Forever My Own

by Tracie Peterson

  “I agree.” Habram refilled his friend’s mug. “Even though I’ve never seen the court system move all that fast, we should be prepared for anything.”

  The major took a long drink. “Good coffee. Nice and strong. So, what are your plans now that you’ll no longer be dredging?”

  “I’ll work on those Mackinaw boats more. Maybe take a few more orders. It’s a pleasant sort of work, and my son may find himself needing a job. The doctor tells us he’s not going to be able to return to logging. His leg suffered a compound fracture, and the doc says he’ll always walk with a limp. Still, it could have been much worse. He could have been crushed and killed. It’s happened to more than one man.”

  “True enough. I’m glad he was spared.”

  “I am too. I’ve been thanking God for it and praying Ilian will come around to spending time with me.”

  “If he’s smart, he will.” John finished off the coffee and got to his feet. “I have work to do. I suppose I need to accept your resignation, eh?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not at all happy about this, but at your age, you’ve earned a rest. I accept, so long as you’ll help me when we dredge the final bits of the canal.”

  “I’ll be there. You just let me know when.”

  “Won’t be until the harbor thaws and then some. I’m guessing the ground will stay frozen solid for a while and we wouldn’t be able to dig a thimbleful. So once the thaw comes in late March or April, we’ll get back to work.”

  Habram got to his feet and extended his hand. “Sounds good to me. Thanks for coming by.”

  The younger man smiled. “I look forward to finishing this final job together. I don’t trust anyone more than I do you.”

  After John left, Habram looked out across the neighborhood toward the water. He knew they were going to lose the battle with Webster and the city, but it was hard to accept. He’d lived here for such a long time. Since his family moved to Duluth, this had been home, and now it would be his no more in just a short time.

  He turned toward Lena’s house. She made him happy with her love of life. She was almost always happy, seeing the positive side of even the worst situation. She was loyal too. Fiercely loyal. She had kept Domar’s secret all these years because of her love for him. A love Habram felt she shared with him also, and he meant to reward it by making her his wife.

  After Per passed away, Habram had been about to suggest he and Lena marry, but then the news had arrived that Kirstin was coming to keep Lena company, and he hated to impose himself on that situation. He would just bide his time. The Lord knew when it would be right. For now, he would focus on trying to mend fences one more time with Ilian.

  Kirstin found sleep impossible. She knew in a couple of days, Domar would arrive and they would discuss her decision. Only she didn’t have a decision.

  She threw back the covers and stepped into her slippers as she got out of bed. Pulling on her robe, she kept hearing the same question in her head.

  What is the right thing to do?

  She made her way downstairs, and as she reached the hall, she heard Ilian moaning. His door was slightly ajar, so she went to it and opened it a little wider.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in a hushed voice. She went into the dark room. “Would you like me to light a lamp?”

  “No.”

  “How about a cold drink of water?”

  “No.” This time the word was delivered with more irritation.

  “Sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

  He said nothing for a time, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get comfortable no matter how much I try.”

  Kirstin came closer. “I could try to help with pillows. Mormor put a ton of them in here for just that reason.”

  “I suppose you could try.”

  “I’ll need to light at least a candle.”

  He sighed again. “Go ahead and light the lamp.”

  She wasted no time and found the matches. Soon the soft glow of lamplight revealed a miserable Ilian. His brow was lined with sweat despite the room feeling chilled.

  “All right. Tell me where you hurt the most.”

  He spent the next few minutes explaining, and while he talked, Kirstin built a little nest of pillows around him. By the time she finished, he was looking at her as if she’d just pulled a rabbit from her pocket.

  “That’s so much better. I don’t hurt at all. How in the world did you do that?”

  “I listened to you.” She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad I couldn’t sleep so that I could help you. It makes me feel that I at least accomplished something useful and good.”

  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  “Domar.”

  “Your brother? But why . . . oh, not telling your folks. Is that it?”

  Kirstin nodded. “Yes. I don’t know what to do. It’s his right, I suppose. But I know how much it will hurt them when they find out the truth.”

  “So why do you want them to know? Isn’t it better to leave things as they are? Maybe one day Domar will decide to tell your folks about what happened and why he made the choices he did.”

  “But then they’ll want to know why I never said anything. They’ll be mad at me.”

  “That will be their problem, then. They’ll have feelings to deal with no matter what. I don’t know that I would have done things the way Domar has, but I feel that it was, and is, his decision to make.”

  She met Ilian’s gaze. His eyes were so blue—so persuasive in the way they held her attention. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I guess I feel torn in my loyalties. I always knew Domar was innocent and hated that no one else believed him. It made me so mad. I’ve been angry at our parents all these years, but the intensity had faded until I saw Domar again. Now I feel that anger, but it’s mingled with sadness and pain. I know Mor is going to be as devastated as she is happy to learn Domar is alive. She’s going to be so hurt that he would do this to her, and it hurts me too that he let me believe he was dead.

  “I used to visit the graveyard where Mor and Far put a marker in his memory. I would walk that cemetery for hours and weep. I missed him so much, and it broke my heart to think he never knew that the people realized the truth—that Mor and Far were sorry for what they’d done. I used to beg God to let Domar know.”

  “You think God would do something so trivial?”

  “It wasn’t trivial to me.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she ignored it. “A part of my heart died when I heard Domar was dead. Now I learn he’s alive and well . . . and though I’m happy and rejoice . . . I’m also deeply hurt that he would let me bear that pain.”

  “Maybe you should ask yourself if you could do it over, would you want to know.”

  She nodded. “I have asked myself that very question. Knowing the pain and anger this has caused me, would I rather not know?” She looked at the carved headboard above Ilian’s head. “And I always answer the same thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Yes. I would rather know he’s alive and get to be a part of his life and he a part of mine than to never know the truth.”

  “But, Kirstin . . .” His voice was barely a whisper, and she couldn’t help but look down to meet his eyes once more. “Domar doesn’t want them to be a part of his life. He’ll never return to Sweden, and I doubt he’ll be much for corresponding. Won’t it just cause them more pain to be openly rejected?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “What’s going on?” Mormor asked as she came into the room.

  “I couldn’t sleep, and when I got down here, I heard Ilian moaning in pain.” Kirstin pointed toward the bed.

  “She has made me most comfortable and very nearly pain-free,” Ilian said from his pile of pillows.

  “I can see that.” Mormor chuckled. “You look like a bird in its nest.”

  “I suppose we were too loud and woke you. So sorry, Mormor.”

  “Nonsense. It’s nearly four thirty. I wake up about t
his time every day. Your morfar and I always used to get up about this time. We’d stoke the fire in the living room, and I’d get the stove going. Then I’d climb back in bed sometimes until the house warmed up, and while I waited, I prayed.”

  “I’ll help you get the fire stoked, but then going back to bed sounds like the best possible choice.” Kirstin looked back at Ilian. “And since you’re all ready for sleep, I will bid you good-night and leave you to it.”

  He smiled. “Thanks again for the help. I’m glad you don’t intimidate easily.”

  Chapter 12

  Ilian didn’t wake up until nearly noon. He’d been so exhausted from the various parts of his body hurting that he hadn’t gotten a decent sleep since the accident—until last night. He supposed he’d have to ask Kirstin to tuck him in more often. The thought brought a smile to his face. She was good company and had such a gentle touch. He found himself thinking of her all the time lately.

  “Good morning,” Lena said, coming in without so much as a knock. “Hopefully Domar will be with us later today. I know he’s going to be anxious to see how you’re doing.”

  “Well, I’m doing a whole lot better since Kirstin figured out how to arrange those pillows. I slept like the dead.”

  “And well I know it. It’s eleven forty-five. You missed breakfast altogether.” Lena laughed and came to help him sit up. “The doctor will be coming to see you today. I’m sure the news will be good, and maybe he’ll let you get up and sit, maybe use crutches to move around. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “It would. I’m sick of this bed.”

  “Ja, I can imagine you are.” She left the room and returned with a basin. In it was an inch or two of water. She placed it beside him. “I’ll get you a washcloth and towel.” She went to the dresser nearest the door and retrieved the items. “You get all cleaned up, and I’ll bring you some lunch before the doctor arrives.”

  Ilian went to work on washing while Lena brought him a clean nightshirt.

  “I’ll go get your lunch ready and be back for the basin shortly,” she said.

  Ilian was so grateful to Lena. She had been like a grandmother to him for more than a decade—sometimes even a mother.

  Thoughts of his mother threatened to rob him of his good mood. She had been so miserable—so lost in sorrow. When he thought of his parents as a couple, he could only remember their arguing. Mor was either angry or sad every moment of every day, and always she blamed Far. Ilian had tried so hard to please her and earn a smile, but all she could say was how much she missed Sweden and her family. She talked of how they would want to see Ilian and know him. She just knew if they were to move back to Sweden, Ilian’s older sisters could find good husbands, and she could show Ilian off to some wonderful young Swedish women. At the time Ilian had no desire to marry, seeing how miserable his mother and father were, and he told her so. Mor always told him that was just because they didn’t marry for love.

  Lena reappeared. “I’ll take that basin and the wet washcloth and towel. Do you need anything else?” She began gathering the articles.

  “Just lunch. It smells good.”

  “Chicken and dumplings. I made it thick so you could manage it.”

  “One of my favorites.” Ilian couldn’t help smiling. “And maybe some coffee too . . . please.”

  “Of course. I’ll have it to you in a quick minute. You finish getting dressed, and I’ll send Kirstin with the tray.”

  Ilian liked the idea of seeing Kirstin again. So far, besides the food being so much better than at the hospital, her company was what Ilian enjoyed the most.

  “Pardon the interruption.”

  The cast on his arm made dressing tricky. Ilian had finally managed to put on the nightshirt and popped his head through the opening when he found his father standing in the doorway. He frowned. “What do you want?”

  “I came to check on you. Lena said you had a good night’s sleep.”

  “I did.” Ilian adjusted the nightshirt and eased back against the pillow.

  “I’m mighty glad to hear it. Lena also tells me we need a bar hanging down from the ceiling to help with getting you up and down. I brought the things to build it. I thought maybe I could do it after the doctor comes and you’ve had your lunch.”

  “Why don’t you just leave it for Domar? He can do it tomorrow.” Ilian didn’t feel like fighting about it, but he also didn’t want to endure his father’s company any longer than necessary. He could be civil for a few minutes, but for a job that might take a good part of an afternoon, Ilian wasn’t convinced he had the patience.

  “Domar will have plenty to do when he gets here. I don’t mind lending a hand. I know you don’t want to be bothered with me,” his father said, fixing him with a look that dared him to say otherwise, “but Lena asked me to handle it, and I will.”

  Ilian frowned. “Anything to increase my misery.”

  “That isn’t why I agreed to it. I figure, since you aren’t going to be able to go back to logging for a good long time—maybe never—you and I should talk about what you can do to make a living.”

  “And what do you have in mind for me?”

  “You could help me make the Mackinaw boats. We wouldn’t even have to work together, except to use the same tools and workshop. You know well how to make the boats, ja?”

  “Yes, of course I know how to make them. But I definitely do not want to work with you.” Ilian fought to keep his words civil. Just seeing his father and knowing that he was trying to plan for Ilian’s future stirred his anger.

  “Does it not bother you even a little that you might have died in your accident?”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “No, but you might have, and you would have left this life with the hateful anger still between us. Ilian, you are a grown man. Your hate might have been understandable and even excused in your youth, but you are thirty years old now. Isn’t it time we put the past to rest?”

  “Maybe if Mor were still alive.” Ilian narrowed his eyes. “But she’s not, and she left this world without being able to ever return to her family in Sweden.”

  “We were her family too.”

  Ilian clenched the covers in an iron-like grip. “You let her live in misery. Too selfish to spend a little money to take her home to Sweden.”

  “It wasn’t my selfishness that kept us here. It was because I loved her that I couldn’t take her home.”

  There was definite sorrow in his father’s voice, but Ilian couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Ja, that’s certainly love—a love that killed her. Now go. I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”

  Kirstin overheard the last of Ilian’s conversation with his father, and when Habram came from the room, she was busy putting away a stack of towels in the linen closet. She watched him walk the length of the hall with his head hung low. It was hard to understand how a dead woman continued to cause such misery between the two men.

  She finished with the towels and went to the kitchen, where her grandmother was speaking to Habram in hushed tones. He nodded and left out the back door.

  Mormor looked up and smiled. “Would you mind taking Ilian his lunch?”

  “No, not at all.” Kirstin moved to where the tray was ready and waiting. She thought about asking Mormor why Ilian hated his father so much. Mormor had mentioned in the past that Ilian blamed his father for his mother being sad and miserable. Habram had even told her a little bit, but it just didn’t add up. Mrs. Farstad had never liked America, but Habram wouldn’t even consider returning to Sweden. Why?

  Kirstin took the tray to Ilian’s room and could see he was hardly in a very good position to eat. She placed the tray on the dresser and went to the bed. “Let’s see if we can get you propped up a little better for eating.”

  He grumbled something inaudible.

  She pulled away many of the pillows they’d used to make his nighttime rest more comfortable. “Can you scoot up if I help you?”

  “Of course.” His tone was surly,
and it was clear he wasn’t at all concerned with being congenial.

  She took hold under his right shoulder, careful not to pull his arm. “I think if you can push up on the left side with your arm and bend your good knee and push, we can get you into a better position. Then I’ll put the pillows around you. On the count of three. One, two, three.”

  She pulled up with all her might. She could be quite strong when it was required. What she hadn’t planned on was slipping on a corner of the blanket. She could feel herself teetering toward the broken arm against Ilian’s chest and stomach and knew if she fell, she would land on it. In that split second, however, Ilian acted, putting out his left arm to catch her in an awkward manner—his hand pressed against her neck, almost cutting off her breath.

  “Are you trying to hurt me?” he growled.

  Kirstin straightened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the blanket on the floor, and when I moved, it made me slip.” She coughed and rubbed her throat.

  He gave her a momentary look of contrition, then frowned. “Did I hurt you?”

  She stopped rubbing her neck. “I’m fine. Be glad I wasn’t putting the tray on your lap. You’d be covered in chicken and dumplings.” She smiled, hoping it might lift his mood, and reached for the offending blanket. “Your covers are quite the wreck. I’ll straighten them for you after we get the pillows in place.”

  She went to work plumping up pillows and sticking them behind his back. The doctor had said it was all right for Ilian to sit at an incline in bed, but not to sit up fully just yet. Kirstin was mindful of this as she maneuvered the pillows under and around his shoulders and arms.

  “There, now for the covers.”

  For modesty’s sake Ilian held fast to the sheet while Kirstin pulled the other blankets from the bed. She shook them out and adjusted them to cover him from waist to toe, leaving his casted foot out. Mormor had knitted him a toe cover so that his foot wouldn’t get too cold at night, so Kirstin took a moment to adjust that as well.

  “There. Now it’s all put right.”

  Ilian said nothing. It was clear his mood was black, but Kirstin wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “It’s customary to say thank you when someone does something nice for you.”