The Last Letter Home (20 page)

Is there anything sweeter than to awaken in the morning completely rested?

She sits, surrounded by darkness, on the old tree trunk. She is alone in the wild woods, completely defenseless against anyone wishing to harm her. But she is not afraid. She feels as secure and protected as a child who has climbed up on its mother’s knee.

Nor is she alone. This is a moment of meditation for her, a moment to think over what has just happened to her. For something has happened: She is pregnant again. She has just become sure: God has created a new life in her.

The last time this happened she had sinned gravely, and he chastised her and took back his creation. This time she has received assurance that she is again worthy. She enjoys God’s confidence again. She has received his grace; he trusts her.

The curse has been removed from Kristina and she is again a blessed woman.

One night last month Karl Oskar and Kristina had again become husband and wife, and immediately this had taken place, it must have occurred as soon as it could. It was understandable that it should happen at their first, intense being together. After all, it was as if they had been married for a second time. And these last weeks they had lived like a newly wedded couple, who had long suffered in their impatient expectancy. It is a blissful time that has been granted them. And it began just as spring broke. Her Astrakhan tree was in full bloom then and this seemed to her a good omen.

Kristina is not afraid; all will be well.

As yet only a few days have passed since she learned for sure what had taken place. While she was still uncertain she had not wished to tell Karl Oskar, but now she must no longer delay. She knows in advance how he will take it:
It is he who is afraid!
She has noticed how worried he has been ever since they started to be together again. She knows him so well, she knows his reactions to one thing or another. In his eyes she has all the time read his anxiety: What have I done? What have I exposed you to? What will happen? When will it happen?

Now it has happened, and he must be told at once. Karl Oskar, who is so afraid of this next childbed—how sorry she feels for him. Now he will be terribly scared, and this she must prevent.

He believes blindly in the Stillwater doctor, that’s why he is concerned about her. He’ll be worried to death now if she doesn’t give him courage. Men can’t stand as much as women. They are more easily frightened by what they fear might happen. She must calm him; all will come out well.

While Kristina sits on the tree trunk this evening in the forest, it comes clearly to her—all that she must say to Karl Oskar: Listen to me now! I have news! I’m pregnant again! You expected it, you know that—you expected it and you were afraid of it! You haven’t said anything but I’ve seen how scared you’ve been. But now you must stop! Now you needn’t fear, because it’s already happened. It’s nothing to worry about—everything will be all right as before. I’ve been with child eight times and all has come out well in the end. Why not this time? Believe me, Karl Oskar, it will!

I have figured out the time—February. Yes, sometime in February, because it happened in May, the very first time, I’m sure. And no wonder—or what do you think, Karl Oskar?

But now you mustn’t worry about it while I have my time of waiting. Please, Karl Oskar, I beg you—don’t worry the least little bit during this time! Don’t feel you’ve done something wrong! It’s no sin to be with your wife, it’s no evil thing to make her pregnant! Your mind must be at rest; you must have the same confidence as I. Why won’t you?

Now you hear what I say, Karl Oskar: Forget what the doctor said! Don’t think about it any more. It only makes you unhappy. Forget it! Cheer up!

All will be well with me when my time comes. Eight times I’ve gone through it successfully. Who has helped me those times? Who do you think? He will help me this time also! You must know I’m in good hands!

So she will speak to Karl Oskar. But what will he answer?

Kristina remains seated on the fallen tree and forgets time. The evening wears on. She begins to feel a chill on her bare legs; some nights in June are chilly. She pulls her skirt around her knees; now she must go home. She hadn’t meant to sit here and rest such a long time. But her mind had been full of her new pregnancy and her worries about Karl Oskar. Now she knows what to say, how to weigh her words when she speaks to him.

She rises and continues homeward on the path. Now it is as dark as it can be in the forest. She can hardly see where to put her foot down. Twigs brush her in the face as she walks, she bends down to avoid them; she must walk slowly in this darkness. But she has tramped this path hundreds of times during the years they have lived here; she knows where it bends and turns, she will not lose it. But she must take slow steps or she might hurt herself against trees or roots.

Still, her foot stumbles and she almost falls.

She regains her balance and is ready to go on when a tall apparition takes shape through the dark. Someone is coming toward her on the path, someone who tramps heavily, in solid, booted feet. A large man takes shape a few feet in front of her.

And Kristina suddenly pulls back a few steps in front of her. Suddenly a weight has fallen on her heart. What is this? Who is this walking on the path?

She takes a few steps backward, her hands on her throat as if in protection. She is utterly still.

The apparition has stopped in front of her.

“I hope I didn’t scare you?”

“Karl Oskar!”

“You’re late—I was getting worried.”

“It turned dark so quickly . . .”

“Well, yes, that’s what I thought. That’s why I came . . .”

“Have I been looking for the cow so long that you had to look for me!”

“Did you find the cow?”

“No, I didn’t. She might be stuck somewhere . . .”

Karl Oskar and Kristina resume their homeward walk on the path. They walk side by side, but the path is so narrow they find it difficult to walk beside each other; at times he must go ahead a bit, then wait for her when the path broadens.

And now as they walk together here in the dark forest she feels the moment has come to tell him:

She tells him what has happened to her, she tells him everything she has thought of while sitting on the tree trunk, she says all in a few minutes, all she has intended to tell him.

Kristina wishes to share with her husband her own unwavering confidence and conviction:

She will survive her ninth childbed.

—2—

A settler wife’s evening prayer:

. . .
yes, dear God . . . it was terrible . . . worse than I had ever feared . . . He was frightened beyond reason. Never have I seen him so frightened as tonight . . . never! I couldn’t help no matter what I said. Therefore I wish to pray to you, dear God—help me! Help me reassure Karl Oskar! Help me remove the anxiety from him! For he cannot carry on like this all the time till February . . .

I myself . . . I know not what to do any more . . . but I trust in you, dear God. You are the only one who can remove the fear from my husband. Don’t let Karl Oskar worry! Tell him there’s no danger! Now he only says everything is his fault, his responsibility. But you—you know all, you know how it happened . . .

Myself . . . I’ll do all I can to help him in this. But I’m so tired, dear God, you know how tired I am . . .

XII

AND A NEW CIVIL WAR BROKE OUT

The Cause:

According to the Mendota Agreement the government was to pay the Sioux in western Minnesota the sum of $70,000 in gold during 1861. By the beginning of 1862 this debt had not been paid. Meanwhile, famine raged among the Indians and their situation was greatly worsened by the intensely cold winter. Their spokesmen several times dunned the government agents for money but were sent away empty-handed. While the Sioux waited in vain for their money, disturbance arose in their camp. Red Iron, a prominent Sioux chief, had met with Alexander Ramsey, governor of Minnesota, for negotiations which took place at Mankato in October 1861.

Red Chief Speaks to White Chief at Mankato:

Man does not own the earth. What he does not own he cannot sell. What no one can sell no one can buy. Your people, Wliite Chief, therefore cannot buy the earth. All objects you can move from one place to another may be bought. A horse, a bow, a buffalo hide you can buy. But the land you cannot pick up and move from one place to another.

My people do not own this land and therefore we cannot sell it to your people. We have only granted your people the right to use this ground and live on it. All the gold and silver you might offer us—be it even enough to fill our valleys to the very brim—would not buy from us the beautiful hunting grounds the Great Father gave to our forefathers. We will not give up the graves of our fathers for all the money in the world.

My people have been forced to let your people use this land. Your chiefs have given us paper with written promises of sufficient gold to sustain our lives. We have waited for many moons in our camps but this gold has not arrived. We are still waiting.

Your people are rich, my people are poor. Your people have fine buildings, my people live in poor wigwams. Your fires are warm, our fires are not able to keep out the cold. The white children are strong and well fed, our children are weak and starved. Your people have food in great plenty, my people are sick from hunger. Your storehouses are filled, my people have no storehouses. Deer and elk will soon be gone, the fish in our lakes disappear. Soon the snow will fall over the ground and hunting will be over. Soon ice will cover the waters and we will not be able to catch the fish. How then will my people live?

We cannot survive in this country without food. Without food we shall perish. As deer in the forest and fish in the lakes diminish and disappear, so our people will disappear and die.

We have surrendered our hunting grounds and our fathers’ graves. Soon there will be no place in this land where we can bury our dead. We have no land left for our graves. Your people have taken our land and will not give space even for our dead bodies.

Our Great Father will see his children die in the land he has given them to possess. We will only leave our bones, to whiten aboveground. When our bones have turned to dust there will be nothing more left of our people. Your people alone will possess that beautiful land our Great Father once gave his children.

Thus spake Red Chief to White Chief at Mankato.

The Start:

On August 18, 1862, there arrived for the government agent at Fort Ridgely the $70,000 in gold which was overdue the Sioux tribes of western Minnesota.

It was exactly one day too late. The day before, the Indians had begun to exact their claim in settlers’ blood.

—1—

It began on Sunday, August 17, on Sven Danjelsson’s homestead near Acton in Meeker County.

Sven had staked out his claim of 160 acres close to a small reedy lake a mile from Acton, and even before his marriage he had built a log cabin and cleared a few acres. After their wedding the previous autumn, Sven and Ragnhild had moved to the claim and lived there during the winter. In the spring they had done their first sowing and planting, and their first crops were now ready to be harvested.

Danjel Andreasson and his son Olof, who was three years younger than Sven, had early in spring promised to help the young couple with their first crop. Ragnhild was expecting a child and did not feel strong. On Friday evening, the fifteenth, Danjel and Olof arrived at the new clearing near Acton. Sven was pleased with the prospect of help from his father and brother; now his young wife need not overwork herself during the harvest, so close before her delivery; Ragnhild was in the last month of her pregnancy.

On Saturday Sven started to mow his rye, his father bound the sheaves after him, and his brother put them in shocks. Before evening the field was finished, but Danjel and Olof would remain over Sunday to help with the wheat during the following week.

During Sunday forenoon a Swedish neighbor came to visit the family. His name was Ivar Eriksson, a young man about Svens age. He brought with him his two children, a boy four years old and a girl of three. Ivar and Sven had helped each other with work and were good friends.

The neighbor and his children stayed for Sunday dinner with the Danjelsson family. It was a humid summer day. At table the men talked about the crops and the intense heat; it was now about as warm as it ever was in Minnesota in August—how long would the heat wave last? This weather suited the settlers until the crops were in, even though they perspired greatly in their work in the fields.

Dinner over and Danjel having read the prayer of thanks, the men sought shade outside to enjoy their rest. The coolest place was at the back of the log house. Ragnhild remained inside to wash the dishes, and the neighbor children stayed in with her to play on the floor.

The four men stretched out in the grass against the wall.

During dinner Ivar Eriksson had happened to mention that some Indians had been seen near Acton yesterday, but he thought this was of no particular significance since the redskins frequently appeared in groups nowadays. Some of the Sioux had camped in Meeker before and had always been friendly; they had disturbed neither him nor any other settler in the vicinity. However, someone who had seen the Indians yesterday insisted their faces were painted red, whatever that might mean.

Sven Danjelsson had replied that sometimes the Indians painted their faces just for the fun of it, to be dressed up like. They enjoyed everything that glittered and shone, they would deck themselves out in anything they might lay hands on, they were like children in that respect. If one of them found a colorful rooster feather he would immediately put it in his hair. To look really festive they would rub their hair with bear fat until it seemed they had been ducked in a kettle of grease.

Ragnhild told about several squaws who had come to the house during the winter, their poor children blue in the face from cold; she had given them whatever clothing she could spare. Sven said she had given them more than she could spare, she had coughed the whole winter because she was dressed too lightly.