The Forgiving Heart (The Heart of Minnesota Book 1)

by Riker, Becky

  “No,” he shook his head emphatically, “it was the crying last night that broke my heart.”

  That he did not mean to say it was more than evident in the shocked look on the man’s face. He began to rise, but reseated himself heavily.

  Karlijna, for her part, was too stunned to move. She would have liked to deny it, but obviously he knew it was her.

  “I am sorry to keep you awake,” she whispered, tears already clogging her throat, “I did not think to cry much, but sometimes. . .” she could not finish. Speaking was taking up the strength she needed to keep from weeping again.

  Michael reached across the table, “Please do not apologize. I spoke without thought. I hadn’t intended to bring it up at all, but I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

  “Okay?” the girl looked up at him, tears evident in her gray eyes, but not leaving their place.

  “Yes,” he pressed a handkerchief in her palm, “Okay, alright, fine.”

  “Oh,” she gave a half-laugh, half-sob, “Okay. This is the new vord.”

  He could not laugh with her. The young man had no idea what this girl had gone through, but he had learned in the war that there were many horrific things that people had been forced to endure. There was no end to human suffering he had witnessed, and this young lady was yet another victim of the events that were playing out.

  “I vill answer your qvestion,” she surprised him by saying. She took a deep breath and released it slowly as if to prepare herself for a momentous task. “I have one brother and one sister. Their names are Benard and Veronike.”

  After her reaction to his last question, he was not about to ask another, but he was curious.

  She watched him for a moment before continuing, “I do not think they live.”

  This was not what Michael expected, “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded slowly, a sad expression covering her features, though no more tears pressed their way through, “I am sorry too. I love them very much. My brother vas eighteen in January, and my sister vas just four. My father and brother vere taken to one camp and ve to another. Then my sister vas taken from Mama and me. Ve vere told those children died. In Mama’s grief, she vept so she was killed also.”

  Michael had no words to reply. He wondered how she continued.

  Karlijna thought it was time to stand outside to wait for Olaf. She rose and looked down on the young man still seated.

  “Thank you for listening to me.”

  He turned his face to her.

  “I have told nobody about them, and it is good to talk. It helps mine heart to heal.”

  Michael rose, his eyes never leaving her young face, “How do you. . .” he voice caught.

  She waited for him to collect himself.

  “How do you continue? Do you not suffer of loneliness?”

  Karlijna looked up at him. He was taller than her by several inches, but his face was almost as innocent as a child. She knew he had not seen the things she had unwillingly witnessed. She also saw compassion.

  “I only can survive by God’s grace,” she touched his arm. “Only because He comforts me.”

  Michael nodded, his own eyes suspiciously moist, “I am glad to have met you Miss Bergstrom. I believe the world is a better place because you are in it.”

  The girl gave him a real smile this time, “Not me, Michael. It is Christ in me. And I am called Karlijna, please.”

  Michael grinned back at her, “Karlijna, then. I hope we meet again. I will be praying for you until then.”

  Karlijna took great comfort in his statement over the next week. She found her nerves worn thin by the new duties of her job. She wondered more than occasionally in the duration how hard it would be to find another position.

  Mr. Beauchamp was a challenge to her. He was initially annoyed by Mr. Sodergaard’s choice of interpreter. He made no secret of his dislike of a female undertaking the job.

  “I am not satisfied with this girl,” he shouted at Karlijna’s boss while they sat in the front parlor shortly after the Frenchman’s arrival.

  The young woman tried to keep all expression from her face and voice as she relayed this message.

  Mr. Sodergaard coughed uncomfortably, “Would you please ask him why.”

  She did so and got a long litany of why he preferred a man. If they couldn’t get a man, he also added to his list of grievances, it should not be too much to expect an adult rather than a mere child. All this, she translated, word for word, making every effort to keep her voice void of inflection and her features blandly schooled.

  “I’m sorry, Karlijna,” Mr. Sodergaard apologized, “please tell him I have utmost respect for your abilities, and we have no other options since he did not deem it necessary to bring his own interpreter for this trip.”

  This last part was said through clenched teeth and Karlijna raised her eyebrows at her employer before beginning the recitation.

  Mr. Sodergaard waved his hand dismissively, “You’re right,” he agreed, though she hadn’t actually said a word, “leave off that last part.”

  Mr. Beauchamp sniffed at the reply. Karlijna almost laughed when he did so. The man looked to be in his thirties, but he acted like a petulant child.

  “Bonjour,” Helga Sodergaard chose that moment to enter the room.

  The woman was a good bit younger than her brother, but bore some physical resemblance to him. She had his strong jaw line and slim build. Her hair did not show the same signs of age as did her brother’s gray streaked locks, but it was the same dark brown as his had once been.

  Their eyes, Karlijna thought as she watched the woman speak in halting French to the visitor, were very dissimilar. Though both sets were green, the similarity ended there. While the brother’s were warm and full of humor, the sister’s eyes were disdainful and appeared always to be searching for a fault.

  Karlijna realized with dismay that she had noticed Mr. Sodergaard’s sister at church before. She had noticed her and had not gone out of her way to meet her. The woman was not friendly, and it was more than apparent, now that they were sharing temporary lodgings, that she did not feel Karlijna was worthy of her condescension.

  “Helga,” Mr. Sodergaard addressed his sister, “why didn’t I know you spoke French?”

  The woman laughed a little, “I can’t imagine how you could forget it, Roald. I took lessons for years. But,” she looked at Karlijna, “my enunciation is very poor, is it not, Miss Bergstrom?”

  Karlijna had no reply. The other woman’s French was, indeed, very bad. But that would not be gracious or prudent information to offer.

  She was saved from answering by Mr. Beauchamp.

  “Tell that woman to stop annoying me with her prattle. She desecrates the French language with her use of it. It makes me sick.”

  Karlijna’s face grew white at this. She swallowed convulsively before looking first to the woman in question and then at Mr. Sodergaard.

  The placid expression on both people’s faces told the girl that their guest’s trick of speaking quickly worked. Neither knew what he had said.

  She thought quickly and voiced what she said as a question, “I can’t repeat that or I will lose my job?”

  Unexpectedly, the man threw back his head and laughed, “That was very clever. Well,” he waved his hand around the room with a flourish, “tell them I like this room.”

  She turned to the other people, “He likes the way this room is decorated.”

  Helga looked pleased with this, but Mr. Sodergaard looked suspicious.

  “Tell him I did the decorating,” the woman urged.

  Her brother raised an eyebrow, “I thought you spoke French.”

  She lifted her nose at him, “I do, but this is more convenient. Besides, what is your girl here for, but to translate?”

  Mr. Sodergaard left the room then muttering something about business. Karlijna wished she could follow.

  Though Karlijna held little interest in the business matters Mr. Sodergaard and his guest
were to discuss over the course of the week, the girl greatly preferred those exchanges to the nightly conversations between Helga and Mr. Beauchamp.

  While the woman’s French was limited enough that she couldn’t make out half of what the French man was saying even when he spoke slowly, she was able to catch a familiar word or phrase occasionally. If the statement Mr. Beauchamp made was rude, as it frequently was, Karlijna altered the words to be inoffensive. It was proving to be a test of the quickness of Karlijna’s mind.

  On occasion she was caught in the act, however.

  “What part of France is your family originally from?” this was the third time Helga had tried to get this information from the man in the course of two days.

  Karlijna dutifully repeated the question, hoping for a gentler answer than the last one he had given.

  “Are you wondering if my family is wealthy that you would ask such a thing?” his face was a mask of graciousness. “Otherwise, I cannot imagine why the information would interest you.”

  Karlijna answered as she had the other times, “His family is mainly from the north.”

  This information he had offered her of his own accord the morning of his arrival so she knew it to be true.

  Helga turned angry eyes from the handsome man to the young girl, “Obviously, he said more than that, Karlijna. I demand to know what else he said.”

  Karlijna looked to her boss, but Mr. Sodergaard was reading a newspaper and did not seem to be interested in the conversation of the room’s other inhabitants.

  “He also wishes to know why you want to know,” Karlijna spoke softly.

  Helga gave a superior smile as if this was a triumph, “You may tell him I wish to know him better. That is why I ask.”

  Karlijna barely contained the grimace that threatened to mask her face, “She says she has no interest in your wealth. She just wishes to get to know more about you.”

  Mr. Beauchamp smirked a little, “You are doctoring my words and now hers.”

  Karlijna didn’t bother to deny it, “As little as possible, sir.”

  Helga stood quickly, “What are you saying to each other?” fists to her hips, she scowled at them.

  Her outburst drew her brother’s attention, “Is there a problem?”

  Helga turned to him, “Yes,” she pouted in a fashion that would have made a prettier woman look bad, “Karlijna isn’t telling me what Mr. Beauchamp is saying to her.”

  Mr. Sodergaard rolled his eyes, “Maybe it is a private conversation, Helga.”

  That woman turned on her brother, resentment visible in every feature, “I was having a conversation with him, Roald, before your employee decided to take over the topic for her own purposes.”

  The way the woman said, “employee,” made Karlijna feel as if it must have an ignominious meaning.

  Roald frowned at Miss Sodergaard, “Really, Helga,” his tone spoke of his annoyance.

  “Fine,” her tone indicated it was anything but, “You ask her what he just said that she wouldn’t repeat.”

  Karlijna, having a little time to think was able to come up with a suitable reply, “He said he did not believe I was interpreting things quite accurately, sir,” the girl addressed herself to her boss, rather than the irate sister.

  Roald narrowed his eyes, “What would make him say that?”

  Kalrijna cleared her throat, searching for a delicate way to say it. Mr. Beauchamp decided he didn’t like to be kept from the conversation.

  “What is being said? I believe I have gotten you into trouble.”

  Karlijna answered him in French, “Mr. Sodergaard wishes to know why I am not interpreting things accurately.”

  Back to the siblings, she spoke in Swedish, “Mr. Beauchamp wanted to know if he had gotten me in trouble.”

  Mr. Sodergaard snorted, the episode forgotten, and went back to his paper. Helga wasn’t appeased.

  “I want you to try,” she spoke in an angry, condescending manner, “to get it right now.”

  Smiling large in the guest’s direction, a thing that was laughable after her tantrum, she questioned him again, “Do you have many siblings?”

  Karlijna swallowed her sigh, “Please,” she implored the man in French, her features as bland as usual, “don’t cause me trouble. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Yes.”

  Helga did not need the translation for this. She smiled and prodded, “How many?”

  Karlijna repeated the question.

  “Four,” he answered, his face as expressionless as the young interpreter’s.

  “Are they in the same business as you?” the woman tried again.

  Karlijna translated.

  “No.”

  Helga pursed her lips and glared at Karlijna as if the fault belonged on that head, “I am going to retire now. This has been a very trying evening.”

  The woman stalked from the room. Karlijna watched her for a moment before turning her gaze back to the man in front of her. He was barely holding his laughter.

  “Mr. Beauchamp,” she boldly chastised him, “I believe you are trying to get me in trouble.”

  He looked unrepentant.

  She tried again, “I could lose my job for this.”

  He shook his head, “I think not. Roald knows a good thing when he’s got it.”

  Karlijna tried not to smile at the praise, “I have no other skills and there is very little employment of this type.”

  The French man smiled and pulled a card from a pocket in his suit coat, “If you should ever find yourself jobless, let me know. In fact, if you want to come with me when I leave on Friday, you’re more than welcome.”

  Karlijna took the card and pocketed it, but shook her head, “No, thank you,” she laughed, “it would not be an easy job, working for you.”

  He threw back his head and roared, “Indeed, it would not. This I have been told before.”

  Karlijna sat silently. Eventually his mirth diminished and he returned his attentions to her. He eyed her closely and leaned forward in his chair.

  “You do not look French.”

  “I am not.”

  He leaned back again and folded his arms comfortably across his chest, “Where did you learn to speak French so well? You have little accent.”

  “I learned as a young child,” she did not resent this interrogation, but she wondered to what end it was.

  “You are Belgian?”

  “Yes,” she was impressed he had deducted this.

  “Some of your inflections give you away.”

  Karlijna smiled and nodded, but didn’t give any more information.

  “I would have guessed German,” he continued, “but I think you would not be in Sweden right now in that case.”

  Karlijna felt he was getting too personal. She rose, “Have you any more need of me, Sir?”

  He scowled, “Oh, sit down, girl,” the man actually reached out to pull her back to her seat, “I won’t pry into your affairs anymore.”

  Uneasily, Karlijna sat down. She did not offer any more conversation and would have been content to sit and await further instruction if it hadn’t been for Mr. Beauchamp’s eyes on her. That fact and the long silence made her not a little uncomfortable.

  It had also drawn Mr. Sodergaard’s attention, “Is there a problem, Karlijna?”

  “No,” she answered automatically.

  Mr. Beauchamp rose, “I’ll be going to bed now.”

  Karlijna interpreted for Mr. Sodergaard’s sake and the men bade each other a goodnight. She kept her seat, not looking at her employer until the other man was out of earshot.

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Sodergaard,” she began without preamble, “but it would be simpler for me if I did not have to interpret personal conversations between your sister and your associate.”

  Mr. Sodergaard moved to a chair closer to her, “Why?”

  The girl tried to hedge, “I thought my purpose here was for business.”

  Mr. Sod
ergaard frowned at her, “And my sister is here because your being able to accomplish this purpose is dependent on her presence,” he raised his eyebrows. “It isn’t like you to shirk duties, whether they are yours or not. I’ve caught you in the kitchen helping the cook.”

  Karlijna knew she was going to have to explain her position if the situation was to improve, “Sir, your sister asks Mr. Beauchamp personal questions.”

  “Ah,” her employer interrupted before she could finish her complaint, “they are having delicate conversations, and it embarrasses you.”

  The girl almost groaned with his misunderstanding, “No. The topics aren’t intimate, just personal and Mr. Beauchamp doesn’t care to be questioned about his personal matters.”

  Though he has no issues with questioning others.

  “He has told you this?” Mr. Sodergaard’s look told of his disbelief.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “His responses are,” she searched for a polite word, not wanting to offend, “somewhat harsh, sir.”

  “Harsh?” the man shook his head, “How so? Has he told her to stop questioning him?”

  “No, sir. That would be gracious compared to some of the things he has said.”

  “Why haven’t I heard any of this? All I’ve heard has been polite.”

  Karlijna tensed, “I’m afraid I have not been translating everything quite accurately, Mr. Sodergaard.”

  “Let me be certain we are speaking clearly,” the man rose and paced the room. “You have been misinterpreting Mr. Beauchamp’s words to us. . .”

  “Just to your sister,” Karlijna hurried to defend herself.

  “To my sister, then,” he looked irritated at the interruption.

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Sodergaard was angry, “I do not pay you to judge what to say. I pay you to interpret exactly what is said.”

  Karlijna knew this was true, but she had to be clear, “I will do as you say, sir, but I must warn you,” she pressed, “If Mr. Beauchamp continues as he has been, your sister will be very offended.”

  A glimpse of hesitancy passed over Mr. Sodergaard’s face, but he shook his head resolutely, “Be that as it may, I must have accuracy in all translations.”