Until We Reach Home (2 page)

That was another reason why their uncle would choose Sofia. Kirsten could disappear as quickly and completely as a wood sprite, while shy little Sofia never did anything in a hurry. She tiptoed hesitantly through life, as if an unseen harness kept her from galloping down the road into the future along with everyone else. Sofia would be easy prey.

Elin knew it was her fault that Sven had turned to Sofia. Elin had been avoiding her uncle for the past few months, resisting his advances, desperate to break free of him. He knew it, too.

“We must help Elin find a job in town,” he’d told Aunt Karin. “She deserves to have a little freedom and some spending money of her own, don’t you think?” He made it sound as though he were doing Elin a favor—and before today she had been eager to leave home. Now she didn’t dare. Even though she longed to flee as far away from him as possible, she could never leave Kirsten and Sofia behind.

Laughter sounded in the distance as Elin and Sofia neared the cottage. A moment later she saw Kirsten emerge from the woods with her three little cousins. The knot in Elin’s stomach loosened as she listened to Kirsten’s joyous laughter and watched her and the children throwing snowballs at each other. Kirsten seemed much too happy and carefree to have felt the weight of Uncle Sven’s lies.

Sofia broke free from Elin and ran toward Kirsten through the snowdrifts. “How far did you walk? The children look frozen! Aunt Karin is going to be furious when she sees how wet they are.”

“We went all the way to the road. And look what we got.” Kirsten reached inside her coat and pulled out a small white envelope. She waved it in the air. “We were on our way home,” she said breathlessly, “when we met up with Tor Magnusson. He walked all the way out from town to deliver this letter to us. It’s from America!”

“Let me see it.” Elin reached for the letter but Kirsten snatched it away at the last minute and hid it behind her back.

“How much will you pay me for it?”

“Nothing. Hand it over, Kirsten.” Elin’s discovery in the barn had made her too upset to cope with Kirsten’s games.

“Who is it from?” Sofia asked. She peered behind Kirsten’s back, tilting her head as she tried to read it.

“A famous Indian chieftain!” Kirsten said with a laugh.

“It has to be from Uncle Lars,” Elin said. “Who else do we know in America?” She turned away and opened the cottage door, stomping the snow off her boots before entering the kitchen.

“You’re no fun at all,” Kirsten said, handing over the letter. Sofia and their three cousins tumbled through the door behind Elin like puppies, dropping to the floor to remove their wet clothes.

“Hurry up and open the letter,” Sofia begged as she pulled off her boots. “Read it out loud to us.”

Elin found a filet knife and carefully slit open the envelope, then pulled out the letter. Their uncle in America was upset to learn that their older brother, Nils, had left home. That had been Uncle Sven’s fault, too. He and Nils had argued so often that Nils finally had gone to Stockholm to find work, even though the farm rightfully belonged to him. Elin had begged Nils to take her with him but he had refused, unwilling to be “tied down,” as he’d put it. He’d never sent them a single letter.

Nils should come to America,
Uncle Lars had written.
I could find a job for him here. Or if he wants a farm of his own, there is plenty of land in America, too. It is the very least I could do for my sister’s son.

“What about his sister’s daughters?” Elin wondered aloud. She realized then that she would have to take matters into her own hands. Neither her brother nor anyone else was going to rescue them. Kirsten and Sofia were no longer safe in this house. Once Uncle Sven forced Elin to leave home, just as he had gotten rid of Nils, her sisters would become his prey. She had to help them escape. She had to write to Uncle Lars in America.

Elin sank onto a kitchen chair, suddenly feeling tired. This was her beloved home, filled with memories of her parents and of happier times when they all lived here together. But now bad memories had crowded out the good—funerals and fights and unspeakable secrets. Shame engulfed Elin every time she looked at Uncle Sven.

She picked up the knife that she had used to open the envelope and slipped it into her apron pocket. She would carry it with her from now on, until they were all safely away from here. If her uncle came near her again, she would use it to defend herself.

And if he ever laid his filthy hands on Sofia or Kirsten, Elin would kill him.

Chapter Two

K
IRSTEN
C
ARLSON KNEW
she had done a very poor job of cleaning the cream separator, but she needed to hurry up and finish her chores or she would miss seeing Tor. If another letter came for Elin today, he would be delivering it any time now. A steady stream of letters had been arriving from America for the past few months, and Tor Magnusson always walked out from his father’s store in town to deliver them. And to see Kirsten.

One of the machine’s parts slipped from Kirsten’s fingers as she tried to reattach it, and she huffed in frustration. This was taking too long. She would finish the job later. She left the separator in pieces and sneaked out of the barn into the glorious late March sunshine, taking the shortcut through the woods. She knew the path by heart and probably could have walked it in the dark on a moonless night, especially if Tor were waiting for her.

She raced through the forest, swatting away the branches that caught in her hair and snagged her skirts. When she emerged onto the road she saw Tor in the distance, striding toward her. She paused to wait for him and to catch her breath, savoring the damp, woodsy smell of earth and pine trees. Her hair was in tangles, her coiled braids falling from their pins. She plucked a stray leaf from her sweater and smoothed the loose strands away from her face. She could clean the mud off the hem of her skirt later.

Tor lifted his arm in the air and waved a large envelope as he jogged toward her. “Look, Kirsten! A thick letter this time.” She took the envelope from him as he paused to catch his breath. It was much thicker than all of the others had been and weighed considerably more. “What do you suppose is in it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Elin won’t read them to us anymore. She says they’re private. She’s very secretive about it.”

“Maybe she has a boyfriend over there in America.”

“Ha! Not Elin,” Kirsten said with a laugh. “No, according to the return address, it’s from our uncle Lars in Chicago. It is a fat one, though, isn’t it.” She felt the envelope for clues.

“Let’s pry it open and take a peek inside.” Tor grinned mischievously as he pretended to grab the letter. She slapped at his hand.

“No, we can’t. Elin will murder me.”

“We’ll tell her it got damaged on the voyage.” He laughed and the sound of it made Kirsten’s heart thump faster than it had when she’d run through the woods. Tor seemed to have this effect on her lately. She’d grown up with him, spending more time with him and her brother, Nils, than with any girl friends. But Tor had become much more than a friend since Nils had gone away. And he seemed to feel the same way about her.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing Kirsten’s hand and pulling her toward him. “I need a kiss after walking all the way out here.”

She glanced up and down the road. “Wait . . . not out in the open. What if someone comes?” She led the way down the path she had taken, then went willingly into his arms once they were hidden in the thick brush. Kirsten knew that nice girls didn’t allow boys to take such liberties, but this wasn’t just any boy—this was Tor. And she was in love with him.

“I’m tired of keeping a secret about . . . you know . . . about us,” Kirsten said when they finally paused for breath. “Let’s sit together in church next Sunday.”

“We can’t.” His smile faded into a worried look. “My father says I must sit with our family.”

“You’re twenty years old, Tor. Can’t you sit wherever you want to?”

“Of course I can. But he wants me to sit with our family, so—”

“So I’ll sit with you and your family from now on.” She lifted Tor’s hand, which was entwined with hers, and kissed the back of it. She hoped he would pull her into his arms and kiss her again, but instead he released her hand and took a small step backward.

“You can’t sit with us, Kirsten. You don’t understand my father.”

“I know he’s an old grouch who yells at all the kids who come into his store to drool over his candy.” She tried to keep her voice light and teasing as she brushed his sandy blond hair off his forehead.

“Don’t.” He pushed her hand away. Tor’s expression had become very serious, for some reason, and his blue eyes had turned dark.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you afraid to tell your father about us?”

“It’s too soon. He’ll need time to get used to the idea of—of you and me.”

“Why doesn’t he like me? What did I do, Tor?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t like you—”

“You may as well have! You won’t sit with me and I can’t sit with you—what else am I supposed to think?”

“Come on, Kirsten . . .” He tried to embrace her again, but she pushed him away.

“No. No more kisses, Tor. If you really cared about me, it wouldn’t matter what your father said.” She crossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“My father is also my boss, remember? If I make him angry he’ll fire me, and I’ll never find work in the village. Jobs are scarce all over Sweden, you know. That’s why Nils left, isn’t it?”

“We could move to Stockholm, too, like Nils did. Then we could be together.”

“We could,” he said, but his expression told Kirsten that he didn’t want to. “Listen, I need to do what my father says for now if I want to inherit the store someday. We can still see each other in secret and . . . and I’ll work on my father’s attitude in the meantime. All right?”

He opened his arms to her and she went into them, clinging to him. What a wonderful feeling it was to be held this way, to lean against his chest and feel his arms surrounding her. She never wanted him to let go.

“Why doesn’t your father like me?” she murmured.

“Let’s not talk about my father. Our time together is too short as it is. And I have four more letters to deliver.”

Kirsten let him kiss her again until it was finally time for him to leave. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about us,” he begged as he said good-bye. “Not yet, anyway?”

“I promise.”

She ambled back through the woods, light-headed with love, wishing she could marry Tor Magnusson this instant and run away with him to Stockholm. She was still thinking about Tor’s kisses and wondering why Mr. Magnusson didn’t like her when she nearly collided with Elin in the kitchen doorway. Elin plucked the thick letter from Kirsten’s fingers without a word of thanks and scrambled up the steep stairs to read it in their bedroom in the loft. Kirsten didn’t find out what was in the mysterious envelope until later that night, when she and her sisters were getting ready for bed upstairs beneath the eaves.

“I have something to tell both of you,” Elin began. She sat hunched on the edge of the bed as if she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect herself from a biting wind. She always curled up that way, even on the hottest summer night. Elin clutched the envelope in both hands as if it might fly away if she didn’t hang on tightly.

“Why are you whispering?” Sofia asked as she crawled into the bed she shared with Kirsten.

“Shh! I don’t want anyone else to hear us.”

“What’s in the package?” Kirsten asked.

“I’ll show you in a minute.” She paused, and as she inhaled slowly she seemed like an old woman to Kirsten—old before her time—even though she was only eleven months older than Kirsten was.

“Just spit it out,” Kirsten said, gesturing impatiently. Elin frowned at her but finally got on with it.

“Now that Uncle Sven has taken over the farm, it’s getting too crowded here for all of us. Besides, there’s no future for us here in the village. Mama wanted us to have a better life, remember? Before she died she begged us to stay together and to take care of each other. And so . . .”

“We should all go to Stockholm to live with Nils,” Kirsten said. She slipped into the bed beside Sofia and tried to plump up her pillow.

“How can we do that?” Sofia asked. “We don’t even know where he is.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Elin said. “Let me finish.”

“And stop squirming, Kirsten,” Sofia added. “You’re making all the covers come untucked.”

Kirsten pinched her arm, making her squeal. “You’re such a prissy baby, Sofia. You have to have every hair and pleat and hem perfectly in place.”

“Shh! Both of you, be quiet and listen to me. I’ve been writing to Uncle Lars in America, asking him if we could move there and live with him.”

“America?” Sofia’s eyes went wide with fear. “Are you crazy, Elin? We can’t leave our home.”

“Yes, America,” Elin said. “And today Uncle Lars sent these.” She pulled the contents from the envelope and spread them out on the bed. “Look—boat and train tickets that will take us from the village all the way to Chicago in America. He sent enough for all three of us.”

Kirsten snatched up one of the tickets and stared at it, then flung it down again. “I’m not going.” She was in love with Tor Magnusson and he loved her. They were going to get married. She would have told Elin the truth then and there if Tor hadn’t made her promise to keep it a secret for a while longer.

Elin stared at her. “You’re not going? Just like that? Aren’t you even going to think about it? I thought you liked adventure.”

“I’m not going, either,” Sofia said. Her voice trembled with unshed tears. “You can go if you want to, Elin, but I’m staying here.”

“Listen, both of you. This is a wonderful opportunity. Everyone who moves to America says it’s like a paradise over there. The farms are huge and the crops grow twice as tall as they do in Sweden.”

“I don’t care what they say,” Sofia said. “I’m not leaving home.”

“You can stay behind with me and—” Kirsten almost said “Tor” but stopped herself in time.

“No one is staying behind,” Elin said firmly. “We’re a family. The three of us are all that’s left, and we’re staying together.”