The Old Immigrant Trunk
A short story written by Jan Lindstrom

Just as the excavator was poised to sink its teeth into the old house, Fred noticed a large trunk through the broken windowpane. He yelled and waved his arms.
"Stop!"
The excavator operator stopped his machine abruptly; its teeth frozen in mid air.
"What is it?" the operator yelled back.
"Wait a minute," Fred shouted back, as he peered through the dirty windows.
Against the wall, was a worn, brown trunk with straight sides and a dome shaped lid. It had stout handles and appeared to be decorated with hand-forged iron corners.
Fred signaled the worker to come and help him. Then he went around the house and stepped over the threshold. As he moved things aside from the first room to enter the second room, he could see the brown trunk. Fred grabbed a handle and tried to pull it out of the room, but it was too heavy. The excavator operator appeared next to him, and together they hauled the trunk outside and lifted it onto the bed of Fred's pickup truck. Having helped Fred, the worker returned to his machine and proceeded to tear into the house. A few minutes went by and all that was left of the old house was splinters and dust. The house was leveled and a truck took the remnants of the past to the garbage dump.
Fred left the work area and drove home.
"Did you bring something home with you?"
"I found an old trunk in the house we had to tear down," Fred answered, "and the house was in the old pioneer area, where the shopping mall is to be built"
"What's in it?"
"I don't know," Fred replied, "it's probably old papers and other garbage from the old days. I thought we could use it for something, or maybe we should just haul it to the garbage dump."
Fred went out and found Jennie; standing over the trunk as she was examining the rusted padlock.
"How is it going?" He asked.
"You have to help me brake the lock," she replied.
Fred grabbed a hammer from his toolbox.
"We take this."
He held the padlock with a pipe wrench and hit the lock with the hammer. The padlock broke and together Fred and Jennie opened the trunk by lifting the lid.
The trunk was full of things: books, newspapers, a child's sturdy shoes and small decorated tins. When it was emptied of these things, there remained a few boxes resting in the other end of the trunk. The boxes were worn from time, but Jennie was able to open one, when contained handwritten letters.
"Oh, Fred, look!" Jennie showed him the packets of letters tied with strings.
"Old letters, can you read them?"
"No," replied Jennie, "it's too difficult. Can you?"
"If it is in a Welsh language, I could manage a bit." Fred shook his head, "but since it's a Scandinavian language, I can't. Didn't your ancestors come from Sweden?"
"Yes, both of my parents had roots there," she answered.
"Did they ever talk about it?" Fred asked.
"No, Mom said that they were so poor they didn't want to talk about it. "My grandma came from Sweden; my mother was born here. In fact, my mother was born in the
"Do you think it was my grandmother's house?"
"No, I don't think so; it was downhill. And the house was empty, except for this trunk, of course," said Fred.
Jennie bent down and picked up one of the letters. She turned the yellowed envelope and she read the address on the front.
"Mrs. Jenny Ersdotter, Cedarhome, Stanwood, my grandmother!" Jennie cried. "Oh, Fred, you found my grandmother's trunk!"
Jennie abruptly stood up and stared into the trunk. Then she fell into her husband's arms and began sobbing.
"Oh, Jennie, it's okay," he gently said.
"But you have destroyed my grandmother's house," she cried.
"Jennie, calm down. Soon you can shop in the new mall," reassured Fred.
"I don't want to go into stores built on my grandmother's property," she sobbed.
Jennie stood up and dusted the dirt from her clothing. In her hands was a second box from the trunk. She opened it and discovered photographs of people posed in black clothing. Jennie took the photographs into the kitchen to show Fred.
"Look what I found in another box, Fred!"
"Old pictures?"
"There is something written on the back," Jennie squinted as she read the writing, "Jenny, Nels, August, Fredrick, Peter, John… It's Grandmother and her siblings!"
"Perhaps Marguerite can help you with the translations?" suggested Fred.
A few minutes later she was standing outside Marguerite's door. She knocked and was greeted by the older woman, who was sitting in her chair, crocheting.
"Jennie, so nice of you to visit me. What have you in your bag?"
"Fred found an old trunk today in the house that they tore down at old Cedarhome. And, can you believe it. In the trunk were my grandmother's old letters!" replied Jennie.
Marguerite stood up suddenly.
"What are you saying? Your grandmother's old letters? Did they tear down the old Nels Ersson's building? Nothing is saved anymore! Nels came over with my father in 1889. They lived together the first year until Nels' house had been built."
"Please read it!" requested Jennie.
Marguerite read, "Dear Jenny, it is so empty since you left for America….
" Do you think that my grandmother's birthplace is still standing? Do you think that I have relatives still in the house in Sweden?"
Marguerite shook her head and looked tenderly at the young woman. Jennie had realized the importance of finding her roots; and money couldn't buy it.

"Are you still thinking about it?" Fred did not use the word trunk.
Jennie nodded toward him and smiled.
"That old brown trunk that you rescued today contains my whole life."
"That junk!" He looked at her.
"No! It is not junk; it is gold to me!" she cried.
" - - - - - - -
In front of a small red-painted house, somewhere in Sweden, Jennie emerged from her taxi. As she did, the door to the house opened and out stepped a white-haired woman.
" Who is it?" asked the woman as she watched Jennie pull a large suitcase out of the taxi.
Jennie didn't understand the woman's words but said, "I am Jennie Ersdotter."
The older woman turned and called into the house, and a younger woman emerged to stand next to her.
"Jennie? Your name is Jennie?"
Jennie nodded.
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes, I do, and my name is Ingrid."
Then Jennie told her wonderful story about the trunk that her husband had rescued from the old house. And, of her friend, who helped translate the letters because she knew Swedish. As Jennie told her story, Ingrid translated for her own parents.
"Jennie, come with me."
Ingrid motioned for Jennie to follow her and they left the house, following a path that led a short distance into the woods. In a clearing was a small log cabin with a new roof, but it was obviously in need of repair.
"My brother is working to restore the cabin. This is the place that your grandmother was born," explained Ingrid.
Jennie was quiet. She was so touched by the experience that tears were running down her cheeks. Since the days that Fred had brought home the trunk, she wondered about her own background. To purchase her trip she had sold her car and pawned her jewelry. Now as she stood in the cabin, her tears flowed. She turned to Ingrid and hugged her.
Jennie stayed with her newfound family for a couple of weeks and one night, she slept in the old cabin, her grandmother's home, with Ingrid and Ingrid's brother.. The old emigrant cottage.

This story is fiction*, but, perhaps you also have a "trunk" somewhere with things that are important for you. Who is helping you with your heritage? Ragunda Emigrant Center - REC, has been searching for old homesteads in Sweden, especially from the Province of Jamtland. REC can help you find your homestead in Sweden. Let us know.

This story is fiction*, but, perhaps you also have a "trunk" somewhere with things that are important for you. Who is helping you with your heritage? REC can help you find your homestead in Sweden. Let us know.

*) Something is true in the story. Nels Ersson's house in Cedarhome, Stanwood, Washington, existed until June 21, 1994. Then it was torn down in order to build a super market. His birthplace in Sweden, however, which was built in the 1700s, is still standing. All other names in this story are fictious.
The Author