Christmas in Sweden; or, A festival of light

“A telegram for you, sir.” Elfreda, the pretty Swedish maid, handed the envelope to Professor Edgecombe as the family were seated at breakfast one spring morning. Telegrams were not unusual in that household, so Dorothy and John, the Professor’s children, scarcely heeded the interruption and were unprepared for the excitement which this particular bit of yellow paper aroused in their quiet home. When their father had read the message, he passed it across the table to his wife, who dropped the sugar-tongs in her eagerness, as soon as she had glanced at the message.

“Oh, George,” she cried, “it’s too good to be true that you really have the appointment.”

“What is it?” cried both children in chorus, distracted from their conversation by the unusual excitement of their little mother.

“It means that we are all going to Sweden to spend father’s sabbatical year,” replied their mother.

“All of us?” asked Dorothy quickly. She had not welcomed the period of rest called a sabbatical year which comes to most New England college professors once in seven years, because she remembered that many of her playmates had spent the year with relatives while their parents travelled in Europe, and home-loving little Dorothy dreaded a similar parting.

“Do you really mean that we are going too?” asked John incredulously.

“That’s exactly what your mother means,” said Professor Edgecombe. “Mother and I couldn’t go away for a year and leave you children at home. Besides it is not going to be entirely a year of rest for me, for this telegram has brought me an appointment to spend the year translating some stories of the old Norsemen into English. The old Icelandic document which I am to study is in Sweden and so we can settle there for the winter.”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried John, entirely forgetful of table manners. “Just listen, Elfreda, we are all going to Sweden, now what do you think of that?”

Clash! batter! bang! the serving-tray fell to the floor and pretty, well-trained Elfreda stood unconscious of disaster, looking from one to another. “Yes, it’s true, Elfreda,” said Mrs. Edgecombe, “we are going to spend a year in your beautiful country and will have many questions to ask you about it.”

By this time the maid had picked up the tray and begun to clear away the dishes, but tender-hearted little Dorothy noticed that, as she came and went during the meal, her eyelids were red and her face was tear-stained.

“What’s the matter, Freda?” she asked kindly, as she ran into the kitchen after the meal was over, but she stopped short in alarm at the sight of Freda with her face buried in the roller-towel.

“Leave us alone for a little while, Dorothy,” said Mrs. Edgecombe, thinking that she knew the cause of the trouble. Poor Freda was homesick, she thought, and the knowledge that her employers were going to the dear homeland while she remained in strange America was more than she could bear.

“Would you really like to go back to Sweden?” inquired Mrs. Edgecombe, thoughtfully. “We are going to keep house there and I suppose I must find a maid.” But Freda shook her head while smiles broke through her tears and she blushed very red. Then she explained that she had promised to marry Eric, who had been her suitor for some time, but she had dreaded to “give her notice” to kind Mrs. Edgecombe, who had so patiently trained her, since she came into her kitchen, a bewildered little emigrant, two years previous.

“Then it wasn’t all homesickness,” asked Mrs. Edgecombe slyly when she had congratulated the blushing Freda. But Freda’s eyes filled again. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t go back to the old country to stay,” she said, “but I would like to see my old mother and little brothers and sisters again.”

“Where do they live, Freda?” inquired Mrs. Edgecombe. “Perhaps we can go to see them and tell them about your happiness.”

“Oh, could you, ma’am, wouldn’t it be too far?” cried Freda hopefully.

“If your home is near Upsala, I think we can arrange to see your people,” said Mrs. Edgecombe, “for my husband is going to study some of the old manuscripts in the University there.” It appeared that she had lived near the old city and Freda began to plan joyfully about the presents which she would send to her dear ones.

It seemed to the children as if the weeks would never pass, but, at length, the great day came when the Edgecombe family stood on the deck of the big steamship which was to carry them across the ocean. Many of their friends had come to bid them “Bon Voyage,” so they were surrounded by a merry party. The warning whistle had just sounded for all visitors to go ashore and Dorothy was beginning to realize with a queer little lump in her throat that a year was a long, long time to be parted among the passengers and saw many amused glances turned from her favorite cousin, when she noticed a sudden commotion towards their own party.

Her father and mother also turned, attracted by the noise, and the whole family was amazed at the sight of Freda and Eric, their faces red and determined as they pushed their way among the passengers, followed by an angry steward. The officer thought that the young foreigners, coming to see their friends in the steerage, had mistaken their way; but, although both Freda and Eric had themselves crossed in the steerage and were a little awed by the splendors of the first-class part of the ship, they were determined to get a last glimpse of the Edgecombes.

When Freda had bidden them farewell, a week before, she had told Mrs. Edgecombe that she should be married within a week, so of course they were very much surprised to see her there. While Professor Edgecombe was explaining to the official, Freda told them that she had made Eric take her to New York on a wedding-trip, especially to see them sail. She had already entrusted the children with a little box of presents for her family and now she proudly showed Mrs. Edgecombe a photograph of her husband and herself, asking her to give it to her old mother with her own hands. Mrs. Edgecombe promised readily and Freda left the ship content. The last thing that the children saw, as the dock faded from view, was Freda, waving her handkerchief in farewell.

Their father left them in Paris, in the late summer, promising that he would be ready to welcome them when they reached Sweden. First, however, Mrs. Edgecombe took the children to Germany, so that it was late October before they boarded a steamer at Lubec, bound for Stockholm.

They would have liked to have stayed for awhile in this beautiful city, which is sometimes called “The Venice of the North,” but their mother was anxious to get settled in her Swedish home, so the following morning, they boarded a train for Upsala.

“Are we really going to keep house just as we do at home?” asked Dorothy, as the train left the rugged country near Stockholm. “I have rented an apartment for the winter,” replied their father, smiling, “but you will find that it is quite different from America in many ways.”

“I didn’t know that they had apartments in Upsala,” said John. “I have read that the name means ‘The Lofty Halls,’ and that the city is more old-fashioned than any other place in Sweden.”

“That is true,” said Professor Edgecombe, “but Upsala has some modern houses, although it is a very ancient city. The great castle on the hill, which we will visit, the cathedral where we will attend service and some of the University buildings are grand enough to mean ‘the lofty halls.’”

“Do the people wear native costume?” asked Mrs. Edgecombe.

“No,” said her husband. “Occasionally, perhaps, you will see a peasant wearing one of the pretty old-time costumes but, for the most part, even the peasants as well as the city people wear clothing much like ours.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Dorothy, for she had pictured to herself little girls wearing quaint, gaily-colored garments like those that Freda had described to her.

“Never mind, Dolly,” said her father, pinching her cheek playfully. “You will find enough that is unusual to satisfy you, I think.”

As the train wound through the beautiful farming-country, they caught occasional glimpses of beautiful Lake Mälar, and Professor Edgecombe said that in the spring, they should go to Stockholm by boat and enjoy the trip on the lake.

“The weather is too cold for us to take that trip, now,” he said, “and besides we want to get home before dark. You will soon find that the hours of daylight in Sweden at this time of the year are too precious to be used carelessly.”

Before the children could ask for an explanation of this speech, the train had reached Upsala. On the platform stood a gentleman who greeted their father very cordially. Their father introduced him as Professor Bjerkander and added that he had been most kind in helping him to prepare their home in Upsala. He left them at the entrance of their new home, promising that his wife and children would call that afternoon.

“That is a mark of courtesy, indeed,” said Professor Edgecombe to his wife, “for in this country it is the custom for strangers to call first and you see that Fru Bjerkander is going to conform to our usages.”

While he was speaking, he pressed an electric bell beside the pair of great doors which reminded the children of the entrance to a stable. When they opened, however, they saw a good-natured portress, who smiled at them when their father said something to her in Swedish.

They were delighted at the sight of the pleasant rooms opening before them, when they had climbed the stone stairs to the third floor. It had seemed impossible that they could ever make a cosy home in a house that seemed so grim and forbidding. Everything was in order, explained the smiling little maid in broken English, and they found that her words were quite true. The table was set for their mid-day meal and, except for the unpacking of their trunks and the arrangement of their few books and pictures, the home was ready for them.

“How did you ever do it?” exclaimed Mrs. Edgecombe delightedly to her husband. That gentleman shook his head. “You will have to thank Fru Bjerkander,” he said. “She helped me to find Stena, who has done it all under her direction.”

“Where did you find Stena?” asked his wife, who was pleased with the neat maid.

“She was waiting for us in the market-place,” replied her husband, and then explained that he had heard that all servants are engaged in Sweden during April and October. So he had gone to the market-place with Fru Bjerkander and had found Stena with many other lads and maids, each armed with a paper showing that they had their fathers’ written permission to go out to service.

Very early in the afternoon, it seemed to the children, Fru Bjerkander came to call, bringing with her Helmer and Hedwig, her son and daughter, who were about the age of the Edgecombe children. Much to the relief of John and Dorothy, they found that their new acquaintances could speak English almost as well as they could speak their own language, so they were soon chatting merrily together.

They heard Fru Bjerkander explaining to their mother that she had been obliged to come early in order to take advantage of the daylight and this caused Hedwig to say to Dorothy, “It’s too bad that you came to Sweden when we are having dark nights.” Dorothy looked bewildered, so Hedwig’s brother hastened to explain: “You know we have most of our visitors in summer, when the daylight lasts half through the night. I dare say your father will take you up north to see the midnight sun, next summer.” “Oh, yes, I see what you mean now by dark nights,” said John. “You mean they are long ones.”