Forever My Own

by Tracie Peterson

  “You say it as though you don’t approve.”

  “I think seriousness is a wonderful quality. There’s nothing worse than for a young woman to be addlepated and nonsensical. A man could never rely on such a woman as a mate.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he could.” Kirstin turned away from him. The questions she longed to ask were still very much on her mind. “Was your mother . . . a serious woman?”

  “Oh yes, but I’m sure you already knew the answer to that. My mother was unhappy, and that led to her being quite serious.”

  Kirstin turned. “But not with you. You were her pride and joy. Morfar—your father—told me that. He said you were the one thing that gave her joy.”

  Ilian stared at the crutches he still held. “I was, but it was never enough to make her truly happy. I tried. I wanted very much for her to be happy, and if not that, then at least content.”

  “I’m sorry she wasn’t. It seems so strange to me that she couldn’t find even one thing to rejoice in. Your father wanted so much for her to be happy. He told me so.” Kirstin crossed her arms. “I don’t expect you to believe that.”

  “I suppose I deserve that. I haven’t been very open to hearing anything negative about her.”

  “Nor anything positive about your father.” She waited a moment for him to explode, and when it didn’t happen, she pressed on. “He cares very much for you. You must see that.”

  “I do. I guess I’ve always known it. It was just much too easy to push him aside on her behalf.”

  “I don’t mean to judge her harshly, but what kind of a mother would want to alienate her child from their father? That seems so wrong to me. We were never allowed to speak ill of either parent. The other would never have tolerated it.”

  “Ah, yes, but your parents loved each other.”

  Kirstin grabbed a wooden chair and pulled it over next to Ilian’s chair, then took a seat. “You’re right, of course. I think love always makes a difference.” She felt her heart skip a beat as his gaze lifted to meet hers.

  “Love is everything. Pastor Persson told me that the Bible speaks of God being love. I suppose that means that when we love each other, we are inviting God into the relationship in some way.”

  “I believe you are right.” Kirstin smoothed her skirt. “Look, I want to say something and not offend you. It’s only because I have come to care for your father—and for you—that I would even risk it.”

  “All right. You have my permission to say whatever you wish. It’s the least I can do, given all the care you’ve given me.”

  “It was my pleasure to help.” She folded her hands together. “Ilian, now that you’ve made peace with God, I hope . . . that is, I want very much for you and your father to start anew. To put aside the past and . . . well, forget . . . forget . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “My mor?” he asked.

  The next thing she said would either destroy the frail bond they’d just formed or strengthen it. “Not her . . . not exactly. But her unhappiness. Her discontent.” Kirstin looked up and found him watching her, his expression stoic. “Please don’t get me wrong. I never want you to forget her or her love for you, nor yours for her. But I feel that so long as her anger and bitterness is allowed to come between you and your father, you’ll never be able to move forward. You cannot make her happy now, so dwelling on it seems a wasted effort.”

  He said nothing, and for what seemed like hours, Kirstin waited for him to speak. She thought about continuing to talk, to tell him she knew what it was to allow her parents’ thoughts and feelings to influence her. Or maybe even to say how she had often stood up to those thoughts and feelings. But she didn’t. She felt awkward and almost wished she’d stayed silent.

  Ilian finally spoke. “I appreciate what you’ve said. I suppose I always feel like I might betray my mother’s memory if I try to work things out with my far.”

  “Your far told me that she never loved him. That theirs was an arranged marriage.”

  “That’s true. They were forced to marry by their parents. I don’t really know why. Perhaps there was money or land involved. I cannot say. But I do know Mor said that she never loved Habram Farstad and never would.” He sounded so sad and resolved that Kirstin almost lost her nerve.

  “How terrible to never be loved by your wife.” She bit her lower lip, afraid she might cry.

  “It would be terrible. The worst thing possible.”

  “I’ve said enough. I just . . . I hope you and your far will try to start fresh. We’ll all be moving elsewhere, so it will be a new start for all. Then there’s the possibility that my mormor and your far will marry.”

  “I think there’s more than a possibility of that.” He chuckled.

  She smiled and felt a bit of the tension leave the room. “Yes. I think so too.”

  “And because of that and, well, frankly, my own personal reasons, I would like for us to be friends.”

  Kirstin felt a shiver run down her spine. “Friends?”

  “Yes. I told you once that I wasn’t asking you to be my friend, but now I am. You have more than proven yourself worthy of friendship, even during those times when I did not.”

  She nodded and lost herself in his icy blue eyes. “I’d like that very much. I’d like to be your friend, Ilian.”

  “Well, well. What is this?” Habram asked, coming into the room. “I have not one but two new assistants?”

  Kirstin laughed and got to her feet. She went to embrace the older man. “I have been keeping Ilian company while we waited for you. Were you able to secure the carriage for tomorrow?”

  “Oh, ja. We will be able to travel in style.”

  “Good. I’ll let Mormor know.” She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed the old man’s cheek before hurrying from the workshop.

  “She’s quite a girl,” the old man said, turning to Ilian.

  “Ja, she is for sure.”

  Far sobered. “So, what can I do for you, Ilian?”

  Ilian shook his head. “Nothing for me. Like I said at breakfast, I want to work on the boat . . . with you.”

  Habram Farstad smiled. “I’d like that very much, son. As Lena always says, ‘Many hands make light the work.’ I need to finish this boat as soon as possible. It’s nearly complete, and if we both get to work on it, I can give it to the new owner and have the money we’ll need for the move. Lena and Kirstin are not women of means.”

  “I have money we can use for the move as well. I owe them much.”

  “Ja. We both do.”

  Chapter 18

  By the middle of April, a great deal of progress had been made. Mr. Carson had arranged for a large work crew to build houses, and already the homes in the new neighborhood were in various stages of completion. Not only had Mr. Cooke agreed with Mr. Carson’s request to provide discounted help and materials, but he had approved rentals to those who felt they simply could not purchase their own place.

  Kirstin and Lena worked night and day, packing their belongings. “I think it’s a good thing I did not bring many clothes when I came to America,” Kirstin said as she helped Mormor pack items from the shed.

  Lena held up a piece of twisted metal. “I don’t even know what this is, but I cannot imagine needing it. I suppose I shall put it in the pile for Domar and the boys to figure out.”

  “Morfar is busy again with the dredging company. I know he’s excited about the canal, but I wish he could be here with us. He always seems to know exactly what is good to keep and what should be thrown away.”

  “He is,” Mormor admitted, “a very wise man.”

  Kirstin smiled to herself. She was convinced there would be a spring wedding. “And Domar will be home this Friday. I’ve really missed him. And, of course, there’s the letter.”

  A letter from Sweden had arrived the day before. Kirstin had both looked forward to it and dreaded it. Overall, it proved to be good. Her mother and father were relieved to know she was safely in America and thankf
ul that she was making her way to Duluth. Kirstin had sent her first letter from America prior to reaching her grandmother and had written another shortly after arriving in Duluth. Mor didn’t reference that second letter, however, so Kirstin assumed she had sent this reply prior to its arrival.

  “I have spent so much time trying to write my letter to Mor about Domar.” Kirstin shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder about the good of telling them, but then I remember how all of my life I’ve been taught to tell the truth. Truth was always such an important thing, and when I was little, I knew without a doubt that truth was always expected.” She folded a piece of canvas to put in the crate. “Still, I know this is going to change our lives forever.”

  “Ja, but we trust in God for that too.” Mormor straightened and put a hand to her lower back. “That’s the last of it. There’s a great pile now for Domar to figure out. He and Ilian can go through it this weekend.”

  “Ilian has been working to finish the Mackinaw boat while Morfar works with the dredging company. The boat is nearly done,” Kirstin said, smiling.

  “I think you have an interest in Ilian, ja?”

  Kirstin nodded. “I do, but there are troubles too. I have always thought him very handsome and intelligent, but he has so much sorrow—and anger. He has to give those to God and, of course, work things out with his far. But I am definitely attracted to him.” She gave a little shrug. “What girl wouldn’t be?”

  “Ja, that is true.” Mormor laid a hand on Kirstin’s arm. “Just give him time. You have plenty of it, and there is no rush to fall in love.”

  Kirstin felt her cheeks grow warm. “No. No reason to hurry such a thing.”

  “I wondered where you ladies had gotten to.” It was Morfar.

  “What are you doing here?” Mormor asked. “I thought they were pushing to get the canal open.”

  “They are,” he agreed, “but the ground is not cooperating. The water might be thawed, but the ground is still frozen. John worries he’ll ruin the dredger if he doesn’t stop. Meanwhile, the folks from Superior have been there to harass us and cause us no end of grief. They’ve sent a man to St. Paul to file an injunction and force us to stop.”

  “What can we do?” Kirstin asked. “You cannot force the ground to thaw more quickly.”

  “Some of it we can. We can use black powder.”

  “That’s very dangerous,” Mormor said, “and it grieves me to know that such a thing will probably fall on your shoulders, since you’ve handled it before.”

  “Ja. It will be me, no doubt.”

  Kirstin could see the worry in her grandmother’s eyes. She had no idea what all was involved in working with black powder, but she knew it was risky.

  “I see you girls have been hard at work.” Morfar glanced around the shed.

  “We have been doing all we can. The things I didn’t recognize or know what to do with we piled up for Domar to sort.”

  The old man laughed. “That sounds good. I don’t suppose you want to come help me pack?”

  “We will,” Mormor replied. She put a hand to her braided crown. “I need a few more pins in my hair, but then I can come right away.”

  Ilian was more than pleased to put the final touches on the Mackinaw boat. The new owner planned to come for the boat in the morning, and Ilian knew his father would be happy to have the extra money.

  “Afternoon, master boat builder,” Domar said from the open doorway. The spring air had warmed things up a bit, and Ilian had left the doors open, hoping to disperse the smell of paint and stain.

  “Come in. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  “I’m worn to the core, but as for being a sight, I haven’t looked in the mirror.” Domar came toward him, and the two men embraced. “How goes it?”

  “The boat is finished. And just in time. We will get paid for it and get it off the property in time for the move.”

  Domar frowned. “Where will everyone go?”

  “Well, new houses are being built, but of course that takes time. Your mormor suggested a boardinghouse. Mr. Carson has hotel rooms available, and Far says a big tent put up on the property where they are building would remind the builders that we are waiting for a roof over our heads.” Ilian motioned toward the stove. “Cold coffee?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Domar glanced around the room. “You’ve already packed most of it.”

  “Ja. And piled up what we don’t want. Far said we could leave it to Mr. Webster to figure out what should be done with it.” Ilian grinned. “And he was none too kind in his thoughts of what Mr. Webster might do.”

  “I’m sure. The man is ruthless, and I’m disappointed in the way the city helped him with his project, but I suppose it is spilt milk and we must move forward.”

  “Ja.”

  “I remember coming here after what happened in Sweden. This has been home—a place of welcome and safety.” Domar shook his head. “I remember my grandfather teaching us how to feel the wood and imagine the life that could come from it.”

  “I remember that too. I thought it silly at the time, but years later working in the camp, it all came back to me. When we felled the big trees, I imagined what might come from that wood. Houses, furniture, fuel, whatever. It was all right there, just waiting for someone with the skill needed to transform it.”

  “Morfar always believed everyone had a purpose like that. You just had to surround yourself with the right folks to draw it out of you.”

  “And a willingness to be molded,” Ilian added. “I found that part a little more difficult.”

  “So tell me, how is the leg doing?” Domar motioned to Ilian’s thigh.

  “I walk with a limp, and it sometimes aches. When the weather turns on us, I usually feel it before the storm even comes. I suppose now I understand when old people talk about feeling the weather coming. But I’ll be all right. I have had to think hard about the fact that I can’t return to the logging work, while still being grateful that I have two legs to stand on.”

  “That was something I hoped to discuss with you. The logging work, that is,” Domar admitted with a sheepish expression.

  “What is it?”

  “Mr. Morganson wants to promote me to the job he would have given you.”

  Ilian felt momentarily gut-punched. He’d worked hard to prove himself and earn that position of authority. Domar had always been in the running for it as well, but they had both been confident that Ilian would be the one to receive the promotion in the end, and Morganson had agreed. Until now.

  “You’ll be good at it.” Ilian forced the words out, still not exactly sure what to say.

  “I won’t do it if it has the potential to come between us.”

  Ilian frowned. He hated that Domar even thought that could be a problem. “No. Never that. I suppose it just reminds me that my entire life has been changed by one incident.” He looked at the boat. “But I can’t say that it is a bad thing. I enjoyed working on this Mackinaw. And, since I started seeing God in a different way—your way—” he paused and grinned—“I have to admit that everything else in my life has changed too.”

  “Mormor told me you’ve been reading the Bible.” Domar’s expression was admiring. “I can’t imagine a better method to find your way.”

  “No. I suppose not.” Ilian glanced around the room and shook his head. “This has never been a place of happiness for my family, and frankly, I like the idea of a fresh start. So you should have one too. Take the job and tell Mr. Morganson that I said he picked wisely. I know you will be a good leader and manager.”

  “Thank you.” Domar pulled up a chair and sat down. “There is something else I’d like to talk about.”

  “I have something as well.” Ilian chose a stool and joined Domar. “I have something to discuss that is very important to me.”

  “Go ahead. Mine can wait. What’s this about?”

  Ilian wasted no time. “Your sister.”

  “Kirstin?”

  “Ja.” Ilian stared
at his hands. “I care for her.”

  “Does she know?”

  “No. Not exactly, and certainly not because I’ve said anything. I’ve never been one to show a lot of emotion. I suppose Mor had so much for all of us that I preferred to remain silent and refrain from emotion. But your sister is kind and gentle. She has a heart of sincerity, and at the same time, she’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s the only person who has ever fully stood up to me. Others, yourself included, come to a place where you realize my temperament is going to close the door to further conversation or reasoning, but Kirstin doesn’t care. She just pushes that door back open and marches in to demand answers.”

  Domar laughed. “Ja, that’s Kirstin.”

  “I never realized how much I need someone like that in my life. I never realized the benefit of being encouraged to move beyond my discomfort with something and strive toward resolution.”

  “That’s interesting, but it doesn’t speak to love. Do you love her?”

  Ilian nodded. “I think I’ve loved her since I held her on my lap after she fainted. All I’ve wanted to do was keep her safe and protected. I know the love is new and perhaps only strikes at the surface, but I believe firmly that in time it will deepen.”

  “Do you think she loves you?”

  “I know she cares for me. Her tenderness in helping me while I was injured and her kind heart are there for all, but there was something about the way she would sit and talk with me or endure my bad moods that spoke of much more.”

  “But the two of you haven’t spoken of love?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “I’m glad you did, because it applies itself nicely to what I hoped to talk to you about.”

  Ilian shifted on his stool. “Which is what?”

  “Your father and my grandmother. I know they’re in love, and you do as well.”

  “Ja. I know.”

  “Well, I think they are both of a mind to marry, and with this move, it would be ideal if they could arrange for one house instead of two. However, I don’t think that will ever happen unless you and your father resolve your differences. I think the same applies to telling Kirstin that you’re in love with her.”