Unto A Good Land

by Vilhelm Moberg

  “I suppose so.”

  “He ailed from lonesomeness.”

  “I see.”

  Karl Oskar felt embarrassed and ashamed, as though he had surprised her son during some natural but private occupation which concerned no one except himself and which usually is not performed in sight of others.

  Fina-Kajsa continued: “Anders says he grew lonesome here. He says it can affect one’s head, to emigrate and grow lonely. . . .”

  Karl Oskar searched for words of comfort for the old one. But strangely, comforting words were far away when needed. He could not find a single one—he had nothing to say to Fina-Kajsa. He greeted her from Kristina, and then went his way. The old woman remained sitting, her vacant eyes staring over the wilderness forest.

  Her son who lay flat-back on his bed had grown lonesome . . . hmm. . . .

  Now Karl Oskar knew why Anders Månsson had been unable to improve his circumstances during his years in the Territory—now he knew the secret of Fina-Kajsa’s son.

  —4—

  Karl Oskar could now go to Lake Gennesaret and borrow the fifteen cents from his neighbors, but then he would not have time for a second walk back to Mr. Abbott’s store. He must let the letter from Sweden remain in the postoffice drawer for the time being; after all, it was not floating in the lake, Postmaster Abbott had it in safekeeping.

  Karl Oskar walked straight back home. Kristina met him in the door: “Did you get the letter? What did it say? Are they well?” Three anxious questions, and she found time for a fourth before her husband had said a word: “Hasn’t the letter come?”

  “It has come. But it must be redeemed. It costs fifteen cents.”

  “You couldn’t redeem it?”

  “No.”

  “You walked all the way for nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  Kristina had been waiting eagerly for his return, she was sure he would bring the letter from Sweden. Now she felt like a child who is chased away from the Christmas tree after waiting long at the door.

  A silence fell between husband and wife. And Karl Oskar felt another question coming, but this one his wife need not utter. He said he had not wished to borrow from anyone in Taylors Falls, he was too proud to ask for a loan of fifteen cents; he did not wish to advertise his poverty among all the Swedes in the St. Croix Valley. Their letter was in good hands in the store, they need not worry, no one would take it away from them.

  “Did you see the writing on the letter?”

  “No, I wasn’t that close.”

  “You don’t know who wrote it?”

  “No. It could be my father, or it might be yours. One or the other, I guess.”

  A few days passed. Spring had come to the valley. The ice on the river had broken up, the steamboat had come with the letter from Sweden; it now lay in a drawer in the post office in Taylors Falls and could be redeemed for fifteen cents. Kristina thought, what luck that the sun and the warmth came to people without having to be redeemed; had they been forced to pay fifteen cents for the spring, the winter would still be with them.

  Karl Oskar and Kristina said nothing more about the letter, but their thoughts hovered around it. They could not get it off their minds, they wondered and mused: What was in the letter? A whole year had run away since they had climbed on the wagon for the drive to Karlshamn—how much might have happened in that time! And everything that had happened was written in that letter, and the letter had finally almost reached them, it was only a few miles away, yet as far away as ever. It cost fifteen cents!

  Kristina thought it would have been better not to know about the letter. It would have been better if Karl Oskar had kept quiet about it. Now she was wrought up and worried about news from home. It was so close, yet not within her reach.

  Karl Oskar was resigned to waiting patiently until the time he could redeem it, and he thought Kristina should do the same. He was busy all day long making his new breaking plow. He was making it entirely of wood, and he must have it ready when the frost left the ground. He had been promised he might borrow his neighbors’ oxen and he was anxious to begin the plowing. A plow was far more important to him than a letter. He talked about it every time he came inside for a meal, it was on his mind early and late. It was the first time he had made a plow, the farmer’s most important implement, and it required clever hands. He cut and carved, he chiseled and dug, he tried various kinds of wood, discarded and began anew, improved and finished each part from day to day. The blade must have the right curve, the pull tree the right turn, the shafts and handles the right angles. The plow body must be light, sensitive to the steering hands of the plower, it must cut its way easily through the sod. He would follow this plow in its furrow for a long time, he would follow it every day until the whole meadow was turned into a field. The new plow would give them the field for their bread to grow in.

  But Kristina wished to hear no more of the plow he was making, she wanted to talk of the letter they must redeem.

  Karl Oskar was too proud to borrow a mere fifteen cents from his neighbors. If a poor man could afford nothing else, at least he could afford his pride. This was a lesson he had learned in Sweden. But it might be that this lesson was neither good nor useful for an impoverished settler here in the wilderness. He could not live by his pride. And whence would he get the fifteen cents if he did not borrow it from Danjel or Jonas Petter?

  A few more days went by and Karl Oskar kept busy at his plow. Then Kristina could wait no longer: Did he intend to get the letter soon? He replied that the letter was in good hands, Mr. Abbott would not give it to anyone else, she must not be impatient, the work on the plow was much more urgent.

  Kristina made her own decision: She would go to her uncle and borrow fifteen cents.

  Without Karl Oskar’s knowledge she would set out early next morning through the forest to Danjel’s settlement. She would show her stubborn husband that she could redeem the message from Sweden. His pride could not keep her letter from her any longer!

  Strangers rarely came to the log house at Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. Occasionally a pelt trader might walk by. But the day Kristina had made her decision a stranger dropped in on them.

  He was a man from the lumber company in Stillwater; he had walked through the forest staking out new roads and had lost his way. The stranger arrived at the new settlement as the family was sitting down to the noonday meal and he was asked to share their dinner: Would he be satisfied with their simple food?

  Karl Oskar and the American could barely make each other understood, but he seemed a kind man. He thanked them for the dinner and before he left he patted Johan on the head and gave him a coin.

  The stranger was hardly outside the door before Kristina turned to the boy and looked at the gift. It was a ten-cent piece.

  She turned the thin coin in her hand, deeply disappointed. It was not enough, she was still five cents short. She would still have to borrow, and a five-cent loan would reveal their poverty more than a fifteen-cent one.

  “That was close!”

  “You mean . . . ?” Karl Oskar gave his wife a quick glance.

  “You know what I mean!”

  “But you wouldn’t take the coin from the boy?”

  Johan was pulling his mother’s arm: “I want my money, Mother!”

  “Give it to the boy,” said the father. “It’s the first coin he’s ever had.”

  Kristina handed the child his coin: “But we could have borrowed it if it had been a fifteen-cent coin.”

  Johan meanwhile held the ten-cent piece tightly in his closed fist: “It’s my money! He gave it to me!”

  Karl Oskar said he would never have had the heart to rob the boy of the first money he had owned in his life.

  Kristina flared up: “Then go and find fifteen cents! You’re impossible! Wait and wait and wait! How long must we wait? When are you getting the letter? Shall we leave it there till Christmas?”

  “I’ll fetch it tomorrow morning.”

  “That I must see bef
ore I believe it! You’re like a stubborn horse! My patience has come to an end!” Her cheeks flashed red from indignation, her eyes seemed to shoot sparks.

  Karl Oskar let her anger spend itself and did nothing to interrupt her. When she had finished, he said calmly as before: Early tomorrow morning he would take the dried stag skin to Mr. Fischer in Taylors Falls. He had thought they would use it for clothing but now they must sell it; they could not get along without cash any longer. He might get two dollars for the skin, he would have enough for both the letter and some groceries.

  “Why didn’t you sell the skin long ago? Why have you waited?”

  She was interrupted by the door swinging open. The stranger who had given money to Johan was back. He stopped at the threshold and pointed to the lake shore, rolling a lump of tobacco in his hand while he talked.

  Karl Oskar listened eagerly and tried to understand. He recognized the word hay. The stranger pointed to the haystacks in their meadow—three stacks were still left, Lady had been unable to eat all the hay before they returned her to Anders Månsson. The stranger had come back because he had discovered their hay—now Karl Oskar understood.

  He accompanied the man to the meadow. Shortly, he returned to the house with three large silver coins in his hand: the lumber company in Stillwater was short of hay for their teams, and the man bought the three remaining haystacks for three dollars.

  Never was a seller more satisfied with a transaction. “I felt it in my bones last fall when I cut the hay! I knew it would come in handy!” said Karl Oskar.

  That very day he went to fetch the letter from Taylors Falls, and this time he carried it with him when he returned. He had recognized his father’s big writing on the envelope but he carried it home with the seal unbroken, he wanted to break it in Kristina’s presence, he wanted her to listen when he read it for the first time.

  As soon as he was inside the door they sat down on either side of their table. It was the middle of the week, but both had a feeling of reverence, a Sunday mood. Karl Oskar picked up the bread knife, the sharpest one they had in the house and he cut the seal slowly and carefully so as not to harm the letter.

  It was a small sheet, narrow and written full from top to bottom. The letters were stiff, crooked, and broken—they were reminders of the pain-stiffened, crooked fingers that had formed and written them.

  The letter from Sweden brought the following message to the reader and the listener:

  Dear Son, Daughter-in-Law and Children,

  Our dearly loved Ones, May you be well is our constant Wish!

  We have received your letter and its message that you have arrived alive and in health, Which is a great Joy to us. Now I will write to let you know how we are—we all have God’s great gift of health and all is well.

  Much evil and good has happened since we parted. The churchwarden in Åkerby fell off a wagon and was killed last summer near the hill at Åbro mill, Oldest Son took over home, on my Homestead all work and chores progress in due order, the farmer who supplies our Reserved Rights is penurious, but otherwise kind, this year has had fine weather and good crops.

  Mother and I do not go to other places much, we keep busy at home, most the time I keep close to the fire as you know. You have had your free will and have deserted home, we hope you all have success, it must be un-Christian hard for you in the beginning in a new land. Mother wonders if you have any Minister to preach God’s clear Word to you, your God is with you also in a foreign country. Turn to Him when your own strength fails.

  Have no concern and do not worry for Us, We greet your little children and your good wife from Our Hearts. Her parents and Sisters in Duvemåla are well and wish the same to Kristina in North America. I have paid the freight for this letter, hope it is sufficient. You can afford it as little as I in a strange country.

  You are every hour in our Thoughts, I invoke the Lord’s blessing upon you, our dear ones in this world.

  Written Down by your Father

  Nils Jakob’s Son

  Korpamoen in Ljuder Parish October 9

  in the year of Our Lord 1850.

  Let no outsider see my scribble.

  XXIV

  UNMARRIED ULRIKA OF VÄSTERGÖHL WEEPS

  —1—

  Karl Oskar reread the letter from Sweden three times before Kristina was satisfied. Only after that did he have an opportunity to tell her the great news he had heard today in Taylors Falls: Ulrika of Västergöhl was going to enter into holy matrimony with Mr. Walter H. Abbott, she was to move to Taylors Falls as wife to the postmaster and storekeeper.

  This he had heard and it had come from Swedish Anna, who was not one to spread untrue gossip. She herself would move to New Kärragärde as housekeeper for Danjel and Jonas Petter in Ulrika’s place.

  Mr. Abbott had often of late visited the Swedish settlement at Lake Gennesaret, according to Swedish Anna. And Ulrika had treated him to food—the most delicious food she could cook—sweet cheese, pork omelet, cheesecake. She had offered him all her choice dishes. And Mr. Abbott had been so taken by the Swedish fare that he wished for it on his table at every meal. In order to have the good food daily, he must keep the cook in his house, and so he had proposed to Ulrika. Swedish Anna had hinted that the impending marriage was some piece of witchery: Ulrika had bewitched Mr. Abbott with the food she had given him. She had taken advantage of a poor man who never before had known how food should taste. Ulrika could thank her Creator that the preparation of decent food was not as yet known in America.

  Swedish Anna had spoken as though Ulrika had committed a heinous crime in offering Mr. Abbott her Swedish dishes.

  The Taylors Falls postmaster and storekeeper was a well-to-do man, nothing in the way of worldly goods was missing from his house. There might be other women besides the Glad One who would have liked to be in charge of a store full of good wares. Karl Oskar suspected that Swedish Anna spoke in jealousy when she belittled Ulrika.

  Kristina had seen Mr. Abbott behind his counter last summer. His head, on a lanky, loose-limbed body, almost reached the ceiling; she remembered his big hands, covered with black hair, his broad, flat feet. He was always dressed in a motley coat with long tails, his shirt neck open. Everyone said he was honest in his dealings. Kristina thought he had a hardened heart, denying the poor settlers credit for a single cent; but she would not call him stingy—many times he had given her sugar sticks for her children.

  Kristina said to Karl Oskar: Next Sunday he must stay home alone and look after their offspring. She would go to Uncle Danjel’s and wish Ulrika of Västergöhl well on her coming marriage.

  —2—

  She started out on her walk early in the morning. It was the first time she had walked alone from Ki-Chi-Saga to the settlement at Lake Gennesaret. Karl Oskar had advised against it—but this time she wanted to go by herself through the clearing; sometime she must learn to walk alone, in a place where she would live for the rest of her life. She would feel like a penned-in animal if she could never leave her home without being followed and guarded like a herd beast. She could not lose her way—there only was one road to follow.

  The Indians had returned and had been around the lake, but she tried to suppress her fear of the copperskins with this thought: If God protects me, I need not be afraid to walk alone through the forest. If God does not protect me, I would not be safe in the greatest company of people.

  The forest had been washed clean by the mild spring rains, the grass was sprouting, the leaf-trees were budding, the air smelled fresh and good, of foliage and bark and buds, of earth and mold. Kristina stepped lightly over the wretched road, she breathed with an easy heart. For long stretches she could imagine she walked through the woodlands at home in Duvemåla. Here grew the same trees, though they were larger, more wild looking than at home. She was more at home with trees and bushes than with people, and did not feel lonely in her walk through the woods.

  But she never forgot the dangers that might lurk in the forest. Any momen
t she might encounter something frightening. Last time Swedish Anna came to visit she had seen a cut-off human foot in the road. It was tied to a post stuck in the ground, a bloody foot with a brown skin—an Indian foot. It was a gruesome sign put there by the savages—Swedish Anna thought it meant war between the Chippewas and the Sioux.

  Nor did Kristina forget the snakes which had come out of their holes in the spring sunshine and might lie in wait for her. But neither humans nor animals molested her on her Sunday walk, she saw neither snakes nor maimed human feet.

  When she reached Danjel’s house, she found Ulrika alone. Jonas Petter had made a small skiff, and he and Danjel had taken the children onto the lake; they hoped to catch some fish for dinner.

  Ulrika had returned the evening before from a visit with her daughter in Stillwater. Elin was satisfied in her service, her duties were light and her American master and mistress were kind to their servants. Ulrika had also visited Pastor Jackson in his new house, and she had been to his church and heard him preach.

  Kristina noticed at once that Ulrika was not herself today. She did not seem as lively or hearty as usual, she had a serious look on her face, her motions and bearing were different, there was something inscrutable about her. She had a new expression, a thoughtful, solemn look. Perhaps it was caused by the great change which her imminent marriage would bring her.

  She took out her knapsack and began carefully folding garments and placing them in it. So she was already busy with her moving.

  “I’m packing up a little,” she said.

  “Yes. I’ve already heard about it. You’re moving to Taylors Falls to be the storekeeper’s wife!”

  Ulrika looked up quickly, with a strange, serious glance. She did not answer. Kristina wished her well in her marriage, she repeated her words twice. But Ulrika seemed not to appreciate this good wish, rather, it pained her. She did not acknowledge it, she did not say thank you. She seemed embarrassed and annoyed as she picked up a well-washed and newly ironed shift—Kristina guessed this shining white garment might be her bridal shift.