by Jonas Lie
“Oh, well, cry away! I won’t say anything. You’ve got some one else to comfort you for a little while,” he added moodily.
She suddenly sprang up, went up to him, and laid her arm confidingly on his shoulder.
“Don’t you know that I’ll be your wife, Nikolai?” she said, looking full and ardently into his eyes; there were still tears on her dark, freckled face.
“Well, if you will, Silla, you shall see who can work.”
“But mother, Nikolai! Oh, I’m so frightened—so frightened only that she’ll get to know that we sometimes meet. She looks at me so hard every time I’ve been an errand, and I’ve always been gone so long. But when I sit darning and patching of an evening, I sometimes imagine that you come in so fine and rich, and that you own the whole of Hægberg’s smithy, so that mother has to give in.”
“No, do you think about that, Silla? Then I will come. She’ll have to give in like smoke, if I come only with my credentials, and my honest trade as well.”
What was it that had happened that light, hazy, summer evening, when the waterfall thundered out beneath the bridge, when the trees seemed to swell with new budding leaves, and the sun glittered on the windows here and there? Was he intoxicated, or was it the evening that had taken an extra Midsummer carouse? The last he saw of Silla was that she hurried homewards with her can, and that she had looked round at him, as she turned into the road among the houses.
The world was right enough after all. When he reckoned it up properly, it was not at all so unreasonable, even if the lock did sometimes get out of order; and then—well, then one had to be both strong and neat-handed to get it open again.
No, it was right enough. You only see that when you get inside, and so there must be police and masters and order in everything, so that it can lock.
Nikolai stood riveting and meditating down in the smithy. He had now got his journeyman’s credentials, and everything was rose-colour. The fact that he and the world were becoming reconciled showed in shining characters over the whole of his broad face. His short, strong figure moved with a newly-acquired, quick confidence at his work.
He worked now for journeyman’s wages, and could save up a nice little sum each week. One fortunate circumstance in the case was that he never dared make Silla a present of anything, neither handkerchiefs nor anything else, because of Mrs. Holman. A penny saved is a penny gained, and she should have it all in good time.
On Saturday evenings, as soon as he had had a little wash in the cooling-water, he took his way up towards the manufacturing part of the town. He carried his hammer and pincers, and an iron plate or a lock in his hand; he must look as if he were engaged in his lawful work. And then came the chance whether on his way up or down he caught a glimpse of Silla.
It was quite a chance, and it sometimes happened that he just met Mrs. Holman instead. He must put up with that; at any rate, he looked right into the street there, in the cluster of houses where Silla walked several times a day. But what he found more difficult to put up with was, that on those occasions when he was fortunate, she was walking arm-in-arm with two or three other factory-girls, so that he scarcely got more than the one glimpse and short nod from her before they turned in now here, now there.
What did she want to go loitering about in the evening with those dissipated girls for? Was that the sort of thing for Silla? She was neither old enough nor wise enough to understand what she was getting mixed up in, and what a fine gentleman meant who nodded to her—for the sake of her pretty eyes. Amuse themselves? Yes, go round in the mill, until they come out crushed and ground!
No! She must come out of this.
And so he must work away with his file, and add one week’s earnings to another, until he had made the silver hook large enough to draw her to him.
Yes, once she was with him!—he forgot himself in thoughts about house-rent and wedding outlay.
CHAPTER VIII
AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
Some time after Nikolai had got his credentials, he was pleasantly surprised by a visitor—he could hardly believe his own eyes—none other than his mother, who was watching for him one Saturday afternoon, outside the basement where he dined.
She had heard that he had become a journeyman, and could not rest until she got a lift on one of the plank-loads which was going in to town, and paid him a visit. She was so glad. If he knew how many sighs she had heaved for his sake, and how many bitter tears she had shed—the big, handsome, half peasant-clad woman was red in the face, and wept and dried her eyes incessantly on her folded pocket-handkerchief, while she gave expression to her emotion and joy over the way in which everything had turned out, as if by special guidance.
She had been so unfortunate for a long time; but now that she had got her son again, everything looked different for her. Oh, how big and broad and fine he had grown—a regular smith! He had a frock-coat now for Sundays, hadn’t he? And he must have a hat, too. He must let her advise him; she knew all about it from what she had seen in the world.
It was with quite strange, at first almost mixed, feelings that Nikolai thus suddenly saw a mother fall down to him—some day a father might come tumbling down too!
It was so many years since he had thought of her, and the picture he really had of her was buried in the bitter salt slough of tears in the depths of his recollections, which he was far from being in the mood to stir up. There were things within him, which he avoided from an instinctive feeling of safety in the whole of his new, happy existence; but such a thing as finding his mother again must surely belong to the happiness of the new Nikolai, the journeyman smith! Yes, of course, he was fond of her, and it was immensely affecting.
And while he walked beside her, and was glad too, and kind and obliging, and gave up his Saturday afternoon with half a day’s pay, he had, without exactly intending it, spent on a present—an exceedingly large, gay, flowered silk handkerchief—as much as it had taken him a fortnight to scrape together; and, besides that, had paid for some fine bread and a ham, which she had to take back with her, and of which she even tried a few goodly slices down in the town by way of afternoon refreshment.
She had an appetite, and she could not be very much accustomed to economising either;—this was about the sum of the happy, filial comments that Nikolai made to himself after the meeting. In addition to this, he felt himself unexpectedly lightened of a good deal of money; and it was in a rather dispirited mood that he went up in the evening in the hope of seeing Silla, and telling her of his new happiness.
The whole of that side of the town up under the hill already lay in shadow, and in the oppressively warm evening, labourers were walking with their coats over their shoulders, while sounds of life and noise rose here and there from the shops in the manufacturing district below.
Nikolai had traversed in vain the district surrounding the Valsets’ cottage, keeping constant watch at the same time down the broad high-road, which went past the gate, and the footpath that crept straight across the field down behind it. Silla was not to be seen. A girl went with a bucket from the cowshed into the pent-house. She looked up towards him and laughed, and the consequence was that Nikolai continued his way towards the factory without once turning round. They must be able to see through the walls in there! And they had already begun to wonder at his coming there so often.
The waterfall was turned off, so that only a white streak ran over the dam and fell drop by drop upon the wheel. A cart was rattling along the road in front of him. Now it stopped to unload; the load was tumbled off with one tilt. It was mould that they were driving to the garden outside the office building at the factory.
Within the fence were a number of women and girls busily at work. They were raking, pulling up and planting, while a man followed with a hose; and out of the open window, with his straw hat on his head, hung young Veyergang, and talked.
; There stood Mrs. Holman, with arms akimbo, beside one of the black flower-beds, inspecting some plant that she had patted down with her hand; and—Silla! on her knees, pulling up weeds into her apron from a bed close to the house. It was with her Veyergang was joking from the window, and she shook her head and laughed, and looked up for a moment—she dared not answer because of Mrs. Holman.
It was as if a pair of pincers with many claws had suddenly taken hold of Nikolai’s heart, and he all at once remembered so vividly the day when he had had Ludvig Veyergang under his fists.
He went back with a weight like lead upon his breast, and sat down on the edge of a ditch in the field, whence he could, unseen, keep an eye upon all who came down the road.
She had looked so much too pretty when she raised her head with that suppressed merriment in her glance. This was what his thoughts would return to, and he only saw before him what he suffered from.
An hour had passed. Almost stupidly he had watched one after another come down the road; but all at once his face changed colour. Ludvig Veyergang was sauntering past, dashing and easy, with his stick held loosely in his hand. He had red cheeks like a girl, and fine black whiskers beneath the straw hat, and he half closed his grey eyes to look about him, while he hummed softly.
Nikolai gazed despondently after him, as he disappeared down the road.
Again this same old hopelessness before a superior force, this feeling for which he could never find words and vent, unless it some day happened that—he closed his eyes, and there was a compressed, violent expression about his mouth and chin.
There came Silla by Mrs. Holman’s side, with bent head, like a willow that is bowed by its growth. Sometimes she stole a glance around, like a school-girl who avoids her teacher’s eye.
They separated at the Valsets’ cottage; Silla went in after the evening’s milk.
She came out again with the can, and took the path over the meadow. She went quickly, smiling to herself, and an almost frightened expression came into her face when Nikolai rose out of the bush by the ditch.
“Do you start when you see me, Silla?”
“How fierce you look!” she answered jestingly.
“You did say you’d be my wife, didn’t you, Silla?”
“What makes you say that now, Nikolai? It’s such a long time to then.”
“I may need to hear it once more. When you aren’t more sure than I am, you like to feel twice whether the strap you are holding on to is firmly fastened, or if it will give way. You have got so much into your head since you came up here to the factory.”
“Take care! Just you take care, Nikolai. You have become so dreadfully afraid for me lately,” she said, laughing saucily; “but I’ve become a little grown-up too. It’s only you who don’t see it, and stand there like a post! But you can’t think how awfully busy I am now. As soon as ever I’ve swallowed my supper, I go up to the factory again. I and Kristofa and Kalla and Josefa have got the whole of the weeding and tidying up in the office garden, down all the peas and carrots, and cabbage-beds as well; and when it grows over in the autumn, we shall have that too.”
Nikolai only stood reckoning. Twenty-seven dollars, subtracting what he had spent on his mother today—the ham, too, for he would not get that back—that was what he owned, and he needed at least twice as much again before he could get the most necessary things for his room. Only to get her out of this, even if he had to work day and night.
Aloud he only said cautiously: “If we are only wise, and careful, and look well ahead, perhaps we may be sitting in our own room by next spring, Silla. But so many things may happen in between,” he added huskily, with a deep-drawn sigh.
“I really believe there’ll be neither life nor courage in you until you’re married, Nikolai,” she said, laughing; “you’re so horrid to meet now, that it’s enough to make one quite sad and uncomfortable the whole evening. A nice sweetheart you are!” She swung roguishly round on her heel, with the can extended, and ran down the road, nodding a farewell.
He had not got so far as to tell her what he had originally gone up there for—the news about his mother, and, to tell the truth, he had completely forgotten it; but it would be time enough next time he met her. And it must not be too long to that, things looking as they did now.
* * * *
A few weeks afterwards some one inquired for him.
A peasant carter, in a state of great uncertainty about his load, had stopped outside the eating-house. Part of the load was made up of his mother’s big chest, which the man had undertaken to drive to town, and leave for the meantime at Nikolai’s. Barbara herself was to follow in a day or two.
She must have some project in her head! Perhaps she was thinking of going out to service again.
And one evening when he came home he found a red wooden box and a pair of laced boots upon the chest. His mother must have been there!
Half an hour later she appeared. She had only been out to buy a little new rye-bread, cheese, and butter to take up to her lodgings this evening.
In the meantime she cut some for herself and offered some to him.
Her ample figure, in addition to her effects, almost filled Nikolai’s narrow little bedroom. She had become rather short of breath, and acquired a double-chin with so much sitting indoors; the lower part of her face, which, in the brilliancy of youth, had been covered with pure, healthy mountain roses, now, as it moved in the process of eating, gave only the impression of powerful crushing with still solid teeth, in which, however, toothache, from many scalding cups of coffee, had made here and there serious inroads. While she sat on the chest and he on the bed, she gave expression to the following:
The farmer with whom she had bargained to live—for eighteen dollars a year and help at the busy seasons, while she found herself in coffee—was so pinching and mean about the board, that she had been obliged to buy one thing and another herself; well, he had seen the ham himself, and knew what she had been accustomed to at the Veyergangs’. She could truly say that she had swallowed her food with tears many a time, when she thought of all that she had done for Ludvig and Lizzie, that she had carried them in her arms and been more to them than their own mother. And then to think that the reward of all this should be hard work in the hay and corn harvest! No, she was praised by too many mouths for that!
She had waited patiently, too, thinking they would remember old Barbara. Oh no! one would have to remind them one’s self, if that were to be!
But now that she had Nikolai there, she had thought and meditated and reflected about setting up a little shop in the town. And she had been out to the Consul’s today.
He was cross when she went into the office, and snappish; but she knew him, and began talking cleverly:
“How is mistress and Mr. Ludvig and Miss Lizzie, might I be so bold as to ask? Bless me, they must have grown so tall and so grand now, that they couldn’t be expected to know a poor servant again!”
“‘Thin—thin as laths,’ he laughed. ‘You might easily hold them one in each arm now! But you must have eaten up the whole barn up there; I didn’t remember that you were so big, Barbara. I should think he’s had to give up house and lands, that farmer?’ he said, to tease me.
“‘Thank you, I wasn’t accustomed to cattle fodder at the Consul’s house,’ said I; ‘and it’s me, rather, that’s in such circumstances that I must leave. That man takes pretty good care that he is not cheated.’
“And then I talked about Ludvig and Lizzie until I began to cry.
“‘And that harum-scarum boy of yours?’ he asked.
“‘Thank you,’ said I, ‘my son Nikolai is now a finished journeyman smith in this city.’
“And then I told him my thoughts of coming to town to go into trade. ‘I have always noticed that it has been better to be behind the counter than in front of it,�
� I said.
“Then he laughed. ‘You want to make yourself a new storehouse in town, I see, Barbara.’
“‘Yes, sir, when it can be done honestly, and with a little help; every one aims at their own maintenance.’
“And then he promised me right down a free room and kitchen in one of the houses up in the manufacturing part of the town for a whole year!”
As mother and son sat opposite to one another, they were not without a certain similarity; but where the leading of fate had turned the features of his broad, intelligent face into muscle and energy, it had in Barbara relaxed all the springs into dull, ponderous fat.
It was not, however, without a certain amount of enthusiasm that she now unfolded her plans for the little business, and how she should procure credit, a little at each place; she still had acquaintances at the shops in the neighbourhood, from the time she was at the Veyergangs’. Afterwards it was only to sell out, pay for the old, get new again; it all went round like a winch!
But she must have a little more ready money, for hers would not go far enough. Now, if Nikolai could help her with a little; it would all lie in the goods, so that, for that matter, it was the same whether he put his pence there or in his pocket—the same to a T!
Could he tell her where she could buy a counter cheap! Or rather, get it on credit; if there was anything she was hard up for now, it was ready money. Perhaps she might as well try to take out a little more at the carpenter’s at once, only a fair-sized folding-table, two beds, and a few chairs. She had thought that when once she had got it started and into order, Nikolai might live with her. If she prepared all his meals for him besides, the one thing might be set off against the other, and part of his wages go towards it—he must himself reckon up and say how much he thought.
Barbara continued more eagerly to build up in her own mind, and emphasising now and then with a smack of her hand, how everything was to be.