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THE RHYTHM OF TRAIN wheels flying over the tracks lulled them to sleep. All but Jan. He could not sleep now—his pulse had quickened until it matched the clacking cadence of the swaying train.
Jan leaned his forehead against the door and peered through the slats, studying the land passing by. He liked what he saw—large green fields that lay like a patchwork quilt as far as the eye could see. He knew the geography would change considerably by the time they reached their destination, but the size of this country already amazed him.
What will the land be like where we are going? he asked himself for the thousandth time. He had heard that it was like a vast sea with no shores to be seen, that tall grasses danced in the wind like the waves and billows of the ocean.
The newspapers had described the low, rolling hillocks and wide, nearly flat miles as “prairie,” something like the lowlands of Norway and Sweden but much wider and broader, all of it open and uncultivated. “Perfect for farming,” the papers had read. However, the words that fired Jan’s heart and imagination were “160 acres per man” and “free.”
Land for free! He and Karl would file for adjoining claims and work them together. All they had to do was build homes on the land and work it for five years. Then it would be theirs.
Jan was restless, ready to begin, so he studied the terrain as they flew by, taking note of the farms, their barns and houses, and what had been planted. He mentally listed his and Karl’s first priorities and ticked off the items they would need to buy when they left the train.
Their journey would take them across two of America’s great rivers. He frowned and recited the rivers’ names: Mississippi and Missouri. Just across the Missouri they would stop in the city of Omaha.
In that city they would seek a district land office to file their homestead claims. It would be a risky time. They would need someone—someone honest—to help them because of the language barrier.
Jan snorted. Karl would likely again bring up their joint decision to go west rather than north to Wisconsin or Minnesota, states that bordered the great lakes of America. But Jan had been adamant.
“Do you wish to be only a dairy farmer, Karl?” Jan had demanded. “Do you wish for an area where the land has been picked over so that we must settle for what is left? Ja, many of our people have established communities in Illinois and these states. That would be nice, eh? To have others who speak our tongue and know our customs?
“But we would have to pay for that land. I want the free land—a parcel big enough to plant all the wheat and corn we can handle and raise cows, goats, and our father’s hogs. I want space for our sons and their families, too.”
His last argument had been the most effective. Yes, their far owned land in Norway, but it was a small piece completely surrounded by land owned by others. No matter how well they and their father managed, his ten acres would never support Karl and Jan’s families as their children grew. And no more land in Norway was to be had.
Karl, as the elder son, would eventually inherit their father’s farm. Even so, their father and mother were still strong and, God willing, had many years ahead of them.
If Karl stayed on his father’s farm he would have to work for his father until he died, always doing what his father asked of him. Until his parents died, Amalie would not have her own house. Then Karl’s sons would be in the same position—living on and working their father’s land with no prospects of their own.
For Jan, and for Karl, the possibility of owning their own land now—more land than they had ever dreamed of—was too enticing, the idea of freedom too intoxicating. Land for themselves and land for their sons and their families? The opportunity could not be passed over.
And, Jan knew, he was weary of being dependent on his father. He was a grown man who did a grown man’s work every day. If he stayed in Norway, he would always be subject to another man’s orders—first his father’s and then his older brother’s.
In this new country, he and Karl would be equals. No more “little brother” and “elder brother.”
Jan longed to put his feet under his own table each night after working his own land each day. Elli wanted her own kitchen and wanted to run her own home.
Was it wrong to want these things? Jan did not believe so, and his heart yearned for them.
Was the free land America offered in Wisconsin or Minnesota? No. It was west—to the Dakotas, the Nebraska Territory, or the territory of Colorado. These territories had much free land open to homesteaders.
How Jan wished he could see a map of the available homestead plots north and northwest of this Platte River. Jan could scarcely contain the restive spirit within himself. His eyes burned to see his land for the first time. His fingers itched to work the ground and tame it.
But how many claims were already filed? What land was left? This could only be determined once they arrived in Omaha and visited the claims office.
Jan had searched for and found an anchor that seemed to ease his anxieties. It was found in a passage of the Bibelen he had read before they left Norway. The verse had leapt from the page, as though underscored and with the words Jan! I am speaking to you! scrawled in the margin.
By faith Abraham,
when he was called
to go out into a place
which he should after receive
for an inheritance, obeyed;
and he went out,
not knowing whither he went.
God was calling him to a place! Jan knew this deep in his being. But where? What place? He had determined to trust God as Abraham had trusted God. His trust in God’s leading kept the fears, anxieties, and restlessness of his heart at bay.
God and Elli . . .
Back home, in the nights when they should have been sleeping, Jan and Elli had lain abed, twined together, talking . . . and dreaming. Elli, so tall and slender, fit perfectly in his arms.
Her love for him was like that, too. She “fit” him and completed him, touching and healing him in his deepest parts.
“Elli, you know when we go to America life will be hard, even harder than here?” he breathed into her silky hair. “We don’t know what we will face. Will you regret it, my love? Will you regret leaving your parents and søster so far behind? Our children never seeing their grandparents?”
She snuggled closer to Jan. “You know, my ektemann, my husband,” she replied softly, “that I love you more than my life. I am like . . . Ruth! And you,” she giggled, “are my Naomi.”
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. She was quiet and still in his arms for so long that Jan thought she had slipped away into slumber.
But then she whispered again, her words raw with tears. “Jan, this is truth: Where you go, I will go; and where you live, I will live: your people shall be my people, and your God my God. And where you die, my husband, I will die, and there will I be buried.” She lifted her face to him. “This is truth.”
Jan kissed her deeply and then buried his face in the warm crook of her neck. “My dear wife! You are God’s greatest blessing to me in this life.”
With God to lead him and Elli to love him, Jan found strength and hope each morning.
The clacking of the train over the tracks brought Jan back to the present and, as he had learned to do every time he began to fret over their coming journey, he took a deep breath and prayed. Lord, again I place our journey in your hands. I trust you. Where you lead us, we will go. You have promised to never leave nor forsake us.
Then peace came again to his heart.
—
HE MUST HAVE DOZED off. The sound of vomiting and coughing woke him. Karl sat across from them staring ahead, his forehead creased a little. He sighed.
“Mor has a bad tummy,” Sigrün confided in her loudest whisper. Karl shushed her gently.
Jan crooked an eyebrow. “Should we congratulate you?” he asked his brother under his breath.
Elli ‘tsked’ and pinched his arm. Karl just shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. A few moments later Amalie reappeared from behind the curtain. Elli silently handed a dampened cloth to her.
“Ach! I am sorry,” Amalie muttered.
“Maybe this one will be a boy, eh, Søster?” Jan said with a straight face.
Amalie blushed furiously, and Karl shot him a dark look.
“This one what?” Kristen asked.
Elli shook her head at the girl, but Jan could not help himself. He quivered with laughter, even though he tried to hold it in. Grinning at Karl and Amalie, he made a valiant attempt to apologize, but sniggered instead.
Perhaps it was the strain of the past weeks, but it felt good to laugh, to rejoice in what was ahead. He was happy—and was not a new baby something to rejoice over?
So, he laughed.
Karl tried to be serious and quell him with a severe look, but it had the opposite effect. Jan laughed so hard he could not catch his breath. Then Elli giggled and hiccupped, which only made Jan laugh harder until tears leaked down his face.
Karl could hold out no longer. He chuckled, burst into laughter, and slapped Jan on the leg. The children, knowing only that their fathers were laughing uncontrollably about something, joined them.
Amalie smiled, too. “Perhaps so, Bror,” she relented. “It would be nice for a little Karl to be the first Thoresen born in America, nei?”
“Pappa, can we sing?” Kristen looked at him with hopeful eyes.
“What? Are you tired and bored from riding on this train?” Jan teased.
“Oh, yes, Pappa! Please, can we sing?” she wheedled, batting her wide blue eyes at him.
Jan laughed and Elli shook her head. Karl rolled his eyes.
“You have no idea what is ahead with your little datter, Bror,” Jan teased him.
He placed Kristen on his lap and smoothed her long braids. “Ja, little one. We can sing!” He started a merry folk song best sung in a round. Karl began the song again at the right place. Elli and Amalie added a third part. Søren joined his pappa, and the girls added their voices to their mothers’.
When that song ended, Karl and Jan jumped into another brisk tune, and then another and another. As the wheels of the train sang against the rails, the enclosed car rang with laughter and song. Finally, Jan began a hymn. They sang hymn after hymn until their hearts were full and their voices well used.
“Pappa, I love when our family sings,” Kristen whispered, yawning and burrowing into her father’s chest.
I love that when I look at you I see your beautiful mamma, Jan thought, his cup running over.
The train stopped every so often that day to take on coal and water. When it did, Jan and Karl slid open the car door. Everyone clambered down to stretch their legs and breathe fresh air. Along the way they emptied the necessary and refilled their water can. Where available they purchased hot food.
As the sun was sinking, stealing their light away, Karl pulled out the Thoresen family Bible and began to read aloud. Jan always thought of his father and mother when he saw the thick book. They had tearfully presented it to their eldest son as both of their children prepared to leave them, likely forever.
“I never imagined our familie Bibelen would leave our country, but it must go with you and your sønns, Karl, and you must faithfully record our family’s history in it,” their far had instructed, a catch in his voice.
Karl and Jan, with their wives and their children, had knelt on the wood-planked floor of the old farmhouse and received their father’s blessing. “Jeg ber til Gud om at han gir dere sin velsignelse og sitt vern. I fervently pray our merciful God will extend his blessing and protection on you.”
Why is life like this? Jan pondered. I have spent much of my life trying to leave my parents and their home, but now I am looking back, already missing them. Will Søren someday leave for far-off adventures? And will Kristen marry and move away? How will I feel if my children leave and I am never to see them again? Ah, Lord! This is hard to think on.
—
THREE LONG DAYS LATER, their train steamed into Council Bluffs. All were weary of traveling, but perhaps Karl and Jan the most.
After situating Elli, Amalie, and the girls in another boardinghouse, Karl and Jan, with Søren in tow, went to investigate how to ferry their families and belongings across the river.
Using the words “ferry” and “please” written by the helpful immigration man, they soon arrived at the bustling crossing. They found a good place to study the process and watched for half an hour, observing how others made their arrangements, how the workers loaded the ferry, and how long the crossing took.
Jan poked Karl. “Look there.”
Karl squinted and looked in the direction Jan was pointing. A large Swede sat atop a loaded wagon. The three Thoresens circled around until they found a path to reach the man.
“Hei! God ettermiddag!” Jan called to him.
The blond, raw-boned man flashed them a smile. “God dag! Norsk?”
“Ja,” Jan replied. “It is good to hear a familiar tongue.” Swedish and Norwegian languages were close enough that they could understand each other.
“I am sure it is! I am Olafsson. Are you just arrived?” He climbed down from his wagon and shook their hands. He clapped Søren on the shoulder. “So! This young Norsk wants to become an American, eh?”
Søren grinned and bobbed his head.
“This is my sønn Søren. I am Jan Thoresen,” Jan introduced them. “This is my brother, Karl. Our train got here a few hours ago. Are you going across yourself?”
They stepped into the shade of the wagon bed. “Nej,” Olafsson answered. “I live in this town. I own many wagons and we help unload the railroad cars and load the ferries.” He laughed. “Until they build a bridge for the train here, I will have plenty of work.”
Jan couldn’t believe their good fortune. “So! We wish to cross tomorrow. Maybe you can give us some good advice, eh?”
Olafsson looked toward the ferries. “Ja, sure. I will be in line for an hour more, I think. Tell me, where are you going after you cross?”
Karl spoke up. “We wish to file our claims and take the railroad north until it starts to turn west again. Then, we think, we would get off and drive wagons north.”
“Ah! There is still much good land that direction, from what I hear. But where will you get off the train, do you think?”
Jan and Karl looked at each other. “We are not sure yet, perhaps past Fremont.”
“And you will need wagons, oxen, supplies?”
“Ja,” Jan answered. “And lumber.”
Olafsson grinned. “It is good we are talking. Let me tell you something. When you get to Fremont and beyond, it is very hard to buy the things you will need—wagons, oxen, and such. And there is no lumber to be had. The railroad takes all there is. I have seen some men return to Omaha because they had no way to haul their belongings from the train to their land.”
Karl and Jan raised their eyebrows in understanding. “So,” Karl said. “Did they buy what they needed in Omaha and then drive the whole way to their land? It would be a long, hard trip, nei?”
Olafsson nodded. “Some do, but if you have the money there is a better way.”
“We are listening,” Karl replied.
“Omaha has all you need at the best prices west of the Missouri. Not cheap, but best. You already have one freight car?”
Jan nodded.
Their new friend rubbed his chin. “If you can pay for another car, that is the way. Load your oxen into one side of the car. Break down the wagons and load them into the other side. Then when you wish to get off, you reassemble the wagons, load them, and go straight north.”
“It may cost a lot,” he concluded, “but paying for a car is not more than paying the costs of things farther north—and you do not run the risk of not finding what you need for sale when you get off the train.”
Karl looked at Jan and back at Olafsson. “And what of land offices? Do you recommend we file our claims in Omaha or farther on?”
“You can file in Fremont. You will have to pay to have your cars taken off the train and then put back on, but the land you want will be listed there.”
Karl and Jan walked away from Olafsson deep in thought.
“We can get everything we need in Omaha,” Karl thought aloud. “But can we get it all in another car?” He was thinking of the four head of oxen they would need to pull two wagons.
“We can put more in our car. We can stack things higher.” Jan was thinking of what Karl was thinking: the list of what they needed to buy and how much two wagons could hold.
“I am thinking we could use a third wagon, Karl,” Jan stated. “But six oxen?”
Karl nodded. “Ja. A third wagon would be good. We could buy more lumber.”
“Perhaps Elli could drive one of the wagons,” Jan suggested.
Karl mulled it over. “We will ask her. You know, I am thinking that we do not need six oxen on our land, eh? But after we get settled, we could sell two of them. If they are scarce, as Olafsson says, then they are better than cash money where we are going. We could trade them for other scarce things.”
They thought silently for several minutes before Karl concluded. “We will go across and talk to the freight master on the other side about another car, eh?”
Olafsson arrived with a wagon the next morning to unload their freight car and take the Thoresens and their belongings to the ferry.
“Look for my friend Svens Jensen on the other side, Thoresen,” Olafsson told Jan. “Tell him Jakov Olafsson sent you. He will treat you fairly.”
~~**~~
