Read Online A New Day Rising by Lauraine Snelling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauraine Snelling
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, Romance, Sagas, Large Type Books, Christian, Westerns, Red River of the North, Norwegian Americans, Dakota Territory, Frontier and Pioneer Life
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and then return?" Gustaf choked on the words, as if they were too tough to chew, let alone swallow. "You think we are made of gold, then?"
She shook her head and sighed again. "Surely, I of all people know that is not true. But I talked with Solvig today. She and Haldor are going to Amerika. And not to stay either. She says she was born Norwegian, and she will die Norwegian, in her own land, in her own bed. But they will see their children again before they die."
"We do not even have the money to pay for all of Hjelmer's ticket, let alone fares for both of us. Besides, if we had so much ready kroner, we have two daughters who talk of marrying men in Amerika, and they haven't emigrated there yet either." He rolled over so his back was to her. "Go to sleep, Bridget. You must have been sipping the dandelion wine or some such."
Bridget rolled over on her back and let the tears leak out the corners of her eyes and into her ears. Why was wanting to see her children again such a terrible thing? Just because they lived halfway around the earth, should she put her love for them out of her mind and heart as if they'd never been? Is that what Gustaf did?
Since Johann and his wife Soren had yet to have children, and Kaaren's babies had died in the influenza, little Thorliff and Andrew were her only grandchildren. Ingeborg wrote so seldom. How were they? Thorliff would be seven, nei almost eight, by now. And Andrew, she knew, had the Bjorklund eyes, and Ingeborg hadn't cut his curls yet. Thank the good Lord for Kaaren who kept them informed. They were growing up without their bestefars and bestemors. Ingeborg's parents could no more leave for Amerika than could she and Gustaf. They still had small children at home.
She let the dream of visiting continue. They weren't too old for the journey, were they? Other than a twinge or two in the knees when the fog set in, she had never been one to complain. And Gustaf, why, he could still work circles around the younger men. And if he didn't want to work on a farm, surely there were townspeople who wanted fine furniture or had things in need of repair. Since Johann had taken over much of the farming chores, Gustaf had spent more of his time with his wood tools. It was a shame that many of the trunks he so lovingly created had emigrated and left them behind.
She sighed again. Surely she wasn't thinking of emigrating. Surely she wasn't. She was thinking only of visiting, wasn't she?
Hiding her lack of sleep behind a ready smile and the knowledge that Hjelmer would soon be leaving, Bridget bustled about the kitchen preparing breakfast. By the time the porridge was set with thick cream and the coffee poured, the others had trooped to the table. So few remained at home. Johann and his wife, Soren, Hjelmer who couldn't wait to leave, Augusta who hired out so often they rarely saw her, and Katja the baby, who was only twelve. Bridget had finally removed one of the leaves of the table so it wouldn't stretch so far, an empty reminder of those no longer present.
Before she sat down, she had counted the kroner and the coins in the octagonal box set high in the cupboard. She brought the red, tightly lidded container to the table with her. Gustaf looked at her with one raised eyebrow before folding his hands for grace.
"I Jesu navn, gar vi til bords..." The age-old words echoed around the table as they all joined in. At the "amen," Hjelmer reached for the plate of sliced bread in the middle of the table.
Taking two pieces and passing the plate on to his sister, he eyed the box in front of his mor. The money for his ticket, what there was of it, lay hidden in that box. All of them had been contributing whatever they could earn. As it had for the others before him, his passage to Amerika was taking all the family resources.
"I'll pay you back, you know." Hjelmer spoke around a mouthful of porridge.
"Like the others?" Gustaf frowned at his youngest son. "You think you will do so well you can just
She shook her head and sighed again. "Surely, I of all people know that is not true. But I talked with Solvig today. She and Haldor are going to Amerika. And not to stay either. She says she was born Norwegian, and she will die Norwegian, in her own land, in her own bed. But they will see their children again before they die."
"We do not even have the money to pay for all of Hjelmer's ticket, let alone fares for both of us. Besides, if we had so much ready kroner, we have two daughters who talk of marrying men in Amerika, and they haven't emigrated there yet either." He rolled over so his back was to her. "Go to sleep, Bridget. You must have been sipping the dandelion wine or some such."
Bridget rolled over on her back and let the tears leak out the corners of her eyes and into her ears. Why was wanting to see her children again such a terrible thing? Just because they lived halfway around the earth, should she put her love for them out of her mind and heart as if they'd never been? Is that what Gustaf did?
Since Johann and his wife Soren had yet to have children, and Kaaren's babies had died in the influenza, little Thorliff and Andrew were her only grandchildren. Ingeborg wrote so seldom. How were they? Thorliff would be seven, nei almost eight, by now. And Andrew, she knew, had the Bjorklund eyes, and Ingeborg hadn't cut his curls yet. Thank the good Lord for Kaaren who kept them informed. They were growing up without their bestefars and bestemors. Ingeborg's parents could no more leave for Amerika than could she and Gustaf. They still had small children at home.
She let the dream of visiting continue. They weren't too old for the journey, were they? Other than a twinge or two in the knees when the fog set in, she had never been one to complain. And Gustaf, why, he could still work circles around the younger men. And if he didn't want to work on a farm, surely there were townspeople who wanted fine furniture or had things in need of repair. Since Johann had taken over much of the farming chores, Gustaf had spent more of his time with his wood tools. It was a shame that many of the trunks he so lovingly created had emigrated and left them behind.
She sighed again. Surely she wasn't thinking of emigrating. Surely she wasn't. She was thinking only of visiting, wasn't she?
Hiding her lack of sleep behind a ready smile and the knowledge that Hjelmer would soon be leaving, Bridget bustled about the kitchen preparing breakfast. By the time the porridge was set with thick cream and the coffee poured, the others had trooped to the table. So few remained at home. Johann and his wife, Soren, Hjelmer who couldn't wait to leave, Augusta who hired out so often they rarely saw her, and Katja the baby, who was only twelve. Bridget had finally removed one of the leaves of the table so it wouldn't stretch so far, an empty reminder of those no longer present.
Before she sat down, she had counted the kroner and the coins in the octagonal box set high in the cupboard. She brought the red, tightly lidded container to the table with her. Gustaf looked at her with one raised eyebrow before folding his hands for grace.
"I Jesu navn, gar vi til bords..." The age-old words echoed around the table as they all joined in. At the "amen," Hjelmer reached for the plate of sliced bread in the middle of the table.
Taking two pieces and passing the plate on to his sister, he eyed the box in front of his mor. The money for his ticket, what there was of it, lay hidden in that box. All of them had been contributing whatever they could earn. As it had for the others before him, his passage to Amerika was taking all the family resources.
"I'll pay you back, you know." Hjelmer spoke around a mouthful of porridge.
"Like the others?" Gustaf frowned at his youngest son. "You think you will do so well you can just
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