She would have liked to prepare such a concoction but the herbs she needed grew only in Sweden, and she dared not pick and cook from those which grew here in America. She might get hold of poisonous plants. Once she had picked some unfamiliar berries and had vomited them up again; ever after she had been scared of American plants.
She advised Kristina to lie quite still with heated caldron lids on her stomach, night and day. If she had evil fluids in her body they would thus dry up and disappear.
Kristina listened to her neighbor with half an ear. She was not worried about herself. If the Creator wished to take her away from this world, what did it concern her what sickness hastened her departure?
Her weakness forced her to stay in bed. Meanwhile, Karl Oskar was filled with concern for his wife. He prepared nourishing food for the sick one, skimmed the cream off the milk and gave it to her, killed hens that weren’t laying and boiled chicken soup for her, and prepared egg dishes of various kinds. He thought good food would put her on her feet again. But her strength came back very slowly.
The inside chores she had planned this winter remained undone. She had intended to put up the loom and do some weaving; the wool needed carding and spinning after the sheepshearing of last summer; she had wanted to make clothes for the children on her new sewing machine. Before, it would have bothered her that nothing could be done, but now she no longer was disturbed by neglect of worldly concerns. Why should woolen yarn and looms and clothes disturb the peace in her soul? Why should she be concerned for her daily needs which she soon would discard?
But there were chores in the house that must be attended to, and Karl Oskar and Marta assumed them in her place. They helped each other as best they could. From her bed she gave her husband and daughter instructions: how the milking must be done, how much skimmed milk to save for the calves, how to preserve the cream for butter. And they came to her and asked about the cooking: how long they must fire the oven before baking, when to put in the cornbread, how much time was required for the yellow peas, how to handle the pans on the Prairie Queen to keep the food from sticking to the bottom.
From a man never trained for women’s chores there was nothing to expect, and less from a girl not yet fifteen. Kristina praised her successors when they succeeded and scolded them when they failed. However carefully she told them what to do they still made mistakes. There were accidents and failures. Some chores were well performed, others were done in a slovenly way or entirely wrong. And she could see it so clearly; as yet there was no one to take her place—in this house she was still irreplaceable.
She felt no concern for herself. She had peace. Karl Oskar tried to cure her with cream, chicken soup, and egg dishes, Manda Svensson with heated kettle lids. But she had only one she trusted, one who could give her back her health. Her close and loved ones needed her and she felt that God for their sake would let her remain in this world a little longer.
—3—
Toward the end of January Kristina had regained so much of her strength that she could get up for short intervals and resume some of the easier chores. The merciless cold had eased a little and she didn’t feel chilled so quickly.
Ulrika Jackson came one day to their house with a belated Christmas present for little Ulrika: She had knitted a woolen blouse for her goddaughter. She had planned to come during the holidays but had not dared because of the bitter cold.
At once she noticed Kristina’s pale, gaunt face—Ulrika had not heard about her illness.
“You don’t rest long enough between childbeds!” she said.
No one could believe that Ulrika herself had borne seven children—four in Sweden and three in America. She was twelve years older than Kristina, yet she looked the younger of the two. Soon to be fifty years old, the
She advised Kristina to lie quite still with heated caldron lids on her stomach, night and day. If she had evil fluids in her body they would thus dry up and disappear.
Kristina listened to her neighbor with half an ear. She was not worried about herself. If the Creator wished to take her away from this world, what did it concern her what sickness hastened her departure?
Her weakness forced her to stay in bed. Meanwhile, Karl Oskar was filled with concern for his wife. He prepared nourishing food for the sick one, skimmed the cream off the milk and gave it to her, killed hens that weren’t laying and boiled chicken soup for her, and prepared egg dishes of various kinds. He thought good food would put her on her feet again. But her strength came back very slowly.
The inside chores she had planned this winter remained undone. She had intended to put up the loom and do some weaving; the wool needed carding and spinning after the sheepshearing of last summer; she had wanted to make clothes for the children on her new sewing machine. Before, it would have bothered her that nothing could be done, but now she no longer was disturbed by neglect of worldly concerns. Why should woolen yarn and looms and clothes disturb the peace in her soul? Why should she be concerned for her daily needs which she soon would discard?
But there were chores in the house that must be attended to, and Karl Oskar and Marta assumed them in her place. They helped each other as best they could. From her bed she gave her husband and daughter instructions: how the milking must be done, how much skimmed milk to save for the calves, how to preserve the cream for butter. And they came to her and asked about the cooking: how long they must fire the oven before baking, when to put in the cornbread, how much time was required for the yellow peas, how to handle the pans on the Prairie Queen to keep the food from sticking to the bottom.
From a man never trained for women’s chores there was nothing to expect, and less from a girl not yet fifteen. Kristina praised her successors when they succeeded and scolded them when they failed. However carefully she told them what to do they still made mistakes. There were accidents and failures. Some chores were well performed, others were done in a slovenly way or entirely wrong. And she could see it so clearly; as yet there was no one to take her place—in this house she was still irreplaceable.
She felt no concern for herself. She had peace. Karl Oskar tried to cure her with cream, chicken soup, and egg dishes, Manda Svensson with heated kettle lids. But she had only one she trusted, one who could give her back her health. Her close and loved ones needed her and she felt that God for their sake would let her remain in this world a little longer.
—3—
Toward the end of January Kristina had regained so much of her strength that she could get up for short intervals and resume some of the easier chores. The merciless cold had eased a little and she didn’t feel chilled so quickly.
Ulrika Jackson came one day to their house with a belated Christmas present for little Ulrika: She had knitted a woolen blouse for her goddaughter. She had planned to come during the holidays but had not dared because of the bitter cold.
At once she noticed Kristina’s pale, gaunt face—Ulrika had not heard about her illness.
“You don’t rest long enough between childbeds!” she said.
No one could believe that Ulrika herself had borne seven children—four in Sweden and three in America. She was twelve years older than Kristina, yet she looked the younger of the two. Soon to be fifty years old, the
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