The Promised Land

By Edith Bach Hall

THE PROMISED LAND is the story of Theodor, a Danish immigrant, who struggles to integrate into the American culture. It is his love-hate story; the awe, the wonder, the ecstasy of experiencing all things new, versus the stress of loneliness, the humiliation of being considered stupid, the agony of being shunned. He works with machines he knows nothing about, with people who speak a language that boggles his mind.
Enamoured with American affluence, he strikes out on his own. He lives in a dugout, and plants his corn by hand. He is overjoyed with an unusually large crop, but when he attempts to sell it, the market has collapsed and he is reduced to sharing the grain with his animals. He becomes despondent, depressed. He wants to go home, but he cannot. He had come to America on someone else's papers...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 9, 2004
• ISBN: 9781477167137

Edith Bach Hall

Edith was born in 1923 near Nora, Nuckolls County, Nebraska, the seventh child of immigrant parents. Edith began classes in a one-room country school, then moved with her family to northwestern Nebraska where she attended the city schools, graduating in 1940 with honors. That fall she enrolled in the local college. In 1941 Edith married Cyrus Hall. While each of the four children were receiving an education, Edith worked twelve years in several banks, followed by twelve years in the medical field, the last two, as a hospital administrator. Edith suffered a heart attack in 1976 and her interest turned to creative writing, taking several writing courses from the University of Iowa, and completing the Advanced Novel writing course offered by the Writer's Digest School. Her first novel, SWEET PROMISES, was published in 1996. THE PROMISED LAND is its sequel.

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

April 26,1893

Theodor stepped onto the shore of Ellis Island. The buff painted structure with its blue slate roof and magnificent towers stood before him—the Gateway to the Promised Land. He slid his cap from his dark, disheveled hair and bowed his head. Jens, the lad at his side, looked up at him and did likewise.

In front of them a hunchbacked woman struggled to rise.

Let me help, Theodor said, placing his hand under her arm.

The woman looked up from beneath the shawl draping her head. Her bird-like fingers clawed at his forearm. God bless you, she said, and steadying herself for a moment, tottered on.

Theodor glanced about. Young men, old men, women with babes in arms and children clinging to their mother’s skirts, crowded the arena.

I’m free, free at last, a man shouted, and he tossed his cap into the air.

Theodor rubbed his unshaven cheeks. Free? Not yet. Not for him anyway. He was on American soil, but there was still immigration to get through. What if they discovered that he was not the Carl Laursen listed on the ship’s manifest? What then? What if they sent him back? His heart sank. He couldn’t return. There was no record of him having left Denmark. His brow knit.

Two days before the S. S. Island was scheduled to sail, Carl approached him. I hear you’ve been talking of sailing to America one day, he said, holding his ticket in his hand. My mother had a stroke this past week. She’ll live, but she’ll be a cripple from now on. I can’t leave her like that. If you’ll buy my ticket, I’ll even give you my exit permit.

I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Theodor said, then nodding, reached into his trunk for his hidden sock.

Early the next morning the praest, the official who issued all exit permits for the entire district, came to call.

Rumor has it you’re sailing to America, he began.

Theodor swallowed around the knot which had risen in this throat. Ya, ya. Come in, he said, holding the door wide. His step-mother, coffee pot in hand, stepped to the table.

"Vaer sa venlig," she said, and she began to pour.

The praest sat down at Theodor’s bidding and searched his eyes.

Now about your sailing, he said, extending his hand. It would be to your interest if I could persuade you to accept the responsibility of an eleven year old boy who is being sent to America to join his mother. A child can’t sail without a sponsor. How about it?

Theodor studied the praest’s face. The knot in his throat relaxed, and smiling, he shook his hand.

That was then. Now?

Come along, Jens, he said, looking over his shoulder, but the child was nowhere to be seen. Damn. Where can that kid be? He tapped the man standing next to him on the shoulder.

Have you seen a lad about this high? he asked in Danish.

The man shrugged. No speaka Englaise, he said and walked away.

Theodor shoved his cap to the back of his head and scratched his hair.

A group of immigrants huddled at the far side of the compound. As one stepped aside, Theodor saw Jens standing in their midst, smiling up at them.

Jens, you stupid kid. I can’t go looking all over creation for you. Come along, Theodor growled.

But Laursen, Jens pleaded. This is Ane and Marie. Grandfather said they could help keep an eye on me. Remember?

Theodor glanced at the ladies. They were women right enough, but dirty and bedraggled as they were… He offered a curt nod in their direction and lowered his eyes. Oh no, he moaned. His clothing was as filthy as theirs. It looks like we could all use a bath and a change of clothing, he said, and he grabbed Jens by the collar of his coat and ushered him up the steps and through the tall double doors.

Look, look at that. Jens pointed to the sunbeams streaming through windows that rose to the ceiling.

Ya, ya, that’s nice, but we better get in line or we’ll be here forever.

A man in a blue uniform stood at the entrance of the maize, comparing the numbers scrawled on the piece of cardboard strung around each immigrant’s neck with that on the ship’s manifest. Two officials were on the balcony scanning the crowd below. One pointed to an elderly man who had fallen. An officer patrolling the floor pushed his way into the aisle, marked a cross on the old man’s back and led him away.

They’re putting him in a cage. See? Over there in the corner, a raspy voice whispered.

He’s being sent back to the Ol Country, another added.

Poor soul, Theodor said, and he shuddered.

The line pressed forward.

Hey lookie there. There’s both Ole Olsens. I never thought I’d ever see them again, Jens said.

The Ole in front was from Norway, the other from Aalborg. Both had been fellow passengers aboard the S. S. Island. As they neared the desk, the registrant looked up.

Your name? he asked in English.

Ole, the Norwegian, shook his head, his face as blank as a sheet of paper.

Tell him your name, a Scandinavian whispered.

Ya, ya, Ole nodded. I tell you my name. I’m Ole Olsen.

Ole Olsen, the registrant repeated, then scanning the list, made a check beside a name and waved him on.

Ne-x-t? he called.

Ole from Aalborg hooked his thumbs under his suspenders.

Sam ting, he stated.

The registrant trailed his pencil line by line. I don’t see your name, Mr. Ting. Perhaps it’s on another page, he said, and making a notation at the bottom of the page, he looked up and waved him on.

But Ole remained beside the desk, his brow furrowed.

Go on, Mr. Ting, the registrant said, jerking his thumb.

Ya, ya, Sam, step right along. Can’t you see? He’s waving you on, an immigrant called.

Ole turned toward those behind him, and a grin slowly spread across his apple-cheek face.

Hey, by golly. Everybody hear now. I already got me a new name. Sam, Sam Ting. That’s me, he said, and the immigrants waiting in line, chuckled softly and shuffled forward.

Theodor looked at those ahead of him. Three more to go, then he would be the one standing at the registrant’s desk. His palms began to sweat. What if the registrant asked for his real name? He was a Laursen all right, but he wasn’t Carl as registered on the ship’s manifest. He poked his finger under his collar and stretched his neck.

Jens wriggled in front of him and stepped up to the desk.

Your name? the registrant asked, looking at the boy.

Uh, uh… Jens plucked at Theodor’s sleeve.

Oh, the boy. Theodor cleared his throat. The lad is Jens Thomsen. I’m Laursen. I’m taking him to his mother in Nebraska.

Laursen? Oh yes, your name is right below the boy’s, the registrant said, placing the point of his pencil on the exact line. Laursen spelled with a ‘u’ . . . and Thomsen, Jens Thomsen, age eleven. How much money do you have?"

Money? Theodor dug into his pocket and held out the coins in his open palm.

The registrant nodded and made two check marks on the list.

That’s it. Ne-x-t? he called.

Come along, Jens. We’re free to go, Theodor said, and picking up his bag, led the boy through a doorway into a foul-smelling room where several naked men were standing under jets of steaming water.

What is that? Jens gasped, his eyes opening wide.

It’s some kind of bath. Do you want to go first?

A bath? No not me. It stinks awful, the boy said.

It does for a fact. Theodor grinned. Just keep an eye on my things while I try it out, he said, and he stepped under the misting spray of pungent rain.

A bar of smelly, brown soap was shoved into his hand, and Theodor rubbed it into his hair, his whiskers, and over his body until the putrid stench of human excrement accumulated during the month-long voyage, trickled down his legs and floated away under his feet.

Ahh, that’s much better. Now it’s your turn, he said.

The lad squeezed his eyelids tight. He pointed a toe toward the steaming downpour.

Go on. Get yourself wet, Theodor said, then suddenly remembering the money and papers left in the pockets of his reeking clothing, he plunged his soft, clean hands deep into the filthy pile.

Ahh, he smiled, and rocked back on his heels.

An attendant paused at his side. If you want you can shave over there, he said, pointing to the far wall.

Theodor jumped to his feet and sighting along the attendant’s extended arm, saw a row of mirrors and blue enameled pans at the far side of the room.

Jens stepped out of the shower. I wish I had a clean shirt, he said.

Here, Theodore said, pulling one from his bag. It’s my last one.

What about my pants? the boy asked.

I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that. Come along, it’s time for me to shave.

As Jens stood straddle-legged over their belongings, he watched Theodor lather his whiskers and test the straight-edge blade against his thumb.

My grandfather never shaved, the boy offered.

Theodor shook his head. No beard for him. His facial hair was much too sparse. He stretched the skin of his cheeks between forefinger and thumb, drew the finely honed steel down his face with long, easy strokes, then tilted his chin upward and drew the blade from the line of his collar to his jawbone. He looked in the mirror and wiped his face.

Man, you did that fast, Jens said. Do you suppose it’ll soon be time for me to shave?

No-o-o, Theodor chuckled. Not for quite a while. Come, let’s see what’s next. He opened a door and sniffed. Ham. That’s ham, he said, and he and Jens stepped over the threshold.

More than a hundred people were seated at long narrow tables. Some were laughing; some were talking; some were intent on eating. As one arose, another came with plate in hand to fill the vacated space.

A man wearing a grimy dark seaman’s cap stomped down the opposite aisle. His beady black eyes and long, sharp nose protruded from a gray tangled mass of brows, beard and hair. His great coat was spattered with greasy ground-in dirt. He carried a plate of steaming food to the first vacant seat. Looking neither right nor left, he leaned across his food and crammed chunks of bread and spoonfuls of beans into the opening which appeared from time to time in his whiskers. A steaming tin-cup was set on the table in front of him, and he drew his sleeve across his mouth and grabbed the cup between his huge, hairy hands. Where had the man come from? When had he last eaten?

Theodor shuddered and glanced at Jens. It had been a month since they had eaten a hot meal. He took a sip of coffee. A-a-h, this is made with fresh water, he said, and he sipped again.

Above the rim of his cup he noticed a mural on the far wall showing immigrants standing beside a train. Boxes, bags, and shawl-wrapped bundles were cluttered about their feet.

My good man, Theodor called to an attendant roving about the dining room. He pointed. If you would be so kind, what is that? he asked in Danish.

The picture above the counter? That’s a place to buy a rail ticket to your final destination.

Theodor came alive. The man had spoken in a Scandinavian brogue.

From here to Nebraska? he asked.

Even so.

Good. That’s where I’m bound. So, where are you from? I’ve heard a good many Scandinavian tongues in my day, but never one quite like yours. Are you from Iceland?

No no, the young man chuckled. My parents came from the northern part of Norway, but I was born here. I’m Olaf.

So you’re a Scandinavian American. A thousand thanks for your help, Theodor said, and the young man smiled and walked on.

Jens wiped the last bit of bean juice from his plate and laid his utensils across the top. He patted his stomach.

I’m stuffed. I’ve never been this full in my whole life.

Ya, ya, you’re in America now. You’ll be full again, you’ll see. Come, I have your train ticket in my pocket but I need one for myself, he said, and he stepped up to the counter.

The clerk appeared to be around forty-five. His carrot-red hair parted in the middle, was plastered in place with something greasy, shiny. His suit was sharply pressed. That material wasn’t homespun. Homespun never held a press like that.

The clerk raised his eyes. Cat-eyes. Cat-eyes and red hair.

I need a ticket to Nebraska… to Beatrice, Theodor said in Danish.

Beatrice, Nebraska. The man’s face twitched as he wrote the ticket, tore it from the pad, and began another.

No. Theodor waggled a finger. Only one, he said.

The clerk paused; his green eyes studied Theodor a moment, then shrugging, he continued to write.

No no, Theodor stated loudly.

A strong young hand extending from a blue uniform sleeve covered the ticket pad. The man wants only one. That voice—That voice belonged to Olaf, the Scandinavian American.

Theodor pulled his five feet seven inch stature erect, and smiling clasped his hands behind his back.

But the boy must have a ticket, the clerk argued.

What about the boy? Olaf asked Theodor.

His ticket is right here, Theodor said, and he withdrew an envelope from his coat pocket.

Olaf examined the contents. The man is right. The boy already has a ticket.

In that case— The clerk tapped the completed ticket on the edge of the counter. That’ll be fifty-five dollars.

Fifty-five-fifty-five dollars? Rage stirred in Theodor’s chest. His eyelids narrowed to mere slits.

No. That’s too much, he shouted in Danish.

Let me see that. Olaf snatched the chart from the clerk and slid his finger down the page. He tapped a specific line.

Here, right here is Omaha. From New York to Omaha is twenty dollars. It couldn’t be that much more to go on to Beatrice. Better check again.

Theodor stepped back. He really didn’t know the exact words that had been spoken, but he could well imagine them.

As the clerk studied the chart, his lip curled.

I mistook the twos for fives. Actually it’s twenty-two dollars, he said.

Theodor looked at Olaf and shook his head… He never did trust cat-eyed, red-haired men. He reached into his pocket and laid a handful of money next to Olaf’s hand.

Olaf thumbed through the coins, shoving certain ones toward the clerk. There, the exact amount, he said, and he turned to Theodor. I’m sorry, my friend, but over here people seem to believe anyone unable to speak English is dumb, and anyone who speaks with an accent is too stupid to learn.

Then I’d better learn English right away, Theodor said.

And learn it well, Olaf nodded, and he walked with them a few steps farther before he paused in front of a lunch stand.

You can buy a box lunch for a dollar. I suggest you get one, then go straight to that ferry, he said, pointing through the window. It’ll take you to your train on the mainland. You can always come back to see the city when you know the language. So now, it’s farewell and God-speed, he said.

"Tak for alt," Theodor said, clasping Olaf’s hand, and the Norwegian-American turned aside.

Laursen, look. Jens tugged at Theodor’s arm. Ane and Marie found us again.

Theodor’s mouth fell open. These women… Could they possibly be the same ones he had seen in the compound? Why, these girls were neat, clean; their hair piled atop their heads. These women were downright handsome, and he smiled and stepped forward, hand extended.

Ane pointed. Don’t tell me you’re Laursen. You look so different.

To tell the truth, you do too. A good scrubbing did us all a lot of good. So, are you ready to set out for Nebraska?

I can’t wait, Ane said, her eyes glowing.

Come along then. You, too, Marie. I was told that ferry over there will take us to the immigrant train, Theodor said, and the four hurried to join other immigrants who were lined along the rail looking at the Brooklyn Bridge.

They say it was built by a German immigrant, someone said.

Did you hear that, Laursen? Ane asked.

Ya, ya, it’s as they say. America is the land of promise, Theodor answered, and the conversation ran on until the crewmen came aboard.

The gangplank was drawn up; the horn blared. The ferry slipped from its mooring, and the immigrants, heads bared, handkerchiefs waving, looked back at the Lady with the Flaming Torch.

Not all will give us as grand a welcome as she has, Theodor said, and he told them of his encounter with the ticket agent.

By the time he finished, the ferry had crossed to the mainland. The train station was in front of them.

As they approached Theodor held their tickets in his hand.

We’re together, he said, motioning in a circle to include the others.

The trainman nodded, examined each ticket, and pointed them toward the proper train.

Theodor stepped onto the rear platform and peered through the doorway. The aisle was crowded with passengers trying to cram baggage into non-existent spaces.

Excuse me, he said, pushing past one after another until he located two seats at the far end of the car.

Up here, he called, beckoning to his companions.

The men across the aisle looked up.

Laursen, it’s you, one said.

Ya, ya, it’s me, Theodor smiled. These men had been fellow shipmates aboard the S. S. Island. So, how did it go?

Not too bad. They gave us a good going over, but I guess we didn’t have too many lice, Lauritz said, and he chuckled.

Ya, ya, Jens wasn’t sure he liked the rain. He said it stunk, but we lived through it. We bumped into the Andersen girls from Aalborg just before we got on the ferry. The lad’s grandfather said they were to help look after the boy, but once we got on board, they were sent one way, and we were sent the other. You know the story, Theodor said, and he glanced down the aisle where Jens and the girls struggled to get around the passengers seated on upended baggage.

By the time each settled into a seat, the train tooted shrilly. The wheels began to grind.

America, here we come, a young man shouted, and his cap sailed into the air.

Theodor rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. The land of hope and dreams was close enough to grasp in his hand. The air was charged with expectancy.

Each of the immigrants began to chatter, to talk to everyone, to talk to no one. The words were of no consequence. Not until the trainman lit the lamps did anyone realize that dusk had fallen.

Lights out at 10:00 o’clock, the trainman called loudly.

The immigrants leaned this way and that.

What did he say? What did he say?

The trainman repeated the message in German, and a tall blond man at the back of the car arose.

The man said the lights go out at l0:00 o’clock, he said in Danish, and he turned to the trainman and asked in German. When will we get to Chicago?

You speak German well, the trainman said, smiling. We should get there in three, maybe four days. It all depends on how many trains sidetrack this one.

Sidetrack this train? I don’t understand.

It’s simple enough. Every immigrant train must pull onto a siding whenever another train approaches or wants to pass.

Even freight trains loaded with pigs?

Even so, the trainman answered, nodding.

Theodor scowled. He knew enough German to understand the conversation, but somehow what had been said didn’t seem right. After all, if everyone in America was supposed to be equal, how could pigs be more important than people?

Tell your people not to get off the train until it stops to take on fuel. Otherwise they might be left behind.

How about a little lunch? Theodor asked the girls. I bought a couple of boxes before we left the Island. I’d be glad to share, he said.

Oh goody, a picnic. Ane rubbed the palms of her hands. Laursen, you think of everything.

Theodor opened the box and handed it to the girls.

What are you planning to do, once you get there? Ane asked.

I want to visit my brother, my only brother. I haven’t seen him in years. I’ve got to see what he’s up to, Theodor said.

You say visit? Aren’t you going to stay?

Ya, ya, I’m not going to cross that ocean again. Once was enough for me.

It was quite an adventure, wasn’t it, Ane said.

I don’t think that’s what I’d call it, Marie added, and they all laughed and chuckled until Jens’ head fell against Theodor’s shoulder, half of a sandwich still in his hand.

Theodor laid the lad aside and threaded his way down the aisle, dodging a bag, a leg, an elbow until he reached a tiny room that contained a wooden box with a hole in its top. He dropped his trousers. A cold draft blew upward; his skin crawled with goose bumps. He dug into his pocket and retrieved the scrap of brown paper that had been wrapped around his sandwich.

A wash bench set against the wall. A dipper hung over the edge of the water bucket. He took a drink, poured the remainder into the pan and washed his hands. By the time he returned, the girls had closed their eyes.

Theodor rested his head on the back of his seat. The wheels were chanting, ‘Clickety-clack, clickety-clack. You’re over here now. You’re never going back. Never going back. Clickety-clack.’ He dozed. Someone shook his arm.

Huh? What do you want? he asked.

I’ve got to go, Jens whispered.

Go then, Theodor snapped.

Where? I don’t see no slop bucket.

Down at the end of the aisle, there’s a room with a box in it. Use that, Theodor grumbled.

He had no more than closed his eyes than the brakes slammed on. Wheels squealed, couplings clattered. People were strewn about like match sticks.

Damn. Why don’t they learn to drive this thing, Theodor growled.

What now? Jens whispered.

We wait. Go back to sleep, Theodor said.

I can’t. I’m wide awake, the boy said.

Jens, look. Theodor pointed through the window. The moon is playing hide and seek in the clouds.

Jens put his elbows on the sill and cupped his chin in his hands. A moan escaped, and Theodor slipped his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

That moon is the same one that’s shining down on your grandfather, he said.

Do you think he can see my mother, too? Jens asked.

I’m sure he can. Now snuggle down and go back to sleep.

As the lad curled up in the seat, Theodor tousled his hair. Poor kid. Shortly after his birth, his unmarried mother left him with her parents and sailed to America. Ten years later the grandmother died, and the grandfather being too old to care for a youngster, was sending him to the mother.

The mournful whistle of a distant train pierced the stillness of night. Theodor craned his neck. Far off a speck of light became brighter, and the chuggedy-chug, chuggedy-chug grew increasingly louder until the train roared by.

A cattle train, Theodor said bitterly, and he watched the light from the lantern hanging on the caboose recede into the darkness.

The immigrant train tooted; the wheels began to grind, and Theodor leaned back. Once again he was headed for the promised land, a land where a man could become a land owner and could accumulate enough wealth to afford the luxury of a wife and family… His thoughts drifted into dreams.

By the time he awoke, dawn was pushing the darkness aside. The immigrants began to stir, to struggle down the aisle. The train rolled on.

Jens peeked into his basket, took out a crust of month-old bread and bit into it.

They’ll be bringing coffee soon, Theodor said. Why don’t you wait and dunk it?

I can’t, Jens said. I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s cut.

Theodor smiled. He studied the group seated around him, then cleared his throat.

I have a favor to ask of you. All of you be so kind… Don’t call me Laursen anymore. Call me Bach, Theodor Bach.

You’re not Laursen? Jens blurted.

Don’t look so worried, I’m the same man that’s been traveling with you this past month, Theodor said. The truth is, I was baptized Laursen, but when I was in Copenhagen my father took the name, Bach. I taught school as Theodor Bach for the past seven years.

You’re a schoolmaster? Ane asked.

Was, Theodor corrected.

Forgive us, Herr Laursen, I mean Herr Bach. We didn’t know, Marie said, wringing her hands in the folds of her skirt.

Now none of that ‘Herr’ business. We’re in America. Over here a schoolmaster holds no greater respect than the butcher. Just call me Theodor Bach.

For a moment Lauritz arched his brows and Jensen studied Theodor from the corner of his eye. Everyone had heard stories about young men changing their names and sneaking out of the country to escape the required four-year military training. Perhaps these people would always wonder, but they would never pry. From then on, to them he was Theodor Bach.

Shortly before noon the train pulled onto a siding. The trainman followed by two women carrying baskets on their arms, stepped into the coach.

The women have sandwiches for sale. There’s egg or peanut butter. Ten cents apiece, he said.

I want peanut butter, Ane said. I heard of it, but I never had a chance to taste it.

No peanut butter for me. I’ll take four egg sandwiches, Theodor said, and he handed two to Jens.

Ane bit into her sandwich. Her eyes opened wide. She gulped; she gagged.

Coffee, I need coffee, she gasped.

Coffee, Theodor called loudly, and rising, he lifted an imaginary cup to his lips and called again.

Aaahhh, coffeeee. The woman with the sandwiches bowed low, then pointed to a man coming through the doorway with a large enameled pot. A little girl carrying a string of jingling tin cups, followed.

Ane grasped the proffered cup, took a swallow, then another.

I could have died. That stuff stuck to the roof of my mouth, she wailed, and Theodor patted her arm.

The trainman paused beside the German-speaking immigrant.

We’ll be stopping along toward evening to take on fuel and water. Sometimes a vendor comes around, but don’t count on it.

Will anyone be selling tobacco? the man asked.

Theodor smiled. Scandinavian men must have their cheek full or a pipe dangling from their teeth, one or the other, and these men had run out of tobacco long ago.

The trainman nodded in sympathy. He would see what he could do, he said, and the train again pulled onto the main track. The passengers leaned back. Some chatted quietly, others closed their eyes. Hansen dug out a pack of cards.

"I need three men for Schwenzel, he said, and Jensen and Lauritz volunteered. How about you, Mr. Bach?"

If I’m not taking anyone’s place, Theodor said.

Jensen pulled a box from under his seat. I didn’t have money to buy a suitcase so I made this. I knew it would come in handy, he said, and the men balanced the box on their knees.

Hansen began to shuffle. His knuckles were stiff and clumsy. From time to time he swiped his thumb across his tongue before he could slip a card from the deck.

Can we call for a re-deal? Theodor asked, picking up one card at a time.

No, just bid, Lauritz growled.

The game proceeded. Scarcely a word was said. By the time Theodor and his partner finished raking in the tricks, there were no more to be had.

I thought you had a bust hand, Lauritz grumbled.

I didn’t say that, Theodor said.

But you wanted to know if you could call for a re-deal.

It’s all in the way you play the game, Theodor said, allowing a smile to curl up one side of his face.

Come now, don’t be so smug. Shuffle and deal, Jensen said, and the four played on.

They were finishing the fourth round when the train again pulled onto a siding.

We’ll be taking on fuel and water. You have thirty minutes to get off and stretch your legs, but remember, thirty minutes and we’ll be on our way, the trainman said.

The passengers began to stir. The cards were put away.

Jens and I need to stretch, Theodor said, and he turned toward the women. How about you?

Ane jumped to her feet. Me, too, she chirped. Come on.

Marie rose hesitantly, her eyes were discreetly downcast.

Come on, Marie, Theodor frowned. We’re no longer in Denmark. If you won’t walk in front of me, walk beside me, he said, and taking her elbow, he ushered her down the aisle and onto the graveled path that extended far beyond the engine.

Oh boy, Jens shouted, and jumping from the rear platform, he took off running, his wooden shoes spitting sand.

Oh, to be young, Ane sighed. She linked her arm through Marie’s. Come on, Mr. Bach. We might as well follow.

Theodor smiled. Ane would have no difficulty adapting to any society. She was filled with energy, she chatted easily, and before he realized it, the train whistled a warning toot.

Jen-n-ns, he called. It’s time to go back.

I’ll race you, Ane said, and lifting her skirts above the tops of her high-buttoned shoes, she sped down the path.

Marie’s eyes opened wide; her mouth fell ajar. She paused a moment, then lifting her skirts, ran after Ane.

Chuckling, Theodor trotted along behind, but Jens zipped past as though everyone was standing still.

Come on, Jens yelled and he and the women jumped aboard.

Theodor’s foot had barely touched the step before the trainman hanging onto the hand rail, signaled to the engineer. The train jolted.

I beat you all, Jens said, as he staggered down the aisle.

The train gathered speed, and the immigrants settled back.

Look, Jensen said, pointing the stem of his pipe toward a herd of Holstein cattle grazing near the tracks. Look at those big bags. Someday I’m going to have a herd like that.

The immigrants across the aisle strained to see. Ah-h-h, such fine creatures, one noted.

Ya, ya, but look at that big house. You men can have your old cows. I’m going to have a house just like that one there, Ane said.

And I’m going to have a big red barn like that one, Hansen said. What about you, Mr. Bach?

Me? I’d like to get my hands on a farm, a real farm, not just a ten or fifteen acre tract like most have in the Ol Country. I want to own one big enough so I can live like the country gentleman who raised me, Theodor answered, and he turned aside and stared through the window at the greening countryside.

The train rolled on. Mid-afternoon of the fourth day, the train arrived in Chicago. A man and woman stepped into the car.

May we have your attention? the man asked in Danish, then jumping onto a seat, he rattled a small iron triangle with a short metal rod. Hear now, hear now, he called. My name is Axel; my companion is Lizbeth. We came to offer our help. Since all of you must leave this train, just pick up your belongings and follow us to the Immigrant House across the tracks. Lizbeth will help anyone who needs to take a different train. Those going on west will stay over for the night. Beds and meals are a dollar a day. If you have family meeting you in Chicago, don’t worry; they’ll find you right here. So now, let’s go while the tracks are clear, he said, and he and Lizbeth hopped from the train and the immigrants followed them across a dozen rails.

This is mighty kind of you, Theodor said, stepping to Axle’s side. Why are you doing all this?

We’re Americans now, but we still take care of our own, Axel answered. Traveling in such a big country can be scary especially for women. When we heard about a sixteen year old girl who ended up in Wisconsin instead of Nebraska, we decided to do something. Can you imagine? A sixteen year old sitting in a cold train station for three whole days without food or water, too scared to move.

What happened to her? Theodor asked.

A cleaning woman finally took notice. When she couldn’t make head nor tails of what the girl said, she found someone who could. I’m afraid there has been a good many mix-ups, but we’re trying to make it easier.

Theodor nodded. There was something touching, something noble in the story, and he looked at Axel and offered his hand.

The immigrants swarming across the tracks, entered the Immigrant House. Axel hopped onto a dais and answered their questions. Lizbeth assisted those going to Wisconsin and Minnesota board the right train.

Theodor deposited his bag in a bedroom, pointed Jens toward the facility located behind the building, and made his way to the dais.

I could use a bit of help. My brother knows I’m coming, but he has no idea when, he said.

We’ll send him a telegram, Axel said, and he sat down at the desk and reached for pen and paper. Where does he live?

Near Beatrice. I believe that’s in Nebraska.

Beatrice, Nebraska. Ya, ya, now let me see. Axel gathered a map and a time table. You’ll sleep here tonight, and on the train tomorrow night. The day after that, you should get to Omaha in plenty of time to catch the train for Beatrice. That’ll be around noon of the fifth. Now, what’s your brother’s name?

Nels Laursen Bach. I’m not sure which name he’s using over here, but that should get him, Theodor said.

Rest easy. A lot of folks from the Ol Country either change their names or have it changed for them. I’ll have Angus get this off right away, Axel said.

So, that’s that. A thousand thanks for your help. How big is this place?

You mean Chicago?’ Axel asked. The latest census lists a little over a million. My folks came to this country right after the fire."

The fire? Theodor asked.

You haven’t heard? That was the fall of ’71. Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicked over the lantern and the whole town caught fire. It’s been rebuilt, of course. We’re even having the World’s Fair this year. All those things Americans invent will be on display, things that the rest of the world has never dreamed of. You really should see it.

I can see you’re sold on America, Theodor said.

There’s no country like it, Axel answered.

The afternoon was waning. The spicy aroma of frikadeller and pickled beets wafting about their nostrils, summoned the immigrants to the dining room.

As soon as Theodor finished his meal, he put his knife and fork across the top of his plate and looked at Jens. The boy was yawning.

Come, Jens. Let’s go to bed and get some sleep.

For an hour or two, Theodor and Jens slept soundly. Around ten o’clock, several immigrants enjoying a little celebration noisily entered the room.

Theodor pulled his pillow over his head.

Move over, one growled, and a sharp elbow found Theodor’s ribs and another voice pierced his hazy consciousness.

Roll over, the voice demanded, and Theodor hitched his buttocks and rolled into Jens.

Jens, go sleep at the foot of the bed, he whispered, and Jens clutching his pillow, crawled across their feet.

Theodor threw the end of the cover over the lad and lay down in the meager space at the edge of the bed. The snores droned like a hive of bees. Theodor dozed.

Roll over, someone ordered, and Theodor turned to his right. Ker-plop. Theodor sat on the floor, rubbing his head. He glared. The man was big, burly, a man twice his size, and Theodor grabbed his pillow and stomped to the other side.

Move over, he growled, and the tumbling resumed.

As the morning light peeked into the room, Theodor arose, snapped his suspenders in place, and made his way to the wash stand. As yet, no one was stirring, and he stepped out the door and took a deep breath. The air was crisp, invigorating, a great morning for a walk, and he set out at a brisk pace.

A horseless streetcar rumbled along the rails, bells clanging, noisily crossing the intersection. A horse reared on his hind legs, its front legs pawing the air while the rider roared epithets and tugged at the reins. Humph. Horseless streetcars. What would these Americans think of next?

Far off a rooster crowed. Theodor turned the corner and strode down a sleepy, residential avenue. A sway-backed nag plodding along, paused at a crosswalk while his master ladled milk from an open can and handed it to a smiling kitchen maid.

Theodor stepped off the boardwalk into the spongy street. The manure was at least a foot deep. What a waste. That dung should be spread on the fields surrounding the city. He shook his head and turning the corner, arrived at the Immigrant House in time for breakfast.

Did you see anything interesting? Ane asked.

Enough to know I want to come back sometime, he answered.

Around noon the remaining immigrants boarded the west bound train. Steam billowed, the engine chug, chug, chugged until the wheels began to roll.

Nebraska loomed ahead. Nebraska.

Theodor arose, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced up and down the aisle. His brother was in Nebraska. He hadn’t seen Nels in years.

Mr. Bach, Ane grabbed his arm. You won’t get there any faster walking up and down the aisle. You’ll only wear out your shoes.

Theodor paused. She had remembered to call him Mr. Bach. You’re probably right, he said.

Come, sit down. Hansen, wasn’t that your deck you fellows were using the other day? Ane asked.

Ya, ya.

Well then, shuffle those cards. I’ll take Lauritz place. He’s taking a nap, she said, and Jensen set up the box and Hansen began to deal.

Wait, Jensen said. Look at that. There must be two hundred hogs in that feed lot.

Hansen, his hand in mid-air, paused to look at the wonder as the train rolled by.

Come on, fellows, Ane pleaded. The farm is long passed, and I’m still holding my cards.

They’re that good, are they? Theodor asked.

Don’t tell him, Hansen said, and the train rolled on.

Mid-morning the following day, the train slowed to a crawl.

We’ll soon be crossing the Missouri, the trainman called.

The Missouri? What about the Mississippi? Jensen asked.

We crossed that last night while you slept, Theodor said.

The train crept onto the bridge. Far below, a paddle boat floated in the center of the seemingly motionless water.

Wouldn’t it be fun to go down river on that? Ane asked.

"Better than the S. S. Island," Marie answered.

Om-a-ha. We’re coming into Omaha. Gather your things, the trainman called, and the scurry began.

The train chugged into the station. The immigrants stepped down, and Hansen realizing he probably would never see any of them again, bid each farewell.

Marie and Ane stood beside Theodor, their bags in hand, their shoulders sagging.

Where to now? Jens asked.

Theodor looked about. To tell the truth, I don’t rightly know, he said.

The Sorensen brothers were the last to step from the train.

Mr. Bach, we’d like to join you. If you get lost, we’ll all get lost together, one of them said, and Theodor smiling, nodded.

A man dressed in a dark gray suit, approached.

Which train to Beatrice? Theodor asked in Danish, but the man shrugged and went on.

Now what? Ane asked.

Let’s go over there, Theodor said, pointing toward the station, and one after the other followed him across the tracks.

He stepped to the window.

Beatrice, he said loudly.

Over there, the agent said, and Theodor, not knowing the English words, followed the angle of his pointing arm.

I think he means it’s a different train, Jensen said.

Whatever he meant, he pointed in that direction. Let’s see what happens, Theodor said.

As they neared the train that had brought them from Chicago, Ane pointed.

Look, there’s my steamer trunk. I haven’t seen it since it was put on the ship at Fredrickshaven.

Everyone stopped abruptly.

Are you sure? Lauritz asked.

Don’t be silly. I ought to know my own trunk.

In that case, let’s follow her trunk, Theodor said, and they hurried toward the cart.

What can I do for you? the baggage man asked.

Theodor pointed to the trunks, then to the immigrants.

Beatrice… Hebron, he said.

Oh, I see. You’re checking on your baggage. Come along, the baggage man said, and he beckoned them to follow as he pulled the cart across the tracks and reloaded their trunks onto another train.

I take it, this must be ours, Theodor said, and he clapped the man on the back, and led the immigrants laughing and chattering as they paraded down the platform and into the car.

They had no more than found seats before the conductor requested the remainder of their tickets. They had missed another meal, but no matter. Before evening they would be dining with friends and relatives.

Young Jens started to chatter. He talked about everything, he talked about nothing. The words poured from his mouth like the never-ending flow of the tide.

Theodor put his arm about the lad’s shoulder. Perhaps the boy was anxious about meeting his mother whom he could scarcely remember. He hugged the lad, then, unable to keep his own eagerness in check, arose and paced the aisle. It seemed an eternity passed before the wheels of the train squealed, and the trainman called from the doorway.

Beatrice… Beatrice, Nebraska.

This is it. I’ll be leaving you now, Theodor said, and picking up his bag, he shook hands with the men and touched his cap to the ladies. He looked at Jens.

Now, don’t give the women any trouble, he said, and he patted the boy on the head and walked down the aisle.

CHAPTER

TWO

Theodor stepped into the crowd that had gathered to watch the arrival of the train. His bag thumped a bystander.

Tuedor, Nels exclaimed, grabbing his brother and holding him at arm’s length. Let me look at you. You’ve lost weight.

Probably. I’ve only had two hot meals in the past six weeks. I’m as hungry as a wolf in winter, Theodor said, and he turned toward the baggage car.

Nels fell in step. You must like living on the raw edge. If I hadn’t stopped at the saloon, I might never got your telegram.

What? Theodor asked. You got my telegram in a saloon? What has a saloon got to do with it?

Well now, I don’t rightly know, but while I was standing at the bar drinking a glass of beer, a boy stuck his head in the door. ‘Does anyone know Nels Laursen Bach?’ he asked. ‘That’s me,’ I said. You might’ve let me know a little sooner.

Ya, ya, I know, but I didn’t have time.

What kind of an answer is that?

To tell the truth, it was like this. The day before the boat set sail, Carl Laursen came up to me and offered to sell me his ticket. Since school was over for the year, and I had nothing else to do, it seemed like a good idea.

Whoa now. Nels stopped short. Are you telling me you came over on a stranger’s papers?

"That’s about it. I left