Until We Reach Home (36 page)

“I’m fine. Stop bothering me.” She gathered up the pile of crumpled wet newspapers and left the room.

“Do you know what’s wrong with her, Sofia?”

“No, not really . . .”

“Come on, Sofia. If you know something, please tell me. Kirsten was so eager to get a letter, ever since we arrived, and today she didn’t even ask about one.”

“Maybe one came for her the other day and she didn’t tell us.”

“But the only person from back home who might write to her is Nils, and he hasn’t written to anyone. I’m certain she would have told us if he did.”

“No . . . Nils isn’t the only one.”

“Please, Sofia. Tell me what’s going on. How can I help Kirsten if I don’t know what’s wrong with her?”

Sofia stared at the floor with the dust mop in her hand. When she finally replied, she spoke in a near whisper. “While we were waiting for you on Ellis Island, Kirsten told me that she was in love with Tor Magnusson.”

“The shopkeeper’s son? But he was Nils’ friend, not hers.”

Sofia shook her head. “Don’t you remember how Kirsten always talked with Tor after church on Sunday? And he used to walk out to the farm to see her, even after Nils left home. Kirsten would always persuade me to do her chores so she could be with him.”

“I guess I never really noticed,” Elin said. She had been distracted by her own problems.

“Remember when Kirsten left you waiting at the train station on our last day in the village?” Sofia continued. “She went to Magnusson’s store to tell Tor good-bye.”

“Why didn’t she tell me she was in love with him? I wouldn’t have talked her into coming—”

“No, something happened. She didn’t say what, but I think it might have had something to do with the way Papa died. Tor broke her heart, Elin. That’s why she decided to come to America. When she told him good-bye that last day, she sounded very angry. She told him she was leaving and that he would never see her again. But Tor kept right on sweeping and didn’t even seem to care.”

“I’m going to talk to her.”

Sofia grabbed her arm to stop her. “No, Elin. Don’t. I don’t want Kirsten to know that I shared her secrets with you. Besides, it’s not your job to take care of us.”

“I promised Mama—”

“I know, I know,” Sofia said, rolling her eyes. “You tell us that all the time. And you’ve done a good job, Elin, but we aren’t children anymore. Even if Mama were still alive, she couldn’t do anything for Kirsten. Mama couldn’t have made Tor love Kirsten or agree to marry her, and neither can you. It isn’t up to you to fix everything.”

Sofia’s words took Elin by surprise. Is that what she was doing? Trying to fix everything? If so, she wasn’t doing a very good job. Elin sank down on the edge of the bed, feeling like a failure.

“But I want so badly to fix everything,” she said. “I promised you and Kirsten a new home. I want one myself. I made you come all this way, and now everything has turned out all wrong.”

She remembered writing in her diary about how naked she felt, like a newly shorn sheep, deprived of everything that had once warmed and comforted her. She had been so determined never to feel that way again and so hopeful that everything she had lost would be returned to her in a new way. But she and her sisters still didn’t have a home to call their own. Elin knew she deserved punishment for what she’d done, but why was God punishing Sofia and Kirsten?

It wasn’t up to her to fix everything. Yet Elin had been taking care of her sisters for so long that she didn’t know how to stop. What other purpose did she have in life except that one? What would she do when her sisters didn’t need her anymore? Elin realized that she was afraid to live her own life, afraid that she already had ruined it beyond redemption.

“You aren’t God,” Sofia said quietly. “It isn’t up to you to control everything, Elin.”

“I know. But God hasn’t done a very good job of taking care of us.”

“Maybe it only looks that way. Maybe—”

The bedroom door swung open and Mrs. Olafson stood there with a lunch tray in her hands. “There you are. Come here and look at this tray. Mrs. Anderson hasn’t eaten one bite of her lunch, you see? This morning I brought up a breakfast tray and she sent it back the same way.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Elin asked.

“
Nej
. I’m afraid to open my mouth unless she asks me something. And look here,” she added, pointing to her feet. Mrs. Anderson’s cat walked in worried circles around the cook’s legs. He looked up at Elin and meowed pitifully. “You see? He never acts this way. He never leaves her side. Something is wrong, I tell you.”

“Maybe I’d better go find out,” Elin said.

She dreaded facing her employer—the fairy queen, as Sofia called her—fearing that Mrs. Anderson might get angry and fire all three of them. But Elin crossed the hallway to her bedroom just the same, the cat waddling along beside her. The door was open a crack and Elin could hear Mrs. Anderson’s cane thumping as she paced in front of the windows. Elin knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Elin Carlson, ma’am.”

“I didn’t send for you.”

“I know you didn’t, ma’am, but we were wondering if you were all right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Mrs. Olafson said you haven’t been eating.”

“My eating habits are none of her business—or yours. I’m paying you to clean my house, not to meddle. Go away.”

The thumping resumed while Elin pondered what to do. In the end, her worry over the little woman’s health outweighed her fear of being fired. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Did I ask you to come in?” Mrs. Anderson was in her dressing gown. Her hair hung loose in two long white braids.

“No . . . but I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Well?”

“I think your cat is worried about you, too. He came to find us and was meowing for our attention.”

“Traitor!” she said to the cat. Tomte had pushed into the room ahead of Elin and sat at his mistress’ feet, tail twitching. “If you must know, I’ve been experiencing a little pain this morning—but don’t you dare tell my son or his wife!”

“Shall I send for the doctor?”

“No, I don’t need the nitwitted doctor.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone had softened. “I have a tricky heart. I’ve known about it for years. That’s why I was warned not to have any more children after Gustav was born. I had a bout of scarlet fever as a child.”

“Is there some medicine you could take?”

“The doctor gave me pills, which I’ve taken. The pain will go away in a little while, but I’m feeling too nauseated to eat. That’s all.”

“My mother taught me how to brew tea with a little peppermint in it for nausea. Shall I fix some for you?”

“Hmmph. My ankles are swollen, too. You have a remedy for that?”

“Yes, ma’am. A bath of Epsom salts. I’ll fix both of them for you, if you’d like.” When Mrs. Anderson didn’t object, Elin set about the task.

Mrs. Olafson had all of the ingredients for the tea, and Sofia hurried to the nearest pharmacy to buy Epsom salts. As soon as Mrs. Anderson immersed her feet in the deep, warm bath she found relief. And after sipping the tea she was able to eat a little toast and lingonberry jam.

“Do you know how to operate a Gramophone?” she asked Elin. “I would like to hear some music while I eat.” She gestured to a machine on a little stand near the window. It had a crank on one side and a large funnel sticking out of the other.

Mrs. Anderson showed Elin how to insert a shellac disc into the contraption and wind the crank, and a moment later “The Blue Danube Waltz” began to play. Elin couldn’t wait to tell Kirsten and Sofia that she had found the source of the mysterious music they’d heard. But what a marvel that little machine was—an orchestra in a box!

“That’s much better,” Mrs. Anderson said when she finished her toast. “And now I would like to get dressed and go downstairs to the morning room.”

Elin started to advise her to remain upstairs and rest, then thought better of it. The sun-filled morning room was much cozier and more cheerful than this enormous bedroom. She helped Mrs. Anderson get dressed and descend the stairs. The fairy queen sat down at the little desk where she did all of her correspondence and pulled out a list of names.

“I am going to give a dinner party for Midsummer’s Eve,” she told Elin. “I used to love celebrating it years ago, back home in Sweden. And when we moved to America, my husband insisted that we stay up all night on the longest day of the year. I’ve already had the invitations delivered.”

“Do you think you should give a party if you’re not feeling well?”

Mrs. Anderson glared at her. Her lips twitched with displeasure as if she were holding back an angry comment.

“I’m sorry,” Elin said.

“Don’t start telling me what to do, Elin. I have enough people trying to do that already.”

“I just wanted to say that with your heart giving you trouble, perhaps you should take it easy for a few more days. Have the party another time.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, as young as you are. But you’ll be my age someday . . . sooner than you think, in fact. The days fly by, faster and faster each year, like horses galloping toward the finish line. And one day you’ll wake up and see an old woman’s face looking back at you in the mirror.”

Elin didn’t reply. When Mrs. Anderson spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically soft.

“I want to live my life for as long as I can, enjoying the things that give me pleasure—like giving this dinner party. If I’m about to drop dead from a bad heart, I’d prefer to do it while holding a glass of good wine in my hand and laughing with my friends rather than lying in a sickbed waiting to die.”

Elin nodded silently in reply.

“Now,” Mrs. Anderson said, her voice as loud and harsh as usual, “do you girls know how to serve guests at a formal dinner party?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you know how to set a proper table? How to arrange all the silverware and glasses?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Well then, I will have to teach you. I’ve invited eleven guests, plus myself. We will begin the evening in the salon with hors d’oeuvres and aperitifs.”

Elin had no idea what those things were but didn’t want to interrupt.

“The main meal will be served in the dining room, of course, and then we’ll have coffee and dessert and some light entertainment in the salon. Altogether, I expect it will be an enjoyable evening. I’ve prepared a menu for Mrs. Olafson,” she said, handing Elin a second piece of paper. “I want her to serve all the traditional Midsummer treats—pickled herring, new potatoes with dill and sour cream, strawberries and cream. One of you girls will have to help her in the kitchen, managing all of the food.”

“Yes, ma’am. We will be happy to.”

“She might need you to go to the market with her and help with the shopping, too. You and Kirsten will serve my guests, but Sofia is not to appear in a maid’s uniform. I want her to be dressed up. Did she tell you that she is going to sing for us?”

“She told us. But I think she is frightened by the idea.”

“Too bad. She made a promise. Does she have something nice to wear?”

“Her Sunday clothes are very . . . well, they’re very Swedish, ma’am. They’re the same clothes we wore on the day you hired us. You said we looked like peasants.”

“No, no, no. That won’t do at all. Take her down to Marshall Field’s department store tomorrow morning and buy her something decent to wear. I’ll give you my calling card and a letter of introduction. Tell them to add the bill to my account. . . . And by the way, why aren’t you wearing a uniform today? Why are you dressed in street clothes?”

It took Elin a moment to remember why. “Because . . . well, because it’s my afternoon off and—”

“You did all of this work for me on your day off?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Humph. . . . I suppose I’ll have to give you a half day off tomorrow, then.”

“That isn’t necessary, ma’am. I finished all of my errands today.”

Mrs. Anderson struggled to rise, and Elin bent to help her, taking her arm. For once the fairy queen didn’t wave Elin away. “We’ll go into the dining room now, and I’ll instruct you on the proper way to set the table and serve the meal.”

She limped through the foyer, pausing to look into the library. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning away, then walked into the salon and looked all around. Finally, Mrs. Anderson crossed the hall to the dining room.

“You girls have done a lovely job,” she said. Her voice was very soft and a little hoarse. “My home looks beautiful again. Thank you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T
HE DOORBELL CHIMES
echoed through the foyer. Kirsten opened the huge front door for a young Swedish couple in their thirties, dressed in American clothing. “
God afton
,” she said in greeting. “
Välkommen
. May I take your wraps?”

Mrs. Anderson had given Kirsten the task of answering the door for her dinner guests and taking their coats and hats. Kirsten escorted the young couple into the salon, where Elin served appetizers and punch, then pulled Elin aside.

“I thought the fairy queen’s guests would all be old, like her,” Kirsten whispered.

“Shh. Mrs. Anderson has very good hearing, you know.”

“And why do you suppose she invited her son and his wife? I thought they didn’t get along.”

“They don’t. I think she wants to make a point with them, proving that she’s in good health and capable of living alone.”

“Is she, though? In good health, I mean?”

Elin shrugged. “Who knows?”

“It must be nerve-wracking for Sofia, hiding in the kitchen, waiting until it’s time to sing. How’s she doing?”

“She was busy helping Mrs. Olafson with dinner the last time I went out there. We’d better get back to work now.”

Elin turned to serve the newest guests some punch, and Kirsten hurried back to the foyer. It was still light outside on the eve of the longest day, even though Chicago wasn’t as far north as Sweden. Kirsten wondered if Tor was celebrating the festival back home, watching the young village girls dance around the maypole. Midsummer’s Eve was a magical night for love. According to tradition, if you picked seven different kinds of wild flowers on your way home from the festivities and placed them under your pillow, you would dream of your future husband. Kirsten swore she had dreamed of Tor.