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ALL DAY THE ACHE IN his chest had grown. Now the throbbing pain threatened to erupt, and he did not know what it would do to Søren to see his father lose control. He could not remain in the barn another moment.
With no word to his sønn, Jan left off milking and walked away from the barn. And then ran. He ran until he was far enough away and knew Søren would not be able to hear the sobs burst from his mouth.
Lord! I am undone. I am breaking. How can I give up my wife and datter? How can I take up Karl’s family for him, my God? I have not the strength or the heart.
Sorrow racked his body; he could not breathe. Lord, would it not have been better for me to come to you than Karl? Did you make a mistake, Lord?
It was early November; winter cold had not yet set in. He stumbled, weeping, up the slope to where Kristen, Karl, and Elli, with their baby sønn, were buried. After only a few weeks, wild grasses were greening the mounds that marked where they lay.
Kneeling between Elli and Kristen’s graves, Jan pounded his thighs and cried aloud, unable to control the flood of grief: It had a life of its own and it possessed him.
His chest constricted, and long, aching minutes crept by before his breath returned to him. He gazed into the distance . . . stared at the prairie that stretched before him, timeless, endless, masterless.
Unbidden, an idea came to him. I will build a wall here. To surround them, he thought, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve.
He glanced around. No, not a wall—a fence of wrought iron. Yes, that would be nicer. More open.
He managed to stand. A fence with roses climbing over the gate. Sunset roses! And I will plant another tree just there, one that will bloom over the fence and cover them with its flowers and sweet scent.
Still weak from his weeping, Jan stepped out the corners and perimeter he imagined, finding a comfort in doing so—as though he were doing something for Elli. For Kristen. For Karl.
Søren appeared behind him, quiet, watchful. Like his father had, he would get his growth late. He was thin, lanky, and awkward with the promise of the man to come.
My sønn! Jan saw the anguish in the boy’s eyes. Lord, I was wrong. I would not have my sønn left alone in the world. I must be strong for him . . . no matter how hard it is.
Jan reached for Søren and pulled him close.
“I was just thinking,” Jan confided, his words low and rough with emotion. “I was thinking to build an iron fence around them, a pretty one, with twists and curls.” He walked Søren around the graves, pointing. “Just so. With roses climbing on the gate? I think Mamma would like that. And a nice tree right here. What do you think?”
Søren looked up into his eyes. “Yes, Pappa. Will you let me help?”
“Ja, Sønn. We will do it together, eh?”
“What about . . .” Søren was sniffling, but this, whatever was happening, was somehow good, even healing. “What about the stones? With their names?”
“Ach! Of course. Perhaps we will go to town and ask where to quarry the best stone for engraving. Just you and I, ja? Just you and I.”
Søren nodded and wiped his eyes. He held tightly to Jan’s waist and Jan squeezed his thin shoulders.
“We will make it beautiful for them, eh?”
Søren nodded again and swallowed.
—
FAR DOWN THE ROAD, still on the other side of the creek, Jan saw a buggy and two riders approaching. “We are to have company. Please tell your Tante Amalie?”
Søren reluctantly obeyed. Jan heard him running up the path to the house, heard the scrape of the repaired screen door opening and slapping closed.
Jan went out to meet the men, four of them, two riding in the buggy, two on horseback. He recognized Gunnar Braun’s little sorrel mare first. Then he recognized Rikkert Kapel astride his bay. Klaus Schöener and Adolphe Veicht rode in the wagon.
The minister and elders. All dressed in somber black.
So. A formal visit, Jan mused.
He did not offer a welcome when they drove into the yard, but he watched them carefully. No hand raised in greeting. No one dismounted. Rikkert studiously avoided eye contact with Jan.
When Jan still said nothing, Minister Veicht cleared his throat. “Good evening, Herr Thoresen.”
Jan nodded. He could feel his anger growing, so he said nothing.
Veicht cleared his throat again and inclined his head. “May we come in? We,” he gestured to the others, “the elders and I, would like to talk.”
—
AMALIE SERVED COFFEE and cake in the living room and then closed the door behind her. Still, no one spoke.
Jan sugared his cup of coffee and stirred it. He took a sip. He waited. Lord, I am trying. Help me to master my aching heart.
“Herr Thoresen, we know you are grieving,” Veicht said. “And your sister-in-law also. We have been praying for both of you. And the children.”
Rikkert awkwardly translated Minister Veicht’s words. Jan nodded his thanks. He studied his friend curiously, for the man was clearly uncomfortable. Klaus and Gunnar watched Veicht, attentive, but said nothing.
“You do not answer me, Herr Thoresen?” Veicht became a bit put out with Jan’s silence.
“Thank you for your prayers,” Jan answered. “You wished to talk? I am waiting.”
“You are not much hospitable, Herr Thoresen.” Veicht huffed. “Well, all right. What we came for must be said. You are a member in good standing of our church, ja? This is why we are here and must bring this to your attention.”
Jan remained silent, but he locked eyes with Veicht, daring him to look away. He had guessed why they had come.
“It is that you are now a single man, Herr Thoresen, and your sister-in-law a single woman, both living in the same house,” Veicht finally managed. “It is a difficult situation.”
Jan’s eyes never left Veicht’s face. Dear God in heaven, let me not sin with my heart or my mouth, he prayed. He remained silent.
“We have discussed this, the elders and I. The appearance of it will be wrong. It would lead to temptations and, and likely to si—”
Rikkert made a sound low in his throat like a soft growl. Veicht turned his head in surprise and then moderated his thought. “Well, as I said, the appearance of it will be wrong, that is, the appearance of sin.”
At the word “sin” Jan’s eyes narrowed and his hand, lying on the arm of his chair, fisted. Veicht paused, his eyes on Jan’s fist.
Lord, I am calling on you . . . Jan prayed. I need your help.
“I, that is, we have come with counsel. A good answer, one that would be right for all, ja? Even as soon after as it is, even while grieving, it would be right for you and your sister-in-law to marry—”
The look of loathing Jan turned on Veicht would have curdled milk—but he did not need to respond, for the door to the room sprang open at that moment.
Amalie, breathing raggedly and heavy with her child, stood in the doorway. His brother’s wife, gravely offended, spoke.
“I have been listening at the door, Minister, and am glad of it, for you are talking of me behind my back, nei? You do not have the courage to talk to my face?” Her hands were fisted on her hips.
“What? I am such a great temptation?” she demanded. She cradled her distended belly. “Such a tempting morsel right now that my bror would not be able to control himself? Is it so?”
She laughed and the men cringed at its harshness. “Those are evil thoughts, Minister Veicht, if you think brother and sister would do such a thing!”
“M-m-my dear lady,” Veicht stuttered, but Amalie was not finished.
She wagged her finger at him. “Hear me well, sir! I am grieving. I love my husband and only him. I would not marry—I will not marry—until and unless my grief has passed. But under no circumstances will it ever be right to marry my husband’s brother. Hear me! I will never do so. Never.”
She slammed the door behind her.
Silence reigned in the room. Jan took a large swallow of his coffee, marveling at what he had witnessed and proud of Amalie’s spirit. He glanced at Rikkert. Even though the man stared at the floor, Jan could see a smile curve his friend’s face.
Jan was almost able to stifle his chuckle. When Veicht’s chin jerked up, his face was livid.
“You think this funny?” he hissed.
“Nei. But you can see she is too much woman for me, ja?”
Jan regretted his flippant remark the moment it left his mouth. Oh, Lord! My mouth! He cringed inwardly.
Veicht jumped to his feet. “You treat this lightly? You reject our counsel?” he thundered.
Jan too stood up, all humor gone, but still he restrained his temper and his tongue. “Minister Veicht, you are in my home. You do not raise your voice to me here. My sister-in-law has heard your counsel; I have heard your counsel. We thank you for it, but we are more concerned to hear the Lord’s counsel than we are to hear yours or any man’s.”
He finished in a flat tone. “You have heard my søster. We do not agree that marriage is the Lord’s will for us.” He caught a gleam of approval from Rikkert’s eyes, but the other two elders looked anywhere but at him.
Veicht, his jaw clenched, studied Jan. “We give you more time to think on it, Herr Thoresen. Your sister-in-law is correct. While she is with child, the situation is less onerous. But after she is delivered, we will speak on this again. If you will not hear us then, we will bring it to the church.”
Jan nodded. His expression did not change, and he said nothing more. Finally, the four men filed out of the room.
Rikkert was last to go out the front door. He turned for an instant and nodded to Jan.
—
LATER, AFTER THE CHILDREN were abed, Jan found Amalie in the kitchen trying, as usual, to work until her body demanded sleep.
“Amalie, let us talk,” Jan said. “Sit. Sit down and have a glass of milk. You will sleep better tonight for it.”
She laughed, that choked, brittle sound that had so startled the minister and the elders. “Ach! I cannot sleep, Jan. When I do, I wake up and find that all my nightmares are true. And then I cannot sleep anymore.” She stared at the table.
“I know, Søster, I know. But we must talk of this because . . . because they were right.”
Amalie’s head jerked up.
“Nei, not about us marrying. Not that. That was wrong. But . . . after your baby comes, they are right. It would give the appearance of wrong.”
Suddenly she looked frightened and the dark circles hanging under her eyes deepened. “You would not leave us, Jan? Abandon us or send us away?” Her voice was shaking.
Jan shook his head. “Why would you think such a thing? I could not abandon my brother’s wife and his children! Never ask that again, Amalie.”
“Then what? What will we do?”
“First, we will pray, ja? That is the most important thing. The Lord’s counsel is what we need.”
“Ja. All right.” Amalie dropped her eyes to the table again.
Jan knew what she was feeling. Lord, have you forgotten me? Do you hear me? But still he would pray, because whatever his heart felt, God was bigger!
And so, he prayed aloud, “Lord, everything we have we lay at your feet. Our lives . . . we lay before you. Our futures, we offer you. Give us strength, Father God, and wisdom. We look to you for an answer to this . . . question.”
—
JAN OPENED HIMSELF for the Lord to speak to him and waited. Three days later he felt he had an answer or, at least, a first step.
“Come, Søren.” Father and son went out the kitchen door and headed for the barn. Inside, Jan pointed to an empty corner stall.
“I am going to build a bedroom for myself here, Sønn. Will you help me?”
Søren stared at him. “It is because of Minister Veicht and the elders? They said something to you.” Søren grew red with indignation, and Jan well recognized the symptoms.
“Let us sit and talk a little, ja? Come here.” Jan sat on the bench where they cleaned and repaired their tools. He pulled the young man down next to him, laid his hand on Søren’s knee.
“I will admit that I do not like that they came as they did. I would rather they came as brethren as the Bible says: Rebuke not an elder, but intreat him as a father; and the younger men as brethren. However, some of what they said is true. Amalie is no longer a married woman and I am no longer a married man.” Jan’s voice grew rough as he said those last words.
“You know that she is like my søster, and I am like her bror, eh? But since we are unmarried and living together under the same roof, your tante and I, those who do not know us could interpret it wrongly. I would not have our testimony as Christians touched by even the appearance of evil, Søren. Do you see?”
Søren nodded, but his mouth scowled.
“You are almost a man now, Sønn, and can understand these things. So, I do not talk to you as a child; instead, I talk to you as a Christian man and ask you to pray with Tante Amalie and me, ja? Pray that God himself will give us wisdom and guidance in this situation?”
Søren mumbled a barely audible, “Ja.”
“Good. Let us pray right now. Then you will help me build a room.”
—
EACH SUNDAY JAN MADE a point of greeting Adolphe and Rakel, showing respect and deference to the office in which Adolphe stood. This Sunday was no different.
With Søren beside him, Jan extended his hand. “Good morning, Herr Veicht, Frau Veicht. Good Sabbath to you.” Søren obediently offered his hand also.
“Guten morgen, Herr Thoresen. Guten morgen, Søren,” Herr Veicht responded evenly. He always said the same thing and never anything more. His wife only nodded, her eyes coolly appraising.
Jan nodded back, glad to have the ritual over. He and Søren moved quickly away.
That morning Jan managed to corner Gunnar Braun, Klaus Schöener, and Rikkert Kappel individually before service. “I have built a bedroom for myself in my barn,” he said to each man, with Søren interpreting. “I no longer sleep in the house. Søren will remain in the house to help Amalie with heavy chores, especially until the baby comes. From now on, I will be in the house only for meals.”
Just like a hired man, Jan could not help thinking. In my own house, like a hired man.
“You will please inform Minister Veicht,” Jan concluded. He had decided not tell Minister Veicht directly. Jan would not provide an opportunity to aggravate the man’s obvious dislike of him, especially in a public setting.
Rikkert looked around and then clasped Jan on the arm. “I think this is a good solution for now, Jan.”
Gunnar was not as positive. “I am glad to hear this, Jan. However, I am not sure Minister Veicht will think it is enough.” He sighed. “Be on your guard, Jan, ja?”
“Why should I be on my guard, Gunnar? If I am in the wrong, then let the church show me where in the Scriptures. I am not afraid of the discipline of the Lord. Whom God loves, he chastens, eh? I am at peace in God’s love for me.”
Gunnar had no answer. He, too, clasped Jan’s shoulder.
It was the same with Klaus. “I will tell you this, Jan, a bedroom in the barn will not be enough to satisfy Minister Veicht. He will bring you before the people soon.” Klaus looked at Jan, a shamed expression on his face.
“How did we get to this place?” Jan demanded, his anger flaring. “This is not how Tomas served our church and our people!”
He saw Heidi Veicht hugging Amalie and whispering encouragement to her. The old woman was still loving and sweet.
However, Heidi had changed since Adolphe and Rakel had moved into her and Tomas’ home. Now Heidi dressed in clothing as dark and plain as Rakel’s. And she had adopted a set and serene expression, Jan noticed—one devoid of laughter or smiles.
Lord, I don’t know what else to do, Jan cried silently. Amalie and I will not marry, but what else can I do?
—
JAN COULD BARELY TOLERATE taking Søren and Amalie and her children to church. When he did, he and Amalie assiduously avoided appearing like a couple. He would help her down from the wagon, but immediately find other men to converse with before and after church.
Likewise, Amalie never stood near him. She and Sigrün would herd the little boys into the women’s seats as she felt they were too young yet to sit with the men.
If Little Karl, Arnie, or Kjell needed their uncle’s oversight or correction, Jan was quick to provide it, but he and Amalie carefully kept their relationship distinct and separate.
Church was no longer the joyous place it had been. What had been a happy, gracious congregation was increasingly severe and morose. With his preaching and rules, Adolphe Veicht had altered the character of the church.
Jan wondered what Tomas would have thought of the changes.
Jan knew that many of the men were as unhappy as he. Rikkert shifted uncomfortably in the stiff, black suit he was required to wear every Sunday. The singing droned on unenthusiastically.
Why does no one protest this tyranny? Jan raged inwardly. Are there no men of God to stand up to this? If I could speak their language well, Lord, I would say something!
But Jan was convicted. Would he speak up if he could articulate his thoughts in German?
He looked at Heidi Veicht sitting demurely beside her daughter-in-law on the front row and shook his head. He saw Heidi’s shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. Then, for just a moment, Rakel turned her face away and Heidi quickly looked back, smiling her toothless smile and nodding at other women and children. This was the Heidi they all knew and loved!
Rakel turned back and nudged Heidi. Jan observed Rakel’s reproving frown as she spoke to Heidi. The old woman calmly nodded her head, faced forward, and remained still.
Jan’s anger kindled against Rakel Veicht. What they are doing to this woman of God is not right! he seethed within. But he could say or do nothing. Jan stared at the toes of his boots.
Lord . . .
~~**~~
