Lögberg-Heimskringla - 04.06.1970, Blaðsíða 6

6
LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA, FIMMTUDAGINN 4. JÚNÍ 1970
CHOICE
KRISTINE KRISTOFFERSON:
John Ramsay
Coniinued from page 5.
countries and their nations,
these virtuous people were
always getting caught up in
the toilsome ordeals of gett-
ing matched up with the right
bloodlines, sacrificing per-
sonal happiness and winning
the love and respect of their
people for their pains.
The sacrifice did have some
compensation. Were her
course so clearly defined she
wouldn’t be in the present di-
lemma. Her question was
simple enough, of course.
Should she lean toward Krist-
inn, of whom she was a little
fond and who could offer her
a great future, or should she
choose Thorgeir, of whom she
was very fond? The decision
was up to her. Therein lay
the torture.
Her parents, for example,
deserved some concern. What
security would they enjoy
should her father suddenly
be unable to work, and their
only child married to a poor
boy of whom she wa's very
fond?
At the moment she had
no choice but to go to the
theatre with Kristinn, since
he must already have bought
the tickets. The poor person’s
respect for money was in her
blood and she would not see
the tickets wasted. She would
have no trouble explaining
this to Thorgeir later on if
need be. It wais getting close
to seven-thirty. She laid out
her new lingerie and her
newest dress.
“Telephone for you,” the
landlady called from the floor
below.
It was Kristinn. On the
way down she remembered
fleetingly that she had occa-
sionally sensed that he had
problems. What they could be
was less clear. But having
millions to lean upon appar-
ently did not exempt one en-
tirely from problems.
Actually, Kristinn’s current
problem was a certain law-
yer’s daughter, an attractive,
well educated, art-loving girl
whom he had known for
years. She had been on his
mind exclusively for a long
time once and he had courted
her with great care, but so
little success that he had
given up the chase. Then he
had tumed to Lovisa, a beau-
tiful girl with great appeal.
Now he had reliable in-
formation on three important
issues. It had been reported
to him that his first choice,
the lawyer’s daughter, had
followed his affair with Miss
L o v i s a Isleifsdóttir with
lively interest; secondly, she
was leaving within two days
to spend the winter studying
abroad. The third report had
to do with Torfi, his rival for
the girl’s favor, and a ladies’
man of devious tendencies.
This fellow had suddenly loc-
ated business interests abroad,
demanding his immediate at-
tention and was spending the
winter in the same city as
the object of their competi-
tion.
All this had driven Krist-
inn’s brain cells to behive ac-
tivity. For Kristinn was well
aware that when the problem
was one of involvement with
women, the brain cells were
better able to cope than the
blood cells. Lovisa was a love-
ly girl and it would have been
a joy to . . . but compared
with the lawyer’s daiughter
she was nobody — little educ-
ation — no family connec-
tions. As a wife she would be
a poor choice.
In tight situations of this
sort a millionaire’s son does
have more elbow room than
other young men. Kristinn’s
father operaited a branch of-
fice in the very city that the
lawyer’s daughter had chosen
for her studies, so he re-
minded the old man that he
had once suggested he go
there to leam something of
their methods and gain a
broader knowledge of the
business as a whole. The old
man was a cautious conserva-
tive, suspicious of sudden in-
spirations, and working him
around to a point of view was
a slow and delicate process.
He argued that Kristinn was
needed right in his old niche
in the local establishment at
the moment, and this was the
worst time of year to visit
the office in the foreign city.
Kristinn had to resort to ev-
ery trick in the book to ac-
complish his purpose, even
confide in his mother and put
his persuasive powers to work
on a young physician who
needed a loan to purchase
equipment for his practice. In
the cause of ailing humanity,
the young physician diag-
nosed a lingering cold which
Kristinn had picked up dur-
ing the summer as very ten-
acious. He recommended a
change of climate to avoid
serious complications.
The whole deal was man-
aged with shrewdness and
business acumen. Now to get
r e a d y and leave without
further fuss and bother.
There was Lovisa! He had
invited her to the theatre to-
night, hadn’t he? Well he’d
have her on the phone in a
minute.
“L o v i s a ? Kristinn here.
Something has turned up that
I didn’t know about when I
invited you to the theatre the
other day. I have to go abroad
and I’m leaving tomorrow
moming. They’re sending me
to one of the branch offices,
you know, and this wasn’t
decided until today. I’m terri-
bly sorry, but I just can’t
make it tonight. I have so
much to attend to before I
leave. You must forgive me.
I wanted to make it up to
you, so I dropped by the
t h e a t r e and picked up a
couple of tickets in your
name. Take a girl friend.” He
laughed — “even a boy friend.
You do understand, don’t you,
I just can’t manage to go with
you?”
“Well,” Lovisa murmured,
then after a long pause:
“Will you be away long?”
“At least half the year, I
guess.”
Another long silence before
Lovisa spoke again:
“This happen suddenly?”
“Sure did — that is to say,
there was a little change of
plans.”
“Are you looking forward
to it?”
“H a r d 1 y — I”ve been
abroad before. But I must go,
I’ve got so much to do. Good-
bye and all the best.”
“Goodbye,” she said ginger-
ly. “Have a good trip.”
She held the receiver for
seconds after she heard the
sharp click at the other end
of the line. So this was the
farewell. This was how he
took leave of her when going
to a foreign country to be
absent for half the year. He
hadn’t spoken of writing to
her, not to mention. . . .
He wanted no more of her.
Lovisa Isleifsdóttir put down
the receiver, picked it up
again and dialled.
“Hello.” It was Thorgeir.
He must have been sitting
beside the telephone.
“Bless. Lovisa here.”
He was irked. She had
picked up this style from
Kristinn, but he responded
warmly:
“Yes, bless.”
“Do you know, Thorgeir,”
Lovisa told him, “I’ve been
miserable since I got your
note. I must talk to you, and
I’ll tell you what I’m going
to do. I’m going to invite you
to the theatre. Will you come
with me?”
“You’re inviting me?”
“Why not? I’ve already
bought the tickets. Are you
coming with me?”
“Of course I am, but you
shouldn’t have bought the
tickets.”
“We’ll say no more about
it, dear, but can you be here
within twenty minutes?”
“I’ll be with you in ten or
fifteen minutes.”
They saw a good classic
play about noble and selfless
love between man and wo-
man, in the good old tradition
of Romeo and Juliet. Enchan-
ted, they walked home talk-
ing intimately and honestly
from the heart. Thorgeir was
given to understand that the
In the early summer of
1876, Olafur Olafsson from
Espiholi and his 12-year old
foster son Fridrik Sveinsson,
left the little village of Gimli
and rowed north to the Is-
lendingafljot. During that
first winter in New Iceland,
Olafur had lost his wife Olöf
and his nephew Olafur whom
he had taken as a foster son.
Both had died from scurvy.
Two other families accom-
panied Olafur, Johannes Sig-
urdsson from Hrisum in the
Svarfadardalur, his wife Gud-
laug and their three children,
Gunnlaugur, Peter and
Petrea, aged from 8 to 12
years, and Flovent Jonasson
from Skridulandi in the Arn-
ameshreppur his wife Berg-
ros and Jon, their 12-year-old
son. These three families were
the first Icelandic settlers at
Lundi, now called Riverton.
On the banks of the Icelandic
river, they found a stout log
cabin with a wooden floor
and a stove, that belonged to
the Hudson’s Bay Co., and
finding it unoccupied, moved
in. (Later the land on which
this cabin stood was called
Mödmvellir, and the cabin it-
self was dubbed ‘Bolan’ for it
was here that the first case
of smallpox broke out).
Johannes Sigurdsson called
his farm Arskogur. Flovent
called his Skriduland, and
Olafur named his farm Ós.
Olafur’s cabin was the first
one under way, with the three
men working together at its
construction. Not far from the
site of Olafur’s cabin stood an
Indian teepee that housed a
family of five — a tall lithe
Indian b r av e , his slender
beautiful wife and their three
children, a girl and two little
boys.
The Icelanders eyed the In-
dian couple as they worked
girl beside him had recklessly
tossed away a golden future
for the love of him, Thorgeir
Gudbrandsson, trade appren-
tice. Never before had he
been so touched and so stirred
to the depth of his being. This
was the mystic power of the
grand passion that the play
was about.
“All my life I will remem-
ber this,” he said. I will love
you more than any man has
ever loved. a woman, and I
will always be good to you.”
Lovisa thrust herself to his
side and whispered that she
had never desired anyone but
him, which was absolutely
true at that moment.
They were a happy pair, as
happy as young lovers should
be walking home, hand in
hand, in the velvet dusk of
evening.
in their fine potato patch, and
felt uneasy as they encoun-
tered their scowling looks.
Obviously they were regarded
as interlopers who had come
unbidden and unwelcomed to
the land that had belonged
to the Indian peöple, since
the beginning of time. One
moming when the three men
rowed across the swamp that
separated Olafur’s land from
the Hudson’s Bay cabin, they
were met by the Indian brave
on the opposite side, who
w a r n e d them away with
threatening gestures. As soon
as the boat touched land, the
Indian shoved it roughly
away, sending the boat and
its occupants skimming across
the water.
The Icelanders rowed grim-
ly back to the bank only to
meet with the same treat-
ment. This was enough for
Olafur. He picked up his axe
and held it aloft. If the In-
dian wanted to do battle he
was prepared to oblige him.
The Indian looked at Olafur
and his axe, then he turned
on his heel and walked dis-
dainfully away toward the
river, launched his canoe and
paddled northward in a great
fury.
The men spent the day
working on the cabin without
seeing any sign of their irate
neighbour. Toward evening
they returned to the cabin.
After supper, the three boys
went out on the river in a
rowboat. They were startled
to hear a volley of shots and
blood. curdling screams com-
ing from the north, and sud-
denly around the bend sev-
eral canoes loaded with In-
dians. Some were firing at the
wild ducks that quacked pro-
testingly overhead, others
were firing recklessly in all
directions. The boys lost no
time in getting ashore and
waming the others.
The women and children
were ordered to the far end
of the cabin where they hud-
dled together in silent prayer
while the men took their
stand near the door armed
with guns and axes. The door
was pushed unceremoniously
open and the Indians filed in,
guns in hand, and seated
themselves cross-legged in a
semi-circle before the door as
if to bar escape. At dusk the
door opened and in walked
their unfriendly neighbour
accompanied by another man
who proved to be an interpre-
ter. “Why do you build a
cabin on the land of the In-
dian J o h n Ramsay?’r he
asked. Olafur explained that
the Icelanders had been
granted a reserve that in-
cluded the land around this