The Teacher and the Preacher

by Victoria Phelps

  “You boys all right?” The MacGregor boys shivered with the cold, and their teeth chattered. Sven laid a reassuring hand on their small shoulders.

  “Yes, sir, but we’re cold, and we sure would like to get on home.” Eli MacGregor responded. His brother nodded so hard his hair flew.

  Sven untied the clothes bundle from his back and motioned for the other men to do the same. “Mrs. Wayne sent warm clothes. Let’s look through and get everyone bundled up.”

  Caroline sorted the garments and distributed them to the children. When she was done, they were covered head to foot.

  “Marcie sent these for you.” Sven handed her the long woolen underclothes and heavy boots.

  “Lars, you take the lead on the way back. Adam and Ava will walk behind you. John will be next. The MacGregor boys follow with Caroline behind them. I’ll carry Lillian and be last in line.” He scanned the group with solemn eyes. “Now, do not take your hand off the rope. Under no circumstances are you to take your hand off the rope.”

  “Good plan, Sven. We can keep watch on the children this way,” John moved his twins until they stood in front of him. “Line up and put your gloves on.”

  Lars moved to the front and prepared to open the door. “Ready?”

  The line moved like a snake toward the door. “Caroline, where are your gloves?”

  “There weren’t enough. It’s more important that the children wear them,” she explained.

  He pulled his gloves off and handed them to his wife. “Put these on.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  Sven gripped her upper arm and moved to her side. He delivered a firm spank to her bottom. “Do not argue. We need to get moving. Put on the gloves.”

  Caroline blushed deep pink, but her hands slid into Sven’s large gloves without further protest.

  “We’re ready, Lars. Open the door.” Sven called to his brother.

  A rush of cold air and ice blew into their faces as they stepped from the safety of the school into the whirling storm.

  Sven held Lillian with one arm and the rope with the other. His eyes scanned the group ahead, sweeping constantly, making sure no one dropped the rope and wandered onto the range.

  At first his hand burned with the cold, but he had to hold the little girl. He had to hold the rope. He marched on.

  It was a relief when the pain was replaced with numb absence. His hand was gone. Disappeared. But he held the rope, held the child, and walked on.

  “We made it,” Lars shouted.

  The door to the Wayne house flew open and Marcie pulled them one at a time into the warmth, safety and comfort of the house.

  She had pans of warm water ready, and she dipped hands into it and examined them one by one. Faces were bathed and ears checked.

  Sven plunged his hands into the warm liquid.

  “How does that feel?” Marcie asked.

  “Warm,” Sven replied.

  Marcie cradled his hand. Her eyebrows lowered, and her lips pressed into a short straight line. “Didn’t you wear gloves?” she demanded.

  “There weren’t enough,” Sven explained.

  “What is it?” Caroline joined them. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t like the looks of Sven’s hands,” she sighed. “Sven, keep your hands in the water. Move your fingers. Get the blood flowing. Restore circulation.” She cocked her head and listened. “Micah and Katie are awake.”

  The two toddlers straggled into the room dragging their blankets behind them.

  “Mama, mama.” Micah held his arms up in the universal toddler signal for up.

  Caroline hoisted him to her hip and rubbed her cheek over his white blond hair. “What did you say?”

  Micah pressed his face into her bosom and burrowed. Micah raised his head and rewarded her with an impish grin. One she had witnessed on her husband’s face more than once.

  He patted her breast. “Mama,” he announced.

  “Da?” Micah pointed at Sven.

  “I’m all right, son. Just washing my hands.” Sven smiled at the boy. He’d rather be holding the two of them in his arms and not sitting here with his hands in a pan of water like an invalid.

  “Everyone sleeps here tonight,” Marcie declared. “It is too dangerous to go out, and I want to monitor everyone’s health. Freezing temperatures are dangerous.” She sent a worried glance at Sven’s hands as they lay waxy and pale in the pan of warm water. “John, please find bedding for our guests.”

  “All right,” John replied. He looked at each person in the room. “When Marcie’s orders concern health or medicine, we always do as she says.”

  “I’ll help.” Sven began to rise from his chair.

  “Keep your hands in the warm water,” Marcie ordered.

  Lars cleared his throat before speaking. “I’ll help.” He followed John from the room.

  Sven listened as John brought order to the night. “We’ll make a bed for the MacGregor boys on the floor of Adam’s room. Lillian can sleep with Ava. We’ll put together a pallet for Sven, Caroline and Micah. Lars, you can sleep on the couch if it’s long enough.”

  “Thank you,” Lars replied. “That will be fine.”

  “Caroline, come help me put a meal together.” Marcie peered again at Sven’s pale hands before turning her frown toward the door.

  Just as he was about to abandon the warm water on his own, Caroline appeared in the door.

  “Dinner’s ready.” She handed him a towel. “Thank God you came for us today, Sven. You saved us.”

  “I’ll always come for you. Don’t ever doubt it.” Sven dried his hands before dragging his wife into a tight embrace. “I had help today. Lars and John came, too.” He stepped back. “Do you think you can give Lars another chance? At the first sign of trouble, he was at my side. I know he’s caused a lot of hurt over the years, but maybe he’s changed. I believe in forgiveness, sweetheart. I can’t give up on him, and we both know the blessing of a second chance.”

  “I don’t know.” Caroline stood on tiptoe to swish a soft, warm kiss over her husband’s lips. “I’m afraid he’ll disappoint you again or betray you.” Her words were a soft hiss.

  “Idiot that I am, I’ll forgive him again,” he whispered.

  “You are too kind for you own good.” Caroline leaned into his body.

  He tucked her under his arm. “Let’s go eat. It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m hungry as a bear.”

  “It has definitely been one hell of a day,” Caroline agreed.

  Sven laid a warning swat on her sweet bottom.

  “What’s that for?” She wiggled away.

  “You know better than to swear,” he responded.

  “You said it first.”

  “Well, I should watch my language, too, but ladies are not allowed to swear.” Sven reminded his tiny wife.

  “Hardly seems fair,” she complained with a sassy toss of her head. She had let her hair down so it would dry. It lay against her back in a thick curtain of black silk. He longed to hold it in his hand and lift it to reveal the soft skin at the back of her neck. First, he had to set things straight.

  “Maybe not, but it’s the way of things. Try it again and see where it gets you.” His eyes glittered a warning. “Perhaps I should close the door and make myself clear. I wouldn’t mind a look at the bottom I saved today.”

  “You wouldn’t spank me here.” Her eyes snapped with her sharp retort. Her voice crackled with disobedience.

  “If you need to be spanked, I will. Do you?” he asked. “Do you need to be spanked or will you watch your language and behave?”

  “I’ll behave.” The belligerent tone disappeared.

  “I’m glad, sweetheart. I’d rather have dinner.” Sven took her hand into his.

  He was mighty happy the argument had ended. He still couldn’t feel his fingers, although the palm of his hand tingled with returning blood. Spanking might have proved difficult, but he would have found a way – a wooden spoon or a hai
rbrush would do the trick.

  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “Where there’s a will; there’s a way.”

  Chapter 16

  Caroline

  Caroline slept sandwiched between her husband and her son on the floor of the Wayne home. A fine sheet of perspiration coated her forehead and a bead of sweat made a slow trail between her breasts. Mercy, it was hot.

  She sat up slowly. Micah lay to her left. His little diaper covered bottom waved in the air, and his thumb was planted between rosy lips. Caroline sighed. He was a beautiful child, strong and healthy. He’d be eighteen months in a few days. Since she spent her days at school, she only nursed him at bedtime now, and he drank from a cup like a big boy with obvious pride. But the urge to hold him to her breast this morning caused her small mounds to become hard and full. If Sven and the other men hadn’t come for them when they did, they would have died. Because of Sven, she was blessed with another day. Another opportunity to hold her son and love his father.

  Caroline turned to her right and laid a hand on Sven’s arm. She jerked back as if scalded before coming to her knees for a closer look at her husband. She laid her hand on his forehead. He didn’t move. He didn’t respond. That was why she had been so hot. Sven was a blazing furnace.

  Marcie emerged from her bedroom. A robe tied loosely over her nightgown. Her curly hair surrounded her face in a fuzzy halo. She gave Caroline a little smile, “Time to start breakfast. We have a full house this morning.” Marcie bent to rekindle the stove.

  “Marcie,” Caroline croaked.

  Marcie turned at the sound of her distress. As midwife and physician to the town, she recognized the sound.

  “Sven’s burning up, Marcie.” She turned a pale, pleading face toward her friend.

  “Let me see.” Marcie hurried to the pallet, and pulled the blankets down to reveal Sven’s hands. “Oh Lord, I was afraid of this.” She held Sven’ hand and turned it over for closer inspection.

  Several of his fingers were a waxy, lifeless color. Fluid filled blisters appeared on these fingers as well. His nails were a deep bluish black.

  Caroline flinched. “Lord have mercy,” she whispered.

  Sven’s eyes, still dazed with sleep, opened. The pair of women leaning over his body brought him further awake. “What’s the matter?”

  Bang. A fist hit the front door with vigorous intent. Bang. Bang.

  “I’ll get it,” John said as he entered the room still buttoning his shirt. He opened the door before another knock woke the sleeping children.

  “My boys here?” Jeb MacGregor whisked through the door shotgun gripped in his hand. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night, and his usual wild looks had turned murderous.

  Before John could answer, the two boys burst into the room and ran into their father’s embrace. He grabbed a boy in each arm as John pried the shotgun from his fingers.

  “Mr. Nielson, Mr. Wayne and another Mr. Nielson came for us yesterday. We were mighty scared, Pa, but we were brave,” Eli assured his father.

  “That they were,” John agreed.

  “I thank you, John,” MacGregor released one son long enough to shake hands. “I knew I couldn’t make it to town in that storm. In all my years, I’d never seen one that bad. I spent the night praying my boys had made it to safety.”

  He looked over at the two women and Sven huddled together on the floor. Sven’s hands lay on top of the blanket like two injured birds fallen from the sky. MacGregor’s face turned to gray.

  “Preacher, you been frostbit. I seen that before, and I’m sorry for it.” His mouth turned down in a mournful grimace. “I’ll take my boys and head home. You let me know if I can help any, but that usually fixes itself or it don’t.” He patted each of his sons on the shoulder. “Gather your things,” he ordered.

  When the door shut behind them, Sven spoke. “I’ve seen this before, too. Minnesota winters bring blistering cold.”

  Marcie gave his hands a careful inspection. “You three stay here today, so I can keep a watch on your hands.” She stood and smoothed her robe. “First, let’s have breakfast.”

  While they cooked, Lillian’s parents arrived and covered their daughter in kisses and warm clothes. After many, many thanks, handshakes and hugs, they took their leave.

  John and Lars spent the morning doing chores and seeing to John’s horses. Marcie declared it too cold for the children to play outside, and they settled into games in Adam’s room. After dinner and amid protest, Micah and Katie lay down for their afternoon naps. John and Lars played chess while Caroline helped Marcie with her mending and preparations for the evening meal. Through all of this, Sven lay, fevered, eyes sunken in dark circles, on the pallet in front of the fire with Loki by his side. Caroline brought water time and time again, and Lars would lift his shoulders so he could drink. After each attempt to keep her husband hydrated, she and Lars exchanged desperate, unhappy looks.

  With supper behind them, dishes done, and children in their beds for the night, Marcie cleared her throat. “We need to wake Sven. I’d like to explain our options.”

  Lars gave his brother a gentle shake followed by a not so gentle shove. “Sven, wake up. We need to talk.” Sven nodded, and Lars helped him into a rocker next to the fire.

  “Sven, you have third degree frostbite in three of your fingers,” Marcie began. “Lars and Caroline, pay close attention. I’m not sure Sven will stay completely awake and understand the choices. You need to help him.” They watched as Sven slumped sideways in the big chair.

  “All right, Marcie, I’m listening,” Caroline said. Lars nodded and crossed muscular arms across his chest.

  Marcie continued. “That means that three of Sven’s fingers are dead. In my opinion, the circulation will not return. You can see the black areas on the index finger of his right hand and the little and ring finger on his left.”

  Caroline surveyed these fingers, blackened and swollen, and moaned.

  “There is a remote possibility blood flow will return, but it is a very small chance.” Marcie looked first at Sven, then Caroline, and then Lars. “In my opinion,” she concluded.

  “Please, Marcie, yours is the only opinion we have. What can be done?” Caroline begged for an answer, a solution, a miracle.

  “We can wait. It’s possible his fingers will fall off on their own. It’s called self -amputation. My worry, my fear, is infection. If we wait and infection sets in, it could poison his blood. Worse case is gangrene. Now, I don’t know if that will happen, but it’s a definite possibility.” She waited a bit before plowing forward. “Here’s the choice. I can amputate those three fingers. There is always a chance of infection, but I will do all in my power to avoid it. The other choice, as I said, is to wait. But if he develops an infection, if it turns into gangrene, he might lose his entire hand or both hands. At that point, I would have to remove all damaged tissue and gangrene spreads quickly.

  “Oh no, no, no.” Caroline’s words mingled with sobs.

  John stood in the shadow by the hearth. He stepped forward. “I just want to add that my wife is a skilled physician. She saved Amanda’s life and my leg when I was shot some years back. Sven is in good hands.”

  Caroline leaned close to her husband. “Did you hear, Sven? What’s your choice?”

  He opened fever filled eyes. “I heard most. Need my hands,” he mumbled before slipping into uneasy slumber.

  “Lars, what should we do?” Caroline’s frantic voice echoed in the still room. She turned her tear-stained face toward Marcie. “If it were John, what would you do?”

  “Amputate. The risk of waiting is too great and too uncertain,” Marcie replied.

  “I say let’s not risk infection. Let Marcie amputate those three fingers.” Lars spoke with certainty. “Sven can make do without a few fingers, but his entire hand…” He shook his head in sad denial.

  “All right. Do it, Marcie. Please.” Caroline sank to her knees and laid her head on her husband’s knee. “Amputate.�
�

  Marcie transformed before her eyes into a woman of purpose and authority. “John, you will administer the ether. Lars, we will need you to hold his hand still. Even under anesthetic, he may jerk.”

  “What can I do?” Caroline enquired.

  “You, my dear, may start water to boil.” Marcie swept from the room and was heard rummaging in her closet.

  “Lars, help me move the table into our bedroom. Sven will lay on it during the surgery.” The two men lifted the large wooden table and carted it from the room.

  When Sven lay with his shirt off and a blanket tucked under his arms, Marcie dropped gleaming knives into the roiling water. “Come kiss your husband good-night, Caroline. He’s going to be fine.”

  “I love you, Sven. Sleep well.” Tears fell in a steady stream as she stumbled from the room.

  Before the door closed, she heard Marcie’s instructions. “Five drops, John. He’s very large. Three more if he begins to wake.”

  Loki whined at the closed door, then growled, before dropping to his belly. He lay his head between giant paws and stared at the barrier of wood.

  Caroline bent to stroke his thick fur. “He’ll be all right, Loki. We have to wait out here.” The big dog heaved a tremendous sigh, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.

  When Micah woke and stumbled, sleep-addled, from his bed, Caroline unbuttoned her blouse and let the child suckle. Taking comfort, each from the other, they slept before the smoldering fire.

  “Water.” Sven’s voice was a dry croak. He lay with his arms crossed on his chest. Both hands swaddled in large, bulky bandages.

  Loki lay on her husband’s other side. He rose to his feet and stared down into Sven’s face, tongue hanging, tail wagging, ears up and alert.

  “Good boy, Loki.” Sven managed to rub his back with his forearm. Loki returned to his favorite spot – glued to his master’s side.

  Caroline rose from the pallet, stepped over her sleeping son, and pumped water into a glass. Returning to her husband, she helped him lift his head and held the cold liquid to his lips. When he’d had enough, he nodded and laid his head on the sweat dampened pillow.