An Iron Fist, Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  Deidre looked at her hands and folded them. “Not good,” she simply stated as she raised her eyes to meet his.

  Pastor Ike paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “Can you share with me what’s going on?” he asked. “I know sometimes it’s terribly difficult to put into words, but I’ve found if we try, often thoughts come out that we didn’t know we were harboring.”

  Deidre shifted uncomfortably in her chair, beginning to wonder why she had made this appointment. Then the words spilled from her mouth. “I’m so worried about Ben that I’m literally sick inside. He’s pushed everything into the back of his mind, never saying Maren’s name, never asking me how I’m doing. All he does when he comes home from work is sit and stare out over the fields. He plays with the boys, but even they can sense he’s only going through the motions. He’s pulled so far away from each of us that I’m afraid he’s never going to come back, emotionally, I mean.”

  Without warning she began to sob, weeping more bitterly than she thought possible. She dug in her jeans for a tissue so she could blow her nose. Pastor Ike sat patiently, and several minutes went by before Deidre could calm herself.

  “I know you’re worried about Ben, but how are you doing, Deidre? You want to fix everything for everyone else, but what are you doing for yourself?”

  Deidre had to think long and hard on that question. “I’ve been doing some investigative work on my own. I don’t doubt that Jeff, Sheriff DeAngelo, is doing all he can, but I have my skills, too. I just think another set of eyes and ears on the case won’t hurt.” She stopped for a second or two, then added, “And I pray.”

  “So, how’s that going for you? The prayer, I mean?”

  Deidre drew in a deep breath. “Not so good. God, if he even exists, isn’t listening to me.” As soon as she had said those words, she regretted uttering them, and she waited for Pastor Ike’s reprimand.

  Instead, he spoke in a soft, reassuring voice. “Deidre, there are times when we all doubt. Sometimes I look at the condition of this world, and I wonder, where is God in all of this? I wonder, is God a being we have invented to help us explain the unexplainable? Then I stand outside at night, beneath the starry sky, and look at the vastness of the universe. The sight pulls me to the belief that God is so infinite that even though we can’t understand, He is still present, just as the universe is, just as the stars are, just as our earth is.” He paused for what seemed to her many minutes.

  “Deidre, doubt is good. It causes us to think, to struggle, to find answers. I’m sure you have prayed that Maren will someday walk through the door and you’ll be able to wrap your arms around her again. That may happen, or it may not. I know that you’ve probably heard people say that God knows everything, has a plan for everything, that he can do anything.”

  Deidre wiped away a trickle of snot that drained from her nose and nodded. Ike continued.

  “I’m going to tell you something I’d probably never be able to confess to from the pulpit. If I did, I’d probably be run out of town on a rail.” He snickered at the image. “I don’t believe those things, and neither do many other clergy I know.”

  Deidre looked at him in disbelief. What she heard coming from his mouth would have sounded like blasphemy to her if she was more sure of her own belief.

  “You see, Deidre, I just can’t believe that a God who can do anything he chooses allows people to treat each other the way they do. Oh, I’m not talking about the day-to-day petty hurts we cause each other. I’m talking about genocide, about people starving when the world has enough to feed all, if we would only share. I’m talking about people using others and destroying their lives in the process, people who appear to have no feelings, no conscience.”

  Deidre interrupted. “But don’t you think that God has a plan, and that everything fits into his plan? You’re right that people keep telling me that.” She was getting an uneasy feeling, as though she was listening to a confession she shouldn’t be hearing.

  “No, I don’t,” Pastor Ike stated emphatically. “Look, everyone has a free will. We can choose to steal or not to steal. We can choose to lie or not to lie. But it goes much deeper than that. A murderer chooses to kill. A wife beater chooses to beat his wife. We are responsible for our actions, not God and not the devil. Deidre, I’ve given this a lot of thought and study over my years, since childhood, really.” He stopped and rubbed his eyes as if he were tired. Deidre had no response.

  “I think we often pray prayers that are impossible for God to answer. Then, well meaning people say, ‘God answered, and the answer was no.’ Or they say, ‘God’s ways are not our ways.’ I’ve even heard people say, ‘Well, it was part of God’s plan that this atrocity or that atrocity was perpetrated.’ If that’s true, then I want no part of that kind of God. Take Maren, for instance. I’m sure you have prayed that nothing evil has happened to her, but what’s been done has been done, and God cannot change that. I know there are people in my congregation praying that she is safe. If she is, she is. If she isn’t, she isn’t. God can’t roll back the calendar and give us a do over.”

  Deidre looked into his eyes and saw a profound sadness, and the thought went through her mind that he had lost his faith. She didn’t quite know what to say, but finally she uttered, “If that’s true, then why do we pray?” She saw a look of life spring up in his eyes.

  “We pray for at least two reasons. I firmly believe God mourns for us during times such as what you are experiencing. Do you remember the account of Martha and Mary when their brother Lazarus died?”

  Deidre shook her head and for a moment felt extremely inadequate. Pastor Ike laughed and his eyes twinkled, and he became more animated than he had been so far during their conversation.

  “Lazarus was dying, so Martha and Mary sent word for Christ to come heal him. To make a long story short, Christ took his time, dallied, we would say, and Lazarus died. When Christ finally arrived, Martha and Mary were distraught, weeping and mourning, and we are told Christ wept. Then, according to scripture, he raised Lazarus from the dead.” Ike went on to say that he never used that scripture during funerals, because he didn’t think it appropriate.

  “Deidre, one time when I experienced the death of a person I loved very much, I asked God if he cared that I was hurting so badly. Now, I didn’t hear an audible voice, but I knew, I just knew the answer. It was a resounding ‘yes.’ And then the story of Lazarus made sense to me. Christ wasn’t weeping for Lazarus. He was weeping for Martha and Mary. He was there for them.”

  After a long period of silence during which both he and Deidre pondered what he had said, Pastor Ike continued. “We pray that we feel God’s presence with us when we walk through these frightening and confusing times. We pray that we see him through our human eyes, and know He is there to give us strength to make it through this day, and we do that tomorrow, and the next, and the next. Believe me, as the years have gone by, I’ve experienced the answer to this kind of prayer over and over, and I have seen this prayer answered in the lives of many, many people.”

  After Deidre had time to think about what he said, she asked, “You said there were at least two reasons to pray. What’s the other?”

  She could see that Pastor Ike was pleased that she was following him. “The other reason is to keep the lines of communication going between you and God. It’s as simple as that.”

  Deidre wasn’t quite sure she understood, but she wanted to discuss the issue more. Together, they kicked around the ideas Pastor Ike had put forth until finally she said, “I used to think I had to believe God was a magic God who could wave His wand and make everything better. You’ve given me an image of God without the magic. Pastor Ike, I think I like your God a whole lot better.” They both laughed at her conclusion.

  “Do you want me to pray with you?” Ike asked. Deidre said she would. She walked out of his office feeling more confused but more at peace than when their talk had begun.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  SWAN
IA LIVED TWELVE MILES from Two Harbors just off Old Highway 61, what was called the Scenic Drive by most locals. Deidre crossed the starting line for Grandma’s Marathon and pictured the sight of ten thousand runners lined up, ready to attempt the run of twenty-six-plus miles to Duluth. The last race had occurred only a month or so after Maren disappeared, and she thought about how her life had been turned upside down. She remembered how they all planned to be at the starting line to watch the racers, and she couldn’t help but think of how they had prepared for the event. Dave was scheduled to run, and he had hopes of finishing the marathon in under four hours. Actually, he had confided in the family that he was shooting for three hours and thirty minutes. Maren had planned to surprise him with a victory picnic at her parents’ place after the race.

  Naturally, Dave hadn’t run the race, and for the first time in several days, she thought of him. She made a mental note to get in touch soon to find out how he was coping. Since he had moved to Duluth, they seldom communicated.

  She passed through the village of Knife River, so deep in thought she realized she didn’t remember doing so, and for an instant wasn’t sure how far she had driven. Concentrating, she re-oriented herself and began paying attention to the driveway markers. A few minutes later, she slowed and turned off the highway onto a driveway that extended down to the lake. She was surprised by the small, neat cabin that sat at the end of the drive.

  There was no doorbell, so Deidre gently rapped on the frame of the screen door. After no one answered, she tested the screen door and found it was unlocked, opened it and rapped louder on the wooden door. Again, she waited, but no one answered. Just as she was about to leave, she heard footsteps inside the building, and the door opened a crack.

  “Hi,” she said as disarmingly as she could. “I’m Deidre, Maren’s mother. I called earlier this morning to ask if we could talk. Is this still an okay time? If not, I can return.”

  The door closed and Deidre heard a chain lock being unhooked, then the door swung inward. Standing in front of her was a diminutive young lady. Deidre thought she looked hardly twenty. The lady—girl, really—could have been a poster girl advertising the Austrian Alps. Her long, blonde hair was braided into a single rope, done off to the side so it looped over her shoulder to the front. Her blue eyes were the color of the sky on a clear summer day, and Deidre was struck by their clarity.

  In a heavily accented voice, Swania invited Deidre in. The cabin had only four rooms that Deidre could see: a kitchen that was partially separated from a dining area, a small living room with a picture window looking out over the lake, and another room behind a closed door. She assumed it to be the bedroom. Swania asked her if she wanted a cup of tea, and when Deidre said that would be nice, her host hurried to take down two cups from the cupboard. In minutes she had brewed the tea, and Deidre noticed the water was already hot. From the refrigerator, Swania retrieved a plate of some kind of apple dessert. She escorted Deidre into the living room and asked if she wanted to sit so she could enjoy the lake view.

  To Deidre, the situation appeared as though Swania was terribly lonely, and this was fulfilling her need to be with someone. Deidre began by thanking her for her time, and then sampled one of the apple squares. After complimenting the her, Deidre was relieved when Swania initiated the conversation.

  “I’m so sorry about Maren. She was one of the nicest people I’ve met since coming to the United States of America.” Deidre smiled at Swania’s iterating the complete name of the nation. Swania didn’t notice and continued. “She was one of my only friends, and I’ve missed her so much. She was always there for me when I needed someone to talk to about a very personal problem I was having.”

  Deidre didn’t quite know what to say. Should she tell Swania that she was glad Maren was missed? Should she ask about what kind of personal problems Swania was having? Evidently she paused too long, because Swania quickly spoke.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to have brought this up so suddenly. I know you must be grieving terribly. From Maren’s and my conversations, I know the two of you were extremely close. I apologize for hurting you more with my abruptness.”

  Deidre smiled a forced smile. “No, don’t be sorry. This is what I’ve come to find out, if Maren ever confided to you that she was afraid of someone, or if someone was harassing her. I’d dearly love to know what the two of you discussed. Is it possible she was trying to help someone from work escape an abusive relationship?”

  Swania stared at the floor. “Yes, she was. It was me. I would guess this is what you want to talk to me about. Everyone at work knew I was being beaten by my husband, except they all avoided me, made me feel as if I was the one who was doing something wrong. Everyone but Maren, that is. The first time I came to work with a black eye, she stopped me in the hall and said I didn’t have to tell her, but it looked as if someone had hit me. She said she would be there for me if I needed a friend. After that, we had many talks, sometimes after work, while sitting in her car.”

  “Did she give you advice, or did she just listen?” Deidre inquired as gently as she could.

  Swania took a deep breath before answering. “Those were tough times for me. I was so confused I didn’t know where to turn. Maren was always there to listen to my troubles, but then she said she was going to get me some information about what I could do to help myself. Everything in my life sort of settled for a while, but then one night my husband totally lost control and hit me in the face, hard. I came to work, but I couldn’t tolerate the looks from the other waitresses or the whispers behind my back. I had a long talk with Maren that night, and she told me what she thought I should do. I quit the restaurant that night.”

  Deidre could sense there was more to Swania’s story and she was interested in it, not only from Maren’s perspective but out of concern for Swania.

  “I may be asking too much from you personally, Swania, but would you mind telling me your story, from the beginning?”

  Swania looked puzzled? “At the restaurant?” she questioned.

  Deidre shook her head. “No, from Germany to now.”

  Swania gave a sad smile, but Deidre thought she detected a note of thankfulness that someone would care to hear her out.

  “I suppose it’s a story that has happened over and over. I was young.”

  Deidre almost chuckled and would have made a wisecrack if the situation hadn’t been so troubling. Swania was hardly more than a girl now, and she was referring to when she was young.

  “My father was a successful businessman in Landstuhl, where the United States Army has a facility. My husband, Jed Birkebach, was stationed at the military base. We met in a café and he asked for my telephone number. I thought he was good looking, and gave it to him. That night I told my mother I had met this nice-looking man from the base, and he even had a German name. She warned me not to get involved. How I wish I had listened to her,” Swania sighed. “But I didn’t.”

  She took a sip of her tea and nibbled a piece of the apple dessert. “To make a long story short, Jed treated me like a queen. Brought me flowers, took me to the best restaurants. We danced, traveled on his days off. He swept me off my feet with his ways.” She looked wistfully out the window and across the lake. “He said he loved me more than life itself. I fell deeply in love with a man I really didn’t know that well. He said his parents were doctors in the U.S., and that he intended to pursue a career in medicine when he got out of the service. I was so in love I never checked his story.”

  Swania’s narrative held Deidre’s attention, although she was sure she knew how it would end.

  “Shortly before Jed’s return to the States, we were married.” Swania paused as she reflected on the day. “I’ve never seen my mother weep so bitterly in my life. Papa, always the stoic one in our family, clenched his jaw and said nothing, but I could tell he was hurt.

  “Jed was discharged only a few weeks after we got here, and he said we were moving to Two Harbors, where he had been born. Everything changed from tha
t day on. It was as though he had an iron fist that had been cloaked in velvet. We moved into this cabin and I loved it. A week later was the first time he hit me.” Swania almost winced as she said the words. “He hit me so hard in the stomach with his fist that it knocked the wind out of me. As I gasped for air, he said, ‘Don’t ever forget who runs the show here. You ain’t in Germany anymore.’ I couldn’t believe what had happened, but over the next few days, Jed was back to his caring self. In fact, the next day he sent me two dozen roses from the flower shop in town. I thought maybe I did something that night to trigger his anger. Jed was trying to find work at a nursing home. I found out that was to be his career in medicine.”

  Deidre saw that Swania was almost ready to burst into tears, and wondered if she should invent an excuse to leave her alone, but the narrative continued.

  “I got a job at the restaurant to help support us, and that’s where I met Maren. She immediately became my best friend, although I don’t think I was hers. She was going to marry a guy she adored, and it seemed he reciprocated her feelings. Then the relationship between Jed and me became unbearable. One night he reached across the table and hit my shoulder so hard he knocked me off my chair. He didn’t say anything, just got up and left. I heard him drive away, spraying gravel as he went.

  “Another time, he got angry because I cooked the yolks of his eggs too firm. He threw the plate of food against the wall, grabbed me by the hair, and rubbed my face in the mess. He had a way of hurting me so he left bruises where they wouldn’t show: my back, my chest, my legs. That’s when I began to tell Maren about what was happening to me.”

  Deidre hesitated, and then said, “If this is too painful for you to talk about, you don’t have to continue. We can sit and enjoy the lake and finish our tea. By the way, this apple dessert is delicious. What is it?” She wanted to give Swania an opportunity to stop her story if she wanted.

  “It’s just a strudel,” Swania answered. “No, I want to finish my story. This is the first time I’ve had anyone be interested.” She continued. “The final act was one day last winter. It snowed about an inch or so during the day, and I had finished sweeping off the steps when Jed drove in. He got out of his car in a rage. He said, ‘You lazy German bitch, couldn’t you have cleared the snow off the driveway?’ I made the mistake of saying that it was only an inch and I didn’t think it needed removing. He slapped my face and then kicked my thigh. When I fell down, he grabbed my head and smashed my face into the ground. Then, as he always did after he beat me, he drove away and left me lying there.