Forever My Own

by Tracie Peterson

  “I do.” Kirstin seemed to calm a bit. “I think you and Mormor were both wrong for keeping this secret, and I hope you do not intend for me to keep it, because I will not. I’ve watched our mother suffer. Would you like to know what she did after you left? She spent every day in prayer for you. When word came that the ship had gone down, she took to her bed in such sorrow and grief that I thought she might die.”

  Ilian saw Domar’s face pale. The grief in his expression was evident. For all the times that they had spoken of the past, Ilian doubted his friend had ever really considered the pain he’d caused his mother by denying her the truth.

  “When we were finally able to get her to at least sit in a chair, she had already lost so much weight that her nightgown was ready to fall off her shoulders,” Kirstin continued. “I had to alter all her clothes. She would barely take broth, and the doctor told us she might well die from her sadness. And lest you think I agreed that what they had done was right, I was at constant odds with them. I boldly spoke my heart before we learned about your death, and even afterward, I used it as a reminder that we dare not judge one another. I am still angry at them for not believing you. Still angry at them for turning you away, but now . . . now I am angry at you for letting us believe you were dead. I don’t know that I can ever forgive you for this.” She frowned as tears slipped down her cheek. “Nor you, Mormor, for you know the pain of losing a child, and yet you let my poor mother endure it for herself.”

  She turned and stormed from the room, sobs breaking from her as she fled for the stairs. Ilian looked at the pain-stricken faces of his friends. He didn’t like the way Kirstin had treated her grandmother and brother, but he could understand her reasoning. He had his own issues with family. He had never forgiven his father for the way he’d treated his mother. All Ilian’s mother had ever wanted was to return to Sweden, and yet his father had never allowed her that dream.

  “Well, she’s right, you know,” Mrs. Segerson said, staring at the wall. “I deserve her anger.”

  “No, Mormor, this wasn’t your fault. It’s mine, and I will speak to her once she calms. She doesn’t understand what it is to be abandoned. She doesn’t know the pain I endured. Coming to America was a choice for her. I was given none. This has been a joy for her, but it was a nightmare for me.” Domar looked at Ilian. “I’m sorry you had to be in the middle of this.”

  “Think nothing of it. I have my own problems, as you well know.”

  “We are all sinful beings,” Domar’s grandmother stated. “We deserve wrath, but God’s mercy gave us love.”

  Ilian didn’t think much of God’s mercy. It was never evident in his mother’s life, nor his. God, at best, was indifferent. Domar’s life proved it, as did his own.

  Kirstin sat on the edge of her bed and tried to sort through what had just happened. How could her brother be alive eleven years after they thought him dead? How could Mormor have kept this from them?

  She held her head in her hands and cried. Cried for the years of loss—years that might have been filled instead with healing and joy. She cried for her mother, who had wanted to die after learning her son was dead. Life had been most cruel. How could God allow such a thing?

  Curling up on the end of the bed, Kirstin let herself have a good long cry. Seeing Domar again had stirred up that time in her life when she had felt so contrary to living a Christian life. Her anger and hatred had corrupted everything. Just as she had said, it had torn their family apart. Judgment had been poured over them all, and the wrath they felt was of their own making.

  “God, I don’t know how to handle this. I haven’t been able to handle it since it first happened, but I kept putting it aside, hoping it would get better—that I would feel less pain. Now this happens, and in a way, it’s like going through it all over again. What am I to do?”

  Kirstin didn’t mean to fall asleep, but that was what happened, and when she woke up, Domar was nudging her shoulder. “It’s time for supper,” he told her.

  She sat up and jerked away, still stunned at the sight of him. For a moment all she could do was stare at him in the dim lamplight.

  “How did you decide to let us think you were dead?” she murmured.

  Domar sat on the edge of the bed. “I read my name in a list of those who’d been lost at sea. It was startling at first, and I thought I should surely tell someone, but then I kept hearing Far say, ‘You are dead to me now.’”

  “He didn’t mean it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He did. He was so disappointed in me, Kirstin. I knew I’d failed him many times. I’d seen an inkling of that look before, when he found me drunk and helped me home, but this was different. His accusation and unwillingness to believe me destroyed the love between us. All the good times we’d had as father and son were gone. The times when I’d pleased him as a boy were suddenly wiped away in light of my shame. My death was the only thing that could ease his misery.”

  “No! That isn’t true. He loved you. He would love you now.”

  “Maybe, but you cannot tell them about me, Kirstin. I do not want them to know I’m alive.”

  “But why?”

  He fell silent for a few moments, and Kirstin thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer. She knew she couldn’t promise to keep his secret. She couldn’t know he was alive and keep it from their mother. Kirstin had the power to save her mother from the deep sorrow that had followed her since the day she’d sent her son to America. How could she not give her that?

  “If you say anything to them, I will go away,” Domar said. “I will leave and never let any of you know where I am.”

  She stared at him and shook her head. “Why? You still give me no reason.”

  Domar looked away. “Because if they know I am alive, they will demand I accept their forgiveness and require I beg their pardon in return.”

  “And you cannot do that?”

  “No. I cannot. I’d rather be dead to them.”

  Chapter 5

  Kirstin remained in her room for the rest of the day and evening, not even bothering to come out for supper. Domar’s appearance had left her confused and filled with a myriad of conflicting emotions. Added to that were her thoughts toward Mormor. How could her grandmother have let eleven years pass and not once written home to let Kirstin’s mother know Domar was alive?

  Even as she pondered what had occurred, she heard Domar make his way into the adjacent bedroom. He’d turned her world upside down. Did he care? Would he be able to sleep tonight? She doubted she would.

  After pacing and praying throughout the night, Kirstin gave up her attempts to sleep. She dressed in layers to go for a long walk. She hardly knew her way around but figured someone could always point her back to the house should she lose her way. She knew she probably should tell someone what she was doing, but it was very early, and frankly she didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

  After stoking the fireplace, she slipped out the front door and started for the road. Sounds coming from the work shed between Mormor’s house and the Farstad house, however, drew her attention. It was still dark outside, but lantern light shone in the window of the workshop. Against her better judgment, Kirstin went to see who was making the racket. She’d barely opened the door to peer inside when Mr. Farstad welcomed her in.

  “Don’t just stand there with the door open, come in and make yourself at home.”

  Kirstin hesitated. “I was going to go for a walk.”

  “It’s too cold for that. Come in, and I’ll show you the Mackinaw boat.” He waved his hand across the half-built boat.

  “It’s much bigger than I thought it would be.” Kirstin stepped forward and touched the wooden side with her mittened hand. “I bet it is fun to sail.”

  “They are quite pleasurable, and maybe one day I can take you out in one.”

  “Is this for yourself, or are you making it for someone else?”

  “It’s for someone else,” he said, moving toward the bow. “But I’ll have to take
it out to test its seaworthiness, and you could come with me. I figure to have it done by late March.”

  Kirstin nodded. She noticed the woodstove at the end of the room and moved toward it. “Do you mind if I warm up? It is colder than I thought.”

  “Sure.” He moved toward the stove and opened its small door. “Come get warm.”

  She did as he instructed and was grateful. “I met your son.”

  “Ja, I know. I came to supper. Lena always invites me, and even though I know Ilian won’t say much to me, I go. I keep hoping.”

  “I know it’s personal, but may I ask why he won’t speak to you?”

  Mr. Farstad shrugged and reached for some more wood. “He has his reasons. I’m not sure I understand them completely. He doesn’t think I treated his mother right. She wanted to move back to Sweden, and I wouldn’t go.”

  “Didn’t she like America?”

  His back was to her as he deposited the wood into the stove, but even so, Kirstin thought his shoulders slumped a bit. “She missed her sisters. They wrote letters back and forth all the time, but it wasn’t the same for her. She liked getting together with them to gossip.” He straightened and met her face with a smile. “So now you know. You know too that your brother is alive. I heard you fainted.”

  “Yes. Right into Ilian’s arms. Very embarrassing.” She turned to warm her back. “Shocking too. I am still so confused and, well, angry. I know you and Mormor are friends, but I’m thoroughly shocked by what she’s done and . . . mad.”

  “Ja. I can imagine you would be.” He stepped away from the stove to give her more room. “I was a little worried when you didn’t come to supper. Lena said it was the shock and that you needed time to yourself.”

  “It was most certainly a shock to find the brother I thought dead is in fact alive. I couldn’t make sense of it and fell asleep trying. It was probably God’s mercy to me. I still can’t understand why anyone would do something like that to people he supposedly loved. I can’t make any more sense out of Ilian treating you badly because you couldn’t take your wife back to Sweden for a visit. It seems just as cruel for him to hold it against you.”

  Mr. Farstad’s gaze grew distant as he stared across the room. “It’s not an easy thing, but folks always have their reasons.”

  “Reasons to perpetuate hate? I don’t believe God would honor that, or the lies, one bit.”

  “No. God hates lies.”

  The sadness in his tone made Kirstin realize it wasn’t worth discussing. Mr. Farstad had always been so lighthearted in her company. She looked back at the boat and smiled. “Why don’t you show me the boat? It looks quite grand, or I’m sure it will be once it’s finished.”

  “I’ll show you the workshop first. Your morfar built it, and this was his favorite place—unless, of course, he could be by your grandmother’s side. He always said, though, that this place made him happy.”

  “Why was Morfar so happy?”

  Mr. Farstad showed her around the workshop. “He liked to work out here. He’d bring out a pot of coffee to keep warm on the stove, and the neighborhood men would come and share their news. There was always someone here with him.” He pointed to half a dozen chairs. “Usually quite a few someones.”

  Kirstin imagined it for herself. She remembered her morfar being quite the talker. He’d never met a stranger and would help anyone who asked. “He had a bigger shop back in Sweden, and the same thing happened.”

  “He was always happiest in his shop, your mormor used to say.”

  “I remember him helping my brother Härse make furniture. Once they made me a dollhouse. It was quite nice and had a little table and chairs and beds and all sorts of things. Mor and Mormor made tiny curtains and rugs. Oh, and quilts for the beds. My dolls lived in luxury. I passed it down to my sister Brita when she turned five.”

  “A very nice present, I’m sure.” He maneuvered to the side of the boat. “I build boats when I can. I always have someone who wants one, and they are quick to make. I get the wood locally. We have good wood here.”

  “What kind do you use?”

  “You see there?” He pointed to the center of the boat. “I used oak for the keel and keelson, but most of the rest is pine and white cedar.”

  “It makes everything smell so good. I love the smell of wood. It reminds me of being a child. My brother was always making furniture. He and Morfar would make some of the most beautiful things.”

  “Ja, I remember your morfar talking about that. Your morfar was so talented at making these boats. He was always busy. Sometimes he would just make someone a canoe. But he liked the Mackinaws best of all. And the fishermen love them because they’re swift and easy to maneuver.”

  Kirstin ran her fingers lightly along the planks. “It looks like a fat canoe.”

  Mr. Farstad laughed. “The men sometimes joke about them being ‘expectant canoes.’”

  His laugh made Kirstin giggle. “I suppose that makes sense. Mormor used to write about how fast Morfar could make them.”

  “Oh ja. He and I working together could build one in three weeks. Sometimes less. I think I was more of a liability then. I’ve seen your morfar work very fast indeed when there was a need. He would be out here for twenty hours at a stretch, catch a few hours’ sleep, and then get right back to it. Once a man paid him to have the boat ready in two weeks. We both worked on that one, and your grandfather earned two hundred dollars for the boat. He was a wonder, your morfar. I sure miss him, by golly.”

  Kirstin nodded and felt the heaviness of all that was happening wash over her once again. Shaking her head, she moved back to the stove. “It’s not right to have these secrets, Mr. Farstad.”

  The older man joined her, his expression wary. “Sometimes secrets must be kept. To tell them might make you feel better, even vindicated . . . but it might devastate someone else.”

  She thought his choice of words strange. Was that why she wanted to tell her folks about Domar? To feel vindicated? She was the only one to believe in him—to hold a continual trust in him. She’d been very proud of that. Was that her biggest reason for wanting to write to Mor and Far? Just so she could show off being right? No, surely it was more in keeping with her desire to fix wrongs and make them right. It wasn’t personal. Or was it?

  “But what about the pain those secrets have caused? Domar doesn’t have to go home or ever see anyone back home again. But it would ease our mother’s sorrow to know he lives.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

  “But maybe it wouldn’t ease Domar’s sorrow.”

  Kirstin frowned. She hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine his sorrow is greater than Mor’s.”

  “A comparison need not be made. One sorrow is not less important than another. Maybe you should talk to him more about it before you make up your mind. Sometimes people keep secrets for the greater good of everyone.”

  She wiped at her damp eyes. “You sound like someone who knows.”

  Mr. Farstad nodded. “I am. I have my secrets and my pain.”

  Mormor was fixing breakfast when Kirstin walked into the house. Without a word, Kirstin hung up her coat and hat and took off her boots. She put on the little slippers Mormor had given her, then put on her apron so she could help with the work.

  “What would you like me to do?” she asked.

  “Slice the bread and get it toasted. Thank you.”

  Kirstin did her best to make even slices of the sourdough loaf. She wasn’t sure what to say to her grandmother, so she said nothing.

  “I know you’re very upset,” Mormor began as she cracked eggs. “I know this has come as a great shock.”

  “It has.”

  “I remember the day Domar showed up here. We all thought him dead, and yet there he stood in the flesh. I was so happy to see him, and all I could think about was letting your mor know that he hadn’t died. When he told me I couldn’t say anything to her, it pierced my heart.”

  “Then why did you do it? Pro
mise not to tell?”

  Mormor sighed. “I suppose it was my selfishness. I didn’t want to lose him again. I knew it wouldn’t hurt her any more than she was already hurt if I said nothing.”

  “It will when she learns you’ve known for eleven years and said nothing.”

  “Ja. I suppose that’s true enough, even though she wouldn’t have seen him during that time, and he would never have written to her or accepted her letters. The rejection of her son would have been a terrible thing to go through. At least with death, she knew it wasn’t his fault.”

  “No, it was her and Far’s. It was the village’s fault. They are the ones who sent him away. So they all live with the guilt of their actions.”

  “Good.” Domar’s voice startled Kirstin.

  She whirled around to find him and Ilian standing in the doorway. She turned away and went back to work preparing to toast the bread.

  “I hope it gives you great satisfaction,” she murmured.

  “Does that mean you’ll keep my secret?” Domar asked.

  She turned back to look him in the eye. “No. No, it doesn’t. It means I will pray on the matter for one month and then decide. I will give you that much and only that much.”

  “Well, it’s kind of you to at least consider my side of the situation.”

  She drew a deep breath. A part of her wanted to hurt him as she’d been hurt, as she knew their mother was hurting and would hurt even more when the truth was known. She met her brother’s gaze but said nothing.

  “Breakfast is nearly ready. Will you both head back to camp this morning?” Mormor asked.

  “Ja.” Domar took his seat at the table and reached for the coffeepot. “There’s a lot of logging to be done. We’re hoping to clear that one field I told you about. Mr. Morganson said he has great plans for it. He also has great plans for Ilian.”

  “A promotion?” Mormor asked.

  “That’s the rumor.” Domar nudged Ilian’s side. “He’s earned it, that’s for sure. Morganson says Ilian is the best man he’s got.”