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to get them to go to bed in the
little room that we three shared.
    I was ready to turn in when Pa said, “Sevy,
come sit with your ma and me for a while.”
    Pa and Ma were sitting by the fire. Ma was
doing some mending by the light of an oil lamp. Pa was sitting up
in the chair he’d carved.
    The two spoke softly to each other in
Norwegian, which they did when they didn’t want us kids to
understand what they were saying. Over the years, Ma had picked up
Norwegian from Pa. Peter, Marta, and I knew some Norwegian, but
since our folks wanted us to be real Americans they spoke to us
almost always in English.
    “Sit down, Sevy,” Pa directed. “These past
few weeks, you’ve done a man’s work for this family.”
    “Yes sir.” Had I packed everything I’d need?
Had Adelaide thought at all about me since I’d seen her that
afternoon?
    “Ja , life is not easy at a logging
camp. But for you it will only be for this one winter. Then, you
will come back to Eau Claire and go to school,” Pa said it like he
was trying to convince himself of the truth of his words.
    “Yup.” I nodded.
    Then, he was quiet for a moment. Pa was a
proud man and I knew sending me to work in his place was real hard
on him. If he could have worked with his busted leg, he would have.
I shifted on my seat, my mind, wandering. Maybe I’d write Hugh a
letter from the camp. He’d like getting a real letter. “How often
does the mail get picked up at camp?”
    “Uff da , Sevy. This isn’t a game. Are
you listening to me?”
    “Yes, Pa. Sure am.”
    “Go easy, Gus. The boy has a lot on his
mind.” Ma looked up from her sewing. Her eyes were bright and
teary. She always was one to cry, at sad or happy occasions.
    “Sevy, listen close because you’ll be on your
own from tomorrow on,” Pa continued. “You’ll have to act like a man
even though you’re a boy and your life has been soft until
now.”
    “Soft?” I bristled. While he’d been layin’ in
bed, I’d been bustin’ my rump doin’ his work and my work, too. “I
do chores and you said yourself that I’ve worked hard since the
accident.”
    “Don’t interrupt me,” he growled. Pa may have
been restricted to his chair but he was still a bear of a man with
dark eyes that could pin you down.
    I squirmed on the wooden bench.
    “Your ma and I have wanted to make things
better for you than they were for us. I know this house ain’t much,
and it ain’t our own. But we were getting closer to having our own
land. If only this hadn’t happened.” He gestured to his leg. “I
wouldn’t let you go north if there were any other way.” He looked
away from me.
    “Pa, I know that.” Sure, one day, we’d have a
farm of our own. We’d all heard it so many times and the truth was
that something always got in the way of us saving the money we
needed. One of us kids would get sick or Pa would have to send
money back to Norway for his father’s funeral. Still, I knew we
were better off than a lot of the other folks who lived in Shaw
town. We always had enough to eat and a roof over our heads.
    “I left Norway when I was just a little older
than you are today. Pappa, your grandfather, was a husmand ,
which meant he rented the land he worked and the cottage we lived
in. But he could never work hard enough to buy something of his
own, and he saw that would never change. So, he told me to leave.
He gave me what money he could and then I left Pappa, Mamma, my
brother, my sisters, and my country. I worked my way to Hamburg,
Germany and from there to New York. I took a steamboat up the
Hudson River to Albany, a canal boat to Buffalo, and then a sailing
ship to Chicago because I’d heard there was work to be had there.
It was in Chicago that I met your mother.”
    The way Ma was now looking at Pa smoothed
away all of the worries and troubles on her face. In the firelight,
she looked younger, a lot like Marta.
    “I know, Pa. I know. She was working as a
seamstress.” We kids had heard this