So it should be between comrades. Valter knew Father would never leave him behind.
Soldier-Sträng usually returned from the maneuvers the second week in October, but in the fall of 1905 he failed to return when expected. There was talk of war with Norway, and he was ordered to remain. Those troublesome Norwegians, they always wanted things their way. They were a different people from the Swedes. Colloquially they were called the Norwegian “rams,” and Valter thought of them as having one horn in the middle of the forehead; this wasn’t true, of course, but they butted in and annoyed the patient and good-natured Swedes.
A Norwegian ram. Well, they had had a ram at Soldier-Sträng’s last summer, and he was a most stubborn and impossible animal. However much Valter had pushed and pulled him, the ram had refused to budge. He had remained in the place he himself had chosen. Valter had beaten him with a stick, but the ram had only retaliated with his stone-hard forehead. It had not gone any better for Valter’s mother or brothers. If they annoyed the ram too much, he would take after them with his horns.
Norwegians were like that ram. If they decided to jump on the Swedes, there would be a war. And what would happen to Father in a war? Father who must defend the King and the Crown?
Mother said that God and King Oscar had Father’s welfare in their hands, but if all of them helped in the work, particularly at the potato-picking, then this, too, would aid.
And late one evening Samuel’s wagon drove up at the cottage with the returning soldier. The children were already in bed, but they quickly woke up and jumped to the floor. Father had brought home a mysterious parcel, a large, pyramid-shaped object in thick gray paper with heavy strings. It was nothing less—nothing less indeed—than a whole ten-pound sugarloaf! In his joy at getting home, the soldier had bought a sugarloaf at Hultsfred. He himself liked sugar, and now for once all of them were allowed to stuff themselves with sugar.
Father took the hand ax and cut the loaf in six more or less equal pieces—one for Mother, one for himself, and one for each of the children. The pieces were as large as two fisted hands. The sugar-eating began, and for a long while all you could hear was the crunching of sugar. Mother was toothless and had trouble with the chewing; she saved most of her piece to use for sweetening in cooking. And Father carried part of his piece in his pocket for several days.
The peace with Norway was celebrated in the soldier-cottage with this sugarloaf.
It was King Oscar who had averted war, said Father. King Oscar had said he would not shed one drop of Swedish blood while he held the scepter and reigned. He would rather lose Norway. King Oscar would lose half his salary now that one of his kingdoms was lost, but he cared not a bit about that. He would rather reign for half pay than sacrifice his soldiers’ blood. It had been said at Hultsfred that Crown Prince Gustaf was much bolder, because he was worrying about his inheritance, but he couldn’t do a thing about his father. It was evil of the Norwegian rams, though, to shove out King Oscar in his old age, said Father.
So ended that year, and a new almanac was bought. In the year 1906 the following events took place in the world: King Christian of Denmark died and was buried, the robber Aberg was sentenced to death for murder, there was an earthquake in San Francisco, and a revolution in Russia because they had lost the war with Japan. At the Strängshult soldier-cottage, at long last a privy was built. The family had long complained about the dungditch, particularly this last cold and windy winter. Soldier-Sträng had spoken to the villagers, but when all papers and contracts and regulations had been looked into, it was discovered that the village was not obliged to furnish a privy for its soldier. That miser Johannes in Kvarn, who was Alderman that year, had said that if their soldier wanted such a house then he must foot the bill.
And Nils Sträng did build the privy. He bought a load of one-inch boards and nailed together a house among the alder bushes below the yard. Suddenly there stood a building for two people, with a door and hasp, and the old dungditch went into disuse. He also built a new stoop, and his wife Hulda papered the kitchen and nailed cardboard to the ceiling in the big room to hide the ugly old beams. Things improved; when their cow bore a heifer calf, they decided to keep it; in a few years they would have two cows, and if they could manage rightly with the bull so that one calved in the spring and one in the fall, they would have milk and butter the year round.
Yes, things improved for Soldier-Sträng and tongues began wagging from envy in the neighbor cottages: they had an easy life. There were no longer so many brats in the family. Fredrik, now the eldest one at home, would be confirmed next winter. Dagmar—in service with Aldo Samuel in the village—was seventeen. She was well developed and capable of heavy work, and Aldo bragged about her and said he had never had such a good maid before; she could load her end of the dung-wagon as quickly as he filled his, and this was quite remarkable in a girl of her age. But this last year he had also paid her a grown woman’s wages—eight crowns a month.
Then, in April, Dagmar left her service and came home. She began to sew new clothes for herself—the America-ticket from Ivar was expected any day now. It was her turn to emigrate. Albin and Ivar had already sent their pictures, which were now part of the collection on the bureau; Albin and Ivar had become America-relatives.
Yes, it was Dagmar’s turn. She had bought a hat, a handbag of shiny oilcloth, a muff for her hands, and a brooch for her neck like Aunt Anna in the picture. And she bought hair in big wads, which she pushed under her own hair until it stood up in the air and looked real fine and upper-class. Her mother asked if the way she bought and decked herself without shame or decency meant that she was trying to ape upper-class people. Soldier-Hulda was afraid that her only daughter might grow vain if she carried on like this.
“I’ve earned the money myself,” said Dagmar.
Indeed, she had served for three years, and saved and gone without.
To Valter, Dagmar had never meant anything special when she had come home before, but now he eyed his sister in admiration: she had a hat, and a shiny handbag, and much hair. She was his only sister, and he approved of her being like better-people.
She was kind to her young brothers now while waiting for the America-ticket. When Valter was a little tyke and she took care of him she used to call him a brat and box his ears and spank his behind. At that time he had decided bitterly and definitely that he would repay her in like manner when he grew up. Now he was a manfolk and worked in the forest and felt that he could have repaid her. But nobler feelings made him refrain from vengeance. Dagmar seemed to regret her earlier bad behavior and was kind to him. Furthermore, no man could be such a coward as to take revenge on a woman.
He was thinking about the fact that his only sister was going to America, and the more he pondered over it, the sadder he grew. Mother, too, looked serious as she helped Dagmar with the sewing of her traveling-clothes. At last her thoughts came out: Dagmar was their only girl—she ought to stay at home.
“You have enough of brats without me,” said Dagmar.
It was true, there would still be four children at home after she had left.
“You’re so young, only seventeen,” said Soldier-Hulda.
“Ivar wasn’t older when he left.”
“It’s different with boys.”
“What is the difference?”
“They can take better care of themselves than girls.”
“I have taken care of myself here at home, slaving for the farmers. I can take care of myself in America,” said Dagmar with confidence.
Seventeen-year-old Dagmar stood there proudly, displaying her work-developed, round arms, her breasts bulging under the blouse. Health shone in her blossoming cheeks. She was tested in hard service, she was strong. She could lift almost as much as a man; Valter thought his sister was beautiful.
There was a well-known song that warned beautiful girls against going