The Teacher and the Preacher
Page 2
She pulled from his grasp. “Was that a proposal, Mr. Nielson? If so, it’s too little, too late.” Caroline stabbed at the doorknob with her key. “Where the hell were you? Damn it, Sven, where were you?”
“Don’t swear, Caroline,” Sven frowned.
“Don’t you tell me what to do.” Caroline pushed the door open and retrieved Micah. She aimed a scorching glare up at him. “My baby is hungry and tired.” From the wince on Sven’s face he hadn’t missed the emphasis on the first word of her sentence.
After delivering the parting shot, she slammed the door in his astonished face. She leaned her back against the door, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, Sven,” her voice was a lonely gasp. She had cried for him, hoped he would return, prayed he would claim her and Micah. But now, when she finally had a place for herself and Micah, a place where she had a chance to live life with her chin held high, he arrived to remind her of all she had lost.
“Damn it,” she repeated with more than a touch of defiant despair in her voice.
“Damn.”
Chapter 2
Sven
Sven stared at the door. Loki cocked his head to the side in canine question.
“I know, Loki. That didn’t go very well.” He patted the dog on the head. “Come. I think we should let this rest for a bit, but,” he gave Loki a firmer pat, “she was mine, before. I aim to win her back, and Micah will not grow up without his father.” The declaration made, man and dog left the locked door behind them.
He walked past the small church and the smaller house he lived in and entered his workshop. He loved wood. The feel of it. The smell of it. Nothing soothed him like molding, sanding and creating with wood. He did his best thinking amidst sawdust and turpentine. Loki curled up in his usual spot by the door and watched Sven with his blue and black eyes.
He needed to finish the hope chest for a young couple soon to wed. Except for the carving, it was done. He planned on a big heart in the center of the top with the two names carved inside. Around the outside edge he would add leaves, flowers and vines. Then he’d shine the natural beauty of the wood until it was soft to the touch and a wonder to the eyes.
He picked up his small chisel and began. His mind returned again and again to Caroline. His Caroline. He had loved her all his life, and he had harmed her. He hadn’t meant to, but he had caused her hurt. They planned to marry. Both families and the entire town expected it, knew it would happen, waited for the announcement. Then his brother… well, he had made his choices, too. He couldn’t blame it all on his brother.
Sven had not forgotten the night by the river. He thought of it with regret, regret at all that was lost. His home, his friends, Caroline. He chipped out the beginning of a leaf.
He had gone to her house that evening as he often did. Caroline’s mother said she had gone walking, so he went looking. When he reached the river, Caroline was skating, alone, in the near dark. He had stood in fear and shock as she flitted back and forth on the ice, turning circles, spinning, sprinting. She was light, and probably wouldn’t crack the ice, but to go alone, at dusk, broke every rule. If she fell through, she would be gone, frozen in minutes, lost to him.
“Caroline,” he had called to her. “Get off the ice. You know better than to be on the ice alone.”
“I’m doing it for Micah. I miss him,” she had called back. “My brother loved to skate alone.”
“He died in this river – frozen to death. He was my best friend, and he was foolish. I won’t let you follow him. Get off the river.” Anger coursed through his veins. His jaw clenched until it ached. “I’m too heavy to come out and get you. I’d break the ice for sure.” He had motioned to her, a come-here sweep with his entire arm.
When she was close to the shore, he reached out and snatched her off the frozen lake. Caroline was a feather against his brawn. He cradled her to his chest and buried his face in her black hair.
He sat on a log and stood her between his legs. “I’m going to spank you, Caroline. You knew the ice was dangerous. You knew I wouldn’t want you on it.”
She had squirmed in his grasp, fearing the inevitable. He had spanked her before. They were as good as betrothed, and, by tacit agreement, her father had put her discipline in his hands. Trusted him to keep her safe. It was a responsibility, an honor, he took seriously.
He had reached under her skirt, untied her bloomers, and pulled them past her knees. Caroline had struggled then.
“No, Sven, we’re not married yet. It’s not right,” she had protested.
“We’ll be married soon enough. I won’t have you doing such foolish things, risking your very life. Micah wouldn’t want you to follow him through the ice. He never thought anything bad could happen, but now we know it can.”
With a tug on her wrist, she was over his legs. Neither her hands nor feet could touch the ground. She was that tiny. She clung to his leg so she wouldn’t fall, but he had her tight against his body. He’d never let her come to harm. He lifted her skirt over her back, revealing her small, white bottom. It was shaped like a heart, and he had been struck by the beauty of it. They had spent a minute in silence while she anticipated, and he stared.
Caroline had made a little sound, a huff, a puff of air that brought him back to his task. He raised his hand and brought it down on her perfect white skin. The outline of his hand stood red against her alabaster perfection. He placed a matching print on the other side before he began to turn every bit of white skin pink, then rose, and then scarlet.
It hadn’t happened before, when he had given her a smack over her dress, but he was hard and wanting her. When he was sure she would never, ever go on the ice alone, and she had promised as much over and over, he lifted her to his lap. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. He let his hands cup her breasts and his thumbs rubbed over her nipples until they stood in stiff peaks. His hands wandered beneath her dress, stroked up and down her thighs, and found the place he’d been searching for. His finger slid into her, and she arched her back and groaned. Two fingers and she moaned and turned her face up for his kiss.
“Are you sure?” He had the smallest, most ragged control over himself still.
Caroline nodded her head, and he had lifted her to face him and lowered her onto his shaft. She made a sound of distress, and he stopped.
“Are you all right?” Through sheer force of will, he held himself still with Caroline impaled on his manhood.
“Give me a minute to get used to you. You’re big all over, I guess.” He had held her close and waited.
“It might be better if we lay down, but there’s still snow on the ground,” he had managed to explain, but her hips were moving again, and he joined the dance.
He’d walked her home. He held one hand as she tried to rub the sting from her bottom with the other.
When they reached her door, he had lifted her until they were face-to-face, and he kissed her. Kissed her with promise, hope and love.
“I’ll see you soon.” Those had been his last words before his brother and trouble, which were almost always one and the same, called him away.
She had been pregnant. He closed his eyes at the thought of her dismay and his betrayal. How she must have suffered. She had named the baby for her brother and his friend, Micah. It was a good name; he had been a good friend, and he was glad she chose it.
John Wayne rapped on the door to his workshop and stepped into the dusty room. His trip down memory lane faded to black.
“Hello, John. Party over?” Sven laid his chisel aside and stood up.
“It is. I wanted to check on Mrs. Connors, Caroline, to see if she needed anything,” he paused. “She left so quickly, and then you ran after her like your tail was on fire. Well, it got some folks talking.” John looked away and cleared his throat. “Marcie said a woman’s reputation is fragile. Caroline’s new to town, and, well, Marcie worries about her alone and with a baby. Caroline doesn’t need the town biddies gossiping about her.”
“That sounds good.” The two men moved from the room. “Marcie won’t mind if I’m a bit late.”
“You’re a lucky man, John. Marcie and three healthy children. I envy you.” He slapped his friend’s back in male comradery.
John laughed, “I envy me too. Those ten years I was a Ranger, I wasn’t ever sure I’d see the next sunrise. Then I met Marcie. I never expected to be a family man, but I’m happy.”
After he beat John twice, he moved the little table with the chess set into the corner. John stood and grabbed his hat.
“Thank you for delivering Marcie’s message. I know you hate infernal interfering, as you call it.” Sven held out his hand, and John clasped it.
“We’ll see you Sunday.” John closed the door behind him.
Sven carried the empty cups to the kitchen. He owed John a debt of gratitude. Not only for the warning tonight, but for the other times he’d acted on his behalf.
He would court Caroline. Court her proper and in a full view of the town. Much as he wanted to march up to her and insist she let him be her husband and Micah’s father, it wouldn’t work. She had a powerful anger built up against him, and he didn’t blame her. He would have to prove himself, his devotion, his love.
If she’d let him.
Chapter 3
Caroline
Caroline sat at the end of the last pew nearest to the door. Micah was with the other small children, and she wanted to be easily available if he needed her. If she were honest with herself, and she tried to be, she wanted to be as far away from Sven as possible. It was unthinkable that the new teacher would skip church, but she didn’t have to be under the preacher’s nose.
She suppressed a chuckle. Marcie had been right about church attendance. The front rows held well-dressed young women who dangled on Sven’s every word as if their eternal souls hung in the balance. The middle rows held families and the back rows were occupied by single men and women with small children. Loki rested his head on giant paws at the back of the room. His eyes followed Sven’s every move.
A handsome man in his mid-years moved to the front of the church. He wiped his hands on the sides of newly washed jeans, opened his mouth, and the most glorious music filled the church. Her heart clutched in her chest. The sound rang deep and true and vibrated from her head to her curled toes. As he finished, the congregation let out a united breath and with a collective sigh sank into their seats.
Sven rose and moved to the front of the church. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Bill. That was mighty fine singing.” He tilted his head toward the singer as he resumed his seat. “I have some announcements. Granny Wilkins is unwell. If you can find the time, she would appreciate a visitor.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “We all know how she enjoys a sweet treat or two.” A rumble of laughter swept the room. “The wedding of Sarah Thomas and Tad Phillips is two weeks away.” He motioned at a couple holding hands near the front. “They invite you all to share the day with them. A barbeque potluck will be hosted by Sarah’s pa.” A middle-aged man waved his hand in the air. “Last, the harvest dance will be next Saturday.” A buzz of excitement emanated from the front rows.
Caroline had heard Sven speak from the pulpit before in their hometown of Cold Spring, Minnesota. It had been understood he would replace their preacher when he retired, and she would be his wife. Well, life was a ball of yarn, and you never knew when the next tangle would stop your needles cold.
After all that had passed between them, she shouldn’t love watching him, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away. That powerful body, those massive hands, those light blue eyes that offered understanding, forgiveness and friendship. Sven didn’t really preach. He talked in his quiet, commanding voice for ten to fifteen minutes, and when he felt finished, he bowed his head and ended the service with a simple prayer.
Sven’s eyes roamed over the rows in the little church. She looked away when his gaze meandered to the back. He cleared his throat, lifted his hands, let them drop, and spoke. “Words. We use them every day, all day. To ask permission, to explain, to make ourselves understood, to connect with our neighbors and even our animals.” Loki raised his head and focused his cool gaze on Sven. That dog had always been too smart by half. She stifled a laugh.
She had missed part of his sermon in her distraction. Sven continued, “Words are mighty fine, and useful, but they can be hurtful, dangerous, mean. I would ask a simple favor of you. This week I want you to think before you speak. It might become a habit.” He shrugged his massive shoulders in a why not gesture. “This is what I ask. Before you speak, ask yourself these questions. Are your words true? Will your words injure another? Is there a good purpose to your words or are you spreading gossip?” Women squirmed and several husbands aimed heated looks at wiggling wives. “Let me just repeat that once more. Is it true? Is it hurtful? Is there honorable purpose? Is it gossip?” He bowed his head. “Let us pray. Dear Lord, Thank you for a good harvest. Thank you for health and friendship. Thank you for sending Mrs. Connors to our town and to our school. Help us be mindful of the words we speak and use them with kindness in our hearts. We ask for your guidance today and always. Amen.”
Gossip. She sighed. After living in Cold Spring her entire life, after years of good behavior and good deeds, she had certainly felt its sharp edge, its cutting bite. When her stomach rounded, she had been grist for the mill. She’d always thought herself better than others, they had said. It served her right, they sneered. And, worst of all, she had driven that nice boy, Sven Nielson, from their town. She resisted a snort. You’d think she had gotten pregnant without his help—a second immaculate conception.
She returned her attention to Sven. He had closed the service, and she planned to be out the door.
That had been her intention, anyway. As she cleared the threshold, she was surrounded by parents of future students and several young men. One of whom wished to escort her across the street to the Mercantile where they gathered every week for coffee, cookies and companionship after the service.
Caroline looked into his eager face. “I’m sorry, but I have to collect my son.”
“Don’t worry,” a woman’s voice piped up, “they bring the children to the store.”
“My name is Matthew,” the man informed her as he held his elbow in her direction. She slipped her hand through his arm and the congregation moved to the Mercantile. Matthew had her in a chair with a cup of hot coffee and two cookies on a plate within minutes. Disgruntled looks were shared by the other single men.
The children arrived, and Micah stood next to her on his wobbly legs. When Sven entered the room, he made a straight line to her chair as if she were the North Star, and he a sailor lost at sea.
“Good day, Mrs. Connors.” He held out his hand, and she had no choice but to let her small one disappear into it. Micah fell to his little bottom with a thump. His face took on the squinty look she knew so well. He was fixing to cry.
Sven reached down and scooped the child into his arms. “There, there, Micah. It’s not so bad.” Micah perched on Sven’s arm, and the two surveyed the room, which had fallen into a hush while the congregation looked, confused and unsure, at the man and the boy. A burst of talking, pointing, staring, animated the room.
If ever a man put a stamp on a child, Sven had done this with Micah. The straight white blond hair, the high Scandinavian cheekbones, the square jaw all screamed father and son. The baby’s sturdy legs, brawny arms and unusual height added to the similarities. True, the child had his mother’s widow’s peak and her darker blue eyes, but the resemblance to the preacher was uncanny.
In opposition to the sermon, gossip flew. Caroline recognized the hissing nastiness of it.
“But she’s a widow… Marcie Wayne wouldn’t hire someone she wasn’t sure of, would she? It can’t be.”
Caroline rose f
rom her seat and placed her cup in its saucer. She held her hands out for Micah, “I must get Micah home for his nap.”
“Allow me to escort you,” Sven replied. “He is far too heavy for you to carry.”
She shot him a look of angry frustration, but what could she do? Insult the preacher? Instead, she said, “Thank you,” and walked out the mercantile door with Micah babbling nonsense to Sven and Loki following close on his master’s heels.
When they reached her door, she unleashed her fury. “I don’t see you for almost two years. Now you show up in the same town where I hoped to start over. You’re going to ruin my life twice.”
“I wouldn’t have gone after Lars if I’d known you were pregnant. I thought I could catch up with him and be back in a few days, two weeks at most. Things did not go as I’d planned, and…”
“Lars, always Lars, your brother was never anything but trouble. I should have known he was at the root of this.” She stamped her foot.
“Will you give me a chance to explain? Caroline, I still love you. Please, I can’t let my son grow up without a father. Please.” Sven’s eyes pleaded his case.
“We’ve caused enough of a spectacle today. We can’t stand out here arguing while the town watches from the door of that store.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the Mercantile.
“You’re right. May I take you to supper? Will you go to the dance with me?” Sven asked.
“No, to the dance. I will dance with you, but I don’t want to appear as your girl.” She held her arms out for the baby who eagerly fell into her embrace and laid his head on her shoulder.
“I can’t commit to supper. I have plans.”
“What plans?” His voice carried stern authority.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Sven. You have no rights over me. We left that in Cold Spring.”
Sven gave her a long look and the baby an even longer one. “Your safety and Micah’s safety matter to me. I plan to court you, Caroline. I hope to regain your trust and your heart, but while I’m doing that, you have to be careful. A woman alone is easy pickings.” He took a step closer. “Now, what are your plans?”