Kari's Clan - 2

 Berte pushed open the kitchen door and delivered the used dishes.

“How did it go?”

“Not very well. I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She was very fond of Ingeborg, you know. It is hard to see someone replaced.”

“Well, Knud needed a wife and someone to help raise the children, and that's what he got. She should be pleased that he has someone.”

“Kari has changed a lot over the last months. She used to be ever so sweet, but now she's frightened by dying, and frustrated by being useless and ill. I find her hard to deal with, but I can remember her when she was a friendly happy woman. You didn’t know her then, so you won’t be able to let that compensate for her bad temper now.”

“Well, I’d best be off. It’ll be dark by the time I get home,” said Berte, putting on her coat, bonnet and boots.

“Thank you for the Kransekake. The children will all be pleased to have a piece for supper tonight.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” added Berte. “She asked me to tell you to come up to help her with the chamber pot.”

“Oh, she would. And that won’t be the last trip I make to her room this afternoon, I can grant you that. And she won’t let Clara help her either.”

“Well, I’ll be saying goodbye, now. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Come any time you wish. It was lovely today to know that we would have an hour without that bell ringing, demanding attention. But I must go now, as it would make my life much worse if she were to wet the bed.”

*****

Later that evening, as they were going to bed, Knud (pictured above)  asked Berte, “How did it go visiting my mother today? How did she seem to you? Do you think she's improving on her left side?”

“She was certainly well enough to keep harping on at me. She treats me like dirt. I don’t think she likes me Knud. I don’t like going there. I know you said she was lonely, but she didn’t say thank you
for coming or for the Kransekake or anything. She acted as if she was doing me a grudging favor by allowing me to sit with her.”

“Well, you’ve got to understand, love. She’s had a hard life, and now it's nearly over, and she, who was such an active woman, resents being cooped up in a room all day. No wonder she sometimes seems a bit out of sorts.”

“A bit! Well, thank goodness that's over. You asked me to visit and I have.”

“Oh, but I thought you might make it a weekly visit. Something for her to look forward to.”

“Please don’t make me go again.”

“I know. I have a feeling that there's a trunk with her things that we took out of her house when we helped her move to Iver’s. I think it might be full of pictures and old letters and things like that. Why don’t you take it over next Wednesday and then you and she can talk about what's in it?”

“You take it over on Sunday when you visit her, please Knud.”

“Well, I suppose I'll have to, as it would be impossible for you to carry the trunk over with walking. But I'll tell Mother to expect you next Wednesday so she can tell you all about her old relatives and such like. She will enjoy that.”

“She doesn’t like me because I am not Ingeborg. She doesn’t like me because I can’t learn to speak English. She thinks I’m clumsy and stupid. And I need to work here, myself.”

“Oh don’t take on so, Berte. You just need to take time to get to know her a bit better. My children can cope with the house one afternoon a week on their own. Surely that isn’t too much to ask.”

“Well, I suppose I can try it once more. And if we have the trunk with letters and pictures, it will give us something to talk about. All right, Knud, I’ll try one more time.”

“Thank you. You’ll get to love her too, once you get to know her. She’s such a marvellous woman. I could tell you all about how she coped alone with me - oh, but I will wait and let her tell you all about
that. You think you’ve had a hard life! Wait until you hear about  what that poor woman had to go through.”

“Good night, Knud,” said Berte. “I’m very tired now,” and she turned on her side and closed her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead of the relief of having done a very hard job, she now had the worry of having to do it again next week.

 
 

 January 10th, 1906

The sun was shining when Berte next made her way to Anna Marie’s house. This time she knew that she was expected - and that the trunk had been taken over, so at least there would be a topic of conversation.

Clara invited her in, as before, and when she'd made her way upstairs, she saw her mother-in-law sitting in a chair by the window.

“Oh, you're up. You must be feeling better.”

“I am not. But I get bedsores from lying in the bed. The doctor says I must get out of bed for a few hours each day for my circulation. Anyway, I know why you've come. Knud told me on Sunday that he’s said that you must learn about the family history from me, so that you can pass the information down to his children. Why he couldn’t do it himself, I don’t know. But he’s asked me to do this, so I
suppose I must. He even brought over this trunk in which I’ve kept things from years ago. He says that they might spark my memory. There is nothing wrong with my memory, I can tell you.”

“Have you looked in the trunk yet?”

“I know full well what's in there. He says you might want to see photos and look at old letters. What business it is of yours, I don’t know. But go ahead, open it and bring something over here and I’ll
tell you about it.”

So Berte went over to the large trunk. She opened the lid, and inside were many small boxes - each carefully labelled. “What should I start with first?”

“Oh, for heaven sake, just bring a box here, you stupid woman, and let’s get this charade over with.”

The small box that Berte brought over to the table by the window contained letters, tied together with ribbons.

“My hands are too stiff to untie those. You do it,” demanded Kari.

So Berte carefully untied the ribbon and handed Kari the set of letters. She brought one of them up close to her eyes so she could see what they were.

“Oh, these bring back memories,” smiled Kari - the first such expression that Berte had seen on her face for ages. “These are the letters that my brother Ole wrote to us when he first came here. He was the first to emigrate you know - and he and his family, two boys he had then, and his wife Anna, made the trip in 1848. He wrote lots of letters because he wanted us all to come - and eventually, we all did – all except Lage who didn’t want to leave. He was a highly respected teacher and a klokker in the church. Here, my eyes are not good enough. You read it out to me.”

So Berte took the letter, opened it and started reading. She read slowly and had to stop occasionally to decipher a word or two.

 

August 15, 1858

Dear family,

As you know we sailed on the Statsraad Vogt from Bergen under the command of Captain Meertz Solberg. There were 84 of us, all but four of us from Valdres, and the others from Bergen.

The trip was hard, as we knew it would be, but none died on the passage, and for the most part we had plain sailing. We arrived on July 5th near Staten Island, about a mile from the main city of New York, and anchored there. A doctor from Staten Island was rowed out to inspect us. Most of us passed the inspection and we also had to fill in a custom’s form declaring what we were bringing into the country, and then we were allowed to go on and dock properly. Those who were unlucky enough to be considered ill were taken off and had to go to Staten Island to see what fate awaited them.

“Aren’t you able to read any faster than that?” complained Kari. “It will take you the entire afternoon to get through that one letter.”

“It’s rather faded, and his handwriting is not all that legible. I’m doing my best,” said Berte defensively.

“Oh, get on with it.”

Our Captain helped us arrange for the final passage to our destination. Altogether we spent three days waiting for the steamboat to be ready. Those of us going to the midwest travelled as follows:

We took a Hudson River steamboat for the 150 mile trip up river to Albany where we then transferred to horse drawn canal boats with a furious speed of perhaps two and a half miles per hour. The baggage and passenger's place was on the deck and since it became monotonous to sit there on a chest, we often got off and walked ahead along the canal. When the boat caught
up, we readied ourselves on the first convenient bridge and then hopped down on the deck as the boat passed under. On one occasion some were preparing for such an embarkation, but since the bridge was higher than the usual, they found it advisable to hang down over the edge of the bridge so the jump would not be too far. It went well with all except the last, a large, heavy woman. When the 'psychological moment' came for her to let go, she lost her courage and remained hanging as the boat slipped slowly by. Her cries immediately brought the boat's men to their feet, and they first had get ashore and then back to the bridge where she still hung desperately, where they with much effort got her back up again.

Berte stopped and had a giggle when she read this, and looked up to see if Kari had enjoyed it too. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling - a very good sign. She continued.

The canal is three hundred and sixty three miles long, forty feet wide and four feet deep. It has eighty-three locks each measuring 90 ft. by 15 ft. The lock system was necessary as there is a rise in elevation of 568 feet from the Hudson River to Lake Erie.

“I can’t imagine why he thought we would be interested in all those specific numbers,” complained Kari. “You can skip over bits like that if you want to.”

“I think it’s very interesting,” put in Berte.

“Oh, please yourself.”

The canal boats are 61’ by 7’ and are able to carry 30 tons of freight. Crews consist of a captain, two helmsman, a bowsman, a cook, and a driver. The ones we used usually hauled cattle, wheat and other agricultural products and they were barely cleaned out from the east bound trip and there was no place to anyone to sit except for the passenger’s trunks or on the top of the cabin. They were slow as they only had two horses pulling them.

The water in the canal stank and we often saw dead horses or mules floating in the yellow, slimy water. Cholera broke out and several died.

Kari made a noise at hearing this, a sort of gulping cry, so Berte stopped reading.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Get on with it.”

Repair crews are situated every ten miles on the canal to make emergency repairs and to fine the speeders. The boats are hitched to a long tow-line drawn by horses which travel on a ten foot
wide towpath on right side of the canal going west. The horses which are changed every four hours are handled by young boys called Hoggees.

The bridges on the canal are very low, particularly the old ones. Every bridge made us bend double
if seated on anything, and in many cases we had to lie on our backs. I heard about a young English woman who met with her death as she having fallen asleep with her head upon a box, had it crushed to pieces.

Berte exclaimed, “Oh, that’s so sad. The poor woman.”

Kari too seemed moved by this woman’s fate and had no rude repost to offer. Quite quietly she said, “Please read on.”

I have so much to tell you but it will have to wait for another letter. But you need to know that we arrived safely here in Springdale, Dane County, and if you wish to write to us in care of the Post Office in the town, we will get your letters. There've been Norwegians here for 12 years now.

With best wishes to all behind.

Your brother,

Ole.

Berte finished reading the letter and folded it carefully away in its envelope. Kari was looking more animated, so much so that Berte was quite surprised.

“Would you like me to read another?”

“Oh, yes, if you have time, and after that we must have some coffee. You’ve walked far, you must be in need of refreshment.”

“That would be very kind,” said Berte, “and I’ll go down and arrange it after I read this next letter. Poor Anna Marie has enough to do with her six children without having to wait on us.” She waited,
expecting to be contradicted for her implied criticism, but nothing more was said.