“Ja, that makes good sense.” Habram took a seat on the metal chair by the bed and shook his head. “I wish he’d forgive me so we could be close. He doesn’t realize how mistaken he is to hate me. I’ve never held the wrong he did me against him. I’ve always forgiven his misjudgment.”
The words pierced Domar’s heart. The issue of forgiveness was such a complicated affair. At least it had always been that way for him. God said He wouldn’t forgive a person unless he forgave others, so Domar figured he was without God’s grace. Others said that forgiveness was a privilege given only if the other person humbled themselves and asked. But how could a person be responsible for asking when they thought the other person was dead? He knew from things Mormor had said or read to him from family letters that there had been a lot of prayer seeking forgiveness for what they’d done to him. He had never given it much thought, however. He’d deemed it too little, too late.
He followed Habram’s example and sat down. The small hospital ward was empty except for Ilian.
“He won’t come home to recuperate,” Habram murmured.
“He can stay with Mormor and Kirstin.” Domar had already worked it out in his head. Ilian could be nursed to health by his grandmother, and Habram would be able to check on him. “I’m sure Mormor wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’ll pay for his care. Whatever it takes.”
“I doubt Ilian will allow that, but we’ll make sure together that he has what he needs.” Domar smiled. “I know you two have your issues. It seems we all do, but this is one of those times when anger and adversity must be put aside for the greater good.”
“Ja. It would seem so, but I wouldn’t place any bets on it happening.”
“Gentlemen, the visiting hours are long over,” a matronly nurse announced. “You can come back in the morning.”
Domar thought Habram might protest, but instead he got to his feet. “Ja, Ilian needs a good sleep. Come on, Domar. We will go home.”
“Sure thing.” Domar stood and gave the nurse a nod. “You’ll send word if . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought. Imagining that Ilian might worsen and die was more than he could express.
“Of course,” she said, her words less stern.
Domar walked from the hospital with Habram at his side. At least it had stopped snowing. They continued several blocks without a word, and then Habram began to talk in a rapid clip.
“That boy is so full of hate toward me, I don’t know that even the good Lord can get him to change his mind. Ilian blames me for his mother’s unhappiness because I made her move to America, but he doesn’t realize she was unhappy before we ever came to America. The fact is, she was never happy with me. Her folks and mine made us marry. It was an arranged marriage, and neither of us wanted it. I agreed because I respected my parents, and she agreed because of her parents’ threats to her. She was miserable even though I tried my best to make her happy and be a good husband. The girls came along, and they were such sweet babies. But it only made her resent me more, and why, I do not know. She wanted so little to do with the girls. Thankfully we were still in Sweden, and my grandmother could help care for them. I just wanted Sarah to love her children and me, but . . . she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“No. But it was all we had. Then Ilian came, and I thought he and I might be close. I thought as father and son we would do much together, but Sarah . . . well, she never wanted that. She wanted Ilian for herself.”
Domar didn’t say a word. He wasn’t sure why Habram wanted him to know all of this, but it seemed important to him, so Domar let him continue.
“She turned Ilian against me with her lies, and still I loved her. I wish she could have been happy, because maybe then Ilian could have been happy too. But neither could forgive and forget. Sarah could not let go of her selfish desires—her demands.”
Habram pulled his coat closer against the cold. Domar figured it must have been at least ten degrees below zero.
“All of my life, I’ve only wanted good things for each member of my family, and now poor Ilian lies in a hospital bed and we don’t even know if he’ll keep his leg.” Habram shook his head. “I do not think Ilian could handle that. He would rather die.”
When Habram went silent, Domar wasn’t at all sure what to say. Partly because he knew that regarding Ilian and his leg, Habram was speaking the truth. Ilian would never allow himself to be a cripple. He would rather die, and Domar feared he would make such a thing happen if the doctor took his leg.
They reached the neighborhood, where many of the houses were wrapped in darkness. It was obvious people had gone to bed. Thankfully, Mormor’s house was lit up in a welcoming manner. Domar had no doubt that she and Kirstin were waiting for word, and frankly, it would be good to talk some of it out. He knew Ilian’s future would rely heavily upon each person being willing to lend a hand. Soon enough he’d have to return to work, but he couldn’t leave unless he knew everything there was managed.
“Come on to our house,” Domar said as Habram started to turn toward his own darkened home. “Mormor will have kept supper for both of us on the stove.”
“I’ll go start a fire in my hearth first and then join you,” Habram replied. “Tell her all that we know, and I’ll be there shortly.”
Domar nodded and watched the tired old man trudge up his walkway through unbroken snow before turning for home.
Kirstin met her brother at the door. “How is Ilian?”
“He’s resting. The doctor is keeping him asleep so that he doesn’t have to endure the pain.”
She frowned. “I imagine the pain is quite great.”
“Ja, I think it must be.” Domar sat down and unlaced his boots. “Where’s Mormor?”
“She’s ironing clothes in the dining room. We’ve been taking turns to keep busy.” She looked him over from head to toe. “Were you at all hurt when the logs broke loose?”
“No, I wasn’t nearby.” He frowned and put his boots by the door. “I can’t believe this has happened. Poor Ilian. He was just about to be promoted too.”
“Is that you, Domar? Habram?” Mormor asked as she came into the kitchen.
“Habram will be here shortly. He went to start a fire and get the house warmed up.” Kirstin helped Domar out of his coat, then hung it on the peg. They heard Habram whistling as he came up the walk.
Kirstin hurried to open the door before he had a chance to knock. “Come in. We have supper for both of you.”
She stepped back, and Habram entered. “Supper sounds and smells good.” He quickly rid himself of his winter gear.
Mormor was already bringing the food to the table. “Kirstin, get the bread and butter.”
“Ja.” Kirstin hurried to the counter to retrieve the food.
“We want to hear all the news, but we will let you eat first and then hear what you have to say,” Mormor declared.
They all sat at the table, and while Kirstin ate a piece of bread and butter, Mormor sipped a cup of tea. Domar and Habram ate like they’d been starved for weeks and happily took seconds.
When they’d finished, Mormor brought them some warmed apples, raisins, and rice in a brown sugar sauce. “Will he live?”
Kirstin figured that was the most important thing to know. She frowned at the way her eyes threatened to dampen with tears. She didn’t even know Ilian very well, and she was already mourning his possible loss for Mr. Farstad’s sake.
Ilian’s father poured himself another cup of coffee while Domar took it upon himself to answer the questions.
“The doctor believes he’s stable for the time being. He may well take an infection, and that will determine a lot. They can’t be sure just yet about the blood flow through the leg. If that has been compromised, he will probably lose the leg.”
“How awful. The poor boy. His kind cannot function without a leg.” Mormor shook her head and reclaimed her seat at the table.
“The worst of it is hi
s leg.” Domar picked up his coffee. “Compound fracture mid-thigh. They cleaned out the wound and put the bone back in place. It hadn’t been set exactly right at the logging camp, but the hospital surgeon set it properly and splinted it. They also put him in traction, so hopefully it will stay in place. They can’t cast it until next week.”
“But why?” Kirstin asked.
“Too much swelling, and then there’s the stitches. You can’t put the cast on until the stitches come out, or you’ll never be able to get them out. At least that’s what the nurse said.”
“He’ll stay with me. With us,” Mormor declared. “I can care for him here. He can have Per’s room downstairs, and Kirstin will help me.”
“I admit I hoped you would say that,” Habram said, bowing his head. “We know he would never accept my help.”
Mormor put aside her teacup with a smile. “Well, maybe having to rest a long time to heal his leg will heal other parts of him as well. One can never tell what God has in mind.”
Kirstin smiled to herself. It really was the perfect solution. With Ilian under their roof, she could work to encourage him to heal the situation between him and his father. Now the accident made perfect sense. Sometimes God used situations to get a person’s attention. Perhaps this was the only way He could get Ilian’s.
The next evening the house was full to overflowing with people for the smörgåsbord. The house itself was hardly big enough to host such a large dinner gathering, but folks were content to move from room to room, holding the plate they had brought from home and visiting as if they hadn’t seen one another in months.
Kirstin was introduced to one person after another but only remembered the name of her grandmother’s dear friend, Metta Sandberg.
“I am so pleased you are here,” Metta declared with a broad smile. “Your mormor talks about you and your family all the time. We know Domar, of course, but it is wonderful to know you too. And look how pretty you are. Your eyes are so blue—like the fjords in the old country.”
Mrs. Sandberg continued to fuss over Kirstin, telling her she was too skinny, encouraging Mormor to fatten her up. The women brought her samplings of everything they’d made just to make sure their concerns were heeded. Kirstin enjoyed all of the Swedish and Norwegian dishes and was delighted with the surprise of receiving a recipe card for each dish. It was a neighborhood tradition to welcome new women, be they single, married, or widowed, with written copies of their recipes.
“What’s the news on that Webster fella?” one of the men asked Habram as he joined Kirstin for the first time since the party started.
“He’s still being pushy, but we all just need to stand together and tell him no. He can’t do anything without all of us in agreement to sell to him. He needs all of the land.”
“It’s foolishness,” the man replied. “He wants to make a fancy hotel with a park for the rich. This is a working town. Doesn’t he understand that the water is important to us for our living?”
“Apparently not. He has his ideas, and that’s all that seems to matter to him.” Habram put his arm around Kirstin. “But let’s forget him for a while. Have you met Lena’s granddaughter?”
Kirstin let Habram introduce her around to his friends. She tried to remember the names as best she could but knew in the morning she wouldn’t be able to recall more than one or two. Still, they were good people, and she liked all of them very much. Most were older folks, and she especially loved the stories of old people and their wisdom. She had learned so much from folks like these. It pleased her to know that her grandmother lived in such a neighborhood.
By the time Kirstin crawled into her bed for the night, she was still stuffed with food and blessed by the kindness of her grandmother’s friends. She loved how much they adored her grandmother. No matter the age, from young to old, the people in the neighborhood thought Lena Segerson was the finest of Christian women. They had praised her for everything from her cooking to her sewing and even praised her for singing in the church choir.
Kirstin couldn’t help but smile at the memory. These were such good people, and she was going to enjoy getting to know them better.
But amid those pleasant thoughts, Ilian’s situation came to mind. She hoped he would accept Mormor’s offer for him to convalesce at her house. Kirstin thought it would be the perfect way to fix things between Ilian and his father. As she drifted off to sleep, she found herself making plans. Not only for Ilian, but for Domar.
All she needed was time to convince him he should tell their mother that he was alive. Kirstin believed that absolutely everything else would fall into place if she could just get that one thing done. She didn’t know why it seemed that everything else hinged on it. After all, the Farstad family troubles and the Hallberg issues were two completely different affairs. The two families weren’t joined in any way at all, but if Mormor and Mr. Farstad’s interest in each other continued, they very well might be.
Kirstin smiled at the thought. Mormor and Mr. Farstad deserved to be happy.
Her mother deserved to be happy too, but that thought didn’t make Kirstin smile. It was a worrisome matter that wouldn’t be easily resolved. If Kirstin gave her mother the news, she would both hurt and fill her with joy. Worse, if Kirstin told the news, she would forever lose her brother. Just when she’d gotten him back. Why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t Domar see the pain he’d caused and want to fix the situation?
She sighed and pounded her pillow to make it more comfortable. She just needed to trust that God would straighten this all out.
Chapter 8
Domar returned to the logging camp the next day. He knew, despite what Mr. Morganson had said about staying, that they’d want to know as soon as possible about Ilian’s situation. At least Domar would want it that way if the shoe was on the other foot.
Once Ilian was stabilized, there wasn’t much sense in remaining, anyway. The doctor continued to keep him drugged to minimize movement and eliminate the pain. Ilian had no idea anyone was there, so it wasn’t like it would matter to him if Domar left.
“Sounds like it’s just as bad as we figured,” Mr. Morganson said, shaking his head. “Poor boy, and just when things were going so well for him.”
“I’m sure he’ll recover. Ilian’s tougher than most and has the determination of twenty men.”
Morganson gave an enthusiastic nod. “That he does. I figured you’d stay in town longer and make sure they can save the leg.”
“The doctor sounded hopeful but said he wouldn’t know for a while. The blood flow is what’s critical. I knew you were shorthanded here and figured it would be best to get back as soon as possible. Besides, my weekend off is coming up, and I need to take it if I haven’t been away too much already. My grandmother has repairs and tasks she intends for me to do. Ilian and I would have done them together, but now it’ll fall on my shoulders. Besides, the doctor said this week would tell us all we needed to know about Ilian’s leg.”
“Oh sure, that’s no problem. You take your days. I just added ten new men. All have experience, so we’re moving right along. The demands for wood are increasing every day. Duluth will need plenty to shore up and build the new canal and docks. It’s a great time to be in business.”
Domar laughed at the stout man’s enthusiasm. “I’d best get to work, then.”
“You have a strong team, Domar, and you’re a good leader. I’m glad to have you as my man. You set a good pace for those young boys. Teach ’em right. We don’t need any more accidents.”
“I will. I promise.”
Domar went to drop off his stuff at the bunkhouse. There was an odd sense of loss without Ilian there. They had been close ever since Domar had come to Duluth. Even though they often disagreed on a variety of issues, they had stuck it out through good times and bad because both felt in many ways as if they were otherwise alone in the world.
“By your own choice,” Domar muttered to himself. “By my own choice.”
The work w
eek passed quickly, with Domar working from dawn to dusk. The camp was efficient, and they managed to get all of the work done and then some, despite Ilian’s absence. The accident had scared the younger men who didn’t have as much experience, and they were listening to every word told to them by the old-timers. Truth be told, the old-timers were just as worried. Accidents happened frequently. No one wanted Ilian’s fate.
Domar arrived back in Duluth on Friday afternoon, having hitched a ride with the camp doctor, who was going to town for supplies and a weekend of his own. During their trip, Domar asked the doctor questions about Ilian’s injuries.
“Only time can tell with these things, Domar. All it takes is a piece of missed debris, and infection can set in. Infection will spell certain disaster.”
“Well, I hope they were thorough with the cleaning.”
“I tried to be thorough at camp, but we’re so limited in what we can do there. The hospital will have had a much better time of it. You told me the doctor said he cleaned it and stitched it. I’m sure he had the facilities to do a good job, unlike me. I sometimes feel as if I’m back on the battlefield with the conditions we have to deal with.” He brought the wagon to a stop in front of Domar’s grandmother’s house.
“You did a good job, Doc. Even the doctor at the hospital said as much.”
The man nodded. “Professional courtesy, no doubt.” He smiled. “Try not to worry, Domar. You should be able to tell how things are going now that they’ve had nearly a week.” Domar climbed down from the wagon. “I’ll check in on him as well. You can ask me any questions you have when I pick you up Sunday afternoon at the hospital,” the doctor said. He glanced toward Mormor’s house. “Tell your grandmother I send my regards.”
“I will. See you Sunday.”
Domar gave him a wave and headed up the narrow path to the house. In the summer the path was lined with flowers, and he could always find Mormor out tending them in the evening hours. Now, however, it was lined with new snow piled knee high. Someone had shoveled the walk.
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