trust. Trust, in return, must spring from truthfulness. I believe you have done what you thought necessary to get here to Karl.
But henceforth I caution you to be truthful with him in all ways. You will find him to be understanding and patient. This much I know of him. But you will find, too, that he is rigid in his honor. I caution you once more always to tell him the truth. When you make your vow here to love, honor and obey, I ask you to add in your heart that you, Anna, will always be truthful with Karl."
She looked up at him with her girlish face and said guilelessly, "Yes, Father, I was." Father Pierrot could not help the tiny curve of his lips at her reply. He noted, too, the way Karl glanced briefly sideways.
"Good. So be it. And Karl, there are things not expressed in the vows, about which I must caution you. It falls onto your shoulders to protect Anna and provide for her. In your case, here in the wilderness, and with the added responsibility for James, this job is a far greater one than for most men." Karl glanced at the boy, and the priest saw a perceptible softening of Karl's expression. "The wilderness is new to them, and there will be much they have to learn. Patience will be required of you time and again. But you have the gift of knowledge to give them. You must be teacher as well as protector, father as well as husband, almost from the start. If at times this task falls heavy upon you, I ask you to remember that on your wedding day you silently added the vow of patience."
"Yes, Father."
"And while it is not written in the vows either, there is an old adage I firmly believe in, which I would repeat here and ask you both to remember on days when perhaps you have not seen eye to eye. `Never let the sun set on your anger.` There will be disagreements between you, and these cannot be avoided--you are human beings with much to learn about each other. But differences incurred during the day become lodged in stubbornness if held throughout the night. By remembering this, you will perhaps not cling to your opinions when it is long past the time you should have conceded or compromised. Will the two of you remember that?"
"Yes, Father," they said in unison.
"So be it. Then let us begin."
Father Pierrot began praying.
The soft tonal inflections of Latin brought back to Anna the memories of nights she and James had sheltered in St. Mark's. Nights when all the rooms above the tavern were busy and they were told to get out and not show their faces till the last customer had staggered home. Anna tried to push the hurtful memory aside, but the priest's flowing Latin brought back the anguish all over again, the anguish of huddling in the scented dusk--beeswax, incense, candlelights--vowing that she would find a way out of a life where, since her mother's death, nobody cared whether Barbara's brats lived or died.
They'd hung on, she and James, by the skin of their teeth, but all the while Anna was determined to get them away from the hopeless situation somehow. Well, she was doing it now. She and James would never go homeless again. Never would they be chased away by the "ladies" and their "gentlemen" customers. But knowing what she'd done to get here, knowing that she was duping a man who truly didn't deserve it, an engulfing guilt washed over her.
She felt her hand taken into the large hand of Karl Lindstrom, felt the calluses of labor there, felt the firm grip that told of his intensity, and she knew beyond a doubt that this big, honorable man would never, never understand a thing like she'd done. His palm was warm and dry and as hard as oak. The way he squeezed her knuckles
she thought they might shatter in a moment, but his grip told her he meant all he promised here today. She found herself looking up into blue eyes, then watching sensitive lips speaking the words from the book Father Pierrot held open upon his palms. Karl's voice came lilting, and she watched his mouth, memorizing the words as best she
But henceforth I caution you to be truthful with him in all ways. You will find him to be understanding and patient. This much I know of him. But you will find, too, that he is rigid in his honor. I caution you once more always to tell him the truth. When you make your vow here to love, honor and obey, I ask you to add in your heart that you, Anna, will always be truthful with Karl."
She looked up at him with her girlish face and said guilelessly, "Yes, Father, I was." Father Pierrot could not help the tiny curve of his lips at her reply. He noted, too, the way Karl glanced briefly sideways.
"Good. So be it. And Karl, there are things not expressed in the vows, about which I must caution you. It falls onto your shoulders to protect Anna and provide for her. In your case, here in the wilderness, and with the added responsibility for James, this job is a far greater one than for most men." Karl glanced at the boy, and the priest saw a perceptible softening of Karl's expression. "The wilderness is new to them, and there will be much they have to learn. Patience will be required of you time and again. But you have the gift of knowledge to give them. You must be teacher as well as protector, father as well as husband, almost from the start. If at times this task falls heavy upon you, I ask you to remember that on your wedding day you silently added the vow of patience."
"Yes, Father."
"And while it is not written in the vows either, there is an old adage I firmly believe in, which I would repeat here and ask you both to remember on days when perhaps you have not seen eye to eye. `Never let the sun set on your anger.` There will be disagreements between you, and these cannot be avoided--you are human beings with much to learn about each other. But differences incurred during the day become lodged in stubbornness if held throughout the night. By remembering this, you will perhaps not cling to your opinions when it is long past the time you should have conceded or compromised. Will the two of you remember that?"
"Yes, Father," they said in unison.
"So be it. Then let us begin."
Father Pierrot began praying.
The soft tonal inflections of Latin brought back to Anna the memories of nights she and James had sheltered in St. Mark's. Nights when all the rooms above the tavern were busy and they were told to get out and not show their faces till the last customer had staggered home. Anna tried to push the hurtful memory aside, but the priest's flowing Latin brought back the anguish all over again, the anguish of huddling in the scented dusk--beeswax, incense, candlelights--vowing that she would find a way out of a life where, since her mother's death, nobody cared whether Barbara's brats lived or died.
They'd hung on, she and James, by the skin of their teeth, but all the while Anna was determined to get them away from the hopeless situation somehow. Well, she was doing it now. She and James would never go homeless again. Never would they be chased away by the "ladies" and their "gentlemen" customers. But knowing what she'd done to get here, knowing that she was duping a man who truly didn't deserve it, an engulfing guilt washed over her.
She felt her hand taken into the large hand of Karl Lindstrom, felt the calluses of labor there, felt the firm grip that told of his intensity, and she knew beyond a doubt that this big, honorable man would never, never understand a thing like she'd done. His palm was warm and dry and as hard as oak. The way he squeezed her knuckles
she thought they might shatter in a moment, but his grip told her he meant all he promised here today. She found herself looking up into blue eyes, then watching sensitive lips speaking the words from the book Father Pierrot held open upon his palms. Karl's voice came lilting, and she watched his mouth, memorizing the words as best she
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