Until We Reach Home (39 page)

Kirsten hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “Nowhere. I’ve decided to just stay home and rest.” She helped Sofia and Elin finish the laundry, then went upstairs to her room as soon as they finished eating lunch.

“I know something’s wrong with Kirsten.” Elin said as she and Sofia cleaned one of the many spare bedrooms that afternoon. “If you have any idea what it is, I wish you would tell me.”

“I don’t know. And the more you nag her about it, the angrier she will get. She’ll tell us what’s wrong when she’s ready to.”

Sofia heard footsteps outside in the hallway and looked up. Mrs. Olafson stood in the doorway, breathless from climbing the stairs. “There is a young gentleman at the back door asking for Miss Carlson. He—”

“It’s Ludwig!”

Sofia flew down the stairs, racing to the kitchen door before Mrs. Olafson could finish speaking. Ludwig had arrived at last! She threw open the door with tears of joy in her eyes—and could tell right away that the man facing the opposite direction, staring out at the huge lawn, wasn’t Ludwig. He was much too thin. And his hair was fair, not dark and wavy like Ludwig’s was. He turned to face her and he seemed just as surprised to see Sofia as she was to see him.

“I . . . I asked to speak with Kirsten. Is something wrong? Is she not at home?”

“No . . . I mean yes, she’s home. . . .” Sofia’s words came out choked. She thought she recognized the man as one of Mrs. Anderson’s dinner guests, but why would he come to the back door? And why would he ask for Kirsten?

“Is something wrong?” he asked again.

She saw the worried look on his face and quickly wiped her tears. “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood. I’ll go tell Kirsten you’re here, Mr. . . . ?”

“Lindquist. Knute Lindquist.”

But Sofia didn’t have far to go. She passed Kirsten on her way inside. Elin and Mrs. Olafson stood waiting in the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Elin asked. “Who’s here?”

“He said his name is Knute Lindquist. I saw him at Mrs. Anderson’s party the other night.”

“What does he want with Kirsten?”

“He didn’t say.”

Sofia sank down on a kitchen chair, paralyzed with disappointment. Kirsten had left the back door open, and Sofia could hear the two of them talking in low voices on the back steps, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. A few minutes later, Kirsten returned inside. She looked annoyed to find her sisters waiting in the kitchen.

“What were you doing? Listening to us?”

“We couldn’t hear you,” Elin said. “But who is he? Why is he here?”

“It’s really none of your business. Yours, either,” she told Sofia.

“I’m sorry,” Sofia said. “But when Mrs. Olafson told us there was a man here asking to see Miss Carlson, I thought it was Ludwig. I’ve been praying and praying for him to find me, and I can’t understand what’s taking him so long. He should have been here by now, and—”

“You need to accept the fact that you’re never going to see him again,” Kirsten said. “If you don’t, you’re going to get your heart broken.” She fled up the back stairs to her room, her feet thundering on the wooden treads.

Elin let out a whoosh of air. “I wish I knew what was wrong with her.”

Sofia barely heard her. “Even if Ludwig doesn’t come for me,” she murmured, “surely he’ll come for his violin.”

On the following Tuesday evening, as Sofia finished dressing to sing for the engagement party, Mrs. Anderson called her into her bedroom. “I wanted to see how you looked,” she told Sofia. “Is that the only decent thing you have to wear?”

Sofia looked down at her new American clothing in dismay. “Yes, ma’am. I mean . . . I could change into my Sunday dress from home if—”

“No, no, no. Come here.” She beckoned for Sofia to follow her into her dressing room. Mrs. Anderson opened a huge jewelry case on a stand beside her dresser and began pulling out glittering brooches and necklaces, one after the other, and holding them up to the front of Sofia’s dress.

“Here. Pin this one on your collar.” She handed Sofia a beautiful cameo brooch, framed with tiny seed pearls. “You’ll have to fasten it yourself. My old fingers can’t manage the clasp.”

“Oh, but I-I can’t wear this! I’d be afraid I would lose it.”

“‘I’m afraid, I’m afraid,’” Mrs. Anderson mimicked. “You’re always afraid. When are you going to start living your life? Wear the stupid brooch!”

Sofia did as she was told, then accepted an exquisitely embroidered shawl that looked as though it had come from an exotic faraway land and had cost a lot of money. This time she knew better than to argue.

Somehow, Mrs. Anderson had ordered a horse and carriage for the evening, and the driver stood waiting for them outside the front door. Sofia was surprised to be treated as a guest at the party. Her hostess invited her to mingle with the others and to help herself to the buffet table. Many of the guests conversed in English or in a mixture of English and Swedish, and Sofia was able to understand some of what was said, even if she did find it exhausting to translate everything.

Couples danced to the music of a small orchestra, which included several violinists. As Sofia stood watching them play, wishing that one of them was Ludwig, a gentleman came to stand alongside her.

“They’re very good, aren’t they,” he commented. She could only nod. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Eric Wallstrom.”

“Sofia Carlson.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Carlson?”

“No thank you. I don’t know how to dance.” Kirsten should be there. She would enjoy this evening so much. She was the fun-loving sister—at least she used to be.

“Dancing is really very simple,” Mr. Wallstrom told her. “They’re playing a waltz. I could teach you how.”

“No thank you. Will you excuse me, please?”

She hurried away, searching for a place to hide until it was time to sing, and nearly collided with Bettina Anderson. The woman grabbed Sofia’s forearm to stop her, then looked her over from head to toe.

“What in the world are you doing here? Aren’t you Mother Anderson’s maid?” Before Sofia could reply, Bettina spotted the cameo pin. Her eyes went wide. “Where did you get that brooch? That doesn’t belong to you!”

Sofia’s hand flew to her throat, covering the pin. “I-It’s . . . I mean . . . Mrs. Anderson told me to wear it.”

“You’re a liar! Take it off this instant, you little thief!”

Bettina tightened her grip on Sofia’s arm and towed her out of the crowd and toward the hallway. Sofia fumbled to unpin the clasp with her free hand, afraid to cause a scene. But just as she started to hand over the pin, Sofia felt someone grip her other arm. It was the fairy queen.

“You put that brooch right back on,” the elder Mrs. Anderson commanded. “What do you think you’re doing, Bettina?”

“Your maidservant stole your cameo.”

“She most certainly did not. I let her borrow it. You would do well to mind your own business from now on. Come, Sofia. I believe they are ready for you to sing.”

Sofia didn’t know how in the world she could sing after her confrontation with Bettina. She was still shaking from head to toe and could barely refasten the pin to her collar. But the hostess was already introducing her to the audience as Sofia made her way across the room to stand near the orchestra. She whispered a silent prayer for help as the musicians played the opening bars of her first song, then drew a breath and began to sing.

The first few notes sounded shaky, but Sofia quickly gained control. The bride-to-be had requested a traditional love song from back home, and the words made Sofia think of Ludwig. She closed her eyes and sang the words to him, pouring all of her love and longing into the music. When she finished, the applause went on and on.

After singing several more songs, she waded through a sea of people wanting to congratulate her as she made her way to the punch table to quench her thirst. A man in a three-piece suit followed her, jabbering in English, but she was too drained to comprehend what he was saying.

“Excuse me,” she finally interrupted. “But I don’t speak English very well yet.”

“Oh. So sorry. My name is Carl Lund,” he said, switching languages. “I wanted to have a word with you about your performance, Miss Carlson. I own the Viking Theater a few blocks from here. We do small productions, variety shows, a little vaudeville—all sorts of things. I would like to offer you a contract to sing in one of my variety shows.”

Sofia stared at him, unable to speak. He had to be joking.

“Our shows are mostly for the Swedish-speaking community,” he continued when she didn’t respond, “and I think our audiences would enjoy hearing you. Has anyone told you that your voice is reminiscent of Jenny Lind’s?”

“I-I only arrived in America a short time ago, Mr. Lund. I sang today as a favor for our hostess. I’ve really never thought of performing onstage.”

“Well, perhaps you should think about it. You’re a very lovely young woman, Miss Carlson, and you have a beautiful voice. People would pay a lot of money to hear you sing. If you would allow me to offer you a lift home, perhaps we could discuss it further. I could even show you the theater, if you’d like.”

“No thank you. I came with Mrs. Anderson—Silvia Anderson. My sisters and I work as her maidservants.”

“You can’t be serious. A maidservant? You could make a great deal more money singing in one of my shows, I assure you.”

“I-I really don’t think I’d care to, Mr. Lund. But thank you just the same.”

“Well, here, take my card,” he said, pushing it into her hand. “Give my offer some thought. I would love to hear from you if you change your mind.”

Sofia stuck the card in her pocket, certain that she wouldn’t change her mind. Nor would she tell Elin about Mr. Lund’s offer. Elin worried too much as it was. Besides, Sofia had no interest in singing in a theater. Ludwig would be coming for her any day now.

“You made quite a favorable impression this evening,” Mrs. Anderson said on the carriage ride home. “You should consider developing your talent. There is an excellent conservatory of music here in Chicago that just opened two years ago. It’s run by William Hall Sherwood, a protégé of the great composer Franz Liszt. Have you heard Mr. Liszt’s music?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Well, don’t be sorry—
do
something about your ignorance. I’m a great believer in education, especially for young people such as you and your sisters. Women should always have a means of supporting themselves—and I don’t mean as servants. If I had my life to live over again, I would attend college.”

Sofia fingered the five-dollar bill in her pocket, still amazed by the staggering amount she’d been paid. “My sisters and I can’t afford to go to school, Mrs. Anderson. I’m taking English classes in the evening, but they’re free.”

“You need to think about your future. You won’t be working for me forever, you know.”

“I know. Once your house is clean—”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m dying, Sofia. . . . No, don’t get sentimental on me,” she said when Sofia began to protest. “It’s a fact. I’m eighty-six years old, and my time is almost up. Death is the one certainty that none of us can avoid. But I have two pieces of advice for you when my time comes and you no longer work for me. First, use your talent to support yourself. And second, whatever you do, don’t go to work for Bettina. She’ll poison all three of you.”

“
Poison
us?”

“Not literally, you nitwit. With her greed and bitterness. She would destroy your charming innocence in no time at all. You saw how she reacted today when she recognized my brooch. Selfish woman! Why do you think she never bore children? She didn’t want to share my son’s money with them, that’s why.”

Once again, Sofia didn’t know how to respond.

“The fact is, I’m dying,” Mrs. Anderson continued, “and Bettina can’t wait to get her hands on everything I own. Mind you, I’ve done things in the past that I’m not very proud of, just as she has. I’m not at all certain that St. Peter will let me through the pearly gates when my time comes.”

“It’s not what you’ve done that matters in the end, Mrs. Anderson. It’s what Jesus has done for you. The Bible says—”

“Hold it!” Mrs. Anderson held up her hand. “You’re not going to preach another sermon, are you?”

“If you’ll let me.”

Mrs. Anderson laughed out loud. “Very well, then,” she said with a sweep of her arm. “Give me your very best sermon. But I should warn you that an old curmudgeon like me has heard plenty of sermons over the years, and they haven’t done one bit of good. I’m still a reprobate.”

“I don’t believe that’s what you are, Mrs. Anderson. My aunt Karin’s gander back home was always scaring me half to death, honking and flapping its wings. I didn’t want to step one foot out of our cottage when he was on the loose. But it was all noise. He was just trying to protect what was his—his family, his nest, his home.”

“Hmmph. So now I’m an old goose, am I?”

“Not at all. You have a good heart, Mrs. Anderson. You’ve been very kind to my sisters and me.”

“So, you’ve seen through my flapping wings and honking noise—is that what you’re saying?”

“Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at your heart.”

“Well, my heart is black.” She leaned back on the carriage seat, staring straight ahead. Sofia wasn’t sure if she should continue the conversation or not, but Mrs. Anderson finally began speaking again after a long pause.

“Before we were married, my husband, Gustav, was engaged to another woman. He was madly in love with her and she with him. But I wanted his money, so I tricked Gustav into marrying me—never mind the sordid details. He had to leave Sweden in order to avoid a scandal that would have ruined him and his family. We began all over again here in America, and his newspaper did very well. He built a beautiful home for me and showered me with jewels. But I used him when I should have loved him. I was too filled with greed and self-loathing to love him or anyone else. That may not seem like a crime to you, but it is to me. Gustav loved that girl, and I stole something precious from both of them—for money, of all things. You can’t put a price tag on love.”