Vilhelm Moberg - The Settlers

Kristina clung to this wish of his; Karl Oskar did seem humble tonight, at least more submissive than he usually was. She often felt that he lived arrogantly and trusted more in himself than in God.

Out there, on the other side of the window, the crickets screeched and wailed unceasingly. There was a host of them around the house tonight, their noise coming from the grass, from the boughs of the trees. But those peculiar bugs were hidden from human eyes. They were the night’s whistle pipes, blowing away as if calling an alarm and warning against threatening dangers.

The long, drawn-out wailing of those invisible creatures turned Kristina’s thoughts to eternity’s torture.

“Karl Oskar — if you should come to an end this very night — do you believe all would be well with you?”

It was a minute before his reply came: “If I didn’t believe so — what would you want me to do about it, Kristina?”

Now he was the questioner. And she had no reply.

“What do you want me to do for my soul? I can’t get absolution for my sins. What else?” It was all he could say. They were in the same predicament. She had asked in order to be helped; he had no help to give. Their situation was the same. What could they do about it?

After this Kristina lay silent and did not ask any more questions.

“We must get some sleep,” said Karl Oskar. “Tomorrow brings new chores — we will be useless if we don’t get some sleep.”

He was right, it wouldn’t help to lie awake. They needed strength for the morrow. They must get up and labor through another day of their earthly life. It was man’s lot here on earth: to labor through each day in turn. And they must have rest so they could begin the new day with fresh confidence. The evening fatigue always depressed her spirits, but she would have them back again in the morning after sleep and rest.

Kristina could soon tell from her husband’s deep breathing that he was asleep. But she continued to lie awake.

— 5—

A thousand days and more had passed since Kristina had heard the ringing of church bells.

That was in another world, the Old World. In her parental home, in another Duvemåla, she had heard them from the distant church steeple. Every Saturday evening, with their clear tone, they rang in the Holy Day peace, every Sunday morning they vibrated over the village, calling the people together. And the villagers gathered on the church green and looked up and hearkened when the church bells began to peal: the men lifted their hats, the women curtsied. People heard the bells as a voice from above; they paid reverence to their Creator.

At home, each time something of importance happened, the church bells would ring: in war and pestilence, for forest fires or houses burning, at death and the crowning of kings, at marriage festivities and for funeral sorrow — man, made of earth, was brought back to earth with the pealing of church bells.

At all life’s great happenings and holidays in the Old World, Kristina had heard the church bells ring. In them she had heard the Creator’s voice, when he was in his holy temple, and their sound was the voice of the Holy Day. But for a thousand days now she had not heard that voice.

Here in the New World Sunday was like a weekday with all the sounds of a weekday. In North America, too, churches had been built, but she lived so far from them that the sound of their bells did not reach her. They rang from many steeples in this broad land but were never heard at Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. Nor could she listen to God’s servant speaking in her language from a pulpit or altar, she could not hear the organ’s pealing, the tones of the psalms, her fellowmen’s voices in prayer and singing. For a thousand days she had heard nothing but the forest silence.

She had moved away from church bells, from altar and organ, to the land of the heathens where repulsive idols were worshiped.

But God had not forgotten her, had not lost track of her. He would find her whenever he wished. She was and remained a life, sprung from the Creator’s hand, and he needed no church bells to reach her. And today she had heard his voice. She was convinced that he had called her with a message: she must not forget the immortal soul he had given her.

And so at last Kristina said her prayer to the Almighty, who was before the mountains, and would be after them. She prayed fervently for an answer to her question: what must they do — she and her husband — to save their poor souls? How should they manage so as not to lose their eternal salvation in this unChristian land where they had come to start life anew?

And she thanked God for the past day and the message he had brought her through a stranger — this day when Karl Oskar had heard a new ax ringing in the forest.

— 1—

It seemed to Kristina that their third winter might last forever. The cold was unmercifully severe. On the inner side of the door was a circle of rough nail heads which were constantly covered with hoarfrost. The nail heads, shining like a wreath of white roses on the door, were the winter’s mark of sovereignty over the people who lived here; they were prisoners in their own home, locked in by the cold. The warming fire on the hearth did not have the strength to wilt the frost roses on their door.

The dark, shining, nail heads in the wood became the first visible sign of liberation; the cold had been forced to recede beyond the threshold. And what a joy to Kristina when she awakened one night and heard the sound of dripping water outside, melting snow dripping from the eaves. It ran and splashed the whole night through and she could hardly go to sleep again, so happy was she. Every drop from the roof was a joy to her heart; she thanked God for the spring that was near.

Since Ulrika of Västergöhl had married the Baptist minister Mr. Henry O. Jackson and moved to Stillwater, Kristina had no intimate friends in the neighborhood. Ulrika’s visits were infrequent. Kristina herself was tied to her home by her own children and she hesitated to visit Ulrika because of the long and difficult road to Stillwater. In two years she had only once been to see Ulrika in her new home. That had been a winter day, and she had ridden with Uncle Danjel on his ox sled. It had been miserably cold, and in spite of all the clothing she had bundled around herself, she had felt as if she was sitting naked on the sled. They had brought along warm stones for their feet and had stopped several times on the way to rewarm them. Even so Kristina still had a frostbitten toe as a reminder of her visit to Stillwater on the slow ox sled.

During the last year, however, the lumber company had cut a new road all the way to Ki-Chi-Saga. Now the settlers could get a ride on the company’s ox wagons, and when Kristina decided to journey to Stillwater this spring, she decided to use this transportation. Her errand was partly to visit Ulrika and partly to buy necessities. During the winter she had stopped suckling Dan. She now had no child at her breast, and as Karl Oskar could feed the little one, she could stay overnight with Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.

One pleasantly mild spring day she set out on the ox wagon to Stillwater. During this journey she had no need for warm stones, today she need not worry about getting her toes frostbitten as she sat on the wagon. The sun had warmed the forest, which seemed friendly and inviting along the newly cut road. And the company’s ox wagon rolled steadily on its heavy, iron-bound wheels, quite different from the settlers’ primitive jolting carts. Today Kristina traveled in comfort; the ride was a pleasure rather than an ordeal.

The Baptist congregation in Stillwater had built a new house for their pastor, next to the little white timbered structure that served as the church. Ulrika saw Kristina through the window and came out on the stoop to welcome her. On her arm Kristina carried the lidded shingle basket which she had brought from Sweden.