A handful of children were already there, scattered on sofas and chairs; the boys wore their Sunday clothes and had freshly combed hair. Most of the girls were dressed in the somber colors of church as well, but Myrtle and Lucy wore white dresses adorned with frills and lace. The children chattered among themselves, in English for the most part, but some in Norwegian, too. They were so busy with one another that they barely noticed that we had arrived. On the table before them were bowls filled with nuts and caramels—no wonder the children’s eyes shone with delight. Another couple of girls came in behind us, both of them wearing dresses that showed signs of wear under their equally poor winter coats. Their hair was neatly braided, though, falling down their backs in straight ropes.
“Are you well again, Gunnhild?” I heard Bella ask one of the newcomers.
“I am, Mrs. Gunness,” the girl replied. “Thank you so much for the doll you gave me.”
“Oh, that was nothing.” But I could hear that she was pleased. “It would have been very sad if you had to lie in bed all through Christmas. I’m just glad to see you back on your feet.”
“Mama said to say thank you from her as well. Those cough drops did wonders, she said.”
“I knew they would.” She chuckled a little and strode farther into the room, carrying the large coat over her arm.
A little hand slipped into mine. “Come and see our tree, Aunt Nellie.” Lucy’s eyes were sparkling with excitement and the smile was bright on her lips. If her older sister was hesitant about the Christmas party, the younger girl seemed to flower from the festive commotion.
“Of course.” I bent down to steal a touch of her soft cheek against mine before letting myself be led across the Persian rug to the lavishly decorated pine tree that towered in the middle of the room.
It truly was magnificent. The green needle branches were hung with ropes of silver pearls, red and green apples, gold-painted walnuts, glistening angels glued to cardboard, paper lilies with stamens cut from gold foil, flags from the old country, and bits of glittering tinsel, and at the very top was a nest of twigs holding a golden bird. Half-burned candles sat on every branch, unlit now, to spare the wax.
“We made those,” Lucy said with pride, and pointed to long ladders made from white paper, meant to remind of us of the climb to heaven.
“That you did!” I bent down to embrace her once more. “How very, very beautiful they are.” I would have liked to lift the girl into my arms, but my back was such that I could not.
“I’m joining Jennie in the kitchen, Mama,” Nora said over her shoulder. “Find yourself a nice chair and rest.”
“Let us know when the porridge is ready,” Bella called after her, before she turned her attention to her small guests. “Oh, how much fun we will have today!”
When all the children had arrived, counting over a dozen, ages ranging from four to twelve, Bella declared that no one was to touch the fragrant porridge that was bubbling in the kitchen before the Nisse in the barn had gotten his share. This made all the Norwegian children giggle and look at one another with fear-tinged excitement. They all knew this required the utmost care—no one wanted to upset the Nisse.
“What is that?” a girl with a pinched face and a tired brown dress asked in Swedish.
“Don’t you know what a Nisse is?” Bella feigned shock and surprise. “He is a small man in a red cap who lives in the barn.”
“Only he isn’t a man.” The girl who had been sick, Gunnhild, spoke up. “He is something else.”
“Oh, you mean tomten.” The Swedish girl’s face lit up with understanding. “Mama says they don’t live in America.”
“Does she now?” Bella’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I think they do, and that we have one right here on this farm. If treated right, he will help out with the animals and bring good luck, but if he’s not, he’ll cause all sorts of mischief!” At this, she pulled a grimace, and the children squealed with delight.
“We gave ours porridge on Christmas Eve.” A red-haired boy in a too-big suit piped up from the floor.
“Yes.” Bella nodded with a grave expression. “That’s the most important day. If you forget him then, nothing will go right in the coming year. But we can give him porridge on other days as well.” She was all good fun and sunshine, sitting there in her favorite chair with all those young gazes upon her. I knew she had been a popular teacher at the Sunday school in Chicago, and seeing her with these children, I could understand why that was. No one’s attention wavered; she held them all firmly in her grasp.
As if summoned, Nora appeared in the door to the dining room, holding a large crockery bowl brimming with rice porridge. In the middle of the bowl swam a brightly yellow lump of butter, and the porridge was strewn with cinnamon and sugar. Food worthy of a prince, though now it would likely benefit Bella’s mangy barn cat. Jennie came up behind Nora with little Philip riding on her hip. The boy was just as beset with ruffles as his sisters. The young women were smiling, clearly enjoying both the day and each other.
“Careful, it’s warm,” Nora warned as Bella took the bowl, but my sister was in such a bright mood that I did not think she would notice even if she burned herself, would not see the damage before it was done.
We set out. Bella, the children, and I. Only Jennie and Nora stayed behind to watch Philip and the candles. Dusk had begun to settle and Bella brought out a storm lantern, which one of the boys was bestowed with the proud task of carrying as we made our way across the farmyard and up toward the barn. I came last, of course, with my slow gait, herding all the children before me. Only Myrtle fell back and walked beside me, while Lucy was in front with the light bearer, her eager feet all but dancing on the ground, as she was allowed to guide all those children to her barn. Myrtle did not speak, but after a little while, her hand laced with mine. I thought she was perhaps afraid of the Nisse, and I could not blame her for that.
“How are things with you these days?” I conversed in what I hoped was a light tone.
“I am well, thank you.” She presented me with a polite reply. Her dark curls lifted in a sudden gust of wind that sent the dry snow drifting by our feet.
“Your mama said you couldn’t sleep last night.”
“I could after a while, but then Philip woke me up.” This was said without any annoyance.
“Do you like your little brother, Myrtle?” I looked down at her and tightened my grip on her cold little hand. She had not brought her mittens out.
“I like him very much,” she said, but despite the politeness and pleasantness of her tone, I could not help but worry. There didn’t seem to be any joy behind the words, and I wondered if she was truly happy—if she had forgotten whatever it was she saw on the night her stepfather died.