“Mor has a bad tummy,” Sigrün confided in her loudest whisper. Karl shushed her gently.
Jan crooked an eyebrow. “Should we congratulate you?” he asked his brother under his breath.
Elli ‘tsked’ and pinched his arm. Karl just shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. A few moments later Amalie reappeared from behind the curtain. Elli silently handed a dampened cloth to her.
“Ach! I am sorry,” Amalie muttered.
“Maybe this one will be a boy, eh, Søster?” Jan said with a straight face.
Amalie blushed furiously and Karl shot him a dark look.
“This one what?” Kristen asked innocently.
Elli shook her head at the girl, but Jan could not help himself. He quivered with laughter, even though he tried to hold it in. Grinning at Karl and Amalie he made an attempt to apologize, but sniggered instead.
Perhaps it was the strain of the past weeks, but it felt good to laugh, to rejoice in what was ahead. He was happy, and was not a new baby something to rejoice over?
So he laughed. Karl tried to be serious and quell him with a look, but it had the opposite effect. Jan laughed so hard he could not catch his breath. Then Elli giggled and hiccupped, which only caused Jan to laugh harder. Tears leaked down his face.
Karl could hold out no longer. He chuckled, burst into laughter, and slapped Jan on the leg. The children, knowing only that their parents were laughing uncontrollably about something, joined them.
Amalie smiled, too. “Perhaps so, Bror,” she relented. “It would be nice for a little Karl to be the first Thoresen born in America, nei?”
“Pappa, can we sing?” Kristen looked at him with hopeful eyes.
“What? Are you tired and bored from riding on this train?” Jan teased.
“Oh, yes, Pappa! Please! Can we sing?” she wheedled, batting her wide blue eyes at him.
Jan laughed and Elli shook her head. Karl rolled his eyes.
“You have no idea what is ahead with your little datter, Bror,” Jan teased him.
He placed Kristen on his lap and smoothed her long braids. “Ja, little one. We can sing!” He started a merry folk song best sung in a round. Karl began the song again at the right place. Elli and Amalie added a third part. Søren joined his pappa, and the girls added their voices to their mothers’.
When that song ended, Karl and Jan jumped into another brisk tune, and then another and another. As the wheels of the train sang against the rails, the enclosed car rang with laughter and song. Finally Jan began a hymn. They sang hymn after hymn until their hearts were full and their voices well used.
“Pappa, I love when our family sings,” Kristen whispered, yawning and burrowing into her father’s chest.
I love that when I look at you I see your beautiful mamma, Jan thought, his cup running over.
The train stopped every so often that day to take on coal and water. When it did, Jan and Karl slid open the car door. Everyone clambered down to stretch their legs and breathe fresh air. Along the way they emptied the necessary and refilled their water can. Where available they purchased hot food.
As the sun was sinking, stealing their light away, Karl pulled out the Thoresen family Bible and began to read aloud. Jan always thought of his father and mother when he saw the thick book. They had tearfully presented it to their eldest son as both of their children prepared to leave them, probably forever.
“I never imagined our familie Bibelen would leave our country, but it must go with you and your sønns, Karl, and you must faithfully record our family’s history in it,” their far had instructed, a catch in his voice.
Karl and Jan, with their wives and their children, had knelt on the wood-planked floor of the old farmhouse and received their father’s blessing. “Jeg ber til Gud om at han gir dere sin velsignelse og sitt vern. I fervently pray our merciful God will extend his blessing and protection on you.”
Why is life like this? Jan pondered. I have spent much of my life trying to leave my parents and their home, but now I am looking back, already missing them. Will Søren someday leave for far-off adventures? And will Kristen marry and move away? How will I feel if my children leave and I am never to see them again? Ah, Lord! This is hard to think on.
Three long days later their train steamed into Council Bluffs. All were weary of traveling, but perhaps Karl and Jan the most.
After situating Elli, Amalie, and the girls in another boardinghouse, Karl and Jan, with Søren in tow, went to investigate how to ferry their families and belongings across the river.
Using the words “ferry” and “please” written by the helpful immigration man, they soon arrived at the bustling crossing. They found a good place to study the process and watched for half an hour, observing how others made their arrangements, how the workers loaded the ferry, and how long the crossing took.
Jan poked Karl. “Look there.”
Karl squinted and looked in the direction Jan was pointing. A large Swede sat atop a loaded wagon. The three Thoresens circled around until they found a path to reach the man.
“Hei! God ettermiddag!” Jan called to him.
The blonde, raw-boned man flashed them a smile. “God dag! Norsk?”
“Ja,” Jan replied. “It’s good to hear a familiar tongue.” Swedish and Norwegian languages were close enough that they could understand each other.
“I am sure it is! I’m Olafsson. Are you just arrived?” He climbed down from his wagon and shook their hands. He clapped Søren on the shoulder. “So! This young Norsk wants to become an American, eh?”
Søren grinned and bobbed his head.
“This is my sønn Søren. I am Jan Thoresen,” Jan introduced them. “This is my brother, Karl. Our train got here a few hours ago. Are you going across yourself?”
They stepped into the shade of the wagon bed. “Nej,” Olafsson answered. “I live in this town. I own many wagons and we help unload the railroad cars and load the ferries.” He laughed. “Until they build a bridge for the train here, I will have plenty of work.”
Jan couldn’t believe their good fortune. “So! We wish to cross tomorrow. Maybe you can give us some good advice, eh?”
Olafsson looked toward the ferries. “Ja, sure. I will be in line for an hour more, I think. Tell me, where are you going after you cross?”
Karl spoke up. “We wish to file our claims and take the railroad north until it starts to turn west again. Then, we think, we would get off and drive wagons north.”
“Ah! There is still much good land that direction, from what I hear. But where will you get off the train, do you think?”
Jan and Karl looked at each other. “We are not sure yet, perhaps past Fremont.”
“And you will need wagons, oxen, supplies?”
“Ja,” Jan answered. “And lumber.”
Olafsson grinned. “It is good we are talking. Let me tell you something. When you get to Fremont and beyond, it is very hard to buy the things you will need—wagons, oxen, and such. And there is no lumber to be had. The railroad takes all there is. I have seen some men return to Omaha because they had no way to haul their belongings from the train to their land.”
Karl and Jan raised their eyebrows in understanding. “So,” Karl said. “Did they buy what they needed in Omaha and then drive the whole way to their land? It would be a long, hard trip, nei?”
Olafsson nodded. “Some do, but if you have the money there is a better way.”
“We are listening,” Karl replied.
“Omaha has all you need at the best prices west of the Missouri. Not cheap, but best. You already have one freight car?”
Jan nodded.
Their new friend rubbed his chin. “If you can pay for another car, that is the way. Load your oxen into one side of the car. Break down the wagons and load them into the other side. Then when you wish to get off, you reassemble the wagons, load them, and go straight north.”
“It may cost a lot,” he concluded, “but paying for a car is not more than paying t
he costs of things farther north—and you do not run the risk of not finding what you need for sale when you get off the train.”
Karl looked at Jan and back at Olafsson. “And what of land offices? Do you recommend we file our claims in Omaha or farther on?”
“You can file in Fremont. You will have to pay to have your cars taken off the train and then put back on, but the land you want will be listed there.”
Karl and Jan walked away from Olafsson deep in thought.
“We can get everything we need in Omaha,” Karl thought aloud. “But can we get it all in another car?” He was thinking of the four head of oxen they would need to pull two wagons.
“We can put more in our car. We can stack things higher.” Jan was thinking of what Karl was thinking: the list of what they needed to buy and how much two wagons could hold.
“I am thinking we could use a third wagon, Karl,” Jan stated. “But six oxen?”
Karl nodded. “Ja. A third wagon would be good. We could buy more lumber.”
“Perhaps Elli could drive one of the wagons,” Jan suggested.
Karl mulled it over. “We will ask her. You know, I am thinking that we do not need six oxen on our land, eh? But after we get settled, we could sell two of them. If they are scarce, as Olafsson says, then they are better than cash money where we are going. We could trade them for other scarce things.”
They thought silently for several minutes before Karl concluded. “We will go across and talk to the freight master on the other side about another car, eh?”
Olafsson arrived with a wagon the next morning to unload their freight car and take the Thoresens and their belongings to the ferry.
“Look for my friend Svens Jensen on the other side, Thoresen,” Olafsson told Jan. “Tell him Jakov Olafsson sent you. He will treat you fairly.”
~~**~~
Chapter 4
Jan and Elli, keeping a tight hold of the rail and their children, watched the shore of Council Bluffs disappear, while ahead Omaha drew closer. The city was the capital of the Nebraska Territory, but Jan and Karl had read things in the Norwegian papers about statehood coming, perhaps soon, for parts of this vast land.
Elli looked down and shuddered. The river churning beneath their feet was a thick, muddy brown from upstream runoff. As placid as the wide river appeared on the surface, they had been told of its treacherous currents. A man falling into the river might be sucked down into the silty waters and not resurface for miles. Elli gripped Kristen tighter.
When they reached the other side, the ferrymen herded them off and began the task of unloading the ferry’s cargo into a holding enclosure. Jan and Karl made sure everything of theirs was stacked together and that nothing was missing. Over the rails of the enclosure, wagon masters clamored for their business.
“Is there a Svens Jensen?” Jan hollered in Riksmaal.
“Here!” A wiry man with sandy colored hair and a great beard pushed his way toward them. “I am Svens Jensen. Are you Norwegian then?”
“Ja,” Jan returned. He introduced Karl. “Olafsson told us to look for you. Said you were a good man.”
Jensen stroked his beard and laughed. “Ja; I treat my customers well and my friends even better. Come! What do you have for me to haul?”
The Thoresens and Jensen began to shift the Thoresens’ cargo to his wagon.
“Pappa.” Søren’s crestfallen face peered up at Jan.
“What is it, Sønn?”
“Pappa, the pigs. Two have died.” Tears stood in his eyes.
Jan and Karl quickly ran to the pigs’ crates. Sure enough, two of the weaners lay dead inside their crates. The other three looked fine and squealed, hoping to receive some food.
Karl took one of the dead pigs out of its crate and looked it over. “I cannot tell why it died,” he muttered darkly, “so now we must keep the rest separate from each other.”
Jan nodded in agreement. If the pigs had died of something infectious, their best chance of keeping any alive was to keep them from each other.
Jan noted that one of the dead pigs was a male. Their hope to establish a herd of their father’s Landrace pigs in America depended on keeping at least one of each gender alive. They now had two females and one male remaining.
While Søren disposed of the dead piglets, the men washed their hands and separated the pigs’ crates from each other. When the cargo was reloaded into a new freight car late that afternoon, Karl and Jan took pains to place each crate as far from the others as possible. They both carefully washed their hands after handling one crate and before touching another.
Karl secured a second car from the freight master before leaving the rail yard. Then Jensen drove them past a hardware store and gave them directions to the stock yards before delivering them to a boardinghouse.
“This store is owned by Petter Rehnquist, a Swede,” Jensen told them, pointing to it. “If you have questions, he will help you. Tell him I sent you!” He scratched under his beard. “Maybe he will let his boy, Sauli, take you around. He speaks English and could help you a lot.”
“We thank you, Herr Jensen, for all of your help and kindness. God bless you,” Jan said.
He and Karl shook Jensen’s hand with real gratitude as they parted. They would remain in Omaha until they had bought and loaded everything into the two freight cars. It would be an arduous undertaking.
In yet another boardinghouse not far from the rail yard, the two Thoresen families bathed and rested that night. Jan and Karl worked on the list of supplies and other necessities to buy on the morrow. Elli and Amalie composed a list of staples and other foods the families would need for their journey and after they reached their land.
Over breakfast Karl and Jan planned their day. “We should go to the hardware store first,” Karl suggested, “and introduce ourselves. It would be good if the hardware man’s sønn comes with us to the stock yards, don’t you think?”
Jan agreed. He, Karl, and Søren walked into town and toward the hardware store. The bell on the door tinkled, announcing their entrance. Both men immediately liked what they saw.
The store was large and well stocked; out a side door was a fenced yard filled with cut lumber. The owner greeted them pleasantly. Jan and Karl introduced themselves and Søren, saying that Jensen had sent them.
“We must buy wagons and oxen today and then come back to make our purchases. Would your sønn be willing to come with us? We do not know the town or the language. He would be a great help to us.”
Sauli, a thirteen-year-old boy, was pleased to be asked to help. Although five years separated them, Sauli and Søren grinned and began chatting away, some in Swedish or Riksmaal, some in English.
Jan was glad for it. Søren could use some time with another boy, he thought. And, who knows? Maybe he will learn more English today.
Even with Sauli’s help, it took most of the day to find three good wagons and three sound yoke of oxen for sale. And the purchases were more expensive than Jan or Karl had imagined.
“So!” Karl allowed grudgingly. “They will be worth that much more when we get off the train, ja?”
The wagons they bought were not covered like “prairie schooners.” They were large, plain boxes with high sides. Jan and Karl did not expect the trip from where they left the railroad to their land to take more than three days, if that. They planned to cover their goods with canvas tarpaulins during the trip and sleep under the wagons at night.
The men tested the wagons and the oxen for an hour, driving up and down a worn track outside the stock yards. Karl was concerned about one of the oxen that had a particularly surly and unpredictable temperament. Jan and Karl gave both boys sound warnings not to stand within reach of any of the oxens’ horns or hooves, especially the temperamental one’s.
They then looked for and found a wagon repair shop and purchased two spare wheels and a spare axle and tongue. When Jan and Karl were satisfied with their purchases, they allowed Sauli to drive one of the empty wagons to his fathe
r’s store.
The boys rode together, Sauli pointing out interesting things to Søren as they wound through town. With every hour he spent with Sauli, Søren picked up new English words.
The three wagons pulled to a stop in front of the Rehnquists’ store, spanning the full length of the storefront. It was past three o’clock in the afternoon and they had not stopped to eat at midday.
Each driver set the wagons’ brakes; Jan and Karl tied the first team to a thick post. They tied the second and third teams to the wagons in front of them. Jan left Søren with the wagons with orders to keep the oxen calm.
“Mind their hooves and horns, Sønn,” Jan reminded him yet again.
Karl produced the list he and Jan had worked so hard on and began to read it off to Mr. Rehnquist: Two plows, two sickles, an axe, two hatchets, a whetstone, a pickaxe, a pry bar, a shovel, two hoes, a rake.
“May I suggest that you also buy a sod cutter?” Mr. Rehnquist explained the sharp, plow-like tool’s use in cutting through prairie grass and removing blocks of thickly rooted sod. “Even if you do not use the blocks for building, you will want to cut the grass and its roots out so you can plant in the soil beneath.”
“Ja, one of those,” both Thoresen men spoke at the same time.
Two hammers, a saw and extra blades. Two sizes of nails, one keg each.
Mr. Rehnquist pointed out smaller tools. “Will you need a rasp or an auger? Chisels? A planer?”
“My brother is a woodworker,” Karl replied. “We brought his finer woodworking tools with us.”
Candles and matches. Lamps, wicks, cans of kerosene. A cask of grease. A washtub. Two large cast-iron cauldrons. Cast-iron skillets, pots, and Dutch oven. Grain grinder.
The items stacked up; Mr. Rehnquist had Sauli fetch some boxes and crates. Sauli and Jan packed the items in them as tightly as they could.
Two iron bedsteads. Yards of ticking and burlap. A dozen spools of thick, cotton thread. Waterproof canvas tarpaulins and yards of oilcloth. Lengths of rope, twine, and wire.
Buckets and tin pails. Boxes of jars and paraffin. Another strong lock and key. Oats, seed corn, and hard wheat seed.
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 4