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Authors: Lauraine Snelling
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ignoring the booths and tables by unspoken agreement.
Nils raised a finger and nodded to the man by his side, who also nodded. Two beers slid across the slick surface to be stopped by grateful hands.
“I should have ordered something hot.” Nils set the half empty tankard back down, careful to place it in the wet ring. He stared at the cup, waiting for a sense of relief. When none arrived, he shivered and hoisted the drink again.
The barkeep pushed two more down the counter.
His father’s voice beat in his ears. “Lazy, my son is lazy . . . doesn’t live up to his word . . . wastes his time. You are lazy! When will you grow into the man I thought you were becoming? So much talent and you don’t use it!”
The second beer went down, but the voice didn’t stop.
“Are you all right?” The voice penetrated the fog that seemed to be rising.
Nils blinked. No, the fog was not in the room, it writhed within. “Ja, of course.” He pushed the tankard across the bar. Glancing at the man beside him, he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted more too.
He shrugged. “Not finished with this one yet. Perhaps you should slow down.”
Should. Another of those words drumming in his head in his father’s voice.
“You should study. You should make an effort. You should want to run the company. You should graduate. You should graduate with honors.
“You should not run away to the mountains. You should assume responsibilities. You should make your mother proud of you.
“We are deeply disappointed in you. Lazy!”
Nils gritted his teeth. Tearing this man limb from limb would not help. His fists clenched. The third beer appeared in front of him. He turned to look at his friend.
“You said something?”
“I said you should slow down.” He wore a worried look.
When Nils shook his head, the mirror behind the bar rippled. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Clear. Should. Should. Should .
“Mind your own business.” Picking up the tankard, he drank, but more slowly. A right to the jaw should shut him up. Nils sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Violence was not his way. Where had the fist thought come from? He’d not struck anyone since his boxing class, when he knocked his opponent out and resolved never to strike anyone again. Never!
He threw some money on the counter and heaved himselfto his feet. Was his head whirling or did the room really tilt? Only slightly but . . . He grabbed hat and coat off the pegs and shrugged into them.
“Wait, let me go with you.”
“No! I’m fine.”
The wind-driven rain slashed at his face. Ducking his head, he stepped into the cobblestone street. Ignoring the voice behind him, he started across. A shout! A screaming horse. Falling. Crashing.
“Nils, wake up. Nils.”
What was his sister doing at the tavern? He blinked but didn’t try to open his eyes again when pain slashed through his head at any effort. Where was he? Maybe he was dying. Why would he be dying? Maybe that was the answer to all his suffering.
“Just move your finger if you hear me.”
Move a finger. He could do that. He ordered his right forefinger to move, and it did. That was good news.
“Excellent.”
The voice lilted gently on his ears. Amalia. He felt a soft hand slip under his. Warm. Was he cold? He didn’t think so. He could feel blankets over him. He tapped again, twice.
“You are in your bed, in your lodgings. The doctor has been here.”
Doctor? What happened? But when he tried to talk, not only his head screeched, but the air was tight. Tight? Was he having trouble breathing? Why? He tapped his finger again, flinching at the pain stabbing behind his eyes. Why? He had moved his forehead. Oh.
“The doctor was here. You have a head injury and some broken ribs. Thankfully, that is all.”
“How?” The one word took a superhuman effort. Could she hear or had he imagined he spoke?
“You were knocked clear by the rearing horse, or you would have been run over
Nils raised a finger and nodded to the man by his side, who also nodded. Two beers slid across the slick surface to be stopped by grateful hands.
“I should have ordered something hot.” Nils set the half empty tankard back down, careful to place it in the wet ring. He stared at the cup, waiting for a sense of relief. When none arrived, he shivered and hoisted the drink again.
The barkeep pushed two more down the counter.
His father’s voice beat in his ears. “Lazy, my son is lazy . . . doesn’t live up to his word . . . wastes his time. You are lazy! When will you grow into the man I thought you were becoming? So much talent and you don’t use it!”
The second beer went down, but the voice didn’t stop.
“Are you all right?” The voice penetrated the fog that seemed to be rising.
Nils blinked. No, the fog was not in the room, it writhed within. “Ja, of course.” He pushed the tankard across the bar. Glancing at the man beside him, he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted more too.
He shrugged. “Not finished with this one yet. Perhaps you should slow down.”
Should. Another of those words drumming in his head in his father’s voice.
“You should study. You should make an effort. You should want to run the company. You should graduate. You should graduate with honors.
“You should not run away to the mountains. You should assume responsibilities. You should make your mother proud of you.
“We are deeply disappointed in you. Lazy!”
Nils gritted his teeth. Tearing this man limb from limb would not help. His fists clenched. The third beer appeared in front of him. He turned to look at his friend.
“You said something?”
“I said you should slow down.” He wore a worried look.
When Nils shook his head, the mirror behind the bar rippled. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Clear. Should. Should. Should .
“Mind your own business.” Picking up the tankard, he drank, but more slowly. A right to the jaw should shut him up. Nils sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Violence was not his way. Where had the fist thought come from? He’d not struck anyone since his boxing class, when he knocked his opponent out and resolved never to strike anyone again. Never!
He threw some money on the counter and heaved himselfto his feet. Was his head whirling or did the room really tilt? Only slightly but . . . He grabbed hat and coat off the pegs and shrugged into them.
“Wait, let me go with you.”
“No! I’m fine.”
The wind-driven rain slashed at his face. Ducking his head, he stepped into the cobblestone street. Ignoring the voice behind him, he started across. A shout! A screaming horse. Falling. Crashing.
“Nils, wake up. Nils.”
What was his sister doing at the tavern? He blinked but didn’t try to open his eyes again when pain slashed through his head at any effort. Where was he? Maybe he was dying. Why would he be dying? Maybe that was the answer to all his suffering.
“Just move your finger if you hear me.”
Move a finger. He could do that. He ordered his right forefinger to move, and it did. That was good news.
“Excellent.”
The voice lilted gently on his ears. Amalia. He felt a soft hand slip under his. Warm. Was he cold? He didn’t think so. He could feel blankets over him. He tapped again, twice.
“You are in your bed, in your lodgings. The doctor has been here.”
Doctor? What happened? But when he tried to talk, not only his head screeched, but the air was tight. Tight? Was he having trouble breathing? Why? He tapped his finger again, flinching at the pain stabbing behind his eyes. Why? He had moved his forehead. Oh.
“The doctor was here. You have a head injury and some broken ribs. Thankfully, that is all.”
“How?” The one word took a superhuman effort. Could she hear or had he imagined he spoke?
“You were knocked clear by the rearing horse, or you would have been run over
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