He picked up the empty water pail in one hand and the newly sharpened knife in the other and went toward the house.
The wife followed his steps with vigilant eyes; when she saw him enter the kitchen she rose to follow. She didn’t run, but she hurried. Did he intend to commit the crime inside the house? Perhaps he had gone up in the attic to be alone. There was no one in the house now, the people were at their work, the boy from Korpamoen with them; she and her husband were alone. And alone she could not get the knife away from him, she did not have sufficient strength. Should she run to a neighbor for help?
Brita-Stafva went after her husband into the kitchen. He was not there. He must have gone up into the attic; she thought she heard steps up there. Looking about, she seemed to remember something; she stretched herself on tiptoe and looked on the shelf above the fireplace: there lay the newly sharpened knife, glistening; her husband had put it back in its usual place. She let out a long, long sigh of deep relief.
Grabbing the sticking knife, she hid it under her apron and went out. She walked to the wagon shed and found her way into the darkest corner. There she stuck the sharp knife behind a beam against the roof. She pushed it so far in that no one could even see the handle. A more secret hiding place she could not find on the whole farm, she thought, as she climbed down again.
Meanwhile Jonas Petter had returned from the attic where he had walked about for no particular reason. On entering the kitchen he too went over to the shelf above the fireplace and looked. He nodded in confirmation, and satisfaction radiated from his eyes: exactly as he had hoped. The knife was gone; the threat had worked; he was safe from her now. It had gone so far that he had been forced to sharpen a knife for half an hour in order to get her where he wanted her.
He was pleased now; he knew that he would get the rest and peace he needed in the home during the time that was left — during the three remaining weeks before he was to break free from his wife, before he left her forever. He needed peace and quiet during this time of preparation. To gain this had surely been worth half an hour at the grindstone.
— 6—
Robert remained at Hästebäck for three weeks, and no sheriff came to search for him.
One evening Jonas Petter called him aside and said: “We’ll keep company to America, you and I. I sail on the same ship as the others.”
In secrecy, one more America chest was readied in this region — the third.
X. A PEASANT BOWS FOR THE LAST TIME
— 1—
This was the dawn of a great era in the lives of the old clothes chests throughout the peasant communities. After centuries of neglect in dark loft corners they were now being scrubbed and polished and prepared for their voyage across the great sea. These chests were to be in the vanguard of history’s greatest migration. To them would be entrusted the emigrants’ most cherished belongings.
What must be brought along, what must be left behind? What was obtainable in the new land, and what was unobtainable? No one could advise, no one had traveled ahead to ascertain. It was not a move where wagon after wagon could be loaded; one small cartload must take care of all. Only the least bulky and most indispensable things were chosen.
In the bottom of the Korpamoen America chest were placed the heaviest items — iron and steel, all the timberman’s and the carpenter’s tools: adz, hatchet, chisel, drawknife, plane, hammer, horseshoer’s tongs, auger, sticking knife, skinning knife, rule and yardstick. Also the hunter’s gear: gun, powder horn, and the skin pouch for small shot. Karl Oskar took apart his muzzle-loader to facilitate its packing. There was said to be as much game in America as there was shortage of guns. A gun was said to cost fifty daler. Robert thought of all the streams and waters abounding in fish, and he packed trolling gear for pike, and hooks, angling twine, wire for fish snares. Nils brought out an old bleeding iron which might be of use to his sons; he advised the emigrants to bleed themselves often; the most reliable cure for all ills was to let one’s blood.
Kristina packed her wool cards, her knitting needles, sheep shears, and her swingle, a betrothal gift from Karl Oskar, who had painted red flowers on it. A great deal she left because it would take up too much ship space, things she knew she would need later. She could not take her loom or her flax brake, her spinning-wheel or her yarn winder, her spooling wheel or her flax comb. She had been accustomed to working with all these implements; they were intimate and familiar to her hands; she knew that she would miss them in the foreign land.
Märta had helped her weave a piece of wadmal from which the village tailor had sewn them fine, warm clothing for the journey. And she packed warm woolen garments for both big and little, underwear and outer wear, working clothes and Sunday best. Woolen garments were scarce in America, she had heard somewhere, as they had not yet had time over there to make as many looms as they needed. She must take along woolen and linen yarns, and needles and thread of all kinds, so that they could patch and mend their clothing and stockings, for it would surely be a long time before they would again have new things on their bodies; the old must last. Between the clothes Kristina placed camphor and lavender to prevent mildew and bad odors; no one knew how long these things must remain in the chest.
Their bridal quilt they must take, and all bedclothes, sheets, mattresses, and bolsters were packed in two great four-bushel sacks which were then sewn up at both ends with heavy twine. All small gear to be used on the crossing was packed in the knapsack: drinking vessels, eating tools, mugs, wooden plates, spoons, knives, and forks. Kristina must also prepare a food basket for six people. The ship was to provide their food on the voyage, but no one knew if they could eat the ship’s fare, and they had a long way to travel before they embarked, and after landing, too. The basket must contain dried, smoked, and salted foods which would keep well and not spoil on the ocean. A roomy willow basket with a wooden lid would serve as their food chest, and into this Kristina packed eight rye-meal loaves and twenty of barley, a wooden tub of strongly salted butter, two quarts of honey, one cheese, half a dozen smoked sausages, a quarter of smoked lamb, a piece of salt pork, and some twenty salted herrings. This filled the basket to the top. They must also find space for a pound of coffee, a pound of sugar, a bag of dried apples, a few small bags of salt, pepper, stick cinnamon, wormwood seed, and cumin.
They must keep clean and tidy during the voyage: they must not forget the pot of soft soap, and the phosphor salve for lice. Kristina had bought two excellent fine-tooth combs of brass to keep the children’s heads free of vermin.
But even more important were the medicinal needs of the emigrants: camphor, and the tiny bottles of medicine containing Hoffman’s Heart-Aiding Drops, The Prince’s Drops, The Four Kinds of Drops. As a cure against seasickness Karl Oskar prepared half a gallon of wormwood-seed brännvin; a drink of this every morning at sea on empty stomachs would keep bodies in working order; wormwood-seed brännvin was also good for ship’s fever, and protected the body against cholera and other contagious ship maladies.
Berta of Idemo called to warn Kristina about the seasickness; married women were badly attacked by it, worse than men or unmarried women, for unknown reasons. Perhaps the bodily juices in a woman changed when she entered into holy matrimony, so that afterward she became sensitive to the sea. Berta’s father had been to sea and he had taught her the way seamen cared for their health and cured their ills. She had sewn camphor into a small skin pouch which she gave to Kristina; this she must hang around her stomach while on board ship; it would ease seasickness. This was not a mortal disease, yet it was one of the most painful God had sent as punishment to man. Kristina must also eat a few spoonfuls of oat porridge every day, and take along a quart of vinegar to mix in the drinking water to freshen it up before drinking, because often water turned stale and poisonous on long voyages.