The Teacher and the Preacher

by Victoria Phelps

  Sven bundled Micah into a quilt and waited while his wife secured her cloak. He held the baby in one arm and took possession of Caroline’s arm with his other hand. The walkway was icy until the sun had a chance to throw a few bedraggled rays their way, and he didn’t want her to fall.

  As they approached the church, they heard a man’s voice rise and fall and rise again. Sven pulled Caroline to a stop, “Let’s listen for minute. We don’t want to interrupt if a sermon is under way.”

  “Who would be preaching?” Caroline wondered.

  Moving closer to the door, Sven strained to hear. “It’s John Wayne,” he whispered.

  “Well, I see most all of the sheep have returned to the fold,” John said. Disgust soaked his every word. “Since we’re short one preacher, I believe I’ll have my say.” Boots thumped up the aisle and climbed two steps as John mounted the little platform that served as an altar.

  Micah had a firm grasp of the hair on both sides of Caroline’s face, and he lunged toward her planting sloppy, open mouthed kisses on his mama’s face. Sven choked back a laugh and placed a finger on his lips. Caroline nodded and moved away from the door. Micah and silence were not a comfortable pair.

  John continued, “Sven always picked a verse and shared his thoughts. It was a preaching style I was particularly fond of. Never been a man to cotton to scolding, anger or righteous proclamations.” Sven leaned closer. “Since his brother busted up the wedding and some fine citizens of our town turned their backs on our preacher, I’ve pondered a verse or two myself.”

  “I don’t take much to scolding either, Mr. Wayne, if that’s what you have in mind.” The woman’s tone was insulted arrogance. Skirts rustled.

  “Sit back down, Mrs. Peterson. You can have your say when I’m done if you’re so inclined,” John said.

  Another voice added, “Sit down, Elvira. I done let you take the bit in your mouth once too often.” More rustling followed by suspenseful silence.

  “The first verse is found in Genesis. Wouldn’t you know it. Right away two brothers are fighting, jealous, riled up. I had a couple brothers myself, and I’m not proud to say it, but we came to blows more than once. Why, if my ma hadn’t stepped in and taken a strap to us now and again, we might have killed each other. I love those scamps now, but brothers have their own kind of growing up to do.” The low chuckle of male recognition swept the room. “Sven’s brother brought trouble to his door. He busted into this very room on what should have been one of the happiest days of Sven’s life and ripped it to shreds, laid waste to all the good Sven has done for our town with his mean words. Was Lars jealous or just a low-down snake? I don’t have the answer to that question, but Sven’s sin was trying to keep his brother from harm. Now, maybe he should have done different. Maybe he should have turned him over to the law right away.”

  Sven hung on every word. Those questions had kept him up many a night.

  “We all know the story of Cain and Abel. Cain really does kill his brother. Where was his ma that day? The Bible doesn’t say, but no ma can watch her children every minute.” This time the laughter was feminine. “Cain is jealous, so jealous he takes Abel’s life. When the Lord calls him to account, the only defense he can come up with is a question: Am I my brother’s keeper? That’s a mighty famous question, and I think we all know God’s answer. Hell, yes, you are your brother’s keeper. You stand together or you fall together.”

  John paused for a moment. “Sven was caught in that old dilemma. Was he his brother’s keeper? He thought he was. It was bred in his bones.”

  Sven watched as Caroline set Micah down on his feet to practice walking. Loki trotted beside, giving the boy’s face an occasional lick.

  “Enough about Sven. I’m curious about all of you. Have you ever made a mistake? Done something you aren’t proud of? Said something you regret? Does anyone in this room dare to say they have led a blameless life?” John waited. “I didn’t think so. John chapter eight, verse one wraps this one up tight. It says, “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone”. I’d say there have been plenty of stones thrown in this town lately. Too many.”

  A petulant female voice broke in. “Mr. Wayne,” she began.

  “You’ll have your turn, Mrs. Peterson. I’m almost done.” John cleared his throat. “I saved the biggest gun for last. The second Commandment tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. The second of ten rules given to us by God himself. Love they neighbor as thyself. Now, Sven made mistakes, but he’s a good man, a man I’m honored to count as friend. I’m sorry to say that I’m a little ashamed of our town, and its inability to forgive. That’s all I got to say.”

  John’s boots sounded on the two steps.

  A shrill female voice scalded the air. “There are other rules in the Bible, Mr. Wayne. Rules about fornication. Rules about truth. Rules about honesty. You brought that man to our town. It’s no wonder you defend him.”

  Sven stepped back as the door flew open and Elvira Peterson stormed out. Her nose tilted to the sky. Her boots beating a quick tattoo. Her husband followed in her wake. “I’m sorry, Sven. It’s been easier to let her fume and fuss than to take her in hand. I feel responsible for her gossip and uncharitable actions. I intend to call her to account, but I’m afraid the damage is done.” He followed his wife with purposeful steps.

  John emerged and laid a hand on Sven’s shoulder. “Sometimes I miss the old days when men outnumbered women ten to one.”

  “I thank you for your words this morning, friend,” Sven said. “We’ll just have to wait a bit and see if they were taken to heart.”

  The two men watched as Elvira Peterson pranced up the street kicking a dust cloud of self-righteous fury in her wake.

  “Yup,” John sighed. “I miss those days.”

  Chapter 15

  Sven

  “Let’s go greet your mama, little man.” Sven snatched his son up as he toddled past and swooped him over his head and around in a circle before settling him on his arm.

  “Mo,” Micah shrieked and bounced his bottom up and down in the signal for renewed flight.

  “Maybe later, son. We need to say howdy to our woman first.” Sven’s large hand patted the small back.

  A sigh signaled the tot’s displeasure, but he laid his head on his father’s shoulder and popped a damp thumb into his mouth.

  Sven closed the door to his workshop and carried his son into the house. He stirred the soup simmering on the black cast iron stove before sitting in the large rocker with Micah on his knee.

  Light footsteps pattered up the stairs and paused before the door opened enough to let Caroline’s slim body slip into the room.

  As soon as he laid eyes on her drooping shoulders, pale face and trembling hands he knew. “No better, darling?” A rhetorical question, her body told all.

  “No. No, they’re not coming back,” Caroline answered. “We’d best face facts. Mrs. Peterson and her band of biddies has won.” Color flamed in two spots of hectic red on her cheeks. “And Lars.” She stamped her foot. “Lars is still hanging about watching us come and go. Why doesn’t he move on? I suppose he wants to gloat. I can just hear him. Look at me. I managed to ruin my brother’s life in San Miguel. Let him build a house, a life, a reputation, and I’ll knock it down. Oh, I hate him. I hate them both.” Tears rolled unchecked down her white face and landed on her small bosom.

  “Caroline,” he scolded. “Surely you don’t mean that. Mrs. Peterson is an unforgiving woman, and I suspect not a happy one.” He cleared his throat. “Lars, well, Lars might have done what he set out to do, but causing us heartache hasn’t made him happy. He’s a sad, lonely man. We should pray for them both.”

  Caroline wrapped her arms around her middle and glared. “Sometimes, Sven, I want to punch you. You are too good, too generous. I plan to be mad at them for a long while.” She stamped across the room and hung her cloak on a peg.

  Sven set Micah on his feet and watched as he toddled towards their Hu
sky. Loki would keep the boy out of trouble. He gathered his wife into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. “Tell me,” the command was harsh, but his voice was a gentle breeze.

  “The same students came again today. The MacGregor boys, Adam and Ava Wayne, Tommy, Jeanette and Joe Thornton and little Lillian Grey. She’s only five, but the older children watch out for her.” He had heard this litany before. After every school day for the past two weeks, in fact. What lay behind her fury today?

  The only sounds were Micah’s thumping pats on the big dog’s side and the gentle squeak of the rocking chair. Sven waited.

  “Marcie Wayne came to fetch the children after school. The mothers of the other twelve students are taking turns holding lessons. She didn’t want me to hear of it through some nasty gossip. She’s a good friend,” Caroline sniffled.

  Sven pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his bride’s face. He put the cloth to her nose. “Blow,” he commanded. Caroline shook her head and attempted to push his big hand away. “You’re as bad as Micah. Blow,” he repeated. When she had obeyed, he pulled her close to his chest and took up waiting again. Two weeks had passed since school resumed after Christmas vacation. The seven students returned to school. The other twelve remained absent. Why all the tears today?

  He settled his wife against his chest and pushed the floor with his big foot. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he closed his eyes and resumed his vigil. She would tell him when she was ready, but they wouldn’t leave the chair until he knew the source of her upset.

  Time ticked by. Micah lay with his nose pressed to Loki’s and proceeded to speak with the dog in their secret language. Loki’s tail thumped a steady rhythm on the floor. The fire in the stove popped. The rocker squeaked. Sven waited.

  A shudder wracked through his wife’s body, and fresh tears splashed his arm.

  “Little Lillian,” Caroline managed to speak around gulps of grief. “Little Lillian asked me a question today.”

  “Oh?” Sven prompted. “And what was it? Full of questions, she is. A curious little scamp.”

  “She asked,” Caroline fought to control her voice. “She asked what a b…b…bastard is. I asked where she had heard that word. Well, it seems two ladies with very mean faces came to visit her ma. Her ma offered tea, but they refused.”

  Sven brought the chair to a halt. “And then?”

  “Then the two mean ladies told her ma that she shouldn’t let Lillian go to school when the teacher is no better than a harlot. They said Mrs. Nielson’s baby was a bastard no matter that she was married now, and no matter what John Wayne had to say.” Caroline shivered and buried her face in his shirt.

  “What did you tell Lillian?” Sven asked.

  “I told her to ask her mother,” Caroline replied. “She said she had, but her mother said they would discuss it when she was older. I said Lillian had to listen to her ma and wait until she was ready for grown-up words. That seemed to satisfy her, and she went off to play with Ava and Jeanette.”

  “If I were Elvira Peterson’s husband, I’d spank her every day for a month for the trouble she’s caused. Mean-spirited harpy,” Sven exclaimed.

  Caroline laughed. “What happened to poor, unhappy Mrs. Peterson who deserves our sympathy?”

  Sven smiled down at his pretty wife. Her laughter was a balm to his spirit. “Well, I do believe she is unhappy. Partly because her husband doesn’t care enough to keep her in line. She needs a spanking. It would calm her down and make her feel loved. That’s why I pity her, Caroline. She doesn’t feel safe, loved, cared for. If I was still his minister, I would counsel him to take her directly to the woodshed and be damn sure she was properly punished, loved, and reassured.”

  Sven and Caroline watched as Micah rose to a wobbly stand, took two steps, and fell to his padded bottom. He crawled to a chair and pulled himself upright again before beaming a four-tooth grin. His parents clapped their hands at his daring.

  Caroline turned to face her husband and laced her fingers with his. “Oh, Sven, this was hard to hear, but it got me thinking. How many people in town are saying just what Lillian heard? I can’t bear the thought that when Micah is older, someone, an old biddy like Elvira Peterson or maybe even another child who doesn’t know the meaning of the word, will call our son a b…b… I can’t even bring myself to say it. If we stay, it will happen.” She paused. “We have to leave. We need to go where no one knows us. You could preach again…”

  “No, I’m done with that. All my life in Cold Spring, it was expected of me, so I expected it of myself. No, I want to be a husband, friend, father, and brother, if Lars will let me. I’ll be a carpenter, too. I can support us that way, but not a preacher.” Sven shook his head. “Not a preacher. I don’t feel that calling anymore.”

  “As long as we’re together, I’m happy.” She squeezed his hand. “I think I’ll teach until the end of the month. I won’t accept money when most of the children aren’t attending school. Anyway, little Lillian’s story today made me see something else. The school has become a battleground divided between those who support us and those who don’t. I won’t be the cause of bad feelings. Bad feelings that could take years to heal.”

  “I agree, sweetheart. The school board wasn’t happy about a married teacher anyway. John Wayne talked them into letting you continue,” Sven replied. “We’ll wait until good weather, and then we’ll leave San Miguel. Gives us a while to figure out where we want to go.” They rocked in quiet for a few minutes. “I can go to the school board and tell them you resign as of the end of January if you want me to. It’s the right thing. We both came to San Miguel hoping to make it a better place. We sure as shooting don’t want to make it worse.”

  “Thank you, Sven. If you really don’t mind, I’d just as soon not see the school board.” She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “I wanted to be a good teacher. I tried so hard. I’m afraid I might either cry or yell, and neither one would be helpful. I’ll tell the students tomorrow that I will teach two more weeks.”

  Sven lifted his wife to the ground. “You change Micah, and I’ll ladle up the soup.”

  They paused for a long, hard hug. Decisions made. Choices considered. Paths selected. Sven released a long-held sigh before patting his wife’s back. “We’ll be all right, sweetheart,” he reassured. “We surely will.”

  Days passed as days do, sunrise to sunset. Two other facts as reliable as the rotation around the sun were that it was the coldest winter in memory, and Lars would be standing across the street with feet crossed and hat pulled low watching them come and go. Oh, and the third was that it required all his restraint and self-control to wait until Micah was asleep before he took his wife to bed and demonstrated his love for her. He spent his days building, sanding, caring for Micah and planning all the ways he could pleasure her. He longed to bring her to shuddering, shattering climaxes, watch her fall apart beneath his hands, hear her call his name. He shook his head. Lord have mercy, if he died tomorrow, he’d had a peek at paradise right here on earth. Good thing he’d given up preaching. He was pretty sure some blasphemy lay in those thoughts.

  He couldn’t do much about the cold except keep the wood box at home and school full and wrap his wife and son in scarves and blankets to keep the sharp, piercing wind at bay.

  As for Lars, he was a mystery. Sven had expected him to leave town and wreak havoc elsewhere, but he remained standing and staring. When his brother decided to talk, he’d be ready to listen.

  A rush of frigid air shocked the room as Caroline slipped in the door. Sven pulled her into his arms for a scorching kiss before unwinding layers of scarves from around her soft, tempting neck.

  “How was school?” he asked between nibbling her ear and pressing her closer.

  “Good. We’re working on a few projects. Maps, battle diagrams, timelines, artwork all focused on the Revolutionary War. Each child will have something to take home on the last day to show their parents.” Caroline gave a rueful chuckle. “I’m tak
ing the easy way out. Normally we would be looking at causes and outcomes of the Civil War at this time of year. Sentiment still runs high around that topic, though, so I decided to go out with something less controversial, coward that I am.”

  “Wise, sweetheart, not cowardly. I reckon we’ve stirred up enough controversy in this town already.” His kisses descended to that sweet place where her neck met her shoulder. His hands cradled her bosom while his thumbs whispered across her nipples.

  “Something smells good,” Caroline sniffed at the air.

  “I have stew simmering. I aim to keep you and Micah full of hot food to chase the cold away.” Sven slid a hand over her bottom and pulled her tight to his body.

  “Oki,” a sleepy voice shouted. The big dog stretched and yawned before trotting into the baby’s room.

  Sven tapped Caroline’s rounded backside. “Somebody’s awake, sweetheart. But I’ve got big plans for later.”

  He released her and called, “Where’s Micah?” The game was on.

  Like bashful kisses, a hint of warmth blew into town the following day. Sven stood on the porch with Micah wrapped in a single blanket and waited for Caroline to get home from school. He tipped his head in a small salute to his brother across the street. A return nod and a shift in stance was the reply. Darned if he knew what the man was doing, wanted or planned. Sven sighed before turning his eyes up the street.

  At the sight of Caroline turning the corner, he heaved Micah onto his shoulders and strode to meet her.

  “How was your day, sweetheart?” He laid a kiss on her warm cheek.

  “Good. Great, even. The children were able to play outside, and we had such fun. Duck, duck goose, jumping rope, tag. I let them have extra time since we’ve been cooped up all week.”

  Caroline’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “I am going to miss them. Only three more days. I thought I’d bake cookies for the last day. We’ll end on a sweet note.”