the bridge.. .a long time.. .then in the dark she did the feed
ing and milking, closed the doors tightly and went into the
house. She put the milk bucket on the table, lighted no lamp,
but went feeling her way into her bedroom. Again she stood
a long time senseless and motionless. Slowly she sank down
upon the floor, stretched out along it in the dark reaching for
something—when she came to the bedpost she clung to it with
both hands. Lying face downward she began to moan and
repeat dully: “I want to be like them.. .1 want to be them.”
In the spring Andreas walked into Karen’s barnyard. He
looked high into the air, swept the horizon with his seaeyes,
stopped before the house, looked at the ground, coughed three
times raising himself on to his toes each time.. .turned and
went out to his horses waiting in the road. In two weeks he
came again. Karen watching from the barn knew why he had
come.
It had been a mistake his coming here to this midland to
farm. He had sailed the seas, he could not dig in the earth.
The security of the land embarrassed him. He could never
admit his mistake and return to the old country. He had got
a job as road inspector. He had men under him again. He
rode about in his wagon standing, but he was impatient and
ashamed of the horses: a wagon is not a ship. His farm was
going to ruin.
He came up to the barn and spoke to Karen; asked about
the roads and then about her farm; talking quickly, seeing
everything, coughing and raising himself on his tiptoes when
the talk lagged. The third time he came he asked her how
much money she had in the bank and then he asked her to
marry him. He did not look at her and she did not look at
him, but she said “you can tell the pastor.”
Thirteen years and Andreas was dead one morning in his
bed. The daughters were coming to another funeral. Karen
did not try to think about it. She knew that it was useless to
try to think. Each person has only one or two thoughts... one
of hers had been Dorothea. When she had married Andreas
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