Chapter
14

Nilda stared and clutched her bag. She had seen pictures. She had read books. Nothing prepared her for this. “Ivar, this steamship is huge! And black. And . . . it’s frightening.” She stood on a cement pier gazing at the ship they would be on for the next eight days.

“Want to turn around and go home?” Ivar did not seem awed at all.

She ignored his comment. “Is it true that the bigger the ship is, the smoother it rides?”

“That’s what I heard. Well, let’s go.” He started forward.

Nilda followed him, along with hundreds of other people, as they funneled in a long line up a steeply sloping ramp. The ramp hung out over water but did not move the least bit. That was encouraging. She stepped aboard the first ship she had ever been on.

The signs were all in English. That was encouraging also, since she and Ivar had been studying English so intently. An arrow pointed down to Deck 2. She and Ivar joined the milling crowd of voyagers descending the stairs. Their tickets both said 2A. Apparently they would have to live and sleep in the same room for eight days.

After squeezing down a narrow corridor, they found 2A. Ivar stopped in the doorway. “It’s a bunkhouse.”

Nilda gaped. “We had more room up at the seter, and we thought that was crowded.” Two levels of bunk beds lined the walls on each side. All the lower bunks were already taken.

“Over here.” Ivar shoved his way to an outside wall, threw his shoulder bag onto an upper bunk, and quickly guarded the next one over.

Nilda threw her bag up onto it. “Do you think they might run out of bunks?”

“There don’t seem to be many empties left. I want to go find the dining hall.”

“I want to find the women’s toilet.”

So they went exploring. They found the dining area in about the middle of the ship, and then the toilets. The women’s was on one side of the center aisle, the men’s on the other. Nilda stepped inside a windowless room with a row of porcelain thrones that you flushed with a bucket of seawater. Was there no privacy? A single electric lightbulb burned in the middle of the room, leaving it very dark at the perimeter. That would be her privacy. She went to a commode as far from the feeble light in the middle as possible.

A girl beside her was just standing up, her task finished. “You don’t flush for everything,” she said. “Just solids. I was asked to spread the word. There is a sign outside the door, but nobody reads it.”

“Ah. Takk.” On her way out, Nilda told three other women of the rule.

She and Ivar also found a lounge area with chairs, where you could read a newspaper or book. But where would one get a newspaper at sea? They returned to 2A.

Ivar headed for the stairs. “I want to see us cast off.”

But at the top of the stairs, a steward stopped him. “Steerage passengers are not permitted on this deck.”

So Ivar and Nilda had to watch from a small round window in 2A as the ship was untied from its moorings. The window was very near water level, and you could hear the engines throbbing and growling. Slowly, very slowly, the ship moved away from the pier.

Nilda was on her way to Amerika! She was leaving everything behind. Mor and Far, of course, but also all her friends, all her cousins, Johann and Solveig, Mrs. Sieverson. . . . Her eyes burned, and she began to weep.

She heard Ivar exclaim, “We’re out in the channel. Look! We’re on the wrong side of the ship to see the islands, but we can watch the coast all the way out to Tungenes, I think.”

She blew her nose and squeezed in beside Ivar to watch the coast of Norway move past.

“This means,” Ivar explained, “that we’re on the port side. Used to be larboard but now it’s called port. Remember? Our English instructor did a whole lesson on ships.”

“And you recall every detail, I see.”

The boat was sailing along quite smoothly. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Ivar’s immediate dream came true when dinnertime finally arrived. The meal was soup and bread. Was there coffee? No. Just tea. Was sugar available? Yes, here were sugar cubes in a strange bowl that was wide and flat on the bottom.

When they returned to 2A, Nilda stopped to read a huge list of rules posted beside the door in both English and Norwegian. They could go out on deck only at certain hours. They could not smoke tobacco or burn candles while on board. They had to help with serving meals on certain days. They must remain modestly dressed at all times and display proper deportment. Only English would be spoken for announcements. What, for pity’s sake, was proper deportment?

Late in the afternoon, they lost sight of the coast completely. Now what would she do? She had brought a bit of knitting, but that would be completed quickly. She had brought a book in Norwegian and one in English. Once those were read . . .

“Ivar, did you bring the Norwegian-English dictionary?”

“Nei, I left it for Mor so she can work on her English. I figure we’ll be able to buy one easy enough in Amerika.”

True; that was probably a good decision. Still, it left her feeling strangely empty. She got out her knitting, studied it a moment, and put it away again. She was going to be dreadfully bored.

Ivar was stretched out in his bunk, but his feet hung over the edge. How long was her bunk? She and Ivar were not tall, but they were both a bit longer than their beds. And what was this at the head end? It looked like a window box or planter. Oh, you could put your things in it. She tried it out. Her books fit nicely. The steep-walled sides would prevent them from falling on her head at night, should the ship lurch.

The next day went smoothly. Breakfast was porridge. Dinner was soup and bread. Supper was soup and bread. The soup had no meat and no taste. The porridge suffered similarly. Seven days left. Nilda feared it was going to be a long seven days.

At breakfast on the second full day at sea, she fell into a conversation with a girl her age who seemed to be traveling alone. The very first words the young woman spoke were, “I’m bored.”

“Oh, so am I! My name is Nilda.”

The girl brightened. “I’m Bekka. Want to play cards?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how.”

“We’ll start with something simple.” Bekka pulled a pack of cards from her bag. Her nimble fingers shuffled them quickly.

Nilda was intrigued by the soft churring sound they made. She knew men in the public houses sometimes played cards, but not women. But then, she had never been in a public house, so maybe women did too. This might be interesting.

“The object of this game is to get rid of all your cards first. Your opponents then count up the sum of their remaining cards—face cards are ten points. The first score to reach 500 marks the end of the game. And is the loser, obviously.”

They played a practice hand, with all cards facing up on the table, as Becca showed how cards were matched and melded and explained some of the strategy. Nilda quickly grasped the concept and could see that playing cards was a wonderful time spender.

Bekka dealt, and Nilda examined her hand. She chose a card to—

“What do you two think you are doing?” A stern, gaunt woman glared down at them. “Playing cards is entirely inappropriate for young ladies. Not to mention turning the dining area into a den of iniquity. Give me those cards!” She reached for them, but Bekka snatched them away and stuffed them in her bag. Nilda dumped her hand of cards into her own bag.

Bekka’s voice rang firm and clear. “You will not confiscate my possessions!”

The woman did not lose her glare. “Then do not let me see them again. It is unladylike! Go back to your rooms.”

“Good idea.” Bekka stood up, so Nilda did too. They started toward the front of the ship. “I’m in 2A. Where are you?”

“In 2A as well. On the port side.” She used the word Ivar had taught her and hoped he had remembered correctly.

“The side with windows! I tried for a window, but I came aboard too late. Perhaps, if there is something to see, I can look out your window now and then.” She paused at the big rules list by the door. “I didn’t read all this. Is there anything on here about playing cards, do you know?”

“I read them, and there is not. She was talking about being unladylike. Maybe this would be covered under proper deportment.”

Bekka snorted. “If we are bound by proper deportment, I am bound for the brig. I can see that now.” She stopped in the middle of the bunkroom. “First we need a thundermug. You know, a chamber pot.”

“There!” Nilda brought out the pot under Ivar’s bunk.

“And a flat surface. Ah. I know.” Bekka hurried outside. Moments later she returned with a large sign saying OUT OF ORDER. “This should do nicely.” She turned the sign upside down and set it on the chamber pot. She sat crosslegged on the floor at their “table.” “Our den of iniquity. Deal over again, please.”

Laughing, Nilda sat on the floor opposite her new friend and they pulled out their cards, counting them to make certain. Apparently a complete deck was fifty-two cards. The morning sped by. Boredom was banished. This would be a wonderful voyage!

That evening Nilda noticed motion in the ship from waves for the first time. As she and Ivar walked to ship’s center for supper, a steward shouted something from the far end of the dining area.

Nilda looked at Ivar. “I could not understand him. What did he say?”

He shook his head. “Something about loose items. I couldn’t tell.”

The ship was now moving enough that their soup sloshed slightly in their bowls. That was not difficult, of course; it was pretty watery soup.

The ship was rocking even harder when they went to bed that night. Sometime in the darkness, Nilda suddenly felt a need to throw up. She had just made it to the hall when her stomach decided to send everything back. Almost losing her balance, she leaned against the wall. What should she do? She could not just walk away and leave this. She needed a mop or something. The women’s toilets would surely have a mop and bucket. Or she could use a bucket of seawater to rinse it away.

When she entered the women’s toilet, a dozen other women knelt at the commodes, all losing their stomachs. Some toilets served two people at once.

What a horrid, terrible mess! Surely the ship would stop rocking soon.

Nilda lost her stomach again. A few minutes later, she experienced what her mor called “dry heaves.” There was nothing left to lose, but her stomach was bent upon emptying itself anyway. She lay down on the floor, wretched and retching, and prayed for the night to end as the floor heaved up and down.

“Miss? Miss.” Someone was shaking Nilda’s shoulder. She opened her eyes. A woman in a long white apron and white nurse’s cap was kneeling beside her. “Miss, you must go back to your bed. I will help you. Come.”

“I don’t . . . I should . . .” It was hard to think. Nilda struggled to her feet. “I need a mop and bucket. I made a mess, uh, in the hall.”

“You and many others. Our crews are cleaning up the hallways.”

Nilda needed the woman’s support, her knees were so shaky. She gripped the nurse’s arm. “Is it night or day?” She could not tell in that windowless room.

“Morning, but breakfast is not served yet.” She was speaking Norwegian.

“I really do not care for breakfast.” That was an understatement.

They entered 2A, and the nurse helped Nilda into her bunk. The nurse put a strange bottle with a coned lid, almost like a baby’s bottle, into Nilda’s book rack. “This is water. You are very dehydrated, and dehydration not only makes you feel sicker, it can kill you if it goes too far. Take a mouthful and swallow it a tiny bit at a time so that your body can absorb it.”

“My stomach will just send it back.”

“Not if the sips are small enough. Please do this.”

“Ja, I will. Ma’am?”

“Yes?” The ship was lurching so much that the nurse had to hold on to Nilda’s bunk.

“I read in a book that when ships were fighting in naval wars, they simply threw dead bodies over the side. To get them out of the way. When I die, will you throw my body overboard?”

“Nei. At the end of the voyage, we have to account for every person on the passenger manifest. But if you keep sipping, you will not die.”

“I’m beginning to believe it might be preferable.”

But the nurse had left.

Nilda put some water in her mouth. It tasted bad, but probably her mouth itself tasted bad. She drank trickling amounts and realized that she actually was very thirsty.

Where was Ivar? His bunk was empty. Surely not at breakfast. On the other hand, he had a robust appetite. Perhaps he was. She dozed and sipped and retched, but nothing came up. The ship rolled so wildly that she was being thrown in all directions.

Sometime during the day, she made another trip to the bathroom and returned without collapsing. Ivar was still not back, but she felt so weak she couldn’t rouse herself enough to go look for him.

Her water had been replenished as she slept. She sipped some more and slept some more. She was beginning to fear the nightmare would never end. That night was just as miserable as the one before had been. But toward morning, the ship seemed to be lurching less violently. Or perhaps it was simply her fond wishes making it seem less.

Around noon, she made herself get up. She must find out about Ivar. Was he so sick he had died? The thought chilled her through and through. She should have done this yesterday. She remembered seeing a map of the vessel’s decks somewhere. Then she thought of an easier way. She asked a steward in the dining area, “Where is the infirmary, please?”

He directed her to Deck 1. She went down the stairs from 2 to 1. Signs directed her to a door. She entered.

“You’re up!”

She wheeled. Ivar! She ran to him and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Where have you been? You were not in your bunk, ever.”

“When I got sick, you were not in your bunk, so I came down to the infirmary for treatment, expecting to find you here. They gave me a medicine that helped me enough that I could work here.”

“You were working in the infirmary?”

“Ja, I still am. Several of their orderlies were so sick they couldn’t help, and they needed lots of orderlies; just about everyone on the ship was ill, including some of the nurses. So I told them I would gladly help.”

She released her hug and stepped back to look at him, gripping his arms. “Ivar Carlson, you are more a man than I imagined. I am proud of you.”

He shrugged, but he was grinning broadly. “At least I did not have to help in the galley.”