But if the house was in perfect order, then there’d be little Mamma would have to do to it. Kristin swept and polished and overfilled the wood box next to the stove. She cleaned out the ashes, fed them to the garden, and worked on the stove until it shone.
She stopped only to join Mamma for the noon meal, but she ate quickly, eager to finish the list of jobs she had given herself.
Mamma, who had only picked at her food, leaned back in her chair. “Hard work is often a good way to get rid of unhappy feelings,” Mamma said.
For the first time Kristin looked at her mother, whose hair was damp around her forehead and whose face was flushed.
She’s been working hard, too, Kristin thought.
“There’s a great deal I want to get done,” Kristin answered. “By the time I finish, the house will be spotless. No heavy cleaning will have to be done to it for at least a week.”
“Thank you,” Mamma said. “I appreciate your help.” A slight smiled wobbled across her lips, and she added, “You’re a good girl, Kristin.”
Kristin took a last bite, cleaning her plate, and answered, “Not many people would agree with you. They make it clear they don’t like what I do.”
“Sometimes I don’t like what you do either,” Mamma said, “but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a good girl. Whether we agree on everything or not, you will always be my very dear daughter.”
Feeling guilty, Kristin pushed back her chair. “I’ll wash the dishes,” she said. “You look tired, Mamma. Why don’t you lie down for a while and rest?”
She was surprised when her mother answered, “Yes. I’ll rest awhile. That’s a good idea.”
Kristin cleaned the kitchen, checked the pot of soup simmering on the back of the stove, and returned to work. Late in the afternoon—surprisingly late—she heard her mother come downstairs, so Kristin hurried upstairs, tugged a small travel bag from the storage room, and packed it with everything she’d need for her three-day trip.
She had no choice but to leave as soon as Mamma had fallen asleep. It was a long walk to the Dalquists’ home, and Kristin needed to arrive before they began their very early morning journey. It would be awkward and noisy to go down the stairs in the dark with a travel bag; Kristin would have to hide it behind the chair next to the front door. Then, as she left the house, she could easily snatch up the bag and slip out without Mamma hearing her.
As Kristin crept down the stairs, clutching the travel bag, she paused now and then, listening intently. Mamma would be in the kitchen, adding to the soup and mixing the dough for tomorrow’s bread. Mamma would understand why Kristin had to go … maybe not right away, but someday, when she had voted for herself, she’d surely understand.
Kristin tiptoed into the parlor and made directly for the chair by the door, but a light cough behind her startled her, and she almost dropped the bag.
She whirled around to discover Mamma seated in the chair by the window. In the dim light her face seemed dark and drawn.
“Don’t defy your father, Kristin,” Mamma whispered. “Please don’t go.”
“Why should Pappa control my life?” Kristin cried.
“Your father is working very hard so that we can have a good life here.”
“We had a good life—in Sweden!”
Mamma sighed. “You know how it was in Sweden, Kristin. Your father was not a first son, so he did not inherit land. He worked long hours to buy every foot of land he owned. With the rise in taxes, the expense of living—our small farm could not have grown. Here in America we have the chance to develop a large and prosperous farm and become part of a thriving community. Can’t you understand how much this means to your father?”
Put like this, Kristin did understand, and she wondered why neither Mamma nor Pappa had tried to explain it to her before. Resentfully she said, “Pappa could have talked to me. He could have taken the time to help me know why he had made these decisions, not just said ‘Now we are going to America,’ and ‘Now we are buying the property I have chosen,’ and ‘Now I have decided who you are going to marry and when.’ ” A sob escaped as she added, “Pappa hasn’t even tried to understand what I want to do. All he’s said is ‘I forbid it!’ ”
For a moment Mamma closed her eyes and held a hand to her forehead. “When you are grown,” Mamma said, “you can fight for any cause you like. But now you are still our child, under our care, and we—” Her voice broke as she began to cough.
Kristin put down her bag and quickly lit one of the parlor lamps. In the stronger light she could see the beads of sweat on Mamma’s forehead. She snatched up one of her mother’s hands, and it was hot and damp. “Mamma! You’re ill!” Kristin said. “Come with me. I’ll help you up to bed.”
Mamma resisted Kristin’s efforts to pull her to her feet. “If you go …” she murmured.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here to take care of you,” Kristin said firmly, although she wished she could sob loudly and kick her feet on the floor in frustration as she had done once as a child—only once, due to her mother’s immediate action.
Mamma sagged, leaning against Kristin, who supported her up the stairs, one careful step at a time. “The spöken are not finished with us,” Mamma mumbled, and she began to ramble about the woman who had died in the house. “It is her home, filled with memories of her husband and children. It’s not our home, and it never will be.”
“Hush, Mamma,” Kristin soothed. She helped her mother undress and put on her long-sleeved cotton nightgown. Mamma’s fever—for surely that must have been what had caused her to look so flushed earlier in the day—had returned. Kristin repeatedly bathed her mother’s face, neck, and feet in cool water until the fever began to subside. Then she brewed a peppermint tea and spoon-fed it to her mother.
Mamma sighed and said something that sounded like “Thank you,” then closed her eyes. Kristin fluffed up her pillows, straightened the coverlet, and went downstairs to quickly gulp down a bowl of the soup.
There was no time to dwell on what had happened. With only a dull ache in her mind Kristin automatically went about the rest of the day’s chores. After taking a quick peek at her mother, who still slept soundly, Kristin herded the cows into the barn, fed them, milked them, and stored the milk in the cooler.
She spooned off some of the broth from the soup into a bowl and carried it upstairs. Her mother was stirring, so Kristin asked, “How are you feeling, Mamma?”
Mamma’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus on Kristin. “You’re still here,” she murmured.
“I told you I’d stay with you,” Kristin answered. “I promise I won’t leave.”
Mamma closed her eyes again, but Kristin sat on the edge of the bed and held out the bowl of broth. “Eat a little of this,” she said. “It will make you feel stronger.”
“It hurts to raise my head,” Mamma said.
“I’ll feed it to you,” Kristin told her. She gently lifted spoonful after spoonful to her mother’s lips until the bowl was empty.
She lightly rested a hand on her mother’s forehead. “Your fever has gone,” she said. “Are you warm enough? Do you need another quilt?”
“I’ll get it,” Mamma said, and struggled to sit up, but she fell back against the pillow, murmuring, “I’m dizzy.”
“Stay in bed,” Kristin told her. She unfolded a quilt from the chest in the corner and spread it over the bed. “If you want anything at all, call me, Mamma. Please?”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Mamma protested.
Kristin took her mother’s hand. “How many times have you cared for me when I was ill? Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
“Thank you,” Mamma whispered, and closed her eyes.
Kristin thought Mamma had dozed off again, but as she picked up the kerosene lamp to extinguish the wick, Mamma cried, “Don’t take the lamp!”
“The light will keep you awake. The best way for you to get better is to sleep.”
“It will keep away
the spöken,” Mamma whispered. “Please, Kristin, don’t take the light away. The spöken … I can’t let them—”
“All right,” Kristin said, eager to calm her mother. “I’ll keep the lamp right here on the table by your bed. You won’t have anything to fear from spöken.”
Mamma closed her eyes, and after a comforting pat and a tuck of the quilt, Kristin went to her own room and prepared for bed. She kept the door open so that she could hear if her mother called, and climbed into bed, hugging her Dala-horse for comfort. All day long Kristin had worked harder than she had ever worked in her life and she was exhausted; but after she turned off her lamp, she continued to stare at the ceiling, so miserable with disappointment, she was unable to sleep.
Aware of every little creak and groan of the house as it cooled during the night, Kristin began to wonder if perhaps Mamma was right and there really were spöken haunting this house and the people in it. Something seemed to be making life more difficult than it need be.
At some time during the hours that followed, Kristin drifted into sleep, only to awaken to a scream and a crash.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KRISTIN stumbled to her feet and ran to her mother’s bedroom. The bed was empty. “Mamma?” Kristin shrieked. “Where are you?”
“Kristin! Help me!” Mamma’s muffled voice came from the floor on the other side of the bed, and as Kristin scrambled to reach her mother, she saw to her horror that the lamp chimney lay broken, the burning kerosene splashed on the window curtains and floor. Flames had begun racing up the edge of the curtains and spreading to the wall.
With all her strength Kristin got a firm grip on her mother’s shoulders and tugged her to her feet. As fast as she could, she half-carried, half-dragged her mother around the bed and to the doorway. The flames spread, each red-gold flash snatching at another piece of wall or ceiling.
The fire, which crackled behind her, suddenly circled to the doorway just as Kristin struggled through. “Mamma!” she cried, “Mamma, try to walk!” But her mother was a deadweight in her arms.
As a red ball of flame swooshed like a gust of wind across the ceiling above her head, carrying with it a cloud of black, choking smoke, Kristin stumbled, falling and rolling with her mother down a half flight of stairs. “I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m sorry,” Kristin cried, but there was no time to check for bruises.
Praying for strength, she crawled down the rest of the stairs and across the hallway, scuttling like a crab and dragging her mother with her until she reached the front door. Kristin managed to open it and roll outside with her mother in her arms as the entering gust of air sucked a roaring spurt of fire and smoke over her head.
While flames curled up the side of the house, Kristin dragged her mother to safety far from the fire. She ran to the barn and loosened the cows.
Sparks! Kristin thought. Sparks are carried by the wind! What if sparks land on the roof of the barn? Frantically she ran to the pump, knocking over the bucket in her haste to fill it, and she cried aloud.
Suddenly Kristin was roughly pushed aside, and a man’s voice shouted, “Where is your father?”
“He’s not at home.”
“Then tend to your mother. We’ll take care of the barn. Are the animals out?”
“Yes,” Kristin said. It was Herr Olsen, and beyond him was Johan, already climbing to the roof of the barn with a burlap sack, ready to beat out flying sparks.
Kristin raced around the burning house to the sheltered spot where she had left her mother.
Mamma was conscious now, and she clung to Kristin as she knelt beside her. “Kristin, what is happening? Is this a bad dream?”
“No, Mamma.” Kristin settled beside her mother and pillowed Mamma’s head in her lap. “Our house is burning.”
Bewildered, Mamma murmured, “How? Why?”
“I don’t know. Your kerosene lamp fell, and there was no way to put out the fire. It spread so quickly, we barely got out of the house in time.”
Mamma gripped Kristin’s hand again and held it tightly. “You carried me out?”
Kristin patted her mother’s shoulder. “We had a few bumps, and I had to drag you the last few yards. Are you hurting anywhere, Mamma? If you are, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” her mother said, and her fingers tightened on Kristin’s hand. “You saved my life.”
Silently, as Kristin and her mother watched the house turn to blackened, glowing chunks of charcoal chewed ragged by the flames, Kristin could feel tears rolling down her cheeks.
“There is nothing left,” Mamma said.
“Not even a quilt I could wrap you in,” Kristin answered.
“My photographs,” Mamma said. “The beautiful wall hanging you made … all our treasures … they’re gone.”
With an empty ache in her chest Kristin murmured, “And the little Dala-horse Mormor gave me.”
“There is no way the lamp could have fallen by itself,” Mamma said.
“Did you reach for it? Did you try to get up?”
“No. I was asleep.”
“But you were out of bed when I ran into the room,” Kristin said. “You were lying on the floor.”
“Not of my own will,” Mama said firmly. “I know what I know. The spöken have done this. The woman who wanted us out of her house … she did her work well.”
There was a sound of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels bumping over the road, and Fru Olsen came into view. She jumped from her wagon, fastened the horses’ reins to the fence, snatched up an armful of quilts, and ran as fast as she could to where Kristin was seated.
“Wrap up in this!” she shouted. “You will catch a chill wearing nothing but your nightdress in this night air! Where is your mother?”
“Here,” Kristin said. “Mamma’s ill.”
“Then this is no place for her to be. Help me get her into the wagon. I’ll drive you to our home and put the two of you to bed.”
“I should stay here and help,” Kristin protested, but Fru Olsen frowned.
“Nonsense. What can a young girl in a nightdress do to help? You’ll do more good to stay out of the way. Let the men take care of things.”
Another wagon arrived. Two men ran past saying, “We saw the flames. Is the family all right?”
“They’re all right,” Fru Olsen shouted. “My men are here somewhere—probably at the barn.” She took Kristin’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Help me lift your mother,” she ordered, and Kristin hurried to obey.
She sat in the back of the wagon, her mother’s head again on her lap. Mamma’s face was no longer hot and feverish, and she drifted into a troubled sleep, sometimes moaning as a wagon wheel dropped into a rut in the road and sometimes murmuring, “Linnart? Linnart?”
There was no way to find Pappa and bring him home, Kristin knew. At least Herr Peterson might be able to make contact with Pappa when he reached his destination and let him know about the fire. Poor Pappa, Kristin thought. He’d had a dream, too, and just see what had happened to it. She longed to comfort him. With all her heart she wished he were on hand to comfort Mamma.
“Linnart?” Mamma murmured.
Kristin stroked her arm as she said, “It’s all right, Mamma. Don’t worry. Pappa will be here soon.”
It didn’t take long to reach the Olsens’ home. With a flurry of activity the two middle Olsen boys were routed out of their beds, sheets were changed, and Mamma was tucked under a puffy quilt.
Fru Olsen tended Mamma carefully, finally drawing Kristin aside and saying, “Her lungs sound good, and she has no fever. There’s a doctor in Scandia. We’ll send for him tomorrow if necessary, but I think by then your mother will be much improved.”
“Thank you,” Kristin said. “You have done so much for us, and we are so grateful.”
“We’re glad to help. We’re neighbors,” Fru Olsen said bluntly. “Now, you take that other bed and go to sleep, Kristin. You’ve had a frightening experience, and the best cure for that is rest.”
&
nbsp; “There must be something I can do to help.”
“Well …” Fru Olsen said, “you need your sleep, but tell me first, how did the fire happen? Where did it start?”
Kristin poured out the story, reliving it for the first time, even telling Fru Olsen that Mamma blamed the spöken, hoping that this kind woman would help to put Mamma’s mind at rest.
But to Kristin’s surprise Fru Olsen nodded. “Ever since the tragedy in that house there has been a bad feeling about it.”
“You believe in spöken, too?”
“Who knows what is out there? We have all heard many strange stories from people who had only the truth to tell. You young people are too quick to dismiss things you can’t see or understand.” She gave Kristin a friendly pat on the shoulder and said, “I have selfishly kept you up too long. Climb into bed and I’ll turn out the lamp.”
The minute Kristin had pulled the quilt up around her ears, she dropped into an exhausted slumber filled with strange dreams. She was chasing a transparent woman, flames shooting from her hair and fingers, and all the while the woman was crying, “Out of my house! Get out! Get out!” As the lake rose up to smother the flames, the woman rode off on Kristin’s little Dala-horse.
“I want my horse! Give it back!” Kristin cried.
“Never mind, Kristin,” she heard her mother saying. “Maybe your grandmother can send you another.”
Kristin felt a hand softly stroking her forehead and woke to see her mother seated at the side of her bed. Sunlight flooded the room, touching Mamma’s hair with gold.
“Mamma,” Kristin cried as she struggled to sit up. “I was dreaming … I …” As she realized where she was and what had happened, she cupped her mother’s face between her hands and studied it. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “You were so ill that you fainted.”
“I’m much better,” Mamma said. “I’m still a little weak, but the worst has passed.” Suddenly her face crumpled, and she reached forward, holding Kristin tightly. “We’ve lost everything, Kristin.”
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 37