Until We Reach Home (51 page)

“Maybe when you tell them how nice it is up here they’ll decide to come, too.”

“It is beautiful here. And so much like home. But I don’t think Kirsten and Sofia will be coming. They have lives of their own in Chicago. But please keep talking. I would love for you to tell me about everything we’ll see along the way.”

“Are you sure? You’ll let me know if I’m boring you, won’t you?”

Elin laughed. “Your letters were always very interesting. I’m quite sure you won’t bore me.”

The wagon passed several farms and stretches of woodland until finally coming to a halt outside a tidy cluster of log buildings nestled in a little valley. The tree-covered hills surrounding the farm were so lush and green and beautiful they made Elin’s chest ache. Mrs. Pedersen came to the door to greet them with her apron on, and for a moment she reminded Elin of her own mother.

“
Välkommen!
We are so happy to have you, Elin Carlson. Gunnar has been walking around on eggs for days, waiting for you. I’ll bet he never imagined that you would be so pretty—eh, Gunnar?” She gave her son a wink.

As hard as the decision had been, Elin knew that coming here had been the right one. The Pedersens were a happy, boisterous family, the food so wholesome and good that she could easily see how Gunnar had grown so tall and strong. Elin enjoyed working in the kitchen beside his mother all day. The workspace was spacious and well stocked, with a dry sink and an iron cookstove and a well-worn farm table that was just the right height for kneading bread. An embroidered sampler next to the corner cupboard read
God Bless Our Home
.

Elin spent the evenings sitting on the porch with Gunnar, listening to him tell stories, or writing letters to her sisters. Within days, she felt like she was back home in Sweden—except for missing Kirsten and Sofia, that is. She wished all three of them had come to Wisconsin in the first place, when they’d first arrived in America. This was the new beginning they had been searching for, the home she had promised them.

And as unlikely as it seemed, Gunnar Pedersen gradually inched his way into Elin’s heart. She began to notice how her pulse quickened whenever he arrived home for the evening meal. She found herself glancing in the mirror to fix her hair as she heard his boots tromping up the porch steps. And when she saw her reflection, she was surprised to see that she was smiling.

Three weeks after Elin arrived, Gunnar and his father came home from a trip into town with an envelope from Western Union, addressed to Elin. She opened it to find a letter from Mrs. Anderson’s lawyer.

“Is everything all right, Elin?” Gunnar asked. “I hope I’m not being too nosy for asking, but I was worried all the way home that it might be bad news.”

“No, it’s good news,” she said, handing the envelope to him. “It’s the remainder of the money that my sisters and I owe for our passage to America. You and your friends can divide it among yourselves. We’re all paid up.”

He looked down at the envelope, not at her. He wasn’t smiling. “Yes . . . I’ll do that.”

Gunnar was very quiet as they ate their dinner. When Elin finished helping with the dishes, she went outside to look for him. She found him in the springhouse, sitting on the edge of the well.

“It’s nice and cool in here,” she said.

“
Ja.
It always is.”

She sat down on the wall beside him. “I thought you would be happy to get your money back.”

“Not if it means you’re going away.”

“I don’t want to go away, Gunnar. This feels like home to me.” Elin was as surprised as he was to discover that it was true.

He looked up at her for the first time. “But . . . but if everything is paid up . . . and where did the money come from?”

Elin told him about Mrs. Anderson’s will, and how it provided money for Kirsten to attend college and for Sofia to go to the music conservatory, as well as for their tickets.

“What did she leave you?” Gunnar asked. Elin looked away. She didn’t want to tell him. “Come on, she must have given you something. You were the one who took care of her, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Elin smoothed the hem of her apron. She had learned during the past few weeks what a patient man Gunnar was. He would sit here in the springhouse with her until dawn if he had to, waiting for her to tell him. She may as well get it over with.

“She gave me a scholarship to a nursing school. It’s a two-year program.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“I don’t know. . . . My mother was a midwife back home. Before she died she used to take me with her sometimes, to help with the newborn babies. I loved working with her, and she said she would train me to deliver babies, too. But then she died.” Elin paused, listening to the crickets chirp in the grass outside.

“When I was in the hospital on Ellis Island,” she continued, “the nurses fascinated me. It seemed like they could ease people’s pain and soothe their fears, just by sitting at their bedside. And then I took care of Mrs. Anderson—” Her voice choked again as she remembered the fairy queen. She couldn’t finish.

“Then why didn’t you stay and become a nurse?” Gunnar asked. “If your tickets were all paid for, why did you come up here?”

“Because I gave you my word before I found out about the will. I didn’t want to renege on my promise a second time. I didn’t think it would be fair to you.”

“Elin,” he said, shaking his head. “It seems you are always thinking about other people—your sisters, my friends and me. What about your own feelings, your own dreams?” She answered with a shrug. “You’re entitled to have them, you know.”

“No . . .” she said aloud, then stopped. Elin didn’t believe she was entitled. Ever since Uncle Sven had moved in with her, she’d believed she had forfeited her right to be happy by the bad choices she’d made.

But what if Sofia was right and God really would forgive her? What if her life wasn’t over—but just beginning?

“I’m a farmer, deep in my soul,” Gunnar said. “It’s what God made my heart to love and my hands to do. If He made you to be a nurse, then that’s what you should do.”

“But I promised you. You sounded so nice in your letters, and you were kind enough to forgive me and to wait for your money. . . . And I’m happy here, really I am. It feels like home.”

Gunnar reached for her hand. Elin didn’t pull away. Her hand felt comfortable sandwiched between his huge rough ones.

“I think we have feelings for each other, Elin. I felt it already when we were still writing letters, didn’t you?”

“Yes. When you met me at the train station I felt like I already knew you.”

“Then this is what we will do,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “You will go back to Chicago and learn to be a nurse, and I will wait for you. It’s only two years. We could use a good nurse up here, you know. I think there might be lots of babies coming, one day.”

“But that’s not fair to you.”

“You are worth waiting for, Elin.”

She couldn’t reply. For the first time in years, Elin dared to believe that she was worthwhile. She looked down at the scrapes and scars on Gunnar’s hands and wanted to kiss his rugged knuckles. She lifted the corner of her apron to wipe her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“When does your school start?” he asked.

“In September.”

“And it lasts for only two years?” She nodded. “That’s not such a long time. Two growing seasons. You are welcome to stay here with my family and me until September, but then I think you should go back to Chicago. You’ll have a home here with me when you’re finished with school—if you want one, that is.”

“You are so kind, Gunnar Pedersen. Will you write letters to me while I’m gone?”

“
Ja
, of course I will. In fact, if I have a good crop this year, maybe I’ll come down and visit you in Chicago after the harvest.”

Elin smiled. “You can meet my sisters. They are very special to me. . . . And so are you.”

Chapter Forty

K
IRSTEN MISSED HER
sisters. The days seemed long and endless, the house too quiet. She had nothing to do but shop and cook and do laundry and no one to talk to while she did it. Whenever she glimpsed her grandmother’s silver candlesticks, they reminded her of Sofia and Elin. And home.

Each day she waited eagerly for Knute to come home, watching the front door as she cooked their dinner. Then when he did arrive, she found it difficult to carry on a conversation with him. They sat at their tiny table like mannequins, unsure what to say to each other. As soon as the meal ended, Knute would sit down at his desk or bury his nose in one of his books.

Kirsten was sitting in the living room with him one evening, trying to crochet and making a tangled mess of it—and wishing Elin were there to untangle it for her—when she suddenly asked, “Would you mind if we got a cat?”

He looked up from his book. “What did you say? . . . A cat?”

“Well, not just any cat. He belonged to Mrs. Anderson, and my sisters and I promised her we would take care of him after she died, but none of us could because we didn’t have a place to live, and now that I do . . .”

“I don’t mind, Kirsten. You may get a cat.” He returned to his book.

She walked over to Mrs. Olafson’s house the next evening after supper to fetch Tomte. “Yes, take him,” Mrs. Olafson said. “The poor animal is here alone all day, you see, while my husband and I are at work. The neighbors say he cries all the time.”

“How did you carry him over here from the mansion?”

“I stuffed him in a picnic basket and tied the lid shut. And I do mean ‘stuffed.’ He’s such a fat old thing he barely fit inside—and he didn’t like it one bit, I’ll tell you that!”

Kirsten covered her mouth to hide a smile as she pictured the wiry little woman hobbling down the street with the enormous cat crammed into the basket. Tomte probably howled in protest all the way.

“But the cat lost weight, you see, since his missus died,” Mrs. Olafson continued. “He’ll fit inside the basket now—but he still won’t like it and he’ll still be a load to carry.”

He was as heavy as a basketful of watermelons. Kirsten had to stop and rest several times, but she managed to lug him all the way home. She and Tomte quickly became a comfort to each other. He followed her around the house all day as she worked and slept beside her in the narrow, lonely bed at night.

Three weeks after Kirsten’s wedding, Knute’s little boy, Torkel, arrived from Sweden. Knute went alone to the train station to fetch him. Torkel was small for a four-year-old and as thin as his father was. He didn’t seem to remember Knute at all, and was crying for his grandmother when Knute carried him into the house and set him down.

“
Hej
, Torkel,” Kirsten said, crouching in front of him. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” He shrank back from her in fear. She stood again. “What shall I tell him to call me?” she whispered to Knute.

“I don’t know. Let him decide.”

Suddenly the cat jumped down from the sofa where he’d been sleeping and yowled in greeting. Torkel let out a piercing scream. He clung to his father’s pant leg in fear and wouldn’t stop screaming—which made the cat yowl all the louder. Knute lifted the boy in his arms again. Kirsten picked up the cat.

“Torkel, stop that,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“He has teeth! He’ll bite me!”

“Tomte would never bite you.”

“You’ll have to get rid of the cat,” Knute said.

“Don’t be silly. Tomte won’t hurt him. Look, Torkel, he’s afraid of you, too. See how flat his ears are? He can’t understand what all that racket is about.”

“Torkel shouldn’t have to be afraid in his own home,” Knute said.

“Well, this is Tomte’s home, too. Torkel needs to get over his fear. The cat would never hurt him. Please give them time, Knute.”

“I’ll give them two days. Now please put the cat outside until the boy calms down.”

But Torkel was such a nervous child, Kirsten didn’t think he ever would calm down, even without the cat. And since the cat wanted to be with Kirsten, he meowed inconsolably when she locked him up. Knute asked for cotton to stuff in his ears.

“This cannot continue,” he said.

“It won’t,” she promised. “You’ll see.”

As soon as Knute left for work the next day, Kirsten closed all of the windows so the neighbors wouldn’t hear Torkel screaming and let Tomte come inside the house. Torkel was sitting at the table eating his breakfast, but the moment he saw the cat he ran to the comfort of Kirsten’s arms for the first time.

“Shh . . . shh . . .” she soothed. “It’s all right, Torkel. He isn’t going to hurt you.”

It felt wonderful to hold his warm little body and kiss away his tears. And with no one else to turn to for comfort, Torkel quickly grew accustomed to her. By lunchtime, she loved him like her own child.

And by the time Knute arrived home from work that evening, cat and boy had reached an uneasy truce. Torkel no longer screamed whenever Tomte was in the room as long as Kirsten held him in her arms. She had to lock Tomte away again in order to fix supper, but afterward, when the dishes were done, she lifted Torkel in her arms and let the cat come inside.

“See how much progress we’ve made?” she asked Knute. He scowled and returned to his book. Kirsten carried Torkel to the sofa and sat down with him on her lap. “Stay down,” she told Tomte, holding out her hand. The cat sat at her feet, looking up at her, meowing pitifully.

“Do you know why he cries like that?” she asked Torkel. “It’s because he also lost someone he loved very, very much, just like you did.”

Knute lowered his book and looked up at her in alarm. “Kirsten, wait. Do you think it’s wise to—”

“Tomte was very, very sad,” she continued, “just like you must have been. That’s why he cries. He knows just how you feel.”

“Did his mama die, too?” Torkel asked.

“
Ja
,” she said, hugging him close. “Mrs. Anderson was his mama. And you know how good it feels when I hold you like this? Well, Tomte wants me to hold him, too. Do you think we could let him come up here and sit with us?”

“Will he bite?”

“No, he won’t bite. I promise.”