Learning to Stand

Stoick’s father teaches him to stand. Pt. 1. Don’t run/stand up

Thus section is from Stand and reflects the original purpose of that piece.

§ § §

Stoick, Mama and I want to talk to you. ‘Tis important, and I need your help.” He frowned a little. “Mama wants to try something and we need yer help to make it work.”

“I am listening. What is it?”

“Stoick, I want your father to see you part of the time for your misdeeds.” Stoick drew back; last time he saw his father for a misdeed, he was harsh and went Too Far. Since then, only Mama tended to his misbehavior. “He has worked hard to be a good Papa and will not hurt you, but he is afraid. He does not want to do you another injury, but he and you must try again, because I cannot see to all your wrongdoing. You are a son and more than four years, big enough to learn from both of us. Can you understand?”

Papa sorrowed when he saw the hurts he gave his son. He was sad and ashamed and even cried a little. It was a hard thing for Papa and Stoick forgave him, but he never wanted another visit with Father.

“Will it be Papa there?”

“Of course, Stoick. Who else could I be?” Papa looked puzzled and Mama amused.

“You might be Father. I do not want another visit with him. He went too far and hurt us, Papa.” Mama drew in a sharp breath, but Papa answered.

“Ye willnae see Father, lad. He’s not welcome here and doesna have anything to do with us anymore. Ye have my guarantee.”

“He is not coming back?”

“Never again will he trouble ye. Mama and me chased Father away, and he canna hurt us again.”

“All right. I can see Papa for my wrongdoing if you want.” He fixed his gaze on his mother. “When do I start?”

“When I think you need to see Papa more than you see me.” Mama spoke with sureness. “Some days you are more a boy than a son, and boys need their Papas to teach them. It is going to be a new start for both of you.”

“Do you start tomorrow, Mama?”

“Stoick, I decide when and do not have an answer for you. Have you other questions?”

“Do we have cider?” He made his eyes wide.

“Stoick Haddock, this talk has nothing to do with cider. I expect you to help Papa without getting a treat out of it.” She stood with hands on hips, and he ducked his head—he hadna fooled Mama for a minute. “Yes, we have cider, but I will see if you get any, and do not try begging eyes on me, either.” She huffed, and Stoick tried to look repentant.

“Ye canna win, lad. Fighting yer mother never works for Papa, either.” Papa’s eyes twinkled. “I see what Mama means; only a boy would ask such a thing.”

§ § §

You need to see Papa tonight.”

‘Twas the first time since the talk Stoick heard Mama say that, and he was worried. He didna like to admit it, but Papa and Father lived in the same body and sometimes promises were broken. Stoick sensed a chill the midafternoon sun couldna banish. He stood straight by the big chair with his chin up. More was required, but Stoick couldna recall all the rules for seeing his father before a correction. He hoped he wouldna fail his father, and determined to watch Papa in case he needed reminding who he was. The muffled voices of his parents ceased as they left their bedroom.

“We are going out and leaving you to each other. I expect to be back before dusk, and we can settle and eat nattmal; I prepared a chicken stew.” She observed, then addressed both of them. “Do not let fear get in the way, but do your best and be good to him.” Then Mama led his brother outside to run her errands.

The silence between Papa and himself didna want to be broken, but Stoick knew to be still and silent. Except there was Papa here, and he might do things differently. He would take a chance and speak.

“Do ye need help moving the table?”

Papa crinkled his brow before responding. “We aren’t moving it. Things are different now, and the table stays in place. We,” he declared, “will make a new way of doing things that suits ye and Papa. Come along, lad.”

They entered his parent’s bedroom and Papa looked around. “Stoick, I dinna expect ye to be still and silent. Ye need not have a stiff back or keep yer hand by yer sides. I willna make you lift your chin or stand by my chair. Papa wants one thing only—dinna run away.” He stopped and watched his son.

“What else, Papa?”

“Ye stay here, and there are no other things to remember. Do ye understand?”

“Aye.” Stoick could do that much.

“I spoke with yer Mama. She isna pleased with ye for all the pestering her ye did this morning.” Stoick hunched his shoulders; it seemed so important to go to the Plaza. “How many times did ye ask her to be in the village?”

“Four, Papa.”

“How many answers did she give?” His voice sounded matter-of-fact.

“Three, Papa.”

“Did they change?”

“No.” He fidgeted, unhappy with the questions.

“Did ye not believe her?”

“I-I wanted to go, Papa. I didna think she’d be angry.”

“She’s not mad at ye, but ye ignored her and that’s wrong, Stoick.”

“I know. I didna mean to ignore her, but there were traders in port, and Gobber lets me watch him work, and the bakery smells like warm spices...”

“And Mama’s answer wasna what ye wanted to hear.”

“Aye.” He studied the floor.

“How old are ye, lad?”

“More than four. Why?”

“Are ye a wee child?”

“I’m not wee.” He jerked his head up, surprised.

“Ye ignore yer mother and make a pest of yerself and fight what she says to ye. True?”

“True.” Stoick twisted his fingers, unhappy with the conversation.

“If Flint didna listen to Mama, ye would tell him he must, aye?”

“Aye.”

“Ye acted like Flint would, and he’s two. ‘Tis not the behavior of someone more than four. So, are ye wee?”

“No, sir.” Stoick had done wrong and would answer properly. “I am older and not acting as I ought. Please correct me so I may learn and improve.” The words escaped him, the thing he used to tell Father, and he couldna take them back. “Sorry, Papa. I didna mean it.”

“I know, child. Dinna fret.” Stoick felt a large hand on his shoulder. “‘Ye must do as expected, Stoick, and stay where we want ye. Next two trips to the village, ye will stick beside Mama and hold her hand as yer brother must.” Ouch. “Ye will have the same limits as Flint. Ye willna ask for anything, not even to slow down and sniff pastries, but do exactly as told. Tonight, ye shall say what ye did wrong and apologize to Mama in front of yer wee brother. ‘Tis yer job to be an example to him, and he canna believe pestering her is a good thing.”

“Aye.” He was in for a thorough embarrassing. “‘Twill be done, Papa.”

“Good. Ye stayed in the room well, child. Next time, ye will do so again.”

Stoick would behave, and there would be no next time; Papa’s punishments were too uncomfortable.

§ § §

“Ye did we with staying put these few times, so today I expect a new thing. Ye shall not hunch any longer, but stand. Ye need not be stiff or keep a straight spine. I dinna expect yer hands at yer sides, only stand as normal.”

“Nothing more?”

“‘Tis all I want.” Papa always spoke with him in his parent’s bedroom, and Stoick stared at the portrait of Mama in her best blue dress and fidgeted. Papa sat on the edge of the long bed—even with that, he was much taller than Stoick—and began the questioning. “Ye removed a filled pitcher of water from the table. Why did ye do that?”

“I did it for Mama, to help her. I knew she would want it, so I brought it to her.”

“Ye know not to tell falsehoods, and I willna excuse a second one. The truth, lad.”

“Ye know what happened, Papa. I dinna need to tell it when ye know, aye?”

“Stoick. Ye are not allowed to disobey or lie, and ye know that. Do as told or be in more trouble, lad.”

“The pitcher was on the table and I took it off to carry to Mama. I lost hold and spilled it on the floor.” Stoick hunched down. The last time he saw Father, when he went too far, it was because of a spill. “It was an accident, for true.”

“I never thought otherwise, lad. Ye wouldna do such a thing on purpose, Stoick, for ye hate to overturn or knock down anything. Now, ye canna hunch down, remember?” Papa’s eyes were kind but sad, and Stoick knew Father was gone forever.

“Aye.” He straightened.

“Good. Tell me, did Mama ask you for the pitcher?”

“No, Papa.”

“How many times before did she ask ye to bring it?”

“Never. Mama says ‘tis too heavy for me to lift and carry.”

“Ah. Was it a struggle to lift and carry it as far as ye did?”

“Aye. I couldna make it across the room before it spilled. Before I spilt it out.” He would be completely truthful, even when the truth made him look bad. “The water was all over the floor.”

“What did ye do then?”

“I found Mama.” Papa waited for Stoick to continue. “She was outside. At the bottom of the slope. With Mrs. Iverson and Brenna.”

“Did ye tell her about the spill?”

“No. I didna want her to know I’d made a mess.”

“What happened after that?”

Stoick wished Papa wasna so good at asking questions. The answers made him feel stupid. Soon, he’d ask if it was a success, and the answer was always no.

“Ragna came to clean house and found the spill. She wasna pleased and told Mama about it.” Ragna didna keep secrets from Mama. “In front of everyone.”

“Twas an embarrassment to have Mrs. Iverson hear, when she thinks so well of ye. Yer big sister heard, too. Ye must’ve been unhappy, lad.”

“Aye. Ragna wanted me to tell her why I never wiped it up. I couldna answer her. Mama said I made work for her and they both frowned at me.”

“Ragna has a list of things she does when she comes to tend the house. She doesna expect ye to walk away from something ye can clean up. Ye made her think ye didna care how much she does for us, because ye left yer own chore for her when she was coming soon. Ye earned those frowns, lad.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Papa.”

“Ragna deserves an apology.”

“I did say an apology.”

Papa leant forward and fixed his eyes on Stoick. “I hope,” he said, “that my son Stoick doesna think his messes are for Ragna to clean, because she helps Mama with the house. ‘Tis unworthy and impermissible.”

Papa was more than unhappy when he use “impermissible,” and Stoick took a step backward. “I meant no disrespect to Ragna. I just wanted to get away from the spill.” No hunching, he reminded himself.

“Alright, I believe ye, child. Now tell me, what part of yer story held a good idea?”

“Helping Mama.”

“Ye didna listen to Mama or do as she allowed. Does that help?”

“No, Papa.”

“Find me the good idea, Stoick.”

He searched for one and came up empty; he’d failed again. “There’s no good or worthy idea in my tale, only foolish and stupid ones. Everything was wrong.”

“Ye hate being wrong, so why did ye do it?”

“I had to, Papa. I knew I could and wanted to show Mama.”

“The bottom of the slope is a good distance from the house. Ye wanted to carry it that far. Why?”

“So she would know I was strong. If I carried the pitcher that far, she’d see I wasna little, but big.” It didna work and he was facing Papa again. “I couldna carry it, not like Brenna can.”

“Brenna just turned seven. She’s been carrying full pitchers a long time, but she couldna do it at four and more. Your sister needed to wait until Mama said so.”

“But she has a book for learning the kitchen and her own needle and thread for stitching. She can make beds properly and the way I do it isna good enough. I canna keep level with her when she has new, grownup things to learn. If I do things that are older, I can keep up with her and she stays my sister. Elsewise, I am too small and dinna matter.”

“Ye are bigger than Flint.”

“He is wee and everyone looks after him. Brenna is the biggest, and does better and knows more. I am just their brother.” Papa didna understand. If he couldna keep up with his sister, she would belong to Mama and Ragna and all the womenfolk, and she was his best friend.

“Stoick, come here and settle.” Papa patted the bed frame. “I want my son close beside me so we can talk about Flint and Brenna’s brother.” Stoick complied, and tipped his head back to look at his papa.

“Flint is two and Brenna seven, and that’s a big space, as big as the gap between Gobber and yerself. Ye are bigger than Flint and know what ‘tis to be a wee boy. Ye can help him in a way Brenna canna, for she is a girl and older. She will have trouble thinking of him as anything but a baby brother. Ye know he is younger, but not wee forever. ‘Tis true?”

“Aye, ‘tis true.” He was big enough to want to use Stoick’s things, for certain.

“Do ye remember learning to swim? I put you in a loop of rope and wrapped a loop for me. Ye could swim with me because it held us together. Brenna is huge to Flint, too grown for him to understand without help. But ye are big enough to explain Brenna to him so he can know his sister better. Brenna doesna have any notion of how to treat Flint without ye showing her he is tiny for only a bit. Ye are a rope that connects them.”

Stoick chewed on Papa’s words. If he wasna there, they would love each other because they were brother and sister, but not as friends. ‘Twas possible to be friends with five years between, but not easy. They couldna do it until Flint was older, and Brenna would be deep in women’s work. Flint would be someone to look after and Brenna a little Mama to him.

They needed Stoick between or they wouldna have the closeness, only the same parents and home.

“If I wasna there, could ye and Mama fix it?”

“No, lad, it takes an in between child. We are grown and could only force them. Ye can make them want to be together. Ye taught yer brother what flowers Brenna likes, so he could bring her some.”

“He wanted to give her rocks, Papa.”

“Aye, he didna know a better gift. When he came with them, the Harebells charmed Brenna and her smile pleased Flint, and they loved each other better. Ye are the only one who can bring them together like that, Stoick.”

“Alright, but Brenna is still doing bigger things.” That hadna changed, even with him being a rope.

“When Brenna’s birthday came, she couldna stop being excited over her kitchen book. Brenna’s book is special, because Mama and Ragna made it together. It has all the things from Mama’s first book and from Ragna’s, too. Things from two women meant her book was better than ones held by other girls.” Papa gave a gigantic sigh and shook his head. “She didna know it made her work harder.

“Ye know Mama is from Meathead, and their kitchen books are different than Hooligan books like Ragna owns. Brenna will learn much about preparing boar and fish and using mustard and dill from Ragna’s part of the book. She will learn more about beef and sauces and garlic from Mama’s writing. Mama, being from a Chief’s family, knows how to cook fancy foods, but Ragna knows how to feed many at once.” Stoick scooted closer. Hearing stories about his sister was a rare thing. “Imagine being an apprentice for two different masters. Yer sister has twice as much to learn, and will need to practice all of it. Every day she has to work, even washday for she has to scrub clothes alongside Mama.”

“Women’s work is hard, as hard as weapons work, but no one cheers a loaf of bread as they would a solid axe throw. Brenna is learning this. ‘Tis a hard lesson and a lonely one for the only girl in our house. I think,” he paused, “Brenna needs the company of her brother more than before.”

“But she has Mama and Ragna more. I dinna see why she needs me, Papa.”

“They give her orders and instruction, but ye dinna do that. Ye can be with her and not expect her to learn another task. Ye can talk with Brenna and listen to her grumbles and cheer her when she is burdened because ye are her brother and her friend.”

“I thought she wouldna care about me now she is seven. She is my best friend, Papa, and I dinna want to lose her. ‘Tis true?” He had to hear it, but Papa wouldna lie. Stoick eyes brightened.

“Brenna has known and cherished ye for a long time. She is yer friend forever, and more important to her than needle and thread, even if she doesna say so. Ye were fretting?” Stoick nodded. Are ye better now?”

“Much better, Papa. My heart can smile again. Thank ye.”

“Ye are welcome. Now hop down,” Papa said, “so we can talk about your wrongdoing.”

Oh. Stoick has forgotten about that.

“Since ye want to carry heavy things, I will let ye practice. The next four days, ye will carry yer building stones down the slope, walk a circle around the bottom, and come up again. Ye will do this six times in the morning, six in the afternoon, and twice late in the day.”

Some of those stones were as big as both his fists, and tricky to hold. He couldna carry more than two, and they weighed him down. Stoick must tell him or be in mire trouble.

“I canna carry many at once, Papa.”

“Ye shall have a bucket to fill and carry. Every rock ye take comes back; leaving some behind isna allowed. If they drop or spill, pick them up and keep going. Ye desired to be stronger, and this will help ye build muscle.” Papa looked at him and gave him a smile. “Dinna look so downcast, lad. I’m giving ye something full and heavy to carry, just as ye wanted before.”

He didna know Papa was sneaky. Stoick would watch out for that in the future.

“Aye, Papa. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow morning. I willna force ye to bed down early tonight, but ‘tis a good idea, and ye need more good ideas in yer day.” Papa’s gentle tease heartened Stoick. Brenna was still his friend and didna turn away from him.