked onto the front lawn.
“Sam?”
He spoke in English with a heavy frown lining his forehead. Kristin didn’t understand the rest of what he said. But gauging from Sam’s reaction, he wanted to speak with Sam privately.
“Excuse me, Kristin.” Sam spoke in Norwegian. “Pa needs my help in the barn.”
“Of course.”
She watched as Sam descended the porch steps and walked with his father across the front lawn.
Mrs. Sundberg stepped from the house and handed Kristin a cold wet rag. Setting it against her throbbing jawbone, Kristin released a sigh. “Feels good.”
“I thought it would.” Mrs. Sundberg’s dark eyes trailed her husband and Sam as they strode to the barn.
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