“I see women are allowed to write in the papers here,” said Robert.
Following the example of American papers, Hemlandet had two articles by women. Male readers had taken exception and sent in angry letters: writing by women was contrary to the biblical and Lutheran spirit which until now had dominated the paper. The editor replied that in the future he intended to remain fearless and when he received something worthwhile written by a woman he intended to print it. He wanted in this way to encourage females who more and more were learning to write. He insisted he would still remain a good Lutheran.
“I believe he is right,” said Kristina. “I can’t think it’s sinful to learn to write.”
She felt that many Swedish immigrant women, like herself, felt inferior because they never had learned to write and were unable to communicate with their relatives at home.
“Everything is different here,” said Robert. “You are a missus and Karl Oskar is a mister out here.”
“Yes, I am now ‘Mr.’ Nilsson!”
And Karl Oskar laughed heartily: he had been elevated here! If a farmer in Sweden were called “Mister” he would take it as an insult, believe he was being made a fool of.
“You should know how trusted your brother is in America,” said Kristina to Robert. “He and Uncle Danjel were elected to the parish board.”
“Are you a church warden, Karl Oskar!” exclaimed Robert.
“A church warden without a church as yet. Danjel and I are ‘deacons,’ we’re chosen to run the parish.”
“Deacons?! That sounds almost like a dean or a bishop.”
Kristina said she remembered that time when Dean Brusander denied the Holy Sacrament to Uncle Danjel and refused to accept him as godfather for Harald when the boy was baptized. Suppose the dean now learned that Danjel and Karl Oskar ran the parish — that in America they could select and fire ministers! Wasn’t the world turned upside down out here?
This evening supper was late again because Kristina had so much to talk about with Robert. She noticed his hearing had grown still worse, that she had to raise her voice in speaking to him. And she wondered again if he weren’t sick in some way; he moved about so slowly and heavily, and when he sat still and did not exert himself in any way, big drops of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was very thirsty and often walked over to the bucket to drink. He explained that he was weak after a cold he had caught on the steamboat coming up the river; that was why he wanted to go to bed early these first evenings.
And as soon as Robert had eaten supper he went to bed in the gable room.
Kristina looked after him as he closed the door.
“Something is wrong with your brother, Karl Oskar. You can see and hear it.”
“Yes — he’s somewhat quiet about his gold digging. And he hasn’t said a word about Arvid. .”
The old doubts were gnawing at him again; could everything be as it should with the big packs of bills his brother had given them?
Karl Oskar and Kristina remained sitting in the kitchen for a long time that evening, talking about something that had been in their minds all day long, something that had hardly left their thoughts for a minute — that something which for a whole day had been lying hidden in the bottom of the Swedish chest: the fortune that was secreted in their house.
XVII. THE SECOND NIGHT — ROBERT’S EAR SPEAKS
You’re tired and want to sleep but I must keep you awake. I am your faithful companion — I am the memories which refuse to leave you, a severe master.
You have an ear ache; you feel your heart’s persistent pumping in your ear, a dull thudding. But there is nothing you can do about it, except to lie quietly and endure it. What is it that hurts me? you have asked. No being on earth can give you a reply to that question. When you were born into this world as a human being you were condemned to being hurt. You were born with this body with its two ears, one of which buzzes at you tonight! Whose decision was it that you were to be a human being? The Lord of life and death, of course, and he also created the hurt. Why did He do it? — That is the Riddle of Life you cannot solve.
During that spring, three years ago, you still had your health, without suffering. At that time you lived with an expectation which aided you to endure patiently all troubles and tribulations; you thought the only thing that mattered was to get to a certain place on this earth. Yes, I remember so clearly everything that happened during that spring. .
— 1—
The buffalo grass was again turning green on the prairie, and new shoots were springing up, already three inches tall. Again there was fodder for the animals of the gold caravan, all the animals which would carry California-bound travelers on their backs and provide them with meat. The grass was fresh and green for only one month of the year, but it remained nourishing and desirable to the animals the year round.
Toward the end of March the two Swedish farm hands threw aside their axes, said goodbye to the farmer, and made ready to continue their journey westward; this spring they would not be too late to join up with the caravan on the California Trail.
Every day great numbers of strangers arrived in St. Louis on their way to Independence and St. Joseph, the meeting places for gold seekers. Here they obtained part of their equipment, food, fodder, tools which could not be bought farther west. St. Louis was beginning to look like a great army camp bivouacking for a few days. In every open place in the town, Robert and Arvid could see those strange vehicles, the Conestoga wagons, with their broad side boards and heavily forged wheel rims. From one side board to the other canvas was stretched on curved wooden bows over the wagon to form a covering. The boys looked with respect at the Conestoga wagon wheels which would turn over two thousand miles of prairies and plateaus, over mountains and deserts, and at last sink down in the sand where the gold glittered and shone.
The California-bound rode in wagons or on horses or mules and those who had neither vehicle nor animal must use the old “apostle horses”—they must walk. But even for those on foot, pack animals were necessary; no one could carry a heavy burden for two thousand miles.
Robert and Arvid counted the money they had saved and talked and figured carefully. How ought they to travel?
One morning as they walked about the town they were approached by a dark-hued stranger who carried a silver-ornamented Kentucky rifle. The man was not much taller than a young boy and wore a short red jacket with yellow stripes across the shoulders and chest. His hat was brown with a hatband of silver-white strings — the biggest hat they had ever seen on a human head. They thought it funny to see such a short man with a hat brim half as wide as his height. This peculiarly dressed stranger asked them if they were on their way to California.
“Yes. . yes! We are hunting for gold!” Never before had Robert found an answer in English so quickly.
The little man smiled, exposing long white teeth. His skin was honey-colored, and his strong, protruding nose reminded Robert of his brother Karl Oskar. His eyes were big and friendly and warm.
He too was on his way to the goldfields. He would supply them with all they needed on the journey if they would keep him company and help him with his mules. Had they any experience in handling animals?
“We are used to farm work,” exclaimed Robert. “We can take care of cattle.”