Ilian plopped down at the table. “He says that about you too.”
“I hope that goes well for you, Ilian. I know you are a hard worker.” Mormor turned her attention back to the eggs she was scrambling in the skillet. “We’ll have breakfast ready in a few minutes.”
Kirstin helped get the meal on the table. Whatever Mormor asked of her she did without complaint—in fact, without a word to anyone. When the door opened and Mr. Farstad entered, she smiled at him and stopped long enough to pull out a chair.
“It’s good to see you again so soon,” he said.
“Good morning, Habram,” Mormor declared, bringing a platter of sausages to the table.
“Good morning. I see you have my plate ready.” He chuckled and took the big platter.
“You will have to share this morning,” Mormor admonished.
Kirstin retrieved the jam and butter, as well as the toasted loaf of bread. She placed them near Ilian, still unwilling to look Domar in the eye. Life was certainly not turning out as she had thought it might.
“Let’s sit and pray,” Mormor suggested.
Kirstin watched as her grandmother bowed her head. She seemed so at ease—even content. How could she go on with life as if nothing had changed?
Well, for her nothing has changed. She’s had Domar with her the last eleven years. She isn’t battling with what to do about his secret.
Kirstin glanced to her left and found Ilian watching her as the others prayed. She felt unable to look away. There was sympathy in his expression and such depth of longing in his pale blue eyes. What was it he longed for? Perhaps reconciliation? She heard Mr. Farstad end the prayer and glanced away. It was only then that she wondered why Ilian hadn’t bowed his head to pray with the others.
After breakfast Mr. Farstad left. He bid a good day to Kirstin and her grandmother, then wished the boys a safe journey as he pulled on his boots. Then, without another word, he exited the house. It seemed to be his routine, as if he knew the only way he was tolerated sharing their table was to say very little.
Mormor asked Domar to go with her to her room, leaving Kirstin with Ilian as he put on his boots. She began to gather the dishes rather than try to make small talk.
“I know you’re upset,” Ilian said, breaking the silence. “Your brother is too. His pain is great.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll give some consideration to what I’m going through.” Her words sounded harsher than she’d intended. She sighed and refrained from an awkward apology.
“Maybe you should try to think of someone other than yourself.”
She stopped mid-step and turned. “Maybe you should take your own advice. I’m sure your father might appreciate the effort.”
His eyes narrowed and turned hard. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
She gave him a hint of a smile. “Again, maybe you should take your own advice.”
“I think she’ll come around in time, Domar,” Lena told her grandson. “At least I hope so. I don’t want to lose you now that your morfar and uncle are gone.”
“I won’t leave you deserted, Mormor,” Domar promised. “No matter what, I will be here for you.”
“Have you reconsidered letting your folks know the truth? Maybe Kirstin is right and it’s time to tell them.”
Domar frowned. “I don’t know why it would matter after all these years. It would only reopen old wounds. They can’t undo or unsay the things they said.”
“And you cannot forgive them?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how.”
“Maybe you should pray and ask God. Forgiveness sometimes takes work.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think if it were possible for me, I would have been able to do it before now?” He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. “I’ve tried, Mormor. I’ve tried to give it to God, but for some reason I just can’t.” He let the curtain fall back into place and raised his hand as Mormor opened her mouth to speak. “Please don’t tell me that the Bible says if we don’t forgive others, God won’t forgive us. I know what the Bible says, and it troubles me day and night. I don’t want to defy God. I don’t want to hold this hatred and anger in my heart. I honestly don’t.”
“Keep taking it back to God, Domar. One of these times, maybe you’ll finally leave it with Him.” She came to him and kissed his cheek. “I am praying for you, just as I always have.”
“I want to pray for you, but I’m sure God isn’t listening to me. I’m sure He thinks me defiant, although that really isn’t my heart.”
“Domar, God knows what is in your heart. Just talk to Him. He loves you dearly, just as I do. As your mother and father and sister do. Your entire family loves you, even little Brita who has no memory of you.”
“I hate that I’ve hurt them.”
Lena knew better than to admonish him for his actions. God was the only one who could help him see what needed to be done. “I will keep praying for you.”
He kissed her head and hugged her close. “Thank you. It blesses me to know that someone is. Especially now that I’ve earned Kirstin’s hatred.”
Lena pulled back. “She doesn’t hate you, Domar. She might hate what you’ve done, but she could never hate you.”
Chapter 6
“You’re awfully quiet, Ilian,” Domar said as they drove back to the logging company. “I hope Kirstin didn’t upset you too much.”
“No. She didn’t. I’m sorry she troubled you. I know how difficult family can be.”
“She didn’t really trouble me. I was so happy to see her again that it didn’t matter that she was mad at me. I’ve always wished there was a way to communicate with her and not the others, but I knew if I wrote to her, then everyone would demand to know what was in my letters so they could keep an eye on me through her.”
“Have you thought about telling your folks the truth?” Ilian asked.
“Do you think about reconciling with your father?” Domar shot back.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Domar gave a heavy sigh. “I think about it all the time. You know that. It’s hard to ignore their existence, but the ocean between us helps. My mor and far might very well regret their choices now that they know the truth about that baby, but I doubt they would be very mindful of passing judgment on others if they didn’t have my loss there to remind them. It might save someone else from being falsely judged in the future. Save someone else the pain I had to endure.”
Ilian focused on the team of horses as he drove. “Sometimes I think about making things right with my far, but I don’t understand him and probably never will. He had the power to give my mother the one thing she wanted—the only thing that would have made her happy.”
“People don’t always care what will make someone else happy.” Domar stared ahead at the road.
“Yeah. Like I said, I don’t understand folks like that.”
“Just as I will never understand my family. Kirstin was the only one who stood beside me, and she was just a child—barely thirteen. She was so certain of my innocence that I knew as long as I lived that there would never be anyone who believed in me as much as she did. I can’t bear the thought of giving someone else a chance to betray me.”
“Is that why you won’t choose a girl and marry?” Ilian asked. “It wouldn’t necessarily have to end in betrayal.” Ilian maneuvered the team of horses across a narrow bridge. “Get on up, boys. That bridge isn’t gonna hurt you.” The nervous animals seemed reluctant but kept moving.
“I know you’re right, but I suppose with this matter so unsettled, it makes focusing on a mate seem unimportant.”
“But I thought it was settled. You made your choice, Domar. What’s unsettled about it?”
His friend sighed. “I don’t know. I thought things were settled too, but seeing Kirstin and hearing her talk about Mor—well, it doesn’t feel settled anymore.”
“Do you worry that Kirstin won’t keep her word?”
Domar met Ilian’s gaze. “No. That’s the one thing I don’t worry about. Kirstin is loyal through and through. She would never betray me. She won’t say a word unless she first makes it clear what she plans. I believe once she thinks all of this through, she’ll agree with me and say nothing.”
“I hope so. That kind of loyalty is hard to come by.”
Domar nodded. “It is.”
“She’s very outspoken,” Ilian said after a few minutes of silence.
This caused his friend to chuckle. “She reminds me of you.”
“What?” Ilian looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted wings. “I’m not outspoken.”
“Right. You just feel the need to share your mind all of the time.”
Ilian laughed. “Only when I’m right. Which is pretty much all the time. Still, I thought she was . . . well . . .”
“Very pretty?” Domar suggested.
Ilian saw no need to lie. “Of course, but there is something else about her.”
“She’s a godly woman. Mormor tells me her faith is quite strong.”
“She didn’t bow her head to pray.”
“And for you to know that means you didn’t bow yours.” Domar grinned.
“You know how I feel about God. He’s a marvelous Creator who has given us great bounty. I practice kindness and humility toward His creation. I believe He is present in everything and therefore I have no need to pray. I can simply move through life in a sort of continual understanding of His presence.”
They fell silent after that and rode for miles without saying a word. Ilian thought of Domar’s sister and the loyalty he spoke of. She seemed to have no difficulty standing up to her brother, and Ilian liked that about her. She’d stood up to Ilian too and hadn’t done it in a mean way, but rather made it clear that she knew her own mind and heart. She wasn’t afraid of everything, like so many women Ilian had met. And he couldn’t forget how she had felt sitting on his lap. Small but firm.
“Will you really leave . . . if she decides to tell your folks that you’re alive?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Domar gazed out into the snowy woods. “I never really thought about their pain being something ongoing. I figured once I was dead, I was dead. It’s hard to think of my mother pining away.”
“I watched mine do that.”
“I remember. Barely, but I do. Her unhappiness was so great.”
“And Far never cared. At least you care about it, Domar. If you can save her from it, I urge you to do so. Now that you know your mother’s pain is continual, I urge you to make peace. Knowing the truth makes a difference in my eyes. If you know your mother is suffering because of something you’re doing—you need to make it right.”
“Your father is suffering because of something you’re doing. What’s the difference? You aren’t rushing to make it right.”
They hit a hole, and the wagon bounced, throwing them against each other. Ilian straightened and shrugged. “My mother is dead. Far can’t make it right for her, so why should I make it right for him?”
“It’s no different, even if your mor is dead. Kirstin made me think, and then Mormor had her words as well.”
“About forgiveness again?”
“Yes.” Domar shook his head. “It’s always about forgiveness. Mormor always says it’s such a liberation of burdens when we forgive those who’ve wronged us. I just don’t see how forgiving those people back home—and my family—will make me feel any better. I lost them all. At least, I lost what I thought we had together.”
“I guess you won’t know if you don’t try, and it’s not like they will know anyway. You could just tell God you forgive them and let it go at that.”
“But I have to mean it,” Domar said, pulling up his wool collar. “I have to mean it in my heart.” He shook his head. “And I just don’t know if I honestly do.”
They reached the camp nearly two hours later. Everyone was busy at work. The goal was to clear this section of forest and then build a new shelter for the draft horses and a bunkhouse for the men. It would be their northernmost camp. Ilian knew the plan was for him to run this part of the company. The boss had been training him and Domar for over two years. Ilian would be in charge, and Domar would be his right-hand man. Mr. Morganson had said he’d never met two men who worked better together, and he wasn’t about to break up such a rare team. Ilian was grateful for that and glad that their boss recognized what an asset he had in them. Especially since Ilian had been at this for a long time. Only leaving to fight in the war had taken him from logging, and he intended for nothing to take him from it again.
He supposed he was one of the few who saw his work as more than a job. He’d started as a feller, cutting down the huge cork or white pine trees. Next he’d trained as a sawyer, waking up each day to a newly sharpened saw and pail of lard oil. The sawyers trimmed the felled trees into logs. The oil was sprinkled generously on the blade to cut the pitch and allow for smoother sawing.
Ilian had even worked loading the logs on the skids, sometimes piling them as high as a second story on a house. Loaders—or groundhogs, as they were often called—were the best-paid men in the camp because the job was so dangerous and required exacting skills.
“Glad to have you boys back,” Morganson said, coming out to meet them as Ilian stopped the horse and set the brake on the wagon. “I need everyone on loading. We’ve got to get these logs to the railroad.”
“Sure, boss,” Domar said before Ilian could.
Ilian wasn’t at all fond of the job of loading, but he was good at it. Being a “sender-upper” of the huge logs took precision and much attention to detail. It was easy to lose control and have things end in tragedy.
“You want these chains unloaded first?” Ilian asked Morganson.
“No, leave them. I’ll get some of the new boys to take ’em. Hallberg, grab a cant hook and help with loading. We’ve got a hundred tons to move. Let’s get it done.”
“Yes, sir!” Domar jumped down from the wagon as a young man no older than fourteen approached.
“O’Sullivan,” Morganson addressed the young man, “you drive this team to where they’re loading and tell the boys to use the new chains in the back.”
“Yes, sir!” the boy replied and climbed into the wagon seat. He took up the reins and waited for Ilian to dismount.
Ilian hit the ground and looked at his boss. “New boy?”
“Yup. That’s Big Bart’s son. He finished up his education and came to learn the business. He doesn’t look like much, but the kid is strong. Smart too.”
“That’s good. He’ll need to be.” A light snow had started to fall, and Ilian glanced at the overcast skies. “The roads looked good coming in. The boys must have dragged them early. Looks like you got more snow here than in Duluth.”
“Been doing nothing but snowing,” the grizzled old man groused. “That’s why we’re in a hurry to get those logs moved. We need to get them to the railroad and load them up. The cars are waiting on the siding.”
“We’ll manage it.” Ilian pulled on his work gloves.
The men went to work on the huge load of logs. As Ilian fell into the rhythm of the work, his mind kept going back to his conversation with Domar and then further back to his time with Kirstin. She really was something else. She had totally captivated him. He couldn’t really explain the effect she’d had on him, but it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He supposed it might have to do with the fact that he hadn’t been around any young women in a long time. He had avoided any kind of emotional entanglement, knowing he had no desire to marry and end up in misery like his parents.
Kirstin was different than most of the women he’d known, however. There was a strength and even wisdom in her that seemed unnatural for someone so young. Ilian liked that about her, as well as the fact that she seemed completely open and honest. She spoke her mind and said what she meant. There didn’t seem to be any pretense with her.
> Ilian heard the snap of the chain, but it didn’t quite register. One of the men yelled a warning, and then Ilian saw the logs cutting loose from the stack. Standing alongside the skids, he never had a chance to get fully clear. He tried to make a jump for it, but he was much too slow.
The first log knocked him face first to the ground and rolled right past him. Ilian tried to catch himself. The sound was like a low rumble—not at all frightening unless you knew what the rumble meant. Pain tore through Ilian’s right arm as a second log and then a third ripped by.
At first Ilian thought he’d escaped the worst of it, but as one final log rolled from the wagon, the tail end of it landed on him hard, mid-thigh. As his pain increased, Ilian knew he was in real trouble. He heard the men yelling and saw them make a mad dash for him. The pain increased, and Ilian heard the snap of his own femur. The pain surged upward. He wanted to pass out but fought to keep conscious.
“Ilian! Don’t move. We’re going to get you free.”
He grimaced and panted for air. “Can’t . . . can’t move.”
Domar came to take hold of his shoulders. “Work together, fellows. On the count of three.”
Ilian saw the men take hold of the log that pinned his leg. It was no wonder he hurt so much.
“I’ll pull you out when they manage to lift the log,” Domar told him.
Ilian tried to nod, but his world was closing in. He had to fight to keep awake. He had to.
“One,” Domar began. “Two.” The men gave Ilian one last glance. “Three.”
Ilian felt the weight lift. He let out a roar. Pain shot through every part of his body. Then he lost the fight and gave himself to the darkness.
“Ilian. Time to wake up.”
Ilian opened his eyes to find his mother standing over him. She smiled, and because it happened so rarely, Ilian smiled back. “What time is it?” he asked, yawning.
“Nearly dawn. You said you wanted to be awake before first light.”
“Yeah.” He threw back the covers and got to his feet. “The men are leaving at dawn.”
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