Until We Reach Home (46 page)

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll go to City Hall tomorrow.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

O
NE OF THE
few good things in Sofia’s life was her English classes. And now that she wasn’t working, she could attend class three nights a week instead of only one. She was hurrying to school after helping with the supper dishes that evening when she noticed a colorful playbill plastered on a fence near the school. It advertised a variety show at the Viking Theater. Where had she heard of that theater before?

Sofia was halfway through the door to her class when she suddenly remembered. The man she met at the engagement party owned the Viking Theater. He had heard her sing that evening—and had offered her a job! Of course! This was the answer she had been praying for.

Sofia could hardly sit through her lessons and barely heard a word the teacher said, wondering if the owner still wanted to hire her. What had she done with his business card? As soon as she returned home from school, Sofia searched the pockets of the skirt she had worn on the night of the party and found it. His name—Mr. Carl Lund—and the address of the theater were printed on the card.

The relief Sofia felt lasted only a moment before fear replaced it. If her stomach had turned inside out when she’d sung for fifty people at the party, how would she ever be able to stand up on a stage beneath a spotlight and sing for hundreds of people? Fear had stalked Sofia all her life, and now the beast was howling so loudly that she could scarcely think straight. Then, out of nowhere, she remembered the verse God had given her on her first day on Ellis Island:
Sing the glory of his name. . . .

Sofia pulled out her Bible and reread all of the verses Ludwig had shown her. When she came to the verse that promised,
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose,
she was certain that God had arranged for her to meet the theater owner. She needed to set aside her fear and go talk to him tomorrow.

She continued reading her Bible and, little by little, found the strength to trust God to help her sing onstage. He would keep her fear at bay, just as He had the last two times she had sung for people. With His help she could do this. She
would
do it. Elin had carried the load for all three of them long enough. It was time for Sofia to lean on God instead of on Elin; time for her to help her sisters instead of being helped by them. She turned out the light and prayed until finally falling asleep.

Sofia wondered the next morning how she would manage to sneak away to the theater. She didn’t want to tell a lie, but she knew that if she explained where she was going, Elin would try to stop her. But Elin and Kirsten were both running errands of their own, and they left the boardinghouse before Sofia did. She prayed for God’s help while she dressed in her new clothes.

Sofia walked to the address printed on the business card. It was too early in the morning for a show to be playing, but Sofia spoke with a man who was mopping the lobby floor, and he directed her to Mr. Lund’s office backstage. The office door was open.

“Excuse me . . . Mr. Lund?”

“Miss Carlson!” he said when he saw her.

“You remember me?”

“Yes, of course I do.” He rose from his seat behind the desk and hurried over to welcome her inside. “I’m delighted to see you—but I must say I’m surprised. Please, come in . . . sit down. Can I get you anything?”

Sofia shook her head, feeling tongue-tied and weak-kneed as she took the seat he offered her. He raked his fingers through his hair as he returned to his place behind the desk, as if he were the one who needed to make a good impression.

“What brings you here, Miss Carlson? Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“I have. I’m sure you’ve heard that my employer, Silvia Anderson, has passed away.”

“Yes. I was so sorry to hear the news. She and her husband were very active in the Swedish community. I do a lot of business with the newspaper he founded.”

“Well, now that she’s gone I need another job, so I decided to talk to you about singing in your theater—if you still want me, that is.”

“Yes! Absolutely! I would be delighted. Where shall we begin?”

“I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know anything at all about the theater. I’ve never even been inside one, even in Sweden. And so I need to know what it is exactly that you would like me to do—before I agree to anything.”

“I understand. Listen, would you like to see the theater?” He stood, walking around his desk once again. Sofia stood, too, her knees a little less shaky than when she first sat down. “Come this way, please.”

He led her out of his office and through a warren of dusty, cluttered hallways behind the stage, talking as they walked. “My audiences seem to enjoy my variety shows the most. They’re a combination of several acts, including musical numbers, a comedian, maybe a juggler or a magician. What I would like you to do is sing a solo as one of my acts, probably as a warm-up for a more well-known performer.”

He stopped backstage beside a rack full of clothing. “You would wear a costume—like one of these. Probably something very Swedish. And you would stand in front of a backdrop with a Swedish scene painted on it.” He pointed to a stack of enormous paintings leaning against the brick wall. The one on top depicted a farm scene.

“W-what would I sing?”

He looked her over for a moment. “I think I would like you to start with the Swedish love song you sang first at the party. You brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Eventually, you will need to expand your repertoire once the audience grows tired of it. But I’ll bill you as our own Swedish Songbird—alluding to Jenny Lind, of course, the Swedish Nightingale.”

“I could never sing like she did.”

“I think you have the potential to,” he said quietly.

He parted a maroon velvet curtain and motioned her forward. She was suddenly onstage. It was dark in the theater, but the rear lobby doors were open and daylight streamed through them. Sofia looked out at row after row of red plush seats. More seats lined the gilded balcony above them. A wave of panic nearly knocked her to the floor. She felt as if a giant were sitting on her chest, making it hard to breathe and impossible to speak. She swayed, nearly losing her balance. Mr. Lund didn’t seem to notice.

“I have plans to expand my productions in the near future,” he continued, “adding musical reviews and plays. If you can learn the parts and work with other singers and actors, you would be able to earn even more money. It’s up to you how much and how often you’d like to sing. But for now, I can pay you seven dollars a week for five evening shows and two Saturday matinees—a dollar per show.”

“Oh my!” That was three dollars more per week than she’d earned as a maid—just for singing. Sofia wondered if there was a catch, if there was something Mr. Lund wasn’t telling her. He seemed so kind and sincere . . . and so eager to hire her.

“I believe you could reach star status once you gain experience and expand your repertoire,” Mr. Lund said. “I’m certain you would draw a big crowd. Your name would move up to top billing on all of our posters.”

Sofia remembered the playbill she had seen outside the school. “You mean . . . there would be signs everywhere? With my name on them?”

“That’s right. Initially, your name will appear near the bottom, I’m afraid, in smaller print. But I don’t see why you can’t earn top billing someday, Miss Carlson.”

Sofia knew this job was the answer to her prayers. Not only would she be earning seven dollars a week and helping her sisters, but her name would be on posters all over town. Ludwig might see one of them and finally find her.

“Do you ever hire violinists to play for your shows?” she asked.

“We certainly do. That’s the orchestra pit down there.” He pointed to a jumble of chairs and music stands in a dark hole below the stage. Ludwig could work there, too, she thought as they walked back to Mr. Lund’s office.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he said when they were seated again, “but as soon as you sign a contract, you can begin working—and I can begin paying you.”

“I-I also need to find a place to live before I agree to work for you. My two sisters and I arrived in America only two months ago, and now that Mrs. Anderson is gone, we have to no place to live.”

“Do they sing, as well?”

“They’ve never shown any interest in singing, so I can’t speak for them. But if I agree to work for you, I would need to know if seven dollars is enough money to afford a place to live. Otherwise, I would have to find a job where room and board are included.”

“Well . . . if you don’t mind a rooming house, I do know a place that you could afford. Whenever I hire traveling troupes, they usually stay at an establishment I recommend nearby. It’s a cross between a hotel and a boardinghouse. It’s not luxurious, but the rent is reasonable and quite affordable on the salary I’m offering you. I’m sure you’ll find it will meet your needs. I can direct you to it, if you’d like.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate it.” All of the pieces were falling into place. This job was the answer to Sofia’s prayers. She drew a deep breath. “I would be very happy to sign a contract with you, Mr. Lund.”

“Wonderful!” He took a printed form from his desk and filled in the blank spaces with the date and Sofia’s name and the salary he had agreed to pay her. She read every word before signing her name on the bottom.

“Thank you,” she said as she handed it back to him.

“No, thank you, Miss Carlson,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten o’clock to start rehearsing.”

As he was seeing her out, Mr. Lund called to one of the stagehands working in the back of the theater. “Tura, could you escort Miss Carlson over to the hotel for me? You know the one our theater people use, don’t you? She wants to ask about a room.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Lund.”

Tura was a disreputable-looking man with shaggy, unkempt hair and a filthy beard. He wore his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest. Elin would be horrified if she saw Sofia with him. But she followed Tura out the rear door and through a warren of back lanes and alleys, praying that Jesus would keep her safe. Sofia couldn’t believe she was being this brave, for once. God must be answering her prayers.

“I’m taking you on a shortcut I know,” Tura said. “But see? That’s the main thoroughfare just a block down that way. Now do you know where you are?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” It wasn’t very far from Aunt Hilma’s boardinghouse and still well within the safety of their Swedish neighborhood. But the ramshackle hotel turned out to be very shabby and run-down. It resembled a hotel inside with a large registration desk, a tiny lounge area, and long, mysterious hallways and stairways that led into the darkness. It smelled like mildew and dirty feet. A large sign in Swedish told Sofia that the hotel rented rooms by the day or the week.

“How much to rent a room for one week?” she asked the man slouched behind the desk.

“With board or without?”

“Um . . . with board.”

“Three dollars for the room, twenty-five cents a day for three meals. That comes to $4.75 a week with full board.”

“Oh. That’s a lot.” She paused to add up the additional cost of meals for her sisters and it came to $8.25 altogether—more money than she would earn. But at least they could live here together for now, even if they did have to buy their own food.

“May I see one of the available rooms, please? I need one with a full-sized bed. I’ll be sharing the room with my two sisters, if that’s allowed.”

He lumbered to his feet. “You can share it with an entire circus for all I care.”

Sofia followed him up a creaking staircase and down the hall to room 23. The man unlocked the door for her and stood aside, waiting in the hallway while she looked around. It was not what anyone would call a home. The room had one large bed with an iron headboard, a plain wooden chair, and a mirrored dresser with three drawers. There were no rugs on the plank floors, and the single window had a view of a horse stable across the dirt alleyway. But the room would be less cramped than the one she now shared with her sisters and two cousins.

“The washrooms are down the hall,” the man said when she finished looking around. “You’ll have to share.”

“There aren’t any linens on the beds,” Sofia said.

“Twenty-five cents extra if you want laundered linens.”

“Oh. Well, we have our own bedding.”

She could work hard and earn extra money, Sofia told herself as she followed the man downstairs again. She and her sisters could move out of this place eventually and find something better. But for now, Sofia could help relieve Elin’s worries. And maybe Kirsten would stop being so sad all the time.

She gave the man three dollars for a week’s rent using the money Gustav Anderson had paid her for her final week of work at the mansion. Then she hurried back to the boardinghouse to tell her sisters the good news.

Chapter Thirty-Six

W
AITING FOR A
reply from Gunnar Pedersen and the other men in Wisconsin was agonizing. Elin longed to tell her sisters that she had found a way to rescue them, to show them the train tickets she had purchased and restore their hope in finding a home. And she longed to tell grouchy Aunt Hilma that they would soon be out of her way for good and no longer a burden to her. But Elin decided to wait until she heard back from Gunnar and all of her plans were in place, just as she had waited to hear from Uncle Lars when she was back home in Sweden. Meanwhile, she tried to help Aunt Hilma with her work as much as she could and accompanied her to the farmers’ market that morning.

“Look at all of this beautiful fresh fruit for sale,” Elin said. “Would you like Kirsten and me to help you make a batch of jam from it?”

“Are you sure you know how to make jam?” Hilma asked. Elin nodded, holding back an annoyed reply. “Well, I suppose my boarders would appreciate it,” Hilma said.

But instead of picking the best peaches and berries, Hilma filled her basket with fruit that was bruised or overripe, then bargained for a cheaper price. “You’ll need to make the jam this afternoon,” she told Elin.