Until We Reach Home (8 page)

“Are you feeling sick again?” Elin asked her.

“No . . . That sausage was Papa’s favorite, and . . . and . . . Oh, can’t we please go home?”

Sofia had asked that question so many times that Elin was getting sick of hearing it. She wanted to shout “
No!”
and let the sound echo through the cavernous station. If only she could tell Sofia and Kirsten the truth about how their home had become a hell for her these past three years, the truth about how she had saved them both from suffering through that hell with her. But of course Elin would never yell in a public place. And she would never tell them the truth, either. She drew a long breath and slowly let it out, struggling with the effort to control her temper.

“No. We can’t go back to Sweden, Sofia. So just make up your mind to look forward from now on, instead of always looking backward. I know we don’t have a home right now, but we’ll find one, I promise. We aren’t leaving home; we’re going home. Home is the place where we’re loved and wanted, where we can laugh as we knit beside the fire every night and sing while we do our work every morning. We’ll have a home like that again, I swear.”

“How can you be sure?”

Elin hesitated for a fraction of a second, realizing how lost and homeless they really were at the moment. “Because I’m going to make certain of it. In fact, this train station is home for us right here, right now, because we have each other.”

They ate in silence as trains rumbled in and out of the station, shaking the floor and the benches where they sat. The murmur of voices and the rush of feet all around them ebbed and flowed like a tide. With so many trains coming and going, Elin began to worry that they would miss theirs in all the confusion. She was about to go back to the ticket clerk for more information when one of the Swedish boys who had befriended Kirsten walked over to them, smiling as he waved a piece of paper in the air.

“Look at this, ladies. The Englishman explained the train schedule to me with these pictures.” He showed them a sketch of two clock faces. “See? Our train will get here at 11:15
AM
and leave at 11:45. All we have to do is keep our eyes on the station clock.” He pointed to the huge clock above the ticket windows.

It would be a few hours before their train arrived. Elin was so exhausted from staying awake all night that she decided to close her eyes for a minute. When she opened them again, two hours had passed. She had slept sitting up, right in the middle of the noisy train station. Kirsten had moved to the bench across from her and was talking and laughing with Eric, the young Swedish man who had showed them the drawings.

Elin could understand why he would be drawn to Kirsten. She had a happy, fun-loving nature that attracted people to her like cows to clover. She laughed and teased the young man the way she used to tease Nils and his friend Tor. Kirsten probably didn’t know that she was flirting, but Eric would certainly interpret her playfulness that way.

Kirsten’s golden hair was thick and beautiful. In the summer months she spent so much time outdoors that the sun would bleach her hair white, and she would glow with health and vitality. If Kirsten could have afforded a fancy gown instead of plain working clothes, she would have stopped the sun in its tracks. She was taller and shapelier than Elin was, with lovely womanly curves—even though she was still a young girl in so many ways. She and Kirsten were only eleven months apart in age, yet Elin felt old in comparison. Whenever she gazed in the mirror she saw a weary old woman, bent beneath a weight of shame—which is why Elin avoided mirrors.

If only she could explain to Kirsten what could happen to girls who were too trusting. But even if Elin had the courage to talk about Uncle Sven, Kirsten would never believe her.

Elin caught Kirsten’s eye and beckoned to her. When she stood and walked over to Elin, the boy followed. “Thank you for helping us this morning,” she told him, “but could you please let me talk to Kirsten alone?”

“Um . . .
ja
. . . See you later, Kirsten.” He shuffled away.

Kirsten looked furious. “What did you do that for?”

“You’re young and naïve, and much too trusting. The only boys you know are the ones from our village. You don’t understand what can happen to a woman who is too friendly—and I don’t know how to explain things like that to you.”

“It isn’t up to you to be my guard dog, Elin. You’re not my mother.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Believe me, I wish Mama were still alive so that I wouldn’t have to tell you what to do. But she asked me to take care of you and Sofia, and I promised her that I would.”

“You’re just trying to keep me from having fun.”

“Listen, those men have their own lives to live and we have ours. America is a huge place, you know. It’s ten times the size of Sweden. We’ll probably never see them again once we arrive.”

“We could ask them where they’re going, couldn’t we? Maybe—”

“No, Kirsten. I’d rather you didn’t talk to them anymore.”

She stomped her foot. “Why? Tell me why not!”

“I’ve told you my reasons,” Elin said calmly. But she could tell that Kirsten wasn’t listening.

“You’re just jealous!” Kirsten gave their steamer trunk a kick.

Elin tried to keep her voice calm. “Those shoes are hand-me-downs, Kirsten, and they’re nearly worn out as it is. If you keep scuffing and abusing them, they’re going to fall apart and then you’ll arrive in America with bare feet.”

“I don’t care!”

“Come on, let’s work on our embroidery. It will help pass the time.” Elin reached inside her satchel for their mother’s sewing box, hoping to distract Kirsten. She would even let her sister use Mama’s precious silver thimble. But Kirsten made a face.

“I’m tired of being bossed around. And I’m tired of sitting. I’m going to walk around and stretch my legs.”

“Wait!” Elin grabbed her skirt to keep her from leaving. “You can’t wander around all alone.”

Kirsten pried away her fingers as if removing cockleburs. “I can do whatever I want, Elin.”

“But . . . but we have to stay together. Sofia is asleep and we can’t leave our belongings here—”

“Eric and Hjelmer could walk with me.” The boys sat on a row of benches a short distance away. When Kirsten started to wave to them, Elin grabbed her hand and pulled it down.

“Be reasonable, Kirsten.”

“Why should I be? You can sit here all morning if you want to, but I’m going for a walk.” She freed her hand and strode away.

Elin didn’t want to shout at her and cause a scene, yet she couldn’t leave Sofia alone while she chased after her. She watched in frustration as Kirsten stalked around the perimeter of the train station, taking huge, angry, man-sized strides. She had such an angry expression on her face that Elin figured she would be safe—no stranger would dare to approach her.

Elin kept one eye on her sister and the other on the clock until half an hour had passed. Kirsten was going to wear out her shoes stomping and clomping around the building that way. She must have been watching the clock, too, because a few minutes before their train was due to arrive she finally came back and sank down on the bench beside Elin with a huff. Elin wanted to make peace.

“I’m sorry, Kirsten. I don’t want to be bossy, but sometimes you want me to mother you and sometimes you resent it when I do. How am I supposed to know the difference?”

“You make it sound like I cause you so much trouble,” she said sullenly. “In my opinion, you cause your own trouble by worrying so much. I can take care of myself, you know. And it’s about time you stopped babying Sofia so much and let her take care of herself, too.”

Sofia had awakened several minutes earlier, and Elin expected her to defend herself. She hated being called a baby. But Sofia stared at the floor without speaking. In fact, she had barely spoken all morning.

“Please, let’s not fight,” Elin said. She reached for Kirsten’s hand, and to Elin’s surprise, Kirsten’s eyes flooded with tears. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss Mama and Papa and . . . and Nils. If only they hadn’t left us, then we wouldn’t be here in this ugly train station and . . . and . . .”

Elin stood and drew her into her arms. Kirsten had always been close to their brother Nils and his friends, spending all of her free time with them. No wonder she needed to flirt with these new boys and win their attention. “I miss everyone, too,” Elin told her as she hugged her tightly. “I’d like to wring Nils’ neck like a chicken’s for running away like he did. And the least he could have done is written to us and told us where he was.”

Kirsten gave a little laugh as she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I would gladly help you murder him.”

Their train finally pulled into the station, right on time. They found seats in one of the cars and the two Swedish farm boys sat down across the aisle from them.

Elin tried to engage her sisters in conversation as the train began its sluggish journey across the English countryside, but Sofia turned her back on Elin to gaze sullenly out the window. Kirsten was much more interested in talking with the Swedish boys, and as much as Elin would have liked to stop her, she knew she couldn’t. She took out her diary and began to write:

We are on the train again, a day later than we’re supposed to be. The English countryside is lovely, much nicer than the city we just left, but I fear that the monotony of the train ride is going to put me to sleep. And I don’t dare close my eyes.

Kirsten’s new friend, Eric, is trying to work his charms on her and she is falling for it, getting friendlier and friendlier, telling him all about her life, which is none of his business. I don’t know where those boys are going in America, but I hope it’s far away from Chicago. I didn’t turn our lives upside down and leave home so that Kirsten could fall into the hands of a stranger on the train. I left so that she would be safe—so that all of us would be safe.

This trip feels like it is taking forever. Every time the locomotive builds up a head of steam and starts going fast, it has to slow down again for the next station. We stop and go, stop and go. People get on and off, and I wonder where everyone is going. Some of their faces have that happy, hopeful look that tells me they are going home. I can almost see their hearts pounding with anticipation as they gather their belongings and line up in the aisles to get off at one of the stations. As soon as the passengers step off the train, people rush forward to greet them and I hear cries of joy before the whistle drowns out everything and we steam out of the station again.

I try to imagine that Uncle Lars and Aunt Hilma will greet us that way when we finally reach Chicago. They will have warm smiles on their faces and a huge meal prepared for us in their home.

“Välkommen,” Aunt Hilma will say as she opens her arms to us. “Welcome home.” All of our sorrows and hardships will be forgotten.

Please, God, let it be so.

I’m feeling a little sleepy right now, so I think I’ll rest awhile. We have many more hours to travel before we reach Liverpool. No harm can come to my sisters on a train—can it?

Chapter Eight

T
RYI NG TO FORGET
Tor Magnusson was proving to be impossible. Some days Kirsten found it easier than others, but today was one of the hard ones. Eric and Hjelmer had taken seats across the aisle from her on the train and Eric reminded her of Tor. He had the same high, wide forehead as Tor did, the same sandy hair and pale eyebrows. But Tor was taller and thinner . . . and he’d broken her heart.

Kirsten couldn’t understand why Elin got mad every time she talked and laughed with these boys. How could she explain to Elin that if it weren’t for them, she would be crying all the time? Elin had never been in love.

If only Tor could see her talking with two good-looking men. Wouldn’t he be jealous? Once again, tears filled her eyes at the knowledge that Tor hadn’t loved her enough to beg her to stay.

Kirsten brought her mind back to the present and realized that Eric had asked her a question. “Sorry . . . what did you say?”

“I was wondering what we’ll find to do for the next two weeks. We’ll probably be on the same ship, you know.”

“Oh . . . I’m sure we’ll find something to amuse ourselves. At least we’ll have more room to move around on the ship than on this train.”

Eric leaned his elbow on the armrest and propped his chin on his hand, gazing at Kirsten the way Tor used to do. “So, where are you ladies heading to in America?”

“We have an uncle who lives in a place called Chicago. He’s letting us live with him.”

“I’ve heard that Chicago is a huge city—even bigger and more modern than Gothenburg, with lots of factories and things. I wouldn’t like to live there myself. I prefer the countryside. That’s why we’re heading to Minnesota.”

“Is that a big city, too?”

“No,” he said, laughing, “Minnesota is a state, not a city. We’re going to get jobs cutting timber this winter so we can earn some money, then we’ll settle down and buy farms of our own. They say you can get a piece of farmland for next to nothing—forty or sixty or even a hundred acres if you want it. And it’s good farmland, too.”

“Why would they give away so much free land? What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. America is a huge place and they need lots of people to fill it up.”

Once again, Kirsten thought of Tor. Maybe she should write to him and explain about all the free land. If he didn’t want to be a farmer, maybe he could open his own store in America and . . . But no. She wouldn’t write to him. She wouldn’t humiliate herself any more than she already had.

“If you don’t like Chicago,” Eric said, “you can always move to Minnesota with me.”

Kirsten rested her head against the seat, tilting her chin so her tears wouldn’t fall. “I don’t know if I want to live on a farm again,” she said. “There’s too much work to do on a farm. My sisters and I are going to be rich in Chicago and have servants to wait on us.”

“Servants, eh? What will you do with yourself all day?”

“Anything I want—or nothing at all.” But Kirsten couldn’t imagine doing nothing. She had nothing to do on the train except look at the scenery or work on her stupid embroidery, and the inactivity bored her. She had loved to explore the woods back home with Nils—and Tor. Once again, she battled her tears.