The cow was badly saddle-backed and had an enormous stomach; she must have borne fifteen calves at least in her day. But Kristina threw her arms around the neck of the animaclass="underline" she had a milch cow, even though it was only borrowed, and they would have milk for the children during most of the winter. And she patted the cow, caressed her, felt above the udder for the milk arteries, and said they were good, for an old cow: she could easily increase her milk if she were fed and cared for.
Karl Oskar was as pleased as Kristina with the cow. He thought that this time his wife had enforced her will in spite of him.
Here in Minnesota people had miserable shelters for their cattle; the Swedish settlers thought it a wonder they didn’t freeze to death during the winters. Karl Oskar led his borrowed cow to the lately vacated shanty. The cow moved into the house they themselves had occupied until a few days before. Their old home was turned into a byre! They would let the cow graze in the meadow until the snow began to fly, but they would be careful to put her in the shanty every night.
Anders Månsson was the owner of one young and one old cow. Both had American names — the young one was called Girl and this one was called Lady, which was supposed to be a title like Mrs. in America. Large-bellied Lady was a calm, easygoing, friendly animal, grazing peacefully and contentedly, never trying to run off to the woods. She became a pleasant companion to Kristina and the children in their isolation; it seemed almost that they had acquired a new member of the family, and this member contributed to the family sustenance. Lady was always called by name, like a human being, a respected woman of noble lineage. And Robert pointed out that women were scarce out here and a noble name for a cow showed how highly men valued women in North America.
— 2—
The night frosts had begun. The grass stood silvery in the mornings; winter was lurking outside their timbered house.
One late afternoon, at twilight, Kristina was alone inside their log house with Lill-Märta and Harald. Karl Oskar had gone to the lake to examine some willow snares he had placed in the shore reeds near a point where the pike often played, and Johan had run after him; the boy was always at the heels of his father. Kristina poured water into a pot and hung it over the fire, as Karl Oskar would soon be back with the fish for their evening meal. She hoped he would find pike in the snares, pike tasted better than any other fish in the lake; whitefish and perch were good too, but the catfish with its round head and long beard was so ugly that the sight of it did not whet the appetite.
Lill-Märta was playing on the floor and Harald was still taking his nap in the children’s bed. Kristina was busy at the hearth with her back to the door when the girl suddenly began to scream.
“What’s the matter with you, Lill-Märta?”
The child answered with another yell, still louder.
“Did you hurt yourself, child dear?”
The girl was sitting on the floor, staring wide-eyed toward the door.
Kristina turned quickly. The door was open and two figures stood inside the threshold. She could barely see them in the dim light, and at first she couldn’t determine whether they were men or women; she saw only two skin-covered bodies which had somehow got inside. But how had they opened the door? She hadn’t heard it open, nor had there been any other noise, or sound of steps.
The startling sight near the door made her back up so quickly that she almost stepped into the fire. Then she rushed to pick up the child on the floor — her heart stopped beating and felt cramped in her breast, and fear spread over her whole trembling body, as if it had been drenched with ice water.
The two figures at the door peered at her with black-currant eyes, set deep under low foreheads. And now she recognized who the guests were: their nearest neighbors had come to pay a call.
But what did they want here? Why had they come to her?
She called to them: “Go outside!”
The two Indians remained immobile inside the threshold. In her fear, she had forgotten they couldn’t understand a word she said.
Harald awoke and sat up in his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. With the girl in her arms Kristina cautiously stole back to the children’s bed in the corner, she walked slowly backward, she dared not turn her back to the Indians. With one child in her arms she stood protectingly in front of the other.
“What do you want? Please go outside!”
Uncomprehending, the Indians remained, and again she remembered that she spoke to deaf ears: What use was there in talking to savages who didn’t understand her?
“Karl Oskar! Karl Oskar! Come quick!”
She kept on calling, she yelled as loud as she could, she must yell loud enough for him to hear her down at the lake. Karl Oskar wasn’t far away, perhaps he was already on his way back, he ought to hear her calls. .
Then she stopped calling; she might anger them by yelling, it might be better to keep quiet and pretend she wasn’t afraid of them. If she only knew their errand. What could they want of her?
The unwelcome guests did not leave, they moved from the door toward the hearth, and in the light of the fire Kristina had a good look at them.
The Indians were dressed in soft brown-red skins, and their feet were shod in the same kind of hides. Their faces were deceptively alike, except that one had a flat nose. Their cheeks were beardless. On their cheekbones were painted red, bloodlike streaks, and black hair hung in tufts from their heads, gleaming as if greased with fat. Both Indians had red animal tails dangling from the backs of their necks, they looked as if they had live squirrels sitting behind their ears. From their squirrel tails to their moccasins, they looked furry and ragged; they hardly resembled human beings. And they had sneaked into the house on soft paws like wild beasts.
The Indians looked around the cabin, they inspected the pot over the fire, the chest, the clothes hanging on the wall. Meanwhile they spoke in low voices to each other; their words sounded like short, guttural grunts.
She could not take her eyes off their red-streaked faces. Their eyes burned like black coals under their brows, they looked cruel and treacherous. Long knives hung at their sides; they might stick their knives into her and the children, any moment. The Indian with the pushed-in nose seemed to her the more dangerous of the two.
Kristina kept silent now, she no longer called for help, no use frightening her children. She stood at the corner of the bed, as far from the intruders as possible, with her two little ones pressed close to her. The children too kept silent, their round eyes staring at the strange, uncouth creatures.
They had left the door open; could she pick up Harald and the girl and escape through the door? Would she dare run past the two savages?
The flat-nosed Indian pointed to Karl Oskar’s gun which hung on the gable wall above the clothes chest; now both Indians stood looking at the gun with their backs toward Kristina. Now she must run by them out of the house! She gathered her strength, took a firm hold of her children, measured the distance with her eyes. . it was only a few steps. .
But suddenly the Indians turned toward her again. They had managed to lift Karl Oskar’s muzzle-loader off the pegs; both held the gun, one had the butt, the other the barrel.
What did they want with the gun? It was loaded. What were they about to do, did they want to steal it? Why didn’t Karl Oskar come? What was he doing all this time?
Now the flat-nosed Indian alone held the shooting piece; he lifted the weapon to firing position, level with his shoulder; he stood with his back to the gable end of the house and aimed toward Kristina!
He intended to fire — he was going to shoot her and the children! She was looking right into the gun barrel, and there was no place to flee now; she pushed against the logs but she couldn’t creep through the wall. She stood petrified, a target.