Kristina sat down to her sewing and picked out the basting from a pair of pants she was making for Johan. It was still early in the day but the heat was already pressing perspiration through her skin. The older children had gone down to the lake and must be splashing about in the inlet. Outside the chickens cackled; she now had a score of laying hens, all from the eggs of the hen Ulrika had given her two years ago. The cow, Miss, had lately calved but was not yet recovered and stood tethered down in the meadow. She had already had time to fill her belly and sought shade under a tree where she stood and chewed her cud.
Just then the oppressive, heavy stillness of the summer day was broken by loud cries from the children. Kristina dropped Johan’s pants on the floor and was outside in a second.
Johan and Marta came from the lake carrying Harald between them. Harald’s face was red and his eyes wild-looking, as he screamed loudly. The mother took the boy in her arms, carried him inside, and put him on the bed in the gable room. There was no use questioning the little one — he couldn’t talk; he panted for breath, groaned and puffed, bubbling foam escaping from the corners of his mouth.
The mother felt a sudden pressure across her chest.
“What happened to the boy? Did he fall and hurt himself?”
“It’s the wildcat! A great big wildcat!”
Johan and Marta were talking at the same time. While they had been out in the water Harald had crept in among the bushes on the shore. Suddenly he had come rushing back, yelling at the top of his voice, and they had heard a horrible growling and hissing: Harald had come across a big wildcat that was hiding in the thicket. They too had seen the evil critter that had frightened Harald; it was gray and had a thick cropped tail and thick legs. They had seen his head sticking out from the bushes, an enormous head with long whiskers — exactly like an ordinary cat but much bigger.
Johan and Marta had been so scared when they saw him they too had yelled, and the screaming of the three of them frightened the cat, who sneaked back into the bushes again. They had rushed home but had to carry Harald, who was so frightened he couldn’t walk by himself.
Kristina pulled off the boy’s clothes to see if the wildcat had wounded him, but she could find no claw marks on the little one’s body. It must have been the scare that affected the boy. But she felt sure the littlest of the brats had been in danger of his life; these big cats were said to kill children of his age. She had heard that those treacherous wildcats got right into houses. Karl Oskar had once shot such a beast down at the lake.
Kristina went to fetch some sweet milk from the spring where she kept it sunk in a bucket to preserve it in this heat. She tried to make Harald drink.
“Dear sweet love, don’t be afraid — that ugly cat. .”
A little child could lose its voice from sudden fright. But by and by the boy’s voice returned; he stuttered a few syllables; soon he managed an occasional full word.
“The cat. . he groaned. .”
“Horrible creature!”
After a while Harald seemed all right again and could talk fairly well, but she had better keep him in bed for the rest of the day. Kristina warned the other children not to go near the lake. The big wildcat might still be there, lurking in those heavy bushes that hung over the water in the shallow inlet.
Kristina had barely sat down to her sewing again before she was interrupted by a caller — a dear caller: Ulrika Jackson had come to visit New Duvemåla.
Ulrika was on her way home from St. Paul, where she had caught a ride on a cart and decided to stop in since she was so close. She hadn’t seen her namesake for several months. Kristina’s naming her lastborn Ulrika had pleased her more than a proposal from the President of the United States would have — if she had now been unmarried.
The first thing she asked was how much the girl had grown since her last visit. Ulrika herself had had a new baby last winter, her second child in wedlock — again a girl. It seemed to be her lot to mother females only. She still hoped to bear a male who could be consecrated as a holy preacher. Why didn’t the Lord wish to make her worthy to carry in her womb a future servant of his church? She supposed she had in some way annoyed God. But in what way?
Today for her journey to St. Paul she was wearing a new dress, with big puffed sleeves and a wide collar.
“Miss Skalrud says I deck myself in too much lace and flowers and embroidery,” said Ulrika. “The Norwegian says, ‘If you don’t get to be a priest’s mother it’s only a punishment for your vanity!’”
Kristina inspected the new dress: all upper-class ladies in America had puffed sleeves and wide collars, and they were not considered sinful or blasphemous decorations. Or did they tempt the menfolk to fornication? Ulrika’s new dress fit her well and was most becoming to her. Kristina couldn’t believe that because of puffed sleeves and lace and embroidery the Almighty would make Ulrika unable to bear male children.
“I would be glad to dress in potato sacks if I thought it would help,” exclaimed Ulrika. “But I keep hoping for next time. I’m only forty-two — I’ll be fertile still for a few years!”
Kristina explained why she was keeping Harald in bed and told Ulrika about the wildcat lurking in the bushes. When Ulrika also heard about Robert’s unexpected return her curiosity was aroused and she showered Kristina with questions: What had happened to Karl Oskar’s brother in California? How much had he told them? Had he earned any gold to bring back? Kristina replied evasively. Robert had gone out but Ulrika herself could ask him as soon as he came back. So far he hadn’t said much. She looked askance at the Swedish chest and was sorely tempted to confide in Ulrika about what lay hidden in it, but she dared not because of Karl Oskar. Nothing must be said to anyone as yet.
Robert did not return for the noon meal. Ulrika took his place at the kitchen table once she had thwarted Kristina’s attempts to set the table in the big room in honor of her guest.
“I’ve been to St. Paul to visit Elin.”
“Elin? Has your girl left Stillwater?” asked Kristina in surprise.
“Yes, she has a new job.” Ulrika became so serious that it surprised Kristina. She went on: “It was a hell of a thing. There are worse wildcats than those on four legs.” And Ulrika began to talk about the two-legged ones.
A great scandal had happened in the Baptist congregation in Stillwater. For more than four years Ulrika’s daughter Elin had been maid to Mr. Paul Hanley, the most prominent and richest member of their church. Hanley and his wife had been kind and generous to Elin. But a few times during the last year Elin had complained that Mr. Hanley acted peculiar toward her. She was asked to help him pull off his boots, she was told to sew buttons on his clothes while he had them on, and when his wife was away he called Elin to his room after he had gone to bed and asked her to make the bed while he was lying in it. These were chores he had thought up for the innocent girl, who wondered what it was all about.
And a few weeks ago she had come running home crying. He had tried to lead the girl astray and fornicate with her. His wife was at a party; he had called Elin to make the bed again — and then he had pulled her to him and thrown her down on the bed under him. Only with the greatest effort had she struggled free — luckily Elin was a sturdy, strong, full-grown girl — and, scared to death, she had rushed home to her mother. Ulrika realized at once what great danger the girl had been in: six or seven hooks had been torn loose from her petticoat.
Ulrika had gone straight back to Mr. Hanley and called him all the names he had earned, both in English and Swedish: adulterer, seducer, virgin-robber, horkarl, knullgubbe. He denied everything and called Elin an inveterate liar. But Ulrika had walked right into the elegant bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. Hanley and, as luck would have it, happened to see four of the torn-off hooks and eyes from Elins underskirt right on the floor next to the bed. She recognized them at once, she had sewn them on herself when she had made the petticoat for the girl. She picked them up and stuck them right under Mr. Hanley’s nose: she had sewn those hooks and eyes to her daughter’s clothes — how did they happen to be in his bedroom, next to his bed?