Kari's Clan - 1

January 3, 1906

It was a bitterly cold day in Argyle, Wisconsin. As Berte gingerly picked her way over the icy road for the mile or so to the town,she tried to work up her courage for the confrontation that she was not in any way looking forward to.

Her thoughts ranged thus: “I know she’s old. I know she’s in pain. I know she's frustrated. I must do my Christian duty and visit her. Knud asked me to go, and how can I refuse? But dear God, how I hope she's asleep and my visit will have been for nothing. Knud doesn’t see how she ignores and humiliates me whenever we meet. He only sees the beloved mother who he can’t stand the thought of losing. And she adores him - can only see the good in him. And she so preferred his first two wives to me"

Finally having accomplished her goal, Berte went up to the front door of a tall farm building, painted white, standing majestic in the landscape - making the surrounding hills seem even darker for the sharp contrast. She knocked on the door, which was opened by the eldest daughter of the house, Clara, aged 15, who finished school the year before, and seemed now to be second in command of her mother’s very large family.

“Hello, Aunt Berte,” she said, “We didn’t expect to see you today. I hope all is well. Is Uncle Knud okay, and his children?” Clara had inherited her mother’s plumpness, but she also had a fresh cheerful look about her, which had long since abandoned her mother.

She opened the door wide and invited Berte into the warm kitchen, spotlessly clean and full of the smells of baking bread and drying diapers. Berte took off her coat and bonnet, gloves and boots, and sitting on a chair, she took some slippers from her bag, put them on. Having just turned forty, Berte was starting to feel the arthritis that would no doubt plague her for the rest of her life.

“Let’s leave your coat and boots near the stove, and they'll be nice and dry and warm for when you leave,” suggested Clare.

Her mother, Anna Marie, flushed and exhausted, came puffing into the kitchen. “Who was it Clare?” she called just before she entered carrying her youngest child, Edward, just over a year old.

“Oh, hello Berte,” she said, seeing her there. “Is Knud all right? And his children?”

“Yes,” repeated Berte with a sigh. “Knud sent me to see his mother. He thinks that perhaps if she has a regular visitor, it might cheer her up.”

“Well, I don’t like your chances. It would take a miracle to cheer that old lady up. She’s not at all like she used to be before her stroke. But it's kind of you to offer to try, and I must say that having somebody else here to take her attention for awhile would be a blessing for Clare and me. Oh, I know she's old - 85 next birthday, and I know her left leg and arm bother her still. But there is nothing wrong with her right hand. She could be down here, shelling peas, or mending, or even reading to the little ones. But no, she sits in her room, and rings her bell, and demands that we cater to her every wish. So, as you can see, you are very welcome, as far as we are concerned.But
how she will take your visit - well, we can only wait and see. Here, you hold Edward and I'll tell her you're here. Then if you go up to see her, Clare can bring you up some coffee. She usually demands
a snack about now.”

“I’ve brought a ring of Kransekake,” offered Berte, showing a layer of the traditional Norwegian Christmas cake made in ever decreasing rings.

“Oh, that looks very good. She'll enjoy that, and so will we all,” she added. “Bread is about all that we have time to bake these days. But Knud’s children must be all at school by now, so I suppose you have time on your hands for baking and visiting and suchlike.”

“I keep busy with the housework, but I do love to bake. The girls enjoy it too, and I have taught them all I know of the dishes from the old county.”

“How are the children - let’s see. Bertha got married about five years ago, and she lives in Minnesota. And how many children does she have?”

“Three, and all girls so far.”

“Then Josephine. She’s the one that got married just this last January and moved to Canada, isn’t she? I expect you were sad to see her go - but we can hardly deny our children going to another country when it's what we all did.”

“Yes, she and William have a farm in Rouleau in Saskatchewan. She writes very homesick letters to her sisters.”

“So that leaves Benjamin, who I presume is helping Knud on the farm?”

“Yes, but not for long. He plans to get land of his own in North Dakota. His father will miss his help, but again, how he can he stand in the way of his children getting land of their own?”

“Is he thinking of marrying?”

“No, not that I know of. He's a rather quiet man, keeps pretty much to himself. You might say a typical Norseman. “

“So what about Laura? She must have finished school by now. How old is she?”

“She’s 19 and doing her teacher training this year in Manston. She’s boarding with the parents of her best friend.”

“And Ida is away someplace too, isn’t she?”

“Ida is living with her mother’s sister, Inger Bertine, in Parker, South Dakota. Inger, who they call Bertha, had her husband die not long ago, so Ida felt she could be of use. So we just have Mary, Oscar, and Agnes, and Ben for the time being.”

“Well, I suppose I must go and tell Mother Kari that you're here, or your visiting time will be up, and you won’t have done what you came to do.”

So Anna Marie hiked her heavy frame up from her chair, and waddled off to the back of the house and up the stairs to where her mother-in-law has her bedroom - the best one in the house - biggest and with a wonderful view. Anna Marie felt resentment each time she thought about how her husband, Iver, made them move out of their bedroom into a smaller one at the back, to make room for his mother, when she came to stay with them. She had always suspected that his mother
meant far more to him than she did, and that certainly made it even more obvious. She knocked loudly on the door.

“I didn’t ring,” came the brusque answer from within.

Anna Marie opened the door, and walked in. “You have a surprise guest,” she announced. “Berte, Knud’s wife has come and she would like to visit with you for awhile. Do you want anything before I send her up?”

“I don’t feel like seeing anyone. I'm tired,” said Kari.

“She's spent an hour walking here in the snow to come to see you. Surely you can manage half an hour. I will send Clara up with some coffee. And she brought Kransekake, so that will be nice, won’t it, for your afternoon snack?”

“I don’t have anything to say to her. Tell her I am too ill to have guests.”

“I've already told her that you are well enough, and you are. So, here, let’s straighten up your bed cover, and I'll put the lamp on. It's surprising how quickly these afternoons get dark in the winter. Just ask her about your grandchildren, that will take a half an hour or so, and then after she's her coffee and Kransekake, you can then say you're tired and need a nap, and she can go.” As she was speaking, Anna Marie went around the room, tidying here and there, and putting the easy chair closer to the bed.

“Oh, if I must. I really do not like the woman.”

“I hope you will not be rude, Mother Kari. She is Knud’s wife, you know, whether you like it or not.”

“Hmmm.”

Anna Marie, with a last glance to make sure the bedroom was neat and tidy, then went out the door, and hanging tightly on the banister, down the steps and back to the kitchen.

“You can go up, Berte. You know where it is, don’t you? First on the right at the top of the stairs. The best room in the house, she has, and is she grateful? In all the months she's been here, she has not said thank you once. Anyway, up you go,” taking her child Edward back from her, “and good luck to you. Clara will come up with the snack in about half an hour, and if you can stand to stay for the hour, it would be a great relief to all of us.”

Berte, as always noticing the contrast between her tall thin frame and her sister-in-law’s massive girth, now visibly trembling with the task she has been set, got up from her chair and went slowly up the stairs. She noticed how neat and tidy the house was - despite the eight children. Not having any children of her own, she could not help but feel that she'd missed out on this aspect of life, although she dearly loves Knud’s children, whom she'd cared for since they married three years before.

She knocked on the door of the first room on the right.

“Come in if you must,” croaked Kari.

Berte entered the room, and then crossed over to the bed to give her mother-in-law a peck on the cheek, but Kari brushed her aside with a motion. Kari’s plain round face looked pale amongst the white bedclothes and pillows on the oversized feather bed. But her blue eyes were sharp and bright.

“How are you Mother Saalsaa?”

“How do you think I am? How would you be if you had to spend your entire life in a bed?” There was certainly nothing wrong with her voice now, although she had had slurred speech for the first few weeks after her stroke.

“You have a lovely view out of the window. It won’t be long before it’s spring.”

“I will probably be dead before then. Anyway, how’s Knud?”

“He's well. He thought you might enjoy a bit of cheering up. He loves seeing you each Sunday, but wished he had time to visit you more often.”

“So he sent you instead. Well, now that you’re here, you might as well sit down.”

Berte walked to the other side of the bed and sat in the chair provided. For a few tense moments neither of them spoke. Finally Berte thought of something to say.

“Tell me about your stroke? What were you doing?”

“Walking to church, and came over dizzy. By the time I got back home, I couldn’t speak or walk or do much of anything. I’ll die in this room. Well, bring it on. If I can’t be well, I might as well be dead.”

“How do you fill your days? Do you read?”

“My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Mostly I just doze. What else can I do?”

“Perhaps you could do some hand work - knitting or embroidery?”

“Silly woman. One arm is still nearly paralysed and what is more, my hands are arthritic. I can hardly pick up a cup, much less use needle and thread. As for knitting? I never did like doing that.”

“Perhaps you could tell stories to the children?”

“There are enough of them to entertain each other. Anna Marie can’t seem to do anything but have babies. But I see that you haven’t started on it yet. I hope you’re doing your duty by my son.”

Berte blushed, and looked most uncomfortable at this allusion to her personal
life. “Yes, of course.”

“Well it certainly can’t be his fault then, can it? He’s fathered ten children with his previous two wives.”

“I expect that I can’t have children. And I'm nearly too old now anyway. I didn’t with my first husband. But I love all of Knud’s children.”

“You are nearly as young as his daughter Bertha. They must think of you more as a sister than a mother. They did love Ingeborg so. She was a wonderful mother to them.”

“Yes, I know she was, and they miss her dreadfully. I don’t expect them to think of me as a mother. We’re friends, and get along well.”

“Well, why if you get along so well did Ida go off to South Dakota to live with her mother’s sister then? She was too young to leave home unless there was a good reason for it.”

“She wanted to, and felt she could be of help to poor Bertha in her widowhood. And Knud thought it was a good idea. Her aunt makes a good home for her,” said Berte, defensively.

“And why don’t you learn English? Ingeborg did. When you came to live in America, did you not think that it would be incumbent upon you to learn the language?”

“I have tried, but I find it very difficult. I understand most of what they say.”

“I expect the children speak English all the time at home, don’t they?”

“Well mostly they do, when they are talking to each other. But they do know Norwegian and speak it to their father and me.”

Just then there was a knock at the door, and when it opened Clara came in with a tray on which were the cups, a pot of coffee, a jug of cream, and two pieces of Kransekake on plates.

“Here you are. Shall I put yours on your side table, Grandma?”

“Yes, and be careful you don’t spill it. You’re such a clumsy child sometimes.” Clara took the insult in her stride, having heard it many times before.

So Clara carefully placed the cup and saucer on Kari’s bedside table, and then left the tray on another table. “Can I leave you to pour the coffee, Aunt Berte? It should have steeped sufficient in a moment or two.”

“Yes, I can do that,” said Berte.

Another tense speechless few moments and then, Berte got up, took the coffee pot to the bedside and poured a drink for Kari. “Do you take cream?”

“Yes.”

She went back, put the pot down, and returned with the cream jug.

“Tell me when,” she said.

“Too much already, you stupid woman,” said Kari. “I just like a dash of cream.”

“Well, I'll take that one then,” said Berte, and started over with the other cup.”

“But that is my cup. I always drink from that cup.”

“Well, drink a bit, and then I’ll add more coffee,” offered Berte.

“It’s too hot.”

“Well have some Kransekake while it cools down.” She went over to the table and removed one of the plates of cake, took a fork, and handed it to Kari.

“Did you make this, or did one of my granddaughters?”

“I made it.”

Kari tasted it, and decided it was alright.

Berte breathed a sigh of relief, went back, filled her own coffee cup and put in cream, and then took up her cake and started to eat it.

Kari took a sip from her coffee cup, and said, “You can put more coffee in now. There’s room.”

So Kari puts down her cake and coffee, took up the pot, went across and added a bit more to the cup.

“You’ve made it too full now. I can’t pick that up without spilling it!”

“I’m sorry. Shall I go and get you another cup?”

“Oh, sit down and drink your coffee. Have you said all that you came to say? You can report back to Knud that I am still alive, more’s the pity. And that I look forward to seeing him on Sunday. Do you think you can remember that?”

Berte had now finished her cake and coffee. “Perhaps I should be going,” she offered.

“Yes, perhaps you should.”

Each waited for the other to add the next phrase - but neither had enjoyed the visit - so why lie about it.

“I will take the tray down when I go,” said Berte, stacking the cups and saucers and plates neatly on the tray.

“Be careful you don't trip and fall and break all the china. That came with me from Norway, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know, but I'll be careful. Good bye.”

“Goodbye, and tell Anna Marie to come up and help me with the chamber pot.”

Berte put down the tray, carefully opened the door, and then picked up the tray again, and went out the door.

“Close the door,” came the shout from behind, so putting the tray on the floor, she carefully shut the door before she continued on her way downstairs.