A fortnight later Ingmar Ingmarsson stood polishing some harness.
He seemed to be in a bad humour, and found the work rather irksome.
"Were I in our Lord's place," he thought, then put in another rub
or two and beg again: "Were I in our Lord's place, I'd see to it
that a thing was done the instant your mind was made up. I
shouldn't allow folks such a long time to think it over, and ponder
all the obstacles. I shouldn't give them time to polish harness and
paint wagons; I'd take them straight from the plow."
He caught the sound of wagon wheels from the road, and looked out.
He knew at once whose rig it was. "The senator from Bergskog is
coming!" he shouted into the kitchen, where his mother was at work.
Instantly fresh wood was laid on the fire and the coffee mill was
set going.
The senator drove into the yard, where he pulled up without
alighting. "No, I'm not going into the house," he said, "I only
want a word or two with you, Ingmar. I'm rather pressed for time as
I am due at the parish meeting."
"Mother is just making some fresh coffee," said Ingmar.
"Thank you, but I must not be late."
"It's a good while now since you were here, Senator," said Ingmar
pressingly.
Then Ingmar's mother appeared in the doorway, and protested:
"Surely you're not thinking of going without first coming in for a
drop of coffee?"
Ingmar unbuttoned the carriage apron, and the senator began to
move. "Seeing it's Mother Martha herself that commands me I suppose
I shall have to obey," he said.
The senator was a tall man of striking appearance, with a certain
ease of manner. He was of a totally different stamp from Ingmar or
his mother, who were very plain looking, with sleepy faces and
clumsy bodies. But all the same, the senator had a profound respect
for the old family of Ingmars, and would gladly have sacrificed his
own active exterior to be like Ingmar, and to become one of the
Ingmassons. He had always taken Ingmar's part against his own
daughter, so felt rather light of heart at being so well received.
In a while, when Mother Martha had brought the coffee, he began to
state his errand.
"I thought," he said, and cleared his throat. "I thought you had
best be told what we intend to do with Brita." The cup which Mother
Martha held in her hand shook a little, and the teaspoon rattled in
the saucer. Then there was a painful silence. "We have been
thinking that the best thing we could do would be to send her to
America." He made another pause, only to be met by the same ominous
silence. He sighed at the thought of these unresponsive people.
"Her ticket has already been purchased."
"She will come home first, of course," said Ingmar.
"No; what would she be doing there?"
Again Ingmar was silent. He sat with his eyes nearly closed, as if
he were half asleep.
Then Mother Martha took a turn at asking questions. "She'll be
needing clothes, won't she?"
"All that has been attended to; there is a trunk, ready packed, at
Lövberg's place, where we always stop when we come to town."
"Her mother will be there to meet her, I suppose?"
"Well, no. She would like to, but I think it best that they be
spared a meeting."
"Maybe so."
"The ticket and some money are waiting for her at Lövberg's, so
that she will have everything she needs. I felt that Ingmar ought
to know of it, so he won't have this burden on his mind any longer,"
said the senator.
Then Mother Martha kept still, too. Her headkerchief had slipped
back, and she sat gazing down at her apron.
"Ingmar should be looking about for a new wife."
Both mother and son persistently held their peace.
"Mother Martha needs a helper in this big household. Ingmar should
see to it that she has some comfort in her old age." The senator
paused a moment, wondering if they could have heard what he said.
"My wife and I wanted to make everything right again," he declared
finally.
In the meantime, a sense of great relief had come to Ingmar. Brita
was going to America, and he would not have to marry her. After all
a murderess was not to become the mistress of the old Ingmar home.
He had kept still, thinking it was not the thing to show at once
how pleased he was, but now he began to feel that it would be only
right and proper for him to say something.
The senator quietly bided his time. He knew that he had to give
these old-fashioned people time to consider. Presently Ingmar's
mother said:
"Brita has paid her penalty; now it's our turn." By this the old
woman meant that if the senator wanted any help from the
Ingmarssons, in return for his having smoothed the way for them,
they would not withhold it. But Ingmar interpreted her utterance
differently. He gave a start, as if suddenly awakened from sleep.
"What would father say of this?" he wondered. "If I were to lay the
whole matter before him, what would he be likely to say? 'You must
not think that you can make a mockery of God's judgment,' he would
say. 'And don't imagine that He will let it go unpunished if you
allow Brita to shoulder all the blame. If her father wants to cast
her off just to get into your good graces, so that he can borrow
money from you, you must nevertheless follow God's leading, little
Ingmar Ingmarsson.'
"I verily believe the old man is keeping close watch of me in this
matter," he thought. "He must have sent Brita's father here to show
me how mean it is to try to shift everything on to her, poor girl!
I guess he must have noticed that I haven't had any great desire to
take that journey these last few days."
Ingmar got up, poured some brandy into his coffee, and raised the
cup.
"Here's a thank you to the senator for coming here to-day," he
said, and clinked cups with him.