Each morning as Kristina rose she looked out at her flower bed: had they come up yet? The days went by but nothing was seen aboveground. It took time. . but she asked Karl Oskar what he thought; was it possible that Mr. Abbott had sold her old seeds that wouldn’t grow? He assured her that he had bought seed grain and seeds for rutabagas and carrots and parsnips and all had come up.
Then Karl Oskar too began to look at the flower bed. Each day he seemed more thoughtful. And one morning he said to his wife:
“Come and have a look at your claim, Kristina!”
In a headlong jump she was out of bed: small, awlsharp blades were shooting up from the earth. In the early sun they glittered like grain shoots. These were not tender flower stems; what she saw were shoots of grass.
“That’s what I thought!” she exclaimed, annoyed. “He gave me old seed — only weeds are coming up!”
“Weeds do not grow in rows,” said Karl Oskar calmly.
“In rows?” A new thought struck her. “You don’t mean I’ve planted. .?”
She bent down and looked closely. He was right: the grass grew in row after row — in five long rows.
“Exactly where I planted the seeds! Good Lord, what’s this. .?”
Karl Oskar pointed and explained: “Here at the edge grows timothy, the next row is clover. .”
“My Lord, how I’ve been fooled!”
Kristina had planted fodder grass instead of flowers in her garden bed. And when Karl Oskar mentioned clover she realized what had happened: when she asked for seeds in Mr. Abbott’s store she had pointed to a paper with a red flower — a clover blossom!
Neither asters nor resedas came up outside her window, neither daisies, nor sunflowers, neither larkspur nor lavender. Clover plants grew there, stands of timothy, and other grasses, rough, reddish, American fodder grass, unknown to her. But these plants she need not cultivate — they grew wild in abundance around the house, they stood yard-high everywhere, there were such quantities of them they could not save half.
“Laugh at me, Karl Oskar! Poke fun at me! I’m a fool. .”
Why had she been so dumb as to try to speak English when she knew she couldn’t? Why hadn’t she asked Jonas Petter or Swedish Anna to help her buy the flower seeds? And where had her senses been when she was planting — she knew the difference between flower seeds and grass seed. She had thought the flower seeds looked unusual, but then, everything in America was different. .
It was a little annoying, said Karl Oskar, but nothing to take seriously. He too in the beginning had made mistakes when he bought things. The English language was so confusing, it was hazardous to speak it, some words were so mixed up in that tongue. He had had great trouble when he bought seed rye: as long as the rye grew in the field it was called crop but as soon as it was harvested and threshed it was called grain, even though it was rye all the time. She was not the only one to make a mistake.
But Kristina was a perfectionist. Therefore, it was of no comfort to her that Karl Oskar could make similar mistakes. It did not worry her so much that she made a fool of herself to others, but she felt a fool in her own eyes, dejected, and that was worse.
“Someone like me ought to stay home. I ought not to poke my nose beyond the claim. I am so stupid in English I ought not to mix with other people.”
“But this mistake is easily remedied!” exclaimed Karl Oskar.
She could plant the bed with new seeds; he would buy the right ones for her next time he had an errand in Taylors Falls or Stillwater.
But after all her worry and concern for the plants she had thought would become flowers, she did not wish to start all over again this summer.
She pulled up the grass plants, each and every one, hoed the bed, and planted cabbage instead.
She should have learned this much by now: it was, and remained forever, difficult to transplant the homeland in foreign soil. A person could not change countries and make a foreign place into home overnight. Perhaps she would not even live long enough to do that.
One thing was sure — it would be some time before she again tried to speak English.
IV. GUESTS IN THEIR OWN HOUSE
— 1—
Spring brought potent growing weather; it was dry during seeding and planting time, then when the fields were prepared a generous rain fell for several days without letup; it poured down in sheets from low-hanging, pregnant clouds. The cabin’s sod roof began to leak and the Nilssons brought out all available vessels to catch the drip. The roof had never leaked before, but this was the most persistent downpour they had experienced in Minnesota.
During one of the rainy nights Karl Oskar was awakened by his wife touching his elbow: “Someone is knocking on the door!”
He sat up in bed and listened. Out there in the black night the rain was pouring down, beating against the window. It dripped from the ceiling and splashed in the vessels on the floor. But above the sounds of the rain came a heavy banging against the door.
“There’s someone out there — it woke me,” said Kristina.
Karl Oskar pulled on his pants and lit a candle on the table. Who would come at this hour of the night? Someone must have lost his way and was seeking shelter from the rain.
Kristina too slipped out of bed and pulled on her petticoat. She whispered, “Ask who it is before you open!”
It might be one of the new neighbors in need of help. But they could expect unfriendly callers day or night and must not be taken unawares; their door was always well bolted at night.
Before Karl Oskar had time to ask, a man’s voice was heard through the cloor: “I’m a lone wanderer. Please give me shelter, good people!”
These pleading words were in Swedish and that was enough for Karl Oskar; he pushed back the heavy bolts.
A man in a long, black coat and a black, broad-brimmed hat stumbled across the threshold, his legs unsteady. His coat was covered with mud and soaked through with rain; it hung on him limply. Water splashed in his boots with every step. He sank down on a chair, collapsing like an empty sack, and breathed heavily, “Much obliged. Thank you, my good Swedes.”
Utterly confused, Karl Oskar and Kristina eyed their unexpected night caller, a thin young man with a pale, narrow face and large blue eyes. He carried a handbag of shining black leather, and his muddy clothes were of fine quality. He had white, well-cared-for hands, like those of a scrivener or a nobleman. The stranger looked like a gentleman, not a trapper or a settler. Why was he wandering about in the wilderness in this ungodly weather?
The man removed his hat, and the water ran in runnels from the brim; his hair, too, was thoroughly wet and clung to his skull. From his coat and pants water ran onto the floor and formed puddles round his chair.
Kristina pulled on her night jacket. “You’re out in evil weather,” she said.
“Where do you come from?” asked Karl Oskar.
“I’ve walked from St. Paul.” He panted for breath, exhausted from fatigue. “I’m worn out. .”
It was evident to both of them that he was in a sorry condition.
“Make a fire so he can dry himself!” said Kristina.
Karl Oskar pushed aside the kettles and bowls, earthen crocks and cauldron lids, which stood on the floor half filled with water, and made a passage to the fireplace. He found some dry kindling behind the chimney and soon a great fire blazed on the hearth. It lit up the room so that he could see the stranger more clearly. What he saw shocked him: on the man’s forehead and on his neck were horrible, bleeding spots.