“Couldn’t sleep?” Domar asked as he reached the living room.
“No. Leg’s hurting. Thought I’d come check the fire. What about you?”
“I woke up about an hour ago. As tired as I am, there was just too much on my mind.”
“I’m here if you want to talk.” Ilian took a seat in Lena’s favorite rocker.
“We lost a man today.”
“Lost him?”
Domar nodded in the soft glow of the firelight. “He fell to his death. He hadn’t used the lines in the right way and lost his footing.”
“That’s a tough situation.”
“The younger men were pretty upset. The more seasoned were upset but better at hiding it. All the while, I just kept thinking of how I was responsible. How I should have done more.”
“Where’s his family?”
Domar shook his head. “Don’t know. He told us he was an orphan, but one of the men said he’d talked about leaving home on his sixteenth birthday and never looking back. Said he hated his folks and decided being an orphan was better than being a son.” He met Ilian’s eyes. “Sound familiar?”
“For both of us.”
“I don’t have any idea where I could even start to find his family. I thought I could run a death notice in a couple of big papers back East, but I doubt it would do any good. I don’t even know where he was from or if the name he gave us was his real one. I keep thinking of how his folks might be really good people, and they’re sitting at home thinking he’s still alive and might one day come back to them.”
“While your folks believe you’re gone for good and will soon learn otherwise?”
“Yeah.” Domar looked into the fire. “Lies really do cause a lot of trouble.”
“They alter everything,” Ilian replied in a whisper. “Even the lies we never know about.”
Chapter 21
“So you’ve fallen in love with Ilian.”
Kirstin looked up at her brother, thankful they were alone in the house. “I have. Is that all right with you?”
He laughed. “Would it matter?”
She considered it for a moment. “No.”
That made Domar laugh all the more. “I didn’t think so.”
Kirstin took a seat at the kitchen table. “I didn’t intend to fall in love with him, I will say that much. I think Mormor always wanted it, however. I remember her telling me about Ilian my first day here.” She folded her arms over her pinafore apron. “It would seem to be something of my destiny.”
“Has he declared his love for you?” Domar seemed very careful with the question, almost hesitant.
“No.” She shook her head. “I think we’re much too busy to worry about such things. Not only that, but he’s just decided to embrace Christianity in full. I’m sure there is a lot for him to learn. I would like very much for him to declare for me, but as I’ve prayed for wisdom, I can see that it isn’t the right time. Not yet.”
Domar looked at her oddly, then took the kitchen chair opposite her and flipped it around backwards to sit. “You are something else, sister dear. I’ve never heard wiser words from any woman, save Mormor. You speak like a woman advanced in her years.”
“I’ve long kept company with older women. At home it was my favorite place to be even before you left, but especially after I thought you were dead.” She remembered it like yesterday. “I think their company was comforting to me because they knew what it was to contemplate death. Young people never want to think on it for long. Death is terrifying, reminding them that they aren’t immortal—that they too will fade from the earth one day.”
“But you kept company with death and had no fear of when it might come for you?”
“Why fear it? I know God. I know it’s not the end of anything. There is great sorrow on earth in death. But that comes from our desire to still be with our loved ones. Or sorrow for what we might have left undone. We mourn the absence and what might have been, and well we should. Losing you was like losing a limb. I relied on you to be there—helping me through bad times, sharing laughter in good ones. You and I were so close despite your reckless behavior as you approached adulthood. Härse and Svena had little time for me, as they were caught up in their own lives, but you were there to tell me stories and help me deal with difficulties, and then without warning—you were gone. To lose you was devastating.”
“And to have me back now?”
She smiled. “It makes me full of joy. Like the prodigal son—the lost has been found. I could never have believed we would get a second chance together. I still marvel at it. Who would not want a beloved family member returned to them?”
“I hope the others feel the same way. A lot of time has passed, and I still fear they will only be angry once the initial realization passes.”
“They may be. I’ve battled with my anger.”
“Anger at me?”
“Ja. Raging anger.” She looked away. “I’m ashamed to admit it. I wanted to punch you in the nose.”
“Maybe you should. It might make you feel better.” He chuckled. “It might make me feel better.”
Kirstin’s head snapped up. “No. It would not. What made me feel better was remembering that God had given me a second chance. Had given us all a second chance. To be angry about it would be to focus on the past, and I no longer want to live in the past. I’m grateful to have you no matter the circumstance. I think I understand how Mormor could keep your secret and say nothing to the family. She loved you more than herself. She knew it would come at a price . . . and it will. The payments have only begun. But I believe the future will be better in the long run.”
“Do you think Mor and Far will forgive me?”
“Ja. I know they will.” She shifted her weight and met his gaze. “Will you forgive yourself?”
He frowned, and she could see the question had hit him hard. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I never thought about it until recently. When I heard how much pain I’d caused our mother, it was nearly my undoing. I never meant to wound so deeply. How can I forgive myself when I’m only just coming to know the consequence of my decision?”
“We hopefully learn from our choices, work toward making the wrong right, and make better decisions next time.”
“Sometimes it costs a life and you can’t make the wrong right. I lost a good man at the logging camp, and I feel it’s all my fault. How can I forgive myself for the loss of his life?”
“How was it your fault?”
“I was responsible for him. I should have taught him better. I should have checked to make sure he was doing things right. Somehow I failed to do what needed to be done to keep him alive.”
“But you do not control life and death, Domar. You may have made mistakes . . . that much might be true. We all have and will again. But take a few moments, and you will see the truth of God’s generous forgiveness. He is always welcoming us back, always forgiving us. Should we do any less?”
“I guess this man’s death brought back all that I had done to Mor and Far. It’s all entangled together in my mind. He had no family and died alone. I have a family but pushed them away and let them think me dead. I guess after all this time I’ve finally let it catch up to me. I finally let myself see the full picture of what I’d done. The lie I let be told—the wall I built between my family here and my family there. I was so selfish, Kirstin.” His eyes dampened.
“I remember once when I was sitting with the old women during one of the festivals. They were talking about the significance of what they called sitting in the silence. Contemplating life and the fullness God had given. Thinking of the sorrow and what God would have them learn from it. They said that sitting in the silence was hard when they were young because life was much too noisy to ignore. There was so much going on in their heads and hearts that pausing for even a few minutes was difficult. But they came to learn it was the one place where God was always found waiting. They wished they’d known sooner the value of pushing aside everything else and just sitting quietly
with God. I think that’s what your soul longs for now, Domar. Go sit in the silence with God.”
“What if He doesn’t come?”
“He will,” she assured him, seeing the desire for such communion in her brother’s eyes. “Just wait for Him there. He will come.”
“I need to give Mr. Jacobs an answer about the Mackinaw boats,” Ilian’s father said. He glanced around the old workshop.
“I think making two boats by the end of June with a move on top of that is too much.” Ilian had considered the matter carefully and, being a cautious man, he felt they should say no.
“It is a great deal to consider. Frankly, I don’t have the money needed to buy the boat supplies, even with the down payment from Mr. Jacobs.”
“You already took his down payment?”
Far looked at him with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t want him to ask someone else.”
Ilian wasn’t used to dealing with his father in this capacity. He studied the older man for a moment, then nodded. For most of his life, he had trained himself to feel nothing for this man, to question every thought he had and find fault. Ilian knew that his father was highly thought of by others. He was well respected by his peers and fellow workers. Even children loved him and always flocked to him for hugs. Ilian had never allowed himself to see this man—to know him.
Ilian felt he stood in a sort of doorway. A step back, and he could go on with things just as they had been. He could revert back to his anger and unyielding bitterness toward the man who had refused to take his wife home to her family in Sweden. Or one step forward, and he could forever break with the past and start anew.
Pastor Persson had told him God was all about the new creation He would make of a man’s heart—the past was set aside. Ilian at least had to try to move forward. If not, he would never be able to be a part of Kirstin’s life.
“I have some savings,” he finally replied.
“Enough to buy materials for two boats?” his father asked.
“Ja, and then some. I could use it for our materials and get it back when the boats are completed.”
“There would have to be some sort of interest paid. We would have to ask at the bank and see what rate would be fair.”
“But if we’re going into the boat-building business together—doesn’t it stand to reason we’ll be partners?”
Far’s face lit up. “Ja. Partners sounds good. I like that very much.”
“Then partners don’t need to pay each other interest. At least not as far as I’m concerned,” Ilian countered.
Far looked at him for a moment. “But it is a risk. Something could happen and you would lose your money, and then I will be to blame.”
“Like usual?” Ilian asked without thinking.
His father nodded. “Ja. I don’t think you need another reason to blame me.”
The words were sobering to Ilian. “I never meant for it to be that way.” His voice was barely audible. Apologizing felt so foreign. Would his father even believe him if he tried? Ilian looked up. “I want to do the right thing. This new understanding of God presses on me the need to do right, but I don’t know how this works.”
His father’s expression softened. “God will help you, Ilian. He will show you what to do and how to speak.”
“There’s so much I don’t understand.” Ilian watched his father, uncertain what he could say or do that would make the situation easier.
“I see that. The Bible talks about a child being trained up in the way he should go. I’m afraid you were not. I failed you every time, and I regret that more than I can say.”
Ilian could see a sincerity in his father’s eyes that he had never seen before. But then again, Ilian had never looked for it.
“Mor didn’t want us together. She wanted me for herself.” Ilian could see the truth of that much.
“Ja. She said I had my girls, but you belonged to her.”
“She told me you didn’t care—that you never wanted a son.”
Far surprised him with a bitter laugh. “She said that, huh? Well, now I must speak out. I always wanted a son. I wanted you, Ilian. I wanted us to be close.”
“But it never seemed that way. Mor was always the one who came to me. Always the one who spoke to me.”
“I tried, Ilian. I tried to share my work with you. I tried to share my heart. You wanted no part of it.”
Ilian had to admit that was true. He nodded. How had he spent a lifetime convinced of his father’s indifference? How had his mother kept him in such a tight spell of lies and hate?
“There is much I need to tell you,” Far said. “You weren’t ready to hear it before, but you are now. Come. We will sit, and I will tell you why your mother could never return to Sweden.”
Domar sat in the silence as Kirstin had suggested. He’d taken a long walk to the area of the new house and found a rocky outcropping that looked down over the lake. Sitting there, he waited, as if God might at any moment stroll up and join him.
There were still quite a few men working on the various houses. The city hadn’t given the people much time to move. It wasn’t right, but no one had the money and time to fight against the city. The people of this neighborhood worked hard, and their jobs and family would take priority in their lives.
“Be still.”
Domar heard the words so loudly, he glanced around to see who had spoken them. There was no one.
He drew a deep breath and looked back at the lake. It was calm today. The waves came in gentle laps as the fishing boats returned from their ventures. Down below on the docks, he heard the laughter of children and greetings from the men and women who welcomed the fishermen home. He spied a man lifting a child in the air. The little boy squealed in delight, reminding Domar of a time when he’d been little and Far had thrown him high in the air.
“Be still.”
The voice came again. Domar once again looked around, but there was no one there speaking to him. What was going on? Was he losing his mind?
“Be still.”
This time it was barely a whisper that seemed to come from deep within his soul.
Sitting in the silence. That was what Kirstin had called it. Domar was starting to see for himself, however, that it was more than just finding a quiet place. This place had its distractions, just as most places did, but it was more. Domar needed to still the noise in his head and heart.
What was it to be still?
He closed his eyes and waited. The noise seemed to fall away. His thoughts were less cooperative. He couldn’t help but think of the young man who’d died. David. David Oberdean. Hardly even a man. Dead and without family even to claim his body.
“Be still.”
The words beckoned him to let go of David. Let go of the accident. Let go of the anger and pain. Let go of his bad choices and the good ones as well. He needed to empty himself of what had happened at the logging camp—of what had happened a lifetime ago in Sweden.
He pulled up his feet and put his head against his knees. “Empty me, Lord. Please empty me. It’s a terrifying thing, but I’m here, and I long to be emptied of me so that I might be filled with You.” Tears came, and Domar did nothing to stop them. He was too exhausted to fight and too afraid of the emptiness. What if God didn’t fill him up? What if God left him empty—broken—hopeless?
The world fell away, and Domar sat there, face against his knees, hands wrapped around his legs—bare before the living God of the universe.
“Forgive me.” It was his only thought. “Please, God . . . forgive me.”
Chapter 22
Ilian sat across from his father. The seriousness of the situation was evident in the lines etched on his face.
“Your mother was always a very busy person. When she was just a girl, she was teased because it seemed she was always moving about. Our folks knew one another through church. Her father owned a shop, and mine was a wainwright—as you know. They figured Sarah and I were a good match, and so the family struck a bargain to
see us married. I was so much older—twenty-six to her ten years when my father sat me down and told me about his desires for the arrangement.”
“She was only ten and you were a grown man?” Ilian found that hard to imagine. “I would never have agreed to such a thing.”
“But you must understand, that was the way things were done back then. I hadn’t yet married because my father had declared he would choose a bride for me. He found a lucrative arrangement in betrothing me to Sarah. To tell you the truth, I figured something would happen to break the arrangement before we ever made it to the altar. Things often did.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No. But there were plenty of times I thought it would. I loved my far very much, so I agreed to do whatever he told me to do.” His father’s eyes narrowed as his expression became pained. “I wanted to please him and my mor. I wanted them to be proud. I agreed to the arrangement, knowing it would be years and years before we would marry.”
“And Mor?”
“Your mother didn’t understand much at first. She was a little girl playing with her dolls and sisters. Her parents were the kind of people who saw their daughters as commodities for sale, so they arranged lucrative marriages that either benefited them financially or socially. In my case, my father and Sarah’s struck a deal that helped each man financially. That’s just the way it was done.
“While she was young, Sarah and her friends thought it wonderful that she was engaged. Little girls were brought up to be this way, you know. They gathered together to make quilts and other things to fill their wedding chests. Meanwhile, as the husband-to-be, I worried about providing a home for us to live in. I worked hard, saved my money, and found a very nice little house in town to rent. I knew it would please Sarah.”
“Did it?” Ilian was still trying to imagine his parents at that age.
“Ja. When we moved in after we married, Sarah thought it quite nice. It was one of the finest in town, and your mother liked fine things. Which I tried to provide. As the years went by, I did little things to win Sarah’s love. Since she liked pretty things, it usually involved buying her something expensive. She always seemed so happy with the gifts, but her love was just not to be.”
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