Yes, that was what he meant: he wanted to have his share of her. He wanted to lure her to his lonely house.
She looked for Karl Oskar — he was sitting at the other end of the room, talking in his halting English with Pastor Jackson. What would Karl Oskar have said if he had heard Thomassen’s invitation? Something unpleasant would have happened to the shoemaker, of that she was sure. She also was sure that there was one threshold in Stillwater she would never cross.
Little by little she moved away from the man, until he was forced to take his hand from her shoulder.
He smiled, awkwardly: “You aren’t afraid of me?”
“No, I had not thought of you as being dangerous.”
“I am a very peaceful man.”
There was something of a child’s helplessness in the little shoemaker’s voice. And something childlike came over his face when he smiled. Her fear and repulsion were overcome by compassion: perhaps he hadn’t meant anything by his invitation. Perhaps he had asked her out of pure kindness and only wanted her to come and visit him — he must suffer from lack of company. If he wanted a woman, could she reproach him for that? She could understand a lone man’s predicament in this frontier country. She could imagine what it would be for her were she forced to live alone, without husband and children. She could not have endured it, absolutely not. Yet most of the men out here must endure such a life, year in, year out. Perhaps they were not to be judged too severely if they were tempted to adultery with other men’s wives, and God must overlook it even if they mixed with heathen women and had unnatural relations with animals.
Samuel Nöjd had gone to sit alone in a corner with another heaped-up plate in front of him, oblivious to everything except the food. Her judgment on him and his treatment of the Indian girl may have been too thoughtless. Perhaps he had told her the truth, that he was so kind and good to the girl that she gave in to him willingly. Samuel Nöjd had been born in a Christian land and had once known what sin was, but had forgotten. The heathen girl should not be judged, she did not know God’s Ten Commandments.
Again she heard the low voice of the Norwegian: “I am a kind man and would not harm a woman.”
Kristina turned to him. To live alone was too much for a human being. She had gone through so much, she knew. She herself would not wish to live without a man, and she thanked her Creator that she had one. She wanted to tell Thomassen how sorry she was that he must live alone. God had made men and women for each other and he wanted them to enjoy each other. She told him that she hoped so many women would move into the Territory that every man who wanted a wife could have one; that he too would find the companionship he longed for, so he would no longer have to suffer the cruel lot of the lonely ones.
The little yellow-haired man listened intently. Then he touched her hand and said in a controlled voice: “You are a good woman.”
Kristina felt perhaps she had been able to comfort another human being.
— 5—
At the height of the party Ulrika had an announcement: when she had planned the party she had hoped to have one more dear guest present, a little man-child. But as far as she could see it would be another year or so before he could be welcomed. In his place had been sent another guest, a little girl, whom they now would see for the first time.
Cora Skalrud came in carrying the tender child, the little newborn girl, bundled up in her swaddling clothes, and showed her to the guests. Miss Skalrud was as proud of the little one as if she herself had borne her. She predicted that the daughter would one day be as beautiful as her mother. Ulrika replied that in America a girl could make good use of a fair face. But such a girl born in Sweden to poor people would only have to suffer because of it, as she would be considered permissible prey for the men.
“Well, now I have introduced the wench,” she said happily, and Miss Skalrud carried the baby back to bed.
In the meantime, Jonas Petter had been telling a ribald story to a few of the male guests who sat in a circle around him. It was about a rich farmer at home in Ljuder who was unable to become a father and wanted to hire the village soldier to make him an heir, after his wife had agreed to do her part of the work. The farmer offered the soldier ten sacks of rye for his trouble if a male heir were the result, and five sacks if a female was born, all ample measure. That was how great a difference in value of the two sexes there was in Sweden. The soldier at first pretended hesitation, hoping the farmer would raise the offer. But it had been a year of bad crops and grain was high priced and at last he accepted the pay — it would give bread to his own large flock of children. Next time when the farmer had an errand to town and had to stay away for a couple of nights, the soldier was called in for duty in the couple’s marital bed.
He broke it off, however, when Ulrika displayed her newborn child, and when the little girl had been carried to her room he refused to go on. He realized suddenly that it was not a suitable story for a party in a minister’s home — he would tell the rest of it some other time in a less pious place.
Jonas Petter understood more English than any of the other men who had come to America with him; during the winter evenings he had studied language books and this last year he had been reading The Pioneer, the American paper for settlers, printed in St. Paul. And tonight Pastor Jackson had discovered Jonas’s ability in English; they had talked in the pastor’s tongue and understood each other easily.
The pastor now approached Jonas Petter, took him by the arm, and led him to a corner. He was speaking in a whisper — it seemed he had a secret to confide. And Jonas Petter’s ears were wide open:
Pastor Jackson had thought of a surprise for his wife at her party tonight: he intended to give a speech in her own language: “I want to pay tribute to my wife in Swedish, you see!”
From his Swedish friends he had picked up a few suitable sentences and had practiced their pronunciation in secret. But Swedish was a very difficult language and therefore his speech would be short, only seven or eight brief sentences. He practiced this speech for a long time. He wanted to honor and thank his beloved wife in her own language, but in his address of respect he wished also to include all the other women who had come from her country. He valued and thought highly of them all.
The little speech he had prepared with so much effort was written down on a piece of paper. Now he wanted to show it to Jonas Petter and get his opinion as to whether it was good enough. He was anxious to know if he had made any mistakes in the language — would Jonas Petter be kind enough to look through it?
Pastor Jackson handed him the paper. Jonas Petter walked over to the nearest wall candle and read by the light from the tallow:
“Dear my beloved Ollrika! I wish you a bit of speech on your party-feast today. I wish to say unto you thank you my dear. I am joyful and filled with happiness that you became a wife of mine. You are the best of wives in this world. I want you this to know. I would like to make speech and honor all Swedish womenkind today. I enjoy them and find happiness in them all. Svensuka flicker knulla bra.”
Twice Jonas Petter read through what Pastor Jackson had written. He read slowly and carefully and his face assumed a thoughtful mien.
The pastor stood behind his back and explained. It was the chastity and virtue of the Swedish women he wanted to praise in these words. Of all the people who had moved into Minnesota, the Swedish women appeared to him the model of pious morality.
The pastor was still talking in whispers. Jonas Petter whispered back: there was one sentence he wanted to ask about — where had the pastor picked up the very last sentence of the speech?