The Emperor of Portugallia

THE FLIGHT

One morning, just a week from the day of Glory Goldie's homecoming, she and her mother stood at the Borg pier, ready to depart for good and all. Old Katrina was wearing a bonnet for the first time in her life, and a fine cloth coat. She was going to Malmö with her daughter to become a fine city dame. Never more would she have to toil for her bread. She was to sit on a sofa the whole day, with her hands folded, and be free from worry and care for the remainder of her life.

But despite all the promised ease and comfort, Katrina had never felt so wretchedly unhappy as then, when standing there on the pier. Glory Goldie, seeing that her mother looked troubled, asked her if she was afraid of the water, and tried to assure her there was no danger, although it was so windy that one could hardly keep one's footing on the pier. Glory Goldie was accustomed to seafaring and knew what she was talking about.

"These are no waves," she said to her mother. "I see of course that there are a few little whitecaps on the water, but I wouldn't be afraid to row across the lake in our old punt."

Glory Goldie, who did not seem to mind the gale, remained on the pier. But Katrina, to keep from being blown to pieces, went into the freight shed and crept into a dark corner behind a couple of packing cases. There she intended to remain until the boat arrived, as she had no desire to meet any of the parish folk before leaving. At the same time she knew in her heart that what she was doing was not right, since she was ashamed to be seen by people. She had one consolation at least; she was not going away with Glory Goldie because of any desire for ease and comfort, but only because her hands were failing her. What else could she do when her fingers were becoming so useless that she could not spin any more?

Then who should come into the shed but Sexton Blackie!

Katrina prayed God he would not see her and come up and ask her where she was going. For how would she ever be able to tell him she was leaving husband and home and everything!

She had tried to bring about some arrangement whereby Jan and she could stay on at the croft. If the daughter had only been willing to send them a little money – say about ten rix-dollars a month – they could have managed fairly well. But Glory would not hear of this; she had declared that not a penny would she give them unless Katrina went along with her.

Katrina knew of course it was not from meanness that Glory Goldie had said no to this. The girl had been to the trouble of fitting up a home for her parents and had looked forward to a time when she could prove to them how much she thought of them, and how hard she had worked for them, and now she wanted to have with her one parent, at least, to compensate her for all her bother. Jan had been uppermost in her thought when she was preparing the home, for she had been especially fond of her father in the old days. Now, however, she felt it would be impossible to have him with her.

Herein lay the whole difficulty: Glory Goldie had taken a violent dislike to her father. She could not abide him now. Never had he been allowed to talk with her of Portugallia or of her riches and power; why, she could hardly bear the sight of him decked out in his royal trumpery. All the same Jan was as pleased with her as ever he had been, and always wanted to be near her, though she only ran away from him. Katrina was sure that it was to escape seeing her crazy father that the girl had not remained at home longer than a week.

Presently Glory Goldie, too, came into the freight shed. She was not afraid of Sexton Blackie. Not she! She went right up to him and began to chat. She told him in the very first breath that she was returning to her own home and was taking her mother back with her.

Then Sexton Blackie naturally wanted to know how the father felt about this, and Glory Goldie informed him as calmly as though she were speaking of a stranger that she had arranged for her father to board with Lisa, the daughter-in-law of Ol' Bengtsa. Lisa had built her a fine new house after the old man's death, and she had a spare room that Jan could occupy.

Sexton Blackie had a countenance that revealed no more of his thought than he wanted to reveal. And now, as he listened to Glory Goldie, his face was quite impassive. Just the same Katrina knew what he, who was like a father to the whole parish, was thinking. "Why should an old man who has a wife and daughter living be obliged to live with strangers? Lisa is a good woman, but she can never have the patience with Jan that his own folks had." That was what he thought. And he was right about it, too!

Katrina suddenly looked down at her hands. After all, perhaps she was deceiving herself in laying the blame on them. The real reason for her desertion of Jan was this: the daughter had the stronger will and she seemed unable to oppose her.

All this time Glory Goldie stood talking to the sexton. Now she was telling him of their being compelled to steal away from home so that Jan should not know of their leaving.

This had been the most dreadful part of it to Katrina. Glory Goldie had sent Jan on an errand to the store away up in Bro parish and as soon as he was gone they had packed up their belongings and left. Katrina had felt like a criminal in sneaking away from the house in that way, but Glory Goldie had insisted it was the only thing to do. For had Jan known of where they were going he would have cast himself in front of the wagon, to be trampled and run over. And now, on his return, Lisa would be at the house to receive him and of course she would try her best to console him; but still it hurt to think of how hard he would take it when he learned that his daughter had left him.

Sexton Blackie had listened quietly to Glory Goldie, without putting in a word. Katrina had begun to wonder whether he was pleased with what he had learned, when he suddenly took the girl's hand in his and said with great gravity:

"Inasmuch as I am your old teacher, Glory Goldie, I shall speak plainly to you. You want to run away from a duty, but that does not say that you will succeed. I have seen others try to do the same thing, but it has invariably resulted in their undoing."

When Katrina heard this she rose and drew a breath of relief. Those were the very words she herself had been wanting to say to her daughter.

Glory Goldie answered in all meekness that she did not know what else she could have done. She certainly could not take an insane man along to a strange city, nor could she remain in Svartsjö, and Jan had himself to thank for that. When she went past a house the youngsters came running out shouting "Empress, Empress" at her, and last Sunday at church the people in their eager curiosity to see her had crowded round her and all but knocked her down.

"I understand that such things are very trying," said the sexton. "But between you and your father there has been an uncommonly close bond of sympathy, and you musn't think it can be so easily severed."

Then the sexton and Glory Goldie went outside. Katrina followed immediately. She had altered her mind now and wanted to talk to the sexton, but stopped a moment to glance up toward the hill. She had the feeling that Jan would soon be there.

"Are you afraid father will come?" asked Glory Goldie, leaving the sexton and going over to her mother.

"Afraid!" cried Katrina. "I only hope to God he gets here before I'm gone!" Then, summoning all her courage, she went on: "I feel that I have done something wicked for which I shall suffer as long as I live."

"You think that only because you've had to live in gloom and misery so many years," said Glory Goldie. "You'll feel differently once we're away from here. Anyhow, it isn't likely that father will come when he doesn't even know we've left the house."

"Don't be too sure of that!" returned Katrina. "Jan has a way of knowing all that is necessary for him to know. It has been like that with him since the day you left us, and this power of sensing things has increased with the years. When the poor man lost his reason Our Lord gave him a new light to be guided by."

Then Katrina gave Glory Goldie a brief account of the fate of Lars Gunnarson and of other happenings of more recent date, to prove to her that Jan was clairvoyant, as folks call it. Glory Goldie listened with marked attention. Before Katrina had tried to tell her of Jan's kindness toward many poor old people, but to that she had not cared to listen. This, on the contrary, seemed to impress the girl so much that Katrina began to hope the daughter's opinion of Jan would change and that she, too, would turn back.

But Katrina was not allowed to cling to this hope long! In a moment

Glory Goldie cried out in a jubilant voice:

"Here's the boat, mother! So after all it has turned out well for us, and now we'll soon be off."

When Katrina saw the boat at the pier her old eyes filled up. She had intended to ask Sexton Blackie to say a good word for Jan and herself to Glory Goldie, but now there was no time. She saw no way of escaping the journey.

The boat was evidently late, for she seemed to be in a great hurry to get away again. There was not even time to put out the gangplank. A couple of hapless passengers who had to come ashore here were almost thrown onto the pier by the sailors. Glory Goldie seized her mother by the arm and dragged her over to the boat, where a man lifted her on board. The old woman wept and wanted to turn back, but no pity was shown her.

The instant Katrina was on deck Glory Goldie put her arm around her, to steady her.

"Come, let's go over to the other side of the boat," she said.

But it was too late. Old Katrina had just caught sight of a man running down the hill toward the pier. And she knew who it was, too!

"It's Jan!" she cried. "Oh, what will he do now!"

Jan did not stop until he reached the very edge of the pier; but there he stood – a frail and pathetic figure. He saw Glory Goldie on the outgoing boat and greater anguish and despair than were depicted on his face could hardly be imagined. But the sight of him was all Katrina needed to give her the strength to defy her daughter.

"You can go if you want to," she said. "But I shall get off at the next landing and go home again."

"Do as you like, mother," sighed Glory Goldie wearily, perceiving that here was something which she could not combat. And perhaps she, too, may have felt that their treatment of the father was outrageous.

No time was granted them for amends. Jan did not want to lose his whole life's happiness a second time, so with a bound he leaped from the pier into the lake.

Perhaps he intended to swim out to the boat. Or maybe he just felt that he could not endure living any longer.

Loud shrieks went up from the pier. Instantly a boat was sent out, and the little freight steamer lay by and put out her skiff.

But Jan sank at once and never rose to the surface. The imperial stick and the green leather cap lay floating on the waves, but the Emperor himself had disappeared so quietly, so beyond all tracing, that if these souvenirs of him had not remained on top of the water, one would hardly have believed him gone.

HELD!

It seemed extraordinary to many that Glory Goldie of Ruffluck should have to stand at the Borg pier day after day, watching for one who never came.

Glory Goldie did not stand there waiting on fine light summer days either! She was on the pier in bleak and stormy November and in dark and cold December. Nor did she have any sweet and solacing dreams about travellers from a far country who would step ashore here in pomp and state. She had eyes and thoughts only for a boat that was being rowed back and forth on the lake, just beyond the pier, dragging for the body of a drowned man.

In the beginning she had thought that the one for whom she waited would be found immediately the dragging was begun. But such was not the case. Day after day a couple of patient old fishermen worked with grappling hooks and dragnets, without finding a trace of the body.

There were said to be two deep holes at the bottom of the lake, close to the Borg pier, and some folks thought Jan had gone down into one of them. Others maintained there was a strong under-tow here at the point which ran farther in, toward Big Church Inlet, and that he had been carried over there. Then Glory Goldie had the draglines lengthened, so that they would reach down to the lowest depths of the lake, and she ordered every foot of Big Church Inlet dragged; yet she did not succeed in bringing her father back into the light of day.

On the morning following the tragic end of her father Glory Goldie ordered a coffin made. When it was ready she had it brought down to the pier, that she might lay the dead man in it the moment he was found. Night and day it had to stand out there. She would not even have it put into the freight shed. The guard locked the shed whenever he left the pier, and the coffin had to be at hand always so that Jan would not be compelled to wait for it.

The old Emperor used to have kind friends around him at the pier, to enliven his long waiting hours. But Glory Goldie nearly always tramped there alone. She spoke to no one, and folks were glad to leave her in peace, for they felt that there was something uncanny about her which had been the cause of her father's death.

In December navigation closed. Then Glory Goldie had the pier all to herself. No one disturbed her. The fishermen who were conducting the search on the lake wanted to quit now. But that put Glory Goldie in despair. She felt that her only hope of salvation lay in the finding of her father. She told the men they must go on with the search while the lake was still unfrozen, that they must search for him down by Nygard Point; by Storvik Point – they must search the length and breadth of all Lake Löven.

For each day that passed Glory Goldie became more desperately determined to find the body. She had taken lodgings in a cotter's but at Borg. In the beginning she remained indoors at least some moments during the day, but after a time her mind became prey to such intense fear that she could scarcely eat or sleep. Now she paced the pier all the while – not only during the short hours of daylight but all through the long, dark evenings, until bedtime.

The first two days after Jan's death Katrina had stayed on the pier with Glory Goldie, and watched for his return. Then she went back to Ruffluck. It was not from any feeling of indifference that she stopped coming to the pier, it was simply that she could not stand being with her daughter and hearing her speak of Jan. For Glory Goldie did not disguise her real sentiments. Katrina knew it was not from any sense of pity or remorse that Glory Goldie was so determined her father's body should rest in consecrated soil, but she was afraid, unreasonably afraid while the one for whose death she was responsible still lay unburied at the bottom of the lake. She felt that if she could only get her father interred in churchyard mould he would not be such a menace to her. But so long as he remained where he was she must live in constant terror of him and of the punishment he would mete out to her.

Glory Goldie stood on the Borg pier looking down at the lake, which was now gray and turgid. Her gaze did not penetrate beneath the surface of the water, yet she seemed to see the whole wide expanse of lake bottom underneath.

Down there sat he, the Emperor of Portugallia, his hands clasped round his knees, his eyes fixed on the gray-green water – in constant expectation that she would come to him. His imperial regalia had been discarded, for the stick and cap had never gone down into the depths with him, and the paper stars had of course been dissolved by the water. He sat there now in his old threadbare coat with two empty hands. But there was no longer anything pretentious or ludicrous about him; now he was only powerful and awe-inspiring.

It was not without reason he had called himself an emperor. So great had been his power in life that the enemy whose evil deeds he hated had been overthrown, while his friends had received help and protection. This power he still possessed. It had not gone from him even in death.

Only two persons had ever wronged him. One of them had already met his doom. The other one was herself – his daughter who had first driven him out of his mind and had afterward caused his death. Her he bided down there in the deep. His love for her was over. Now he awaited her not to render her praise and homage, but to drag her down into the realms of death, as punishment for her heartless treatment of him.

Glory Goldie had a weird temptation: she wanted to remove the heavy coffin lid and slide the coffin into the lake, as a boat, and then to get inside and push away from shore, and afterward stretch herself out on the bed of sawdust at the bottom of the coffin.

She wondered whether she would sink instantly or whether she would drift a while, until the lashing waves filled her bark and drew it under. She also thought that she might not sink at all but would be carried out to sea only to be cast ashore at one of the elm-edged points. She felt strangely tempted to put herself to the test. She would lie perfectly still the whole time, she said to herself, and use neither hand nor foot to propel the coffin. She would put herself wholly at the mercy of her judge; he might draw her down or let her escape as he willed.

If she were thus to seek his indulgence perhaps his great love would again speak to her; perhaps he would then take pity on her and grant her grace. But her fear was too great. She no longer dared trust in his love, and therefore she was afraid to put the black coffin out on the lake.

An old friend and schoolmate of Glory Goldie sought her out at this time. It was August Där Nol of Prästerud, who was still living under the parental roof.

August Där Nol was a quiet and sensible man whom it did her good to talk with. He advised her to go away and take up her old occupation. It was not well for her to haunt the desolate pier, watching for the return of a dead man, he said. Glory Goldie answered that she would not dare leave until her father had been laid in consecrated ground. But August would not hear of this. The first time he talked with her nothing was decided, but when he came again she promised to follow his advice. They parted with the understanding that he was to come for her the following day and take her to the railway station in his own carriage.

Had he done so possibly all would have gone smoothly. But he was prevented from coming himself and sent a hired man with the team. All the same Glory Goldie got into the carriage and drove off. On the way to the station she talked with the driver about her father and encouraged him to relate stories of her father's clairvoyance, the ones Katrina had told her on the pier and still others.

When she had listened a while she begged the driver to turn back. She had become so alarmed that she was afraid to go any farther. He was too powerful, was the old Emperor of Portugallia! She knew how the dead that have not been buried in churchyard mould haunt and pursue their enemies. Her father would have to be brought up out of the water and laid in his coffin. God's Holy Word must be read over him, else she would never know a moment's peace.

JAN'S LAST WORDS

Along toward Christmas time Glory Goldie received word that her mother lay at the point of death. Then at last she tore herself away from the pier.

She went home on foot, this being the best way to get to the Ashdales – taking the old familiar road across Loby, then on through the big forest and over Snipa Ridge. When going past the old Hindrickson homestead she saw a big, broad-shouldered man, with a strong, grave-looking visage, standing at the roadside mending a picket fence. The man gave her a stiff nod as she went by. He stood still for a moment, looking after her, then hastened to overtake her.

"This must be Glory Goldie of Ruffluck," he said as he came up with her. "I'd like to have a word with you. I'm Linnart, son of Björn Hindrickson," he added, seeing that she did not know who he was.

"I'm terribly pressed for time now," Glory Goldie told him. "So perhaps you'd better wait till another day. I've just learned that my mother is dying."

Linnart Hindrickson then asked if he might walk with her part of the way. He said that he had thought of going down to the pier to see her and now he did not want to miss this good opportunity of speaking with her, as it was very necessary that she should hear what he had to say.

Glory Goldie made no further objections. She perceived, however, that the man had some difficulty in stating his business and concluded it was something of an unpleasant nature. He hemmed and hawed a while, as if trying to find the right words; presently he said, with apparent effort:

"I don't believe you know, Glory Goldie, that I was the last person who talked with your father – the Emperor, as we used to call him."

"No, I did not know of this," answered the girl, at the same time quickening her steps. She was thinking to herself that this conversation was something she would rather have escaped.

"One day last autumn," Linnart continued, "while I was out in the yard hitching up a horse to drive over to the village shop, I saw the Emperor come running down the road; he seemed in a great hurry, but when he espied me he stopped and asked if I had seen the Empress drive by. I couldn't deny that I had. Then he burst out crying. He had been on his way to Broby, he said, but such a strange feeling of uneasiness had suddenly come over him that he had to turn back, and when he reached home he found the hut deserted. Katrina was also gone. He felt certain his wife and daughter were leaving by the boat and he didn't know how he should ever be able to get down to the Borg pier before they were gone."

Glory Goldie stood stock still. "You let him ride with you, of course?" she said.

"Oh, yes," replied Linn art. "Jan once did me a good turn and I wanted to repay it. Perhaps I did wrong in giving him a lift?"

"No, indeed!" said Glory Goldie. "It was I who did wrong in attempting to leave him."

"He wept like a child the whole time he sat in the wagon. I didn't know what to do to comfort him, but at last I said, 'Don't cry like that, Jan! We'll surely overtake her. Besides, these little freight steamers that run in the autumn are never on time.' No sooner had I said that than he laid his hand on my arm and asked me if I thought they would be harsh and cruel toward the Empress – those who had carried her off."

"Those who had carried me off!" repeated Glory Goldie in astonishment.

"I was as much astonished at that as you are," Linnart declared, "and I asked him what he meant. Well, he meant those who had lain in wait for the Empress while she was at home – all the enemies of whom Glory Goldie had been so afraid that she had not dared to put on her gold crown or so much as mention Portugallia, and who had finally overpowered her and carried her into captivity."

"So that was it!"

"Yes, just that. You understand of course that your father did not weep because he had been deserted and left alone, but because he thought you were in peril." It had been a little hard for Linnart to come out with the last few words; they wanted to stick in his throat. Perhaps he was thinking of old Björn Hindrickson and himself, for there was that in his own life which had taught him the true worth of a love that never fails you.

But Glory Goldie did not yet understand. She had thought of her father only with aversion and dread since her return and muttered something about his being a madman.

Linnart heard what she said, and it hurt him. "I'm not so sure that Jan was mad!" he retorted. "I told him that I hadn't seen any gaolers around Glory Goldie. 'My good Linnart,' he then said, 'didn't you notice how closely they guarded her when she drove by? They were Pride and Hardness, Lust and Vice, all the enemies she has to battle against back there in her Empire.'"

Glory Goldie stopped a moment and turned toward Linnart. "Well?" was all she said.

"I replied that these enemies I, too, had seen," returned Linnart

Hindrickson curtly.

The girl gave a short laugh.

"But instantly I regretted having said that," pursued the man. "For then Jan cried out in despair: 'Oh, pray to God, my dear Linnart, that I may be able to save the little girl from all evil! It doesn't matter what becomes of me, just so she is helped.'"

Glory Goldie did not speak, but walked on hurriedly. Something had begun to pull and tear at her heart strings – something she was trying to force back. She knew that if that which lay hidden within should burst its bonds and come to the surface, she would break down completely.

"And those were Jan's last words," said Linnart. "It wasn't long after that before he proved that he meant what he said. Don't think for a moment that Jan jumped into the lake to get away from his own sorrow; it was only to rescue Glory Goldie from her enemies that he plunged in after the boat."

Glory Goldie tramped on, faster and faster. Her father's great love from first to last now stood revealed to her. But she could not bear the thought of it and wanted to put it behind her.

"We keep pretty well posted in this parish as to one another's doings," Linnart continued. "There was much ill feeling against you at first, after the Emperor was drowned. I for my part considered you unworthy to receive his farewell message. But we all feel differently now; we like your staying down at the pier to watch for him."

Then Glory Goldie stopped short. Her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed with indignation. "I stay down there only because I'm afraid of him," she said.

"You have never wanted to appear better than you are. We know that. But we understand perhaps better than you yourself do what lies back of this waiting. We have also had parents and we haven't always treated them right, either."

Glory Goldie was so furious that she wanted to say something dreadful to make Linnart hush, but somehow she couldn't. All she could do was to run away from him.

Linnart Hindrickson made no attempt to follow her further. He had said what he wanted to say and he was not displeased with that morning's work.