“Did you and Mor court, or just marry when she was old enough?” Ilian knew his mother had said nothing about courtship.
“Ja, we courted. We started walking out and spending more time together when she turned sixteen. I was so much older, however, that she used to laugh and make fun of me for being an old man. I was thirty-two when she was sixteen. She told me she didn’t want to marry—that I was too old. She had many friends—boys as well as girls—and she did not like the idea of being engaged. She wanted to get to know some of the other boys. I wasn’t happy about that, but I understood. We had never been given a chance to choose for ourselves. I tried not to make her unhappy, but I knew our parents expected us to start focusing on each other. Sarah’s family was quite hard on her about it. They would not tolerate her flirtatious nature.”
“It’s hard to imagine Mor being a flirt.” Ilian shook his head. The idea of the hard, bitter woman he’d known being carefree and fun was more than he could bring to mind.
“Your mother was quite the free spirit.” Far’s voice was edged with sorrow. “She was always in trouble with her folks. Her father was very firm and would even beat her when she did something wrong. I remember once she came to me and begged me to tell her father a lie—to assure him that she had been with me all evening. I didn’t want to see her hurt . . . so I lied for her. It was the first of many lies.”
“Where had she been instead?”
“With another young man.”
“You protected her even though she had been with another?”
Far looked at Ilian for a long moment. There was such regret and pain in his father’s expression that Ilian wanted to take back his question.
“She fancied herself in love with him and told me she didn’t want to marry me, but I couldn’t release her. Our arrangement was such that I knew it would cause a great many problems if I dissolved the engagement. She went to her parents and begged them to end the betrothal, but of course they wouldn’t and instead pushed for us to marry sooner than we’d originally planned.”
“Obviously, you did marry.”
“Ja. But it was not a happy day. I did what I could to make it one, but Sarah was most grieved. By the time we actually wed when Sarah turned eighteen, she had fallen hard for yet another young man, Lars Nyberg. He was handsome and related to nobility. The most powerful man in our village, a nobleman who owned most of the land, fancied Lars for a son-in-law and arranged for Lars to marry his daughter Frida. Still that didn’t stop your mother from wanting him for her own. I think her father caught wind of this, and so for weeks prior to our wedding, he kept her under lock and key.”
Ilian flinched. “That couldn’t have been easy for her to endure.”
“No. Nor for me. You see, I had come to love your mother even though she didn’t love me. I lost my heart and hoped she would someday love me in return. I told her how much she had come to mean to me, but she told me she would never love me.”
Ilian hadn’t known this. It hurt to imagine the woman you loved assuring you she would never return that love. What if Kirstin felt that way about him? What would he do?
“I offered to let her go. I talked to her father and told him that while I loved Sarah with all my heart, I knew she did not love me. Her father thought me very admirable for being willing to lose what I loved in order to make her happy. He told me that he knew more than ever that he wanted me to marry his daughter because I would always forgive her and care for her even if she behaved badly. What more could a father want for his child?”
Ilian eased back in his chair and stretched his legs under the table. “So you married in spite of all the problems.”
“Yes. I thought maybe in time things would be better. After all, we were married, and Sarah got with child right away. I hoped your mother would find great joy in our baby daughter, but she did not. She hardly paid the child any attention, so I had to. I asked my grandmother to come live with us, and she took care of the baby, since Sarah seemed to have no interest. Sarah spent her days visiting her sisters, who were all married with children of their own by this time.”
Ilian shook his head. “I can’t imagine Mor wanting nothing to do with Maja. To hear her tell it, you stole Maja’s affections away from her. Sighne’s too.”
His father met his gaze. “Those girls were so starved for their mama’s love that I had no choice but to give them extra. Your mother didn’t want my children. She made that clear to me all the time. When she lost a baby between the girls, she told me she was glad.”
Ilian couldn’t hide his look of disgust. “You lie.” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but his father’s words had so taken him by surprise that he couldn’t hide his reaction. Ilian calmed. “I’m sorry.”
“I wish it were a lie.”
Ilian could see his father’s pain. He had never heard anything about this from his mother. She only spoke of her own misery—of a loveless marriage that had been forced on her. Of never being loved by her husband. If he was to believe his father, then the stories Ilian had been raised on—the truths he thought he knew—were all lies.
“Of course, if that had been the only trouble between us, we might have found our way through. But your mor was still in love with Lars, who by now was another woman’s husband. Our town was not all that big, and everyone knew most everyone’s business. Your mother and her sisters were well-known for sharing gossip and creating plenty of their own. Your mother often spoke out against Lars’s wife, Frida, which was in and of itself unwise. Her father, Bjork Carlsson, was the wealthiest and most powerful man in the area—a nobleman. He owned many of the businesses and houses. The farmland was his. People were obligated to him, including Sarah’s father—your morfar—and me. He owned the place I rented for our home and business. He owned the freighting company that bought my wagons. He could easily ruin us.”
Far bowed his head and fell silent for a moment. It seemed to Ilian that he was wrestling with something. Finally, he looked up, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to say this to you in any other way but to be straightforward and honest.” He clenched and unclenched his jaw as he sometimes did when something was particularly bad.
“Just do exactly that,” Ilian replied. “I want to know the truth.”
It was then that he realized he trusted his father to give him the truth. God had certainly brought him to this place, because Ilian knew he never would have come of his own accord.
“Sighne was just a year old when I was first told your mother was having an affair with Lars.”
Ilian gasped. “Mor . . . committed adultery? I don’t believe it.” But even as he spoke the words, he knew somehow that what his father had said was true.
His father looked away. “I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. I didn’t even bother to ask her about it. I couldn’t bear to know the answer. But the stories kept coming back to me, and one day Mr. Carlsson came to see me. He told me that Sarah was causing his daughter great pain and misery, and if I didn’t control my wife . . . he would. I assured him I would speak to Sarah, that she was a good woman and would never want to hurt anyone. But unfortunately, I had to accept the situation for what it was.
“I spoke with Sarah that night and told her about Carlsson’s visit. I didn’t accuse her but told her what was said. She told me Carlsson was being ridiculous. Of course she talked to Lars, but that was all. Frida was just jealous because she knew Lars didn’t love her. I allowed myself to believe her and begged her to be careful because Mr. Carlsson was so powerful.” He shrugged. “She didn’t listen to me any more than before.”
“The rumors grew and grew. I knew what they were saying about your mother, but I didn’t want to believe it. Finally, Mr. Carlsson’s daughter had enough. She went to her father and begged him to do something. Mr. Carlsson came to me, money in hand, and told me I must leave Sweden and take my family to America and never return. If I didn’t, he would accuse Sarah of being an adulteress and destroy our family. He would see to it that
no one bought my wagons, nor my father’s, and we would be shunned.
“But it was what he threatened against Sarah that worried me most. He talked of seeing her thrown into prison, and I couldn’t bear that. I didn’t want harm to come to her.” He bowed his head. “I still loved her.”
“So you moved to America.” Ilian felt sick. All those years his mother had told him how selfish his father had been to force her to leave her family in Sweden . . . all those times she had said Far refused to take her home even for a visit because of his selfishness . . . all of it was a lie. She couldn’t go back because of her own actions. Far had saved her life, in many ways.
But there was still that nagging doubt, that his father was wrong. That Mr. Carlsson and the others had been wrong. Perhaps it was only jealousy that made them say such cruel things about his mother. Surely she would never have slept with another man while married to his father.
“Mr. Carlsson was generous with the money he gave us. I sold him my business, except for my tools, and packed up my family. Your mother was livid. She argued and cried, and I had to sit her down and explain that I didn’t believe Mr. Carlsson’s accusations, but I did believe he would see her imprisoned or worse if we didn’t leave.”
“So you didn’t believe Mor had . . . had taken a lover?”
“No. I thought she was a flirt, but I figured she was a good woman who honored her marriage vows.” He fell silent for several moments. “I was wrong.”
“How can you say that? How can you be sure? Did she admit it?” Ilian could hear the desperation in his voice.
“No.” Far got up from the table. “I need to get something.” He left the room.
What in the world was so important to get now, in the middle of this terrible explanation of why they’d come to America? Mor had never told him any of this. She’d always made it seem like Far did it to punish her, to make her suffer for some imagined wrong. Now Ilian was hearing an entirely different tale. His father had saved his mother from great shame and possible ruination. But how could he be sure this was the truth?
His father returned, carrying a picture. A daguerreotype, if Ilian wasn’t mistaken. Far placed it facedown on the table and covered it with his hand.
“I know what I have said has been hard to hear. I know you have doubts that any of this could be true. I had my doubts too. I wanted to believe only the best about your mother. I wanted very much for us to be happy in America, but I knew it would never be. The arguments you so often heard us have were just as you believed. She demanded I take her to Sweden, and I refused. She threatened all manner of punishment for me, but she had already taken away my hope for our future and marriage. There was nothing more she could take.”
Ilian saw the agony in his father’s eyes. What could he say? All of his life, Ilian had believed his father was a heartless husband who cared nothing about his wife’s needs, and now . . .
“As you know, you are the only one of our children born in America. Born not long after our arrival here. I didn’t even know your mother was expecting when we left Sweden. When you were born, she took control of you and worked to turn you against me. I tried to fight for you, but it wasn’t to be. But you must know one thing, Ilian. I have always loved you despite everything.”
Ilian could see his father wasn’t done. There was still something that had gone unsaid. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His father turned over the photo and pushed it toward Ilian. “You aren’t my natural child. This is your father.”
Ilian felt a tight band wrap around his gut. He looked down at the photograph and saw himself. It could have been a photograph taken days ago. It was so clear that Ilian could only stare at it in disbelief.
“That is Lars Nyberg, as you will read on the back. I found this in your mother’s Bible after she died. I had my suspicions that you weren’t mine. After Sighne’s birth, your mother would hardly allow for my touch, but I told myself that I must have been wrong—that you were somehow my son. I wanted you to be my son—just as I will always want you to be my son.”
Ilian picked up the daguerreotype and drew it closer. The resemblance was uncanny. Even the haircut was identical. Of course, Ilian wore his hair that way in honor of his mother, who had always styled it that way. Styled it after his real father.
Bile rose in the back of his throat as the truth settled on him. Far had always known Ilian wasn’t his child and yet had stayed by his mother’s side and raised him as if he were flesh of his flesh.
“Did Mor know you suspected I wasn’t yours?”
For a long while there was no reply, and Ilian was afraid to look up. He kept his gaze on the photograph, hoping his father would answer and yet dreading it at the same time.
“No.” The word came in a whisper.
“You never accused her of the truth even as you watched me grow? Even as I became the image of the man she had taken in your place?”
“No.”
Tears came to Ilian’s eyes as he stared at Far. How bravely his father had borne his shame. How honorably he had treated the woman who wronged him.
“Why? You were well within your rights. You could have divorced her. You could have sent her back to Sweden to face whatever happened.”
His father gave him a weak smile. “I loved her. How could I see her shamed and possibly harmed?”
“She shamed herself. Any harm that would have come to her would have been well earned. She committed adultery. She bore another man’s child.” He dropped his hold on the photograph as if it had suddenly become hot.
“I loved her,” Far repeated. “I love her still. Just as I love you.”
“But I’m not your son.”
Far shook his head. “Perhaps not by blood, but in every other way possible. I chose you to be mine. I promised to be a father to you and care for you. I promise that still . . . if you want me to be. I realize that in telling you the truth, I may have lost you. I pray that isn’t the case, but I felt you needed to know why I was so adamant we not return to Sweden. Your mother never knew what would happen to her or to you—I kept it from her. I had horrible thoughts of Carlsson taking you from us and giving you to his daughter, who had been unable to have children. Your mother never considered those possibilities, but I did.”
“And I accused you and blamed you, and plotted behind your back to find a way to get Mor home.” Tears trickled down Ilian’s cheeks. How could one person have been so wrong about another? How could his mother have lied so completely, without feeling for either Ilian or her husband? Why had she never told him he wasn’t Habram Farstad’s son?
A sob broke from Ilian as he pushed from the chair. He moved to his father’s side and fell to his knees. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I am . . . so sorry.” He lowered his head against his father’s leg. His entire life had been a lie that he not only believed but perpetuated in order to honor his mother.
Far put his hand atop Ilian’s head. “Son, you are forgiven. You were never meant to carry the blame.”
“I never . . . never . . . gave you . . . a chance,” Ilian said, unable to stop his tears. The anguish of seeing the truth was almost too much. He had wronged this good man. He had tormented and withheld his love because of a lie he chose to believe. How could there be forgiveness for that?
Far caressed Ilian’s shoulder. “The truth is hard, but it’s given in love. I want you to know the truth so that you can be free of the past and we can start anew.”
Ilian looked up. “How can you still want me? I’ve done nothing but hurt you.”
Far smiled, and in his eyes was such love that Ilian felt the last of his anger and bitterness break into pieces. “You are my child—my son—and I love you.”
Chapter 23
“We’re going to break through today,” Morfar declared at breakfast. “We’re using black powder and nitro to blast it if need be, but the canal will be complete today. Or at least open to let the water flow. Superior can have their injunction, even though we’ve seen n
othing of it yet.”
“But if you go on building the canal with the injunction in place—won’t they arrest you?” Mormor asked.
“They can try.” He winked at Kirstin. “Besides, once we’re through, the deed is done. We’ll have our harbor entry.” He finished off his coffee and got to his feet. “You should come and see. It’s going to be quite exciting, and tomorrow we can sit in church and praise God for our success.”
“I’m going to go watch,” Ilian said.
“Me too,” Domar agreed, glancing at his grandmother and then sister. “If you want, we could go together.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ve never been around blasting,” Kirstin admitted. “What’s it like?”
“It’s loud and shakes the ground to bits. It even knocked me on my backside once,” Domar admitted. “It’s powerful stuff and not to be trifled with.”
“That’s why they asked me to handle it.” Morfar’s voice was filled with pride. “John knows I can handle black powder with no problems.”
“I need a few things from town anyway,” Mormor said, getting to her feet. “Kirstin, let’s take care of the breakfast dishes. We’ll come down straightaway with the boys, Habram. When do you think you’ll be breaking through?”
“There’s no telling, but it’ll be today for sure.” The old man got to his feet and grinned. “It’s going to be a day of celebration.”
“That it will, Far,” Ilian replied with a smile.
Kirstin hurried to gather up the empty dishes. For all the time she’d been in Duluth, she hadn’t really cared much one way or the other regarding the canal, but she knew the longtime residents were anxious for this new waterway, so she was determined to be excited with them. However, the thing uppermost on her mind was Ilian. He was different. There was something going on between him and his father that had changed them. She longed to ask about it but knew it was hardly appropriate to do so now, with everyone gathered around.
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