At first Kristina had listened shocked, then she was moved; no woman except Ulrika would have confided in her thus.
“God did indeed save you!”
“Not even a twice-baptized person can help it if she is assailed by temptations. I was overcome by lust, but it was only a sin of weakness — the sins God forgives most easily!”
Kristina understood that even a married woman might have her weak moments, with the flesh eager to gain the upper hand, but it surprised her that Ulrika for one second could feel tempted by Sigurd Thomassen. She remembered well that when he had approached her he exuded such a strong smell of shoemaker that that alone would be sufficient for a woman to resist him. That rancid, pungent odor of tanned leather her nose could not take; the man who exuded it became repulsive to her. Perhaps Ulrika’s weakness could be explained by the life she had led in the old country.
Jonas Petter approached them and asked if they had been watching the newly married couple. He had never seen such a well-made bridal pair, he beamed; that girl from Norway was truly a virgin, a delicious fruit to feast his eyes on! A womanly delight for a man! A fragrance of new-baked bread! Danjel’s boy was indeed fortune’s favorite prince! To lie under the bridal blanket with this fresh, untouched maiden! A king or an emperor could dream of no greater delights than those Sven would experience with Ragnhild!
Ulrika replied that yes, she could understand how his mouth watered, she could see Jonas Petter drool, the old whore-buck, as his eyes devoured the sweet kid he himself couldn’t mount! With old goats the lust grew greater as the strength diminished! She felt indeed sorry for him, poor wretch!
Jonas Petter was hurt and mumbled to himself; since food was being served, he walked toward the table, where Karl Oskar already had a chair next to the bridal couple.
Sven had been fourteen years of age when he came with his father to the St. Croix Valley; now he was twenty-five. He was a capable, industrious young man, who had inherited his father’s weak and brooding nature. He had grown into a handsome youth, no disgrace to his beautiful bride.
Jonas Petter kept his eyes on the bride as he spoke to the groom: “You’ve taken land in Meeker — that’s where the Sioux are; they’re bad.”
“If you don’t disturb them they won’t annoy the whites,” said Sven.
“But that tribe has always been warlike and treacherous.”
“In the old days.”
“I’ve heard you can never trust them. If I had been in your shoes, Sven, I would have taken a claim closer by. There’s still plenty of land hereabouts.”
If Jonas Petter had been in Sven’s shoes — you could see from his eyes on Ragnhild what he wanted; the groom knew him well and tried to hide his smile.
Karl Oskar said he had heard from Mr. Thorn, the sheriff, that some of the Sioux to the west were becoming unmanageable because they hadn’t yet received their pay from the government agent; they had been promised money for the land they gave up. The sheriff thought the slave owners in the South were behind it; they were said to have smuggled rifles to them.
Jonas Petter sat down beside the bride, as close as he could get: “The traders are skinning and cheating the redskins. It’s easy to cheat the Indians, they can’t read and don’t understand numbers.”
“That’s true,” affirmed Sven Danjelsson, in a reproachful voice. “It’s always rascals and knaves who are sent out to deal with the Indians.”
“They should send you instead,” said Karl Oskar.
“I’m going to make friends with the Indians back there,” said Sven. “That’s the right way for a settler to behave!”
Karl Oskar reminisced. Almost every year they had had some scare-rumor about the Indians being on the warpath, but every time it had been a false alarm. And by now they were probably so weakened that they would be unable to do any harm to the whites.
The bride pointed to her father-in-law, who stood at the other end of the table. She asked the guests not to say anything to Danjel about the wild Sioux in Meeker County; now that she and Sven were moving there Danjel might unnecessarily worry himself sick about them.
“I’ll keep my trap shut! Anything Ragnhild asks me I’ll do!” said Jonas Petter. “Even if she asked me to walk on my hands!”
Sitting there at the bride’s side his thoughts had wandered far away from Indian rumors: He had a story to tell, well suited for a wedding. It was about a farmer and a soldier, a rich farmer in Ljuder who hired the village soldier to make an heir for him and offered his bed for the purpose. He had started this story on many occasions, but always someone had said it didn’t fit just now, and he had been silenced. But today, at this wedding, it seemed most proper.
Jonas Petter had made the roses bloom still redder on the cheeks of the girl-bride. Perhaps that was what he wanted. He began: “Once long ago. .”
At that moment the host asked to be heard at the other end of the table: Before the guests sat down to enjoy God’s many gifts he wanted to read a prayer.
The settlers were enjoying a wedding feast, yet at this moment Jonas Petter’s story was less suitable than ever.
— 4—
Karl Oskar and Kristina remained in the bridal house for a while after the other guests had departed. Kristina wanted to talk with Danjel alone.
During their spiritual conversations she would confide implicitly in her uncle. He told her what God’s will was, and gave her advice when she was in doubt. She regretted that she had not spoken to him before she had committed her grave sin of praying to God not to create any more life in her body. Only afterward had she mentioned that prayer to him.
Now Danjel looked at his sister’s daughter and said with concern: “You look so pale and thin, dear Kristina. Life is hard on you, isn’t it?”
“The same as always, but I’m not as able as before. .”
“You look sickly — is your mind at ease?”
“I’m at peace, Uncle. I feel God has taken charge of me.”
“Then there are no troubles left for you.”
Danjel Andreasson had aged noticeably during the last years. His beard and hair had turned ice-gray, his cheeks had become sunken, and all his teeth had fallen out. But deep under his bristling brows shone the mild, good eyes which glorified his face. He had been banished from his mother country because of his religious beliefs, but instead he had seen the Land of Canaan, and he never neglected to thank God for his exile from Sweden.
Kristina said she wanted to pray to God that she might live a few years yet, until the children had grown up some. She had a demanding need to confide all her wishes to her Creator.
“He already knows them all,” smiled Danjel, as if forgiving a child’s fancy.
“Is it wrong to pray for it, Uncle?”
“I don’t think you will anger God with that prayer. He is patient with us. But the soul he has given you he will take back whenever it suits him. Your hour of death is already decided.”
Kristina wanted a special piece of advice today; it concerned Karl Oskar. What could be done with him? He went with her to the Lord’s table in church, he read his confession. But in between he always forgot his prayers. It was as if he didn’t want any help from God. He trusted only in himself, and knew no help in this world except his own strength and his own mind. He thought he could get along by himself. But he must be a grave sinner in his self-reliance; Karl Oskar’s great fault was his conceit. And she worried lest he be lost in eternity. What should she do?
“You must pray to God for him,” said the uncle. “That is all you can do.”
“He’s so stubborn and won’t change.”
“You must wait till his hour comes. Then Karl Oskar will realize that he can no longer help himself. If not before, when his strength is gone and old age frightens him.”