The Way We Met

1 Ellis Island Grand Hall Amelia Decisions were always difficult for me. I paced the floorboards of the stateroom I shared with my brother aboard the Carpathia, headed for New York. I was wringing my hands not knowing what to do, as my Uncle Oscar and Grandmother Melin sat in the next room. God knew where Bror was at the moment, probably playing cards with bellhops or dishwashers in steerage. He never seemed to know his place and his head was filled with wild ideas. This was not a time for having fun or dreaming wild dreams. We had to make a choice before the ship made port if we were going to stay in America or return with Uncle Oscar to Sweden after our grandmother died in the land of the free and the brave. I sat and picked up my needlepoint, trying to concentrate on the complicated design in the dim light of the luxurious room. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt when I saw immigrants, also from Sweden, rise to the decks for fresh air after spending their time below in much less comfort than Bror and I had been given. Our grandmother's wealth and status in Sweden had spoiled us. She'd bought us everything we'd ever desired, the best of clothes or books, expensive dinners. If we wanted it, we asked for it and received it. If we were to stay in America, any advantages we had in life would go away. A sharp noise came from outside the room, and the door burst open, my brother flinging his body inside and locking the door behind him. I pricked my finger on my needle with such a surprise. "Where have you been?" I said. I sucked on the end of my finger. "With the fellows below," he answered. "I knew it. If you are such friends with them, why are you locking the door?" I glared at my twin, who looked so much like looking in the mirror and finding an image identical to your own, with your gender switched. "I may have won a great deal of their money at a poker game, and they don't like me so much anymore." "Oh, Bror. I can't even trust you to cross the Atlantic. How can I trust you in America?" He came to stand before the mirror and picked up a brush to comb through his mane of dark hair. He turned his hazel eyes towards me. "Amelia, kitten, you worry enough for both of us." He fussed at his upper lip where he had been trying to grow a mustache. We were eighteen, headed to New York to meet our mother, who had given us up at birth to our father's wealthy mother. He circled my chair, looking over my shoulder and whispered in my ear. "Have you made up your mind?" I let out a deep sigh. "Not yet. I have much to consider." "What is there to think of, kitty?" He walked over to the wing chair across from my settee and slumped his long, slender frame within it. "We can stay in America or return to Lapland where we are the scourge of the town folk, insulted and humiliated as the bastards. We do not even have a good argument. We are the bastard children of the lazy town drunkard. Here we can be ourselves, whether or not we even like our mother when we meet her." "Of course we will like her. How can we not?" I asked. He leaned forward, and his intense stare captured my gaze. "Because she deserted us, Amelia. She didn't care one tear for us. I don't think I could ever forgive her." "Hmmph," I said. "There are more options than what you state, Bror. You know it." "You wouldn't. You can't imagine leaving me. We've been together all our lives, darling. I don't know if I can live without you. You can't go back without me. What would become of me? You are my other half." I put down my needle and thread and drew out my handkerchief to dry my eyes. There was no point in getting emotional about this choice. There would one day come a time when Bror and I would go our separate ways. It happened to all siblings, but we were closer than most. He came and dropped on his knees before me, grasping my hands in his. "Please, dear sister. I am at your mercy. Stay with me in America. We can take care of each other. We will go to meet our mother and probably hate her, then move to a place where we can find lots of fellow Swedes. Perhaps Minnesota where so many other Laplanders are moving? The money Uncle Oscar is giving us will last a long time until we can find our way." This was the brother I'd grown up with, loved with all my heart and wanted to hold onto as we matured. When we were babies, we had our unique language and could confuse all our nannies, making practical jokes on them and watch them flee in disgust. He was a theatrical soul, who made mischief and melodrama out of every situation. I was the quiet, contemplative one who made plans with careful strength of mind and character. "How can I resist you like this?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair. "We will stay in America, but you need to stop the running around with the other boys and flirting with every girl you see." He raised his head to look up at me and nodded. "I mean it. We will have a hard enough time getting off this boat at Ellis Island now with all the other boys wanting a piece of you. We won't be wealthy for much longer if you foolishly gamble." He leaned back against the couch, his head resting against my knee. "I'll do anything you ask, Amelia, as long as you stay with me. I can't go back and face the leering eyes of our neighbors. I'll work hard and become a grown man as you become a grown woman, okay?" I patted his head. "Yes, we will grow up together, my dear brother." "We were named well, no? Bror and Syster, together forever." "Then let's get to bed," I said, taking his hand as I rose. "Tomorrow will be a big day." He tugged on my arm. "No, let's go out to walk the decks and enjoy the sea breeze. One more night to be the wealthy elite. Tomorrow we land to become American peasants. Plus we should practice our English." We left our stateroom and watched the moon rise over the water, wondering what our new life had in store. It didn't matter much because at least we would always have each other. Someday a beautiful girl would catch Bror's eye, and I would be cast aside. Until then we would travel through the world, side by side. I tugged my wrap around my high collar a little more tightly. A chill wind was in the air. Eric I stepped down off the gangplank onto the stone pier in New York's harbor. The last thing I needed was to trip and go overboard now. The world swirled around me with so very many people rushing about. Everyone had a place to go and was in a rush to get where they were going. My grip on my satchel, my one possession in the world, grew stronger as I tried to adapt myself to the new surroundings. I noticed, then, my farm boots and work trousers looked shabby and worn compared to the other men, even those working at the dock. I would need to find some work so I could afford some new clothes soon. I had spent the last ten days aboard a ship named the Carpathia on a trip from Liverpool to New York, the longest leg of a journey from Floda, Sweden to America and eventually to a city by a large lake in the middle of the country. Many of my people had gone there before and had written to say how much like Sweden the land was where they were living, though much colder and darker in the winter months. I stood and let the people pass me by and swallowed, concerned this island was like New York. I hoped not because this was so very crowded. I started walking along with the mob of people as we were herded, much like farmyard animals, along a sidewalk, forming a line underneath a roof attached to a long building. I followed along, like a sheep to slaughter, until I walked into a large hall with windows about three stories up and an open cathedral ceiling. It was a wide, open space seemingly holding half of the world's people in its confines. It was quite loud from all the conversations taking place. The hall held many, many rows of benches on which people sat. I took a seat as I was led to a bench. Every few minutes, everyone on the bench would move down a bit further, lifting and moving what packages and cases they had with them. There were so many different kinds of people, all ages, and sizes, speaking so many different languages. I'd never heard such sounds coming from other humans before and longed to hear my native tongue. When I was wondering if I was the only Swede in the place, I heard a discussion between a young man and woman three rows over from me. I was trying to overhear what they were saying, but it was hard to pick up. I leaned over as the woman next to me nudged me in the ribs to move down again, trying to get a glimpse of the couple. They both had dark hair and dark-toned skin, so they must be Lapland Swedes, which was all right with me. They were still Swedes and people I could talk to. After about an hour or so of this same sitting and waiting, moving and waiting, I got to the end where I could see the area where people stood to be inspected before someone in a dark blue suit. They held out their arms and were asked several questions by one person. Another blue suit sat behind them at a desk writing frantically on some documents, stamping them, sitting with a second immigrant. Occasionally one of the persons being inspected would wail or cry and be lead off to another part of the building. I had to wonder what had caused them to be moved to the other area. I hoped it wasn't a lack of speaking English because I was very weak in my language skills yet. I had only picked up a few words while I'd stayed those three days in England, but many who had sent letters home had said it was quick to pick up and many in Duluth spoke my tongue. I stood in line when my turn came and watched as they escorted a sickly-looking, ashen-faced woman ahead of me away. Her children wailed for her as her man stood with them. It was such a sad thing to see, and I wished I could speak to them to comfort them but they spoke a language I didn't understand. When the man's eyes caught mine, I tried to express to him through the look on my face how very sorry I was for his misfortune. We had been all on the same boat. What befell one of us could as easily happen to another. When they motioned for me, I came to stand before the man in the dark blue suit. He smiled pleasantly. "Country?" "Sverige, no, Sweden," I said in the best English I could muster. "Very good," he said. He touched the palms of his hands to the side of my face and said, "Open." I opened my mouth as I'd seen the others before me do, and he pulled a tube out of his pocket with a light on one end and copper fittings. He pointed the light in my mouth. He asked another question, "Health?" I raised my eyebrows, not knowing what he wanted for an answer. I said, "Good." "Cough?" I shook my head. "Blood?" Again, I shook my head. "Age?" I didn't know what he was asking, so I furrowed my brow. "Ana? Years? Age?" "Aaaaah, Twenty-Six." He held up one hand while the person at the desk finished with the person before me. When they had risen from the chair by the desk, he motioned for me to sit. The woman at the desk gestured for me to give her papers, so I took them out of my coat pocket and handed them to her. "Eric Larson?" "Ja," I said. "Floda, Sweden?" "Ja, Twenty-Six," I said, anticipating her next question. She smiled. "Married?" She made a gesture with her ring finger. "Nej," I said. "Destination, Duluth, Minnesota?" "Ja, Sjo-stad. Ummm, Lake City." "Ah, yes, they have a lake there." She wrote on my paperwork, made several notations in some of the empty boxes on the form the harbormaster had given to me in England. Then she stamped and crimped the paper and handed it back to me.