Further from Home: An Icelandic Journey

By Steve Stephens

"Further from Home" picks up the tale of Undina, an Icelandic poet grappling with the heart-rending loss of her daughter. As the sequel to "World Away from Home," the narrative sees Undina journeying back to Canada, where a charming Icelandic cowboy helps reignite her passion and purpose. The year is 1902, and they traverse the continent to start anew on a small Oregon farm. Yet, an unrevealed secret brings forth another tragedy, leading Undina to question her fate. Amid the tumult, Undina pours her soul into raising her three children, each with their unique paths, trials, and profound affection for their mother.

In 1912, they seek solace in Christmas Lake Valley's high desert. There, Undina experiences love anew, and her family flourishes, until another twist of fate tests their mettle. Even as life tosses her from one storm to another, Undina's poetry, filled with hope, becomes her sanctuary. Alone but not forgotten, she discovers that her homeland of Iceland will always remember her. "Further from Home" is an untold story of resilience, love, and the enduring spirit of an Icelandic poet. It is the second installment in the captivating "Restless Journeys" series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350915402

Book preview

PART ONE

December 1891–May 1904

DESPERATION

(Monday, 21 December 1891; Cavalier, North Dakota)

He’s back! Undina cried in panic.

Don’t worry, said Papa. Just stay here with Sophie.

But Stephen is in the barn taking care of the animals, said Undina. She took the long rifle  from the wall and pointed it out the open window, ignoring the cold air. If he goes near my boy, I swear I’ll shoot him.

I’ll take care of this, her father said. The north wind blew through the door as he left the house.

She aimed the rifle at her husband’s chest and tightened her finger on the trigger. A light snow swirled about the dirt road in front of the house. Papa moved toward Jakob with an aggressive determination that Undina rarely saw.

Momma, said Sophie. The toddler pulled on her mother’s long black dress.

It will be alright, she said. Nobody will ever hurt you. Undina wiped tears from her eyes as she kept the rifle aimed at its target. Just pull the trigger, she thought to herself. But she waited to see if Papa could manage the situation. He’d always been there for her with his comfort and protection, yet things had never been this desperate. One false move and I’ll pull the trigger.

I don’t think it’s good for you to be here, said Papa as he walked to the wagon and looked up at Jakob. The younger man was dressed in the fashion of the day. His hair was cut short beneath his black bowler. He wore a dark three-piece suit with a close-fitting jacket, and a burgundy vest. Undina had never seen him so handsome. She started to smile and then caught herself, knowing she could never trust him again.

Jakob Lindal hesitated, considering his response carefully. He’d always respected Baldwin Helgason. Everybody respected him. But the relationship had grown formal in the past year since his separation from Undina. And in the past three months, since their oldest daughter’s death, it was cold and distant.

I can go wherever I want, Jakob said, climbing down from the wagon and facing the older man.

No you can’t! This is not your property and you are not welcome here. Though Papa was 25 years older than his son-in-law, he was taller and stronger. His long beard was gray, but he was rarely challenged.

Where is my wife?

Papa nodded toward the house.

Jakob looked at the rifle pointed at him. He stared into her steel blue eyes. Her hair flowed around her face and had a hint of gray now even though she was only thirty-three. Her arm was steady, her finger tight on the trigger. He saw she had grown stronger since he’d last seen her. This was no longer a woman he could bully or sweet talk into submission. He slowly backed up toward the wagon. Looking at the frosty ground, he twisted the tips of his carefully waxed mustache.

Where are my children? he said.

Stephen is in the barn doing his chores and Sophie is in the house with her mother, said Papa.

Jakob moved around him and started toward the barn.

I think we need to talk, said Papa, blocking his way.

I want to see my children.

That’s not going to happen today, said Papa, taking off his hat and turning it over in his hands.

But they are my kids!

Please don’t raise your voice.

But this is not fair! said Jakob. He’d lowered his voice but he kicked the dirt with his new black leather shoes, splattering mud and snow on his tweed pants. She hasn’t let me see the kids in three months.

What did you expect?

But it was an accident.

Mr. Helgason sighed. It wasn’t an accident that you drank too much whiskey or that you lost your temper or that you beat the poor horse to the point Josey was trampled. He wiped away a tear.

I never expected that to happen, Jakob said slowly, looking at the ground. I loved Josey with all my heart. She was my firstborn. Don’t you think I would do anything I could to undo that evening? I loved her, I really did.

I’m sure you did. Papa paused. But your selfishness and pride got in your way.

I won’t argue with that. Every day I blame myself for what happened.

As you should, Jakob. As you should.

Didn’t Moses lose his temper and kill the Egyptian, but God gave him a second chance?

I’m sure God will give you a second chance, said Papa. But people aren’t always as gracious as God. She gave you many chances and then you took away Undina’s child. You’ve broken her heart.

I know, I know, Jakob said.

No, you don’t, said Papa. She’s given up on life. She’s lost her spirit. She rarely gets out of the house, except to go to the cemetery.

But that’s back in Gardar.

You know how when she gets an idea in her mind, nothing stops her, said Papa. I take her in the wagon every Saturday, rain or shine. It’s a long day, but she insists.

That can’t be good for her, said Jakob. Being there must remind her of our other lost children.

We stand at all three graves. And she places flowers on each one.

How can she do that? I don’t want to ever go back to that cemetery.

Undina says that it helps her heal, said Papa.

But doesn’t all this grieving make it worse? Don’t you just have to accept whatever life throws at you and move on?

Everyone grieves in their own way. He placed his hand on Jakob’s shoulder. I work so hard I don’t think about it. She thinks and cries and writes. Everyone has their own way.

I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what to do.

Sometimes there isn’t anything you can do. Sometimes you have to just let the good Lord do His work, said Papa. But right now showing up here isn’t going to speed things along.

But it’s been over seven weeks.

And it might take another seven weeks.

What if she never gets any better?

She is a Viking. She will recover. But we all have our breaking point.

I still love her. I know this is all my fault. I let alcohol and anger get the best of me. And my pride too. If I’d only been a better husband.

Just give her time. Healing doesn’t come quickly. It’s going to take time.

I understand, said Jakob. But could you tell her I’ve changed. I haven’t had a drink since the accident. And I don’t ever want to have one again. I’m turning over a new page. I really am.

I hope so, Jakob, for your own sake. But we’ve heard that promise too many times to believe it.

Emerson says it is important to make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. And that’s what I really want to do.

There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve got a lot of talent and ability, said Papa. But if you don’t start using what God has given you, you’ll never amount to anything.

This time is different.

Then you’ve got to make it different, said Papa. Remember that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Papa, yelled Stephen as he ran from the barn through the shadowy twilight. He ran past his father and hid behind Papa.

It’s Daddy, Jakob said softly as he squatted down and reached out to him.

Stephen shook his head and clung to the back of Papa’s trousers.

The screen door creaked open and Undina stepped onto the front porch, the rifle still pointed at Jakob. You take one step closer to the boy and I will kill you.

Alright, he said. He stood up and moved away. I just came to say I missed you.

I don’t care if you missed me, she yelled. Just leave us alone.

You can’t mean that.

I never want to see you again.

But it’s almost Christmas.

I don’t care about Christmas!

Stephen peeked around his grandfather. You are a mean man, he said to Jakob.

I’m so sorry, son, he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

You hurt my sister. You hurt me. You hurt Momma. You hurt everybody.

Your sister was a beautiful young lady. I never meant to hurt her.

But you killed her. Stephen stared at his father, gripping Papa’s leg.

I love you, son. I really do. And I brought you and your little sister and your mother Christmas presents. Jakob went to the wagon and handed two boxes wrapped in brown paper to Papa. Those are for my wife and daughter. He tossed the third one at Stephen’s feet.

The boy looked at the box and then ran to his mother, hiding his face in her long dress.

It’s going to be alright, she said, lowering the rifle for a moment and looking into her son’s bright blue eyes. They were full of fear. She held him close and felt the long white scar on his head, just below the hairline. Her mind went back to the time Jakob had knocked Stephen out of the wagon in drunken anger. Don’t worry. Daddy will never hurt you again.

But what if he gets angry?

Papa is here.

She followed her son into the house and set the rifle in the corner. She picked up Sophie and went to the window to watch Jakob who was still talking to Papa. Why doesn’t he just leave us alone? How could I have been married to him for 13 years? Why did I put up with such bad behavior for so long?

She shook her head. Poetry flooded her mind. She’d written poems since she was a youth in the uplands of Iceland. The rhythm of those words calmed her heart. They were the language of her soul, healing her brokenness. If she could cast the cadence of the moment in verse, then she knew it was real. She knew she could survive. Her words, whether tragic or triumphant, gave her hope. Poetry captured her emotions and clarified her thoughts.

I shall never

hide away

my grief concerning

this cold world.

Others may laugh,

but I moan

in lifelong laments.

Would you please give them these gifts? Jakob picked up the box on the ground and handed it to Papa.

I’ll give them to my daughter and let her decide what to do with them.

That’s fair, said Jakob with a nod. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. He looked at his feet. But if she’ll just give me a second chance, I promise that things will be different.

That’s between the two of you, said Papa. But you’ve got a lot of convincing to do. All I can say is that giving up the bottle is your first step toward a new life, whether with my daughter or someone else.

She’s my wife and she’s got my children. I love them, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back.

Merry Christmas, said Papa. Now I must insist you leave. He put on his hat and walked toward the house.

Jakob stood in the dark and watched his father-in-law close the door. An icy rain fell. Jakob didn’t move. He just stood there with his shoulders slumped and water rolling down his face.

How long is he going to stand there? thought Undina.

He twisted the tips of his mustache like he always did. And she floated into nostalgia. He was tall and handsome. So much like the boy she’d met on the boat when she was only fourteen and he was twenty. She’d been so smitten, but she should have known it was too good to be true.

She shook herself back to reality and returned to her poetry. It was the words she strung together that gave her peace and perspective, regardless of the melancholy they held.

Now I’m learning another lesson

From the fiery flower of youth.

Now that I have no garden

And my world looks so empty,

I wish I could return to

Those peaceful times I once had.

Now is not as wonderful as then

For nature is constantly changing.

Everything is changing, and it’s changing so fast I can’t keep up. So why even try?

Five minutes later, Jakob kicked the ground again and slowly climbed into his wagon and rode into the dark.

She felt relieved.

What should I do with these? Papa asked, pointing at the three packages he’d set on the table.

Throw them on the burn pile, she said as she moved into the kitchen.

But Momma, said Stephen, they’re Christmas gifts and it’s almost Christmas.

Today is Winter Solstice, she said. It’s the shortest and coldest day of the year, Mother Hulda’s favorite day.

Then where is the snow? said Stephen.

I don’t know, she shrugged. But it shall come.

I thought Mother Hulda was good. Isn’t she supposed to warm the hearts of mothers and children?

Even Mother Hulda has her limits. She’s forgotten us this year. Everybody has forgotten us this year.

Daddy didn’t, said Stephen. Look! Three boxes, and mine is the biggest.

I don’t care whose box is the biggest, said Undina We aren’t celebrating Christmas this year. There’s nothing worth celebrating.

But we have to celebrate Christmas, said Stephen.

Why?

Because that’s when baby Jesus was born.

No, he wasn’t. Scholars say he was born in September.

So why do people celebrate it in December?

People are stupid.

Please can we have Christmas? begged Stephen.

Do we have a Christmas tree?

No, said Stephen meekly.

No Christmas tree, then no Christmas.

But we have Christmas presents.

No, we don’t, yelled Undina.

Daddy gave us presents, said Stephen with tears streaming down his face.

Those aren’t presents, she said. They are tricks to get us to trust him. So he can weasel his way back into our hearts and hurt us all over again. And I won’t have anything to do with it. She opened the door and threw the three boxes out into the rain.

Both children ran to Papa who was sitting at the table, reading his mail and trying to stay out of the turbulence.

It’s alright, he said as they curled into his lap. Your Momma loves you. It’s just hard for her to see your daddy. She’s going to be fine in the morning.

Oh, just shut up! Undina said as she picked up her notebook from the floor. And you can fix your own supper! She went into her bedroom, threw the notebook at the wall, and slammed the door. Falling onto her bed, she cried until her eyes were swollen and her voice hoarse.

Nothing felt right. Nothing felt good. The room was black and heavy and cold. She lit a lamp and wrapped her body tightly in a white wool blanket. She picked up her notebook and randomly opened it.

By Her Grave

Here on this tiny piece of land

I came to plant my sweetest flower.

In this sacred place—so peaceful and pretty—

My baby’s voice reaches out to me.

I close my tired eyes and listen.

My heart struggles to understand why.

I wish I could leave this world and,

Dearest daughter, hold onto you forever.

Josey, I miss you so much, she whispered. I wish I could join you. I wish my tough journey was over and my painful cross gone. She bowed her head. Please take my hand, dear Lord Almighty, please take my life and welcome me into eternity. Rock me in your loving arms. Sing me a sweet lullaby that will warm my frozen soul and make me forget all I have known in this wicked world.

A knock caused her to jump.

May I come in? said Papa.

Yes, she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

The children are asleep.

Thank you, she said. I don’t know how I would make it without you.

Papa sat on the edge of her bed. You are much stronger than you think.

Sometimes life just feels too hard, she said without looking at him. Aristotle said that the dead are happier than the living.

That might be true, but the living must live.

But life has too much loss, and losing Josey just broke me. Losing three innocent children in eight years is too much for anyone to handle.

It is a lot. Papa nodded.

I wish we’d never left Iceland. I wish I’d never met that man. I wish we’d never moved to this inhospitable Dakota Territory.

This life is not easy.

I miss the fields and fjords of Iceland. I miss riding Flosi through the wildflowers as the winds blow against my face. Undina looked at him.

But that was eighteen years ago.

It feels like yesterday.

We must face whatever situation we find ourselves in, said Papa. We are Vikings. We know how to survive the harshest winters and face the most formidable foes. We are Islanders. We don’t let anything beat us down.

I only wish all of that were true, she said. But lately I’ve had my doubts.

Doubts are simply fears that haven’t yet been proven untrue.

Papa, you are ever the optimist.

Sleep well. And may angels strengthen your spirit. He patted her shoulder and left the room.

Undina smiled, but melancholy kept her from feeling her father’s optimism. She picked up her pen.

Desperation

I’m alone in this world.

Surrounded by the blackest night.

Not even a hint of light is left in me.

Cruel circumstances took my spark.

Never will I trust anyone again

For nothing can brighten such darkness.

Even though I shed so many tears.

Even though my heart pounds so hard.

Nothing can ease the pain.

Bitter world, I’m afraid of your laughter.

Finally I understand your cruel ways.

Undina stared into the shadows of her lonely room, but something outside her window captured her attention. She walked across the cold floor. Through the glass she saw glistening snowflakes fall. A thousand specks of white brightened the night. She smiled. Mother Hulda is shaking out her feather blankets. Maybe there is hope. Papa’s words came back to her. We are Vikings. We are Islanders. We don’t let anything beat us down.

She stood staring at the snow as it blanketed the land. The swirling flakes danced in the frozen air. Her flowers were dead, buried beneath the white drifts. There was a sadness surrounding her, but there was also a peaceful beauty in the solstice of the snow.

Mother Hulda has not forgotten me. Maybe there is hope.

HULDUFOLK

(Thursday, 31 December 1891; Cavalier, North Dakota)

Why would you do such a thing? Papa asked.

It felt like I couldn’t help myself, whispered Undina.

But didn’t it hurt? Papa stood beside her bed.

The physical pain was better than my broken heart.

You’ve been in and out of consciousness for over a week.

So I missed Christmas?

You missed a lot, said Papa. You had us all worried. I was afraid I’d lose you.

I was so broken that I didn’t really care if I lived or died.

But I do, said Papa. And so do the children and your family. Especially your mother.

You were very lucky, said Dr. Jon.

I don’t think it was luck, said Undina. Papa saved me.

Then you owe him, said Dr. Jon. You lost a lot of blood. If he hadn’t stopped it, you would’ve bled out.

I didn’t care.

You are mighty strong to drive a fountain pen that deep into your arm, said Dr. Jon as he unwrapped the cloth bandages that were wrapped around her wrist. You severed one artery and got awfully close to another.

What were you thinking? said Papa. Tears puddled in his weary eyes.

Life just felt too hard, she sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Seeing Jakob in front of our house brought everything back. I thought I was finally moving forward, but then it felt like everything crashed in on me. I tried to put on a brave face, but...

Words wound through her head. Maybe they were a poem, maybe an image, maybe just a jumble of thoughts.

How long will the flowers hold

Their smiling days of splendor?

Soon the summer sun will set

And the cold winter will howl.

We are Vikings, said Papa, holding her right hand while Dr. Jon rebandaged her arm. We accept that life is full of icy storms. We look them in the eye and walk through  them. I realize your storms have been harder than most. But we don’t give up. We can’t give up.

I know, Papa.

Besides, you can’t let Jakob, or any other man, have that much control over you.

But he’s my husband and the father of my children.

He’ll always be the father of your children, Papa said. He stroked his full beard, which now had more strands of silver-gray than before. But he hasn’t been your husband for a long time. Maybe you just need to accept that.

Undina’s head spun. She’d never heard such words from Papa. He’d been married to Momma for over forty years. And even though they’d lived apart for the past ten, he still called her his love and his wife. He sent her gifts and money. He traveled to visit her, once or twice a year, no matter how far he had to go. She’d always wanted to be like Papa, but maybe her situation was different.

You made me a bit nervous, said Dr. Jon. A severed artery and then an infection with fever and pneumonia. It’s been a difficult week for you.

It’s been a difficult year, she said.

That’s for sure, said Papa.

I’d even say that this year has been the worst year of my life.

The good thing about that, smiled Dr. Jon, is that the new year is bound to be better.

It’s the last day of the year, she said. The day of the Huldafolk, when they can pass into our world and do good deeds.

I think they snuck in early this year, said Papa. They’re the ones who brought me into your room when you were bleeding. They’re the ones who saved you.

I hope they stay around long enough to show how to survive this crazy life, said Undina with a sad smile.

Now that’s my daughter, said Papa. That’s the first smile I’ve seen on your face in a long time.

Don’t get too used to it. I still feel as hopeless as ever.

But there is hope, said Papa. And not just the Huldufolk. The Good Book says, ‘He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.’

I hope you’re right, but I have my doubts. Her mind replayed the words she’d written the night before.

Who can relieve the powerful pain I feel?

Who can calm the panic pushing me off the edge?

Who can stop the endless tears falling down my face?

I’d better move to my next patient. Dr. Jon stood up and walked toward the bedroom door. I’ll check in on you in a few days. But I want you to promise me that there’ll be no more stabbing yourself with pens.

I promise, she said.

Outside the door Papa whispered, Is she going to be alright?

In a few days she’s going to be up and around. But in the meantime, give her thyme tea with plenty of honey and a garlic compress directly to the wound. That should help the infection. For the pneumonia, give her plenty of fluids and rest.

Thank you, Doctor.

Just take care of her. We don’t want to lose one of the best Island poets in this country.

We won’t, said Papa. As long as I’m around, I’ll do everything within my power to keep her healthy.

Keep up your loving care, said Dr. Jon as he stepped into the crisp afternoon air.

Can we visit Momma? said Stephen, tugging on Papa’s pants.

Me, too, begged Sophie. The toddler’s silky hair and bright blue eyes were hard for Papa to ignore.

Of course you can. But you must be careful of her arm.

We will, said Stephen.

Momma, Momma! shouted Sophie as she ran to the bed. Papa lifted her up so she could sit next to her mother. Do you like my new dolly? She placed a cloth baby doll dressed in a blue satin dress on Undina’s lap.

Where did you get that? she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

Daddy gave it to me, Sophie said excitedly. Her name is Lilly. Papa said you’d like that name.

Undina took the doll and tried to smile. What a beautiful doll! And Papa is right. I love her name.

She handed Sophie back her doll and turned to Papa with a disapproving look. I thought we weren’t going to have Christmas.

You were sick and the kids were worried, said Papa. They needed something to distract them. Plus I’d made them gifts, and there were three boxes on the table.

I thought I’d thrown them outside.

You did, but the kids were worried they’d get ruined out in the rain.

That was the point, said Undina.

Momma, I got a book, said Stephen. And it’s the best book I’ve ever read.

What’s it about? she said, forcing herself to smile.

It’s about pirates and treasure maps and buried gold, said Stephen. I read a chapter to Papa every night and he helps me with the big words.

I’m glad everyone had a good Christmas.

Papa fixed cookies! said Sophie.

That must have been interesting, Undina said. I had no idea he knew how to bake.

Your mother taught me a few things, he said.

I doubt it. She shook her head.

You’d be surprised at what I know.

I’m not surprised at how much you know, Undina said. But baking cookies? That surprises me.

They were all black on their bottoms, said Stephen.

So now we know the truth, said Undina.

Stephen, that was supposed to be our little secret, said Papa. He put his fingers to his lips.

The little boy shrugged. Sorry, Papa.

What about your box, Momma? said Sophie.

I don’t want a box.

It’s on the table, Sophie said.

Momma isn’t feeling good, said Undina. She doesn’t feel like Christmas this year.

But maybe a present will make you feel better, said Stephen. He set a small box wrapped in brown paper onto the bed beside her.

Please, Momma, please, begged Sophie.

Papa stood by the door and didn’t say a word. Undina looked at her two beautiful, precious children. Their eagerness and innocence. Their bright smiles and twinkling eyes. How could she refuse such a request born out of love?

She picked up the box and put it in her lap. But she froze. She couldn’t move. Sweat glistened on her forehead and ran down the side of her face like tears. Her heart beat so hard she thought it would break out of her chest. Everything seemed to grow dark.

Excuse me, she said. I need a few moments alone.

Of course, said Papa. Just let us know when we can come back.

Undina smiled as he led the children from the room. When the door shut, she sighed and set the small box on the table beside the bed. Then she fumbled for the new notebook Papa had given her for Christmas. The words came easily onto the page.

The black-stained sky now covers the sun

Before it could melt my morning frost.

Trapped in the half-dark of midday,

Where bitter winds beat me back,

Taking me from the light and heat.

Days fly by fast all around me!

I wish I could escape this place,

But its many tragedies won’t let me.

So I endure for now, until I’m

Released from my disappointment and pain.

I can’t escape, she whispered. At least not yet. Think of the children. She pulled back her hair and called to her family. The children pushed the door open and ran to her side. She looked at the small square box tied with a white string. It was no bigger than a bar of lye soap. She looked at her two children watching her with such joyful anticipation, waiting for her to unwrap it.

What should I do? I can’t open the box. I’m afraid to even touch it. It’s a symbol of all the disappointment and pain of the past ten years. It’s from him and will stir up