Sixty-One-Year-Old Norwegian Housekeeper Fights a Fanatical Frontier Sect and a $4,000 Land Sabotage Scheme to Save a Mute Motherless Boy in Winter 1880 Minnesota
The well rope lay snapped, a stark symbol of Malachi’s petty, cruel retaliation. Fetching water from the icy creek was a dangerous task, especially with Einar to protect. I’d make the trek under cover of darkness, but it was a temporary solution. We needed the source of the rot to be removed, not just contained.
The forge. Anna’s forged signature. Tobias Haug was the key. He had notarized the criminal act.
My decision was swift. I wrapped myself in Lars’s heaviest cloak, tying Einar’s small hand to my own. “We are going to visit the appraiser,” I told him, though he couldn’t reply. “Tobias Haug.”
Haug’s office was a small, ramshackle building on the edge of the nearest small town, a collection of four or five structures barely warranting the name. It smelled of cheap cigars and stale ink.
Haug himself was a portly, nervous man, slumped behind a desk piled high with papers. He jumped when I opened the door, a pen clattering to the floor. Einar, bundled in his coat, stood silently beside me.
“Mrs. Lindqvist!” Haug exclaimed, wiping his brow with a greasy hand. “What a… surprise.”
“I have something to discuss with you, Mr. Haug,” I said, my voice steady, though my stomach churned. I pulled out the original death certificate of Anna Solberg. “This is the death certificate for Lars Solberg’s wife, Anna. Died May 1880.”
I placed it on his desk, then slid the forged tithing lien, dated September 1880, next to it. “This document, Mr. Haug, bears her signature. Notarized by you.”
Haug’s eyes darted between the two papers, then to my face, then to Einar’s solemn expression. His complexion, already pasty, turned a shade of grey.
“A mistake,” he stammered, his voice thin. “A clerical error. I… I wasn’t paying attention.”
“A felony, Mr. Haug,” I corrected him, leaning forward slightly. “Forgery. And you, as a notary, are complicit. This isn’t just a property dispute now. This is a state prison matter.”
His chair creaked as he pushed back, knocking over a stack of forms. “Prison? No, no! Malachi… Brother Malachi, he assured me it was merely a formality. An administrative adjustment!”
“He paid you, didn’t he?” I pressed, ignoring his protests. “How much per forged deed, Mr. Haug? One hundred dollars? Two hundred?”
Haug wrung his hands, his gaze fixed on Einar, who watched him with unblinking intensity. The silent accusation seemed to weigh heavily on him.
“One hundred,” he mumbled, barely audible. “One hundred dollars. For each one. He said it was for the good of the Covenant. To consolidate assets.”
“And you signed knowing she was dead,” I stated, not asking.
He looked away, his shoulders slumping. “He was very persuasive. Said if I didn’t cooperate, my own land… my own family… would face the Covenant’s wrath.”
“Write it down, Mr. Haug,” I said, pushing a blank sheet of paper and a pen toward him. “A sworn confession. Detail every payment, every fraudulent deed Malachi forced you to notarize. State that you knew Anna Solberg was deceased when you signed this document.”
He stared at the blank page, his hand shaking. “I… I can’t. Malachi will kill me.”
“State prison, Mr. Haug,” I reiterated, my voice firm. “Or a witness for the state. Your choice. Your name is on every single one of these fraudulent documents. You are going down, regardless. This is your chance to save yourself.”
Einar, sensing the tension, took a step forward, his small hand reaching for Haug’s trembling arm. The gesture, perhaps an echo of his mother’s kindness, seemed to break something in the appraiser.
With a ragged sigh, Haug picked up the pen. His confession, detailing Brother Malachi’s scheme and his own complicity, began to spill onto the page.
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