Icecutter's Daughter, The

by Tracie Peterson

  At nearly forty years of age, Aron Jorgenson was fifteen years Rurik’s senior. Though a bit thicker at the waist and a tad shorter, Aron was the spitting image of their father. Not only that, but his counsel was just as wise. He had always been a good source of wisdom and staid thinking for Rurik—as were his other five siblings—and now was certainly no exception.

  “Ja, I think it’s good for you to go and help Carl,” Aron was saying. “He did a lot to help Far and Mor when times were bad. It would only be right.” He stirred sugar into his own cup and nodded. “He has no one else, and it is our duty to see to his care. If he is too sickly, you might have to bring him here. Elizabeth will make a room for him.”

  Rurik smiled. “Your wife would make room for all the forsaken, if she thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Ja, my Elizabeth is a good woman.” Aron sampled the coffee and added another spoonful of sugar. “So when will you go?”

  “The day after tomorrow. I have my ticket.”

  Aron nodded. “And you will write to me and let me know how it goes with you?”

  “Of course,” Rurik replied. “You know I value your counsel.” He paused and thought of his earlier encounter with Svea and Nils. “In fact, I have something more I need to discuss before I go to Minnesota.”

  “What’s that? Something troubling you?”

  Rurik pushed back his mug. “I told Svea and Nils that I was leaving to go help Carl. They were not at all pleased. Svea believes I’m running away from her and the engagement, and Nils . . . well . . . I think he believes the same thing.”

  “And are you?”

  Shrugging, Rurik shook his head. “I don’t know. I told Svea I thought we both needed time to decide if marriage was what we wanted. After all, it was a plan set in motion by our fathers when we were little children.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should dishonor their wishes.”

  “Nor does it mean I should be obligated to it,” Rurik countered. “Mor never liked the idea of an arranged marriage. She thought a person should marry for love and that God had a particular person in mind for each of us.”

  “Ja, but what if that person is Svea Olsson?”

  “If she’s the one, God will show me. I’m not turning away from God or the idea of marriage; rather, I’m asking for clarity on which woman it is that I should take as a wife.”

  “You should do as Far wished. Honoring him is as important as anything else you can do,” Aron said thoughtfully. “He didn’t make the choice lightly. I remember he thought about it for a long time. Prayed about it, too.”

  “God knows my heart, Aron. I hold no dishonor for our parents. What of honoring our mother’s wishes? Like I said, she didn’t like the idea of an arranged marriage. She fought for each of you to marry for love. Have you forgotten that?”

  Aron smiled. “I haven’t forgotten. It just so happened that Far approved my marriage to Elizabeth. He said he had already chosen her for me. He knew she would be a good match for my temperament.”

  “Ja, she’s the only one who can best you in an argument,” Rurik said, laughing. He took a long drink from the mug and got to his feet. “I will be sorry to leave Elizabeth’s good cooking. I don’t imagine Carl has anyone around who can cook nearly as well.”

  Aron pushed back his blond hair and nodded. “No one cooks as well as my wife.”

  “Oh, listen to you,” Elizabeth said, coming into the kitchen. “Aren’t you full of compliments.” She leaned down and kissed Aron on the top of his head. “So what are you boys doing just sitting around?”

  “We were talking about my trip to help Uncle Carl,” Rurik said. “I leave the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’d best get to work, then,” she replied, pulling her face into a frown. “I’ll need to bake you some cookies and cardamom rusks to take with you. It’s a long ways, ja. I’ll pack you some cheese and lutefisk, too.”

  “No lutefisk. They would kick me off the train for smelling it up.” Rurik didn’t bother to add that he’d never been that fond of the lye-soaked fish. “I’ll be happy to take the cookies and rusks. I suppose the cheese is all right, too. So long as it’s not the strong-smelling variety.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll do what I can.” She looked to her husband. “Do you need more coffee?”

  “No. I’m going to get back to work. Rurik and I were just finishing up.”

  Rurik nodded and headed to the front door. “In fact, I am going over to the Olsson farm to pick up the milk and cream you wanted.”

  “Oh, good,” Elizabeth replied. “I’d nearly forgotten. You hurry back so I can have it for the cookies.”

  “Well, I kind of need to talk to Svea for a few minutes. Can it wait that long?” Rurik asked.

  Elizabeth beamed him a smile. “Time with your sweetheart is always allowed.”

  He frowned. “Well, she’s not exactly feeling sweet toward me right now. She’s not happy I’m heading off to Minnesota. I told her I thought the time apart would do us good.”

  “Oh, Rurik. You didn’t.” Elizabeth shook her head as if he were a young boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “No woman wants to hear such a thing. You should go and tell her you were wrong. Tell her that you will think of her every day and that you will miss her. Promise to bring her home a present. Ja, she’ll like that.”

  Rurik considered his sister-in-law’s words for a moment. “I’ll do what I can.”

  He thought of Elizabeth’s suggestion while hitching a large draft horse to the wagon. He thought even more about her words while driving to the Olsson place. There was no way around it, though. He wasn’t sure he could tell Svea that he would think of her every day or that he would miss her. Truth be told, Rurik wasn’t convinced he would. At least no more than he would miss Nils or Aron. He frowned. The more he considered the matter, the more certain he felt that marriage to Svea was not the right thing for either of them.

  He brought the horse to a stop just outside the Olsson back door. The peddler’s wagon was parked near the front of the house, so he figured Mrs. Olsson and Svea would be busy looking over his many goods. Rurik headed to the milking barn, but neither Nils nor Mr. Olsson seemed to be around. Though he didn’t like the idea, he knew he would need to ask Mrs. Olsson their whereabouts, and she would no doubt want him to stay to supper. She would certainly question him about his plans, for no doubt Svea had already told her mother that Rurik was headed to Minnesota.

  He sighed, walked slowly to the front door of the farmhouse, and knocked. He wiped his boots an extra time for good measure, then made sure he was smiling as the door opened. Svea looked at him with a rather silly expression.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She giggled and stepped back. “Do come in. I was just telling Thomas . . . Mr. Samples . . . about my need for new ribbon. You know, don’t you, Rurik, that a girl has to do what she can to look pretty.” She cocked her head to one side, then motioned him in.

  Rurik followed her into the front room and nodded at the man. Mr. Samples wasn’t much older than Rurik, and the way he looked at Svea suggested he thought her more than pretty.

  The man had already begun to gather up his products, but he paused to look at Rurik and extended his hand. “Thomas Samples with Samples’ Samples.” He grinned as if he’d just announced the cleverest of company names. Rurik briefly shook his hand before the salesman returned to packing up his goods. “I told Miss Olsson there wasn’t a ribbon in my possession that could match her beauty,” the man declared. “Why, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve seen in the entire state.”

  Svea looked coyly at the salesman. “You are just the sweetest man to say so, Thomas.” She didn’t even pretend to be too forward in using his first name. She glanced back at Rurik and smiled. “I forgot to ask. Whatever are you doing here, Rurik?”

  “I came for the milk and cream. Thought I’d talk to you, as well.”

  She gave a little shrug and all but waltzed to where Samples stood. “As you can see, I’m quite busy right
now. Besides, I thought you made yourself quite clear earlier. I can’t think that we have anything more to say about the matter.” She reached down to pick up a pair of gloves, studying them with great interest.

  Rurik didn’t want to start another argument. “Very well. If you’ll tell me where your mother or father is, I’ll go fetch the milk.”

  Svea frowned. Apparently this wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. She plopped the gloves back down. “Mother is in the kitchen, of course. Papa and Nils are gone, so you’ll have to wait for them.”

  “I’ll speak to your mother, then.” He nodded to Mr. Samples. “Good day.”

  Rurik passed on through the house into the kitchen where he found Mrs. Olsson busy frosting a cake.

  “Oh, Rurik. It’s good to see you. Are you hungry?”

  “No, ma’am. I came for the milk and cream. Svea said that Mr. Olsson and Nils were gone.”

  “Ja, but they will be back shortly. Why don’t you sit and have a cup of coffee while you wait. You must be cold. It looks like snow.”

  “I think it will snow tonight for sure,” he said. “But I’m really all right.”

  “And how’s your family—Aron and Elizabeth . . . the children?”

  “All well. Elizabeth is fretful that the youngest might be coming down with a cold, but otherwise everyone is doing fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She went back to frosting the cake. “Can you stay for supper?”

  “No. Elizabeth needs the milk and cream tonight. She’s doing some baking.”

  “Ja, with six children that’s something you have to do all the time.” She grinned at Rurik. “Someday you will have children of your own, and you will see how it is. Always busy for the mother.”

  Rurik was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “I hope you will pardon me. I think I need to speak to Svea once more before I go.”

  “Of course. If you change your mind, the coffee is on the stove.”

  “Ja, thank you.”

  He made his way back through the house in time to find Svea waving from the front door. Mr. Samples was nowhere to be seen, all evidence of his traveling storefront gone from the room.

  Turning around, Svea looked at Rurik for a moment, then smiled. “Thomas is just the nicest man I’ve ever met. He is so thoughtful, too. He seems to really understand me.” She put her hand over her heart.

  “I was hoping you might talk to me now,” Rurik said, unfazed by her words.

  “Thomas travels all over the world,” she offered. “He told me such wonderful stories of his journeys. I almost felt as if I could see the places he described. I thought it all so wonderful.”

  Rurik could tell she wanted a reaction from him, but he wasn’t inclined to give it. She watched him for a moment, then swept across the room and took a seat on the edge of the sofa.

  “I think perhaps you were right, Rurik. Maybe I don’t know my own heart. After all, I found it quite . . . oh, never mind.”

  He nodded. “I can tell that you were enjoying yourself.”

  She smiled. “Well, I suppose with you leaving, it only makes sense that I consider other possibilities.” Again she paused as if waiting for him to react.

  “That is why I wanted us to have time to think through the idea of marriage,” Rurik replied. “I want only good things for you, Svea. You are like a little sister to me.”

  That statement put a frown on her face, which quickly dissolved into a scowl. “Sister? I’m your betrothed. I’m no sister. You are such a nitwit. There are many men who would happily court me.”

  Rurik nodded. “I’ve no doubt . . . and I want you to have a chance to court, Svea. It wasn’t fair of your father to force you into an engagement to me. If in time we both feel that we should marry each other, then we can consider the arrangement once again.”

  “I hate you, Rurik. I hate that you are ruining my life,” Svea said, dropping all pretense of being amiable. “I’m glad you’re leaving. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in the world.” She scrambled to her feet, and her voice grew louder. “I wouldn’t marry you if you begged me.”

  “What in the world is going on?” Mrs. Olsson asked, hurrying into the room.

  “Our betrothal has ended. We will not marry,” Svea announced, hands on her hips.

  Mrs. Olsson looked to Rurik. “Is this true?”

  “If that is what Svea wants.”

  Svea stomped her foot. “I want that and more. I want you to leave and never come back. I hope never to see you again.” She stormed from the room, leaving her mother and Rurik in stunned silence.

  Finally Rurik drew a deep breath. “I will wait for Mr. Olsson and Nils outside.”

  “I was just coming to tell you that they’d returned.” Mrs. Olsson shook her head. “I suggest you get the milk and cream and leave it to me to tell Mr. Olsson about this matter. I’m sure she’s just having a bad moment. You will forgive her, ja?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Mrs. Olsson. It’s best this way. I am sorry,” he said.

  “I don’t know what happened, but I’ve never been in favor of arranged marriages. My sisters and I had to endure such things, and while it worked out in the long run, there were many years of unhappiness.” She looked toward the window as if trying to see something beyond the room. “I didn’t wish such a thing for Svea. I would like for her to marry a good man like you, but I would want it to be her choice.”

  “Ja,” Rurik replied. “That is what I want, as well. I told her as much. I’m going to Minnesota to help my uncle Carl. He’s been ill. I told Svea I thought the time apart would do us good. I wanted her to have time to think about this arrangement. I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and in my heart I know I do not love Svea as a man should love the woman he intends to marry. I will always care for her, but she is like a little sister to me.”

  Mrs. Olsson looked quite sad and nodded. “It is as I have always suspected. Oh, Rurik, I wouldn’t want you to marry under such circumstances.”

  “I know our fathers intended . . .”

  He didn’t know what else to say. He had clearly made a mess of things, but at least Mrs. Olsson seemed to understand.

  “Their intensions were good, Rurik,” she said, reaching out to pat his arm. “But they thought too much of themselves, the adjoining farms, the business side of things . . . and not enough of the heart. I will talk to Svea and help her to see the sense of this. You will come back and see us?”

  “I hope so,” he said, but shook his head. “I still plan to go into business for myself.” He didn’t mention Nils or his desire to work with Rurik. Nils had made it clear that he wasn’t telling his parents of those plans until the time came to leave his father’s employment, knowing there would be hard feelings and disagreements.

  Rurik had to maintain Nils’s secret a little longer. “And I am praying for God to show me what is to be done with . . . Svea. I am not deserting her. I truly want to do what God would have me do. If I am to marry her, though, I must love her.”

  Mrs. Olsson squeezed his arm. “I agree. You must. I wouldn’t want it any other way. My daughter is young, and she doesn’t yet know her own heart. Give her time. Give yourself time.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Well, I’m probably the only one who will. But don’t worry. Commit this to the Lord, and He will direct your steps.”

  Rurik nodded. “I will.”

  He collected the milk and cream without seeing Mr. Olsson. Nils tried his best to pick up their earlier discussion, but Rurik put him off. He had to hurry the dairy products back to Elizabeth, he said, but he offered to meet Nils the following day if he wanted to talk more, and that seemed to satisfy his friend.

  Snow began to fall and grew heavier as Rurik neared home. The wind picked up and chilled him to the bone. With a little more than a mile to go, Rurik lowered his hat to ward off the cold. He could barely see for the dimming light and blowing snow, but finally he spied lights in the
window of the Jorgenson farmhouse.

  But it doesn’t feel like home, he thought, guiding the wagon into the barn. He shook the snow off his coat and climbed down to take care of the horse. The gelding seemed impatient to be let out of the harness.

  “Easy, boy,” Rurik said, brushing snow from the horse’s mane. He worked quickly in the silence of the barn. Walking the draft horse to the far end of the barn, Rurik opened a pen and released the horse. “You can wait here until the storm dies down.”

  “Uncle Rurik?” A boy of thirteen was forcing open a small side door of the barn. “Are you in here?”

  “Ja, I’m here, Michael. What is it?”

  The boy struggled to close the door behind him. “Mama said to see if you needed help.”

  “That was good of you.” Rurik smiled. “I have the milk and cream for her. You can help me carry it into the house.”

  The boy hesitated for a moment. “Mama said you’re going away to Minnesota.”

  “I am,” Rurik said. “Your papa isn’t the only one who needs help. My uncle Carl needs my help, too.”

  “To make furniture?”

  “Ja. To make furniture.”

  “I want to come, too,” Michael said. “I want to help make furniture.”

  Rurik smiled. “Since when?”

  The boy shrugged. “Since you taught me how to build that little table for my room. I like the wood. I told Father that I wanted to be like you and make furniture. I don’t want to farm.”

  “And what did he say?” Rurik asked.

  Michael frowned. “He told me I had to go to school first, and that while I went to school I had to help with the farm.”

  “Ja, that is right. You have to help your family. But when you are older, I would be proud to have you work with me.”

  “Really?”

  The boy’s enthusiasm caused Rurik to laugh. “Really. But you will need to finish school. Even your farfar believed we should get our education. You go to school and study hard. When summer comes and your chores are done, you can help me with building the furniture. Then when I have my own shop, maybe your father will let you come and help there.”