Until We Reach Home (49 page)

“Just think—Mama’s fingers made every stitch,” Elin said as she caressed the colored thread.

Sofia wiped a tear. “I’ll bet she never dreamed these things would travel so many miles from home.”

“What’s wrong, Sofia?” Elin asked her.

“Dividing all these things . . . I think I’m finally realizing that we won’t always be together.”

Kirsten struggled against her own tears. “Both of you should move in with Knute and me. This rooming house isn’t a very nice place.”

Sofia shook her head. “It would be too far for me to travel back and forth to the theater every day. I’ll look for a nicer place when I have a little money saved.”

“Besides,” Elin said, “your house isn’t very big, Kirsten. And you need time alone with your husband.”

Kirsten finally lost the battle with her tears. “I hate being apart! We’ve never been separated before. All my life, for as far back as I can remember, the two of you have been there.”

“I know,” Elin said, pulling Kirsten into her arms. “I know. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve been watching over the two of you. But even if we’d stayed in Sweden, we would have all married husbands one day and moved to homes of our own. I’m just sorry that the time has come so soon.”

Kirsten didn’t sleep well that night. And judging by the way her sisters tossed and turned, they didn’t, either. She couldn’t stop thinking about Tor, wishing she were marrying him in their church back home. It must feel very different to be marrying someone you loved and to be looking forward to a lifetime together. It scared her to think of all the years that stretched ahead of her as Knute Lindquist’s second wife. She wished she could run away.

But she quickly turned her thoughts to the baby that was growing inside her and knew she had to go through with the wedding. She closed her eyes and thanked God for Knute Lindquist.

“I shouldn’t have wasted money on these clothes,” she said as she dressed for her wedding the next day. “They won’t fit me too much longer anyway.” She hopped up and down in front of the dresser, trying to see herself in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” Elin asked her.

“I can’t see how I look.”

“You look beautiful,” Sofia told her. “Doesn’t she, Elin?”

“Yes, now sit down and let me pin up your hair. And no more hopping around, or it will all come falling down.”

“Don’t make it look too neat,” Sofia said with a smile. “She won’t look like Kirsten unless her hair is flying all over the place.”

When it was time to leave, Elin and Sofia loaded all of Kirsten’s things into their three satchels and carried them for her. Kirsten’s knees felt wobbly as she walked to the church. Knute was already there, waiting for her. She wondered if he was as nervous as she was and if he was thinking of Flora, remembering their wedding day. She wouldn’t ask him. She didn’t want to stir the ashes of his grief.

It seemed to Kirsten that Pastor Johnson was reluctant to perform the simple ceremony, even though Knute had spoken to him about it several days ago. “I would still advise against this marriage,” he said as he ushered everyone into his study. He addressed his words to Knute, not her. “Why not take your time and do this properly? At least have the banns read in church.”

“My son is coming from Sweden soon. We want everything to be ready when he arrives.”

“Are you certain you want to do this, Knute?” he asked again. “You barely know Miss Carlson. And there is quite an age difference.”

“Miss Carlson and I are both very certain.” He turned to Kirsten as if to make sure. She nodded and smiled in spite of her fear.

The pastor’s wife handed Kirsten a small bouquet of flowers that she had picked from her garden. Elin, Sofia, and a friend of Knute’s from work gathered around them to serve as witnesses. Kirsten’s heart pounded so wildly as the pastor read the vows that she barely comprehended a word of them. She answered “I do” in all the proper places, closed her eyes as Pastor Johnson prayed for them, and before she knew it, they were pronounced man and wife. It seemed ridiculous that a few words and a simple piece of paper could bind her to this man she barely knew for the rest of her life. But it was true. Kirsten was now Mrs. Knute Lindquist.

The pastor’s wife applauded as Knute gave her a brief kiss. There would be no wedding reception. Neither of them had many friends or family members in Chicago.

Knute shook hands with the minister and with his friend, and then everyone followed him outside to the carriage he had hired to drive to their new house. Kirsten and her sisters cried as they hugged each other good-bye. Knute loaded Kirsten’s satchels into the carriage.

“I just remembered,” he said, turning to her. “When I asked Mr. Anderson for the afternoon off, he said that he wanted to speak with you and your sisters in his office tomorrow.”

“Why? What does he want?” Kirsten asked.

“He didn’t say. But he would like all three of you to be there tomorrow at two o’clock.”

“I wish he’d told you what this is about,” Elin said.

“It’s useless to worry,” Sofia said with a sigh. “We can face him with a clear conscience.”

Kirsten smiled, trying to put on a brave face as she climbed into the carriage with Knute. “Good-bye! I’ll meet you at the newspaper office tomorrow.” She waved until her sisters were out of sight.

Knute had purchased a few things for the house since Kirsten had visited—a table and two chairs for the dining room, a desk and small horsehair sofa for the living room, some pots and utensils for the kitchen. The house still looked empty. Kirsten gazed around, trying to shake the feeling that she had made a huge mistake. She reminded herself that her mistake had been in trusting Tor. Knute was a good man.

“Thank you for marrying me,” she told him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Listen, Kirsten. It’s done now, so please don’t mention it anymore.”

She followed him as he carried her bags upstairs and set them down on one of the beds he’d purchased. It looked much too narrow for two people to sleep on.

“I thought I would let you and Torkel have this larger bedroom,” he said. “I plan to put another bed in here for him—and you’ll want a cradle for the baby. I’ll sleep in the smaller bedroom.”

She stared at him in surprise. He had warned her before they’d married that he didn’t expect her to be his wife in every sense of the word, but the reality of it still stunned her. “But . . . I mean . . . I didn’t realize that we would sleep apart.”

“I don’t think it would be right if . . .” he said, his voice trailing off. “I’ll let you get unpacked.”

She sank down on the bed, listening to his footsteps fade as he hurried downstairs. She couldn’t deny that she felt hurt and rejected. But what did she expect? After all, it was a marriage of convenience for both of them. She had entered into it knowing that Knute didn’t love her, knowing that his wife would always occupy first place in his heart. And if she was honest with herself, Kirsten knew she wasn’t in love with him, either. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Knute didn’t want to be with her and that they would never truly be husband and wife.

Think of the baby
, she told herself. She had done this for her baby and for her sisters. She wiped her tears and stood to make her bed, using the linens she’d brought with her from Sweden. When she’d finished unpacking, placing her clothes in the dresser drawers and her toiletries on top of it, she went downstairs. Knute was working at the desk in the living room. He had already filled it with his papers and books. She noticed a packing crate with more books on the floor beside it.

“I have made arrangements for Torkel to come as soon as possible.” He didn’t look up at her when he spoke.

Kirsten sat down on the stiff sofa, perched on the very edge. “How will he get here? He can’t travel this far all by himself.”

“Flora’s family will travel with him as far as Gothenburg. He has been living with them. And as it happens, the friend you met at the wedding today wants to bring his mother to America. She will travel with Torkel the rest of the way.”

“Won’t it be hard for them when they get to Ellis Island? My sisters and I were stuck there for almost two weeks, and it was so crowded and confusing and—” She stopped, suddenly recalling that the immigration facility had burned to the ground.

“They will be traveling with first-class tickets, not in steerage,” Knute said. “They won’t have any problems.”

Kirsten ran her fingers along a worn place on the arm of the sofa, thinking she should crochet a doily to cover it. She could tell that both she and Knute were nervous as they tried to make conversation. She hoped it would get easier once they grew to know each other better.

“You must be excited to see your son again,” she said. “How soon will he arrive?”

“In about three weeks, if all goes as planned.”

She could think of nothing more to say. Neither, apparently, could Knute. “Well,” she said, rising to her feet. “I suppose I should get busy if we’re going to have our dinner on time. Are there any groceries in the cupboard?” She felt like a child playing house, preparing to fix mud pies. She had never been in charge of her own kitchen before.

“I didn’t know what to buy, but I can give you some money.” He stood to pull out his wallet. “Do you know where the shops are?”

“Yes. I think we passed some on the way here. What would you like to eat?”

“Anything is fine. I’m not particular.”

“Well, then . . . I guess I’ll be back in a little while.”

She took an empty satchel in which to carry her groceries and walked two blocks to the store, fighting the urge to cry. The sun was shining. She had everything she needed for a happy life: a roof over her head, food to eat, and a good man to take care of her. God had answered her prayers. Her baby would have a father and a name. Most important of all, she had a home again. Yes, for the first time since leaving Sweden, Kirsten finally had a real home.

So why did she feel so empty inside? Why did she still long for something more?

Chapter Thirty-Eight

T
HE THUNDERING PRINTING
presses made the floor tremble. Sofia felt the vibrations tremble through her as she waited with her sisters to speak with Gustav Anderson. Dozens of reporters sat behind paper-strewn desks in the busy newspaper office, pounding on typewriters. The presses occupied the large room below the office area, churning out newspapers with relentless noise.

“How long do you think it would take to get used to this racket?” Sofia asked. Elin shrugged.

“I couldn’t stand to work here,” Kirsten replied.

“Doesn’t your . . . doesn’t Knute work here?” Sofia asked. She craned her neck, looking around the room for him. “I don’t see him.”

“I don’t know where he is or what he does here.” Kirsten and Elin seemed very nervous as they waited to learn why Mr. Anderson had asked to see them. Sofia leaned toward her sisters so she wouldn’t have to shout.

“We don’t have to be afraid of him, you know. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That was true the last time we talked to him, too,” Kirsten said, “and we ended up in jail. Remember?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize to us.”

“Ha!” Kirsten said. “Maybe fairies are real, too.”

Sofia gave up trying to ease the tension and sat back to wait, watching the chaos in the newsroom. At last Mr. Anderson’s door opened, and she heard him clear his throat.

“Thank you for coming, ladies. Please, step inside.”

“Into the lion’s den,” Kirsten murmured as she rose to her feet. Elin shushed her.

But there was nothing lionlike about Gustav Anderson. In fact, he was so small and prim and sharp-featured that he reminded Sofia of a mole. His office had no windows, which probably explained why he was so pale-skinned. The dim interior made him seem even more molelike.

“Please sit down,” he said.

They obeyed, sitting in the three chairs he had placed in front of his desk. Mr. Anderson took his seat behind it. Elin and Kirsten looked as stiff as kindling wood as they waited to hear what he had to say. He gazed into the air above their heads, as if unwilling to look them in the eye.

“I owe you an apology for accusing you of thievery,” he said quietly.

Sofia’s mouth fell open in amazement. She fought the urge to give Kirsten a nudge.

“Under the circumstances, I hope you will understand how easy it was to reach the conclusion that you had taken Mother’s jewelry. No one else had access to her bedroom, and the jewelry was clearly missing. Nevertheless, I do apologize for the error.”

None of them spoke, apparently too shocked to respond. Finally Sofia answered for all three of them. “We forgive you, Mr. Anderson.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat again. “Along with her will, my mother entrusted her lawyer with a letter addressed to me. Most of it is very personal, but she also talked about the three of you. I know that Mother had a gruff exterior and that she probably would never admit it, but she grew very fond of the three of you in the short time you worked for her.”

“We were fond of her, too,” Elin said softly. “We miss her.”

Gustav took a moment to shuffle papers around on his desk. He scowled as if trying not to show his emotion, his focus resting everywhere but on the three of them. Sofia thought his behavior was surprising for a wealthy businessman in the comfort of his own office. He cleared his throat again.

“My mother told me in her letter that she envied you girls. She said you had two things that all of her wealth could never purchase: love for each other and faith in God’s forgiveness. She said she learned a great deal from you, and so she wanted to do something for you in return. That’s why she sold her jewelry and left the proceeds to the three of you in her will.”

Sofia’s pulse quickened. She moved to the edge of her seat, wondering what her sisters were thinking.

“As you’ve probably heard, my wife wants to contest Mother’s will.” He looked up at them, eye to eye, for the first time. “I have ordered her to stop the lawsuit. You will receive the bequest that my mother wanted you to have.”

Sofia leaned back in her chair. She didn’t know which surprised her more, the fact that she would receive the money or that Gustav had stood up to Bettina. Neither she nor her sisters seemed to know what to say, so they remained silent, waiting. Gustav picked up a piece of paper, consulting it.