Karl Oskar looked uneasily at his wife: “How do you feel, Kristina?”
“I don’t feel so well, after the fainting spell.”
“Eat! That will bring back your strength.”
She tried for a moment to persuade herself that it was only the aftereffect of fainting. And the pain eased, but in a little while it came again for a third time, and now it seized her so violently that she had to let a few moans escape her lips. She panted and drew in her breath with difficulty.
“Take some drops!” Karl Oskar urged.
He found the bottle of Hoffman’s Heart-Aiding Drops, which Kristina had hidden with great care; he poured a tablespoonful and gave it to her. She swallowed the drops without a word. But by now she knew: no drops would help her, this would not pass, this would come back many times, and more intense each time it came — until it was over. She remembered it well; after all, she had experienced it four times before. And she regretted immediately having taken the heart-aiding drops, they couldn’t help her in any way; those drops had been wasted on her; they might better have been used for the children, when they ailed. Foolish of her. . Why had she believed something would help? The first time might have been a mistake — but now. . Why didn’t she tell Karl Oskar the truth?
“It’s my time, Karl Oskar.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. It couldn’t be anything else.”
He looked at her in foolish surprise. “But — isn’t it too soon?”
“Fourteen days too soon.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. . Then we must get someone right away!”
He had just finished pulling off his boots, now he pulled them on again quickly. Where could he find a woman to help? Who out here could act as midwife? At home she had had both her mother and mother-in-law at her childbeds. But here — a married woman, a settler woman who spoke their language — there was hardly a one. An unmarried woman who had never borne children would not be good for much. He had had it in mind to suggest to Kristina — as long as she herself hadn’t mentioned it — that they ought to bespeak a woman to help her in childbed, before it was too late. Fina-Kajsa was too old, her hands trembled, and her head wasn’t always clear. He had thought of Swedish Anna, who was a widow and had reached ripe age — she should be able to help a life into the world.
But it was a long way to fetch her from Taylors Falls — a three-hour walk by daylight. And would she come with him through the wilderness tonight? This had happened so suddenly, night was falling, and this too was bad luck.
“I had better get Swedish Anna. But it will take a few hours.”
“You needn’t go so far,” Kristina said. “Get Ulrika.”
“What? Ulrika of Västergöhl?”
“Yes. I asked her at the housewarming.”
“You want the Glad One to be with you?”
“She promised me.”
Karl Oskar was stamping on his right boot, and he stopped, perplexed: The Glad One was considered as good as anyone here, no one spoke ill of her now. Both he and Kristina had made friends with her, had accepted her in their company. But he had not imagined that his wife would call for Ulrika of Västergöhl to be with her at childbed, he had not thought she would want her so close. Yet she had already bespoken her — the woman she had wanted to exclude as a companion on their journey. She would never have done this at home; there a decent wife would never have allowed the public whore to attend her at childbirth.
Kristina rose and began preparing the bed: “Don’t you think Ulrika can manage?”
“Yes! Yes, of course! I only thought. .”
But he never said what his thought was. It was this: he had accepted Ulrika, but hardly more. He could not forget that, after all, she had been the parish whore in Ljuder, and he was surprised that Kristina seemed to have forgotten. Perhaps it was as well, perhaps it was fortunate that she was within call when a midwife was needed. She should know the requirements at such a function, she had borne four children of her own, she should know what took place at childbirth. Ulrika had health and strength, she was cleanly. She would probably make a good midwife. She could help a wedded woman, even though all her own children had been born out of wedlock. What wouldn’t do at home would have to do here; here each one did as best he could, and they must rely on someone capable, regardless of her previous life.
Karl Oskar now was surprised at himself for not having thought of Ulrika. “I shall fetch her as fast as I can run.”
“It’s already dark. It won’t be easy for you.”
He said he could find the road to their neighbors’ settlement, he had walked it often enough. But it was too bad that Robert was staying with Danjel, or he could have sent him instead. Now he must leave Kristina and the children alone — and just after they had been frightened by the Indians. She must bolt herself in, to be safe. Would she be able to push in the bolts after he left? It would be almost two hours before he could get back.
“Can you hold out till I get back?”
“I think I can. But be sure to bring Ulrika with you.”
Karl Oskar cut a large slice of bread for each of the children, to give them something to gnaw on while he was gone. He stopped a moment outside the door while Kristina bolted it, and then he took off.
Outside it was pitch-dark. Karl Oskar had made himself a small hand lantern out of pieces of glass he had found in Taylors Falls: he had fitted these into a framework of wood. But the tiny tallow candle inside burned with so weak a flame that the lantern helped him but little. Later there might be a moon, but at the moment the heavens were cloaked in dark clouds, not letting through a ray. He must hurry, he hadn’t time to look for obstacles, he strode along fast, stumbled on roots, slipped into hollows; thorns stung him and branches hit him in the face; he was drenched with perspiration before he was halfway to Danjel’s. A few times he had to stop to get his breath. It was difficult to hurry in his heavy boots.
Karl Oskar was panting and puffing like a dog in midsummer when at last he espied the light from Danjel’s cabin; he had never before covered the distance between the two settlements in so short a time.
He arrived as the Lake Gennesaret people were preparing for bed. Dan-jel, shirt-clad only, opened the door for him. Looking at Karl Oskar’s face he guessed the caller’s errand: “It’s Kristina? She must be ready.”
“Yes.”
Ulrika of Västergöhl was sitting on the hearth corner darning socks in the light from the fire. She stood up: “How far has it gone?”
“I don’t know. The pains came right after dusk.”
“Had the birth-water come?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s probably just begun.”
“It came on somewhat suddenly. Two Indians came in and frightened her. That might have brought it on.”
“It’s always sudden,” Ulrika told him.
She gathered up the worn socks and put them away; then she threw a woolen shawl over her shoulders and was ready. Danjel handed her a bottle of camphor drops and a large linen towel.
Robert asked if he should go with them, but Ulrika said: “There’s no need for any more menfolk.” She glanced at Karl Oskar, who stood there anxious and pale: “No — no more chickenhearted males!”
And out into the darkness went Karl Oskar in Ulrika’s company; he went ahead through the forest and tried to light their way with his lantern. Now he couldn’t walk fast, partly because he was tired, partly because of Ulrika.
Soon the moon broke through the clouds, and the moonlight was of more help than the lantern.
Ulrika talked almost incessantly: Yes, menfolk were soft at a woman’s childbirth; they used as excuse that they couldn’t bear to see a poor woman suffer. . Hmm. . The truth was, probably, they suffered from bad conscience — those who had a conscience; they themselves had put the woman in childbirth pain.