Vilhelm Moberg - Unto A Good Land

And Danjel of Kärragärde was pleased and satisfied as he sat there inspecting the shining coin in his hand; at home the coins carried only the picture of King Oskar I and his name; in Sweden they thought it sufficient to serve and worship an earthly ruler. But those in charge of money matters in America knew that no coin could be reliable and sound without God’s name stamped on it; here they put their foremost trust in the heavenly king.

“In God we trust,” he repeated to himself.

To Danjel Andreasson this silver dollar had gained a new and greater value through its four-word inscription; he had come into a land where the rulers had imprinted on the country’s coins the uttermost tenet of their faith. Now he knew that North America had a God-fearing government, that it was a Christian land. He understood now that the Americans in a faithful, humble spirit remembered the Lord God each time they held a dollar in their hand. They were thus ever reminded that gold and silver were only dust, to be eaten by worms and corroded by rust, and that they themselves in the presence of their Creator were the like of worms. “In God we trust!” In a land where such coin passed, honesty and confidence between fellow men must rule, and no one could be tempted for sordid gain to cheat his fellow brethren.

Danjel held the coin up to the window so that it glittered in the bright sun: “Behold! God’s silver dollar!”

Then he gave the interpreter the coin as payment for Arvid’s medicine, and Landberg collected his jars of Painkiller and walked on to offer them to other passengers.

Arvid had become very curious about the American coin and he asked Karl Oskar if he might see it. He showed it to Robert and asked who the beautiful woman in the flowing robes might be: “Could it be the queen of America?”

“When they don’t have a king, they couldn’t have a queen,” Robert instructed him.

“Hmm. That’s so. They have a president instead.”

“And the woman has no crown either.”

Arvid looked once more at the picture; then he exclaimed in great excitement, “Now I know who she is — the president’s wife, of course!”

Robert supposed his friend had made the right guess. The bare-armed woman in the flowing robes, sitting on her throne among the stars, with flowers in her hands — she couldn’t be anyone except the wife to the president of the North American Republic.

— 7—

The children whined for food, and for the third time since leaving Albany Kristina brought out the food basket. By now there was not much left of their provisions from Sweden — a couple of rye loaves, a dried sausage, the end of a cheese, and a piece of dried leg of lamb. But these were precious scraps and must be carefully rationed. They could buy no food in the railroad wagon; those without food baskets must starve.

From Karl Oskar’s purchase in New York Kristina had saved two wheat rolls for the children, from one of the rye loaves she cut slices for her husband, brother-in-law, and herself, and among them she divided the sausage the best she could. The rye bread was dry and hard, and she had been unable to scrape away all the mildew. But they all ate as if partaking of fresh Christmas bread.

Jonas Petter also took out his food basket and began to eat. Danjel’s two boys, Olov, fourteen, and Sven, eleven, sat next to him and looked longingly as he chewed and swallowed. And now Kristina remembered that she had not seen her uncle or anyone of his family eat a bite today.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Uncle Danjel?”

Danjel looked shamefacedly at the wagon floor and said they had not the slightest crumb left in their food basket.

This was poor management, thought Kristina, as she remembered what an enormous food basket Inga-Lena had brought along — a score of big breads, many fat cheeses, half a side of pork. Yet, her family couldn’t sit here and eat their meal and let Danjel’s motherless, hungry children look on. She could see the boys following every bite with their eyes and she knew how starved they must be.

She cut the rest of the loaf in slices and divided them among Danjel and his four children. A piece of the cheese crust she gave to Arvid, to whom Robert already had given some of his portion. But because of his toothache Arvid wasn’t very hungry and stuck mostly to his jar of pain-killing pills.

Kristina’s hand, still holding the bread knife, fell on her knee: there were two hungry people in her company who had nothing to eat, Ulrika of Västergöhl and her daughter Elin. They belonged to Danjel’s household and had shared his food throughout the journey. But now their food basket was empty, now Ulrika and her daughter must sit and look on while others ate their meal.

Kristina’s hand, a moment before so busy cutting and dividing the bread, lay now quite still upon her knee. Not for one moment would she entertain the preposterous thought that she should divide her food with the Glad One — no, certainly not.

Ulrika was looking out the window, gazing at the landscape they were passing as if she weren’t aware that the others were eating. Elin had picked up her little berry basket in which she found a dried bread crust; this she chewed with an expression of contentment, as if she were sitting at an overloaded table. Neither mother nor daughter seemed aware that they were being left out of the meal.

Kristina reflected that Ulrika had taken charge of the family food basket at Inga-Lena’s death. But she was not one to save or be stingy with the possessions of others; she had been so generous with the food that already it was gone; she had only herself to blame.

But it was true that the Glad One’s healthy body required much food, and she never willingly missed a meal. As she had put nothing in her stomach the whole day, she must be thoroughly hungry, must ache with hunger, even more now that she saw the food the others were eating. Kristina could not help feeling sorry for her; as she now shared her food with all the others, could she pass by Ulrika and her brat? It said in the Bible to break one’s bread with the hungry.

Kristina had only one bread loaf left, one single loaf. Must she cut this for the Glad One’s sake? She had a hungry husband, brother-in-law with a heavy appetite, and three small children, lean and pale, who needed regular meals. She did not know when they might be able to buy more food. Could God mean that she ought to take the bread from her own poor children and give it to a person like Ulrika, a harlot, an evil creature? How she had insulted other women, this Ulrika of Västergöhl! How detested and looked down on she had been in the home parish! And how Kristina had suffered from being forced to travel in her company! If she now offered the infamous whore food from her own basket, then it would be as if she invited her as a guest to her own table. It would be accepting her as an honorable woman, and equal. Giving her food would be like taking her hand; it would be a humiliation to Kristina, a debasement, if at last she gave in to the Glad One, as though wanting her for a friend.

One could hand a piece of bread to a beggar. But Ulrika had never begged; she was proud, she was more than proud, she was haughty. When she was in prison for breach of the sacramental law, she had refused to eat; she had spit in the porridge, it was said. She would accept nothing unless it was offered to her as to an equal. And Kristina did not wish to consider her an equal.

Her hand with the bread knife was quiet on her knee. Mixed with the rumbling of the rolling wheels she could hear the sound of eagerly chewing jaws; but she who had divided the food had not yet begun to eat.

Kristina’s heart beat faster, so greatly was she perturbed. Should she cut the last loaf — or should she save it? She had a vague feeling that what she did now would be of great importance to all of them. She had a foreboding that fundamental changes awaited them in this new land, everything seemed different from home, they were forced to act in new and unaccustomed ways. And as they now were driven through strange country, with everything around them foreign and unknown, they were more closely united — it seemed more and more as if they were one single family. Then they must try to endure each other, at least not irritate each other. Otherwise, how would things work out for them?