Vilhelm Moberg - The Settlers

And almost every second man they met doffed his hat courteously to Ulrika; she was the minister’s wife, she was well known in this town.

“Menfolk in America are so courteous and educated,” said Kristina.

“Here they value womenfolk,” replied Ulrika. “In that hellhole Sweden a man will use a woman as a hired hand in daytime and as a mattress at night. In between she isn’t worth a shit!”

How had she herself been valued in the old country? Other women — married and unmarried — had spat at her. But the married men had come to her for their pleasure. They had used sweet words, then. Then she was good enough. Good enough even for his honor the church warden of Åkerby himself. But going to church on Sundays he did not recognize her. And he was one of those who had been against her participation in the sacraments. He was himself an adulterer, but men could whore as much as they wanted without being denied the holy sacraments. In Sweden the sixth commandment was in effect for women only; they must obey the catechism written by that man Luther. But perhaps in that country the men only followed the lead of the king himself, who whored with sluts from the theater, and the crown prince, who from his earliest years had been considered the foremost rake in the kingdom.

At Harrington’s General Store Kristina, with Ulrika as interpreter, bought so many articles and necessities that her old shingle basket almost overflowed. The two women carried it between them, each holding her side of the handle. When they returned to the parsonage, Elin was waiting for them on the stoop; she had brought a message for Pastor Jackson from her employer, Mr. Hanley.

Kristina had not seen Ulrika’s daughter for two years and was greatly impressed with the change in her. She was only nineteen but looked and acted like a grown woman. She had a well-shaped body and her fresh skin shone with health. But she did not resemble her mother; she had black hair and dark eyes. She must take after her father, whoever he was; that secret Ulrika had never divulged. Elin had a position as an ordinary maid in town, yet here she was, dressed in a starched, Sunday-fine dress with large flowers, and this in the middle of the week, during working hours. No one would now recognize the shy little girl who once had been with them on the emigrant wagon to Karlshamn. Then she had worn a discarded old skirt Inga-Lena, Danjels wife, had given her, and carried a berry basket, and looked so forlorn. Today she looked like a young manor girl.

Kristina herself wore her best dress today, and it was worn and moth-eaten in places. At the sight of Ulrika’s daughter she felt as if she were decked out in rags. She had put on her best finery, and Elin was in her working clothes, yet Kristina felt poor in comparison with the maid of the American rich people. Many things were topsy-turvy in the New World.

Elin spoke English to her mother, making Kristina feel awkward and pushed aside, excluded from their talk. And then, too, Elin at first acted as if they never had seen each other before. Although then she admitted that it was true, they had come together from Sweden. Had the girl really grown that uppity? It looked suspiciously so. Kristina might have asked her if she had outgrown the skirt Inga-Lena had given her to cover her body during the journey to America. But the girl, of course, didn’t know any better.

After Elin left, Ulrika carried on at length with great pride about her daughter, who was, she said, capable and learned quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Hanley had increased her wages to twelve dollars a month, and they served fare that was better than holiday food in Sweden, where maids and hired hands had to be satisfied with herring all year round. But the girl caused her mother great concern because she was so beautiful; men were after her and played up to her, and Ulrika wasn’t sure if they had marriage in mind. In Sweden a beautiful girl of poor parents was nothing more than prey for lustful menfolk, and even out here there was surely an occasional pant-clad animal out hunting. But this much she had made up her mind about: her innocent little girl would not be prey for such a human beast. Elin’s maidenhead was not to be wasted in advance — like her own — without joy, but would be an honest man’s reward in the bridal bed.

Ulrika set the coffee table in the living room. They sat down on the sofa again under the picture of Mr. and Mrs. Jackson which Kristina greatly admired. Pastor Jackson had been the first kind and helpful person she had met in America. When they had arrived on the steamboat, and were sitting down by the river in a cold rain, their brats whining, all of them wet through and through, hungry and homeless, without shelter or roof — then it was that Pastor Jackson had taken charge of their whole helpless group, had brought them to his home, prepared food, fed them, made up beds for them to rest on overnight, and helped them continue their journey the following morning. And to think that one of the women in their group had become his wife!

“You have been given a kind and good husband, Ulrika.”

“Yes, Henry is gentle. He never uses a woman for a slave.”

“But how could you and he understand each other in the beginning, before you learned English?”

“Well,” said Ulrika, “a man and a woman always find a way if they like each other. We made signs and pointed and used our hands in the beginning.”

She handed Kristina the plate with the buttercakes to be dunked in their coffee. American men were easy for an experienced woman to handle; they were so quick to offer marriage. Four men had proposed and offered her their name before Henry came along. Good, upright, American men.

“Ulrika,” said Kristina reflectively, “before the marriage I guess you told your husband the truth about your life in Sweden, and he holds nothing against you, according to what you say?”

“No. And I hold nothing against him.”

“Against him? Do you mean that he too — the pastor. .?”

“Yes, he led a wretched life; sinful like mine.”

“That I wouldn’t have thought,” said Kristina, greatly surprised.

“I told you once, ‘Henry is nothing but a great sinner forgiven by God. We’re alike, he and I!’ Don’t you remember that?”

Kristina remembered. But she had understood this to mean that Pastor Jackson had been born in sin, like all people.

“Oh no! In his old body he lived in deep sin! One was no better than the other, Henry and I!” Ulrika held her cup firmly and looked steadily at Kristina. “Henry used to steal. The same as I whored. Those two actions even up.”

Kristina opened her mouth quickly. She closed it again without speaking.

Ulrika continued: “Henry was in prison in England. For stealing.”

He had had the same unhappy childhood in England as she had had in Sweden. She had lost her parents when four, he when three years of age. She was sold at auction to the lowest bidder, to be brought up, Henry had been put in a foundling home. Her foster father had raped her and taught her whoring, in the orphanage Henry had learned to steal. He stole food to satisfy his hunger. At the age of fourteen he had escaped from the home and continued to steal his food until he was caught and put in prison for three years. When he was released he had signed up on a ship to America. In New York he had lived among thieves and whores until he met a Baptist minister who converted him. He was baptized and given help to study for the ministry. For fifteen years now he had been a pastor.

Kristina listened, confused and embarrassed, and at first without taking much store in what she heard. But Ulrika couldn’t have made up all these tales.

“Henry is an old thief — I’m an old whore. We’re two of a kind and very happy together!”