Unto a Good Land (53 page)

Now Ulrika felt a rechristening was just what she needed. Only the Baptists were entirely reborn into this world. To rid herself completely of the old flesh-body, she must again go through baptism, which should never be undertaken until a person was full grown in mind and body. Now she felt old enough, her mind wasn’t likely to grow any more, she was as wise as a woman in her position and of her age would ever be; the time had arrived for her rechristening into the Baptist faith. And the crown of the miracle was the fact that her husband-to-be would baptize her with his own hands.

The baptism would take place as soon as the river water grew warmer. Many other persons would be immersed at the same time as she. All would be fully dressed, but baptism for a rebirth required the whole body to be under water. They were to wade into the river until the water stood above their shoulders. Pastor Jackson would hold on to her neck and push down her head, while he read the baptismal prayer. It would take only a few moments with the head under water to make it binding, he had told her. Then the newly baptized must hurry home and put on dry clothes and drink warm milk or steaming coffee so as not to catch cold. But later in the spring the St. Croix River would be warmer, so there would be less risk of getting sick.

“. . . but I can’t explain it! I can’t tell you any more! Oh, Kristina, I am chosen. I am.”

And as Ulrika was talking in great exhilaration she suddenly stopped short—she rested her elbows against the table and broke out in loud weeping.

She slumped down onto a chair as if her legs had given way under her, she began to cry so violently that her whole body shook, she put her hands to her face, the tears dripped between her fingers and fell onto the shift on the table.

“Ulrika, my dear!” Kristina had never seen Ulrika of Västergöhl cry, no one had ever seen her shed a tear. No one had imagined she could weep, she was such a strong, fearless woman. Kristina realized that something profound had happened to her. “Ulrika! You never weep!”

Copiously Ulrika’s tears ran while from trembling lips she stammered forth: She was not sad, she was happy. Her tears were tears of joy. She never cried when she was sad, only when she was happy. That was why she had never wept before, she had never been happy, never in all her life until now. What had there been for her to be happy over? Nothing—ever! Until now!

The Glad One wept. She soaked her wedding linen in tears.

Kristina sat silent and looked at her. Ulrika continued to sob. Long had she carried her tears, long had she saved them, now the moment had come when she spent her savings. It was as though all the tears she had kept back through all the years were now gathered in force, breaking through in one great torrent—as though she wished at one single time to weep tears for all the happiness which had been denied her throughout life.

At length she became aware of her tears dripping onto the white garment; then she put her apron to her eyes and wept into her apron. Her blooming cheeks were washed in her flood of tears, she wiped them away with the apron.

Kristina sat silent; one who weeps for joy needs no comfort. She was glad for Ulrika’s sake, she would have liked to weep also, to show that she shared her happiness.

When the Glad One’s tears at last began to give out and her tongue regained its former use, she told Kristina why she began to weep after these many years: It was because of God’s all-forgiving love which she had experienced through her husband-to-be—through Henry. When he had asked her to be his wife—and he had spoken very slowly and clearly so that she would understand the English words—she had at once recognized who he was: he was the mate God had chosen and saved for her, and who had long been waiting for her here in North America. Then she had felt that she too must show him who she was—God demanded this of her, forced her to it. She had told him she was a great sinner, that she had lived in sin and shame in her homeland, that she had felt at home in her sin-body and enjoyed its pleasures. She was a sister of the Bible harlot who had been brought to Jesus for judgment. She had met a Lord’s Apostle who had repeated Christ’s words: Go, and sin no more! And for three years she had done repentance, for three years she had not let a single man near her.

Henry had told her that God had already informed him she had been a great sinner. But one forgiven by God had nothing to fear from mortals. Who was he to judge her? He himself was a great sinner, forgiven by God. They were alike, she and he. The old life was past, blotted out through the rebirth. And if some part of her old sin-body still clung to her, she would be cleansed in the baptism he would give her later in spring when the river water was a little warmer.

It was because of God’s love, all-forgiving love, that Ulrika of Västergöhl now wet her bridal linen with her tears.

But only a person who knew what sin was could rightly understand her joy. Sin was like a wasp, a big, angry, buzzing hornet. Or like a bee. Sin had sweet honey in its mouth, and a sharp, piercing sting in its end. First it lured a mortal with its honey sweetness, then it stung with its stinger. Sin had led her astray with its delightful sweetness, but how bitterly it had then stung her! Nothing in this world could sting such deep wounds as sin!

But people too had hurt her. How much evil she had suffered from them! Ever since she had borne her first child she had been called
unmarried
Ulrika of Västergöhl. It was even written down in the church book. She had been born unmarried, she couldn’t help it. God had created her unmarried, He had created her in such a way that she bore children easily, she couldn’t help that either. And later she couldn’t get married, later, when she had lost that which men required in a bridal bed. That too she couldn’t help. She had never had a maidenhead to save, since it had been stolen from her as a little girl, before she was fully developed.

But now she had been sleeping alone in her bed so long, now she had spared her body so long that the old marks of sin must be obliterated. She had been with no man for such a long time, she had a feeling something had grown inside her, her maidenhead had at last had a chance to develop, to come back to her. She felt like a virgin, like an expectant and trembling virgin, now that she was to step into a bridal bed. And this too made her happy, this too was something to shed tears of joy over; this too was a miracle. She who was called the Glad One had never until now been glad.

Voices were heard outside the cabin, and Ulrika of Västergöhl rose quickly. “The men are coming with fish for dinner. I can’t sit here and bawl!” She picked up her wedding shift and folded it quickly. “I must put on the potato pot!”

Hurriedly she dried the last tears with the corner of her apron. Now she had wept and enjoyed it, she had wept to her heart’s content. Now she had completed her joy-weeping over the passing of the old, the coming of the new.

—3—

Kristina started for home in the early afternoon; little Danjel must be waiting for her in his cradle. She had nursed her last born generously before leaving in the morning, but he must be howling with hunger by now, he was such a lusty child.

Her uncle Danjel had bought two cows this spring, and one had recently calved. As they were milkless at Ki-Chi-Saga, he now gave his niece a pail of milk. Kristina was overjoyed at the gift; she must save every drop for her children; she must walk carefully on the rutty road so the precious milk would not splash out.

Ulrika whispered to her that she had more confidences to share, she couldn’t speak freely with Danjel and Jonas Petter listening, so she would accompany her a bit on the way and help her carry the milk pail.

Kristina told her she was much pleased that no one now could go to Pastor Jackson and slander his wife-to-be, no evil person could ruin this marriage. After all the sufferings Ulrika had gone through she had earned her happy lot as wife of the minister in Stillwater, and nothing should interfere.

Ulrika answered: She herself had always maintained that the best that could happen to a woman in this world was to marry a man she could rely on. Henry had a new house, he could offer her all she needed of worldly goods. With Mr. Abbott she would have had more than she needed, if she had been looking for things of this world only and wished to live in the flesh. Pastor Jackson earned his daily bread, but nothing more. Here in the Territory a minister earned no great sums for looking after souls. People spent most of their money on their bodies. Pastor Jackson was paid three pounds of pork for a very long sermon, a pat of butter for a wedding, a dozen eggs for a prayer for the sick. No one could get rich from such puny contributions. And he endured hardships and suffered want when he traveled about in this wilderness. He preached in the open, in log cabins and barns, in woodsheds and hovels, in logging camps and hunters’ huts, in all sorts of dens and nests. He preached from morning to night, every hour of the day, the whole week through—it was only on Sundays he preached at home in his church. But that was the way an honest minister should preach, according to the words in the Acts: “The Lord of heaven and earth dwelleth not in temples made with hands.”

But she would have an easy life as the minister’s wife in Stillwater. Henry washed dishes and kept the house clean, scrubbed the floors, carried in water and wood. All she need do was cook the food and run the house. The rest of the time she could stay inside and keep herself clean. The Americans wanted clean, neat wives, the men did all the chores to save their womenfolk from getting bent backs, crooked limbs, or wrinkled faces while still in their days of youth. Swedish menfolk could not ruin their women quickly enough, with slave labor and the roughest work—this gave them a good excuse when they later went to younger, better-looking women. . . .

“Are you coming to my wedding, Kristina?” asked Ulrika.

Kristina said she was sorry, but she couldn’t leave the children long enough to journey all the way to Stillwater. Karl Oskar would stay home in her place if she asked him, but he couldn’t give the little one the breast.

“I’ll come to your first christening instead! Then I won’t be nursing the baby any longer.”

“You’ll have to wait a long while. You’ll have to wait till the child is grown. Then his father will baptize him in the river.”

Since Ulrika had carried Kristina’s child to baptism, she ought in turn to carry Ulrika’s. But she had forgotten the parents’ religion—their child would not be christened until full grown.

“Henry intends to ask the Lord for many children,” said Ulrika of Västergöhl.

“You aren’t too old yet.”

“I should say not! I can bring forth brats another ten years!”

“And you give birth easily, you told me.”

“Much more easily than you last time!”

Pastor Jackson did not hope for such a great blessing as Jacob—to father twelve tribes—but he would consider it a particular grace from God if he might be the father of half as many—six.

Ulrika went on: First of all she would pray to God for a son who could walk in his father’s footsteps as minister. She herself could never become a priest, she felt women weren’t good enough. Yet God allowed women to bear males for the holy priesthood. It wasn’t forbidden women to take part in the making of priests, they were permitted to carry them inside their bodies for a whole nine months. And it was Ulrika’s great desire to make use of that opportunity: She had never thought she would marry a priest, but she surely had wished to make one.

And if by the Highest One’s Grace she were permitted to see the day when this took place, she would write a letter to Dean Brusander in Ljuder, who had excluded her from church and sacrament, and she would tell him: Great Lord’s gifts were required in a minister, but now she had done something the Mr. Dean could not do—she had made a priest!

So she would write. And as Ulrika mused on this, walking at Kristina’s side, helping to carry the milk pail through the forest, an expression of deep contentment and happy expectation lighted her face.

“There was something you wanted to tell me,” Kristina reminded her.

“So there is! I’ll tell you.”

And after making Kristina promise to keep it to herself until after the wedding, Ulrika confided in her:
She had bought a hat.

The transaction had taken place yesterday in Stillwater; for the time being she had hidden the hat under her bed in the log house. She had wanted to show it to Kristina, but the men had come, and she did not wish Jonas Petter to see it—he would poke fun at her. In Sweden everyone ridiculed a woman of the simple sort if she wore anything but a shawl on her head. The noble women could not bear it if anyone besides themselves wore a hat. But here in North America a woman was not denied a hat, here she could wear whatever she wanted without fear of heckling.

And so for her wedding she had bought a beautiful hat, with long plumes and blooms and ribbon bands. She would show it to Kristina another time. It was so elegant the imagination could not grasp it.

Ulrika would put on her hat the day she was married. And once she had her hat on,
unmarried
Ulrika of Västergöhl would be no more.

—4—

Spring found these changes among the new settlers in the St. Croix Valley: Robert’s and Arvid’s whereabouts were unknown, they were on their way to the far-off land of California; Ulrika and her daughter Elin had moved away from Danjel to Stillwater, and Swedish Anna moved to the Lake Gennesaret settlement in Ulrika’s place, to run the household for Danjel and Jonas Petter.