On a Cold Dark Sea(27)
Sonja was the one who suggested Anna come to America, too. She and her parents had quickly agreed to Josef’s proposal, the prospects for a girl in rural Sweden being limited to poor, overworked farm wife or poor, overworked servant. In America, you could buy your own land, build your own business, and determine your own future. Sonja was a kind and loyal enough friend to put Anna’s feelings above her own happiness. She swore to Anna that she’d known nothing of Josef’s intentions, and if the marriage would cause Anna pain, she’d call it off. Anna promised it didn’t matter. She said she thought of Josef as a brother and Sonja as a sister and they were a perfect match, all of which she believed in her heart was true. Sonja confided her worries about traveling so far with only Emil for company. Wouldn’t it be fun if Anna came, too? With so many good-paying jobs in America, she might even be tempted to stay.
It was just talk, at first. Anna knew she could never leave home for good; as the youngest, unmarried daughter, she was the one expected to take care of her parents as they aged. She would mash their food when their teeth fell out and empty their chamber pots when they were bedridden. But would it be wrong to see some of the world first? To be near Josef again, even if he would never be hers?
Mama was her usual doubtful self; like a stony island in a swelling sea, she fought back against change, even as it threatened to engulf her. Papa was the one who urged Anna to go, offering to pay Anna’s fare and telling her she’d earn the money back tenfold in America. He’d taken out loans, he admitted sheepishly, when the harvest was poor; if she could earn a good living for a year or two, it would help clear his debts. Even Emil managed to produce a convincing show of enthusiasm when Anna asked if she should come along. Either she didn’t irritate him as much as she thought, or he was simply grateful to be accompanied by another familiar face from home.
Anna knew she looked like a country bumpkin on the way to G?teborg. It was her first time away from home, her first ride on a train. But Sonja’s excitement was infectious. She’d bought a booklet of English phrases and insisted they practice, giggling at Anna’s attempts to form the unfamiliar sounds.
“How do you do?”
“Pleased to meet you.”
During the two-day sea voyage to the port of Hull, on the train across southern England, and at the Southampton docks, Anna stared and marveled: at the noise, the crowds, and the size of the ladies’ hats. But nothing prepared her for the immensity of the Titanic. She stepped closer to Sonja and Emil as they prepared to embark, needing the reassurance of their arms on either side.
“That’s a sight, isn’t it?” Emil asked. The farther they’d gotten from home, the more he’d shed his habitual sullenness; he actually looked happy.
Sonja smiled, but Anna could sense her apprehension. She felt more than a little nervous herself as they were swept into the maelstrom of third class and shunted off to their cabins. Unmarried women were housed in the back of the ship, unmarried men in the front, so Anna and Sonja exchanged hurried goodbyes with Emil and arranged to meet in the dining hall later. Anna wasn’t altogether sure what kind of accommodations their third-class tickets would buy; they’d joked about having to sleep in hammocks or on piles of hay on deck. To her delight, the cabin was bright and clean, the paint so fresh she could smell it. There were two sets of upper and lower berths, for a total of four passengers. Sonja tested out the faucet at the basin and called out joyfully, “Hot water!”
A girl with striking red hair tossed open the door, followed by a shorter, bosomy companion. The redhead said something that sounded like “Hello!” but her accent was so strange that Anna couldn’t be sure it was English. The red-haired girl flung her bag on the bottom-right bed, and asked Anna and Sonja a question. The two Swedish girls stared back, and their new cabinmates giggled, and finally Anna pointed to herself and said, “Anna. From Sweden.”
Like a flock of chattering birds, they were soon exchanging greetings and names. The redhead was Bridget, from Ireland; the other was Mary, her cousin. They had family in New York, and their reason for traveling was so intricate and confusing that Sonja’s phrase book was no help in figuring it out. But it didn’t seem to matter. Being around Bridget and Mary made Anna feel like laughing for no reason. Though she didn’t understand the words Bridget was using, Anna understood the essence of what she was saying: We are young and free, and we will have the most wonderful time.
Not all the third-class passengers mixed so easily. Countrymen tended to stick with countrymen, and Emil shared a cabin with three Norwegian men who kept to themselves. He ate with Sonja and Anna and lingered with them afterward, avoiding the smoking room where most of the other unmarried men spent their evenings.
“I can hardly breathe in there,” he said. “Besides, I don’t like crowds.”
Bridget and Mary were traveling with a group of young men from their hometown—all of whom, confusingly, seemed to be named Brian—but Emil didn’t seem interested in meeting them, or in listening to the music some of the other Irish passengers played one night after supper. Sonja’s eyes looked on longingly as couples paired up to dance. Emil was walking away, expecting the girls to follow, but Sonja hung back, delaying her exit. One of the Brians rushed forward, holding out his hands in invitation, and Sonja looked at Anna. I shouldn’t, should I? her eyes asked, and Anna silently answered, Go on, have fun. She turned her attention back to Emil, who was already out the door. It would be a kindness to Sonja to keep him distracted. He wouldn’t be pleased to see his brother’s intended dancing with someone else.