Nathalie (Sweet Land of Liberty Brides 2)

by Lorena Dove

  “It’s true that was a shock. Maybe it’s easier to be deceived by those closer to you than the ones far off. With that in mind, keep your eye on this—this Isadore Maduro. You said he’s studying for the law as well. Take care he hasn’t got something up his sleeve.”

  Her parting with Sylvia had been even more emotional, as her friend’s piteous tears threatened Nathalie’s resolve to go more than anything.

  “Oh, whatever will I do without you to drink tea with of an afternoon,” Sylvia cried. “I’m sure I’ll never have a friend so dear as you.”

  Nathalie hugged her close. “I’ll write, and come back to visit, I promise,” she said. “Nothing can keep us apart—not distance nor time. You’ll always be as you are now, as dear as a sister to me.”

  With their faces and voices in her mind, Nathalie drifted off to sleep, her head leaned against the window as the miles rolled by.

  ***

  As the train pulled into the last station on the South Dakota line, Nathalie gathered her things and exited with the two or three remaining travelers to an empty platform. The porter placed her trunk and portmanteau next to her and she stood silently watching the train pull out of the station to its turnabout track.

  The flat landscape stretched for miles around with only a few buildings along the other side of the tracks. Nathalie looked for Mr. Isadore Maduro, but could find no one matching his description waiting at the station.

  A farmer approached her and took off his hat. “Miss. Luxe? Are you Nathalie Luxe, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Isadore Maduro—are you—?” The thought that this rough-looking man might be Isadore made her voice catch in her dry throat.

  The farmer threw back his head and laughed. “No reason to fear, Miss. I’m not the illustrious Isadore Maduro. Name’s Joe Blackman, and he sent me to pick you up. If you don’t mind, I’ll take your things to my wagon.”

  Joe pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the horse and wagon hitched up to a post and proceeded without ceremony to sling Nathalie’s trunk up on his shoulder and then bend down for the portmanteau.

  “Of course, yes, if you say so. Is it far to the store?”

  Joe unloaded the trunk and bag in the back and ran around the side to help Nathalie just as she was trying to figure out how to climb up into the wagon without lifting her skirts.

  “Here, ma’am, it’s easier like this,” and he reached down with his hands together to make a low step to help her reach the sideboard.

  “Oh, yes!” Nathalie said again, too shocked for words as he lifted her foot high enough for her to clamber onto the wagon seat.

  Joe quickly unhitched his horse and jumped up beside her. “The store’s a few miles away. Train tracks haven’t been completed yet to Springvale. We’re expecting ‘em to be done before winter; least that’s the schedule.”

  Nathalie sat in silence as Joe pattered on about the surrounding countryside, which seemed utterly unremarkable to her in its brown sameness.

  “Now take Isadore, for example,” Joe was saying. “If ever a man was more unsuited to a profession…. Well if you ask me, he’ll be a brilliant lawyer but why he ever decided to keep his father’s store, I’ll never know.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Nathalie asked. Besides her father, all the men she had known could greet customers, make sales, place orders and account for receipts and expenditures. “Has he no mind for numbers?”

  “You might say that,” Joe chuckled. “I think it’s just he hasn’t a mind for anything he’s not completely in love with for the last five minutes. And that includes the ladies! Well, here we are!”

  Nathalie’s heart sunk at the news that the temperament of her proposed business partner was so unsuited to business. And what could he mean about “the ladies”—surely Mr. Maduro hadn’t courted multiple women? Before she could follow the thought to a worse conclusion, Joe’s arms reached up to her and he was swinging her down to the ground.

  “Hello there, take it easy, Joe!” a voice called out from the doorway of the store. “Can’t be taking damaged goods in as a partner, now can I?”

  “I’d never harm a hair on her head,” Joe bantered. “Miss Nathalie Luxe, may I present the not-quite-honorable Isadore Maduro.”

  With a bow, Isadore strode off the porch and came forward to take Nathalie’s hand. “Let me welcome you to Springvale, Miss Luxe.”

  Please, call me Nathalie,” she said. “I’m quite anxious to see the store; may we go inside?”

  Joe laughed out loud and Isadore shot him a withering glance, saying “Certainly, right this way.” Curious at the businesslike approach of Miss Nathalie Luxe, Isadore decided his attempts at humor would have to wait until he knew her better.

  He led the way up the steps to the store, opened the door and leaned back to let Nathalie enter. For the first time, he was struck by her steady presence as she squeezed by to get inside. She had removed her hat, and the warmth of her golden hair just tickled underneath is nostrils as she passed by. Her shoulder brushed against his chest, and he had a sudden urge to lean into her and pull her closer to him. Shaking his head, he struggled to bring his mind back to the tour at hand.

  “So—this is it?” Nathalie was asking, attempting to be polite but her true feelings expressed by the awkward smile on her face as she looked around the store. The old store was quiet, dimly lighted from the late afternoon sun prying through dusty windows. Smells of dry oats, oiled leather goods, and a few unseen chamomile notions from its better days hung in the still air. The building was twice as long as it was wide, and two rows of wooden shelves stretched away from her toward the back. Aside from a few sacks on the lower shelves and some bins of hardware, the shelves were shockingly empty.

  Down the right of the store were the grocery items. Again, she could see more bare wood than items to purchase on the shelves. To her left was the long wooden counter with another set of shelves behind. As she glanced over the pitiful supply of merchandise, a smiling face caught her eye from behind the counter.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Luxe,” said Pete. He wiped his hands against his apron and came around front to stand before here.

  “Yes, this is the store in all her glory,” Isadore said. “Miss Luxe, this is Pete.”

  Nathalie was glad to shake his hand, as it stopped her from saying aloud the thoughts crowding her mind. The store was a disgrace, but with a strange hominess, like a worn out but favorite old shoe. Besides the bare shelves, what items were available were displayed so awkwardly that any self-respecting patron wouldn’t take the time to look.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Luxe,” Pete said. Seeing her shocked expression, Isadore moved forward and addressed Nathalie.

  “I can see you are very tired from your journey. Would you like to refresh yourself before we look around the store?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Nathalie, finally finding her voice. She looked up into Isadore’s face and saw him looking at her with concern. His dark eyebrows and long eyelashes framed two large, dark brown eyes. His straight nose created an even line down his face, which seemed slightly crooked due to a small scar on his left cheek. Isadore broke into a smile at her gaze and the scar became a dimple under his two-day stubble of a beard. She found herself drawing in a breath as she realized for the first time how handsome he was, then quickly averted her eyes in embarrassment.

  Nathalie nodded at Pete and followed Isadore into the back of the store and out the back door. He continued talking of his plans and goals, but she found it harder and harder to concentrate the further she walked.

  “…And then I thought, if I could just have a partner who understood business, maybe I wouldn’t have to… Nathalie?” Isadore turned to look behind just as Nathalie stumbled over her own feet and started to fall. He reached out and held her upright, looking down into her pale face with eyes half-closed.

  “Nathalie! Can you walk?”

  “I think so—yes …” But when Nathalie reached her foot fo
rward, her leg again buckled beneath her.

  Rather than let her sink to the ground, Isadore swooped her up in his arms and held her crosswise in front of him. “Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to be fresh with you. Just put your arm behind my neck and I’ll have you home in no-time flat.”

  As he scooped her up in his arms, Nathalie had no choice but to hang on to Isadore’s shoulders as he quickly strode toward the house. In one step he was up the porch steps and burst through the door.

  Mrs. Maduro looked up from her knitting at the sound. “Isadore, has she come?”

  “Yes, Mother. But I’m afraid Miss Nathalie Luxe is in no shape for proper greetings. I’ve got to get her up to her room.”

  ***

  Squeak, creek…squeak, creek…squeak, creak…

  The rhythmic sound in Nathalie’s ear eventually made its way to her consciousness, and she slowly rose from fitful dreams to a quiet wakefulness. She opened one eye to see the light of a new day streaming in through muslin curtains hung against a wood-framed window and soon recognized the sound of a rocking chair moving back and forth next to her bed.

  She stirred and pulled one hand out from under the sheets to rub her eyes. The simple movement caught the attention of Mrs. Maduro rocking in her chair.

  “Child, are you awake?” The low voice gently washed over Nathalie. It seemed to her she hadn’t been greeted by a woman’s voice in ages, but this voice sounded so much less like Mrs. Porter’s coming to bring her breakfast tray then it did like a long-ago sound locked deep in her memory. She stopped rubbing her eyes and lay still, hoping to hear the voice again.

  “Miss Nathalie, I was thinking how tired you must be. If you’re awake, I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  Nathalie had to see who spoke with such a kind voice, and so opened both her eyes and looked in its direction. She saw an older woman, sitting forward in her now-silent rocking chair, with her face cocked slightly to one side to amplify her hearing and her eyes looking off blankly into a distant corner of the room. Nathalie silently waved her hand but saw no change of expression.

  “Y-y-es, I’m awake,” she whispered, and found her throat too dry to speak. Mrs. Maduro stood and took the two steps to her bedside without hesitation. Her hand reached for a glass on the side table and lifted it in Nathalie’s direction.

  “Here, child, drink. You must be so thirsty. There was no chance for a proper introduction last night when Isadore brought you in. I’m Alva Maduro, and so happy to make your acquaintance.”

  Nathalie pulled herself up higher in bed and took the glass from Mrs. Maduro’s crooked but once-graceful fingers. Before replying, she drank it straight to the bottom, her thirst coming in full force even as the cool liquid soothed her dry lips, tongue and throat. When she finished, she finally spoke.

  “Thank you, you are so kind. I must look a dreadful sight. Please allow me to apologize; I don’t know what came over me! I’ve a stout constitution, and was not feeling unwell when I left the station…”

  “Shh, it’s all right. Traveling as you have will take the strength out of anyone. I’ve seen it before. Now Isadore, he’s one that can keep going for days, loves the train and every new place. I’m more likely to faint then continue on once I’ve reached within five miles of home.”

  Mrs. Maduro spoke with such warmth that Nathalie felt at ease. “Now about that coffee, let me see to it and I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Maduro made the five steps to the bedroom door, easily found the doorknob and in an instant was gone.

  Nathalie took the chance to get up from bed. She poured water into the bowl on the washstand and splashed it on her face to feel more fully revived. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and saw she was the same girl who left New York only six days ago. For that matter, she looked the same to herself as when she first woke up in her grandfather’s house the morning after she arrived in America, the morning after her father—

  At the knock on the door just behind her, Nathalie jumped and stepped back from the mirror.

  “Nathalie! Good morning! Mother has coffee waiting if you’d take some breakfast,” Isadore said through the door. “I came up to see if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Nathalie called and marveled as she heard his brisk footsteps walk away down the hall. From the enthusiastic sound of his voice, she had half-expected him to come bursting through the door. She looked around and saw her trunk had been placed in one corner of the room. Her dusty traveling clothes were laid over it. Suddenly the thought occurred to her—how had she gotten into her nightdress and in bed? She could only hope it was Mrs. Maduro who had helped her.

  She dressed quickly, stopped at the mirror once more to re-braid her hair and pin it up properly behind her head. With that, she took a deep breath, opened the door, and started down the softly creaking stairs.

  The rich smell of coffee greeted her and the sound of voices led her through the small house to the kitchen in back. As she crossed the threshold, Isadore jumped out of his seat and strode over to greet her.

  “Nathalie! My, you’re looking well considering how you were the last time I saw you,” Isadore said, smiling broadly.

  The thought he had maybe helped her undress brought redness to her neck and cheeks. She inadvertently brought a hand to her throat.

  “That is to say, as I carried you upstairs,” Isadore corrected himself. “Mother is the hero; she helped you to bed and sat by you since early this morning.”

  Nathalie looked at Mrs. Maduro gratefully and sat down in the chair Isadore offered. He poured her a cup of coffee and the warm liquid brought her awake with her mind full of questions.

  “Thank you for your kindness, both of you. I don’t know what came over me; well, besides the long trip, of course. We were looking around the store one minute and the next—” she paused, remembering the feeling of holding onto Isadore as he carried her into the house. She hadn’t felt so weak and yet so…protected…since she was a small child in Germany.

  “The next I was grabbing you up out of the dirt!” Isadore laughed and lines cracked around his eyes as they sparkled merrily.

  Nathalie smiled back. The store was atrocious, quite a mess actually. But Isadore Maduro was easy to be around.

  “Eat up, child. Isadore, leave her in peace to gain her strength,” Mrs. Maduro could find her way around the familiar kitchen, and Isadore was careful to replace any item exactly where she could find it. The tidiness of the kitchen was a complete contrast to the store.

  “About the store,” Nathalie began. “Could we have a proper tour of it this morning? As I wrote in my letter, I’ve quite a lot of experience at my grandfather’s store in New York. I have some ideas.”

  “That is exactly the plan,” Isadore said, standing up and finishing his coffee before setting the cup in the sink. “I have to go open up if you’d like to join me when you’re finished.”

  “I can come with you, I’d like to see your opening procedures,” Nathalie said.

  “My procedures? Well, I just unlock the front door,” Isadore laughed but stopped at the once-again surprised look on Nathalie’s face. “Of course—procedures. Yes. Well, come right along and we’ll get to it.”

  Nathalie left her breakfast half-finished and stood to follow Isadore out the door. She had to wonder how such a pleasant man had come to such a sorry state of affairs in business.

  Chapter Four | Heritage Promise

  Walking through the store aisles, Nathalie blocked out Isadore’s running, nervous patter of his imaginary store-opening procedures. She silently took note of the lack of variety, quantity and even basic necessities that would make up a decent dry goods store, even this far—especially this far—from a large town.

  “And so, on Thursdays we get the goods in from Sioux Falls, at least when Joe has a chance to go after them. Sometimes it’s Friday…”

  “Last week it was Saturday,” Pete piped up, trying to be helpful.

  “Yes, right, er, Saturday,” Isadore cor
rected. “You see, with my law training I can’t quite keep up a proper schedule, and…”

  “It’s fine,” Nathalie cut him off. “I think the best thing will be to start over from the beginning. Can I look over your books to see what types of things people bought, when you did keep a better stock of goods?”

  “Sure, well, yes, that would be a good idea,” Isadore said, feeling a bit exposed to think of this sharp-eyed young woman going through his books. She didn’t have to say how she felt about the store. A look of disgust mixed with grim determination radiated from her face.

  That face… so sweet and beautiful, so young and fresh. Isadore had never seen a woman with such smooth, soft-looking skin. Her forehead and cheeks had a pale translucence that made her face seem to glow, and even without smiling, it was a face he could gaze at for hours. And when she did smile at him, like she had at breakfast, he thought the whole world could be banging on his door and nothing could take his eyes off her smile.

  “Isadore? Did you hear what I asked?” Nathalie’s voice came through and he forced himself to stop staring.

  “Yes, the books. Pete, can you pull out the ledgers from before my father died? Those are the last months I could say we really did good business.”

  Nathalie moved behind the counter and helped Pete pull the thick books up from a lower shelf. “I’ll just take some time to look through these, if you don’t mind,” she said, looking pointedly at Isadore.

  As she bent her head over the pages, Isadore watched as Nathalie quickly become engrossed in the books. She made notes with a pencil on a separate sheet, and nodded her head in recognition as her finger slid down the columns of entries.

  Her golden hair shown in the morning light and Isadore felt a sliver of hope for the store, and more. His heart began to swell in gratefulness that such a beautiful, smart woman might be the rescue the store needed. Now he could be free to finish up his studies, and once the store was turned around, sell it to the highest bidder.