Their soft-soap jar from Sweden was empty, and Kristina could wash nothing clean. Karl Oskar tried to help her: he boiled a mixture of rabbit fat and ashes, he thought this might be strong enough to eat away the dirt. And most of the dirt did wash away in the soap he had invented.
Kristina’s greatest concern was to keep dirt and vermin away, to keep grownups and children clean. During their journey cleanliness had been neglected, and this had troubled her. One evening as she sat outside the shanty and watched Karl Oskar and Robert, who busied themselves stacking firewood, the thought came to her that she should cut the hair of her unkempt menfolk; they looked uncivilized, bringing shame to all Sweden, should anyone happen to see them.
She went inside and fetched her wool shears: “Come here! Your heads need attention!”
“You — a woman — you can’t cut men’s hair!” exclaimed Robert scornfully.
“I used to shear the sheep at home.”
“Hmm,” grunted Karl Oskar. He took off his cap and sat down on the chopping block. “Better begin with the old ram, then.”
“When I shear frisky rams I usually tie their legs. Shall I do the same with you?”
Kristina’s wool shears mowed mercilessly through Karl Oskar’s thick locks, which fell from his head and gathered in piles on the ground. She guessed he gave at least a pound of wool.
Karl Oskar hardly recognized his own head as he looked in a piece of mirror-glass; his hair was cut in steps, marking each shear bite, just the way sheep looked after the shearing. But he was well pleased to be rid of the thick mat of hair which had been uncomfortable in the heat.
Robert sorely felt the degradation of having his hair cut by a woman. But he insisted that Kristina cut his hair as short as she possibly could; this would save his scalp from the knives of the Indians. Samuel Nöjd, the pelt man, in Taylors Falls, had related how some of his companions a few years earlier had been scalped by the savages; only one man in the group had escaped, and this because he was completely bald; the Indians thought he had already been scalped.
Robert’s hair was cut according to his instructions, and his head looked something like a scraped and scalded hog; this would undoubtedly make the Indians believe he had no scalp. But he would not be secure for long, his hair soon would grow out again.
Kristina also cut Johan’s and Harald’s hair quite short, but this was less from fear of Indians than of head lice, which were thus discouraged from building their nests.
The children had improved so much since the journey’s end, she was happy to see. Their little bodies and limbs were now quite firm, their eyes clear, and their pale cheeks had bloomed since arriving here. They spent most of their time in the open. Food at the moment was fresh and plentiful; wild fruit and berries grew in abundance near the shanty. The family fare had lately changed fundamentally: they had fresh meat at every meal, fish or game which they seldom had enjoyed in Sweden, except on rare occasions. The countryside abounded with rabbits, which supplied most of the meat, as well as fat for many uses. Robert learned to catch them by hand; he ran after the fat animals until they tired and crouched, when he grabbed them. In this way he saved powder and shot for larger game. Ducks and wild geese kept to the lake and could only be obtained through shooting; but it was child’s play to catch fish in Lake Ki-Chi-Saga, where life bubbled below the surface. They would put a pot over the fire, go down to the lake, and return with the fish before the water was boiling. They caught pike and perch, but these were the only fish they recognized. The pike had black backs with yellow stripes, and a narrower body than those at home. The perch had enormous jaws and were less tasty than the Swedish variety. Among the unfamiliar fish suitable for food was one called whitefish, delicious either boiled or fried. Whitefish resembled roach in color, but had longish bodies like pike. The catfish was ugly, with long whiskers, and purred like a cat when pulled out of water. A short, fat fish, the color of perch but with blood-red eyes, was called bass, Anders Månsson told them.
One morning at daybreak as Karl Oskar stepped out of the shanty, his eyes fell on an unusually large stag with immense antlers drinking from the lake less than fifty yards from him. He picked up his gun — always near by and loaded with a bullet — and fired at the buck. The animal fell where it stood, shot through the heart. The fallen stag with the multipronged antlers was heavy, as much as Karl Oskar could handle by himself, but he managed to hang his prey by the hind legs to a pole between two trees. He skinned and drew the animal before Kristina was up; when she came out to prepare the morning meal, Karl Oskar surprised her by pointing to his morning kill — she had not even heard the shot! He cut a few slices from the carcass, which she fried for their breakfast.
The weather was still warm, and meat would not keep long; if only they had had vessels to salt it in, they could have had meat for the whole winter.
At Lake Ki-Chi-Saga there was little concern about meat at this time of year. But bread they must use sparingly. They had paid dearly for the flour in Taylors Falls. Kristina herself cut the loaf and divided the slices at each meaclass="underline" the menfolk doing the heavy work rated two slices each, while she and the children had to be satisfied with one slice apiece. This made eight slices to a meal and left little of a loaf. The flour in the barrel shrank with alarming speed; here it was easier to find meat for the bread than bread for the meat.
Anders Månsson had given them a bushel of potatoes, and they had bespoken a barrel for their winter supply. Butter, cheese, and eggs they must do without, since they had no cows or chickens. And milk! As yet they had no milk. Always, it seemed, they missed the milk. The children often pleaded for it, for sweet milk, as they had during the long journey.
Kristina looked out over the vast, grassy meadow: there grew fodder for thirty cows! But they owned not one. If she had only one — one lone cow to milk mornings and evenings! In Sweden they had owned cows but were often short of fodder — here they had fodder but no cows. Why must this be so? And how could her children survive the winter in good health without milk?
Why hadn’t Karl Oskar thought about this? He was the one who managed and decided for all of them. She spoke to him: “You must get a cow, to give us milk for the winter.”
To her surprise, he didn’t answer at once; he turned away, embarrassed.
“Why haven’t you bought one already?”
“Kristina — I should have told you before. I am sorry. . ”
He looked pained, as though pressed to admit something shameful. He looked away from her and spoke with obvious effort: “We have nothing to buy a cow with.”
It wasn’t easy for him, but now he had managed to say it; he should have told her before, since she would have to know sooner or later.
“Nothing to buy it with! Are things as bad for us as that?”
“Most of our money is already gone.”
And he explained to her: When they arrived in Taylors Falls he had had ninety silver dollars in his belt. Ten dollars he had had to give the greedy wolves who freighted their goods from Stillwater; besides the barrel of flour and other foodstuff, he had bought a load of boards, some nails, a felling ax, and a few essentials for the building; these supplies had cost more than fifty dollars; now he had only thirty-eight dollars and a few cents left in his purse. Yes, they had had great expenses, everything they had bought was unchristian dear; and yet, Anders Månsson had not requested any payment for either their lodging with him or the loan of the oxen. He must repay him by doing favors in return, by and by. Yes, the money had gone awfully fast. But he had bought only essentials, things they couldn’t do without.