Chapter
4

Nilda blew a strand of hair from her face and leaned back to stretch a kink from her spine. Being hired by Mrs. Nygaard to cook and clean seemed a blessing, if you only considered the money. Scrubbing floors was never fun, but the work was no harder than at home, and every day was one closer to earning Ivar’s ticket to Amerika.

And that still irked her. Here she finally had a sure way to Amerika with Onkel Einar paying for the ticket, and now she had to pay for Ivar first. Shame on you, Nilda! You would begrudge your little brother his big chance? He had the same dream as Nilda.

With a happy sigh, she returned to the floor as she imagined her new life. According to her letters, Signe seemed to spend most of her time on the farm, but Nilda knew there must be a handsome lumberjack or two just looking for a wife in the nearby town—Blackduck, she thought it was called.

Without knowing why, Nilda was drawn out of her daydream and looked up. There, standing in the door, was Dreng Nygaard.

“Very nice,” he said, raking his gaze along her kneeling form.

“Pardon?” Nilda didn’t know Dreng well. He had gone to school with her older brothers but rarely interacted with them. Something about the way he was looking at her made the hair stand up on her arms.

Suddenly, Nilda remembered her friend Addy warning her not to take the position with the Nygaards. Addy had worked for Mrs. Nygaard for a short time and had pulled Nilda aside as soon as she learned of Nilda’s new job.

“It’s not a good place, Nilda,” Addy had warned at the time, but Nilda hadn’t wanted to hear her vague warnings. Now she wondered if she should have asked more questions.

“I said it looks very nice down there,” Dreng commented.

Fairly certain he didn’t mean the floor, Nilda sat up and dropped her brush in the bucket. Rising to her feet, she ignored his comment and asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

She realized her mistake immediately as he took three steps toward her. “Oh yes, there is something you can get me.”

Nilda backed up until she felt the doorframe hit her shoulder, and still he was only a step away. He wouldn’t really touch her, would he? Surely that was not what Addy had warned her about. Frantically, Nilda searched the room for help. Should she call out?

“Dreng!” Mrs. Nygaard’s voice rang through the house.

Nilda’s sigh of relief turned to alarm when she recognized what it would look like if Mrs. Nygaard entered the room and found them in such a compromising position. There was no question whom she would believe. Realizing she still held the scrub bucket between them, Nilda gave it a quick flip and allowed the water to slosh out and over his pants and boots. Getting her own skirt wet was worth the look of shock in his eyes and the way he scrambled back from her.

“Dreng,” Mrs. Nygaard called again as she entered the kitchen. She stopped as she noted the soapy puddle spreading on the floor. “Whatever happened?”

Nilda held her breath, waiting to see what Dreng would say.

“The girl is clumsy.”

“Nilda, dear,” Mrs Nygaard chided, “you must be more careful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nilda agreed.

“Now go change your boots, Dreng. You agreed to take your dear mor to the store.”

Nilda watched them leave the kitchen. Surely it hadn’t been as bad as it had seemed at the time. It couldn’t have been, could it?

When Nilda arrived for work a few days later, Mrs. Nygaard waved a finger airily. “Clean that cupboard at the end of the upstairs hall. There are several bottles of Mrs. Sluy’s Spring Tonic that I fear have spoilt. Throw them all away, and I will purchase new ones. Also, throw away the jar of face cream. There is mold on it. Of course,” she added with a smirk, “if you cannot afford fine face cream, you may take it home with you and skim off the rot.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You are very generous.” Nilda tried to make it sound sincere. It was not.

“I will be gone for the morning at the mission society meeting. They need me there. Make certain you do a decent job.”

Nilda fetched her bucket and rags, filled the bucket halfway with soapy water, and trudged up the stairs. She opened the closet door, and her heart sank. This closet must surely not have been cleaned out for years. On the bottom shelf were folded bed linens. That shelf would be easy. The next shelf up was filled with towels, more towels than Nilda had ever seen in one place before.

It was the middle shelf that was the problem. Bottles and jars and more bottles and jars. Boxes and packets, all stacked willy-nilly. There were the bottles of Mrs. Sluy’s Spring Tonic, at least half a dozen of them. What was the elixir like? Nilda could not help wondering. Cautiously she twisted the cap off one of the bottles and sniffed.

What a wretched stink! How could anyone get past the odor to actually take the tonic? She would rather stay sluggish all spring than have to deal with this putrid stuff.

“Well! Look what we have here.”

Nilda wheeled. Dreng stood in his bedroom doorway, leering. He came right up to her.

“Good morning, Mr. Nygaard.” She felt a sudden wave of terror, but she tried not to let it show on her face.

“Yes. It is going to be a very good morning.” He took her arm. “Come with me to my room.”

She stiffened. “I think not.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he purred. “Come.”

She started to turn. Suddenly she grabbed his arm and swung sideways with all her might. It caught him off balance, and he slammed into the open closet. Mrs. Sluy’s Spring Tonic came crashing to the floor, along with other bottles and jars. Some bounced and rolled around; most broke, and the elixir’s stench penetrated everything instantly.

He was surely faster than she was; would she be able to get away? She broke free of his grasp and ran down the hall toward the stairs.

Mrs. Nygaard! She stood at the head of the stairs with her hat and gloves in her hand and stared, openmouthed. “The mess! Just look at that mess! And what is that horrid smell?”

Dreng called, “Don’t listen to her, Mor! She lies!”

She turned her steely gaze on Nilda. “I’ve a mind to fire you, you clumsy girl!”

“Oh, please do so!” Nilda bolted past her and jogged down the stairs. She grabbed her coat off the rack by the door and ran outside. She threw her skis into the snow, but the binding on one ski was twisted, so she slipped her left foot into the other ski, snatched up her poles, and pushed away. She stood on the right ski and skated with the left, pushing furiously with her poles. Not until she got to the bottom of the village did she pause long enough to get her right ski bound on correctly.

Her skirt and shoes stank of Mrs. Sluy’s terrible tonic, and she had left behind her scarf and mittens. She could always knit more scarves and mittens. At least she was safe; well, at least a little safer.

Would Dreng pursue her? Probably not, but she was not going to take the chance. Sweating even though her coat was not fastened, she skied home as fast as she could.

Her lungs burned from the cold as she kicked out of her skis and clambered onto the front porch. Why were her eyes so hot and wet? The danger was past. She was fine now. She tossed her skis toward the rack and hurried into the house she knew best.

“Mor . . .”

Her mother looked up from her loom and instantly leaped to her feet. “Nilda! What . . . ?” She opened her arms, her wonderful, strong arms.

Nilda collapsed into them and clung to her mor, sobbing. Her crying embarrassed her. Surely it was not that big a thing, was it? Finally she felt better, enough that she could stanch the sobbing and leave her mor’s hug.

Mor led her to the kitchen and sat her at the table. She said simply, “Talk.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Nilda chewed on the end of one finger. “Dreng—you know Dreng Nygaard, he went to school with the boys. He made, uh, advances. Mor, I didn’t encourage him. When he tried . . . I mean, I was upstairs in their house, cleaning out a neglected closet, as Mrs. Nygaard told me to. He came out of his room and tried to drag me back inside. I only got away because Mrs. Nygaard came upstairs for something.”

“Oh, oh nei! He didn’t—”

“Nei, but not for not trying. He cornered me a few days ago as well. I could not say anything for fear of losing my job. It was the only way to make some money for Ivar’s ticket. I didn’t even like the job, and Mrs. Nygaard’s haughty ways. I hated it!”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“Ja, but it fits. And you know if his mor found out, she would have blamed me.”

“Of course she would.” Mor’s face looked so sad and pained.

Nilda shuddered a sigh. “When the boys worked for them, they didn’t have to put up with him. Or at least they never mentioned it.”

“Nilda. I did not know. You think he has bothered other girls?”

“I know he has.”

“Addy?”

Nilda nodded. “She said she didn’t want me to work there, but she didn’t say exactly why. And I didn’t understand what she meant.”

“This has to stop.”

“It has stopped. I won’t go there again. And they didn’t even pay me all the wages they owe me.”

“Nei, I mean he cannot be allowed to—to . . .”

“Flirt with, attack, abuse girls who work there or anywhere else?” Nilda’s weepy sorrow was turning rapidly into fury.

“Ja, all those things. You think his mor knows what is going on under her very pointed nose?”

“He is her darling baby boy who can do no wrong.” Even being sarcastic felt good sometimes. “I keep thinking there must be a way to get even.”

“Revenge is the Lord’s job,” Mor reminded her.

“Surely teaching someone a lesson to make them stop what they are doing is not a bad thing. You always said we should learn from our mistakes. I’d just like to help him learn.”

Gunlaug shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Takk, I never have liked having my words of wisdom given back to me.” She patted Nilda’s shoulder. “I am so very grateful you have told me.” She heaved herself to her feet and headed for the kitchen but paused at the doorway. “Promise me, Nilda.”

“Mor. Oh, all right, I promise to behave myself.” But he will be taught a lesson, I can promise you that.

Her mor stood there another moment, frowning. “And Nilda, what is that terrible smell?”

“Solveig, this chintz is absolutely beautiful!” Nilda stroked the sleek, folded fabric. The print was of cheerful summer flowers on a pale blue background.

“It’s for kitchen curtains.” Solveig paused as she mopped the corners of the kitchen floor. “The curtains in the rest of the house will be muslin. We cannot afford chintz for all the curtains, but I want the kitchen to be cheerful.”

“Of course!”

Nilda rolled up her sleeves and carried a basin of vinegar to the window over the dry sink. Her task was to wash windows, which gave her plenty of time to think. Johann and Solveig, just married, were going to move into this little cottage half a mile from home. It was perfect for newlyweds, but filthy. Every inch had to be cleaned. No one had lived in it for over a year, ever since its former owner, Tante Slegg, had died. She was nobody’s actual aunt that anyone could remember, but everyone in the whole area around Valders loved her and called her Tante. And she had loved everyone.

Would Nilda ever have a sweet little home like this was going to be? Oh, how she wished. Her husband would be an esteemed craftsman, and she would be mistress of the house. Dreams. How could she help them come true?

She heard skis clicking together out on the front porch.

“Oh, good! Johann is back.” Solveig propped her mop against the wall and cleared the table. “We can rest a moment.”

Johann came in with a big wicker basket. “Dinner!”

They unpacked the basket, which contained a bucket of rich soup and a braided loaf of bread. With a smile for her husband, Solveig brought the coffee to the table. There were only two chairs, so Johann plopped down on an overturned keg.

They joined hands and he prayed, “I Jesu navn gär vi til bords . . .” The familiar table prayer washed across Nilda’s dreams. Her husband too would provide the mealtime prayers.

Obviously, Mor had packed this basket. Nilda would recognize her mor’s delicious braided bread anywhere. Someday Nilda would bake bread this fine.

They ate in silence. Then, once their stomachs were full and their coffee cups refilled, Nilda asked, “Solveig, how long did you work for the Nygaards?”

Solveig cocked her head. “Somewhere between two and three months, I guess. Why?”

“Why did you quit?”

“Ah, well, Johann and I were talking about getting married and . . .” She shrugged and shot her husband a strange look.

I thought so. Nilda added another name to the tally she was keeping in her mind. That was three for sure. Keeping secrets that allowed a worthless young man to continue his bad habits.

“Why are you asking these questions?” Johann leaned forward, staring hard at his sister.

Nilda sorted through the thoughts that at times kept her awake at night. Somewhere she remembered overhearing her brothers and a couple of their friends discussing young Dreng. He was never included in their circle.

“Johann, how come none of you ever were friends with Dreng?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Nei, I know you, and you are up to something. What has that good-for-nothing done now?”

Nilda felt her eyes widen. She sucked in a breath of courage. “He’s . . . well, have you ever noticed that several of us young women or older girls work there for a while and then get fired? One I know of had to leave home.” She could feel Solveig’s glare clear to the bottom of her stomach. “All I can really tell you for sure is my experience, but it is not something I want to talk about either.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m sorry, Solveig, but this has to be stopped. Help me, please.”

Johann stared from her to his wife, who was fighting tears. “Tell me.” His voice was soft but undergirded with iron.

“Promise not to blame Solveig or me or any of us. I mean it, Johann. Promise.” Nilda met him stare for stare. “We need help, so keep that in mind.”

“Tell me!”

“You remember that Addy tried to talk me out of going to work for the Nygaards, but she would not tell me why. When I insisted it was the only way I would be able to pay for Ivar’s ticket to Amerika, she made me promise to be careful.” Nilda took a sip of her cooled coffee and shuddered.

Solveig pushed back her chair. “I’ll get more coffee.” She was up and at the stove before Nilda thought to stop her.

Nilda blew out a breath and rocked in her chair. Come on, get this over with. I wish I’d never started this. Just get it over with. Her mind seemed to argue with itself.

“Dreng starts by flirting with the help and persists until it is more than flirting. And goes to more than kissing, unless the girl or young woman flees, or fights back, or refuses to return to the house. I did not get all my pay.” She nodded to Solveig. “Did you get yours?”

“Did he—?” Johann stared at his wife, who shook her head.

“Nei, but I was so frightened, I got sick and threw up.”

“On him?” Nilda choked out.

“The front of him. And his shoes.”

“Did you really?” Nilda burst out laughing. She could no more contain it than she could stop the spring breakup on the river.

Solveig stuttered, then giggled behind her hand, then she too was laughing. “He—he was screaming at me, and his mor came running from the kitchen, and she was horrified and then angry and said I had to clean it up and go home so they did not get sick from my sickness. I did not go back because I was ‘too sick.’” She looked at Johann. “It was not my fault,” she whispered. “I did nothing to encourage him. He was, and is, vile.”

“Why has this been allowed to go on so long?”

“Because I was afraid you would not want to marry me if you thought I was—well, you know.”

“And the others? Besides Addy, who are they?”

“Does it matter? He is the problem.” Nilda leaned forward. “I believe he should be taught a lesson, made to see the error of his ways. Don’t you, Solveig?”

“Ja, but the women must not be made to suffer.”

“True. Sadly this must be done in secret.”

“Shame we don’t pillory people here.” Johann sighed and took his wife’s hand. “You could have told me.”

“No, she couldn’t have,” Nilda argued. “You are a lot wiser now than you were then. So what are we going to do?”

“We are going to do nothing. You started the snowball rolling down the hill, and now it will be encouraged along by someone else.” He leaned over and stared Nilda back into her chair. “You know nothing about this, you will not talk it over with anyone else, and you will thus be safe from any danger from that family, either physical or hearsay. Do you understand?”

Nilda waited before nodding. It would be better this way. Hopefully Mor would not be able to blame her either. She surged to her feet. “Takk for the coffee, Solveig, and I better get home before dark and Mor starts to worry. I will do the windows tomorrow. After all, I am unemployed now.”

Her brother walked her to the door. “Be careful, and I’m not talking about skiing home in the dusk either.” He patted her arm. “Takk.”