They had barely started; the guide said several weeks would elapse before they reached their destination. Why must they travel such an unfathomable distance? Why hadn’t they settled on a nearer place? It was Karl Oskar who wanted it that way, the responsibility was his, his will was being carried out. He had decided that they were to travel with the old woman, Fina-Kajsa, to her son in Minnesota. The others were willing to follow along: they thought what he did was best. He gave advice, and the others listened. But who could tell if he were right? Need they traverse so many lakes and rivers to find a home? Couldn’t they have found one nearer?
This was Karl Oskar’s great shortcoming: he never let well enough alone. All other men were satisfied at last, satisfied some time — never he. Many would have thought a move to another country quite sufficient — he wasn’t satisfied until they moved to another continent. To others it would have been enough to travel two, three hundred miles inland — he must travel fifteen hundred miles, five times as far; he must get as far inland as he possibly could, before he would be satisfied. He said he wanted to find the best soil. But was it so sure (he acted as though God had said so) that the best land lay farthest away? Such was Karl Oskar’s nature: things far away were better than those near by; what he couldn’t reach was better than what he had, and the best of all lay farthest away in the world.
And now they were on a ship again, even though it didn’t move by sail, but by steam and wheels. And she who had made up her mind never again to travel on water! The others too had come along. Ulrika alone had murmured, she was not afraid to speak her mind. Her unfair accusations against Karl Oskar were inexcusable, but what she had said about this eternal traveling could just as well have come from Kristina’s own mouth. It was well for him to hear it! He should know that there were those among them who were tired to death of this journey. Kristina was. Three long months had elapsed since that morning when she stepped onto the wagon in Korpamoen for a ride to the sea; she was still riding! And deep within her she marveled that her little children had survived this dangerous, unending journey; it would not have surprised her had it killed them all.
How intensely she longed for a place where she could stay. Where she could be by herself and make her own decisions, where she wouldn’t have strangers with her always, where she could rest in her own bed, under her own roof, where she could make a home for her husband and her offspring! How fervently her heart longed for a home again, how desperately she prayed that she might see the place where she was to live.
— 4—
The steamer Sultana entered a sound which soon turned out to be a river mouth; shortly they tied up at the pier in Detroit.
The immigrants were now approaching the northernmost boundaries of the United States. In this harbor the Sultana was to remain long enough so that anyone who wished to go ashore was allowed to do so.
Detroit was an old town, well built and of pleasing aspect. It was not a settlement village with streets crowded with cattle and tall tree stumps; it had well-ordered streets, almost like a town in Sweden, as Landberg said. From the boat it seemed that Detroit stood on a high bank along the river; they could see rows of well-built and well-looked-after houses, topped by church towers and steeples; next to the pier there was an extensive market place. Coming up the river they had seen vast orchards on either shore, filled with apple and cherry trees, their branches overloaded with delicious-looking fruit. The country around the town was fertile and good as far as their eyes could see.
Nearly all the Sultana’s passengers went ashore. Of the group from Ljuder, the two smallest children were left behind, Karl Oskar’s son Harald and Danjel’s little daughter Eva, and Fina-Kajsa also remained on the ship to take care of the babies.
The older children were much excited by the prospect of walking on solid ground again; they asked if they might go back to where they had seen the cherry trees, but the parents told them there would not be time. Kristina took Johan by the hand and Karl Oskar held on to Lill-Märta, so as not to lose them in the crowd. They walked about the town for a few hours, looking at many strange things, but it was surprising how soon both children and grownups tired from walking: they had been freighted about for so long that they had no strength to walk any distance. The heat was more infernal on land, too, and they were almost glad to return to the ship.
By the time the passengers were back on the pier, the Sultana had finished unloading her freight. A wide barge loaded with cattle was tied to the steamer’s side. Half a dozen sturdy men, their upper bodies bare and their heads covered with broad straw hats, were bringing the cattle from the barge onto the pier. Then an accident befell one of the animals: a large bull refused obstinately to walk onto the landing plank: he skidded and fell into the water. The river was quite deep near the pier, and only the head and back of the bull could be seen above the water. A curious crowd gathered immediately to see the beast rescued. The bull struggled in the water like a sea monster, snorting, bellowing, and squirting quantities of water through his nostrils, until the men finally succeeded in getting a rope around his horns and pulling him on shore.
While the others of their group went aboard, Karl Oskar and Jonas Petter had remained behind to watch the rescue of the bull. As Karl Oskar turned to climb the gangplank he was met by Kristina.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Yes. Is anyone missing?”
She stared at him, fear in her eyes: “Isn’t Lill-Märta with you?”
“No. I thought she was aboard.”
“She was with you. Only Johan came with me.”
“The girl is not on the ship?” Karl Oskar asked breathlessly.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes — I told you, the girl was with you. Where is she?”
“She was on the pier when you went. .”
“You let her out of your sight?”
“I thought she went with you.”
“Lord Jesus! Where is Lill-Märta?” Kristina shrieked. “Lord in Heaven! The child is left behind somewhere!”
She rushed down the gangplank, followed by Karl Oskar. They ran back and forth on the pier, looking for their missing child. The men, a moment before busy with the drowning bull, turned their attention from the now safe beast to the man and woman who ran about on the pier, calling out their child’s name. No one answered. They looked everywhere for the little one, on the pier and near it, among the unloaded freight, behind barrels and boxes and sacks and coils of rope; they searched behind cords of wood and stacks of boards, they examined every place imaginable that might be a hiding place, every nook and corner where a three-year-old might have crawled. On the pier were only grownups, there was no child in the crowd. They looked up toward the market place and along the shores, as far as their eyes could reach. But there was no sign of Lill-Märta. Their child had simply disappeared.
She had been on the pier a short time ago, when Karl Oskar stopped to watch the bull in the water; he had thought she followed her mother aboard. But the child had been in his charge, he felt the blame was his.
The Sultana’s bell rang piercingly, it was time for the boat to leave. The bull responded with a long-drawn-out, angry bellow, as if wishing to chase the boat off, and Karl Oskar glared at him fiercely: if that damned beast hadn’t fallen into the river — if he hadn’t stopped to watch it. .
Kristina turned to the men who had done the unloading: “Have you seen a little girl, about three years old?” She grabbed hold of the arm of a bearded giant, wailing in despair: “A very little girl. . in a blue dress. . red ribbons in her braids?”