Forever My Own

by Tracie Peterson

  Why was he still alive if he had to live with the possibility of never walking again? He thought of other bad injuries he’d had. The pain had always been bearable because he had convinced himself that it was simply a part of the healing. Once he’d healed, the pain would be gone. Now he couldn’t even tell himself that, because the doctor said the pain would most likely always be with him. Especially during cold weather.

  The doctor had also told Ilian he’d most likely never return to working as a logger. Ilian couldn’t imagine what that would mean for his future. As an adult, the only jobs he’d known were soldiering and logging, neither of which he would be able to do right away—if at all.

  His leg began to throb. Thankfully the arm pain was minimal, but the leg bothered him with clockwork precision. It was time for his medication, but the doctor was giving him less and less. The man was a firm believer in working through the pain. He had grave concerns that patients who took a lot of medicine would become completely reliant upon it and never be able to get off of it. At this point Ilian didn’t care. He hurt. Worse than at any other time in his life. He felt like his leg would surely explode into a million pieces from the pressure and burning. He was in agony, and no one seemed to understand that now wasn’t the time to deny him relief. Let him be reliant. All that mattered was stopping the pain.

  It had only been a few weeks, he reminded himself, and the first one he didn’t even remember. Mercifully, the doctor had kept him asleep or very groggy. It seemed strange to imagine people coming and going and him not knowing it, but now he would have given all the money he had for the doctor to go back to that treatment.

  He heard someone crying at the end of the room. A divider had been put up to shield the other patient from Ilian and the world. Apparently he had been in a freighting accident and his son had been killed. Ilian felt sorry for the man. He kept crying out to God as if it might do some good, but Ilian knew it wouldn’t. God did not bother Himself with the daily, mundane affairs of man.

  Although he had never called himself such, many suggested he was a Deist, relying on logic and reasoning and holding very little regard for the Bible and prayer. Ilian’s mother had believed that way too. The Bible, although a good book full of wisdom, was created, after all, by men. And even if they were inspired men, logic suggested fallibility because of its authors. Ilian knew that the counterargument was that God was the author and men were merely the secretaries who wrote down the words, and therefore the book was completely infallible. Both sides made good points, but reasoning told him that God would never trouble with such a book. Why should He? Mankind wouldn’t adhere to it anyway.

  Ilian liked to imagine that God was very orderly and logical. He put the world into motion with great precision. He created man to think for himself—to reason using the world God had given him. It seemed to Ilian that God was more Creator than heavenly Father. The word father to most implied someone who desired a relationship. God, being God, had no need for that. Not in the normal sense of man’s reasoning. He was the Creator, and therefore His creation was already a natural part of Him. God was in all, and all was in God. Or something like that. Frankly, Ilian paid it little attention these days.

  Then there was the whole concept of hell. Ilian didn’t believe in hell, unless of course it was in this hospital bed. And he didn’t believe in Satan. It wasn’t logical that the Creator would create an evil counterpart. What purpose would that serve? It wasn’t as if God would get bored and desire an eternal sparring partner. That made no sense to Ilian whatsoever.

  However, as he got older and heard Domar talk about his beliefs, Ilian had been persuaded that perhaps the Creator of the universe wasn’t quite as detached as he had believed. After all, it was logical that a Creator would have some concern about His creation—especially if, as Ilian believed, the two were intricately and eternally connected.

  Strangely enough, Domar had even gotten Ilian thinking on the need for a Savior, given that mankind had put the world in such disorder. It would be quite reasonable for an orderly God to create a means of returning order to a disorderly world.

  There were other issues Domar had discussed that gave Ilian second thoughts about his beliefs—his mother’s beliefs. He had always enjoyed a good conversation with his friend because Domar was very systematic in the choices he had made. He hadn’t accepted his faith because his elders had told him it was so. He had gone out for himself to learn and figure out what was what.

  “How are you feeling today, Mr. Farstad?”

  Ilian looked up to find the doctor watching him closely.

  “I’m in pain. A lot of it.”

  “That is still to be expected, but I’ve come with good news. We’re going to let you go home in another day or so. You’ll no doubt rest much easier among your loved ones.”

  “No doubt. I know the food will be better.”

  The doctor smiled. “No doubt.” He began an exam of Ilian’s casted leg.

  “So there’s no longer a danger of losing the leg?” Ilian dared the question that had been on his mind.

  “I think we are safe.” The doctor pressed against Ilian’s large toenail and watched the color quickly return. “I was concerned about the blood vessels throughout the leg, but it appears that you’ve got good circulation. It would seem God was merciful. The injuries could have been so much worse. If the artery had been crushed or torn apart, you would have died within moments, and if the veins had suffered damage, I couldn’t have saved the leg. You’re quite blessed.”

  “If God truly cares so much, He could have just kept it from happening altogether.” Ilian tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but knew he’d done a poor job.

  The doctor ignored him. “Are you continuing with the exercises we gave you? You want to keep moving your shoulder and hip joints. It may not seem like much, but you’ll be glad for it when this cast comes off.”

  “And when might that be?”

  The doctor smiled. “I think another five or six weeks. We need to make certain the femur heals completely, and then there will be more exercises afterward to strengthen and improve the mobility of your knee and ankle. You’ll definitely need someone to help you for a time.”

  Domar’s sister came to mind. Funny, he knew only what Domar had told him about her, but he felt as if they’d been acquainted for a very long time. She’d come to visit him a couple of times with her grandmother, but she usually let Lena do the talking, seeming almost embarrassed to be in such an intimate setting. The memory made him smile. Maybe she could be his exercise companion.

  The doctor finished his exam. “Everything looks very promising. I know you’re in pain, and I will have the nurse bring you some medication, but be encouraged. You are making steady progress. All of it points to a full recovery, although we have no way of knowing just now how strong the bones will be. A few weeks back, I couldn’t even be certain you’d keep this leg, with the worry of infection. Now the prognosis is good, even if you need a cane to walk. You, my boy, have cheated death.”

  Ilian gritted his teeth. “At this point, I wish I could cheat the pain.”

  “I’ll send in the nurse.” The doctor departed, and Ilian let out a growl.

  “Ilian.” His father spoke from the doorway to the dormitory. “Are you up to having a visitor?”

  “The doctor just left,” Ilian replied. “Talk to him if you want news. I’m in too much pain.”

  A nurse swept past the old man, coming to Ilian with a bottle and a spoon. “Time for your medicine, Mr. Farstad.” She looked at his broken right arm and frowned as if not quite knowing what to do.

  Ilian reached out to take the spoon. “Pour it,” he commanded. “Two spoonfuls.”

  “Yes.” She was young and seemed rather overwhelmed when Ilian grabbed the spoon from her hands.

  “Miss Daniels, don’t let patients push you around,” an older nurse declared as she joined them.

  Ilian recognized her as Nurse Thompson. She was a bear of a woman an
d twice as mean. He hurried to gulp down his first spoonful before she could forbid it. It tasted terrible, but just having it in his mouth made Ilian feel he’d won some small victory. He held the spoon up for the younger nurse to pour another. He no sooner had that spoonful in his mouth than Nurse Thompson grabbed the bottle from the girl.

  “Tomorrow you will be released, and the doctor will send you home with one bottle and no more,” Nurse Thompson said sternly. “The prescription will be one spoonful every six hours—if needed. You will need to wean yourself off of this, because he will not allow a refill of the prescription.”

  “Can’t have our patients feeling comfortable, can we?” Ilian said, handing the younger nurse his spoon.

  Nurse Thompson said nothing but moved toward the end of the room and their other patient. Nurse Daniels seemed completely stunned by all that had happened and stood transfixed at Ilian’s bedside.

  “Come, Nurse Daniels!” the older woman shouted.

  It startled the young woman, who dropped the spoon and had to hurry to pick it up before joining her superior.

  For a moment Ilian just stared at his father. He had no desire for a conversation, and soon the medication would make him beyond caring that his father was even there. But for the moment, he resented almost everything about him.

  “The doctor said you could go home tomorrow. That’s good news, ja?” his father said.

  “Ja.” Except Ilian didn’t have a home.

  Ilian didn’t know what else to say. He and his father hadn’t spoken more than a few words over dinner since his mother had died, and prior to that, they had argued. All the time. Argued about why Ilian’s father wouldn’t take his wife home to Sweden for a visit. Argued about why Ilian didn’t stay out of it and mind his own business. For a long time Ilian had hated his father, but over the years that had faded into a strange sort of pity. Ilian didn’t at all understand that feeling.

  “You are welcome to my house,” his father said, as if he didn’t already know about the arrangement.

  “I’m going to stay with Lena and her granddaughter.”

  “Ja.” His father said nothing for a moment. “You made her very happy that you didn’t decide to go to a boardinghouse.”

  “She was kind to offer.” Ilian tried to shift his weight to the right, but the pain was immediate. There was a raw place where his leg attached to the torso. He grimaced to avoid growling. At least the medication was starting to take hold.

  “I’m sorry that you hurt, son.” His father’s words seemed genuine.

  “I’m sorry that the entire accident happened. Such a stupid waste. I won’t be able to work for the rest of the season. I might never be able to go back to it.”

  “You don’t worry about a thing there, by golly,” his father said, shaking his index finger at Ilian. “I know we have had our differences, but I take care of my own.”

  “I’ll take care of myself. I have my savings.” Ilian didn’t have the energy to argue and closed his eyes as the medicine began to take over. “I’m pretty tired. I think I’d better rest.”

  “Ja, you rest. I’ll tell Lena you’ll come to stay with her tomorrow.”

  “Probably tomorrow,” Ilian replied, his voice slow and drifting.

  “Ja. I’ll come back with a wagon to take you home.”

  Kirstin was filled with a sense of excitement as she waited for Mr. Farstad to bring Ilian to the house. He would make for a nice diversion, and the sooner she got to know him, the sooner she could help the Farstad men patch up their differences. The very idea excited her. Wouldn’t it be something if after all these years of anger and bitterness, the two of them could set aside everything and come together?

  Kirstin had to admit that a diversion was also a selfish desire. She needed something to take her mind off of her decision regarding Domar. She enjoyed long talks with Mormor and making the gill nets, but often she had too much time to think, and when that happened, she could only think of Domar and the mess he had created for all of them. Perhaps having Ilian at the house would help her better understand her brother. Maybe Ilian could offer insight.

  A couple of the neighbors came to help Mr. Farstad carry Ilian into the house on a litter. The doctor wanted absolutely no pressure on the leg and had forbidden any kind of walking, even with crutches. Ilian was clearly annoyed and embarrassed but tolerated the older men and their help without a word. Once they had him settled in the bed in Uncle Per’s room, Mormor and Kirstin went to see what they could do to make him more comfortable.

  Mormor retrieved another quilt from the blanket box. “It’s supposed to get quite cold tonight. I hope that flannel nightshirt is big enough in the shoulders. You and Per were nearly the same size.”

  “It feels fine, Mrs. Segerson.”

  She nodded and gestured to Kirstin. “We will be your nurses. Here’s a bell to keep by your side as you sleep. You can ring it any time you need one of us.”

  “I hate putting extra work on you,” Ilian muttered.

  “You have done a lot for me, Ilian. This is the way it is for friends and family. We help one another in times of trouble and share celebrations in good times. We will have you mended in no time at all. You’ll see.”

  He didn’t look convinced and tried to straighten the pillow behind him. Kirstin stepped forward and pulled it free. “Tell me when it’s just right.” She leaned in toward him, careful not to touch him, and settled the pillow behind his head and shoulders.

  “Thanks. That’s good.” He paused and settled back. “Very good.”

  She straightened. She wanted to brush back the dark hair that hung across one eye. It had bothered her since she’d come into the room, so without making much ado about it, she pushed it away from his face and smiled. “There, now you can see.”

  He looked at her for a moment. With their gazes locked, Kirstin’s cheeks warmed. Ilian Farstad was quite a handsome man.

  “Thank you,” he said with just a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Ilian likes to play checkers, so maybe when he’s settled and out of pain, you can bring the checkerboard and play a game or two,” Mormor told Kirstin. She then looked at Ilian. “Kirstin is also a good reader. It helps her to practice her English, so maybe you’d let her read to you sometimes.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Segerson.”

  “You rest now, Ilian, and don’t forget to ring when you need anything.”

  Kirstin followed her grandmother from the room, wondering why she suddenly felt like there were fish jumping in her stomach. Maybe she was coming down with something.

  “Are those nets finished yet?” Mormor looked at the wall where two long nets hung.

  “Almost. They need to be tied off and finished.”

  “Good. We need to start on some more. Mr. Landers told me he needs a new net, so we will get that started. I will help you finish these first.”

  They got to work completing the nets, and Kirstin found herself thinking about Domar. It would only be another week and he’d come home. Her month would be up, and although she had prayed and prayed, Kirstin still didn’t know what she would do about the situation. She’d thankfully already written Mor and Far and wouldn’t be obligated to write again until she received something from them. Still, the situation nagged and nagged at her. She had to figure out what to do, and soon.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Kirstin glanced up to find Mormor watching her as she wound up the new fishing net. “I was just thinking. A lot is on my mind.”

  “I know you are worried about Ilian, but I think this is probably about your brother, ja?”

  “Ja. I know he will come next week, and I don’t know what to do. I feel so bad about what happened to him, but that was eleven years ago. It seems a long time to carry his anger and revenge.”

  “You think this is his revenge?” Mormor asked. She tied off the ends of the net.

  “Ja, in a way. He is getting back at the people who betrayed his trust and chose not to believ
e him. He is punishing them.”

  “Ja, I believe you are right. I’ve spent most of this time trying not to think on it at all, but you make a good point.”

  “He’s convinced himself that this way the people will learn a lesson about false judgment. That they will go on being sorry for what they did, but it seems to me that one man cannot change another by such an action. I was thinking about this last night just before I fell asleep. I remember when I was a girl and the Lindbergs’ youngest son fell through thin ice and drowned. Mor told us all that we always needed to be cautious about ice. For a year or two I remembered his death, and I was careful on the ice, but then I stopped, and the lesson was no longer important. Now I seldom ever think about him and what happened, except in this instance. I think that is how it is with Domar. Before I left for America, no one ever talked to me about him. He’s been gone too long. Eleven years, and now only family remember him.”

  “Ja, people don’t remember for long, especially if it makes them too uncomfortable. When they have to remember that their mistake ruined the life of another, they’d just as soon forget.” After winding up the second finished net, Mormor took up a large ball of jute and began measuring off pieces for the new gill net.

  “Ja. Maybe that will help Domar change his mind.” Kirstin looked at her grandmother and smiled. “He might see that it shouldn’t matter anymore.”

  “I hope so, for your sake as much as his. Just remember, your decision will touch many a life. Not just yours.”

  Chapter 10

  Jordan Webster spied the pretty young lady in the stationery store and made his way over to her. He had no intention of giving up working with the people, in case the city decided against his ideas.

  “Aren’t you Lena Segerson’s granddaughter?”

  “I am. I’m Kirstin Hallberg, and you’re Mr. Webster, the man who wants to buy my grandmother’s house and land.”

  “Yes.” He gave her a broad smile. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

  She gave a little shrug and secured the ties on her dark red knitted cap. “You’re the only one who wants Mormor to leave her home.”