Pastor Jackson nodded eagerly and thanked Jonas Petter warmly for the advice; of course he would follow it. Jonas Petter pulled out his red carpenter’s pencil, which he always carried in his hip pocket, and drew a line through the last four words on the paper, a thick, forceful line which almost obliterated them.
The speech Pastor Jackson gave in honor of his wife came as her crown of honor. The surprise was almost too much for her—now old Ulrika of Västergöhl was indeed rehabilitated; she had invited these guests to her new home, they had willingly accepted her invitation, yes, they had felt honored by it. And they were happy and sated with food and good cheer—with one voice they had praised her ability as housekeeper and cook. There was no end to their praise of her “Swedish table” with its delicious dishes. And she had been proud to show them a well-shaped daughter, born in wedlock, in a Christian marriage. Even as a mother she had received honor and praise. And then at last, entirely unexpected, utterly surprising, came this further honor, respect and praise to her—this speech in her own language which her dear, beloved Henry gave for her.
Her fellow immigrants, the people from her own home parish, could hear in their own language, clearly and loudly, how grateful her husband was to her, how highly he esteemed and respected and honored her. It was a mark of honor surpassing all others—it raised her so high she felt dizziness overtake her. Ulrika of Västergöhl had come into her glory. What more could she wish in life?
Ulrika rushed over to her husband, who opened his arms to her for everyone to see, resting on his breast she could no longer contain her emotions. She burst into tears of happiness.
And Jonas Petter returned to his seat and helped himself to more of the hostess’s delicious cheesecake. He had undoubtedly done a good deed today; he had prevented a great scandal at this party. He had done so because it was Ulrikas first party. But now he sat there wondering about himself and the way he had acted. He wondered if he hadn’t in some way begun to change—if Pastor Jackson had asked his advice in this matter a few years ago, then he would surely have urged him to give his speech without shortening it. Why had he this evening refused such a malicious pleasure?
Like Ulrika of Västergöhl, he must have become a better person in America.
VIII
“THAT BAPTIST ILK”
—1—
Karl Oskar and Kristina were celebrating their fourth Christmas in the new country. They had made things as Yule-like as possible, both inside and outside. At threshing time Karl Oskar had put aside a dozen sheaves which he now set up for the birds in front of the window; there the yellow barley straw broke warmly against the tall white drifts. Just finished for Christmas was a little sled he had made for the children on which they could slide down the drifts as soon as the snow packed. The weather was mild this Christmas, their last in the log cabin.
Karl Oskar was in the habit of writing to his parents twice a year, at Christmas and at Midsummer. Now he sat with pen and paper for several evenings during the holidays and wrote his letter to Sweden. Last summer his letter had been very brief; he wanted to make his winter letter a little longer. But when, at the very beginning, he had noted down that all of them enjoyed the precious gift of health, he seemed to have said almost all there was to say, and he had to work laboriously to compose further sentences.
On the last day of the old year Karl Oskar received a letter from his sister Lydia, who had written in their fathers place. Father’s hands shook so, she wrote, that Nils Jakobsson was afraid his letters from now on would be so poorly written that his son in America would be unable to read them. But both he and Mother were well and active, even though they no longer made any use of themselves in this life. His sister wrote that she, during the past year, had joined in wedlock a farmer at Åkerby, so that her name from now on would be Lydia Karlsson. Since her marriage she had borne a son who at the moment of her writing was six weeks old. She mentioned the names of a few parishioners, recently dead, whom Karl Oskar had known, and she wrote that many farmers from Ljuder and the neighboring villages of Linneryd and Elmeboda had emigrated to North America during the year, but she did not know where they had settled. Finally, she wondered what had happened to their brother Robert, whom they had not heard from for almost two years.
Karl Oskar could not allay her apprehensions concerning Robert, only share them. Almost a year had passed since he had received the last letter from his brother. And next spring three years would have passed since Robert and Arvid started out on their journey to the California goldfields.
Neither of the young men was made for long, dangerous journeys, nor were they in shape to endure hardships. One could only hope Providence had protected them on the road to the goldfields. And what could Karl Oskar have done to stop their venture? He could not have denied his brother the right to make his own decisions. He could not put his brother in a cage. Moreover, Robert would have escaped had he done so. Even as a small child he would run away, and his parents had had to put a cowbell around his neck to find the straying boy. The day he was to begin his first service as a hired hand he had tried to run away and leave the home village, and later he had escaped from his master. Robert was the eternal escapist. If he only reached Heaven he would try to escape from it too, thought Karl Oskar. But why didn’t he write more often? He could write well.
“Robert won’t come back until he has found gold,” Kristina said.
“And just because of this I’m afraid he’ll never come back.”
Karl Oskar was beginning to think that his younger brother was no longer alive.
—2—
Another new year began—1854—and again they were without a new almanac. Notations about crops, purchases, sales, dates when the cows took the bull, and other important days were still recorded in the old almanac.
With the new year came severe cold. Night and day they kept the fire burning. The fireplace—it was the cabin’s heart and center, the capitol of the home kingdom. The hearth was the home’s altar, and on that altar were sacrificed all the cords of firewood that had been cut during the summer and stacked against the cabin wall to dry. The fireplace—it was the most essential part of the home, the source of blessed warmth. The fire must not go out. In the light of the fire they performed their chores, round the altar of flames they gathered to warm their cold limbs. The fireplace gave the people in the cabin light and warmth, it was the defender of life.
Each morning the wreath of white frost roses bloomed anew on the nail heads. On the walls of round logs the cold found ever new holes and cracks. But next winter it might penetrate here as much as it pleased; no living soul would then be in this place, and no fire would burn on the hearth. Next winter they would be protected in a real house. The child Kristina was expecting would have its delicate body sheltered by well-chinked timber walls. The child—that is, if it now turned out to be only one . . . The thought had begun to hover in Kristina’s mind, that perhaps a twin birth was in the offing. The new life felt so heavy in her body—hadn’t it felt the same way once before? She had had twins earlier, but only Lill-Marta had survived. If again she gave life to two, would they both live? It was futile to worry about it but she couldn’t help it; she was made that way.
Early one Sunday morning, shortly after New Year’s, the Olaussons came to call unexpectedly. Karl Oskar had been out in the woods looking for a pig which had broken out of its sty, and he had just returned. Neither he nor Kristina had had time to think of their Sunday rest, and they had not yet cleaned up. They were surprised at this early call from their neighbors; when Bible discussions and spiritual gatherings were held, the families did not get together until the afternoon of the Sabbath.
Kristina pulled forth chairs for the callers, who were dressed in their Sunday best. Petrus Olausson had put on a tie and trimmed his beard, and his thin tufts of hair were combed and orderly. Judit wore her best white-frilled black dress which buttoned all the way to her chin. Her black hair was pulled back severely and parted in the middle, d
isplaying a line of skin like a straight white ribbon from her forehead to the top of her skull. On the back of her head she wore a black cap with white embroidery. Her powerful nose stuck out sharply, a spy for her prying eyes. Her mouth as always was tightly closed, the right corner slightly higher than the left.
The couple’s expressions were set in their customary Sabbath severity which Karl Oskar and Kristina recognized from earlier Sundays, but their faces also displayed something serious and ominous. What could they want so early on a Sunday morning?
The Olaussons sat stiffly and ceremoniously and twisted awkwardly on their chairs; they had not come just to amuse themselves, that much was clear.
Karl Oskar began telling them about the pig he had been hunting for over an hour. What luck the weather was so mild this morning—it was an important pig, a sow he intended to send to the boar for mating when her time came again.
Petrus Olausson listened absentmindedly. Then he said, “We have come to call on a matter of great spiritual importance.”
He raised his chin with its newly trimmed beard and spoke as if he were reading aloud from the Bible. “We have come to open your eyes and to warn you, our beloved neighbors and fellow Christians.”
“To open your eyes, indeed!” interrupted the wife, adjusting her cap, which had slid down over her left ear.
“It is the duty of a person who sees to warn the one who is blind,” continued the husband. “It is our duty as Christians to safeguard our neighbors’ souls.”
“Exactly so,” echoed the wife. “We are here to fulfill our duty.”
“It concerns your souls, our dear neighbors . . .”
Karl Oskar and Kristina listened with increasing confusion. Their neighbors spoke as if the Almighty himself had sent them here with the message that the Day of Doom would come on the morrow.
Petrus Olausson went on. “We have for a long time thought about this. We have hesitated, delayed. As Christians we can now no longer be responsible.”
“What’s this all about?” exclaimed Kristina. “What in the world is going on?”
“I will tell you.” He rose and moved closer to her. “Some time ago I met in this house an unknown woman. A Swedish woman. You must recall our meeting . . . ? The woman had . . .”
“You said she made a fright of herself in a hat!” interrupted Judit.
“That is correct—she wore a hat on her head. A very large piece of headgear, full of vanity and most outlandish.”
Judit Olausson had her opinion. “A Swedish woman gone plumb crazy of vanity! Putting on a hat when she gets to America!” Her voice was brittle with disgust.
“I have now learned who this woman is,” said Petrus Olausson slowly, as if announcing a great discovery.
“You must mean Ulrika, I gather,” said Kristina.
“That’s her name, that scarecrow,” confirmed Judit, pulling up the right corner of her mouth still further.
“But Ulrika didn’t put on a hat from vanity—she is as good as any upper-class woman,” said Kristina. “We’re intimate friends.”
“Friends?” interrupted the neighbor. “My poor woman—this ‘friend’ of yours is married to the Baptist minister in Stillwater!”
“She has gone over to her husband’s religion and she has been rebaptized!” echoed Judit.
“I know all that; it concerns no one but herself.”
Olausson straightened up to give greater weight to his words: “You also know this: we must have no connection with lost souls! We must keep clear of sectarians. And that is why you must have nothing to do with this woman who is the wife of the Stillwater priest.”
Karl Oskar and Kristina stared at each other. At last they began to grasp their neighbors’ purpose.
“Look out for this Mrs. Jackson. Don’t let that woman into your house. Don’t ever open your door to her again.”
Karl Oskar snorted loudly. Petrus Olausson’s advice seemed to him so outrageous that he wanted to laugh. But he held his tongue.
“With this Mrs. Jackson you admit the Evil One into your home,” continued Olausson. “I heard that woman’s raw and unbecoming speech. She carries the devil’s own tongue in her sweet mouth. Without you being aware of it, she pours irreligion’s poison into your ears. Only because of Christian love do we wish to warn you. It concerns your soul!”
“We do our duty as Christians!” added Judit.
“We only wish your best, dear neighbor. Listen to your friends’ advice; have nothing more to do with that woman!”
Olausson turned toward Kristina, whose face had stiffened as she listened. Words stuck in her throat as she tried to answer.
“Uncle Petrus . . . do . . . do you know . . . you’re talking about my best friend in America . . .”
“Yes, I know. And because of this friendship the danger is so much greater for you.”
“You’re blind!” insisted the neighbor wife. “Friendship blinds people.”
“Mrs. Jackson offers you her hand and you do not perceive the claw hidden in the paw.”
“Because you are blind!”
Kristina’s face had turned flaming red. What was this her neighbor asked of her? She needed time to collect herself in order to understand. They asked that she sacrifice her friendship for Ulrika and close her door to her! This friendship . . . She remembered so well what Ulrika had once said to her: I sold my body at times for a loaf of bread, but my friendship costs more than any man or woman can pay. I don’t throw it away on just anyone. But you have it, Kristina. You have it for all time. Of that you can be sure. You got it that time when you shared your bread with me on the journey. You have received the most valuable possession I have to give to any human being. That was what Ulrika had said, that was how valuable was her friendship. And she, Kristina, had it; Ulrika had by her actions proven it to her. And here came these people, demanding that she repay good with evil and deny her friendship for Ulrika, that she behave treacherously, that she betray her best friend . . . !
Kristina had her own ideas about right and wrong toward other people, and never had anyone been able to sway her. Nor would Petrus Olausson and his wife be able to do so, not to the smallest degree. They asked her to betray a friendship, they asked her to wrong a person, they demanded that she commit this gravest of sins.
And there stood Uncle Petrus and continued to talk to her in the patient voice of an admonishing father. He knew from experience the dangers of heresy, he himself had for a time followed a false prophet. But one day his eyes had been opened to the true light, and now he wanted—along with true Swedish Lutherans—to found an Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, which would be free from interference by worldly authorities and unblemished by heresy. And among those true Christians who must build this Church were Kristina and her husband. He must therefore protect them against false prophets who called themselves Baptists. They were sent by the devil to spread dissension among the Swedes. They were sunderers, this Baptist ilk, they wanted to create dissension and dissolve the true faith.
He took Kristina by the arm, pleadingly, admonishingly, mildly rebuking her as if she were his beloved, disobedient, self-willed child.
“Dearly beloved Kristina! These sunderers and false prophets deck themselves out like friends. You do not recognize them for what they are. You do not know the Fiend in the soul of this Mrs. Jackson! But as long as she continues to come here, your home is besmirched. Therefore, beloved Kristina, do not ever let her cross your threshold again. Will you give me this promise?”
“No!” she screamed out. “No! No! No! Never!”
And Kristina violently pulled herself away from him, as if he were unclean and had besmirched her. Her explosion was so sudden that Olausson took a few steps backward. His wife jumped up from her chair.
“This is enough!” cried Kristina. “Listen to me, you, once and for all. You come to me and talk ill of Ulrika—what do you mean? Do you think I’m a fool? I’ll tell you something, both of you! Pretending to be my friends, ah?
”
“Poor child! How you talk!” said Judit Olausson and turned her head so quickly that her cap slid down over her right ear.
“Dear Kristina, calm down!” pleaded Olausson.
“Wretched woman! The devil speaks through her mouth,” added Judit.
With Kristina’s sudden explosion, Olausson lost his composure. He turned to Karl Oskar. “You must correct your foolish wife, Nilsson! She acts as if she had already been led astray. Help us bring her back to her senses.”
Karl Oskar rose from his seat and straightened up to his full height, “This is crazier than hell!”
“Yes, yes, here we come as friends and fellow Christians and your wife treats us as if we were . . .”
“You have given order in my house, Olausson. But you have done it for the last time.”
“What’s that, Nilsson? Are you too against us? Are you as blind as your wife?”
Karl Oskar looked steadily at his neighbor and raised his voice until Olausson drew back. “You leave Kristina alone! She can open her door to whoever she wants! And this I had intended to tell you before: I don’t need a guardian! Nor does my wife! Now you know!”
“But Nilsson—my dear neighbor—you must understand us! All we want is to warn you against the sectarians . . . you know—those Baptists! We must be careful—every moment of our lives we must watch out against . . .”
“That’s enough! You force me to tell you right out: take care of yourself and shit on others!”
The Settlers Page 19