The Settlers (54 page)

Weariness came over him, dulling his senses. The pursuer hammered and buzzed, hurting. It felt as if something had swelled up in there and wanted to get out; it knocked and thundered and pounded on the closed door:
Open! Open! I want to get free!

But he moved on, wandering about in circles, in wide arches. No bell around his neck tinkled and disclosed his path as he searched for a place where he would be Un-get-at-able.

—2—

It was late afternoon but the sun was still above the tree crowns when he reached a small stream that wound its way among the thickets. The stream had shrunk in the summer heat, and clean-washed boulders rose from its bottom, but the water purling around them was crystal-clear, and the thick bushes and trees had helped to keep it cool.

He threw himself headlong on the ground and dipped his face in the stream. The water ran into his wide-open mouth—he swallowed, he panted, he drank. It gurgled in his throat. He drank for a long time. When he had quenched his thirst he sat down to rest near the stream, water still dripping from his chin. The foliage formed a thick mantle over this brook. Close to him an elder bush spread its branches over the water.

He gave in to his weariness and sank down. He remained still as the ground itself, as he watched the running stream. His mind cleared.

Once before he had sat here. He had seen this narrow stream swell with the spring rains: it was that day on which he had first set out in the world, on his way to his first job as farm hand. But he did not wish to have any masters, and to escape from service he had thrown his coat in the water and pretended he had drowned in the brook. That had been his first attempt to become free and un-get-at-able.

Now he was back. He recognized the place, it was well known to him. Before his eyes he saw every detail: the smooth, shiny stones at the bottom, the lush vegetation on the banks, and the fresh, purling water with its bubbles glittering like water-lily pads. Everything he saw was the same. He had been here before; beside this little stream—so free in its course—he had rested during the last hour before he became a servant.

He had come back to the mill brook.

He took off his boots and socks and dangled his bare feet in the stream; he had always done this here when he was a young boy. The water purled and bubbled between his burning toes. It cooled his legs mercifully. It felt so good.

This water never stayed in the same place. It never had time to grow stagnant and rotten. The foam-pearls whirled on their way and he followed them with his eyes. The brook threw itself over obstacles, twisted hurriedly past bushes and roots, cut a course with its own strength. It was headed for the sea and when it reached the great body of water its way lay clear across the world. Then this little stream would mingle with the great billows that carried the ships on their broad shoulders, lifting them up toward the heavens, and lowering them again into the ocean’s deep valleys. On the ships grew masts, the tall pines that held the sails. With great white wings the ships flew across the ocean to the New World. The farm hands who had felled and cleaned the masts were not allowed to go with the ships on their journey; they must stay behind in their dark rooms, peering out through dirty windows, chained to their service and their masters.

But two farm hands had accompanied the tall pines from their homeland across the great sea. And one of them had returned from his long journey.

He sat dangling his bare feet in the cool water as he had done so many times before in this brook. He had strayed far before he reached home. He had roamed widely, he had been in the train of the hundred thousand, led by the Pillar of Gold, and he had almost perished in that evil place of sand and stone and thirst. He had lived years in a ghost town, full of rat cadavers and desolate sites where people once had had homes. He had not thought he would ever return again, he had not imagined he could return. But at last he had found his way home. He recognized everything. Here he had rested the day he set out into the world. Now he had come home.

He needn’t walk any farther, and that was good, as tired as he was. He hadn’t rested well for a long time. But here he could rest—he was at home.

What time of day was it? He had no watch—except the one that had stopped three years ago. He would have liked to know what time it was when he returned.

He lifted his feet from the water and stretched out full length on the ground beneath the wide elder tree. It was good to be home, to rest here at the brook and watch through the foliage how it hurried on its way. And here he could go to sleep and dream again the water-dream, the good dream.

—3—

Once he woke up and lay and listened, greatly surprised. His ear was silent, it didn’t buzz any more. His left ear did not ache, did not buzz, did not throb. It gave no sound at all.

He lay quite still and listened intently, but could hear nothing. The world had grown completely silent. Then his left ear must be well. He felt no pain. And he felt released and refreshed and deeply satisfied. His torturing companion had disappeared. His pursuer had at last deserted his head and left him in peace. He was rid of his last master. He needn’t run away any more. He was unreachable, un-get-at-able, he was free.

He noticed it was evening, the day was over. He could just lie here and go to sleep again. Now that his ear was silent perhaps he could sleep the whole night through. He no longer had a master who would call him at a certain hour. And a drowsiness that was good and irresistible soon closed his eyes, pulled his lids shut.

All was silent in the world. His ear did not awaken him.

Close by the gold seeker’s still body the stream in its course hurried on its way to mingle with greater waters.

—4—

A search party found his tracks near the bog, and from there on they followed them to the edge of the brook where he lay under the foliage. They thought he must have been dead for two days when they found him.

Karl Oskar Nilsson made the coffin for his brother. He was buried one evening on the out-jutting point at Lake Ki-Chi-Saga, where the Swedish settlement had chosen and consecrated their cemetery. Karl Oskar put an oak cross on the grave, and carved in the wood his brother’s name, with the usual dates, and a line from a psalm he remembered:

Here Rests

AXEL ROBERT NILSSON

Born in Ljuder, Sweden, 1833

Died in Minnesota, North America, 1855

Let me have a Pleasing Rest

His was the first grave to be dug in the cemetery on the point. Robert Nilsson was the first of the Swedes in the St. Croix Valley to be buried under the silver maples.

Part Three

Blessed Woman

XXVI

THE QUEEN IN THE KITCHEN

—1—

Karl Oskar caught sight of her in the window of Newell’s Hardware Store on Third Street between Jackson and Robert streets; he was walking by and she was displayed in the window. Her name—“The Prairie Queen”—was lettered on the front. She was well polished; her shiny iron surface caught the eye from a distance. The Queen showed herself in all her glory to those on the street and many persons stopped to look at her. A poster, praising the Queen, also hung in the window, and recommended her to buyers: “Undersigned, James Boles, certifies that we use the Prairie Queen in our home and that she is better than any other we have had.” “J. Blien’s Post Boat Company certifies that the Prairie Queen is also suited for boats.” “Undersigned, Nicolas Dowling, certifies that I like the Prairie Queen better than any other make.” “The undersigned, Mr. and Mrs. John O. Andersson, certify that the Prairie Queen is superior to any of her competitors.”

But the price asked for her was high: thirty-three dollars.

Karl Oskar had driven to the pork market in St. Paul with four of his slaughtered hogs. In Stillwater pork brought only four cents a pound, but in St. Paul the price was six cents; thus it paid to drive the longer distance. The buyer had counted out forty dollars in silver to Karl Oskar. He could pay cash for the Prairie Queen and take her home with him on the wagon.

After a moment’s hesitation he stepped inside Newell’s Hardware Store and negotiated his purchase.

Three weeks before Christmas the Queen arrived secretly at the New Duvemåla settlement. She was secreted in a wooden box, nailed shut, which Karl Oskar smuggled into the woodshed when no one was around. He put the box in a corner and, to be on the safe side, covered it with some old sacks; here she was well hidden.

The Prairie Queen was not to be moved from her hiding place and into the house until Christmas Eve. She was to be a Christmas present for Kristina.

Karl Oskar mused that the Prairie Queen was an excellent name for a cookstove. The Prairie Queen, which had gulped down all of his income from the sale of four great hogs, was made of cast iron and came equipped with four utensils: a roaster, a kettle, a coffeepot, and a frying pan. It had the reputation of being more convenient than any other stove in the world.

In order to prepare food at their hearth, a pot was placed in an iron ring which stood on three legs in the center of the fireplace. Only one pot could be used at a time and care must be taken lest the ring holding it turn over. All their cooking and frying had been done this way until now. But it was not ordained that for all time people should prepare food on a hearth. In America a time of constant invention of new machines and utensils and gadgets had begun. Then the Nilssons had read in
Hemlandet
that stoves of iron were now for sale, stoves that were not built into the hearth and anchored to the chimney but could be moved like any other piece of furniture. Kristina had wondered what such a cookstove would be like. Now she would see one with her own eyes.

Karl Oskar let Johan and Harald in on the secret of the hidden box in the woodshed. On the morning of Christmas Eve, while Kristina was busy with the milking, the two boys helped their father carry in the heavy iron object and place it in the kitchen on the old hearth, from which the ashes had been swept out. They arranged the four cooking utensils, each one in its proper place on the removable rings and lids of the surface. Karl Oskar broke into the chimney; the iron pipe at the back of the stove was pushed into the hole, and the smoke outlet was ready. Finally he went over the whole stove with a woolen rag, dusting and polishing until the cast iron shone and gleamed.

The Prairie Queen now sat in her proper place in the kitchen. She sat in a queen’s seat, elevated on her throne, lighting up the whole kitchen. As soon as one stepped across the threshold one’s eyes fell on it.

When Kristina returned from the stable she stopped dead and stared at the stove. What in the world was that sitting back there? What had they put on her hearth? Her husband and sons stood silent, winking at each other as she exclaimed. She had noticed earlier that they were snickering about, giggling over some secret doings.

“What in all the world . . . ? What is that in the fireplace?”

An important guest had come to their house this Christmas, explained Karl Oskar. A queen had come to them in their kitchen. She would always sit there on the hearth, and would help the mistress with her cooking chores.

Kristina walked closer to inspect the Prairie Queen. Her hands stroked the shiny iron, took hold of the pot handles, lifted up the kettle and the coffeepot as if to feel how heavy they were.

“A new cookstove of iron!”

“Of cast iron,” said Karl Oskar.

“Have you bought it . . . ?”

“Yes, it’s bought and paid for. I’m not in the habit of stealing things.”

“Oh my—what a stove! How pretty it is!”

“The stove is a female, by the way. Called the Prairie Queen. The name is stamped on the front of her.”

Kristina sat down on the pile of wood beside the stove, overwhelmed, while Karl Oskar described the cast-iron stove with a pride that couldn’t have been greater had he himself been the inventor.

Into these holes with doors one put the wood. And here, covered with lids and rings, were the cooking holes. The rings could be removed according to the amount of heat required under the pots and kettles. To keep food warm only, no lids were removed. It was a clever contraption, for sure. And that big door on the side was the baking oven, not for real baking, of course, but for smaller cakes. An explanation of how to use the Prairie Queen came with the stove, in English, unfortunately. On the iron stove food would cook much faster since it held the heat.

“And all these cast-iron utensils come with her,” he added. “Aren’t they fine?”

“They are like the glory of heaven!” She lifted the coffeepot again. “The Americans are so clever. But why do they call it the Prairie Queen?”

Perhaps some settler from England had thought up the name for this superior invention, suggested Karl Oskar. The young queen of England was supposed to be the greatest majesty of all those in the world, thus the name “Queen” for this splendid stove.

“The stove is a beautiful decoration for our home!” said Kristina.

She stood before the shiny, cast-iron Prairie Queen, admiringly and respectfully like a dutiful subject before a majesty of flesh and blood on a silver throne. She could not have been more surprised had a living royal person entered her kitchen this Christmas Eve. But this queen was crowned with four gleaming utensils. What woman in a kitchen could watch that crown without being seized with desire to use it.

“Can you light the stove?” she wondered.

“She’s connected, ready to go. You can begin cooking at once.”

Karl Oskar had cut wood of the right size for the Prairie Queen’s firebox. In no time he had a fire going in the new stove. It smoked a little, but he blamed this on the heavy air and fog they had on this Christmas Eve; it caused a poor draft in the chimney.

When the Prairie Queen was ready, Kristina prepared the first meal on the new stove: the Christmas Eve dinner, the greatest festival meal of the year. It was their third Christmas in the new house, and their seventh in North America.