Song of Sampo Lake

by William Durbin

  “Anything that doesn’t involve chopping sounds good to me.”

  Father got out a roll of chicken wire, his side cutters, and some bailing wire. He formed one piece of the mesh into a cylinder and wired it together. Then he took two more pieces and made cones that tapered to an opening the size of his wrist. After wiring a cone to both ends, he made a hinged door in the side.

  They set the trap under a fallen log in a creek that flowed out of the west end of the lake. The bank was thick with meadow grass. “This will make fine hay,” Father noted, chewing a green stem.

  After they were done, Father gave Matti permission to take the rifle and hunt for a squirrel or a rabbit on the far side of the river. Matti followed a trail that led along the west shore. Near the end of the bay a big popple had fallen across a second trail that veered east. When Matti noticed the roof of Black Jack’s cabin through the trees, he decided to stay on the main trail. Though squirrels were usually chattering everywhere, now that Matti was carrying a gun they had all disappeared.

  Just when Matti was ready to turn around, he saw a partridge. Before he could shoot, the bird ducked its head and ran. Matti followed close behind, but every time he raised his gun the bird dodged behind a rock or tree.

  With his head bent low and his gun pointed forward, Matti suddenly burst into a clearing. He found himself staring at the rear of a log building. “Hey there, laddie,” a voice called.

  Matti turned, accidentally aiming his gun at Billy Winston. “Take it easy.” Billy pushed the barrel to one side.

  “I’m sorry.” Matti quickly lifted up the gun.

  “Are we tracking a bear or looking for dragons to slay, maybe?” Billy said. He had a slop pail in his hand.

  It took Matti a long while to translate dragon in his head. He hadn’t spoken English since he’d left Soudan, and Billy’s strange rolling r’s made him doubly hard to understand. Just when Matti decided that Billy was joking, Billy glanced at the rifle and said, “Hunting season doesn’t open for two months, you know.”

  Would he have Matti arrested for poaching? “I was only—” Matti began, talking louder than he meant to.

  Billy smiled and set his pail down. “Don’t worry, lad. Nobody cares how you homesteaders fill your soup pots. So how are Maude and Katie doing?”

  “Katie’s moody like you warned,” Matti said.

  Billy nodded. “Have your folks filed a claim near here?”

  “No.” Matti shook his head. “Our land is a long way off at a place called Sampo Lake.”

  “We’re neighbors, then,” Billy said. “Without knowing it, you took a shortcut. There’s an old Indian trail that leads from Sampo Lake to the Pike River. Your place is no more than three miles away from mine. To get home by road you’d have to go all the way back to Tower, but it’s only a short jaunt through the woods.”

  “So the path between here and Sampo Lake is like the bottom of a”—Matti searched for the correct English word—“a triangle?”

  “That’s right.” Billy nodded. “I can tell you’re a smart fellow. Have you ever thought about working as a clerk? I could use someone who knows Finnish. My French and Ojibwe are passable, but that Finn talk ties my tongue in knots. Lots of the farmers and lumberjacks around here go all the way to Tower so they can trade with someone who speaks their language.”

  “I could ask my Father,” Matti said.

  “Good,” Billy said, slapping him on the shoulder. “If it’s all right with him, you can start next Saturday. I pay four bits a day.”

  “Next Saturday?” Matti was shocked that he would want him to begin so soon. A half a dollar a day was only a fourth of what he’d made in the mine, but every penny would be helpful.

  “I’ll see you then, la—” Billy started to say “lad” but stopped and said, “Matti, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Matti smiled.

  Knowing that Father would be worried if he were gone much longer, Matti unloaded his gun and trotted toward home. The more Matti thought about clerking in the store, the more he hoped that Father would let him try. It would be fun to meet new people. After working beside Father for so long, Matti could guess which story Father was going to tell before he even opened his mouth. Matti needed to get away before he began finishing Father’s sentences the way Anna and Kari did for each other.

  The shadows were lengthening by the time Matti reached the log bridge at Sampo Creek. He checked the trap and found a good-sized northern. Though he hadn’t had any luck with his hunting, he’d at least be bringing supper home.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Matti told Father about Mr. Winston’s offer, he hesitated. “We’ve got a heap of work to do,” he said, “with the road, and the plowing and planting soon to come.”

  “You said we need money.”

  Father nodded. “But it wouldn’t be right to take your wages.”

  “My money could be a seed fund to help with the planting.”

  Father scratched his beard and thought. “I suppose you could try it.”

  At five o’clock the next morning, Matti left for the depot to meet Timo. Matti waited for the train, anxious to tell Timo about his new job.

  At six o’clock the train went by without stopping. Matti paced back and forth in front of Mr. Saari’s shack, wondering if Timo had misunderstood their plans. At seven o’clock he gave up. Just as Matti was turning onto the logging road, he saw Timo strolling down the tracks. Matti was glad to see him until he realized that Timo wasn’t even hurrying.

  “Hello, little brother,” he said. “How’s life in the woods?”

  “Why weren’t you on the train?”

  “I was short of funds,” Timo said, yawning, “so I walked.”

  “Nine miles?” Timo looked as if he had spent the night in a saloon. He smelled of stale beer and cigar smoke, and his eyes were bloodshot. Knowing how Mother despised drinking, Matti wondered if she and Timo were getting along.

  “It’s easy to get an early start if you don’t go to bed.” Timo was proud of himself.

  “You’re late” was all Matti said.

  Matti thought Timo would appreciate the work they had done on the sauna, but when the walls came into view, he said, “I can’t believe the old dreamer stopped reciting poems long enough to pick up an axe.”

  Matti couldn’t believe his ears. Father had always gone out of his way to help Timo. His dream was to start a farm that he could pass on to his firstborn son. “If it weren’t for Father you’d be marching in the czar’s army right now.”

  “Well, well,” Timo said. He was staring at Matti as if he was about to say more when Father shouted, “Timo,” and ran forward to shake his hand. Though Matti could tell that Father wanted to comment on Timo’s appearance, he asked, “How are Mother and the girls?”

  “Mother sends you her love,” Timo said, “and little Anna and Kari are growing so fast that you’d hardly recognize th—” Timo stopped when he saw the lake for the first time. Blinking his bloodshot eyes, he said, “This is like coming home. We could be at Savilahti or Kallavesi this very minute.”

  As Timo walked to the lake, he reported on the family and his work in the mine. Then Father slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Are you ready for a little road building?”

  They started in the wettest spot. Limbing pairs of big tamarack for stringers, they bedded them lengthwise in the mud and spiked smaller, eight-foot-long logs side by side across the top.

  Father clapped his hands. “How fine it is to be working beside my son—my sons. It reminds me of the times we cut firewood on the road to Rytky.”

  Timo, standing behind Father’s back, rolled his eyes.

  Later when Father commented on how his hero Väinö could shatter rocks and fell a forest with the power of his magical songs, Timo yawned and said, “Fairy tales won’t help us chop trees, Father.”

  Matti waited for Father to speak to Timo about his disrespect, but he let it pass. Father would never allow Matti to talk like that, yet he
never corrected Timo. Still, by the middle of the morning Matti could tell that Father was getting impatient with Timo. If Timo wasn’t whining about his headache, he was complaining about the bugs and the mud.

  Finally Father set down his axe and turned to him. “Were you expecting servants and a rose garden?” he asked.

  By the time they paused for lunch, Matti could tell that Timo was feeling the full effect of going a night without sleep. He looked pale, and when Father and Matti cut big slabs off the rye loaf that Mother had sent, Timo only nibbled at his piece. Matti threw the crow a few crumbs, and Timo frowned. “Why would you ever want a pet crow?”

  Matti told the story of how he’d saved the crow after the storm, but Timo said, “You should have put him out of his misery. They call a flock of crows a murder for good reason.”

  “He may be a pest,” Father said, “but there’s nothing murderous about that little fellow. Your brother’s taken fine care of him.”

  Cawing, the crow hopped up on the log beside Timo and pecked at his bread. But Timo tossed his piece to the ground and mashed it under his boot. “There’s some dessert for you, birdie,” he said. Matti could see the color rising in Father’s neck, but he didn’t say anything.

  All afternoon, every time Father said something, Timo acted bored. When Timo and Matti were limbing a tall spruce, Father began quoting a favorite passage from the Kalevala about the giant tree with a hundred branches that kept the world in shadow from the beginning of time.

  Shaking his head, Timo set down his axe and interrupted Father. “It’s time for me to head back to Soudan.”

  The next morning Father made no mention of Timo’s visit, but Matti could tell that he felt bad. However, once they started working, Father was soon humming to himself. A short while later, when Matti got mad at a knot that resisted a half dozen hard swings, Father was back to his old self. “Remember, Matti”—he pointed toward the tree—“there is no limb that can resist a patient axe.”

  Through clenched teeth Matti said, “Easy to say.”

  Father asked, “What do we get when we add patience, strength, and stubbornness together?”

  “Sisu, Father.” Matti finally grinned. “Sisu.”

  By midweek, after Father and Matti had corduroyed the worst spots in the road and started on the sauna floor and roof, the weather suddenly turned stifling hot. “It looks like Minnesota has two temperatures—cold and hot,” Father said.

  Working with a long-handled whipsaw, Matti got covered with itchy sawdust as they ripped the boards one by one from spruce logs. Father left an opening in the floor for the stone hearth of the fireplace. “I can’t wait to get our main cabin built so this can become our savusauna.”

  “Why bother to build a bathhouse”—Matti wiped the sweat from his forehead—“when this weather is as hot as a sauna?”

  As they worked on the roof, the crow kept watch on the ground. If a nail clattered down the side of the building, he hopped over and picked it up. The first time Father was impressed. “Look, he’s fetching a nail for us,” he said.

  But when the crow pecked a hole in the ground and buried the nail, Father yelled, “Useless bird.”

  “Patience, Father,” Matti teased.

  The crow cawed proudly and scratched more dirt on top of his cache. Father had to laugh.

  The next day the crow walked over to the ladder and flapped up to the first rung. Though he teetered and nearly fell on each rung, he finally made it to the top. When he reached the roof, he cawed and spread his wings. Matti noticed that his eyes had changed from blue to brown. His voice was getting deeper and louder, too.

  To Matti’s surprise the crow walked up the roofline, stuck his beak into Father’s nail pouch, and pulled out a nail. Then he waddled to the edge of the roof, dropped the nail, and flapped back down the ladder. When he found his treasure, he buried it in another hole.

  Father shook his head. “Your crow might be worth his salt if you could only teach him to use a hammer, Matti.”

  CHAPTER 11

  On Matti’s first Saturday at the store, he left early to allow extra traveling time. After breakfast was done Father wished him luck and asked, “Have you got your compass and matches?”

  “I’m not going to get lost,” he said.

  “I said, Have you got your compass and matches?”

  Matti shook his head. Father reached into a jar and gave him a handful of his “emergency matches,” waterproofed with candle wax. “Always carry these with you when you go into the woods.”

  The walk went faster than Matti expected. Since the front door of the store was still closed, Matti sat down on the steps and waited.

  A short while later Matti heard footsteps. He stood up and said, “Good morning, Mr. Winston,” as the door swung open.

  “What in tarnation …” Billy jumped. “Have you been sleeping out here all night, lad?”

  “No, Mr. Winston. I just got here sooner than I planned.”

  “Call me Billy.” He waved Matti inside. “My real name isn’t Winston anyway.” For a moment Matti thought he wasn’t understanding Billy’s English. “I was christened William Angus McKenzie the third,” he explained, “but the folks who come to the store figure I’m a Winston because that’s the name out front. It’s simpler to answer to Winston than to correct everybody.”

  “William,” a singsong voice called from inside. “Is the tea ready?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, dear,” Billy called. Turning to Matti, he said, “We only got married last April. Clara was a Hughes girl. She grew up in a big house on Summit Avenue in St. Paul where they never got moving until the afternoon.” Before Billy stepped toward the living quarters in the rear, Matti studied his eyes, trying to see a glimmer of the all-out devotion that his mother had mentioned. Though Billy’s eyes were a lively blue, they looked like regular eyes to him. Matti couldn’t imagine his father ever serving Mother tea in bed. Even when the twins were born, Mother got up the next day and helped with the grain harvest.

  Billy returned and showed Matti around. “Your main jobs will be stocking the bins and shelves and sweeping the floor,” he said. “If a customer comes in while I’m busy, help them as best you can. Of course, if he’s a Finn, you can step right in.”

  “What you got there?” a gruff voice sounded from behind Matti. “A little Finlander to run your candy counter?” Matti turned to see a huge lumberjack in a red wool shirt, green suspenders, and “high-water” pants that were cut off above the tops of his boots. As he took a seat on a nail keg beside the stove, the floor creaked.

  “Never you mind, Karl,” Billy said. “Matti has agreed to help me with my clerking.”

  “Looks like he’d do better in a millinery shop.” Karl laughed. Matti tried not to blush and did his best to listen to the rest of Billy’s directions. Billy waited on the first few customers himself. He showed Matti the cash box and the ledger book where he recorded his charge accounts. Matti noticed that most of the folks enjoyed visiting and were in no hurry to leave. But one tall fellow came in and handed Billy a list and never said a word. Once the order was filled, the man held out a handful of coins. Billy took a quarter and three pennies. Then the man tipped his cap and left.

  “Sven’s one of my best customers,” Billy said. “Comes in every other Saturday and always pays cash.”

  “Doesn’t he ever talk?” Matti asked.

  “No,” Billy said. “Unlike some patrons of this establishment”—Billy made sure that a short, red-bearded man who had joined Karl Gustafson on a bench beside the stove heard him— “he never complains.”

  The short man hooted, “A highlander like you would be lost without a little bellyaching.”

  “The scary thing about Sven,” Billy said, “is that his wife is the quiet one.”

  A minute later a short, scowling man walked in. “Here’s your first customer,” Billy whispered. “His name is Kaarlo Tuomi.”

  Mr. Tuomi was carrying a kerosene can with a small potato
stuck in the spout for a stopper. He looked angry, but when Matti said “Hyvää huomenta” he smiled. As Matti filled his order, Mr. Tuomi asked where he was living, who his parents were, and what province in Finland he’d come from.

  Billy complimented Matti after Mr. Tuomi left, saying, “That’s three times more than he usually buys.”

  Mrs. Winston had watched Matti the whole time, too. She surprised him by asking, “What does hyvää huomenta mean?”

  “Good morning,” Matti said.

  Mrs. Winston repeated it slowly and asked, “Is that right?”

  “Close.” Matti nodded.

  “Clara’s been to finishing school,” Billy said. “That means she knows how to order soup in six languages.”

  Mrs. Winston ignored Billy’s comment. “You may not realize it, Matti, but you and I have a lot in common.”

  “We do?”

  “I’m just as much a foreigner in this place as you are. Why, I felt more at home when I visited Paris than I do in”—she paused and her eyes narrowed as she looked out the front window—“in these woods.” She shivered as if woods were the coldest word in the whole wide world.

  “Now, Clara,” Billy said, “I told you it would take a while for the local folks to warm up to a city gal. They just need time.” Between customers Mrs. Winston asked Matti to teach her how to say please, thank you, and May I help you? in Finnish. In return she helped Matti with his English when he got stuck. D and b sounds were difficult for him, and he had trouble with a, an, and the, because none of these existed in Finnish.

  When Billy went out to the barn later, Matti was feeling confident. An Ojibwe brave walked in. Though he wore a wool shirt and lumberjack pants, his hair was tied back in a ponytail. Matti asked if he could help him, but he just stared. Finally the man said, “Where is day after tomorrow?”

  It sounded like a strange riddle. Was his English that bad? “Where’s day after tomorrow?” the big man repeated, twice as loud.