She tried to not think about what it must have cost, but it was like trying to stop a windstorm. Imagine, having the money to hire a cab to assist someone you’d never before met and never would see again.
“Mor, Mor,” Thorliff cried.
She ignored the sudden pang brought by the thought of never seeing her guardian angel again and bent down to answer Thorliff’s question. She could tell by the way he tugged on her skirts that he’d been trying to get her attention for a long while. “What is it, child?”
“Look, we’re almost there. Far called us.” He pointed to the squared-off prow of the dingy white ferry.
Now Ingeborg did feel a stab of guilt. She should have been helping Kaaren with the baby and their valises. “Mange takk, den lille. You are good to remind your mor this way. Now let’s go see what we can do to help. We have lots of things to carry.”
By the time they transferred their belongings to a cart, crossed to the Pennsylvania Railroad station, and boarded, a thick silence, punctuated only by the grunts of the two men stowing their belongings, had fallen on the group. Even Thorliff, creator of a myriad of questions, had discovered that staying out of his father’s way and keeping quiet made good sense.
Ingeborg kept him close to her, finding little things for him to do to ease the tension and pass the time away. She slipped him a cookie out of the well-filled basket provided by Mrs. Flaksrude and winked to let him know he should keep the treat a secret.
Kaaren had done her part by shooing other passengers away from the facing double seats. Carl had claimed them for his families when he carried the first load on the car. When they finally could all sit down, they sighed in unison.
“Thanks be to God.” Kaaren shifted little Gunhilde in her arms to free one hand to clasp that of her husband.
“Ja, you have said that right.” Carl leaned his head on the seat back. “Why is it that we who have so little right now seem to have so much?”
“It will seem like blessed little when we reach our homestead.” Roald drew a long list from his breast pocket and studied it for the hundredth time. “The way our funds are dwindling, I don’t see how we will ever buy all that we need to get started. The money slips away like grain draining out a hole in the sack.” The frown deepened above his bushy eyebrows. He shook his head and traveled one finger down the paper. “We are going to need all of these things if we’re going to get crops in next spring.”
Ingeborg knew the list by heart, having been a part of all the family discussions around the oak table on what to bring with them and what to buy when they arrived in Amerika. But there had been no more money to be found anywhere in the family. All the relatives had donated everything they could earn, beg, or spare. The immigrants would have to make do with what they had. There was nothing new in that.
Ingeborg glanced up at the sound of angry shouting. At the far end of the car, a huge man in black pants and a once-white shirt held another by the jacket front; he lifted him clear off the wooden seat. A frightened woman beside the strung-up person appeared to be pleading for mercy. Ingeborg was beginning to realize how much she could tell about others just by watching them and listening to their tone of voice.
She placed her hands over Thorliff’s ears and bent her head to rest her cheek on his curly hair. After the early morning rising and all the excitement of the streets of New York, he lay curled in her lap, sound asleep, his forefinger and thumb slipping out of his mouth. Ingeborg felt her heart swell with love for the child. One day he would have land of his own because of the long, hard journey they had endured. The struggle was for their children, for a new life for all of them. She had to remind herself of their dreams, for at the present moment, if offered the chance, she would climb right back on the ship and head home to Norway.
Oh, to see Tante Maria again, her far and mor, brothers and sisters, the hills behind their house, covered with pine trees still trimmed with snow. To breathe the clean, nip-your-nose air. She unintentionally drew in a deep breath and carefully hid a cough. The smell of damp wool, unwashed bodies, wet babies, and burning coal was almost more than she could bear.
The whistle blew and the train jerked forward. As they pulled out of the soot-stained station, Ingeborg craned her neck for one last look at the large city across the water. When a fleeting thought of a tall man in a gray wool topcoat intruded upon her reverie, she quickly shut the door on that particular memory. She had met him, enjoyed their brief time together, and would be forever grateful for his generous treatment of a lost immigrant. And that would be that.
Carl reached for the basket. He removed the jar of coffee and poured each of them a small cup. He handed them all a cookie and said, “I propose a toast.” He held his coffee up. “To our new life in our new land. And to a change. We have been spelling Amerika with a k. That is not the way it is spelled in this country. America is spelled with a c. We will learn many other new words, and from now on, we will be Americans.”
Roald shook his head but added his “here, here” to the others.
Kaaren and Ingeborg clanked cups and drank their treat, letting Thorliff dip his cookie in their coffee. He giggled and said, “Here, here,” raising his cookie just as the adults had.
Ingeborg leaned back against the seat. Bless you, Carl, for giving us some joy on this journey. We all need to be reminded about the joy.
By late afternoon, they all felt as if they’d been on the train forever. If Thorliff had asked, “When will we get there?” once, he’d asked it a hundred times. And they were stiff and sore from hours of sitting on the hard wooden benches.
“Here, you take the baby, and I’ll entertain Thorliff.” Kaaren roused herself from the much needed nap she’d collapsed into and extended the closely wrapped infant to Ingeborg. “I need to go to the necessary, anyway.”
Ingeborg watched as the younger woman adjusted to walking down the swaying aisle. Despite the few days of rest, Kaaren still looked a little pale, and Ingeborg recognized the flinches of pain, no matter how hard her sister-in-law tried to disguise them. While Ingeborg had never had a baby herself, she’d watched her mother massage her stomach in that same way when she thought no one was looking.
The infant in her arms whimpered, so Ingeborg set to rocking against the back of the seat. “Hush now, den lille, your mother will be back soon, and it wasn’t that long ago that you ate, anyway.” She looked out the sooty window to see the outskirts of a small town before the train passed clickety-clack by. A blanket of snow covered the ground, and it appeared to be falling again. Maybe they should have waited until spring to travel, as they’d been advised. But Roald had insisted they be on the land, their own land, by the time the snow melted.
She caught back a sigh. Right now, spring seemed as far off as eternity.
By evening, Thorliff had made friends with the two dark-eyed boys across the aisle, and the car rang with the merry shouts of children. Ingeborg smiled at the boy’s mother, for, unlike the playing children, their only method of communication was to smile at each other.
Roald and Carl returned in time to share the basket of food Mrs. Flaksrude had fixed for them. But other than that, they spent most of their time with a group of men from the next car who were also heading west to homestead. When the train stopped, as it so frequently did, Ingeborg could see the men striding up and down the station platform, their breaths creating puff clouds as they walked and talked.
“Next time they are going to take Thorliff with them,” Ingeborg muttered.
“You know men, they don’t like to be bothered with small boys,” Kaaren said, then shifted on the hard bench, trying to get comfortable.
“Humph.” Ingeborg settled herself more securely into the corner, a blanket she’d drawn from their valise folded behind her. She rubbed her stomach and swallowed carefully. Was this queasy feeling gnawing in her stomach from something she’d eaten, or was it because of Roald’s babe she carried?
“Are you all right?” Kaaren leaned forward to look mor
e closely in the gloomy light. Kerosene lamplight gave everyone a yellow tinge and deep shadows.
“I will be.” Ingeborg gritted her teeth.
“You look terrible. See, you are even perspiring, and it is not that warm in here.”
Ingeborg bolted to her feet and flew down the aisle, careening off the seat backs in her desperation. She shoved open the door of the necessary and threw up.
“Are you all right?” Ingeborg heard Kaaren’s concerned voice as she knocked on the door.
“Ja, I will be,” Ingeborg called out.
“What?” Kaaren said, leaning her ear against the door.
Ingeborg raised her voice and repeated herself.
“Can I get you something? Water, perhaps?” asked Kaaren as she shifted Gunhilde to her shoulder.
“Nei, there is some here.” Ingeborg wet the bit of muslin she kept tucked in her sleeve for a handkerchief and wiped the beads of moisture from her forehead and her mouth. If only the train would stop swaying.
“Are you running a fever?” Kaaren asked when Ingeborg finally made her way back to their seats.
“Nei, I am not sick in that way. Remember when you were in the early months with her?” Ingeborg nodded to the infant sleeping in Kaaren’s arms.
“O-o-h.” Kaaren’s face lit up like a brightly burning candle in the dark. “You are with child. Oh, Ingeborg, I am so happy for you.” Kaaren clasped one of Ingeborg’s frigid hands in her own. “No wonder you . . . you . . .” Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Does Roald know yet?”
Ingeborg shook her head. “I planned to tell him as soon as we stepped foot on our new land, but you know what the last few days have been like. It slipped my mind in all the moving.” She shook her head. The guilt of keeping something this special from her husband made her squirm. To be honest, she just hadn’t felt like telling Roald. While there had been no good time, she knew she could have found a way.
She laid her hand on her still-flat belly and gazed at the sleeping babe in Kaaren’s arms. This certainly wasn’t the best time to be suffering from morning sickness, but maybe this one episode would be the only incident. She couldn’t afford to be sick now. There was so much to do when they reached the end of their journey. And what would Roald say?
A day later, after countless trips up the aisle, Ingeborg thought maybe she really did have some intestinal disorder. But if so, it hadn’t seemed to bother anyone else, at least not as far as she could tell.
The train slowed and ground to a squealing halt. She stared out the window, but as for the past several hours, all she could see was blowing snow. The flakes glistened like flashes of white in the light from the kerosene lamp.
The uniformed conductor entered from the rear door and called out commands in what Ingeborg was beginning to recognize as American.
Several of the men got to their feet and, after donning heavy coats, caps, and gloves, followed the conductor out the door. A gust of wind sent a swirl of flakes into the car.
Carl and Roald reached for their coats.
“Where are you going?” Kaaren asked softly.
“I think they need help. We were told that passengers should assist the crew in shoveling when the snow drifts too deeply over the tracks.” Carl wrapped a long scarf around his neck and pulled on his mittens. “You sleep for a while. We’ll be back.”
Ingeborg watched the exchange from the warmth of her quilted cocoon. Snow or not, right now she felt deeply grateful that the train had ceased its swaying.
For what seemed like hours, the train intermittently waited, pulled forward a ways, and then waited again. Each time they cleared a drift away, the men came in, gathered around the potbellied stove at one end of the car to get warm, and then, when the train stopped again, headed back outside to clear the track.
While the men labored in the biting cold, a woman at the end of the car kept the stove stoked with coal and a large coffeepot boiling on top. They counted the hours from one drift to another.
Ingeborg awoke to another heaving attack. Afterward, in the necessary, she discovered bright stains of scarlet.
Please, God, no, I want this baby. Don’t take it away before it even has breath. Please,” Ingeborg pleaded. She hadn’t even told Roald the good news yet, and now it may be too late.
After adjusting her clothing, she poured a few drops of water from the bucket into her handkerchief and patted her mouth, wishing for the pure, clear water that flowed in the mountain streams back home. The thought of drinking out of this communal pail made her gag again.
By now, most everything made her gag: eating, not eating, the smell of other people’s food, the sway of the train, the stench of drying wool from the coats hung about the stove. Grabbing the backs of the seats, she slowly made her way back to their seats. Fear settled in the middle of her breast and wrapped its tentacles around her heart.
Was this a harbinger of things to come? She shuddered at the thought.
She tried to put a composed look on her face, but when she sat down, she couldn’t help noticing Kaaren’s worried look.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Kaaren whispered urgently.
Ingeborg glanced at the sleeping men and children and shook her head, placing a finger on her lips. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back, so softly that she wasn’t certain Kaaren had heard her. The younger woman nodded but didn’t take her gaze off Ingeborg’s face.
Ingeborg slipped into a troubled sleep, with Thorliff leaning against her. It seemed only moments before she awoke with a start, sure that the scream she’d heard had been her own. The dream had been so vivid she could still feel her heart pounding. In it, Roald had been furious with her. He had even raised his fist.
His voice still echoed in her ears. “You never told me, and now you lost the baby. I need more sons. What is the matter with you?”
She glanced to his sleeping form beside her, soft snores puffing his lips. When could she tell him? Here? Amidst all the restless immigrants and their squalling children?
Ingeborg closed her eyes again, hoping to stem the queasiness already welling within her. Like all else she’d tried lately, that too failed. Gently moving Thorliff, she headed for the necessary once again.
As she staggered down the aisle, she thought of her mother. Had she been sick like this when she carried her babies? Oh, to be at home and feel her mother’s gentle healing hands on her forehead.
She shoved against the closed door. Locked. Someone was in there. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the vision of their home high above the fjord. The snow lay crystalline about the house, bending the pine boughs low with the weight. The air sharp, clean. Her attention jerked back to the railcar. She must have breathed deeply by accident, for the heavy odors from the car started her to gagging again.
Oh, would this journey never end?
Roald awoke to find his wife curled in her corner of the seat, pale and shaking. “Ingeborg, what is the matter?” He laid a hand on her forehead to check for fever, but she shook her head. “Are you ill?”
Ingeborg shook her head again as tears leaped up her raw throat and threatened to spill from her eyes at the kindness and concern in his voice.
“Then, what is it?”
“I . . . I wanted to tell you at a better time, but this child of yours seems to be causing all kinds of problems.”
“This child of . . .” The light dawned on his face like that of a bright sun rising. “You are carrying my son?”
Leave it to a man. Ingeborg shook her head and smiled in spite of her misery. “Bear in mind that this one could be a daughter. But yes, we will have a baby before fall.” If I carry it that long. She refused to allow the thought to take root. She would bear this child. She would.
She watched her husband’s strong face as he thought through the news. He nodded his head, and when he turned to look at her again, the smile she’d always dreamed of lifted the corner of his mouth.
“That is good.” He nodded again. “That is very
good.”
Ingeborg’s tide of emotion burst, but she hid her tears in his shoulder. He had smiled! A smile that rode an arrow directly to her heart and spread throughout her chest. Within moments, her stomach settled, and she fell back asleep, exhausted, but peaceful.
They reached Chicago six hours past the designated morning arrival time. Coming in, they’d passed acres of stockyards filled with thousands of cattle raising a cloud of steam on the frigid air.
“Look, Far. See all the cows. We are going to have cows on our farm and sheeps, too.” Thorliff bounced in front of the window as if during the night someone had filled his pant legs with springs. “So many cows. Why are they all in the pens?”
“They are ready to be butchered so people will have meat to eat.” Carl set the child back on his feet after a particularly hard jolt of the train sent the boy careening into his uncle’s knees.
“We will have milk from our own cow. I’m going to learn how to milk it, Far said.”
“Don’t you want meat too?”
Ingeborg watched the wheels turning in her small son’s mind. He’d been part of the butchering that fall before they left and understood that to have meat, the animal must die.
“Ja, but”—a grin stretched his rosy cheeks—“we will have to have two cows and calves too.”
“You are a smart one, you are.” Carl tousled the boy’s curly hair. “How about we go out on the platform so you can see better? Get your coat and hat; it’s cold out there.”
Ingeborg watched them go, grateful for the reprieve from Thorliff’s unending questions.
“Now, you will tell me what frightened you so terribly.” Kaaren had shifted Gunhilde to the opposite arm and was carefully keeping the nursing infant covered with a quilt over her shoulder.
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