Threads of Hope

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Sam!” She thought he looked fine in his coal-black dress coat and black hat.

  “God morgen, ladies.” His gaze lingered on Kristin until just before he helped Miss Betsy into the buggy.

  “Where did you ever find this vehicle, Sam?”

  “It belongs to the Brunettes. They allowed me to use it for this very special day.”

  “And what special day might it be?” Kristin placed her hand in his, and emotions renewed assailed her. She’d missed him these past two weeks.

  Sam smiled into her face. “I am taking you both to the Norwegian church today, and afterward, we are invited to the Wollumses’ home for noon dinner.”

  “How delightful!” Miss Betsy clapped her gloved hands together.

  But before Kristin could reply, Sam assisted her into the buggy’s front seat. He climbed in next and stepped over Kristin’s legs before taking up the reins. He steered the team down the road and made a left turn at the street on which the market had been held each Wednesday. Then, with a flick of the reins, the animals quickened their strides as Sam drove the buggy out of town.

  “It will be an enjoyable day.”

  “Well …” Kristin had her reservations. She pulled on her gloves and nodded. “I have not seen the Wollumses in more than a month.” She donned her bonnet next, hoping Sam didn’t notice her state of unreadiness when he arrived.

  It appeared he hadn’t. “You look lovely today, Kristin.”

  She felt pleased by the compliment, but still her cheeks pinked—as usual. “Why, thank you, Sam.” Her reply was in perfect English, and from behind them in the black leather backseat Kristin heard Miss Betsy’s amused cackle.

  “Well, now …” Sam looked impressed. “Your English is coming right along.”

  Kristin smiled and glanced at him. Her gaze caught his, and a swell of emotion rose inside of her. How she loved this man!

  She glanced down at her lap. “I had not expected to see you today, although I hoped I would.” She brought her gaze up and glimpsed the smile working its way across his face.

  “I wanted to call on you several times in the past two weeks, but I figured you needed a chance to think things through and pray.”

  “And pray she has,” Miss Betsy interjected. “We have been asking the Father to heal these many wounds between the Eikaas and Sundberg families. And specifically for you, Sam, because Kristin loves you so much.”

  She froze. How could Miss Betsy divulge something so personal? She dared not turn around and glare at her friend, although she desired to do exactly that!

  “Is that right, Kristin?”

  And, of course, Sam thought to make a sport of the blunder—or whatever it had been!

  Collecting herself, Kristin raised her chin and trained her gaze on the rain-soaked road ahead. “Ja, it’s true. Miss Betsy and I pray together as we knit and sew in the evenings.”

  “Is that one of the dresses you sewed?”

  She smoothed the skirt of the blue material. “Ja.” Soft black velvet cuffs accentuated her tiny wrists and the matching collar added depth, Kristin thought, to the light blue color of the fitted bodice and flaring skirt. “I drew the pattern from a dress I saw displayed in a shop window in New York City.”

  “A flattering creation.”

  “Takk.” There were still those times when Kristin forgot herself. “I mean … thank you.”

  “The blue brings out the color of your eyes.”

  “You are very kind.” Again perfect English. Giving him a sidelong glance, she watched his smile broaden. The fact that she’d impressed him caused her to feel a grand sense of pleasure.

  They arrived at the church, and Sam helped both ladies alight.

  They hurried through the rain and entered the church while he parked the buggy. As they shook off, Miss Betsy’s eyes roamed around the small vestibule.

  “Goodness, I haven’t been here since …”

  “Since when?”

  She wagged her head. “Oh, never mind. It’s not important.”

  Frowning, Kristin stepped closer. “Do we keep secrets from each other?”

  “No, of course not.” She let out a sigh, and her features relaxed in resignation. “I loved a man who used to attend this church.”

  “Oh?” Kristin tipped her head.

  “John Jorde was his name. He came from Illinois and his business was in lumbering.” A faraway look entered Miss Betsy’s gaze. “I would have married him if he had asked. I think he intended to. But when he told me he had to return to Illinois for a month, I was angry. I thought he should stay with me. Before he left, he wanted to talk to me, kiss me good-bye, but I was too stubborn and walked away without a single parting remark. When he never came back, I felt the need to inquire.” Miss Betsy’s eyes grew misty. “I learned John was killed when about one hundred Indians, a mix of Potawatomis and Sauk, attacked the settlement in which he’d been staying. That was more than sixteen years ago.”

  Kristin ached for her friend and linked her arm around hers. “Tragic.”

  “Oh, ja. Women and children were also killed. It is referred to as the Indian Creek Massacre nowadays.”

  Kristin hugged her arm.

  Several more people entered the small country church. They greeted Kristin and Miss Betsy. Although Kristin had seen them before, their names escaped her. She bid them a god morgen just the same.

  Miss Betsy turned and stared hard at Kristin. “But do you see why peace is so important among God’s children? I let John go without saying good-bye and telling him I loved him. Who knows if things might have been different if I had put aside my foolish pride.” She shook herself. “God’s plans are not my plans, and I do not mean to sound like I feel guilty. But tomorrow is not promised to any of us.”

  “I understand the point you are making.” And Kristin did too. “I will be sure to tell Sam how I feel about him before we part for the day.”

  “Good. You are very wise.”

  Movement outside the front door caught her eye. Kristin turned to see Sam running through the rain. She smiled. “You are quite the wise old owl yourself, Miss Betsy.”

  Sam reached them and removed his wet overcoat, which he must have donned after they disembarked. He walked to a line of wooden pegs and hung it up. Next he removed his hat and finger-combed his hair.

  “Shall we find a seat, ladies?” He offered each of them an arm.

  His overdisplay of formality amused Kristin. However, nearing the front pews, her smile vanished when Uncle Lars saw her and sneered. But even that didn’t trouble her as much as Mr. Sundberg’s glare.

  And suddenly Kristin wondered why she had allowed Sam to bring her here.

  CHAPTER 21

  KRISTIN FELT SAM’S hold on her upper arm and realized there was no turning back.

  “Pay them no mind, Kristin.” Sam whispered close to Kristin’s ear while escorting her and Miss Betsy to the front pew where Mrs. Wollums and the Brunettes sat.

  The reverend’s wife smiled broadly and gave Kristin’s hand a pat. “So good to see you again.”

  “Takk.”

  From one pew back, she could feel Mr. Sundberg’s hateful stare boring straight through to her heart.

  A tap on her shoulder made Kristin jump. She turned to see Mary. Her dark eyes shimmered as her smile grew.

  “Hello, Kristin.” She draped herself over the top of the pew. “I am happy you came today.”

  The words were English, and she recognized a few, but she figured out what Mary said. “I am happy too.”

  She snagged Sam’s glance then saw his discreet and silent applause. His antics made her smile. But when she looked back at Mary, she caught sight of Mrs. Sundberg’s disapproving expression aimed at Mary’s most unladylike manner. “You had better sit down. I will see you after church.”

  The girl nodded and took her seat.

  Reverend Wollums strode to the pulpit and led the congregation in a hymn. Afterward, he opened his Bible and read from the Book of Judges
.

  “‘And when the Lord raised them up judges, then the Lord was with the judge, and delivered them out of the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge: for it repented the Lord because of their groanings by reason of them that oppressed them and vexed them.’”

  Reverend Wollums shifted his stance at the pulpit. In the time since Kristin had last seen him, the good pastor had grown a beard. But, of course, many men did in the fall. The hunting season was in full swing.

  “Our God is a good and mighty God. He has delivered all of us here today out of a land that oppressed us. I recall as a boy in Norway, going hungry at night because my father, a fisherman, couldn’t afford the taxes imposed on his catch that day. So he brought home nothing to his family even though his net had been full.” The reverend’s gaze wandered about his flock. “This morning I caught four brook trout, and my wife fried them up for breakfast along with eggs that our chickens laid. I did not pay a single cent for any of it.

  “And so it was with Israel. They were an oppressed people, and God delivered them and set judges over them so they would keep God’s laws. We have a judge too. He is here with us today. Judge Jensen has been the territorial judge in Wisconsin for nearly a decade. His position will soon change now, for with our statehood, we will have local and state government.”

  Sam leaned over and whispered to Kristin. “Is it good to be able to understand the message from the pulpit for a change?”

  “Ja. Very good.”

  “But even living here in America we are not free from oppression. In fact, Christians oppress each other rather than love one another as God’s Word instructs. We see that God resists the proud—because that is where oppression begins, with one man thinking he is better than another. God resists that man, but promises refuge for the meek and the oppressed.”

  As Kristin digested the reverend’s sermon, she couldn’t help thinking of Onkel. How proud he was to be the king of nothing. Little wonder why his crops withered and house and barn fell down on top of his head. There were no spells involved. But no blessings either. Just God’s hand of resistance.

  All at once, Kristin pitied her aunt and cousins. They had no choice but to live under such … oppression. Now, with winter just around the corner, what would happen to them?

  When the message ended, Kristin stood. Sheriff Brunette immediately approached her.

  “Miss Eikaas, I need for you to stay a few minutes.” He looked at Sam and inclined his head. “You too.”

  “Certainly.”

  Sam reached for her hand. “Do not worry.” He sat back down and Kristin did also.

  Within minutes only Mr. and Mrs. Sundberg remained in the pew behind her and Sam. Across the aisle sat Onkel, Tante, and Inga. The children had gone. Miss Betsy left too. However, farther back Kristin spied Mr. Frantzen seated beside a man whom she didn’t recognize.

  “What is this, Sam? What is going on?”

  He leaned over and whispered, “It is not about you, Kristin. Be patient.”

  Relief flooded her, and she sat back.

  Finally the reverend came to the front, accompanied by Sheriff Brunette.

  “We have a little family business to discuss,” Reverend Wollums said. “I will now turn the matter over to Brother Brunette.”

  “Before we begin,” the sheriff said, stroking his full, dark beard, “I want to warn you, Karl and Lars, that I am a lawman too. Any outbursts from either of you will land your hides in jail. Got it?”

  Mutters came from both men, and Kristin shifted, growing uncomfortable once more.

  “Now, then …” He held his arm out. “Inga has something to tell us.”

  The thick fingers on the sheriff’s large hand beckoned the girl from her place next to Tante. When she finally stood beside him, Inga’s blue eyes darted around the sanctuary.

  “Whenever you are ready, Inga.”

  Saucer-round blue eyes looked up at him as if pleading for mercy. Obviously this was not something she wished to do. The sheriff only gave her a single nod.

  “I have lied, and I need forgiveness.” Inga’s voice shook with each word. “Mr. Frantzen has always been a gentleman where I am concerned, and I lied about him.”

  Uncle Lars stood. “What? You shameful girl!”

  His booming voice made Kristin wince.

  “Lars, need I remind you that I have a jail cell with your name on it?”

  “I have the right to question my daughter!”

  Kristin noted her uncle’s appearance hadn’t changed, from his platinum curls to his worn woolen jacket.

  “If you stay quiet long enough, I believe Inga will answer your questions.”

  Kristin saw her cousin shudder.

  “Inga,” the sheriff softly coaxed, “please go on.”

  With first a glance at the reverend, Inga looked ahead at Mr. Frantzen. “I have wronged you, Oskar, and I hope you find it in your heart to”—she wiped the moisture from her cheek—“forgive me.”

  Mr. Frantzen pushed to his feet. “It is already done, Inga. I forgive.”

  Kristen’s own gaze clouded with happy tears.

  “Now there is a separate matter.” Sheriff Brunette dipped his head.

  Inga nodded back. “Ja.” Her gaze went just beyond Sam, to the Sundbergs. “I was the one who stole your silver spoons.”

  “You?”

  Kristin turned to see Mr. Sundberg push to his feet.

  “Why, Inga?” His voice was filled with surprise. “What did my family and I ever do to you to make you want to steal from us?”

  “It is not what you did, Mr. Sundberg. It is what I did not have.” Inga lowered her head in shame. “No money for food. No nice things …”

  “I will not hear this anymore!” Uncle Lars stood also and shook his meaty fist in the air.

  “Oh, you will hear it, Lars.” Sheriff Brunette’s features narrowed while his bushy dark eyebrows slanted inward. “Here or at the jailhouse.”

  Uncle Lars sat down with a thud.

  Mr. Sundberg slowly lowered himself into the pew.

  The sheriff set his hand lightly on back Inga’s shoulders. “Please continue, Inga.”

  “All right, but it is not easy to confess.” She continued to stare at the tips of her scuffed leather boots.

  “I understand,” the reverend said empathetically. “But your confession will clear the air and free your soul.”

  Inga smoothed the skirt of her faded plaid dress but kept her gaze averted. “It happened when we first moved to Brown County. The Sundbergs invited my family and me to have supper, and afterward, I helped with the dishes. I was in the dining room and pulled out the wrong drawer. I saw the pretty red velvet pouch tucked away in the corner and looked inside and found the silver spoons. I knew they were valuable and could be melted down into coins. So I … I put the pouch in the deep pocket of my skirt.”

  “Such an embarrassment! Why? Why did you do such a thing?” Uncle Lars remained seating, but his voice still thundered through the sanctuary.

  Inga began to shake uncontrollably, and Reverend Wollums put his hand on her shoulder. “Finish your story,” he said gently.

  “I wanted my family to have all the fine things that the Sundbergs had. I was so tired of being poor and feeling hungry.”

  She gulped a breath of air. “That night when I got home, I buried the silver so no one would find it. I was not familiar with Green Bay and did not know where I should go to exchange the spoons for money. But, days later, the men came to build the barn for Far. I thought for sure they would find the tin coffee can in which I had placed the pouch of silver spoons. But, no, instead they built a wall right on top of it! I could not get at it no matter how I tried. So I put it out of my mind and kept quiet.” She swallowed hard. “Then the sheriff came to ask Far about the stolen silver. He searched for it, but I knew he would not find it. Far was so angry. I did not dare tell the truth.”

  Kristin hated to think of what Onkel’s method of punishment would have been,
had he learned of Inga’s thievery.

  “I did not care that Mr. Sundberg hated Far and blamed him.” Inga wetted her lips and stared at the polished wood floor. “I hated Far too.” She spoke the words with forcefulness.

  “What is this, girl?” Uncle Lars slowly got to his feet again, and Kristin saw the furious glint in his eyes.

  On impulse she slipped her hand around Sam’s elbow. He gently flexed his bicep in a silent but reassuring reply.

  Inga’s frightened gaze flew to the sheriff.

  “You are safe here, Inga. Continue, please.”

  She collected her wits. “I have hated Far, and I ask God to forgive me for it.” Sudden tears filled her blue eyes. She sniffed and the reverend offered his handkerchief. “And Far, too, I ask forgiveness.” She peeked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze again. “Ever since I was young I watched how, time and again, God bestowed my father with the means to meet our basic needs. Each time he has squandered them, like buying rounds of drinks for his friends at the tavern—or allowing good lumber to rot in the yard.”

  “She lies!”

  “Lars, this is your last warning.” The sheriff pointed his forefinger at him. “Next outburst, I will summon my deputy.”

  “But she defames my character—and in front of Reverend Wollums, no less!”

  The reverend spoke up. “News of your visits to Tommy’s Tavern on Main Street have already reached my ears.”

  To his credit Kristin found no traces of condemnation on his face.

  “And, do not forget,” Sheriff Brunette added, “I have broken up many fights at that place, and I have seen you there with my own eyes as recently as last month, the night Peder Olstad got himself into trouble.”

  “Lars,” Aunt Esther breathed, “you did not spend the money from your brother’s pocket watch on drinking at the tavern, did you?”

  “Ja, he did, Momma,” Inga insisted. “Peder Olstad told me right before he went into the barn to pack his belongings. The sheriff was waiting for him and Mr. Olstad.”

  “It was my brother’s watch, and I could do what I pleased with the money.” Gazing at Tante, he arched a brow as if daring her to speak further.