Dandelions on the Wind (10 page)

At the tree-lined road, Emilie turned toward Main Street, setting her gait at just below a run. Her PaPa had plans to place a big order this week. Lest she find herself storing an overabundance of tools and gadgets in her bedroom, she’d best have a say on the list. She wished to join the quilting circle tomorrow. That left the remainder of her afternoon and evening to review his order, tend to the record books, fix dinner, and look over the Course of Study to decide if she wanted to earn the Mistress of English Literature or the Mistress of Arts Degree. Since this was all her PaPa’s idea, she had a mind to ask him which degree he preferred.

On days like today, she envied Maren Jensen’s life on Mrs. Brantenberg’s farm. Wide open spaces and the song of God’s animals.

At the corner, she stopped and blew out a long breath—another act unbefitting a lady—then stepped onto the cobblestone walkway in front of the Old Capitol Building. She glanced in at the display windows on either side of the door into Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery before entering. Hardware items for men on one side and household items for women on the other. Deciding she would wait for the new freight to arrive before refreshing the displays, she shifted her reticule up her arm and pushed the door open.

“Meine tochter.”
Her father stood beside the checkerboard at the center of the store. Two local men bent over the crock that held the game board. He waved her over.

She drew in a deep breath and joined the men as if she had nothing better to do. The Rengler brothers were fierce competitors and didn’t look up immediately. “Gentlemen.”

“Miss Emilie.” Owen, dressed like a dapper businessman, doffed his bowler while Oliver greeted her with a nod, bobbing his bearded chin, no hat or jacket in sight. The brothers owned one of the steamboats on the Missouri.

Her PaPa smiled, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose. “You’ve arrived in time to toss your answer into the circle.”

“I suppose that depends upon the question.”

Oliver chuckled. “Your father thinks it’s still mostly men that entertain dreams of goin’ all the way west.”

She sighed. “I have work to do, Oliver, and no time for tomfoolery.”

“Ah, Miss Emilie, this ain’t tomfoolery. Folks are really gonna do it.” He sat back on the stool, resting his hand on a knee. “Come on … you never think about goin’ west?”

If it meant getting out of going to college or looking over the store record books or answering silly questions, then maybe she should consider it. But right now, if she had to think about moving too, she might crumple under the weight of it all.

Some folks called Oliver
touched
, but mostly he was just sweet and kind. The least she could do was answer his question.

“I never have thought about it.” But that didn’t mean it was a bad idea. Perhaps if PaPa changed the plans for his future, hers could change too. “Are you fellows thinking about leaving Saint Charles to chase after gold?”

“There’s lots more reasons to go to California than that.” Oliver pinched his wiry beard. “Ranching. Farming. Me and Owen heard there’s fertile land that stretches past the horizon. And plenty of water. Shopkeepers are needed there too. Especially with all those people that made money in the goldfields.”

Probably most accurate to say that more money was made selling gold pans than using them. Emilie looked at her father. “Are you thinking about chasing that rainbow?”

PaPa swatted the air, then cupped her elbow. “Enough with all our silly talk. I have something important to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” She walked with him to the glass display cases, hoping whatever the topic, it was good news.

He scrubbed his cheek. “Miss Maren was in the store today and asked if we might have work for her here.”

Emilie’s heart raced with the possibility. “Here at the store? That’s wonderful news!”

PaPa pushed his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. “With Elsa’s son-in-law back to help with the workload, Maren is ready to start earning money for her passage back to Denmark.”

“No. I don’t want her to go.”

“Plans can change, my dear.”

“You think she’ll decide not to leave after all?”

PaPa shrugged, the coy smile on his face saying he knew more than he was willing to tell her. “I’m just saying there’s a lot to keep her here.”

Emilie nodded. When it came time to actually leave town, Maren would be hard-pressed to say good-bye to little Gabi. Everyone could see she’d grown fond of the little one.

“Of course, you told her yes. When does she start?” Emilie brushed a line of dust from the display glass.

“Next Monday. But I don’t want you to think you’ll be out of a job.” A twinkle in his blue eyes, he gave her a wink.

She awarded him with a giggle. “Harvest season is upon us, which leads to buying season for those who sell their crops. If I’m accepted at the college—”

“When.”

“Very well.
When
I’m accepted and I begin my classes, I will be too busy to both clerk and keep the books. Maren will be perfect for the job as clerk!” Emilie clasped her hands at her chest. “But she can’t drive back and forth from the farm. Where will she live?”

“We can tidy the basement for her.”

“A wonderful idea.” Emilie felt the weight on her shoulders lighten. Now if she could only empty her mind of thoughts about moving to the Wild West. Could PaPa be thinking about it?

***

The afternoon ride back to the farm was quiet. Gabi lay sleeping, her head cradled on Maren’s lap and her shoulder tucked at Maren’s side. The child had fallen asleep before they’d even crossed Blanchette Creek.

As Maren contemplated telling Gabi of her plans to move out of the room they shared and live in town, tears pooled her eyes. It wasn’t a mere fondness or even a big sister’s love she felt for Gabi. Something much deeper welled inside her, and she wiped a tear from her cheek. It was a maternal love causing her heart to ache so. She could never replace Gabi’s mother or love her as Gretchen would have, but before Rutherford had come home, she’d allowed herself to slip into the role of the child’s mother. Saying prayers with her each night. Tucking her in. Darning her socks. Mending her dressing gowns. Teaching her to play the recorder.

Maren wiped her wet face. Perhaps she was foolish to think she could actually leave the farm … these people.

Mrs. Brantenberg twisted in the wagon seat. “Is everything all right, dear?”

She must have sniffled and not realized it. Her first attempt at a response came out silent, so she cleared her throat. “Yes ma’am.” Everything but her heart. The way it ached, she thought it would break before she could tell Mrs. Brantenberg of her plans. And right now her resolve to leave the farm, let alone Saint Charles, had shrunk to the size of a proverbial mustard seed.

***

Straightaway after supper, Rutherford excused himself to the barn. Maren had tucked Gabi into bed and helped Mrs. Brantenberg clean the kitchen. Now, her dear host sat quietly on the cane rocker with her German Family Bible on her lap, apparently in prayer, while Maren positioned herself on the settee, her mind held captive by her secret. The oil lamp filled the room with a soft glow while they sat in quiet for what seemed hours.

Mrs. Brantenberg cleared her throat, drawing Maren’s attention to the woman, whose gaze was fixed directly on her.

“Are you ready to tell me what went on today? You and Rutherford have been uncommonly quiet. What is it?”

Maren moistened her lips. “I made a decision your son-in-law doesn’t like.”

“And me, will I agree with your decision?”

“I have given it much thought.”

Mrs. Brantenberg stacked her hands on the open Bible. “You’re leaving the farm, aren’t you?” She worried the seam on her skirt. “Yes. I have found a job in town.”

“In the store with Johann and Emilie?”

Maren nodded. “Yes ma’am. I start work there next Monday.” She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done for me.” Her voice quivered. “I do. And I will miss—”

“But if you are to return to your family in Denmark, you need a job that pays.”

Tears stung the backs of Maren’s eyes. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The woman had done more for her than just give her a bed and food. She had welcomed her into her home and her heart.

“I don’t want to leave, but I didn’t expect to be apart from them all these years.”

“I know. And I trust your judgment, dear.”

Maren was nowhere near having that much faith in her own reasoning. Time would tell. It would take her at least a year to earn enough for passage home.

Thirteen

A
fter very little sleep, Rutherford forced himself up from his bedding. Maren would soon move into town. Gone, but for an occasional visit when he went into town for supplies or she came to the farm for the quilting circle. Until faced with her leaving the farm, he hadn’t realized how much he depended on seeing her every morning when she’d come in to milk the cow, and at every meal. Sitting across the supper table from her after a long day of mending fences and slopping whitewash felt like an extra helping of dessert.

He moved along the edge of the loft, dropping feed into the swinging mangers. He’d handled Maren’s proclamation of her departure from the farm poorly. He understood loss and needing the comfort of family. It’s just that he had assumed … too much. He grabbed his kepi from atop the empty apple vinegar barrel at his bedside and climbed down the ladder.

He’d never been a man of many words, and now whenever he found himself on the edge of emotions, he would have to stop talking for fear of breaking down. It seemed easier to walk away than try to express his true feelings. But he’d been married to Gretchen long enough to know that he liked having someone at his side, all times of the day and night. He’d already spent enough time with Maren now to know that he didn’t want to let her go.

At the barn door, he grabbed the egg basket off a peg and headed for the chicken coop. He adjusted his cap to shade his eyes from the rising sun and glanced toward the house. The quilting circle would soon be here, and Maren was no doubt busy with preparations. If they had any time to talk, it wouldn’t be much. So he’d better figure out what he wanted to say to her. Better yet, how he would force the words in his heart out into the open.

***

Maren stepped off the back porch and strolled the path toward the barn. She and Rutherford needed to talk before the quilting circle began arriving. She was determined to resolve the tension between them. It wasn’t about her abandoning Gabi. Or Mrs. Brantenberg. It was about not being able to keep her promise to
Moder
, Erik, and Brigitte, and if she couldn’t bring them to America, she had to go home.

“Maren.”

Following the familiar baritone voice, she turned toward the chicken coop and blinked to focus her vision. Rutherford pushed open the slat door and stepped out of the coop, egg basket in hand.

She brushed the cape covering her arm. “It is a bit cool this morning, but it feels like we may have a temperate day for the quilting circle.”

“Yes.” He raised the basket. “The hens have given us fifteen eggs this morning.”

“Good.” She reached for the basket and he held on to it, momentarily suspending it between them.

She would sorely miss seeing this man every day. She set the egg basket on the new fencepost and met his gaze.

He rested his hand on her arm. Despite the barrier her cape and dress sleeve created, his touch sent a shiver up her spine.

“At the store … when I said you were back working on the farm, that Mrs. Brantenberg didn’t need my help, you said my leaving wasn’t about that.”

He nodded, his brow creased.

“What did you mean?”

“I want to court you.”

She glanced at his hand. “You do?”

“I do.” He removed his hand from her arm and slid his hand into his trouser pocket, leaving her arm chilled.

“How do afternoon walks, listening to steamboats as they sidle up to docks along the Missouri, sound?”

Perfect, as long as he was at her side. “But what about Denmark? I don’t plan to stay.”

“I’m willing to take it one day at a time. Are you?”

She nodded.

Bootsie’s low moan drew her attention to the barn.

“It’s not easy to admit,” he said, “but it’s probably best that you not live here on the farm.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a very distracting single woman. I’d choose spending time with you over work any hour of the day.” His wide grin weakened her knees.

“I had best return to my work before we both miss breakfast.”

“I’ll see you at the table then.”

She sighed and took a first step toward the barn. She’d miss their daily talks, but the prospect of courtship quickened her steps.

***

The sun had begun to wane before Maren and Rutherford returned from a walk in the apple orchard. Harvest was fast approaching. A crowd would gather at the farm to help with the picking, and she wanted to be a part of it. She didn’t want to miss anything here, least of all any walks with Rutherford, her talks in the kitchen with Mrs. Brantenberg, and Gabi’s joy during their Sunday music time.

Rutherford slowed his pace. “Do you want me to stay with you when you tell her?” His voice echoed the emotion welling inside her.

“Yes. I want Gabi to focus on what she’s gained—her PaPa.”

As Rutherford guided her up the porch steps, his firm hand cupping her elbow, she prayed for the right words. She had shared the news of a job at the grocery with Mrs. Brantenberg. Rutherford had agreed to move her into the basement at Heinrich’s store on Saturday. Now it was time she told Gabi of her move.

Rutherford held the front door open for her, a gesture she’d come to appreciate … and expect. The door clicked shut and Rutherford joined her, his hand resting across her upper back.

Mrs. Brantenberg and Gabi’s voices sounded from the sitting room.

“Gleich und gleich gesellt sich gern,”
Mrs. Brantenberg said in her German tongue.