Both had just entered their youth. He would be of age this year, she was eighteen. They wouldn’t lose anything by waiting. Everything awaits those who are in the beginning of their youth.
But their caresses were insufficient for their growing desire. Each night they were together in her room they felt less satisfied with it, and at last their caresses grew painful to their aroused bodies. But as they waited expectation also grew, and it was delicious thus slowly to prepare for what would happen later, all that which they had denied themselves.
Her breath flowed hot as it entered his ear and her lips whispered: I wish something. . That it soon were. . And that was just what he wished. That it soon were. He replied when his mouth was on hers, she with the heat from hers.
When daylight began to break he remembered the long way home and rose to leave. Then Kristina stretched out her arms toward him: Stay a little longer! Don’t go! Just a few minutes more!
He did as she asked him. He returned to her arms, he stayed.
He would stay only a short moment, but it became a long moment. It was daylight outside the window, the sun was up, and he remained. But at last he must go. Nor did she wish him to be there when her parents got up.
But they would not part yet, she would walk a bit of the road with him. Sjubonale gate was their parting spot, farther he could not coax her. Their farewell took time, it was prolonged even though the sun was high in the heavens and people were coming out to attend to their cattle and do the morning chores. Leaning against the gatepost they would kiss and kiss until their breath gave out. It was so when lovers parted.
But at last he was alone again, on the six-mile road home. He hadn’t slept a wink, he had been lying awake in a girl’s room, in his hands he still retained the warmth of her skin, in his mouth he still had the fragrance of her breath. The clear morning air he inhaled was cool with dew and fresh birch leaves. He did not feel tired; after his walk he could have gone right to his work. He worked six days, and in the evening of the sixth he went to see the girl in the blue shawl who waited for him at her parents’ gate. So it was week after week; what had happened this night would happen again and again.
Karl Oskar and Kristina waited and while they waited their expectation increased. They were happy to be alive.
He walked to her in daylight and on dark nights; the seasons changed with the year’s turn.
Then a day came when he didn’t have to walk the road: The both of them sat together on a spring wagon and drove to the church, followed by other wagons, filled with their wedding guests. They stood together at the altar, arm in arm, a bridal couple. Once during the ceremony he felt her arm tremble. He wondered about it and asked her afterward: Why did your arm tremble at the altar? She replied: I thought — suppose we had to part and couldn’t do anything about it — that was the reason. He said that up to now they had had to part every Sunday morning, but it would not be so in the future. From now on they would never part. She was his wife and they were joined for life.
After their marriage they settled in Korpamoen, his parental home, until they emigrated to America to settle a second time. And in that country he had sat beside her bed on an August morning just as the sun rose and listened anxiously for her breathing. And he had prayed to her: Don’t die away from me! Stay with me still a little longer!
She had not stayed.
The day was done, the sun had set, and under the vaulted heavens Ki-Chi-Saga’s water grew dark.
Charles O. Nelson, the old man in the old house, pushed away the pillows from his aching back, rose slowly, awkwardly, from his bed. It was time for his evening walk over the farm, while there was still enough daylight.
His movements were stiff, he straightened his back with effort, pulled on his pants and socks, found his coat and stick, and shuffled out on the stoop. There stood his wooden shoes waiting for his feet. He bent down and turned them over, emptying out a few pebbles, and knocked the heels against the floorboards before he stuck his feet in them. The smallest grain of sand or dirt irritated the feet of one who walked so poorly. Then he straightened up, looked in all directions, examined the sky.
What kind of weather would they have tomorrow? Back over the pine forest, where the sun had just set, high, thick clouds were towering. The sun had set in clouds tonight, it must mean a change in the weather. And from the clouds pillars of light poked right down into the lake, like spears: The clouds sucked rain. That sign meant rain tomorrow.
And all the fine crop of wheat was still out. For eight days now it had been standing in shocks, and the sun had shone every day; the wheat must be dry by now. He had thought the boys would get it in today, but not a shock had left the field. Instead they had worked on the fallow for the winter rye — there was no hurry with that. The wheat was more urgent. The boys knew what terrible rains they could expect this time of year.
He would go a bit into the field and make sure the sheaves were dry. Then he would tell his boys they must start in the morning, if it didn’t rain.
Right above him light, feathery clouds scurried eastward while the sky darkened to the west. To the south, across the lake, the sky glowed like fire; that too meant a change in the weather.
The day silenced its sounds and blew out its light. But as yet twilight lingered over the wide field that sloped toward the lake. Tall and broad rose the shocks with the full sheaves that had grown this year on the oldest farm at Chisago Lake. The last reflected rays played and glittered on the full, heavy heads.
The farmer was out for his night watch, to see that all was well. He shuffled down the steps of the stoop, leaned on his stick. The wooden shoes clanged against the boards. He must be careful and not step too heavily on his lame leg. With some difficulty he reached the ground; now it would be easier. He took one long step with his good leg, dragging the other a little until he got going.
Thus limping and shuffling Charles O. Nelson began his evening walk over the Nelson Settlement.
II. THE LAST LETTER HOME
Chisago Lake Settlement
Center City Minnesota
December 20 1890
Missis Lydia Karlsson
Åkerby in Ljuder Parish
Sweden
Being an old neighbor to your Brother Charles he has on several occasions asked me to write to his Sister in Sweden and let her know when he died. No one else could do this for the reason that your Brother’s children have forgotten Swedish and write English and this might cause trouble for his relatives to read. Therefore I promised to write.
Speaking for his Children I wish to advise you that your Brother Charles O. Nelson came to the end of his life the 7th of this month in the Evening. At half past eight he was up and took his supper and washed Himself. Then he went to bed and at eleven o’clock his soul was liberated. He went to sleep peacefully, no one expected his time to be so near.
Your Brother’s Birthday was October 31. His life lasted 67 years, one month, and seven days. He had lived on this place since Anno 1850. Exactly 40 years ago he came from Sverige and we have been neighbors since Anno 1872.
Your Brother was brought to his last resting place the 15th of December. Many were gathered, 6 children, 4 Sons and 2 Daughters and Sons-in-law and daughters-in-law and Grandchildren and Neighbors were also there. The Funeral text was David Psalm 15, the verse that speaks of “He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart, he shall never be moved in Eternity.”