She didn’t. Folding her gloved hands, she stared at them in her lap.
“Inga, tell us how you retrieved the silver spoons.”
“The next day, after the Olstads left, a terrible storm destroyed our cabin and damaged the wall of the barn, covering the silver. I was able to dig it up, and instead of going to school on Monday, I went to the pawnbroker. I knew where his shop was because I was in the wagon when Far stopped one day and took in Momma’s wedding ring for money.”
Kristin saw her uncle’s face redden.
“When I sold the silver, I gave Momma some of the money.”
Which explains how Tante afforded her trip to Miss Betsy’s. Kristin put the pieces together.
“Then last week, I could not stand it at home a moment longer. I tried to convince Oskar to marry me and move away.” What little resolve Inga had suddenly cracked. “I so desperately wanted to run away and begin a new life. No more living in squalor. No more feeling ashamed that I am an Eikaas because of … of Far.”
“Now, see here, girl …” Uncle Lars’s voice was as taut as a thread about to snap.
“I just wanted to be loved,” Inga became distraught. “I–I wanted someone t–to take care of m–me.”
Mrs. Brunette ran to Inga, put her arms around her shoulders, and then led her out the doorway, leading to the parsonage.
Kristin’s hand flew to her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. She felt her cousin’s pain.
The sheriff handed the velvet pouch to Mr. Sundberg. “Here is your silver. It is all there.”
If there was a reply, Kristin didn’t hear it.
“Now, the way I see it, Karl, you owe Lars an apology.” The sheriff moved toward the Sundbergs. “All these years you have accused and blamed him when, unbeknownst to him, his daughter stole the silver.”
Kristin held her breath. She couldn’t imagine a man like Mr. Sundberg apologizing to anyone.
But to her surprise, Mr. Sundberg spoke. “I guess you are right, Sheriff. Eikaas might be a lot of things, but he’s not a thief—at least as far as my coin silver goes.”
“Apology accepted,” Uncle Lars declared.
What apology? Kristin turned in the wooden pew and peered at each man. Uncle Lars sat back, appearing quite self-assured.
“See, Esther, I am not a thief.”
Tante looked away.
“Is that all, Sheriff?” Mr. Sundberg asked.
“Not quite. There’s the matter of repaying Mr. Errens.” Sheriff Brunette looked from Mr. Sundberg to Uncle Lars. “He paid out good money for those spoons. But I think Judge Jensen and I have worked out a solution.”
“Fine. But before we discuss it,” Mr. Sundberg replied, “I need to say something else.”
To Kristin’s immense discomfort, Sam’s father came around the pew and hunkered in front of her.
She looked at Sam with wide eyes, but his attention was on his father.
“Miss Eikaas, I have been a fool, not to mention a regular bully. It took my twelve-year-old to point that out to me weeks ago. I am ashamed to admit that I disliked you, then despised you because I thought you not only stole my silver, but … you stole the heart of my son.”
Her lips moved to explain that she didn’t steal Sam’s heart, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Please …” He sent a glance to Sam before refocusing on Kristin. “Sam is a fine man, Miss Eikaas. He did me proud while he was in Madison. And here at home he has shone me through his respectful words and diligent work how crooked my own heart had become.” Flicking a glance at the floor and then back at Kristin, he added, “I am sorry for the way I mistreated you. I had no right and no just cause.”
Was he sincere? Kristin looked at Sam askance. What did she do?
Sliding his arm along the back of the pew, Sam leaned close to her ear and whispered, “This is the part where you forgive him.”
Half of her wanted to refuse. She’d already been wounded and Mr. Sundberg only added to it. Yet she knew it was her Christian duty to forgive him. If she obeyed, perhaps God would mend her broken heart once and for all.
“Ja, I forgive you, Mr. Sundberg.”
“And Kristin?” Mrs. Sundberg stood beside her husband when he got to his feet. “I never meant to cause you more pain.
I had hoped to spare you from it.”
“I know that now.” She stood and hugged Mrs. Sundberg. With her chin gently pressed against the Indian woman’s shoulder, Kristin realized how terribly she’d missed her.
“Bah!” Uncle Lars snorted. “Get on with this meeting, already!”
Mrs. Sundberg gave Kristin a final squeeze then followed her husband back to their pew.
Kristin sat down.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “None of us want to see Inga incarcerated.”
Tante gasped.
“So I have a suggestion, which I have discussed in great length with Reverend Wollums. We feel that Inga is truly repentant. Therefore, my advice is that, for the time being, Mrs. Eikaas and her children, including Inga, move in with my wife and me. Mr. Errens has agreed to allow Inga to work for him after school, sweeping floors and such. She will pay off her debt in two years. In the meantime, Lars, you can make the necessary repairs to your house and barn, not to mention your heart and soul.”
“We will all help you, Lars.” The promise came from the reverend’s mouth. “But we will not do it for you. Not again. Not anymore.”
“Ah, who needs you?” Uncle Lars folded his arms stubbornly. Kristin gaped at him.
“Perhaps,” the reverend continued, “after your family moves in with the Brunettes, you will have time to ponder that question … alone.”
Tante stood, looking more confident than Kristin had ever seen her. “I accept the offer. Thank you, Sheriff.” She scurried around Uncle Lars. “I will go and pack our things.”
The rain cleared, and when the sun broke through the clouds, it made for an unseasonably mild afternoon. The air smelled fresh and clean to Kristin as she and Sam strolled down the wet gravelly road near the Wollumses’ brick home. She had enjoyed a nice meal with all the people she held dear sitting around the dining room table. Miss Betsy, the Sundbergs, the Wollumses … and Sam.
“You have been awfully quiet this afternoon.” Sam sent her a sideways glance. “You must have a lot on your mind.”
“Not really.” She walked across a thatch of brown grass.
Reaching the planked fence that kept the cows penned, Kristin rested her forearms on the top rail.
As she hoped, Sam followed her. “What are you thinking about, Kristin? Was it the meeting after church? I thought I explained that I knew about it only because Oskar—”
“Shh …” Twisting slightly, she touched her fingertips to Sam’s lips. “I do not want to discuss that meeting anymore.”
Sam’s palm encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Maybe I do not wish to talk.” Since amends had been made, Kristin actually felt … playful.
Sam leaned against the fence with a frown stitched upon his brow.
“We are always so serious, Sam, forging through one situation after another.”
He pursed his lips in a way that made Kristin want to …
So she did. She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her lips against Sam’s. After a moment of initial shock, his arms encircled her waist, and he responded with a kiss of his own.
“I love you, Sam,” she murmured against his mouth. Then she gazed up into his face.
“I love you too. With all my heart.” He pulled her against him, and Kristin’s feet left the ground.
She laughed and he released her.
Sam squared his broad shoulders. “You, young lady, are much too forward.”
“Ja, I guess I am.” She couldn’t hide her smile. “Especially after such an emotional morning as today’s.”
“All right. You are granted this once.”
; “Only once?” With a hand on his shoulder, she stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Kristin, you know what this means?”
She lolled her head to one side and arched her brows.
“You will just have to marry me.”
Happy, she slipped her arms around his waist and tipped her head back. “Yes, I will marry you, Sam Sundberg.” She laughed at his surprised expression.
Her English had never been more perfect!
EPILOGUE
August 13,1850
THE STEEP, jagged cliffs bordering Lake Michigan jutted in and out of Manitowoc, Wisconsin’s, shoreline. Beyond them Kristin saw magnificent sailing vessels with billowing white sails.
Pangs of anticipation surged up inside of her. “Do you think the ship has arrived yet, Sam?”
“Should have.” He pulled their wagon to a halt. “Luggage should have been unloaded by now too.” He crossed over her and hopped down.
Kristin turned into his strong, outstretched arms.
“Careful now.”
Her feet touched the ground, and she straightened the material covering her protruding midsection. “I feel as huge as one of those tall-masted ships out there, full sail and all!”
Sam grinned.
Kristin noticed he didn’t argue. But, then again, any sighted person could see she was great with child. Their first.
She and Sam married the first week in April last year. But God didn’t bless them with a child until now, nearly a year and a half later. But if there was one thing Kristin knew for certain, it was that God’s ways were not her ways. She would have liked a baby immediately. However, as it happened, Sam had time to build them a fine home and a barn, and acquire cows, pigs, and sheep. He purchased the necessary farming equipment and, this year, brought in an abundance of crops.
Kristin too enjoyed the harvest. She’d spun the wool from their sheep on the spinning wheel, which once belonged to Sam’s mother. She knitted and crocheted for shops here in Manitowoc, and whenever they traveled to Green Bay, they dropped off various creations for Miss Betsy’s shop. Kristin also knit her babe wool blankets and sweaters to keep him warm this winter. God knew that now they were ready to welcome their firstborn, and Kristin had an inkling that he would be a boy. His name would be Daniel, after Poppa.
Sam took her arm and helped her waddle to the baggage area. He guarded her from being bumped and jostled by passersby. Manitowoc had become home to a busy port.
“Do you see them, Sam?”
He blew out a breath. “I see a lot of people who would fit the description you gave me.” He hugged her to him. “Remember, my kjære, things might have changed in the two years since you saw your friend—”
“Sylvia!” Kristin spotted her all at once. She would have known her anywhere. Moments later she and her childhood friend held each other in a fierce embrace—as fierce as possible with eight months of an unborn child between them.
“Oh, let me look at you, dear friend.” Sylvia held her by the shoulders and ran her light-green gaze up and down. Lightbrown curls waved on the lake breezes. “You do not look tired for one who keeps so busy. I feel exhausted after just reading your letters.”
“I am not so busy.”
Mrs. Olstad held out her long, thin arms and hugged Kristin next. “Why, you are glowing, Kristin.”
Her eyes misted up, but Sam was ready with a handkerchief. She caught his helpless shrug, making her smile. “Please meet my husband, Sam Sundberg.”
“Welcome.” With calloused fingers, he lifted each lady’s hand and gave a courteous half-bow. “My pleasure to meet you both.
Kristin speaks highly of you.” His gaze fell to the wooden sea chests nearby. “I will find porters to transport your belongings to our wagon. Meanwhile, Kristin will lead you to it.”
As they made their way from the docks, Kristin decided to ask about Peder. Mr. Olstad had returned to Wisconsin and found a job splitting ties and laying track for the new railroads, which would soon take passengers from Lake Michigan all the way to the Mississippi River. Uncle Lars took a job with the railroad too, and the men relocated to the central part of the state. Uncle Lars made amends with Aunt Esther, and she, Anna, and Erik moved in with him again—and into a fine home. But Inga remained in Green Bay and married Oskar Frantzen. They appeared very happy. And soon, after a brief visit here, Sylvia and her mother would travel the distance to be with Mr. Olstad at long last.
“I am afraid Peder succumbed to gambling.”
Kristin’s heart sank at the sad news.
“He struck gold and has since lost his fortune. But first he paid for Mor and me to sail to America. We are grateful to him for that.” A look of sorrow crept into Sylvia’s bright blue eyes. “Mor and I tried, but we could never save the funds.”
Kristin understood.
Sylvia stopped short and grabbed hold of Kristin’s elbow. She leaned in close. “Is America everything we always talked about and dreamed about as girls?”
“America is even more, Sylvia.” She glimpsed Sam, making his way toward them. Her handsome husband in his freshly laundered brown trousers and tan shirt. His broad shoulders had developed all the more in the last two years, but it was the abundance of love and patience that he carried in his heart that made him so dear and special.
He caught her gaze, and his entire countenance lit up. He loved her without question. And the love she felt for him rivaled the vast Wisconsin sky!
“Are you happy, Kristin?”
“Oh, ja.” She turned to her friend and saw hope, doubt, and even fear glimmering in her friend’s eyes. “Ja, Sylvia.” Her hands glided down her bulging belly of the precious burden she carried. “My life is so full, and I have never been happier.”
COMING IN OCTOBER 2012
THREADS OF FAITH
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
—HEBREWS 11:1
CHAPTER 1
June 1877
RUN, IF YE know what’s good for ye, dearie. Run far and run fast!”
Julianna Wayland needed no further warning from the aging, plump cook, waving her floured rolling pin. She bolted from the tiled kitchen, making her way through the servants’ doorway at the side of the brick manse. Her heels clicked against the cobbled pavement in quick succession as she ran down the bustling, cart-lined lane in which hawkers sold their wares. But where could she go? Certainly not home.
Thinking of the cramped room with a single cot above the Mariner’s Pub that she shared with her sister, dread sank like a stone inside of her. After her sister’s treachery, Julianna might not even have that miserable place to call home. How could Flora have done such a cruel thing?
Julianna hastened past shoppers until she turned onto another street. Perspiration trickled down the side of her face, and the joggling threatened every pin in her thick hair, tucked beneath the white, floppy cap. With one hand holding it in place, she managed to glance over her shoulder and spied two men. Panic weakened her limbs. Were two of Mr. Tolbert’s hired men chasing after her? She’d seen the duo, clad in fancy, dark suits, about the manor, and snoopy beasts they were too! Would they really track her down like a couple of hounds?
Apparently so.
Oh, Flora, what have you done this time?
Julianna zigzagged her way down one street and up another until she reached London’s wharf. A row of warehouses lined the Thames, and, thankfully, the wind had shifted so the stench of dead fish and human waste wasn’t as sickening as in days past.
Rounding the corner of a warehouse, she paused and leaned against the wall, fighting to catch her breath. Dear God, had she outsmarted her would-be captors? If those men caught her, there’d be no convincing them to let her go. Julianna knew from being in Olson Tolbert’s employ for the past eighteen months, ever since she turned sixteen, that whatever he wanted, he got.
And for some terrible, horrible reason he wanted her!
Memories of
his dark, soulless eyes, watching her every move as she served dinner last night, and then his icy touch upon her hand and forearm when she’d set down his plate of food, were all enough to propel her onward. The man was old enough to be her father—even though Julianna hadn’t ever known hers.
Perhaps her real father was twice Mr. Tolbert’s age. Flora said he’d been a sailor, and their mum, a woman who welcomed every man’s advance.
And Flora … well, she’d turned out like Mum.
The rapid approach of footfalls brought Julianna from her musing. Her gaze darted around. What should she do? No longer could she run, lest she meet up with some scoundrels and ne’er-do-wells, a fate that might prove worse than marrying Olson Tolbert.
She eyed the various sized crates stacked against the brick wall of the warehouse. Hiding was her only hope.
She moved toward the stockpile, when all at once she spied a box in which she’d likely fit. Hurrying, she scrambled onto a nearby apple crate and peered inside the tall-standing container.
Empty.
Julianna vaulted over the side. Once within its narrowslatted confines, she gathered her skirts and tucked her black dress around her ankles. Then she hunkered down, praying she wouldn’t be found.
Seconds later, men’s voices came upon her, and, suddenly, her hiding place jerked from side to side. Julianna’s head whacked against a wooden side slat and pain shot down her neck, but she dared not make a peep. Instead, she slid her hand up through the tight space and massaged the growing knot just above her ear.
“It’s full, all right, Mr. Bentley.”
“Fine. Fine. Now load ’er up and ye can have the job.”
The men were not Mr. Tolbert’s thugs, and relief coursed through her. But before she could cry out and make her presence known, a lid clamped down over the top of the tall crate and was hammered into place.
Captain Daniel Sundberg squinted into the sun and scrutinized the unshaven faces of his newly acquired crewmen. A motley assortment of fellows, some wearing bedraggled clothing, they stood broad shoulder to broad shoulder, chests puffed out, and whiskered chins held high.
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