Until We Reach Home by Lynn Austin Page A

have freshly churned butter to spread on it. . . .” She had to stop as a wave of homesickness choked off her words. Elin wrapped her arm around Sofia’s shoulder.
    “You can have all of that someday, Sofia. You can meet a nice man and get married when you’re ready and have a home and a family and cows again. And children. You would like children someday, wouldn’t you?”
    Sofia nodded and wiped her tears, remembering how she had cuddled her little cousins back home.
    “What about you, Elin?” Kirsten asked. “What’s your dream for America?”
    “I would like to feel safe.” Elin answered so quickly it was as if she had rehearsed it beforehand.
    “To be safe ?” Kirsten echoed. “We’re safe right now, aren’t we? What are you so afraid of?”
    “I’m not afraid. I didn’t mean it like that. I wouldn’t have come on this journey if I felt afraid, would I? It’s just that we need to be cautious traveling all alone. We have to use common sense when it comes to strangers.”
    Kirsten turned her head toward Sofia and rolled her eyes.
    They fell silent, gazing up at the twinkling sky. The ocean beneath it seemed vast and dark and endless. The longer Sofia looked, the more she felt like a tiny speck, lost and alone in a fathomless universe. She closed her eyes, wishing she could go back inside.
    “Remember that psalm Mama used to read to us?” Kirsten asked. “Something about looking up at the heavens at night and wondering about God and why He made us?”
    “I think so,” Elin said. “We should look for it in her Bible sometime.”
    Sofia remembered it, too. She longed to find it, but she was afraid to open the Bible again.
    The depthless sky and bottomless ocean made her feel insignificant. They reminded her that God and everyone else had abandoned her—everyone except her sisters. She gripped Elin’s hand a little tighter, afraid to imagine what would happen if she abandoned her, too.
    “Say something, Sofia,” Elin urged. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”
    “It’s cold out here,” she replied. “I want to go back inside.”

Chapter Ten
    E LIN DIDN’T THINK the clammy odors in steerage could possibly get any worse—and then they did. The ship ran into a storm and seasick passengers taxed the overworked latrines to their limit. Everyone had to stay below deck or risk getting soaked by rain and sea. Down in steerage, the sickening motion of the rising and falling waves was even more apparent than it had been on the ferry. Elin hadn’t needed a bucket yet, but if she didn’t do something to take her mind off her terrible nausea, she would need it soon.
    “I’m going up on deck,” Kirsten said on the third day of the storm. She slid down from the top bunk with a thump.
    “Kirsten, wait.”
    “Now what?” She swung around at Elin’s words, hands on hips, a look of exasperation on her face. She had found her friends Eric and Hjelmer on their second day at sea and was spending too much time with them. Elin longed to tell her what could happen to girls who were too trusting, but she feared it would lead to awkward questions about her own experiences—questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she searched for excuses to keep Kirsten away from them.
    “I thought you said you weren’t feeling well.”
    “I’m not. But Eric says seasickness is worse if you stay below. He worked on a fishing boat one summer and he says it helps to stay out in the open air, where you can keep your eyes on the horizon.”
    “But it’s raining. You can’t go outside in the rain.”
    “The deck has an overhang. I’ll stay under the roof.”
    “What if the waves are rough and you get soaked? How will you ever dry your clothes?”
    “Will you please stop worrying? You’re driving me crazy!”
    “I wish you wouldn’t go up there—”
    “Well, I wish you would! Why do you want to stay cooped up down here when there are so many interesting things to see on this ship?” When Elin didn’t