“We thought you were dead . . .”
“But I wrote—many times . . .”
“Only two letters have come.”
“Well, some were lost, I guess. They often rob the mail out west.”
Karl Oskar took hold of Robert by the shoulder, holding him as if wishing to convince himself that this was really his brother: Robert’s body was wasted to bones and sinews.
“Nice clothes you have!”
“Did you think I would return looking like a ragbag, Karl Oskar?”
And Robert again smiled his black, toothless smile.
“I came up the river with the steamboat—to St. Paul. Then I got a ride with an ox team. The last part I walked. You have roads through the forest now . . .”
He interrupted himself with a racking, hollow cough, accompanied by a growling noise from inside his chest. “I caught a cold on the steamboat.”
He turned and looked up at the new main house. “You’ve raised some house, Karl Oskar!”
“It isn’t as big as I planned but it’ll do.”
“Two stories!”
Karl Oskar replied that he had not yet had time to finish the inside of the upper story, but downstairs they had one large room for daily use, a bedroom for the children, and a good-sized kitchen. He had built sturdy fireplaces so they would be warm in winter.
Robert had only praise for the new house, so pleasant on the slope under the maples, which gave shade in summer and protection in winter. And the maples were full and handsome. When he compared the new house with the old log cabin, he realized that things had improved for his brother while he had been away.
“Let’s go home!” said Karl Oskar, and picked up the hoe from among the furrows.
“I see you’ve started to plant Indian corn.”
“This is the second year—it’s well worth it. And I’ve sown wheat for three years now. Wheat and corn go best in Minnesota.”
Yes, Robert knew that wheat was king of the grains in America, and Indian corn the queen. And he thought that much had indeed changed since he left.
In a burst of brotherly affection Karl Oskar put his arm on Robert’s shoulder as they walked up to the house. He had been almost sure that his brother was dead. Now joy at his return and bafflement at the changes in him mingled within Karl Oskar: Robert’s emaciated body, his jaundiced, unhealthy complexion, the hollowness of his voice, his stiff motions—something of life itself was missing in Robert. He stooped as he walked—the halting gait of an old man. Perhaps he had grown too tall to carry his body erect, perhaps he was forced to stoop a little. His brother was ten years younger than he, yet he didn’t seem young any more. What was the matter with him? Was he sick?
“I don’t think Kristina will recognize you either, Robert.”
They entered the new house through the kitchen door at the back. Kristina stood at the hearth tending the pot containing the pea soup for their supper.
After a momentary look of surprise and hesitation she gave a cry of recognition: “Robert! Robert! Are you back . . . ?”
Her voice was filled with joy; she threw her arms around her brother-in-law. Her throat choked with tears, so moved was she. It was with difficulty that she found words to express her feeling.
“You recognized me sooner than Karl Oskar!”
“I’ve missed you terribly!” she said. “But I’ve always been sure you would come back!”
Robert unshouldered his rucksack and dropped it on the floor.
“You come dressed like an American gentleman,” continued Kristina. “And you have gown terribly tall—but so skinny . . . ?”
The children came running into the kitchen but they were shy with the newcomer when he approached them. Robert had been away so long they had had time to forget him. Only Johan remembered: “You are the uncle who lived with us in the old house!”
“You’ve grown a lot, Johan. How old are you now?”
“Nine!”
Robert picked up Dan and lifted him high in the air: “You lay in swaddling clothes when I left!”
“We have one more little one now,” said Kristina. “A girl we call Ulrika—she’s thirteen months.”
Robert picked up the girl too and lifted her into the air; but her uncle’s intimacy did not please Ulrika—she began to yell at the top of her voice and he had to put her down. Then Robert felt in his pocket and pulled out a bag of sweets which he divided among the five children. After this they were no longer shy of the stranger but jostled about him.
Karl Oskar sniffed the aroma from the pot on the fire; pea soup with boiled pork was to him a delicious dish and he knew his brother liked it. What luck Kristina had such fine fare today; Robert looked as if he needed nourishing food.
“You’ve walked a long way—you must be hungry.”
“I am thirsty, rather,” said Robert. “Would you have some drinking water, Kristina?”
She handed him a quart measure which she had filled from the wooden bucket on the floor against the chimney wall. He drank it down, with noticeable enjoyment. “Wonderful water! Did you find a spring?”
Karl Oskar told him that he had dug a well in the slope during the first year but it gave brown water with a brackish taste to it and in a long drought the well went dry. Then last summer he had found a spring in the oak stand behind the old cabin. It gave this clear, fresh water—the best drinking water one could wish. It was about a ten-minute walk to the spring but the water was well worth it.
Robert said, “Good water is worth any walk!”
“Where’s Arvid?” asked Kristina. “Did he come back with you?”
“No, Arvid didn’t come back with me.”
“But you were together . . . ?”
“Yes, we were together. But then we parted.”
“Where is Arvid now?”
“He is out there. He stayed.”
“Stayed . . . ?”
“You mean Arvid remained in the goldfields?” interrupted Karl Oskar in surprise.
“Yes, he remained. He is still there.”
“Oh?” said Kristina and looked questioningly at her brother-in-law.
“Yes, Arvid stayed behind.”
Robert’s replies to their questions were short and indifferent, as if they did not concern him.
Karl Oskar tried again. “I guess neither you nor Arvid had much luck? Or do you carry your gold with you in that sack?”
He pointed to his brother’s rucksack—it was made of thick, excellent skin and looked new.
“Do you think I could carry the gold with me? I can tell you’ve never been on the Trail!”
Robert smiled his broad, toothless smile; so Karl Oskar thought a gold digger could carry his gold with him? That he would come with a sack of gold on his back when he returned? Gold was heavy, almost the heaviest thing that existed. No one was able to carry gold very far. And one could easily be attacked and robbed along the way. Oh no! One put the gold in safekeeping as soon as one found it. One didn’t carry it in one’s pocket, not a single nugget could one risk. Every grain was of value and was well taken care of. He had learned how to handle and keep gold: one put it in a bank for safekeeping.
Karl Oskar eyed Kristina as he listened to his brother. He winked knowingly. She was irresolute as to how to interpret it.
“Isn’t supper ready?” wondered Karl Oskar.
The peas had not yet boiled enough, replied Kristina. But she could see that Robert was worn out from his journey; he could go into the gable room and lie down while she got supper ready. Anyway he would have to stay in there with the children, she thought. Only she and Karl Oskar and the baby slept in the big room, the living room, as they called it.
Karl Oskar showed his brother to the bedroom. He would have time to inspect their house later, he told him—not that there was much to show; as yet they had only a few pieces of furniture but he kept making more whenever time permitted. Wouldn’t Robert lie down? He looked as if his legs were a little shaky after the long walk.
“He has had a hard time, you can see that.”
“I believe something is wrong with him.”
“He might have some ailment, his hands feel hot.”
“He said he caught a cold on the steamboat.”
Kristina was taking plates from the open shelf, setting the table. “But he sounds as though he had luck in the goldfields. Wasn’t that what he said?”
“Yes, I heard it.”
“He talked as if he had put his gold in the bank. He may be rich, perhaps.”
“It sounds that way.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“Not a single word of it!”
“He makes it all up, you think?”
“I know Robert by now! You remember his lies on the ship? Remember the dead Indian in the treetop?”
Karl Oskar had a good memory. When they had landed in New York, Robert had spread a rumor that their captain was a slave trader and intended to sell them to the infidel Turk. It had caused great trouble. And during their first winter here it had been the incident at the Indian cliff. Robert had found a dead Indian, hanging from a treetop, and he had sworn that the Indian had shot arrows at him!
“He has lied before, that’s true,” admitted Kristina. “It’s a failing with him.”
“He is not going to fool me any more!” declared Karl Oskar with finality.
Kristina caught the sharp determination in his words. “Why would Robert come and lie to us again?” she asked.
“Perhaps he is ashamed to return empty-handed.”
“But he has bought new clothes and a new rucksack.”
“He must have worked for someone and earned a little.”
But Kristina felt that Karl Oskar was too eager to suspect the brother who had barely crossed their threshold. Why couldn’t they believe he had found gold? In California even a child might happen on the right place. And Robert had been gone four years—plenty of time to roam far and wide.
Karl Oskar said that he did not intend to ask Robert if he had found any gold; not even here in America did such miracles happen. To him it was enough that his brother had returned alive. A merciful Providence must have looked after him. One couldn’t also ask of Providence that Robert return with riches.
“I feel sorry for Robert,” he added. “He must be ailing. But until he shows me his gold I won’t believe a word of it! This time he won’t make a fool of me!”
Roberts unexpected return caused great excitement in the settler home; Kristina fell behind with her chores and supper was delayed. But at last the family gathered around the table in the kitchen, Robert between his brother and his sister-in-law. The children gaped at him and little Ulrika clung to his knee begging for more sweets.
Kristina looked closely at Robert. “You must have had a hard time of it?”
“Hunting gold is hard on one’s health.”
“Have you ailed in any particular way?”
“Everyone on the Trail suffers from the gold-sickness.”
But Robert did not further describe it. He looked around the new kitchen with its painted walls. In four years a person changed, and on the Trail one changed very fast. If he were to tell them all he had experienced they would have to sit at table here from now till Christmas, and still he wouldn’t get through more than half.
“We won’t ask you anything tonight,” said Kristina. “You must be tired.”
She filled his plate brimful with pea soup: he must eat and then get some sleep. She would put Harald’s and Johan’s bed in order for him; the two big boys could sleep on the floor for the time being.
“You are very kind, Kristina. You remember the food you prepared when I left—it lasted a long way on the journey. You’ve been kind to me in many ways.”
“You’re using a lot of English in your talk, Robert.”
Yes, he said, during these years he had really learned to speak English and it was a great help in traveling through this country. But with his own people he would of course always use his mother tongue, except when he forgot himself.
Before Robert had time to empty his soup plate, Kristina refilled it. “Put on some weight now! You’re only skin and bones!”
But two plates was all Robert could manage. When they left the table he picked up the quart measure from the hearth shelf, filled it with spring water from the bucket, and drank. “Good water is wonderful! Better than anything else!”
After supper Kristina sat down to give the breast to Ulrika. Then she put the girl in the cradle. Karl Oskar had recently put rockers under it and was mighty proud of his handiwork. Robert looked it over carefully. If only he had had such a cradle with him in the goldfields, he said. Gold had to be treated exactly like babies—put in cradles and rocked until all sand and refuse and dirt was winnowed away and at last it lay pure—clean and glittering in the bottom.
Kristina forgot what she had just promised and asked, “Where do they find gold?”
“All over. In the most unusual places.”
Gold could be found not only in the earth and the river sand and the rocks, explained Robert, but sometimes . . . well, as an example he would like to tell them about something that happened the first year he was in California. Among his gang washing gold in a stream was a Negro. One evening when the gang had finished for the day and were on their way home, the Negro suddenly became very ill. He got such an intense stomachache that all he could do was to lie on the ground and yell to high heaven. Nobody could understand what was the matter with him and there was nothing to do for the sick man. He was unable to walk to the tent, so they left the yelling and whining Negro where he lay. Next morning when they started out for the stream the Negro still lay on his stomach where they had left him. But now he was quiet and yelled no more—he was dead.
Then one of the men guessed what had caused the man’s peculiar stomachache. He took his knife and cut open the cadaver. When he opened the stomach the glitter of gold was revealed; the insides of the Negro were gilded, filled with nuggets and gold sand.
The Negro had been a gold thief. He had stolen the gold from the others, a pinch now and then, and had hidden the gold in a safe place. He had put it in his mouth and swallowed it. He had of course expected the gold to come out intact when he went to the privy. But that was where be figured wrong; the nuggets caused a stoppage that killed the poor fool.
Now the thief’s comrades took back the gold he had stolen from them, cleaned out and washed each of his intestines. When they exchanged it for cash to divide it among themselves, it turned out to be worth four thousand dollars.
“There were eight men in the gang, and each one got five hundred dollars,” concluded Robert. Well, that was how one could find gold: he himself had been one of those digging for gold in a man’s stomach.
Kristina listened in horror to her brother-in-law. “How could they! That was terrible!”
Because of the heat the kitchen door stood open, and Karl Oskar sat on the threshold where he could still see in the lingering dusk, filing his wood saw.
“You have had horrible experiences, Robert!” said Kristina, looking at him with ever-widening eyes. He turned his head as she spoke to him, so that his right ear was turned toward her; his hearing must still be bad in his left.
“Did you hear that, Karl Oskar?”
Karl Oskar had heard every word but he acted as if he hadn’t been listening. He filed away at his saw, filed and kept silent. Once his eyes sought Kristina’s, as much as to say: you understand, don’t you?
Kristina was so stirred by Robert’s story that she could not hold back any longer—she must know. “Robert . . . is it true . . . have you really found gold in California?”
“I am satisfied.”
“Is it true? I mean . . .”
She did not wish to hurt his feelings by sounding incredulous, she was searching for suitable words.<
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“You know why I left, Kristina,” he replied. “And I wrote in my letters I would not come back until I was a rich man.”
“And now you are rich?”
“I have done my last days work and had my last master. I have plenty. There’ll be enough for all three of us!”
Robert was standing close to the cradle, as if addressing himself to the child. He had said, almost casually, that he was so rich he had enough for himself, his brother, and his brother’s wife!
Kristina’s foot, rocking the cradle, came to a standstill when she heard that she was to share in his riches.
“I have plenty, Kristina! Of that you can be sure!”
But she sat in speechless confusion. Should she answer him: I don’t believe you! You are not rich! It’s a lie! But he spoke so calmly, so irrefutably. His words were as confident as if he were reading from Holy Writ.
From the doorway only the rasping of the file against the saw teeth could be heard. Karl Oskar must have heard his brother: I am rich. I have enough for all three of us! But he was unmoved. He remained silent and continued to file.
Karl Oskar had heard Robert, but he only felt that his brother had not learned anything from the times he had been found out and proven to be a liar. At his return he seemed more impudent and cheeky with his lies than ever before.
Was it right to pretend to believe him? Was it good for Robert himself? Wouldn’t it be kinder to speak out now and end his tall stories? Once and for all put an end to his lying?
The rasping and grating from the saw stopped; file in hand, Karl Oskar walked over to his younger brother. “Please, Robert, brother of mine. Stop lying to us! I can’t bear it any longer—it annoys me!”
Robert slowly turned his right ear toward him in order to hear better.
“I can’t stand a brother lying like that! Stop it!”
“You don’t believe me, Karl Oskar?” Robert asked in a dry tone.
Kristina looked in apprehension from one brother to the other.
“You know you’ve brought no gold with you. But no one holds it against you. We are glad you’re back, glad you are alive!”
“You think I haven’t anything . . . ? You think I lie . . . ?” Robert sounded deeply hurt. “All right! All right!”
The Settlers Page 23