“On July 5, 1825, fifty-two Norwegians sailed out of the city of Stavanger in a sloop they named Restoration. Many on board were Quakers seeking religious freedom in America. The Restoration was the first organized group of Norwegian immigrants to come to these shores since the times of the Vikings. It is the Norwegian Mayflower.
“Their ship, this sloop, was a very small vessel for such a journey. Only fifty-four feet long and sixteen feet wide. It took them fourteen weeks to make the crossing. They arrived in New York harbor on October 9, 1825. Not one passenger died. In fact, the newspaper reported that there was even a birth. One girl, born on board. This was without hospitals or painkillers or any of that. The old way.”
The space heaters buzzed now, all three at once, so it seemed as if some large, metallic insect had landed in the windowless den. Apollo could feel sweat beading on his neck and chin.
“Their journey became national news. Because they’d made the trip in a sloop, the newspapers called the Norwegians the Sloopers. The question that most fascinated the public was how on earth these people had made it across the Atlantic on this tiny ship. It seemed improbable. Impossible. Even most of the people on board didn’t know the truth.
“Their leader, Lars Larsen, spoke only of their desire for religious freedom. He spoke of the singular goodness and liberty of the United States. He said all the right things. The Sloopers were granted access. They became Americans. Soon the most important question about them was no longer asked: How had they made this impossible trip? How had they crossed the Atlantic? I can tell you. They had help.”
For an instant, Apollo felt himself back on North Brother Island and Cal there with him as they watched the trawler chugging out to open waters.
“The big one can swim,” he muttered.
“Yes, he can,” Jorgen said, watching Apollo with a look of surprise.
Now Jorgen pointed to another sketch. People this time. Far fewer than fifty-three. Only three in fact. Two women and one man.
“The Sloopers settled around here too, but it didn’t last long. Most soon followed Lars Larsen and his family. They moved upstate, to Orleans County. It became the first Norwegian colony in America since Leiv Eriksson reached these shores in the year one thousand.”
“Leif Eriksson?” Apollo corrected, a holdover of whatever he’d learned in some elementary school class.
“I suppose,” Jorgen said.
Jorgen looked back at the sketch. “These three did not go on,” he said. “Instead they remained here in Queens. Still mostly farmland then. Little Norway, as this neighborhood came to be called. These three started it. This sketch was made about eight months after they arrived in America.”
Jorgen tapped the glass, the man’s face, beardless and thin. The ink drawing hardly qualified as a sketch, but still the eyes were vivid, much too large, which made it seem as if the man were staring at Apollo and Jorgen across time, seeing them even now.
“That’s my ancestor, Nils. My great-great-great-grandfather.”
He tapped the first of the two women, also thin, and taller than Nils. Her hands were crossed in front of her. Her hair was hidden under a scarf.
“This is my great-great-great-grandmother, Petra.”
Last he tapped the third woman. Small, wearing a shawl over her dress. Her mouth had been drawn in so faintly, she seemed to have none. Her eyes were tiny, hardly there. Her shoulders soft and slumped. It was as if the woman were turning into a phantom, fading away.
“And this is Anna Sofie. Nils’s first wife.”
“He married them both?”
“Well.” Jorgen smiled. “Not at the same time.”
“All three of them were on the sloop?” Apollo asked.
“Oh yes,” Jorgen said. “Nils and Anna Sofie had been married four years when they boarded the Restoration. They were not Quakers, but they were ready to try their fortunes in a new place. It’s possible Nils had to escape the country, I can’t say. The ship’s captain offered work to men who agreed to crew the ship. Nils bargained for Anna Sofie’s passage. She was already pregnant. Anna Sofie is the one who gave birth on the trip.”
“A girl, you said. What was her name?”
Jorgen’s hand lowered from the frame. “Agnes Knudsdatter.”
“Agnes?” Apollo whispered. He recovered his composure. “If she was born on the ship, how come she’s not in the picture?”
Jorgen pursed his lips. “Agnes was dead by then. Anna Sofie never really recovered from the loss. My father remarried Petra eventually.”
Apollo looked at Anna Sofie’s faded face again. Now she seemed erased by grief. “What about Anna Sofie?” he asked. “She stuck around here after the divorce?” The room felt intolerably hot. Apollo sweated in front of the heaters.
“She went off into the forest.”
“The forest? What for?”
“She wanted to find her daughter. She knew Agnes was somewhere out there.”
“What about Nils?” Apollo asked, looking away from the rendering, facing Jorgen. “Did Nils help look? Did he try?”
Jorgen raised his hands. “Well no, of course not.”
“But he was her father,” Apollo said.
“He’s the one who took Agnes into the woods in the first place,” Jorgen said. “And he’s the one who left her out there. In the cave.”
JORGEN SAID SOMETHING more and gestured toward the Japanese screens, but Apollo couldn’t hear him. His ears had plugged, and Jorgen’s words were little more than a vibration against his skull. Instead he found himself staring at the utility knife in his left hand. It had been the casual tone of the words. He’s the one who left her out there. In the cave. The knife began to rise, as slowly as a helium balloon.
Jorgen placed his hand on Apollo’s, the one that held the blade. He pressed the hand back down. It settled by Apollo’s side for now.
“Have you noticed that the stories about the first colonists in America are always about how they think the Devil is living out in the woods?”
Jorgen peeked down at the knife quickly, with little more than a glance, and when the knife didn’t rise again, he stopped holding Apollo’s wrist.
“I’m talking about the Puritans, I guess. They came to North America and swore monsters were waiting to get them in this savage land. But maybe it was the other way around. Maybe those Puritans brought monsters with them. Unloaded them from their ships right alongside the cargo. That’s what my people did. My great-great-great-grandfather. He brought a monster with him. It emigrated to America just like him.”
“Did the others on the ship know? The Sloopers?”
Jorgen patted his belly. “No. I don’t think so. They put their faith in their crew and their God, but Nils put his faith in something older. They all have him to thank for making a safe crossing to America even if none of those pious sorts ever would. People can choose ignorance, can’t they? Life is easier in blinders. In my old age now I have time to wonder about such things though. Even if you choose to ignore the truth, the truth still changes you.”