Sigrid sighed and nodded. She could well imagine that neither her brother nor sister wanted to worry about her grieving on her own. They were no doubt going to suggest she come spend a few months living with one or the other of them. And, frankly, most folks would expect her to do something just like that. But Sigrid didn’t want to leave the house. She wanted to stay on and think about her life. She wanted to watch another spring blend into summer and then autumn.
She followed her stocky, blond brother into the house and was surprised to find Ina standing alone while her husband, Clarence, herded their five children outside.
The sisters embraced and nodded at each other with stoic expressions securely fixed in place. Their family had never been given to public spectacles of grief and as was true of many of their Swedish friends and extended family, they weren’t ones for showing much emotion.
“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Sigrid asked, looking from Ina to Sven and back again. In the background, the clatter of dishes and women’s chatter caused Sven to motion the sisters to one of the side bedrooms off of the main living area.
“Ina and I have discussed it and we both agree that the house should be sold immediately,” Sven said, as though the matter was settled. “I’ve talked to Olga and she said it would be a great help to have you around the place.”
“You want to sell Fader and Moder’s house?” she asked in disbelief.
It was as if no one had heard her, however, as her sister picked up the matter. “I’m happy for you to come and stay with us part of the time, as well. You could sleep with Bridgett in the loft bedroom. You know how she adores you.”
Sigrid stared at them both as though the meaning of their words had eluded her. “I don’t know what to think.”
“That’s why I figured on taking care of the matter for you,” Sven said, with the authoritative air of an older brother. “I’ll put up a notice and—”
“No!” Sigrid said, suddenly finding her voice. “I don’t want to sell.”
Ina looked at her with wide blue eyes. “What do you mean? Surely you don’t want to stay on here alone. Moder wouldn’t want you to be here alone.”
“Of course, she can’t stay here,” Sven said, quite seriously.
“I’m a grown woman, Sven. There is no reason why I can’t stay here. I’m fully capable of doing what work needs to be done. Erik is taking care of the farming, and the rest of the work was pretty much my responsibility anyway.” She paused to settle her nerves. With only the tiniest hint of emotion in her voice, she continued. “Erik already has the ground turned and the planting will be finished within the week. I’ve got peas and potatoes planted and you can’t expect me to just up and let someone else reap the benefits of my labors.”
“I’ve got plenty of peas and potatoes at my place,” Sven countered. “Be reasonable, Sigrid. Ina and Clarence need the money and so do I. Last year’s crops weren’t that good and—”
“I don’t want to move. This is my home. I stayed behind while you both married and went your ways,” Sigrid protested in uncharacteristic anger. “I think I deserve to live out my days here.”
“You could marry,” Ina suggested. “You aren’t so very old that a bachelor or widower wouldn’t see the use in having you around.”
Sigrid felt as though her sister had somehow just insulted her. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the odds were against her finding a love match and marrying. It wasn’t even that her sister spoke aloud the sentiments that Sigrid had already considered many times. It was … well … it was just more than she wanted to have to deal with at that precise moment.
“We can talk about this tomorrow,” Sven said, opening the bedroom door. He looked out into the living room as if seeking someone. “Olga’s going to wonder what’s keeping me.”
“Come stay with us tonight,” Ina said softly as she turned to follow Sven.
“No,” Sigrid stated firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ina shrugged, while Sven rolled his eyes and grunted something unintelligible before leaving the room. Sigrid closed the door behind her sister and leaned back against it to calm herself. How dare they try to force me from the only home I’ve ever known! She felt somehow betrayed and the only thing she wanted to do was hide away in this room until everyone else went home.
She glanced around and sighed. Am I being foolish? Is it completely unreasonable to want to stay here, even if it means staying alone?
A light rap sounded on the door. Sigrid bolstered her courage and turned to open it. Ella Swanson, Sigrid’s lifelong friend, stood holding a bowl of ostkaka and lingonberries.
“I thought your favorite dessert might help,” Ella offered.
Sigrid smiled and nodded. “You always know just how to cheer me up.” The ostkaka looked most appealing and Sigrid realized she was quite hungry. “Thank you, Ella.”
“Ja, sure. You’d do the same for me.”
Sigrid’s smile faded. “This day has been so hard.”
Ella’s countenance mirrored the way Sigrid felt inside. It was a blend of confusion and sorrow. “Ja,” Ella whispered. “Your moder was a good woman. I miss her too.”
Sigrid thought how strange she should have to struggle with such a riot of emotions in one single day. The sorrow over losing her mother was enough to keep her drawn within herself, but her anger at Sven’s insensitivity to her needs threatened to burst forth without warning.
“Everything okay?” a masculine voice questioned from behind Ella. It was Erik.
Sigrid shook her head. “No. I don’t think anything will ever be okay again.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked. Ella seemed eager to know the problem as well, but just then her mother called her away leaving Sigrid to awkwardly face Erik alone.
“Sven wants to put the property up for sale right away,” she finally managed to say. She refused to say anything else as she was desperately close to tears. Cradling the bowl in her hands, Sigrid tried to focus on the pudding and berries instead.
“I hope you won’t sell it off without giving me first chance to buy it,” Erik said.
Sigrid’s head snapped up and she knew without needing to see for herself that her face clearly registered her anger. “Erik Lindquist, I have no thought to see this place sold to anyone. This is my home. I have nothing else now, and I’m tired of people trying to separate me from the only thing left me.”
Erik seemed notably surprised by her outburst. Unable to bear up under his scrutiny, Sigrid pushed him aside and made her way into the living room. I’m not going to deal with this today, she thought, lifting a spoonful of ostkaka to her lips. The dessert seemed flavorless to her, and what would normally have been a rare treat was now souring on her stomach. Would this day never end?
Chapter 2
SKORPOR
(Swedish Rusks)
1 cup sugar
½ cup shortening
1 egg
1 cup sour cream 3 to 4 cups flour (enough to make dough stiff)
½ tsp. soda ½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1 cup nuts
Mix all ingredients together and pour onto a long sheet pan. Bake 1 hour at 3250F. Take out of oven and turn oven to 2000F. Then cut skorpor into strips about 1 x 4” while still in the pan and put back in the oven to dry until hard and light brown (about 1 hour). These make great dunkers for coffee.
Sigrid’s week went from bad to unbearable. Sigrid remained firm as Sven continued to nag about selling the property, but when a town meeting was called to discuss the railroad moving into the area, she had second thoughts about maintaining her life in the quiet town of Lindsborg. Building the railroad had brought her parents from Illinois to Kansas in the first place, but the railroad had also cost her father his life.
“The railroad is bringing new life to your community,” an older man in a black suit assured the crowd. “The railroad will bring new people to settle the area and with them will come new industry and growth.
A community like Lindsborg needs the railroad and,” he paused to play up to the crowd, “the railroad needs Lindsborg.”
The townsfolk murmured amongst themselves while Sigrid found an inconspicuous place for herself at the back of the meeting hall.
“Excuse me,” a soft masculine voice whispered over her shoulder. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”
Sigrid turned to find a handsome, dark-haired stranger eyeing her with consuming interest. “I’m not very interested in the topic,” she managed to reply.
“Oh, but you should be.” The man’s brown eyes seemed to twinkle and a broad grin was revealed beneath his thick, handle-bar mustache. “I’m Ruben Carter. I work with this railroad.” He said the words as though she should be impressed with such an announcement.
Instead, Sigrid dismissed herself and went outside to wait for Sven and Erik. Both were enthusiastic, or so it seemed, to at least hear what the railroad was offering the community.
“Wait, Miss …” Carter called, following her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter,” Sigrid said, rather stiffly. “The rail holds nothing but bad memories for me. My father was killed in a railroading accident near Salina.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss …” Again he paused, waiting for her name. “Larsson,” she replied flatly.
He gave her a sweeping bow and pulled up with a grin. “Miss Larsson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Sigrid smiled in spite of herself. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“But we’ve only just met,” he interjected. “You can’t go now. Why don’t you tell me what happened to your father?”
Sigrid smoothed the dusty folds of her dove gray skirt. “He was pinned between two cars. He died soon after they were able to free him.”
“I’m sorry. But you know, that doesn’t make the railroad evil.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Sigrid admitted. “But it does make me wary of having it in my town.”
“Where do you live? Perhaps the railroad will be far removed from your daily routine.”
Sigrid shook her head. “No such luck. We’ve already received a notice saying that the railroad will pass over a corner of our property. No one asked me if I wanted it there. We were simply told that it will be placed there and we will be given a modest amount of money to compensate the taking of that which never belonged to the railroad in the first place.” Her words were delivered in a stern, unemotional manner.
Ruben nodded sympathetically. “I can understand, but you mustn’t fret so over it.”
“I believe we’ve adequately discussed this issue,” Sigrid said and turned to go. She was barely halfway down the street when Ruben caught up with her.
“At least allow me to make a suggestion,” he offered. “We will be looking for ways to feed our workers. Perhaps you would care to assist us by cooking for the railroad?”
Sigrid shook her head and continued walking. She had absolutely no desire to be responsible for aiding the railroad’s entry into Lindsborg. She might not be able to stop its arrival, but she certainly didn’t have to assist it.
“Wait, Miss Larsson,” Ruben called out again, then joined her matching her stride.
Sigrid said nothing for several moments. She wondered who this man really was and what his part was with the railroad. Perhaps he had a great deal of money tied up in the development of Lindsborg, and maybe all of that hinged on the successful presentation of the railroad to the citizens of the small town. But most folks were quite excited about the railroad, so surely talking her into a favorable response wasn’t all that important.
“Please just hear me out. If nothing else, do it for the sake of Christian charity,” Carter said with a pleading expression.
Sigrid felt helpless to argue with the man. Moder had always said that God expected folks to treat one another as they would if Jesus Himself was standing in their place. “All right,” she replied, looking Ruben Carter full in the face. “I’m listening.”
Ruben smiled. “Would it be possible for you to have me to coffee?”
“Swedes are famous for always having a pot on the stove,” Sigrid said, warming to his smile. He seemed like such a gentle-natured man and his soft-spoken words were methodically relaxing her prejudices. “I suppose the men will be along directly,” she said glancing back at the main street of town.
“Yes, they were very near to concluding their discussion,” Ruben agreed.
“All right, Mr. Carter, I will give you coffee and hear you out,” Sigrid said.
“So you see,” Ruben told her as she poured steaming black coffee into his cup, “the railroad likes to work with the folks of the community. We have a great many workers who set the rails in place and bring in supplies. We rely upon good folks like you to help us with the feeding and sometimes the housing of our workers.” He took a drink of the coffee and nodded approvingly. “This is very good.”
Sigrid smiled and brought a plateful of skorpor to the table. “These are for dunking in the coffee.” She paused as his gaze seemed to roam the full length of her body before resting on her face.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said, taking one of the skorpor.
Sigrid, not used to open flirting, felt her face grow flushed. As she turned quickly away, she saw out the open kitchen window that Erik and Sven were coming up the lane. Their heated discussion seemed to indicate a problem and Sigrid could only wonder if they were discussing the sale of her home.
“So now that I know exactly where you’re situated,” Ruben began again, “and I know you can cook, what say you to the possibility of hiring on to fix my men breakfast each day? You’d be well paid.”
Sigrid immediately thought of her brother’s need for money. What if I were to find enough or make enough money to buy out Sven and Ina’s shares of the property? Would that satisfy them?
“How much would I be paid?”
“Oh, it depends,” Ruben said, looking up to the ceiling as though to mentally calculate the matter. “If you were to provide a full breakfast, and remember those are hardworking men with hearty appetites, it could be a very satisfactory sum.”
“I assure you, Mr. Carter, farmers are hardworking men with hearty appetites as well. I’ve fed plenty of farmhands and I know how men can eat. What I don’t know is what the railroad considers satisfactory.”
“Enough to cover your expenses and then some,” Ruben replied. “Look, if you’ll consider this, I promise to make it well worth your time and trouble. The men need to be fed before first light every morning so that they can be to work by sunup. There will probably be about twenty or so in number, and you only have to worry about the morning meal. I’ll arrange other plans for the noon and supper meals.”
Sigrid finally felt intrigued by the idea. She could easily feed twenty men, and making money from the railroad seemed a promising way to keep Sven from forcing her to sell the homestead. “How long will you need to keep this arrangement?” she asked, glancing back out the window to find Sven and Erik stopped at the gatepost. They appeared to be in no hurry to come inside.
“Probably six or seven months, maybe less,” Ruben replied.
Sigrid turned back to find him dunking yet another skorpor into his coffee. “All right,” she said, taking the chair opposite him at the table. “I will consider doing this thing, but only if you put all the details in writing. I don’t want the railroad cheating me for my efforts.”
“You certainly have a low opinion of us, don’t you,” he more stated than questioned.
“You would too, if you’d lost your father and found your family forgotten and destitute by the very organization that took his life.” She knew her words sounded pain filled, yet Sigrid couldn’t stop herself from continuing. “Frankly, I’m grateful that my mother won’t have to see the railroad come to this town. It would break her heart and make it seem like losing my Fader all over again.”
“I’m truly sorry for your lo
ss, Miss Larsson. My own parents are still alive, so I cannot possibly know your pain. Please believe me when I say the railroad will be honor bound in their arrangements with you. You need not fear that you will be cheated in any way.”
For a moment, Sigrid lost herself in his compassionate expression. His brown eyes seemed to reach inside her with a comforting assurance that every word he spoke was true. She wanted to do nothing more than listen to his promises and know that she wouldn’t have to leave her home, but the slamming of the back porch screen door brought her out of her reverie.
Sigrid jumped to her feet to get two more coffee mugs. With emotions fading and senses returning, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll do the job, but I still want it in writing.”
Chapter 3
RAGMUNKAR
(Swedish Potato Pancakes)
3 cups grated raw potatoes
½ cup milk
1 egg, slightly beaten
2 T. flour
1 ½ tsp. salt 1 T. onion, finely chopped
Beat egg into the milk and immediately add potatoes. Sprinkle in flour, mixing well and add salt and onion. Fry in greased skillet, as you would regular pancakes, until golden brown.
Sigrid went to work immediately to prepare her house for the railroad workers. She cleared the living room of its normal furniture, with exception of the piano and wood stove, and brought in tables and chairs from every other corner of the house. Ella had even managed to loan her an extra table, and with that, Sigrid was able to put five men to a table with enough space to accommodate them all comfortably.
She rose every morning at three-thirty in order to have the stove hot and the food ready for the workers. It caused some havoc with her normal routine, but after a week or two Sigrid had worked through all the minor problems. Her supplies had used a fair sum of her funds, but she was already turning a profit. Not to mention that her jelly jar was now rapidly being filled with money. Not only was the railroad paying her to feed the men, but some of the men paid extra for things like cookies, pies and biscuits. Sigrid was finally seeing a way to satisfy Sven, although he’d been none too impressed with her method of earning the money.
Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote Page 34