The Teacher and the Preacher

by Victoria Phelps

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m still groggy from the ether,” he mumbled, “but I’d like to sit in the rocker.” He rose with trembling limbs and sank onto the wooden seat. Loki followed and lay on his feet.

  Opening his arms, Caroline crawled onto his lap and curled into his chest. Her husband enfolded her in his arms, careful not to bump his injured hands, and cradled her against him.

  “I’ll be all right,” he reassured her.

  “Thank God,” Caroline replied. “I couldn’t live without you again. I had resigned myself to life alone, but now I’ve found you.” Her voice dissolved in an onslaught of tears.

  Marcie emerged from her room and rushed to Sven’s side. “How do you feel?”

  “My hands are a mite sore.” He lifted the bandaged appendages.

  “If you rest your elbows on the arms of the chair and hold your hands in the air as much as possible, it will help reduce the swelling,” she instructed.

  Sven reluctantly released his wife and did as Marcie said.

  “I’d like you to stay here today. If you don’t have a fever and the pain is bearable, you can return home this evening. That is, if Caroline thinks she can take care of Micah, the house, and you until your wounds heal,” Marcie said.

  Sven interrupted, “How long before I can work?”

  Marcie’s lips were a stern line. “I can reduce the bandaging in a few days. At that point, I want you to exercise your fingers. You don’t want to lose range of motion, even in the stumps of the missing ones. I’d say about three weeks before the wounds are healed or close to it. You can begin to use your hands then, but carefully at first.”

  Caroline closed her eyes and fought the rising nausea burning the back of her throat. Stumps, now there was an ugly word. Jagged, ragged wood stabbing accusing fingers at the sky rose in her mind. She forced herself to look at Sven’s bandaged hands. Marcie would have been neat and precise. She knew her well enough to know that. Maybe the stumps would not be ugly. Caroline turned her imagination to fresh cut trees. The ones that left behind the tree’s history in concentric circles and blessed the air with the smell of fresh pine. Her husband’s frustrated voice broke through her reverie.

  “But I have furniture orders, and Caroline can’t chop wood,” Sven began.

  “I can,” Lars broke in.

  Caroline’s head snapped in her brother-in-law’s direction. “What?”

  “I can work on the furniture if Sven tells me what to do. I can chop wood, carry water, and help Caroline. Please, let me help,” Lars’ eyes glittered with a silent plea.

  “Thank you, brother. That would be mighty good of you.” Sven and Lars turned their identical ice blue eyes to her. They looked so hopeful her heart gave a painful squeeze.

  Could she do it? She had a lifetime of resentment built up and aimed at Lars. Time after time, he’d caused trouble, interfered, dragged Sven into one mess after the next. But in all that time, Sven never lapsed, never stopped loving his brother, never quit seeing the best in him when all others abandoned hope.

  Well, it was one of the things she loved most about her husband after all. He hadn’t given up on her either, and she knew with certainty he never would. His love was a rock. His faith a mountain. His loyalty a harbor where he sheltered, nourished and sustained those he held dear.

  She would not deny that depth of faith and goodness. To do so would be like denying the renewal of spring. Spring. A person couldn’t help but love that rebirth when little green shoots poked their heads through warm earth and baby animals cavorted with awkward, long-legged clumsiness. Sven’s belief in his brother was that deep, that fresh, that hopeful, that long-legged.

  She didn’t have much faith in Lars. Caroline had given that up long ago. She would keep a close watch on that brother-in-law of hers. At the first sign of trouble, she would send him on his way. She would honor Sven’s bottomless well of forgiveness, as long as Lars deserved it.

  “Thank you, Lars, we would appreciate your help,” Caroline said with as much enthusiasm as she could garner.

  Sven was off and away. “We can put a cot in Micah’s room for you. I’m going to need help dressing, and, well, with more private matters,” he blushed bright red. “I’d rather not have my wife…”

  Lars saved his brother from his tongue-tied embarrassment. “I’ll set up a cot this afternoon and start the fire. No sense going home to a stone-cold house.”

  When Marcie declared Sven fit to return home later that day, they entered an enticing room of crackling warmth filled with the aroma of fresh coffee.

  “I was just going to fill the wood box,” Lars headed toward the door with the eagerness of an overgrown puppy. “Then you let me know what else needs doing.” He stopped at the door and turned serious eyes on Caroline. “Anything. Just ask.”

  “Thank you, Lars,” Caroline replied. A hard lump in her chest melted a tiny bit. There was a minute lessening and a single bead of moisture slid down the windowpane of her resentment. “I will.”

  Caroline set Micah on the floor, and he toddled off. The boy’s steps were still a little unsure, but every day, no, every hour, he became steadier, faster, more confident. He set a brisk clip across the room and settled on his bottom in front of the box filled with blocks his father had sanded to silky smoothness. Loki followed in his wake dropping to his belly next to the child.

  Sven turned glowing, suspiciously bright eyes to his wife. “Caroline, I do believe he’s a changed man. I think my brother…”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I agree he seems sincere, but the emphasis is on seems. Let’s wait and see if the change is from his heart.” Caroline paused as a flash of pain crossed his handsome face. She put her arms around him. “I just don’t want him to hurt you again. That’s all. I’m willing to give him a chance, but…”

  “I know, sweetheart. His history is long and painful. Thank you for giving him, us, this chance.” He patted her back with an awkward thump.

  Caroline pointed at the big rocker. “Sit down, Sven, and keep your hands elevated like Marcie said.”

  “All right,” he grumbled, “but don’t get used to ordering me around, wife. I won’t have it.”

  She waited, hands on hips, until her husband sank into the big chair before moving into the kitchen. She had supper to tend to.

  “Do you hear me, Caroline?” Sven called. “I won’t have it.”

  “I hear you,” she called over her shoulder. Turning back, she saw Sven rest his head on the back of the rocker and close his eyes.

  She’d tread lightly, but Sven needed to recuperate, and he wouldn’t take to it. He’d pull at the bit every step of the way.

  Well, she’d driven headstrong horses. She’d corralled recalcitrant children. She could keep one husband in line.

  Or die trying. She rolled her eyes in a manner sure to earn her a swift spank if her husband was not snoring in the large rocker. This was one tussle she aimed to win.

  Chapter 17

  Sven

  Caroline swept into the room on a cloud of cool air. “I saw Marcie walking up the street when I left the Mercantile. Has she been here? Did she look at your hands?” The words emerged in a rushing torrent.

  Sven laughed. “She was, and she did.” He held up his unbandaged hands and wiggled his seven fingers.

  His wife hurried to his side and took his hands in both of hers, turning them this way and that. “They look wonderful,” she pronounced.

  He knit his brow and studied his transformed appendages. “Well, that might be going a bit too far, but they’ll do.” Sven pulled her onto his lap. “I can hold my child, cut my own meat, build furniture and spank a little bottom if I need to.” He waggled his eyebrows. “One little lady I know has been mighty bossy of late. I’d warn her to change her tune before I have to put that particular talent to the test.” He nuzzled her neck to take the sting from his words.

  Lars cleared his throat. “I can go for a walk,” he offered.

  “No ne
ed, brother,” Sven replied.

  He surveyed his wife from head to toe, raised an eyebrow in his brother’s direction, and shifted in his chair. The air crackled with sudden unease. Both men studied the contents of their coffee cups as if the answer to the meaning of life lay buried in the dark depths of steaming liquid.

  Caroline’s head swiveled from one Nordic face to the other. “What have you two been up to?” she asked. “You look like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

  Sven considered his raven-haired wife. “We’ve been talking.”

  “About?” she prompted.

  “About the past. About the future,” Sven said.

  Lars lifted his hands and let them drop to the table before speaking. “Caroline, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hear me out.”

  “All right.” Reluctance tinged with distrust swirled like dust devils around those two words.

  Sven flinched but gave his brother an encouraging nod.

  “Well,” Lars lifted his eyes from his coffee cup. “Well, you’ve probably been wondering why I’ve been standing across the street all this time.”

  “Yes,” Caroline replied, “it did seem odd.”

  “Well,” he began again, “I was thinking. Thinking about Ma, and Sven, and Cold Spring, and why I’ve been so much trouble.” Lars brought the cup to his lips and sipped. “I think I found some answers. I never stopped before to think. I was always moving, drinking, running. Standing across the street, watching you and Sven and Micah, gave me time to think.”

  Sven pulled out a chair and motioned to his wife. “Sit down, sweetheart. Come sit by me.”

  Caroline’s face was rigid. Her mouth a tight little line, but she lowered her bottom onto the chair and waited.

  “Now I know this doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I remember before Pa died. Sven and me, well, we were just two boys. He’ll always be five years older, of course, but we were kids. Sharing a room, doing chores, catching hell sometimes. Ma would take a wooden spoon to our backsides or Pa would take us to the woodshed. Now, that was a place you didn’t want to go. I can tell you that for a fact.” He winced at the memory of those long ago encounters.

  “Those visits were memorable,” Sven agreed.

  “Then Pa died,” Lars continued. “Things changed. Of course, they changed. How could they not? But the thing was Ma made Sven the man of the house. Those were her exact words. Sven, you are now the man of the house. Sven, being Sven, took that duty to heart.”

  Sven dragged Caroline’s chair closer and draped an arm around her small shoulders. She didn’t trust Lars, and she had good reason, but he hoped she heard his story with an open heart and mind. Heaven only knew why, but even after all the trouble his brother had caused, he couldn’t stop caring for him and wanting him in his life. He lifted his wife from her chair and set her in his lap, enfolded her in his arms and placed a kiss on the top of her silky, black hair. He nodded at Lars to continue.

  “This next part is pure selfish, and the only excuse I have is that I was a kid. But, where did that leave me? If Sven was man of the house, what was I? Not only had I lost my pa; I lost my brother. Ma let him stay up late and sit with her by the fire discussing the farm, the harvest, the need to hire extra help. They talked about me. I’d lay in the dark and listen and resentment festered. Now I understand Ma’s loneliness, her need for someone to talk to, but her promotion of Sven to my sort of pa left me alone, resentful, angry.” He raised his shoulders and let them fall. “That was when I started raising hell – at home, at church, at school – anywhere I could misbehave, I did. It went from disobedience to defiance. By the time I was sixteen, I was breaking the law. I guess I wanted attention, especially from my brother, and I got it. He would come to my rescue. Promise the teacher or sheriff he would keep me out of trouble. I only got angrier. I wanted my brother to be my brother not my guardian.”

  “I can understand that, Lars. But letting Sven go to jail?” She shook her head. “How could you? After all he’d done for you?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Caroline, and I’m ashamed. I was just so damned angry all the time. When we were arrested, I thought, now Sven would get what he deserved for chasing after me all those years. I thought he would finally leave me alone and go back to being Ma’s man of the house.” Tears hovered unshed in Lars’ pale eyes. “The worst was when I broke up your wedding. Pure meanness, Caroline, pure meanness. All I can do is beg your forgiveness. Rage at the world, at Sven, boiled over. Even after jail, he walked away the good brother, the golden boy. He was preaching; he had a son; he had you. And I was still the no-account troublemaker.” A single tear slid down his cheek. Lars swiped at it with the cuff of his shirt.

  Putting a finger under his wife’s chin, Sven turned her head until he could look into her eyes. “Lars and I have been talking,” he began. “You and I already decided to leave San Miguel.”

  “I know,” Caroline whimpered, “but I hate to go.”

  Sven rubbed circles on her back. “I know, sweetheart, so do I, but it’s for the best.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lars croaked. “It’s my fault.”

  “Yes, it is.” Caroline flung the anger-soaked words. “We had a new start.”

  “Water under the bridge,” Sven interrupted. He was aiming for reconciliation not recrimination. He took a deep breath. “I want Lars to come with us.”

  “What?” His wife’s screech was painful and loud.

  “Hush, you’ll wake Micah,” he cautioned.

  “Go with us where? Have the two of you been plotting behind my back?” Her voice lowered, but he still didn’t like her strident tone. It grated.

  “You know I wouldn’t do that. We’ve just been tossing some ideas around is all, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hurl accusations,” Sven cautioned. “I’d like you to listen with an open mind.” He lifted one eyebrow until it disappeared under his hair. This particular look was often the harbinger of a spanking. He hoped it would gain her attention.

  “All right. Tell me.” A small sigh escaped her lips as his eyebrow resumed its normal height.

  “Good girl.” He patted her bottom. “You know I sold Ma’s farm.”

  “Yes, I know,” Caroline affirmed.

  “The money is in the bank. Half of it belongs to Lars. Well, we were thinking that if we pooled our funds, we could all get a new start.” Sven hurried on before his wife could lodge a protest. “First, we pack up my tools and travel to Abilene. We’ll take the train to San Francisco. Lars and I,” he motioned at his brother, “can buy a wagon, and we’ll head north. Now, we studied the map, and we believe we are aiming for a place in Oregon called the Willamette Valley. But if we see something better on the way, we’ll stop, but there’s good farmland in that valley, sweetheart, rain but no big snow or ice storms.” He shivered and gave his missing fingers a rueful consideration. “We’ll build one house first and share it. When Lars finds himself a wife, we’ll build another house.” He laughed. “Everyone knows two women in one house is trouble.” Sven’s eyes sparkled and his voice rose with every revelation. “I can make furniture. We can raise crops and children.” He stammered to a stop. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” She repeated his question. “It sounds like you’ve already worked it out. Why ask me?” She turned her back to him.

  “You know what happens when you shut me out, Caroline.” Sven used one long finger to turn her face in his direction a second time. “Tell me, us, what you think. I don’t want a resentful, angry wife. Either we all agree to the plan, or Lars takes his share of the money and goes his own way.”

  “How do you know he won’t cause trouble again? Share our past with the new town? I don’t want to spend my life looking for another new start.” Caroline slipped Lars a heated glare.

  “I won’t. I swear. I won’t,” Lars said. “You don’t have much reason to trust me, but I won’t.”

  “Well, you’re right ab
out that. I don’t have much reason to trust you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Forgive, sweetheart. Forgive. Please, don’t make me choose between my brother and my wife. Selfish as I am, I want both,” Sven pled. He knew, even as he said it, that it was a lot to ask. Caroline wanted, deserved, peace in her life and in her home.

  “For you, Sven, I’ll try.” She wagged her index finger one, twice, three times at her brother-in-law. “Don’t make me regret it, Lars, or I swear…”

  “You won’t.” Lars rushed in with reassurance.

  Caroline gave a nod. “About those children we plan to raise in Oregon. The first one is due in September, and I don’t want to give birth in a wagon. When did you two fix on leaving?”

  Sven stood and took his wife with him. “Micah’s going to have a brother?” he stammered.

  “Or a sister,” she confirmed.

  He kissed her with all the love and care and promise a man can put in a kiss. Setting her on her feet, he splayed his hand over her flat abdomen. “I won’t miss a single minute this time.”

  Lars bounded around the table. “Congratulations, Sven.” He pounded his brother’s back in masculine pride at his accomplishment before placing a tender kiss on Caroline’s cheek.

  Sven pulled them both into a bear hug and squeezed. He was going to have it all – his brother, his wife, Micah, a baby. His heart was full to bursting, and he knew he owed thanks for this glorious bounty.

  “Dear Lord,” he began. Caroline and Lars stilled, waiting. “Thank you for the blessings you have bestowed upon us. Thank you for returning my brother. Thank you for giving me another chance to be Caroline’s husband. Thank you for Micah and the child as yet unborn. Help us walk our path together, as a family.” He paused and squeezed them a second time until Caroline groaned. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized. “Amen and Oregon or bust!”

  Lars hooted before shouting the refrain. “Oregon or bust!”

  A pause, brief but painful, ensued. Sven looked into his wife’s uncertain eyes.