Ice Carnival Read online

  Christal is going to be there, too, a little voice reminded him silently.

  Oh, he was well aware that she would be there. She’d probably smell him before he got there, and then he’d be standing in all his wild-hair glory, his nose as red as a radish—it was too dreadful to imagine.

  “Are you all right?” his uncle called, and Isaac realized he’d lagged behind. For a man as corpulent as he was, Uncle Alfred could certainly trot along at a steady pace.

  Good. He’d arrive at church unable to speak, too, because he’d be so out of breath he’d be gasping for air.

  This was getting worse.

  He hunched his shoulders up. Perhaps that would warm his ears. He jammed his hands into his pockets and tightened them into fists, trying to expose as little flesh as possible to the cold.

  How on earth did people manage this?

  His uncle strode ahead—no overcoat, no muffler, no gloves, just his suit and hat. These people were insane. And winter was coming, when it would be even colder?

  “Right here,” his uncle called as he waited for Isaac to catch up to him. “This is the church.”

  Redeemer Church was built of grayish white stone with a sharply pointed steeple that rose into the sky.

  Isaac leaned against the wrought iron railing and panted as he tried to regain his breath. “I must be terribly out of shape, Uncle Alfred.”

  Uncle Alfred clapped him on the back. “It was all uphill. On the way back, it’s all downhill. Good metaphor for a church, wouldn’t you say? Come in heavy laden and leave burdenless.”

  “That’s good, Uncle. Let’s go inside. I need to defrost.”

  His uncle smiled and shook his head. “You’ll be one of us sooner than you think, Isaac.”

  “Is that a promise. . .or a threat?”

  Uncle Alfred laughed. “Perhaps both.”

  Rev. Everett met them at the sanctuary door. “Welcome to both of you! Dr. Bering, you’re looking well this morning. Isaac, it’s good to have you with us.”

  The church was nearly full, and as Isaac paused to look for a spot where they could sit, his uncle whispered, “Follow me,” and led him to the very front of the church to the pew where the Everetts were sitting, Aunt Ruth on the far end, Mrs. Everett in the middle, and Christal near the aisle.

  There was room for only one person at the aisle end of the pew—certainly there was not enough room for someone of Uncle Alfred’s girth—and the doctor murmured in Isaac’s ear, “Sit here. I’ll go to the other side.”

  The first grand notes of the processional were beginning, and the congregation stood. He slipped into the empty place and smiled as Christal held out the hymnal.

  The day had just gotten considerably better. He was standing in church, singing the familiar notes of “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” with someone he already liked very much. He enjoyed singing in church. His ability—or, perhaps his inability—to stay on key was buoyed by the stronger voices of others, and he liked being able to blend his shaky tenor with their harmonies. The sun beamed through the rose window, the circular stained glass window behind the altar, its multicolored geometrical pattern casting rainbows of purple across the worshippers. Christal’s hair was tinged violet with a section of gold in the stained light.

  In the back of church, someone coughed. He didn’t want to turn around to see who it was, but the sound was alarming. It had the edge of a chronic condition, and a dangerous one.

  Rev. Everett began the service, and Isaac found himself listening to him with growing eagerness. The minister was engaging, just as Uncle Alfred had said.

  The theme of the service was strength through the Lord. Isaac clung to every word, noting the scripture the pastor had chosen: Genesis 32:24–31. He knew the story of Jacob wrestling with God, but never before had the story come alive the way it did with Rev. Everett’s sermon.

  “We will close with the hymn, ‘Come, O Thou Traveler Unknown,’ which is based upon this story,” the minister said. “As you sing the words, think of Jacob, and think of your own struggles. Whom are you struggling with? Is it yourself? With others? Or is it God Himself?”

  Rev. Everett paused, letting his words sink in, and then added, “After the service, I’d like you all to meet a traveler who is not unknown, or at least he won’t be within a few minutes.” The congregation chuckled. “Isaac Bering is Alfred Bering’s nephew, and he’s come to continue his medical studies with his uncle. Please stop in the back of the church and greet Isaac and welcome him to St. Paul and to Redeemer.”

  Isaac felt himself grow warm. Having everyone in the church look at him at the same time was a very odd feeling. He managed what he hoped was a happy-to-be-here smile as he sang the words of the recessional with everyone else.

  Then he saw the situation that he was facing. Sitting in the front row meant that he was the last one out, and the entire congregation seemed to be waiting for him at the end of the aisle and into the narthex.

  Women in their Sunday best, men in black suits buttoned up stiffly, young girls with their hair neatly braided, and boys in miniature versions of their fathers’ clothing—they all stood, anticipating something from him.

  It’s just this once, he told himself. Get through this and you will not have to do it again. Think of the scripture today. Wrestle with it. Win.

  Bolstered by the morning’s lesson, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I am looking forward to getting to know all of you. I’m especially grateful to have the chance to meet you first in God’s house.”

  It must have been the right thing to say, because the women beamed in approval and the men nodded with affirmation. He shook hands and talked socially to people until at last he had met all of them, including the elderly man who continued to cough even as he welcomed Isaac.

  At last, it was done. He had never done anything like that in his entire life. This was the stuff his nightmares were made of, being the center of attention and having to make conversation with this many people he didn’t know.

  But he had done it. And, perhaps most importantly, he had lived.

  “Are we going to go for a walk this afternoon?” Christal asked as she draped her shawl over her arm.

  “Christal Maria Everett!” Aunt Ruth called from across the room. “Put the shawl around your shoulders, not over your elbow.”

  Christal rolled her eyes but not in anger. “Aunt Ruth gets cold,” she said, “so I have to put on a shawl. And a coat. And a scarf, a hat, mittens, and a muff. Overshoes. Wrap in a blanket. And then maybe I can go outside.”

  “I am not deaf,” Aunt Ruth shot back.

  “But you’re chilly.”

  The two women looked at each other and laughed. This was a scene that the two of them clearly enjoyed, a family joke of the best kind.

  “Why don’t we walk home together?” Christal suggested to Isaac. “We’ll go down to Summit Avenue and then back up. Is that the way you came to church?”

  He hated to admit that he hadn’t seen much of anything on his way to church, not while he stumbled along, hunkered over, his chin tucked into his chest and shivering the entire time.

  But the sun was out, the day was warming, and Christal was good company.

  They told the others of their plan and left the church.

  The air had indeed lost its frosty edge, and the scene was glorious. The trees were robed in their autumn finery, and only the faintest hint of an October chill touched the light breeze.

  “I love this time of year,” Christal said as they walked together. She swung her shawl in front of her, and he suppressed a smile as he thought of what Aunt Ruth would have to say about that. “It’s so pretty, isn’t it? The earth is getting ready for winter, so God paints it as vividly as possible before all the color goes away, into the season of white, of snow and ice. What’s your favorite season, Isaac?”

  “I have to say that really all I’ve experienced is summer. Remember, I’m from Florida. Southern Florida. No snow there, so this is all new for me.
”

  “Speaking of ice and snow,” she said, stopping suddenly, “did Dr. Bering tell you about the ice carnival?”

  “Ice carnival,” he repeated. He shouldn’t have been surprised. The people here didn’t seem to know that snow and ice were cold, and that human beings were meant to be warm. Body temperature, after all, was 98.6 degrees. That was hardly compatible with living in the North.

  He couldn’t imagine what an ice carnival would be like. Cold, for sure.

  “I don’t know the details,” she went on. “Dr. Bering told us about it. The man who’s the publisher of the newspaper, the St. Paul Dispatch, is proposing it.”

  “Why on earth would anyone have a carnival of ice?” He shook his head. It made no sense.

  She grinned at him. “Because apparently some people think it’s too cold up here, that nobody could live here. Some newspaper writer said that.”

  “Smart fellow,” he muttered under his breath.

  Christal shook her head. “Give us some time. Your blood will thicken up, and you, too, will be making Aunt Ruth insane by going around in January without your coat.”

  “Blood thickening? Medical impossibility. Going around in January without a coat? Personal impossibility.” He laughed.

  “You say that now, but in the future, you’ll be a tough Minnesotan, immune to the cold like the rest of us.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Just wait. You’ll see. Soon you won’t be able to imagine a year without snow. By the way, how long will you stay here? Do you know?”

  She swooped down and picked up a ruby and gold maple leaf and stuck it behind her ear. She looked like the picture of autumn itself.

  “To be honest,” he said, “I think I might stay, cold or no cold. Uncle Alfred is bringing me into his practice with the thought that eventually I’ll take it over and he can retire. But of course that won’t happen until I have more training and we’re both comfortable with my medical skill.”

  “I think that would scare me,” Christal said, “having someone’s life in my hands.”

  How could he respond? Should he tell her the truth, that he was absolutely terrified of making a mistake? There couldn’t be a costlier error than to make a decision that would result in death. It was irretrievable.

  Would she think less of him if he spoke honestly, if he told her of his fears?

  He sidestepped the issue with a noncommittal response. “That’s something all physicians have to face. We try to heal, using the meager tools available to us, and sometimes, with the Lord’s help, we succeed. Sometimes we don’t. We do what we can, both as doctors and as human beings. The rest we commit to His power.”

  Christal nodded. “Your uncle is a wonderful man, as well as being an extraordinary doctor. I know he prays for his patients. He did it for me, and I really think that’s what makes him so good.”

  “I agree. I intend to follow in his footsteps in that regard, too.”

  A scruffy terrier raced down the sidewalk and leaped in joyous circles around Christal, who leaned over and cooed, “Aren’t you the handsome boy? Aren’t you? Yes, you are. You are a handsome boy!” Finally the dog stopped and collapsed in front of her, its belly up, until she reached down and rubbed the dog’s stomach.

  The dog popped back up and licked her hand.

  “This is Bob,” she explained to Isaac. “He’s a happy dog.”

  “I guess so,” he answered, reaching down to pat the terrier’s head and being rewarded with an affectionate slurp on his palm.

  “Bob will walk with us for a while, and then he’ll remember that there was a squirrel he was going to chase in the tree, or he’ll wonder if it’s time for dinner, or maybe he’ll even decide he should take a nap. But all of a sudden, he’ll turn around and run back home as fast as he can.”

  “He sounds like quite an interesting creature.” The dog leaned against Isaac’s leg and gazed up at him with adoring eyes. “And very friendly.”

  “He is. No walk in this neighborhood would be complete without Bob. He does seem to have taken to you, though, which is quite a compliment.”

  “Really?” He felt oddly proud of this affirmation from the scraggly dog.

  “Did you have dogs back in Florida?” she asked as they resumed their walk, Bob trotting between them.

  Isaac laughed. “There are lots of dogs in Florida.”

  “Silly! I meant, did you have a dog?”

  “When I was in school, in Tallahassee, I rented a room from a woman who wouldn’t allow anything alive in the rooms—except, of course, the boarders.”

  “That’s too bad,” Christal said, as her fingertips trailed across the top of Bob’s head.

  “I suspect she had some pretty good reasons. I heard that too many times people had moved out and left their pets behind, and she grew tired of trying to find new homes for the animals.”

  “That’s irresponsible—of the owners, not of her. I can understand her reasoning then. Did you have any pets when you grew up?” Christal asked.

  “Any pets? Well, sure. Let’s see. There were an assortment of cats and kittens that came in and out of the yard—and in and out of the house, too, much to my mother’s dismay—and my father always made sure that we had a dog.”

  “What kind of dog?” She grinned. “Bob wants to know.”

  “Labrador retrievers. One of Father’s favorite things is to go to the shore with his dog and throw a stick into the ocean and let the dog get it. He says there’s little in life as beautiful as a soaking wet Lab proudly trotting back with the stick. He says the dog almost smiles.” Isaac thought back to the blissful expression the dog had when running out of the water. “Maybe it does.”

  “Labrador retrievers like water,” Christal said.

  “You’ve had them, too?”

  She shook her head. “No. The house belongs to the church, and as much as I’d like to have a pet of some kind, it’s out of the question. When I was little, though, I would smuggle in whatever I could that would fit in my pocket. I had caterpillars and black beetles and fireflies, and once I found a toad, but I lost him somewhere in the pantry.”

  He burst out laughing. “The pantry! You lost a toad in the pantry? Your parents must have been quite put out with you.”

  “They would have—if I’d told them about it.”

  “You didn’t tell them?”

  She looked at him, her dark blue eyes wide open and guileless, and he had a flash vision of what she must have looked like as a child. “I didn’t have to. My mother found it.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She put it back outside and then sat me down and explained that not all animals are meant to be pets, that God had them born outside because that was where they were supposed to spend their lives, and that I wasn’t being kind to them bringing them inside. She said it was like putting them in prison.”

  “And—?” he prompted.

  “And I thought she was wrong, and I told her so.”

  He was fascinated. “How old were you?”

  “Four or five.”

  “What did she say when you said she was wrong?”

  Christal’s eyes lit impishly. “She didn’t say much, because I had irrefutable logic—or so I thought.”

  “And your logic was—?”

  “I said that Jesus had been born in a stable, which wasn’t a house for people, yet he got to come inside. Nobody made him stay in the stable.”

  He shook his head. “How did she respond?”

  “She told me that kings are comfortable anywhere, but toads aren’t.” Christal shrugged. “It made perfect sense to me.”

  He liked her family even more, just hearing her talk about them.

  “How do you like St. Paul so far?” she asked. “We have toads here, just in case you want one now that I’ve told you my story, but they’re pretty much hidden away until summer.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll pass on the toads. Even next summer they can stay outside. I agree with your mother on
that. I have to say that I have never had the faintest inclination to try to make a pet of a toad. St. Paul, though, is very beautiful. I do believe that I chose a splendid time of year to be introduced to the city. The trees are lovelier than I could ever have imagined.”

  “Autumn is my favorite season, or at least it is right now,” she said. “Ask me in the winter or the spring or the summer, and I might have a different answer. That’s one aspect of living here that I really like: All seasons are so beautiful that I can’t imagine living elsewhere. What’s Florida like?”

  “Florida is warm. And very humid. There are some wild storms that come in. The winds from the ocean can create some real chaos there.”

  “Have you ever experienced a hurricane?”

  He nodded. “It was terrifying, but we came through. The wind whipped the rain so hard that the water came down like knives, or maybe I should say it came across like knives. The wind is so fierce that the rain goes sideways. There was quite a bit of damage, but we were sheltered enough that we didn’t have much cleaning up to do afterwards.”

  She shivered. “I’ve read about hurricanes. We don’t have them here—obviously—but there is the danger of tornadoes and blizzards and floods. No matter where we go, there will be some challenge from nature.”

  “Speaking of blizzards, just how cold does it get here?”

  Bob stopped suddenly, nearly tripping Christal. He licked each of their hands, turned, and charged off in the direction they’d come.

  “I guess that’s the end of his walk!” Isaac watched the dog head for home.

  “And we’re nearing the end of ours.”

  Christal turned down a side street, and within moments they were in front of his uncle’s house.

  “Thank you so much,” Isaac said to her.

  “We’ll do more exploring later,” she said to him. “I want to show you the library, for one thing. I go there every day.”

  “Every day? You must have all the books memorized!”

  “Oh, there are so many stories in there. Some I read again and again. They’re like old friends to me. There are others that are new to me, and I’m always excited to open a new book and start a tale I haven’t heard before.”