The Settlers

by Vilhelm Moberg

Tonight she had been given an answer.

  —3—

  Before Pastor Törner awakened the following morning, Kristina had found thread and a needle and mended the torn places in his coat and the hole in the seat of his pants. To have a minister walk about with pants that had a hole in the behind was a disgrace to the Church which she must at once erase. Then she brushed and cleaned his muddy clothes.

  When the pastor awoke and put on his suit he hardly recognized it. He praised Kristina: “Give a woman a needle and thread and as much cloth as she needs and she can turn herself into a queen and her home into a palace!”

  Kristina smiled. She was walking about in such old rags it would be a long time before she looked like a queen. But it would be a shame if a woman with a needle and thread couldn’t baste together a few holes in a garment.

  After breakfast Pastor Törner made ready to continue on his way. He opened his black leather bag, which contained a flask of communion wine, a small sack of communion bread, a couple of white, newly starched minister’s collars, and a dozen small jars of a remedy for fever and chills. This was quinine and the price for each jar was seventy-five cents. In his bag the pastor carried remedies for both soul and body.

  Another minister from Sweden, Pastor Hasselquist in Galesburg, Illinois, had come across the medicine and sent it along by Pastor Törner for those Swedish settlements where fevers and chills constantly plagued the people. Pastor Hasselquist had also hoped his colleague might earn a little by selling the medicine. But the settlers had little cash, and most of the time he had to leave the jars without payment. Many of them needed quinine for their bodies as much as they needed communion wine for their souls. He presented Kristina with a jar of the remedy as a small reward for bed and board.

  He promised to return within a short time and set the date for the communion in their house. But first he wanted to call on the other Swedish settlers in the St. Croix Valley.

  Karl Oskar walked a bit on the road with Pastor Törner to show him the way to their nearest neighbor, Petrus Olausson from Helsingland.

  Gradually it stopped raining, and in the late morning the sun came out. Kristina picked up the mattress she and Karl Oskar had slept on; the cover seemed moist to her, perhaps it had got wet when Karl Oskar went to fetch the hay, and she wanted to dry it. She carried the mattress to the barn and emptied it near the door. She had barely finished when she let out a piercing scream. Something that looked like a dry tree branch had come out of the mattress with the hay, but she had paid scant attention to it; now she saw that it was a wriggling, living thing she had shaken out.

  Karl Oskar, who was just returning, was near the stoop when he heard his wife’s cries from the barn. He ran to her as fast as he could.

  “A snake! Karl Oskar, a snake!”

  Kristina shrieked as if someone had stuck a knife into her. She stood with the empty mattress cover in her hands, staring at the hay wads inside the door.

  “What happened? Have you hurt yourself?”

  She pointed in front of her: “That thing . . . it was in the mattress . . . in the hay . . . !”

  Karl Oskar, standing beside her, saw in the hay a snake, extended to its full length. It was light gray with brown stripes and thick rings on its tail. A rattler!

  The sight of the reptile had frightened Kristina so, she was unable to move from the spot. Karl Oskar grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. “Get out of his reach! He might strike!”

  He pushed her still farther away, while he looked for something to kill it with. “Be careful! The snake might throw himself at you!”

  As yet he had never killed a rattler. He had seen such snakes, curled up in low places, but none had attacked him and he had not disturbed them. They were not so easy to dispatch as the snakes in Sweden which only crawled on the ground. Rattlers were more dangerous—they could raise themselves on their tails and throw themselves at a person as fast as an arrow from a bow. But this evil thing must not escape; if it crawled under the barn they would live in eternal fear of it.

  Under the oak at the side of the barn was a pile of fence posts. He grabbed one, and took down the scythe which hung in the tree. He held the scythe in front of him in his left hand and the post in his right. Thus armed he stole slowly, with bent back, toward the reptile at the barn door.

  The rattler was still lying quite still in the hay; it seemed drowsy in the sun.

  “Karl Oskar! Don’t go so close! Be careful!”

  It was Kristina’s turn to urge caution. She had found a rake which she held in front of her; couldn’t she help him kill the nasty creature?

  Karl Oskar was a few steps from the snake when the animal raised its head. Its tongue, red and shining like a flower pistil, shot out of its jaws—the reptile was showing its stingers where death lurked. And now the rattling sound was heard from the tail rings—the warning signal; the rattler had begun to coil to throw itself against its enemy.

  Karl Oskar jumped at the same time as the reptile; he threw himself forward at the very last second. With the scythe he met the snake halfway, pressed the back of the scythe against the snake, and pushed it to the ground. But the wriggling monster fought wildly and furiously, twisting and turning itself under the pressure, throwing its head back and forth until the scythe steel tinkled. The tongue’s red pistil shot forth, it hissed and sizzled like a boiling kettle. Against the soft hay the flexible snake body with its sinuous motions struggled to get away from the scythe-hold.

  Now the monstrous creature raised its head against the barn sill, and this gave Karl Oskar an opportunity to use his second implement; with a few heavy blows of the post he crushed the rattlers’ head against the sill.

  “The Lord is protecting you, Karl Oskar! You risked your life!”

  Kristina stood behind him, the rake in her hand, her lips blue-white, every limb trembling.

  “Don’t be afraid! I’ve killed him now!”

  Karl Oskar lifted the rattler with the point of the scythe; the crushed head hung limp. Then he stretched out the snake on the ground to its full length. The first rattler he had killed was also the biggest one he had seen. It was over five feet long and had seven rattles. He had heard that this kind of snake got its first rattle at the age of three and from then on one each year; this one must be an old devil.

  “That sting-eel was a little dazed and sluggish; if he had been quicker he could have killed me!”

  Karl Oskar’s hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Kristina felt her legs give way; she sank down on her knees in the hay, timidly eyeing the dead snake. The critter’s upturned stomach was greenish and glittered prettily in the sun. The wild animals in North America were dangerous and beautiful.

  “He purred like a spinning wheel,” she said.

  “That was the rattles. They’re two inches thick!”

  Karl Oskar pushed the scythe end into the jaws of the snake: “He has teeth like a dog! Sharp as awls! Wonder if he was blind—they say rattlers are so full of poison they go quite blind during the summer.”

  And Kristina knew that if a rattler bit a person in a blood vessel that ran directly to the heart, that person would die on the spot.

  Her voice almost failed her as she tried to say:

  “The snake was in the mattress I was emptying . . .”

  Karl Oskar looked at the cover she had thrown on the ground, he looked at the rattler he had carried into their house with the hay last night. When he had filled the mattress, in the dark barn—if his hands had happened to . . .

  They were both silent for several minutes.

  What was there to say about what had happened during the night? They had shared their bed with the most poisonous snake in North America. They had slept their sweet sleep with death underneath them in the bed.

  “. . . to think . . . that we’re all right . . .” he said in a low voice.

  “Perhaps we’re saved because we gave shelter to a man of the Church,” said she.

  With the scythe Karl O
skar cut off the tail with the seven rattles, which he wanted to keep as a souvenir. But Kristina could not understand how he could want to keep anything of the evil creature. Even though it lay dead in front of her, it still inspired fear in her.

  Nevertheless, she could hardly take her eyes away from the glittering, color-changing snake body. Something so obnoxious, so slimy and repulsive, one ought not to look at willingly. But she couldn’t help it. There was something strangely fascinating about the old serpent. The tempter, the devil himself, had assumed this animal’s shape. It was the Evil One who had sneaked into their house last night—the Evil One had crept all the way into their bed.

  Never had Kristina so surely and manifestly experienced God’s protecting hand over them.

  —4—

  Pastor Törner returned two weeks later. It was then decided that he would come back to the settlement of Duvemåla the following Sunday and hold the first communion for the Swedish settlers in the St. Croix Valley.

  Kristina at once began preparations. A great honor would be bestowed upon them; their home would be used as a temple. Their table, which Karl Oskar had made of a rough oak log, would be raised to the dignity of an altar. Their simple log cabin would be turned into a holy room. In their own home Karl Oskar and she would be the Lord’s table guests.

  She read in the Bible about the first Lord’s Supper, the first day of the feast of unleavened bread, when the disciples asked Jesus where he would go to prepare to eat the Passover: he sent two of them into Jerusalem where they were to follow a man who carried a pitcher: “Follow him into the house where he entereth in. And ye shall say unto the goodman of the house, The Master saith unto thee, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the Passover with my disciples? And he shall show you a large upper room furnished: there make ready.”

  Where is the guestchamber? When Jesus wanted to institute the Holy Supper, he, too, had looked for a place in Jerusalem where they could meet, as Pastor Törner had looked for a house among the settlers where he could give the sacrament for the first time. And in their cabin, at the Indian lake, Ki-Chi-Saga, the miracle would take place. They could not offer a great upper room, ready and furnished, as those in Jerusalem had at the first communion. They had only the single room in which they lived, in which they ate and slept and sheltered their children. But for the holy act she must put her home in order, clean it to the best of her ability.

  Kristina scrubbed the floor more carefully than ever before, she washed the furniture and polished her utensils. Against the ceiling beams, and above the fireplace, she laid maple and elm boughs; the rich, fresh leaves made the room look festive. She pasted gray wrapping paper over the roughest and ugliest parts of the log walls. She picked the most beautiful wild flowers she could find but she had no vase to put them in. Her eyes fell on the spittoon at the door; she emptied it, washed it, filled it with flowers, and put it on the shelf above their table. No guest would recognize their old spit-cup elevated thus, filled with flowers and decorated with greenery.

  On Saturday evening she inspected the room carefully: it was as fresh and green as a summer pavilion. Everything was in order. But what to do with the children, if it should rain and they couldn’t be outside? With all the guests, there would he no room for them inside, and they might disturb the service. They could not leave them in the barn, now that they knew rattlesnakes might be there. But if it rained they must be under a roof. They would have to shut them in the cowshed during the Holy Communion. In their worn rags they were not much to show to the guests anyway.

  But the weather turned out to be blessed: Sunday dawned with clear skies. Now the children could stay outside, and no one would bother to inspect their clothes too closely. She saw to it that Karl Oskar was Sunday-clean; she handed him a newly washed and ironed shirt, a wooden spoon filled with soft soap, and a bowl of lukewarm water, and then he went outside in the yard and cleaned up. Of suitable communion clothes he had none, he must wear the same clothing he had long worn to work in.

  Kristina herself had her black dress of which she had been so careful that it still looked nice.

  On Sunday morning Pastor Törner arrived at the log cabin on foot, carrying his black leather bag with the sacred bread and the wine, and a parcel with his minister’s surplice. This had become wrinkled, as he had bundled it up, and Kristina warmed her iron to press it.

  As she reverently handled the ministerial garment, a thought came to her. She had not been churched after her last childbed, and Dan was more than two-and-a-half years old. The boy was so big that she no longer could give him the breast, even though she had wanted to do so in order to delay a new pregnancy. Should she ask the young pastor to church her? But perhaps by now so much time had elapsed that it was too late. A wife ought to be churched before she knew her husband carnally, and in that respect it was more than two years too late in her case. Should she now ask the pastor if it was too late for her?

  She felt ashamed to ask him. Perhaps he would be greatly upset that she delayed two-and-a-half years after the childbed. She remembered her mother saying that it would have the same effect as churching if a woman shook a minister’s hand. And she had shaken hands with this young pastor each time he had come to their house. Could this be sufficient? Why couldn’t it be counted the same as churching? She did not know. But as long as Pastor Törner remained in the neighborhood, she would continue to shake his hand whenever she had the opportunity.

  The communion guests had begun to arrive, and as they entered the cabin, Pastor Törner wrote down their names in turn. He recorded that Danjel Andreasson of New Kärragärde was present, accompanied by his two sons, Sven and Olof, who were of confirmation age and today for the first time would go to the Lord’s table. Jonas Petter and his housekeeper, Swedish Anna, had also arrived on Danjel’s ox cart. From Taylors Falls came Mother Fina-Kajsa and her son, Anders Månsson. The old woman was perky and talkative but looked unkempt, her gray, matted hair in tufts. Anders Månsson was shaved and combed, but his eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed shy and depressed; he seldom showed himself among people. Petrus Olausson and his wife, Judit, had brought along their daughter, who, like Danjel’s boys, was to participate in her first communion.

  With Karl Oskar and Kristina, there were twelve communicants in all. All the Swedes in the valley who had received an invitation had come, except one: Samuel Nöjd, the trapper in Taylors Falls. He had said to Swedish Anna, who had brought him the message, that he did not wish to participate in any of the foolery or spectacles of the priests. He had hoped, out here, to be left in peace by those black-capped sorcerers who in Sweden had plagued him with their catechism and religious examinations. Swedish Anna had replied that Jesus had also redeemed his soul with his dear blood, but this Samuel Nöjd had denied; his soul was not to be redeemed by anybody, whatever the price, for he was a free, thinking human being.

  The sturdy, red-hued Swedish Anna was greatly disturbed over the blasphemer Nöjd and his way of living: recently, he had taken in an Indian woman to live with him, and what he did to her, each and every one could imagine. He was known to be heathenish, and now he was also carnally mixing with the heathens.

  Swedish Anna was considered a deeply religious woman and she was looked up to by her countrymen for her irreproachable morals. Kristina had a deep respect for this woman from Dalecarlia. Swedish Anna was a kind-hearted woman, but kept so strictly to the true religion that she had difficulty in enduring Ulrika after she had turned Baptist, but Kristina defended Ulrika when Swedish Anna called her a hypocrite and a slovenly woman.

  Danjel Andreasson praised his niece for having decorated the cabin so nicely: it was attractive and made up to look like a real church, he said.

  The table stood in the middle of the room, and Karl Oskar had put planks on sawhorses for the people to sit on. When all were seated there was no place for him, so he went to the woodshed and brought in the chopping block for a chair. The fresh planks smelled pungently of pine and pitch. On the foodboa
rd Kristina had spread her only tablecloth of whole linen, ironed and shining white. There stood the pitcher with the Communion wine, and one of Karl Oskar’s huge brännvin glasses which was to be used as a communion cup. On a small plate lay the communion bread, thin, flat, dry breads, not unlike cookies.

  Pastor Törner took his place at the end of the table where the family Bible lay open. His cheeks were newly shaven and shiny, and his thick, light hair was combed straight back. As he stood there in his newly ironed surplice and white collar, Karl Oskar and Kristina could not imagine that this was the same man who on that rainy night had sought shelter in their cabin, dripping like a wet dog, his clothes torn, muddy, his face bloody with mosquito bites.

  Today the sun shone through the windows and through the open door into the settlers’ home, and in there the Lord’s table stood prepared. The immigrants were to partake of their first communion in the new country.

  The young minister pointed out that there had been twelve communicants when Jesus gathered his apostles for the first Lord’s Supper in Jerusalem, there were twelve here today when he would now distribute Christ’s flesh and blood to his countrymen in the wilderness. In his wine flask here on the table he had only very little left of the dear sacrament, which therefore must be divided with great economy to make it last for all. There would hardly be more than a sip, a small teaspoon for each one. Bread, however, he had in sufficiency.

  They were ready to begin and the pastor gave the number of the opening psalm. Just then Dan, the baby, came rushing in from outside, yelling at the top of his voice. The boy stopped in the doorway and howled. Kristina jumped up and took him in her arms. The child had done both his needs in his pants. She turned to the minister, greatly vexed: this was most embarrassing—would he forgive her but she must first look after . . .

  She took the boy outside and cleaned him and dried his behind. Then she let him run without pants—it was warm enough. Dan was a troublesome child; he still whined and complained because he no longer could have her breast; but while she was still suckling him he had grown several sharp teeth, and when he was hungry and impatient he would bite into her nipples until she yelled with pain. Now she put a small piece of maple sugar into his mouth to make him keep quiet and be on his way.