On a Cold Dark Sea(54)



A week after Anna arrived, Agneta arranged a visit with Anna’s new employer. The woman was elderly and being looked after by a housekeeper who was nearly as ancient; Anna would be doing the heavy cleaning. The house was quiet and orderly, and the pay—in Anna’s eyes—was extravagant given the relative ease of her duties. She agreed to start the next day.

She told Josef early that evening when she went to fetch him for dinner. Spring in Minnesota was no match for its lingering winter, and the air was sharp with cold. Still, Josef appeared in no hurry to arrive at Tomas’s house. He slowed his pace when they reached the top of the rise by his house and pointed to the fallow fields.

“None of this is mine, you know.”

“But it’s your farm.”

“It’s my uncle’s land. He doesn’t charge me to use it, and whatever I grow is mine to keep, which is more than fair. But I came to America so I could own something of my own. Not work another man’s property.”

Josef stopped walking. He seemed to have decided that being on time for dinner wasn’t as important as what he wanted to say.

“When I first came to Minneapolis, I worked at a lumber mill six days a week. Twelve hours a day. On Sundays, after church, I came out here and cleared fields and planted crops. I started collecting scraps from the lumberyard—planks that had flaws or had been cut the wrong size—and I started designing this house. I’ve always been a farmer, and maybe I always will be. But building is more satisfying. With a farm, you grow crops, and you harvest them, and then you start over. When you build something, it lasts.”

How lucky Josef was, to have such clear ambitions. Anna couldn’t think of anything she was particularly good at. Or anything she could do that would leave a lasting mark.

“I like living on a farm—growing my own food, having fresh milk and eggs. But farming’s no way to rise up in the world. I’ve met men from Sweden and Norway and Finland who came here with nothing, and now they’re living in big houses and driving new cars. America changes your thinking, Anna. It makes you believe anything’s possible.”

And it was, for people like Josef. People who were willing to take risks. But Anna no longer thought much further than her next meal. As she’d learned when Josef left Sweden, it was foolish to set your sights on a future that might never be yours.

“I had plans of starting my own business. Andersson Construction, with Emil as my partner. But with him gone . . .”

Josef took a deep breath, and Anna sensed his determination to keep steady, to fight back the temptation of tears.

“This was the year I was going to be married.” Josef spoke softly, without self-pity. “The year Emil and I set up shop. To have it all taken away, in an instant—it doesn’t seem possible.”

“I know.” The familiar whisper of guilt sidled up to her, like a persistent beggar who won’t be ignored. Why did you let go of Emil’s hand? You could have saved him . . .

“You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this.” Josef turned to Anna, and she felt a familiar surge of gratitude. Josef was the only person who ever really looked at her. “It’s because I wanted you to know everything. You’ll be earning your own money soon, and you’ll be able to do whatever you like. But before you leave, I wonder if you’d consider marrying me.”

It felt as if Anna’s body had suddenly filled with air, and she might float off into the sky. She kept her face expressionless, an outer fortress protecting the weakness within.

“We’d make a good match, don’t you think? We know each other’s families, we get along, and we’re both hard workers. What do you think?”

It was the offer she’d hoped for, wasn’t it? The offer that had crossed her mind like a whisper from the devil, when she knew Sonja was dead. She had no right to feel disappointed.

“We’re family already,” Anna murmured.

“Exactly,” Josef said. He looked somber, not at all like an eager soon-to-be groom. “I mean no disrespect to Sonja. We’ll have to wait a while—Agneta will know what’s proper.”

Anna tried to summon an appropriately pleased expression, but she’d always been a terrible liar. And Josef had known her long enough to see through her deception.

“Please don’t agree out of kindness,” Josef said quietly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes.” But not like this, Anna thought. Never like this.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Emil and Sonja,” she blurted out. “It’s not fair.” She couldn’t tell him what she really meant, that she’d never intended her wish to come true through another’s death.

“Don’t you see?” Josef asked. “They’re the reason we should marry. We must live and have children and build this house. Do all the things they were never able to.”

Josef believed Sonja and Emil’s spirits were still with them, and in that moment, Anna had a vision of Sonja’s face when they’d spoken after Josef had sent his proposal of marriage. Sonja had apologized and begged forgiveness; she’d promised not to accept if it would cause Anna distress. Anna knew, as surely as if Sonja had confessed it herself, that Sonja would be pleased to see Anna take her place as Josef’s wife.

And Emil? She could almost hear his voice on that moonlit deck, the first time she’d seen him as a man rather than a boy. Emil hadn’t blamed Anna for loving Josef, and he wouldn’t want his beloved older brother to be alone. He would tell Anna to say yes.

Elizabeth Blackwell's Books