On a Cold Dark Sea(26)
Anna guarded her admiration for Josef like a hidden treasure, but when she finally confided in her friend Sonja, Sonja said it was obvious to anyone with their wits about them that Josef and Anna were meant to be married.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you after church!” Sonja teased. She was petite and vivacious, with a bubbly laugh that drew others toward her. “He’ll be going to your papa before you know it.”
Anna had not been raised to believe in passionate love; her affection for Josef was simple and direct, like Anna herself. By the time she was seventeen, when Papa started dropping hints about the next generation and grandchildren running among the chickens, Anna took each look Josef gave her across the table and every nod they exchanged in the barnyard as an acknowledgment of their arrangement: Yes. I choose you.
Then came the letter from America, the first of two that would change Anna’s life. Josef’s uncle Tomas wrote that there was plenty of good-paying work in the lumber mills of Minnesota; he’d saved up enough for Josef’s passage, if he wanted to come.
Josef read it out loud to the Halverssons. “What do you think?” he asked, eyes lively with delight.
Anna wanted to say, No. Or, I don’t know what my life will look like without you. But she only nodded as Mama tut-tutted and Papa leaned over Josef’s shoulder to read the offer for himself. While they were distracted, Anna quietly excused herself and ran to the hayloft to cry.
Josef expected Anna to be happy for him, so she pretended to be, all the way through his send-off at the train station. Mrs. Andersson and Emil looked as miserable as Anna felt: Josef’s mother lamented that she might never see her son again, and Emil was jealous that he wasn’t going to America, too. At first, Josef’s absence was unbearable; Anna found herself looking for him, in the way she had for years, and feeling a fresh disappointment every time she realized he wasn’t there. From time to time, Anna thought of confiding in Emil, who must miss Josef as much as she did, but he showed no interest in talking to her about such personal matters. He’d grown nearly as tall as his brother but was wiry rather than brawny, his arms strong but thin. His face fell naturally into a mournful expression and he rarely made the effort to change it. Unlike Josef, Emil didn’t seem to care what Anna was doing or thinking; he never indicated he saw anything in her to admire.
The second life-altering letter came more than a year later, a few months after Mrs. Andersson’s death. Mama had informed Josef of the sad news by telegram, and Anna expected the envelope that arrived a few weeks later from Minnesota to contain polite but succinct thanks; Josef wrote the way he talked, in direct, short sentences. So Anna was surprised when Papa pulled out several pages from the envelope. She knew, right away, that this letter would be different.
Josef began with the usual greetings and his hope that his mother’s funeral had been well attended. He grieved her loss and was sorry he had not been able to come. With both their parents gone, Josef wrote, he had decided Emil should come to America and live with him. The offer didn’t come as a surprise to the Halverssons—they’d expected it since Mrs. Andersson’s death—and Anna was sure Emil would be anxious to go. But when Papa read the words, Emil’s impassive expression didn’t change.
Papa silently read ahead, then he glanced up with an expression of delight.
“Listen!” he announced. “There’s more. Josef says, ‘I have saved enough for Emil’s passage and have begun working my own plot of land on my uncle’s farm. I therefore find myself in a position to marry, and there is no better wife than a good Swedish girl.’”
Papa looked at Mama, then at Anna. She became aware of each heavy breath she took, in and out. There was only one reason Josef would be writing such a thing to her parents. Only one question he was preparing to ask. Mama’s mouth twitched; Emil picked at a fingernail. It was the first and last time Anna felt complete, unreserved happiness.
Papa read on. “I hope you will make my case to a young woman I have long admired. As I am not well acquainted with her parents . . .”
It made no sense. How could Josef not be well acquainted with Anna’s parents? Emil glanced up at Papa, who looked equally baffled.
“I ask that you speak on my behalf to Sonja Gustafson’s father.”
Papa’s voice drifted off. Sonja? Anna felt the others looking at her, each stare scorching her skin. Of course. Sonja was pretty and sociable; Sonja was exactly the sort of person a man like Josef would want for a wife. Anna had no right to be upset, for wouldn’t she have made the same choice in his place?
Papa read the rest of the letter in a considerably more somber tone. Josef had already thought through the arrangements; if Sonja and Emil made the journey together, his uncle’s wife would look after Sonja until the marriage could be held. He anxiously awaited an answer, hopefully from Sonja herself. At the very end of the letter were a few hastily scribbled words that made Anna’s chest seize with grief: “Send my greetings to Anna—I hope she rejoices at this happy news.”
There was very little rejoicing. Papa slowly folded the pages and slid them back in the envelope. Mama stared into the fireplace, her knitting needles silent. Emil pushed his chair back and walked out of the house, without a word. Anna watched through the window as he paced across the front field, tracing the furrows with his feet. He looked upset, though she couldn’t think why. Later, when Anna asked him whether he was pleased to be going to America, he said yes, of course, but his expression remained mournful. How like Emil, Anna thought, to mope over an offer that anyone else in his position would have welcomed.