Free The Last Letter Home by Vilhelm Moberg

even a married woman might have her weak moments, with the flesh eager to gain the upper hand, but it surprised her that Ulrika for one second could feel tempted by Sigurd Thomassen. She remembered well that when he had approached her he exuded such a strong smell of shoemaker that that alone would be sufficient for a woman to resist him. That rancid, pungent odor of tanned leather her nose could not take; the man who exuded it became repulsive to her. Perhaps Ulrika’s weakness could be explained by the life she had led in the old country.
    Jonas Petter approached them and asked if they had been watching the newly married couple. He had never seen such a well-made bridal pair, he beamed; that girl from Norway was truly a virgin, a delicious fruit to feast his eyes on! A womanly delight for a man! A fragrance of new-baked bread! Danjel’s boy was indeed fortune’s favorite prince! To lie under the bridal blanket with this fresh, untouched maiden! A king or an emperor could dream of no greater delights than those Sven would experience with Ragnhild!
    Ulrika replied that yes, she could understand how his mouth watered, she could see Jonas Petter drool, the old whore-buck, as his eyes devoured the sweet kid he himself couldn’t mount! With old goats the lust grew greater as the strength diminished! She felt indeed sorry for him, poor wretch!
    Jonas Petter was hurt and mumbled to himself; since food was being served, he walked toward the table, where Karl Oskar already had a chair next to the bridal couple.
    Sven had been fourteen years of age when he came with his father to the St. Croix Valley; now he was twenty-five. He was a capable, industrious young man, who had inherited his father’s weak and brooding nature. He had grown into a handsome youth, no disgrace to his beautiful bride.
    Jonas Petter kept his eyes on the bride as he spoke to the groom: “You’ve taken land in Meeker—that’s where the Sioux are; they’re bad.”
    “If you don’t disturb them they won’t annoy the whites,” said Sven.
    “But that tribe has always been warlike and treacherous.”
    “In the old days.”
    “I’ve heard you can never trust them. If I had been in your shoes, Sven, I would have taken a claim closer by. There’s still plenty of land hereabouts.”
    If Jonas Petter had been in Sven’s shoes—you could see from his eyes on Ragnhild what he wanted; the groom knew him well and tried to hide his smile.
    Karl Oskar said he had heard from Mr. Thorn, the sheriff, that some of the Sioux to the west were becoming unmanageable because they hadn’t yet received their pay from the government agent; they had been promised money for the land they gave up. The sheriff thought the slave owners in the South were behind it; they were said to have smuggled rifles to them.
    Jonas Petter sat down beside the bride, as close as he could get: “The traders are skinning and cheating the redskins. It’s easy to cheat the Indians, they can’t read and don’t understand numbers.”
    “That’s true,” affirmed Sven Danjelsson, in a reproachful voice. “It’s always rascals and knaves who are sent out to deal with the Indians.”
    “They should send you instead,” said Karl Oskar.
    “I’m going to make friends with the Indians back there,” said Sven. “That’s the right way for a settler to behave!”
    Karl Oskar reminisced. Almost every year they had had some scare-rumor about the Indians being on the warpath, but every time it had been a false alarm. And by now they were probably so weakened that they would be unable to do any harm to the whites.
    The bride pointed to her father-in-law, who stood at the other end of the table. She asked the guests not to say anything to Danjel about the wild Sioux in Meeker County; now that she and Sven were moving there Danjel might unnecessarily worry himself sick about them.
    “I’ll keep my trap shut! Anything Ragnhild asks me I’ll do!” said Jonas Petter. “Even if she asked me to