Until We Reach Home (40 page)

Sofia remained silent, thinking of her love for Ludwig.

“Perhaps that’s why I hate Bettina so much,” Mrs. Anderson said, as if talking to herself. “She married my son for his money, as well. I could hardly condemn her under the circumstances. But whenever I see her, I see myself. She’ll realize—much too late, I’m afraid—that nobody in the whole world loves her, either.”

They watched the houses and stores and side streets go by, listening to the clopping of horse hooves on the cobbled street. Sofia pulled the borrowed shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders. The chill she felt didn’t come from the night air.

“Let’s hear your sermon now.”

The abrupt command to perform threw Sofia off balance for a second time that night. She struggled to refocus her thoughts.

“Um . . . I’ve been reading my mama’s Bible and . . . and it says that we’ve all done bad things. But if we admit that we’ve done wrong and tell Jesus we’re sorry for it and begin to follow His word, then His death will count in our place. He’ll take all of our sins away so that when we get to heaven, the pearly gates will swing wide open to let us in.”

“Even if we’ve done wrong all our life?”

“If we put our trust in Jesus—then yes.”

Once again, Mrs. Anderson was silent for a while. “That’s probably the shortest sermon I’ve ever heard,” she finally said. “Why do the pastors take so long to say the same thing?”

“I suppose they want to earn their pay.”

Mrs. Anderson barked out a laugh. “See? It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? So tell me, what do you think it’s like to die?”

“Well, my mama was sick for a long time, but she wasn’t afraid. She believed that Jesus would call her home when He had a place prepared—”

“I asked what you thought, not your mother.”

“Oh. Well, I think it will be a lot like coming to America.”

“How so?”

“I didn’t want to leave Sweden at first, because it seemed like I was leaving so many good things behind—and most of us don’t want to leave this life behind, either. But America is so much better in so many ways, just like heaven is going to be. So now I’m glad I came. I’ve learned so much and grown so much, and I’ve fallen in love and . . . and now I never would want to go back.”

“Even though you’re working as a maid?”

“I had to work hard back home, too,” Sofia said with a shrug. “But God seemed far away and distant there. Now I feel like He’s right here beside me every day. I think He allows hardships in our lives so we will come to Him for help. And so we will learn to be better people.”

“I envy you,” Mrs. Anderson said softly.

There was so much more that Sofia longed to tell her, but they had reached home and the conversation came to a halt along with the carriage. She helped Mrs. Anderson climb down and didn’t let go of her arm until they had climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

“Thank you for letting me wear your pin,” she said, placing it in the old woman’s hand. “And if you ever want to talk—”

“Good night, Sofia,” Mrs. Anderson said, cutting her off. “And take tomorrow afternoon off. That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you . . .
God natt
.”

Sofia had no idea what to do with an extra afternoon off and no English classes to attend. But the day turned out to be sunny and hot, so she decided to go for a walk. She explored the Swedish neighborhood and peeked inside a few shops, then stopped at the boardinghouse on her way back to the mansion.

“
Hej
, Aunt Hilma,” she said after knocking on the back door. “I came to see if there was any mail.”

“On the hall table.” She didn’t look up from the rutabagas she was mashing.

“By any chance, did the German gentleman come by for his Bible yet?”

Hilma shook her head. Sofia sighed and pushed through the swinging door. A letter addressed to Elin lay on the hall table. It was from one of the farmers in Wisconsin. She hoped Elin wasn’t planning to make the three of them move up there, but why else would she continue writing to this man?

Sofia put the letter in her pocket and walked through the kitchen again. “Good-bye, Aunt Hilma. And thank you.” She no sooner stepped outside when her aunt’s maid appeared out of nowhere, blocking her path. “Oh, Inge! You startled me!” Sofia said. “I didn’t see—”

“Shh! I don’t want the missus to hear me.” Inge glanced both ways before pulling Sofia inside the privy, speaking in an urgent whisper. “Please don’t tell her I said so, but I think she’s lying to you. I hear you and your sisters asking about the foreign man every time you come, and—”

“Was Ludwig here? Did he come?” Sofia’s heart began to race.

“I don’t know what the man’s name was or if he’s the one you’re waiting for, but there was a foreign man here last week. He didn’t speak Swedish, so I couldn’t understand him. And Mrs. Larson couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying, either, so she closed the door on him.”

“Was he asking for me?”

“How would I know? Like I said, neither one of us knew what he was going on and on about.”

“Did he speak German?”

“It sounded like gibberish.”

“What did he look like?”

“I didn’t see him!” Inge seemed to be growing frustrated with all of Sofia’s questions. “I was dusting the front parlor, and you know how the missus keeps the curtains drawn all the time? I knew she would be mad if I stuck my head out to have a look at him. She doesn’t let me be seen, you know. But whoever he was, the missus ran him off and closed the door.”

“Oh no! What if it was Ludwig? How will he ever find me? I’d better go talk to my aunt and make sure—”

“No, miss!” Inge barred the privy door, a look of panic on her face. “Please don’t tell her I talked to you. If she catches me going behind her back like this she’ll fire me—after she beats me black and blue first.”

Sofia didn’t know what to do. She longed to confront her aunt and find out more about the stranger, but she didn’t want to get Inge into trouble. Besides, if it turned out to be another false alarm, as it had been when the man came to see Kirsten, she would have caused a lot of distress for nothing.

“Listen, Inge, if the man comes again, could you please, please tell him where I am? I’ll write down the address—”

“I can’t promise that, miss. I just happened to overhear them talking that day because I was cleaning the parlor. Usually she makes me stay in back. I don’t ever get to see who comes to the door.”

Hope and despair battled inside Sofia. If the man had been Ludwig, it meant he had made it safely to Chicago. But if Aunt Hilma had turned him away, how would he ever find her?

“I have to go,” Inge whispered, “before I get in trouble.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

What if it had been Ludwig? Where would he go after leaving here? For all he knew, Sofia had stolen his violin and he would never see her or his instrument again. But surely he knew how Sofia felt about him. Hadn’t he told her that he felt the same way?

If only Chicago weren’t such a huge city. How in the world would they ever find each other?

Chapter Thirty

E
LIN STOOD
on tiptoe on the ladder in one of the upstairs bedrooms, stretching to remove the heavy drapes from the curtain rod. Kirsten stood below her, supporting the dusty pile of cloth in her arms. Suddenly Sofia burst into the bedroom, startling both of them.

“Aunt Hilma is lying to me!”

Elin dropped the curtain and gripped the ladder to keep from falling. It took her a moment to untangle herself and climb down so she could listen to Sofia’s story. It didn’t help that Sofia could barely speak through her tears.

“Inge said that a man came to the boardinghouse the other day and . . . and he was speaking another language and . . . and so I just know it was Ludwig—but Aunt Hilma sent him away!”

“Did Inge describe the man to you?”

“She didn’t see him. But who else could it be?”

“Did you ask Aunt Hilma about him?”

“Inge didn’t want me to. She didn’t want to get into trouble for telling me behind Hilma’s back. But the more I thought about it after I left, the angrier I got. Please come with me, Elin. We have to go over there and confront Aunt Hilma right now!”

“We can’t do that,” Elin told her. “We don’t know for certain that it was your friend she turned away. We can’t accuse Hilma if we don’t know the truth.”

“Besides, you said yourself that Inge would get into trouble,” Kirsten added.

“For all we know,” Elin said, “the man could have been looking for a room to rent and didn’t speak Swedish.”

They managed to calm Sofia down and dry her tears. But as Kirsten gathered up the drapes to carry down to the washhouse, she paused on her way out the door and said, “Don’t believe everything your friend on Ellis Island promised you, Sofia. Don’t let him break your heart. There are plenty of other men in America.”

“I don’t want anyone else!” She began crying all over again.

Elin rubbed her shoulder to soothe her. “Kirsten is only trying to protect you because she had her heart broken.”

“Ludwig won’t break my heart. He’ll find me. I know he will!”

At last Sofia blew her nose and dried her eyes. “Are you all right now?” Elin asked. Sofia nodded and pulled a letter from her pocket.

“I forgot. This came for you. It’s from that man in Wisconsin.”

“Wait,” Elin said. “Where are you going?”

“To the ballroom.”

Elin decided to let Sofia go. It wasn’t up to her to fix everything. She could hear the faint strains of music from Mrs. Anderson’s Gramophone as she sat down to read the letter.

Dear Elin,

You asked me in your last letter to call you by your given name, so I will honor your wishes. I hope you will also call me Gunnar from now on. I wanted to let you know that the money you’ve been sending each week has been arriving safely. My friends are not so angry anymore now that they know you intend to pay us back. They are planning to look for wives again and might take a trip to Chicago or Minneapolis when they have some free time. Our little community celebrated Midsummer’s Eve, and it was obvious to everyone that we needed more girls to make the wreaths and to decorate the maypole, but we had a nice time just the same.

Summer is now well upon us, and this is a very busy time of year on our farm. You told me you grew up on a farm in Sweden, so I am sure you know how much work there is to do. Here in America my farm is much bigger and much more prosperous than the farms in Sweden were. My crops seem to grow all by themselves, and the soil is very rich and not as rocky as back home. I do miss eating fresh fish, though, because our home in Sweden was close to the sea. But there is a small lake near my farm, and I can catch my own fish to eat whenever I have time. What I need is someone to cook the fish afterward. I am not such a good cook and seem to burn everything.

The oats and potato crops are coming along very nicely, and our corn is more than a foot tall already. We are hoping that the weather stays nice so we can finish harvesting the hay. I think we will have a good crop of apples this year, too. One of our cows whose name is Maisie gives me the hardest time, though. She keeps getting out of the pasture somehow, and is always heading down the road to my neighbor’s farm. Maybe she likes him better than me, I don’t know, but I waste a lot of time chasing after her, let me tell you. None of us can figure out how she is getting loose.

I enjoy my work very much. I love being outside all day, feeling the warm sun on my face. Farming is hard work, but the rewards are so nice. I can drink fresh milk and eat cheese that came from my own cows and vegetables from my own garden. God provides plenty of rain and sunshine, and so life is good. Time passes quickly in the summer with so much work to do, so the evenings are not as lonely as in the wintertime. Did I tell you that we have built a small church for our village? We will have our own pastor here very soon.

I lived in Chicago for a few months when we first arrived in America, and I know what you mean about the busy streets and all the noise. I didn’t like city life at all. I recall how terrible it smelled, too. But I enjoyed reading your letter very much and hearing all about the huge house you and your sisters are cleaning. I cannot imagine a house with that many rooms. Do you ever get lost in it?

I was sorry to hear that the elderly woman you work for isn’t feeling well. I’m not saying that because I’m worried about not being paid if she dies, but because you seem to be growing fond of her. You also said that you wouldn’t have a home to live in after she is gone. In your next letter, you will have to tell me about the big dinner party she gave for Midsummer’s Eve. I especially want to hear about all the food everyone ate.

That’s all for now. I am at the bottom of the page again. Maybe I will buy longer paper when I’m in town so I can write longer letters. I hope you have time to write to me soon.

Your friend,
Gunnar

As she read his letter, Elin was surprised to find she felt homesick for the farm she had left behind in Sweden. She missed being close to the land and watching things grow and could easily understand why Gunnar loved his work so much. Given the choice, she would much rather live on a farm than here in the city. But as with so many other things in her life, Elin didn’t have a choice.

By the time she finished reading the letter, Kirsten had returned from the washhouse. “We got a letter from Wisconsin today,” she told her. “Do you want to read it?”

“No thanks. He’s your friend. He’s writing to you.” Kirsten had brought a pail of vinegar solution and a pile of newspapers back with her to wash the windows.

“The only reason I’m writing to him is because you and Sofia didn’t want to,” Elin said. “I feel sorry for him and the other men, don’t you?”

“Not really. We’re paying their money back.”

“Even so, they were counting on us going up there, so I know they were disappointed. The least we could do is correspond with them.” Elin picked up an empty ash bucket and knelt down to shovel the debris out of the ceramic tile stove. The soot made her sneeze.