Until We Reach Home (18 page)

He stared at her for a long moment as if deciding whether or not to say more, then slowly lifted up his pant leg to reveal a long, ugly scar. The muscle in his calf looked withered. Was that why he had been detained? Mr. Lindahl had said that no one would be allowed into America if he was lame or deformed and couldn’t work.

The stranger paged through his Bible again, stopping at the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15:13:
Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country . . .
He pointed to himself. He had left home.

“America!” he said, gesturing to the city across the river. Then he spread his hands and shook his head. He pointed to his leg. They wouldn’t let him in because of it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Does that mean you’ll have to go all the way back home? What will you do?”

Almost as if he’d understood her, he pantomimed swimming then gave a wide grin. She laughed. It felt so good to laugh instead of cry.

“But it’s much too far to swim all the way across the river,” she said. “Maybe you’d better think of another plan.”

He babbled something in return, then lifted his hands hopelessly. Sofia wondered if he would ever set foot in America. And for that matter, if she would.

He smiled and pointed to his chest. “Ludwig Schneider.”

“Hello, Ludwig Schneider. My name is Sofia Carlson.”

“Sofia Carlson,” he repeated.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ludwig.” They smiled at each other, then leaned back on the bench again and watched the boats traveling slowly up and down the river.

“Before you sat down,” Sofia told him, “I felt so alone. I was desperate for help. Everyone left me and I still don’t know if I’ll ever see my sisters again. I’m so afraid that they might die, and I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. We have train tickets to go to my uncle’s home in Chicago, but I would rather go back home to Sweden . . . except that it’s so far, and . . . and I don’t have any money to go back. I miss my sisters so much. And it’s so hard to wait.”

He began paging through his Bible again, searching for another verse as she spoke. When he showed her Psalm 27:14 and she read it in her own Bible, she could only gaze at him in astonishment. It said:
Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.
How had he known? Had he read her thoughts?

He showed her another verse, Isaiah 40:27 and 31:
Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God?” . . . those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

“Thank you,” Sofia murmured. She was certain that he understood her, even though he didn’t speak her language. He smiled and pointed to their two Bibles, asking a question. Did she want more? “Yes! Yes, please show me more.” She took the paper and pencil and began writing down the references he gave her so she could read them again on her own.

He showed her Psalm 42:11:
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

And Psalm 46:1–2:
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. . . .
He pointed to verse 11:
The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

For the next hour or more, Ludwig shared Scripture verses with Sofia, each one promising her that she wasn’t alone, that God was with her. Her fear and loneliness began to recede until she was ashamed that she had considered jumping into the river.

Elin had warned her and Kirsten repeatedly to stay away from strangers, but Ludwig didn’t seem like a stranger at all. Besides, Sofia felt as though Jesus were sitting right on this bench with the two of them. She used to feel His nearness this same way when her mother was alive. Sofia had prayed for help when she first sat down here, and God had sent this stranger.

“How do you know all these verses?” she asked, gesturing to him and to his Bible, then to his forehead. “You seem to know the Bible so well.”

He sighed and made a sweeping motion with his arm, to indicate the entire island. He pointed to the sun, which was now slowly setting in the west, then to the east, where it would rise tomorrow. He traced the sun’s arc with his finger, winding it faster and faster. He was telling her that he had been detained here for a long time. He sighed again and held up the Bible, slowly turning the pages. He’d had plenty of time to read it.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I’ve only been here for one day and I’ve been behaving like such a baby. . . . But it’s just that I’m so worried about Elin and Kirsten. If only I knew for sure that they were all right. . . .” Tears filled her eyes.

“
Nein . . . nein
, Sofia,” Ludwig said, shaking his head. He held up his hand for her to wait while he rummaged in his large leather bag again. She wondered if he was going to offer her a handkerchief, but instead he pulled out a long object wrapped in a soft gray cloth. He unwound the cloth to reveal a violin and a bow.

Ludwig took a moment to tighten the bowstrings, then placed the instrument beneath his chin. He played a few tentative notes, adjusting the tuning pegs, then lowered the violin to his lap while he thought for a moment. When he raised it to his chin again, he closed his eyes and began to play.

A tender, poignant melody poured from the instrument like tears, bathing Sofia in its beauty. She was enraptured. Music and song had once filled her life before God began taking everyone away from her. She had loved listening to the soaring organ music in church, loved singing to the Lord with all her heart. But the song inside her had faded after her mother died and was silenced altogether when she and her sisters left home.

Now all of the emotions she had felt for the past few months—sorrow, loss, fear, and loneliness—poured from Ludwig’s violin. He understood exactly how she felt, better than anyone else did, even her sisters. A wounded place inside her began to heal as he played. She didn’t want him to stop. When he finally did, she rested her hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of the sun on his shirt.

“That was beautiful, Ludwig. Thank you.”

He pointed to the heavens, played a few notes, then pointed up again. He was playing for God. Sofia remembered the verse she had found at random, moments before Ludwig sat down beside her:
Sing the glory of his name; make his praise glorious!

She paged through her Bible to Psalm 66 and pointed to it. He read the verse in his own Bible and a smile spread across his face.

“More,” she said, pantomiming playing. “Please, play more.” He smiled shyly and lifted the violin again. He played a variety of melodies for the next thirty minutes, fast and slow, happy and sad. Sofia listened and felt the Lord’s presence in Ludwig’s songs, just as she had felt His presence in church when Mama was still alive. Sofia’s heart silently sang with him.

“Thank you, Ludwig,” she said when at last he seemed to run out of melodies. He looked up at the lowering sun and asked her a question, gesturing as if he were eating. Sofia shook her head. “I don’t feel much like eating.” The few minutes of joy had faded along with the music, leaving her stomach in turmoil once again.

Ludwig wrapped his violin and returned it to his bag, then stood and beckoned to her to join him, again making motions as if eating. Maybe he was as lonely as she was. He had been so kind to her. She shouldn’t refuse him.

“All right,” she said, standing and smoothing her skirts. “I’ll go with you.” She lifted her sisters’ satchels along with her own, but he quickly took two of them from her, helping her carry them. She followed him through the building’s maze of hallways, realizing that she never would have found the dining hall on her own. She had been too upset to pay attention when Mrs. Bjork had given her the tour earlier. She noticed a slight limp in Ludwig’s step and how one shoulder seemed to dip a little lower than the other as he walked beside her. No doubt the immigration officials had noticed it, too.

A crowd had already gathered around the entrance to the dining room, and as soon as the doors opened, the people stampeded inside. Ludwig held Sofia out of the way so she wouldn’t get trampled, waiting until the surge ebbed. Then he found two empty places for them at one of the tables.

The light supper consisted of baked beans, stewed prunes, rye bread, and tea. The waiters also served the small children crackers and milk. Many of the other immigrants reached and grabbed for their food and seemed to have no idea what to do with the white napkins at each place, but Ludwig ate with impeccable manners.

They went outside again after eating and enjoyed the slightly cooler air. As the evening progressed, they watched the moon rise and the stars light up the sky one by one. The lights of New York City twinkled faintly in the distance across the river. America seemed a long way off. Sofia convinced Ludwig to take out his violin and play it again. Other detainees gathered around as he did, applauding each time he finished a song. Everyone seemed to draw comfort from his music.

Later, Ludwig walked Sofia to her dormitory, carrying her two extra satchels for her. She glimpsed the room where the men slept as they passed the open door, and it seemed even more crowded than the women’s quarters. Both rooms were so noisy that Sofia wondered how she would ever fall asleep among so many strangers. At least in steerage she’d had the comfort of her sisters nearby.

Ludwig must have seen her hesitation. He laid all of their belongings down and began talking to her in a soothing voice, trying to reassure her. He rested his hands on her shoulders as he looked directly into her eyes, and his own eyes grew very soft. No man had ever stood so close to her or looked at Sofia that way. She liked the shivery feeling it gave her. Elin would reprimand her for trusting a stranger, but Elin wasn’t there.

When Ludwig finished his monologue, he pulled out his Bible again and urged her to open hers, turning to Psalm 4:8. Tears filled her eyes as she read the words:
I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

“Thank you, Ludwig,” she murmured. “You are the kindest man I’ve ever met . . . a godsend.”

He smiled as if he’d understood and said, “
Gute Nacht
, Sofia.” He started to leave, then turned back and asked for her Bible again. He opened it to the book of Ruth and laid the book in the palm of her hand, then placed her other hand on top of it. He was telling her to read it. His own hand, with his long, tapered fingers, covered hers completely.

“Thank you. I will read it.
God natt
.”

The only empty bed Sofia could find was a bottom bunk. She wondered how she would ever sleep with two women suspended on top of her mere inches away. She laid her satchels on the bed, but it was impossible to sit down on it. The bunk hanging above it was much too close. She loosened the buttons of her dress but decided not to take it off. She wanted to be able to run out of this airless room if she had to.

Lines of women took turns washing at the three sinks. The women sleeping in the beds near Sofia smelled as though they had never bathed in their lives. She wondered how long they had been detained there, and if she would smell as bad as they did, in time.

She sat down on the floor, leaning against her bunk, and opened her Bible to the place that Ludwig had shown her. At first, she couldn’t understand why he wanted her to read the book of Ruth. She couldn’t find any promises from God in it—only tragedy. But as she continued to read, she slowly began to see that Ruth had also lost many of the people she had loved—her husband, her parents, her family in Moab—everyone except her mother-in-law, Naomi. And Naomi admitted that she was angry and bitter from all of her losses.

Like Sofia, Ruth also had left her country to start all over again in a new land. Her life proved very difficult at first, but then Ruth’s story turned into a love story. A kind, gracious man named Boaz watched over Ruth and later married her. They had a baby. The last verses of the book revealed that Ruth’s baby was an ancestor of King David, the composer of so many beautiful psalms. God had been with Ruth, turning her losses into joy. And hope.

“Thank you, Ludwig,” she whispered.

A matron turned off the lights for the night. As Sofia climbed onto her narrow bunk, groping in the dark, she felt utterly alone. Everything in her life had been stripped away—her parents, her home, her country—and now she’d lost her sisters, as well. But when she closed her eyes to pray, she knew that God was with her in the darkness.

Chapter Sixteen

K
IRSTEN AWOKE THE
next morning in the hospital ward, dismayed to see that the room was real and not simply a bad dream. Her stomach seethed with nausea the way it had aboard the ferry during the height of the storm. Worry was doing this to her—and who wouldn’t be upset? She had awakened to a nightmare. She was alone and afraid—afraid for Sofia and for Elin and for herself. She had no one to talk to. No one could understand a word she said.

The nurses passed around trays of food, setting one in front of Kirsten. But as the aroma of boiled eggs rose to her nostrils, the smell made her gag. She pushed the plate away, covering her mouth to avoid throwing up. A nurse rushed over to her. The woman held the plate of eggs out to Kirsten as if insisting that she eat them. Kirsten’s stomach turned inside out. She couldn’t help retching.

“I can’t eat,” she said when the sickness passed. “Please, I just want to get out of here and go back to my sisters.”

They took away the food and sent in a doctor to examine her. He probed her abdomen, pressing down on it in several places, then listened with a special instrument. When he finished, Kirsten lay in bed, trying to pray. She remembered the Lord’s Prayer from church and recited it over and over as the long morning passed.

Finally, the interpreter from the Swedish Immigrant Aid Society came to speak with her again. “How are you today, Miss Carlson?” she asked.