He knocked, then opened the door a crack. “Mormor? Kirstin? It’s me.”
“We’re in the front room,” Mormor called. “Your supper is waiting in the warmer. Come inside quick.”
Domar smiled and hurried to close the door behind him. He quickly doffed his outdoor wear and left his wet boots by the door. “It’s a cold one today,” he said, hanging his coat on the peg. He went to the kitchen, found his food, and grabbed a fork before joining his family around the fire. “Thought I might freeze to death on the ride back from camp.”
“Well, you’re here now, and we keep a warm house, as you well know,” Mormor declared. “We’re going to need more wood, though.”
“I’ll take care of that tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”
“It’s so good to have you home, Domar. Did you have a good week?” Mormor asked.
“I did.” He kissed his grandmother’s head, then settled on the sofa. “It was a busy one with Ilian gone.” He dug into the food but noticed Kirstin watching him. She had the same strange look on her face as when she’d first encountered him.
Kirstin caught his eye, then looked down at her knitting. “I don’t think I will ever get used to you being alive.” She gave him a smile. “But I’m so thankful you are.”
Domar chuckled. “Me too.”
“Let me get you some coffee,” Mormor said, getting to her feet.
“Thank you.” Domar tore off a hunk of bread. “Has there been any word on Ilian?”
Kirstin gave up on her knitting and put it in the basket beside her. “We’ve seen him. He’s doing as well as expected. The doctor has kept him sedated most of the time.”
Their grandmother returned with his coffee. “His color looks good, so we’re hopeful. The arm is already casted, so there’s no more worries over it except that it needs time to mend.”
“We’ve been praying for him, just as we have for you,” Kirstin added.
Domar could imagine the emphasis of her prayers for him. “Thank you. I know Ilian sometimes seems not to care about such things, but I think he knows the importance.”
“What do you mean?” Kirstin asked.
“Ilian doesn’t believe in prayer. He believes in a Creator but thinks that His main interest was in the creating. Ilian’s mother believed that way too, and he just sort of accepted it for himself. I’ve talked to him many times about how the Bible clearly shows God is active in the lives of His children, but he has never had a great regard for the Bible either. He believes it’s written by man and therefore fallible.”
“How strange. I can’t imagine thinking that way. I suppose, however, having a mother tell you such things would make them easier to accept.” Kirstin stretched her arms over her head. “Still, I can’t imagine God not caring about His children.”
Domar was anxious to change the subject, lest it turn to his own beliefs and practices. He knew Kirstin would speak to him sooner or later about forgiveness. He wanted to do whatever he could to make it much later.
“How did your week go, Mormor? Did you get those gill net orders finished?”
She rocked her chair and smiled. “I did. Your sister is quite good. And fast. She puts me to shame with her nimble fingers.”
“I think it’s fun, almost a game,” Kirstin said.
The fire popped and crackled, causing Mormor to take up the poker. She pushed the logs around for a moment, then added another piece of wood. “It’s such a cold night. If anyone wakes up tonight, be sure to check the fire.” She replaced the poker and focused again on her rocking.
“We’ll make sure it’s tended,” Kirstin said. “You just rest easy.”
They shared a pleasant evening, with Mormor catching Domar up on things related to the neighborhood and town. Domar had always appreciated her attention to detail and memory for information. When it was time for bed, Mormor kissed each of her grandchildren and padded off down the hall while Domar and Kirstin lingered by the fire.
Kirstin lost no time. “Have you been thinking about letting our folks know you’re alive?”
“I think about it all the time.” Domar studied her for a moment. “You look just like you did eleven years ago.”
“Hardly. I was just a little girl.”
“I know, but seeing you sitting here, with your hair in braids and your feet tucked up under you . . . well, it’s just like I remember you at that time. You usually had a book in hand when you were sitting, but sometimes it was sewing.”
“Ja. I hated to sit and do nothing.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly idle.”
“You’re changing the subject,” Kirstin said, waggling her finger at him. “And you’re very good at it.” She grew somber. “But I must know. There are only three weeks left for me to decide.”
“Haven’t you already decided? Isn’t that what this is all about?”
Kirstin shook her head. “No. I’m in turmoil. Between what you’ve said and what Mormor has said, I see a little better why you did what you did. On the other hand, I know what has taken place since you left.”
He yawned. “I’m much too tired to discuss this tonight. We can talk tomorrow or even Sunday after church. I have a lot of work to do for Mormor tomorrow.”
“Very well. But we will talk.” She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “I won’t be put off much longer, Domar.”
“You agreed to one month.”
“Ja, but Mormor told me you won’t be back to visit us for a month. I have to make my time with you count. Especially if you plan to run away from the truth rather than deal with it.”
Domar thought long into the night about that statement. Was he running from the truth? Maybe it was time to tell the truth to his folks. Just let them know he was alive. But then the questions would come. Why didn’t you let us know you were alive? Why did you stay away all these years? Do you forgive us for not believing you? Do you still love us?
Questions for which Domar wasn’t sure he had answers.
Sunday after church was the first real opportunity for Kirstin to speak to Domar. Whether he was busy with Mormor doing repair work around the house or off picking up supplies in town, he had been too preoccupied with other things to sit and listen. Sunday, however, was a day for rest or visiting friends. Shortly after lunch, Mormor had gone out with Mr. Farstad to visit their friends, leaving Kirstin and Domar at home. Domar wanted to see Ilian before he headed back to the camp, and Kirstin had offered to walk to the hospital with him.
“Domar, you have to talk to me. I can’t bear it anymore. Our parents are suffering so much.”
“I know that sorrow lingers, but you must admit that the bulk of their pain is gone and now they just live with regret. Which I believe is good. It helps alter a person’s rush to judgment when they live with regret.”
“I believe they’ve learned their lesson, Domar. Mor and Far realize how wrong they were. They’ve been careful with everyone else, never judging them even when all the facts are known and that person admits wrongdoing.”
“Well, that is progress, and all it took was losing me.”
Kirstin noted the edge of bitterness in his tone. “Domar, you have always been a reasonable person. You seem to like things well ordered, and I’m sure you like people to treat you with kindness and compassion. Shouldn’t you also practice kindness and compassion?”
“Believe me, I’ve long considered this and will go on considering it, but right now I cannot give you an answer. You must do as you feel led, but just remember that no matter what we choose, there are consequences.”
“Exactly so, and are you ready to deal with your own?”
He looked at her oddly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“What if Mor dies before you decide you can bear to confess?”
Her words obviously stung, but he refused to give in. “Then she’ll know the truth, won’t she?”
“And that’s really how you want it?” She had always known her brot
her to be a gentle soul. She knew what the town and their parents had done to him had changed him—probably forever—but she couldn’t believe that gentle spirit was completely destroyed. “Domar, I’m not suggesting you have to have a relationship with them. Not if you truly feel nothing more than hate for them.”
“I don’t hate them,” he said, reaching out to help her up the inclined path.
“Then what?”
“They don’t deserve forgiveness,” he answered after a long pause.
“None of us do. That’s not why we give it. Not why God gave it to us.”
Domar let go of her and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “So let’s say I tell them or let you tell them. Then what? What is gained?”
“What is lost?” Kirstin stopped and looked at him. “What does it cost you to extend mercy in this? You forgive them, and God forgives you. You restore broken hearts and go about living your life, knowing you did the right thing. You don’t have to go back to Sweden. No one expects that.”
“Don’t they? Our parents will. Once they know I’m alive, they will expect me to return and take up farming with Far. They’ll want to show me off to the village and make everyone admit their wrongdoing. It will be a circus, and those people who feel regret will come instead to feel anger and hate. I can hear it now. The blame for having kept the truth from them. The hate that I would put my parents through such an ordeal. There will be a price to pay if we tell them that I’m alive. But if we say nothing, life goes on in peace. Yes, Mor and Far have their sadness over the child they lost, but they also have the compassion of their neighbors and friends who know they will forever owe them kindness for having driven their child to his death. Isn’t that a better life for Mor and Far? If you want something good for them, isn’t that the path to take?”
Kirstin had to admit he made good points. There would be terrible consequences that she had never considered. In their embarrassment over unjustly forcing Domar from the village, it was far more likely the people would be angry rather than happy at the news that he had lived only to dupe them. Mor and Far would be delighted to know Domar had lived, but eventually they might accuse and condemn him for his choices as well.
They began to walk again. Kirstin didn’t know what to say and stayed silent. It wasn’t an easy matter. There wasn’t a simple solution, as she had presumed. She had felt able to let go of her anger the moment she learned Domar was alive. She’d felt certain their parents would beg his forgiveness and all would be made right. Now she wasn’t so sure.
When they reached the hospital, Domar took her arm once they were in out of the cold. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He sighed. “Maybe for everything, but definitely for putting you in this position. I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t make you remain silent, but I just don’t see how speaking out can possibly help. I’m dead to them, and I can’t help but think it’s kinder to leave it at that.”
Kirstin thought about what Domar had said while sitting in Ilian’s hospital room. He was still groggy from the medication, but he was having a conversation with Domar nevertheless.
“I want out of here. I need to get out.”
“Just a little while longer, Ilian. We have to make sure you don’t lose your leg.”
“I’m not going to let them take my leg. Won’t let them.”
“Then you have to lie still and let it mend,” Domar reasoned. “It won’t be that long in the grand scheme of things, and then you can go and stay with my grandmother and Kirstin.”
She nodded. “You’ll come stay with us, and we’ll take good care of you.”
Ilian turned to meet her gaze. The drugs had clouded his thinking, no doubt, because in the next moment he was speaking nonsense. “You’re very pretty. I like the way your lips are formed. They’re full and . . . and . . .” He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to them. “I can’t think of the right words.”
“Well, for now, it’s best you, uh, stay quiet,” Kirstin urged.
“He wants to talk about how beautiful you are,” Domar teased. “Let him. It probably takes his mind off the pain. Not only that, but you are quite pretty. You grew up to be a beauty, and there’s nothing wrong with that. How is it you didn’t marry?”
“Why haven’t you?” She gave him a raised brow and a look that suggested she’d answer as soon as he did.
He shook his head. “That’s a story for another day. Right now we need to focus on getting Ilian well enough to leave this place. It’s not good for healing. You know full well Mormor could do the job much better.”
“Ja. We could do a better job.” She smiled down at the drugged and injured man. “And soon we will.”
Chapter 9
Jordan Webster listened as the town council continued their discussion and plans for the Duluth Canal. He felt sympathy for the troubles they were facing and hoped they might feel compassion in return for his difficulties with the river-bay neighborhood that refused to sell to him. Since they were eager to see industrial growth for the city, Jordan felt confident they would see things his way. At least he hoped they would.
There was a vote on something, and it passed unopposed. Jordan hadn’t really been paying attention, so he had no idea what it was for. No doubt it had something to do with the canal or the area needed for its completion. He was sure their troubles and problems with the canal would be resolved, and knowing these people, they would have their way. After all, they’d won their battle to convince the railroad to come to Duluth instead of Superior, Wisconsin, which would have been a more logical choice, given they had the bulk of lake shipping. Superior knew that losing the railroad was a devastating blow they would be long in recovering from, but to lose the profit from trade coming in off the lake . . . that would sound their death knell for sure.
“The ayes have it, gentlemen. Now we’ll hear from a Mr. Jordan Webster, who wishes to address us on a matter of commercial land use.”
Jordan stood and went to the center of the room. He glanced at the table where a group of well-dressed men sat. These were the wealthy people of the city who made decisions on behalf of Duluth. They were the men who controlled everything.
“Gentlemen, thank you for allowing me to speak. I have a situation that I believe could be beneficial to us all.”
“Please continue, Mr. Webster,” Roger Munger said.
Jordan had met Munger on more than one occasion. He was responsible in great part for the development of Duluth. If anyone would understand, it would be Munger.
“There is a piece of land that I desire to purchase. You’ll see its position on the maps I had drawn for you.” He paused to let everyone take a look. The map had come at some expense, and given there were copies for everyone, it hadn’t been a cheap endeavor. “The lightly shaded area is the entirety of the land I am suggesting be quartered off for commercial purposes. The smaller portion in dark shading is the piece of land I am seeking for my particular project.
“It has become evident, in light of your intentions for the canal and the area surrounding Rice’s Point and Minnesota Point, that we could benefit each other by moving out the individual homes and committing this portion of land to commercial use only. Currently there are forty residences along the St. Louis River and St. Louis Bay in this area, but the day will soon be upon us that this land will be far better purposed for the city’s business use—especially once the canal is in place.
“My plans are drawn up in the papers I gave you, along with the map. I won’t belabor the point or delay this meeting by going over that information, but I would request that you read and consider my proposal. If the property is set aside for the advancement of commercial usage, I pledge my support. Most of the area would be perfect for city development, and at the far end of this stretch, I would like to create an elegant hotel for those coming to Duluth from all over the world. The hotel would be close enough to water transport and the train to attract travelers but created in such a way as to be an oasis
from work and travel.”
“Might I interrupt?” one of the councilmen questioned. “I don’t understand why you don’t just purchase the land and begin to build.”
“I have offered the residents there twice the value of their land, but they refuse to sell.” Jordan looked away momentarily, hoping they didn’t realize he was lying. “It’s a very close community, mostly Scandinavians, and you know how they can be.” He chuckled, but when no one else did, he moved on quickly. “There is one woman in particular who has convinced the others not to sell. She has no real reason except that she loves her neighborhood, which I understand. What she doesn’t understand is that as the canal goes through and other businesses take up their places along the river and bay, her neighborhood will eventually cease to exist. I have encouraged them to move en masse to another piece of land where they can reestablish their neighborhood, and still no one listens.”
Jordan continued to make his point for exactly another two minutes and then wished them a good day. He knew the game. Leave them to read his proposal, which would hopefully stir their greed with his ideas for creating parks and shops along with other needed commercial business. Of course, there was a danger that they would sell the land to some other entrepreneur, but it was a risk he’d have to take, thanks to Lena Segerson.
It was the middle of February before the doctor began to talk about releasing Ilian to Lena’s care. At first Ilian hadn’t wanted to go, knowing he’d be a burden on the old woman, but the idea of being stuck in a boardinghouse or, worse still, returning to his childhood home made the choice easier.
Lena had come to visit him often, and Ilian knew she and her granddaughter would make good company. The problem, as he saw it, was that he wouldn’t be able to return that favor. Between his anger at what had happened and the pain, Ilian could hardly mutter two sentences together without becoming frustrated and annoyed. Often that turned into outright rage.
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