Until We Reach Home

by Lynn Austin

  Sofia stopped reading. She closed her eyes.

  "You're thinking about your friend, aren't you?" Kirsten asked.

  Sofia nodded. "I wonder if he was still there. It must have been awful."

  "Well, if he was still planning to swim ashore," Kirsten said, "maybe he was able to escape during all of the commotion. How would they know how many were detained, if all of the records were destroyed?"

  The idea gave Sofia no consolation. She cleared her throat and continued reading.

  "The fire was discovered when a night watchman making his rounds detected smoke. Upon further investigation he encountered thicker smoke and flames. He immediately notified the other watchmen and they hastened to get the inmates out of the building. The immigrants were all asleep, and when the men raised the cry of fire, a scene of indescribable confusion ensued."

  "I can well imagine!" Kirsten said. "With so many languages and no one to translate, those poor people wouldn't have known what was going on."

  "So great was the confusion and excitement that the rescuers met with great difficulty in getting the immigrants out. Some of them had to be forcibly ejected. One unnamed immigrant assisted with the rescue of five children, two of them clinging to his neck, one under each arm and one holding onto his coat. Many of the women had to be carried out bodily. Several became hysterical. All were transported safely to boats anchored nearby. In the immigrants' haste to escape, all of their possessions were abandoned and lost to the flames."

  Sofia stopped again. "If Ludwig lost all of his belongings, he might have lost my address, too. How will he ever find me? He would remember my name, but Uncle Lars' last name is different from ours."

  "I don't know," Kirsten said, "but it's a good thing he gave you his violin or it would have burned up in the fire, too."

  "Ja ... good thing..." Sofia murmured. She tried to picture Ludwig sneaking away during the commotion and escaping to shore, but she couldn't do it. More likely, he was the unnamed immigrant who rescued the five children or who carried one of the hysterical women to safety. Ludwig would think of others before himself.

  "Sofia? Are you all right?" Elin asked.

  "I'm fine," she said, folding the newspaper into a neat rectangle. "I'd better take this upstairs to Mrs. Anderson."

  "Sofia, wait," Elin said. "You never told us why Mrs. Anderson asked to see you yesterday."

  "She ... um ... she asked me to sing for her dinner guests." The thought of doing it made Sofia's heart race with fear.

  "What did you tell her?"

  "I ... I told her that I would."

  AFTER LUNCH THAT day, Kirsten pushed the coin Elfin had just given her back into Elin's hand. "No, keep it all. I don't want it."

  "Are you sure?" Elin asked. Every payday she let her sisters keep twenty-five cents for themselves before sending the rest of their earnings to the men in Wisconsin. Today Kirsten's refusal worried her. Kirsten hadn't been her usual feisty self for several days. And she had been the one who had pleaded for spending money in the first place.

  "I don't need anything this week. Send all of my money to Wisconsin."

  "I guess I don't need anything, either," Sofia said. She dropped her coins back into Elin's hand.

  "Then we'll all go without," Elfin decided. "I'll send all of mine, too."

  Uncle Lars had showed Elfin how to wire the money to Wisconsin at the Western Union office, and she walked there each week to send it on her afternoon off. She and her sisters owed $120 for their tickets. After sending $11.25 the first week and twelve dollars this week, they now owed $96.75. At this rate, Elfin calculated that they would need to work for at least eight more weeks. But with more than a dozen rooms left to clean in the mansion, not to mention the enormous ballroom on the third floor, she knew they would be busy for at least that long.

  It was a long walk, but Elin took her time, enjoying the warm June day. She hardly knew what to do with the luxury of an afternoon off, all to herself, but she loved strolling in the fresh air after being cooped up in the mansion all week battling dust and cobwebs.

  Elfin wired the money, then walked to the boardinghouse to see if any mail had arrived. "Make sure you ask Aunt Hilma about my German friend," Sofia had reminded her before she'd left. It seemed odd that Kirsten no longer begged to run over there every chance she got, looking for mail.

  "There is just one letter," Aunt Hilma told Elin when she arrived. She gestured in the direction of the hall table with a tilt of her head, never pausing from her task of peeling potatoes. "And before you ask, no one has come from Germany."

  Elfin pushed through the swinging door into the hallway and was surprised to see that the envelope was addressed to her. The stamp in the corner was an American one. Who did she know in America? According to the return address on the back flap, the letter came from someone named Gunnar Pedersen in Wisconsin. He must be one of the men who had paid for their tickets. Elfin carefully slit open the envelope and read the letter, written in Swedish.

  Dear Miss Carlson,

  Thank you for your letter. We were all very disappointed that you and your sisters will not be coming to our village here in Wisconsin. It means we will be lonely that much longer. To be honest, my four friends were angry and did not accept your apology so well. But I do accept it because I think I can understand why you and your sisters would hesitate to come so far to meet five strangers. So I will divide the money you sent last week among the angry ones first, so they can look for new brides right away.

  But I also want you to know that you are still welcome to come up and see for yourself what our community is like. Maybe you will like it, and maybe you will like one of us. But if not, it would be nice if we could write to each other once in a while. Not because I will expect anything-but just because I am lonely, and it would be so nice to have your letters to read.

  If you don't mind, I will tell you what I am like, and the next time you write you can tell me what you are like. I am twenty-one years old and I also have two sisters, but they are older than I am and are already married. I came to America with my family when I was ten years old and helped my father homestead our land. My father and I have sixty acres, but we may buy more land when we are able to. Our cows do very nicely in this climate, which is much like home. On one section of our land there is a beautiful little valley surrounded by hills that are covered with trees. This is the piece of land that I picked to build my own little house. Everyone in the community helps each other build houses out of timber, but as our farms prosper, we are able to make the houses bigger and add more rooms and put on shingles and paint them a nice color. That is my dream for my house. I would like it to be big and warm and filled with children.

  For a pastime I enjoy making things out of wood. People say I am pretty good at it-although I know that might sound like I am bragging, and I don't wish to do so. But I have made furniture for my family, including a cradle for my sister's first baby. Always, people are asking if I can make a cradle like that for one for their babies. So even though you won't be coming to our village, I will have plenty of things to occupy me this winter. I am saying this so you won't feel bad for not coming.

  I would like to continue to write to you, if you are willing, because you sounded like a very caring person in your letter. I would be interested to hear what things you enjoy doing and how you are living and if you like America as much as I do. Also, what things you miss from back home and what things you like about America so far.

  I will close now, since I have filled up this piece of paper, but I hope you won't mind that I am writing to you. And I hope we can become friends. Please know that I expect nothing else. It's just so nice to get a letter in the mail once in a while.

  Sincerely,

  Gunnar Pedersen

  For some reason, the letter made Elin smile. She could picture Gunnar Pedersen's house nestled below the tree-covered hills and imagine how wonderful it would be to live on a farm near a forest again, in a place where it was quiet and peaceful
, away from the noise and stench of the city.

  It would be no trouble at all to write a short letter to him every week when she sent the money. But what would she tell him about herself? There was really nothing much to say. Maybe Kirsten or Sofia should write to him instead. Who knew? Maybe the correspondence would lead to romance for one of them. Gunnar Pedersen had asked Elfin to write, saying that she seemed like a very caring person, but he didn't know the truth about her past.

  Elfin refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She arrived back at the mansion long before her afternoon was used up, but she had no place else to go. She found her sisters upstairs cleaning one of the many bedroom suites. Sofia was chasing dust balls from beneath the bed with a mop. Kirsten was washing the windows with a vinegar solution and crumpled newspapers. The tart smell made Elin's eyes water.

  "Hej, I'm back," she told them. "Sorry, Sofia, but your German friend still hasn't arrived. And there was only one letter today. It was from one of the bachelors in Wisconsin. Shall I read it to you?"

  "No thank you," Kirsten said. She continued to work without bothering to turn around. Kirsten's deepening depression worried Elfin. She had noticed tears in her sister's eyes several times when she thought no one was looking, and Kirsten had all but stopped talking to them while they worked. She seemed as despondent as Sofia had been on the voyage to America.

  "Is something wrong, Kirsten?" She shook her head. "I hope you would tell me if there is."

  "I'm fine. Stop bothering me." She gathered up the pile of crumpled wet newspapers and left the room.

  "Do you know what's wrong with her, Sofia?"

  "No, not really. . ."

  "Come on, Sofia. If you know something, please tell me. Kirsten was so eager to get a letter, ever since we arrived, and today she didn't even ask about one."

  "Maybe one came for her the other day and she didn't tell us."

  "But the only person from back home who might write to her is Nils, and he hasn't written to anyone. I'm certain she would have told us if he did."

  "No ... Nils isn't the only one."

  "Please, Sofia. Tell me what's going on. How can I help Kirsten if I don't know what's wrong with her?"

  Sofia stared at the floor with the dust mop in her hand. When she finally replied, she spoke in a near whisper. "While we were waiting for you on Ellis Island, Kirsten told me that she was in love with Tor Magnusson."

  "The shopkeeper's son? But he was Nils' friend, not hers."

  Sofia shook her head. "Don't you remember how Kirsten always talked with Tor after church on Sunday? And he used to walk out to the farm to see her, even after Nils left home. Kirsten would always persuade me to do her chores so she could be with him."

  "I guess I never really noticed," Elfin said. She had been distracted by her own problems.

  "Remember when Kirsten left you waiting at the train station on our last day in the village?" Sofia continued. "She went to Magnusson's store to tell Tor good-bye."

  "Why didn't she tell me she was in love with him? I wouldn't have talked her into coming-"

  "No, something happened. She didn't say what, but I think it might have had something to do with the way Papa died. Tor broke her heart, Elfin. That's why she decided to come to America. When she told him good-bye that last day, she sounded very angry. She told him she was leaving and that he would never see her again. But Tor kept right on sweeping and didn't even seem to care."

  "I'm going to talk to her."

  Sofia grabbed her arm to stop her. "No, Elfin. Don't. I don't want Kirsten to know that I shared her secrets with you. Besides, it's not your job to take care of us."

  "I promised Mama-"

  "I know, I know," Sofia said, rolling her eyes. "You tell us that all the time. And you've done a good job, Elfin, but we aren't children anymore. Even if Mama were still alive, she couldn't do anything for Kirsten. Mama couldn't have made Tor love Kirsten or agree to marry her, and neither can you. It isn't up to you to fix everything."

  Sofia's words took Elfin by surprise. Is that what she was doing? Trying to fix everything? If so, she wasn't doing a very good job. Elfin sank down on the edge of the bed, feeling like a failure.

  "But I want so badly to fix everything," she said. "I promised you and Kirsten a new home. I want one myself. I made you come all this way, and now everything has turned out all wrong."

  She remembered writing in her diary about how naked she felt, like a newly shorn sheep, deprived of everything that had once warmed and comforted her. She had been so determined never to feel that way again and so hopeful that everything she had lost would be returned to her in a new way. But she and her sisters still didn't have a home to call their own. Elfin knew she deserved punishment for what she'd done, but why was God punishing Sofia and Kirsten?

  It wasn't up to her to fix everything. Yet Elfin had been taking care of her sisters for so long that she didn't know how to stop. What other purpose did she have in life except that one? What would she do when her sisters didn't need her anymore? Elfin realized that she was afraid to live her own life, afraid that she already had ruined it beyond redemption.

  "You aren't God," Sofia said quietly. "It isn't up to you to control everything, Elfin."

  "I know. But God hasn't done a very good job of taking care of us."

  "Maybe it only looks that way. Maybe-"

  The bedroom door swung open and Mrs. Olafson stood there with a lunch tray in her hands. "There you are. Come here and look at this tray. Mrs. Anderson hasn't eaten one bite of her lunch, you see? This morning I brought up a breakfast tray and she sent it back the same way."

  "Do you know what's wrong with her?" Elfin asked.

  "Nej. I'm afraid to open my mouth unless she asks me something. And look here," she added, pointing to her feet. Mrs. Anderson's cat walked in worried circles around the cook's legs. He looked up at Elfin and meowed pitifully. "You see? He never acts this way. He never leaves her side. Something is wrong, I tell you."

  "Maybe I'd better go find out," Elfin said.

  She dreaded facing her employer-the fairy queen, as Sofia called her-fearing that Mrs. Anderson might get angry and fire all three of them. But Elfin crossed the hallway to her bedroom just the same, the cat waddling along beside her. The door was open a crack and Elfin could hear Mrs. Anderson's cane thumping as she paced in front of the windows. Elfin knocked on the door.

  "Who is it?"

  "Elfin Carlson, ma'am."

  "I didn't send for you."

  "I know you didn't, ma'am, but we were wondering if you were all right."

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Mrs. Olafson said you haven't been eating."

  "My eating habits are none of her business-or yours. I'm paying you to clean my house, not to meddle. Go away."

  The thumping resumed while Elfin pondered what to do. In the end, her worry over the little woman's health outweighed her fear of being fired. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  "Did I ask you to come in?" Mrs. Anderson was in her dressing gown. Her hair hung loose in two long white braids.

  "No . . . but I wanted to see if you were all right."

  "Well?"

  "I think your cat is worried about you, too. He came to find us and was meowing for our attention."

  "Traitor!" she said to the cat. Tomte had pushed into the room ahead of Elfin and sat at his mistress' feet, tail twitching. "If you must know, I've been experiencing a little pain this morning-but don't you dare tell my son or his wife!"

  "Shall I send for the doctor?"

  "No, I don't need the nitwitted doctor." She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone had softened. "I have a tricky heart. I've known about it for years. That's why I was warned not to have any more children after Gustav was born. I had a bout of scarlet fever as a child."

  "Is there some medicine you could take?"

  "The doctor gave me pills, which I've taken. The pain will go away in a little while, but I'm feeling too nauseat
ed to eat. That's all."

  "My mother taught me how to brew tea with a little peppermint in it for nausea. Shall I fix some for you?"

  "Hmmph. My ankles are swollen, too. You have a remedy for that?"

  "Yes, ma'am. A bath of Epsom salts. I'll fix both of them for you, if you'd like." When Mrs. Anderson didn't object, Elfin set about the task.

  Mrs. Olafson had all of the ingredients for the tea, and Sofia hurried to the nearest pharmacy to buy Epsom salts. As soon as Mrs. Anderson immersed her feet in the deep, warm bath she found relief. And after sipping the tea she was able to eat a little toast and lingonberry jam.

  "Do you know how to operate a Gramophone?" she asked Elfin. "I would like to hear some music while I eat." She gestured to a machine on a little stand near the window. It had a crank on one side and a large funnel sticking out of the other.

  Mrs. Anderson showed Elfin how to insert a shellac disc into the contraption and wind the crank, and a moment later "The Blue Danube Waltz" began to play. Elfin couldn't wait to tell Kirsten and Sofia that she had found the source of the mysterious music they'd heard. But what a marvel that little machine was-an orchestra in a box!

  "That's much better," Mrs. Anderson said when she finished her toast. "And now I would like to get dressed and go downstairs to the morning room."

  Elfin started to advise her to remain upstairs and rest, then thought better of it. The sun-filled morning room was much cozier and more cheerful than this enormous bedroom. She helped Mrs. Anderson get dressed and descend the stairs. The fairy queen sat down at the little desk where she did all of her correspondence and pulled out a list of names.

  "I am going to give a dinner party for Midsummer's Eve," she told Elfin. "I used to love celebrating it years ago, back home in Sweden. And when we moved to America, my husband insisted that we stay up all night on the longest day of the year. I've already had the invitations delivered."

  "Do you think you should give a party if you're not feeling well?"

  Mrs. Anderson glared at her. Her lips twitched with displeasure as if she were holding back an angry comment.