Nathalie (Sweet Land of Liberty Brides 2)

by Lorena Dove

  The bell above the door tinkled in greeting as the first customer of the day burst through the door. A young woman went straight to Isadore.

  “Oh, Issa! How lucky I found you here. It’s been ages since I stopped in and the last two times, why only young Pete was here to wait on me!”

  Nathalie looked up from the ledgers to see a woman of about 20 in a calico print dress reaching for Isadore’s arm as she spoke. Her eyes shone brightly as she looked up at him, expecting an enthusiastic greeting in return.

  “Why Allison, how good to see you,” Isadore said a bit stiffly. “I hope Pete gave you the very best service.” He smiled at Allison but shot a guarded glance at Nathalie.

  Allison followed his eyes and her smile reduced to a forced grin. “Why yes, he was the picture of accommodation,” she said. “Now let’s see, today I am in need of some cloth for a new dress. Mama says it’s time now that Papa’s crops have come in nicely. Do you have any fabric at all?”

  As Isadore hesitated, Pete jumped in. “Yes, Miss Allison, I can show you right over here.” He came forward and walked about halfway down an aisle with Allison in tow.

  Nathalie looked at Isadore with one eyebrow raised. She’s obviously one of his five-minute love interests, she thought dismissively. Good thing I never promised to marry him.

  “Nathalie—I—let me explain,” Isadore said to her quietly.

  “Explain what?”

  “About Allison. She acts like that toward everyone; there’s nothing between us.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. And what difference would it make to me? I’m here for business,” Nathalie said. To prove her point, she walked out from behind the counter and approached her first customer.

  Allison was fussing over the two or three bolts of cloth. “These just won’t do. How am I supposed to make a dress from these dusty remnants?”

  “I can see what you mean. I’m Nathalie Luxe, here to help with the store,” Nathalie said putting out her hand.

  Allison weakly shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure,” she said, throwing a look at Isadore.

  Nathalie ignored Allison’s obvious dislike for her. “What sort of cloth would you like? I’m going to be placing an order soon.”

  The two women began to discuss the colors and types of fabric, and Pete quietly returned to the front of the store.

  “Shhew, that was close,” Isadore said. “Thanks for jumping in, Pete. I was afraid Allison would keep on about that buggy ride we took. Best just to leave such things in private.”

  “I understand. Mum’s the word with me,” Pete said.

  The day continued with Pete and Nathalie waiting on the few customers who ventured in to the store. Isadore quickly grew bored and left to attend to other business. Within an hour, he was back with a letter in his hand and an excited look in his eyes.

  “Nathalie, you’ll never believe this! I’ve got some news from Judge Sinclair. His wife has taken ill, and he’s appointed me to take over judging in this circuit for a few weeks! Can you believe it? I’ll be a judge before I’m a lawyer!”

  A quick breath caught in her throat as Nathalie took in the news. “That’s wonderful—I think… But Isadore, what about the store? And your mother?” She didn’t want to include—and me?

  “I know, it’s sudden. I just never dreamed…. Would you be able to—would you mind?—Nathalie, this would be a huge favor to ask on such short notice. Can you take over the store and help with Mother while I’m gone? We can pay Pete to help you every day, and Mother just needs company and someone to keep fresh food in the house.”

  “I just don’t know if I’m ready, Isadore! I’m prepared to buy new inventory, and I know how to run a shop, but I’ve only just got here! I don’t know the vendors, or where to get the goods. And what if you mother gets sick or needs you? How will I be able to get in touch with you?” Nathalie’s mind raced with a thousand other questions she was too afraid to formulate.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine—you have such good experience. And Pete and Joe will help you.” Isadore rushed forward in his excitement and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Nathalie, this is a dream come true for me. To practice the law, help others—I know it’s sudden, but…”

  She looked up into his smiling face and shining eyes. The touch of his hands on her shoulders reminded her of the warm feeling she had felt in his arms, right before she had passed out. Her mind told her this was ridiculous, who could expect her to take on such responsibilities as soon as she arrived? But the warm feeling leaked out of her mouth against her mind’s wishes.

  “I’ll help you, Isadore,” she said. “I don’t know how, but—“

  “Thank you! You’re the best!” Isadore crushed her body to him and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Just as suddenly, he let her go. “I’ve got to tell Mother!” And he rushed out the back of the store.

  Nathalie stood without moving, her shoulders still warmed by his hands and her face burning red where he had kissed her.

  ***

  Nathalie returned to the cottage to find Isadore and his mother deep in conversation. He was seated close in front of her rocking chair as the older woman rocked slowly back and forth.

  “Everything will work out. I’ll only be gone a few weeks. And just think of the experience I’ll gain! I’ll finally be able to put all my studies to good use.”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity, that is true,” Mrs. Maduro allowed. “I just don’t know if young Nathalie is up to the task so soon of running the store. Me, I’ll be fine as you know. I can take care of myself.”

  “Ahem.” Nathalie stood awkwardly in the doorway.

  “Nathalie! Just in time,” Isadore said. “I’ve got to get my things ready, do you mind getting supper?”

  “I don’t mind,” Nathalie said, though I’m not sure I know how. She may have grown up with maids, butlers and cooks, but Nathalie had spent plenty of time in her grandfather’s kitchen watching Mrs. Porter get supper ready and talking to Gadsen as she poured over her schoolbooks. Although she ate in the dining room with her grandfather and his occasional guests, Nathalie had always felt at home in the more active parts of the house. It reminded her of when she was a child, helping her Oma Dwiger in her small kitchen.

  Nathalie made her way across the parlor to the kitchen. She found a small bit of dried meat and some bread, a few carrots and a turnip. She closed her eyes so she could envision Mrs. Porter’s movements at the stove, remembering how she seared the meat in a pan and then added broth and flavorings to make a sauce. But in New York, she used a gas stove that lit up with a match. Here Nathalie would need to add wood to the fire.

  Mrs. Maduro came in and sat at the table. “There’s some kindling out back,” she said. “You just have to add a stick or two to the coals, then one piece of wood for baking and two for heat cooking.”

  Nathalie nodded gratefully, then realized the older woman couldn’t see her response. “Thank you! I was a bit perplexed for a moment. I haven’t cooked on a wood stove before.”

  “I think you’re a fast learner.”

  Nathalie worked to rekindle the stove and heat the food while Mrs. Maduro quietly directed her, anticipating her needs from years of timing and repetition and her acute sense of smell and hearing.

  “Sizzling just right now, Nathalie. You might want to move it off the heat,” she said. And later, “I think you’ll need more pepper to suit Isadore’s taste, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Nathalie said, marveling that Mrs. Maduro could tell she had only given one shake of pepper into the gravy. “The food I’m used to is not very seasoned, and I’m afraid of using too much.”

  “’Tis true, you can always add more at the table,” Mrs. Maduro agreed. “Let’s have it the way you’re used to cooking. We’ll be grateful for our supper just the same.”

  Mrs. Maduro sat quietly while Nathalie finished the cooking. Then she said, “Don’t worry about Isadore leaving. I�
�ll teach you everything you need to know about running the house. I’m sorry that I’m not much use in the store.”

  “To tell you the truth, I am worried,” Nathalie said. “I just arrived and don’t know anyone.” Nathalie set the table and served the hot meal onto the plates. She was just wondering if they would eat alone, when Isadore came bounding in.

  “This smells wonderful! I could smell it all the way upstairs. Thank you, Nathalie,” he said as he clattered to his seat and began shoveling the food into his mouth.

  Nathalie sat with her hands folded and looked at Mrs. Maduro.

  “Isadore, what manners! Have you forgotten to say the blessing?”

  Isadore stopped his fork at the tip of his mouth and quickly swallowed the food he had already eaten.

  “Mother, Nathalie, excuse me. Shall we?”

  Isadore folded his hands and prayed, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, by Whose word all things came to be.”

  He opened one eye to look at Nathalie. She had her head bowed and silently moved her lips. When she was finished, she looked up and their eyes met.

  “I haven’t heard that prayer before. It’s lovely,” she said.

  “Isadore learned it as a young boy before his bar mitzvah, though he seems to have forgotten much in the rush of the times,” Mrs. Maduro said.

  “Then you’re – your family is—” Nathalie stammered.

  “Jewish? Yes, it’s a fact,” Isadore said as he recommenced wolfing down his meal. “And you are a Christian, then?”

  “Y-y-yes, I am, a Protestant.”

  “Good! Wonderful. At least your church has a history of bucking traditions. I trust you’re not offended?”

  “No, of course not!” Nathalie said, feeling her face blush. “I’ve had lots of Jewish friends, they are wonderful people.”

  “It’s all right, child,” Mrs. Maduro said. “I was raised Methodist. My parents nearly disowned me upon my marriage to Isadore’s father. Sometimes love crosses deep chasms, and I have found a lot of comfort in the traditions of the Old Testament.”

  “The Old Testament? There you go, Mother! If Father were here, he would not like you calling the Torah just an old book for your new religion.”

  He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye that Mrs. Maduro could hear in his voice. She laughed. “Yes, well son, we’ve had many a discussion on that, haven’t we? I told your father I wouldn’t give up my cross and beliefs, but I would raise you in the best of both traditions. The Lord blesses us with the ability to work and gives us the gift of faith, if only we will allow it.”

  ***

  Nathalie stepped out the back door of the cottage while she let the dishes soak in water. After only one full day in such a small home, in such a small town, her mind reeled with all she had learned already in South Dakota.

  Fabric, 10 bolts at least, she thought. And canned goods; fill the flour and sugar bins, 50 pounds of coffee… She rattled through the list she had made to order. If she was careful, the money from Opa Luxe’s store would cover the new inventory and possibly a fresh coat of paint on the bare wooden shelves.

  “Nathalie.” Isadore’s voice was so low, she almost didn’t hear it. She looked up and saw him standing there in the soft light from the kitchen lamp.

  “Are you well? I’m afraid I’ve put a bigger burden on you than I meant to.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just… thinking.”

  “Mind if I join you? We can take a turn about town, such as it is. I never had a chance to give you the tour today.”

  Nathalie nodded and the two set off in the light of the rising moon. The street was empty except for the occasional dog wandering nose down, following any scent that might lead to food.

  They walked past the front of the store, which sported a generous display window, though it was full of empty crates and a barrel or two. I’ll fix that, first thing, Nathalie thought. Isadore pointed out the houses filled with people whose names she did not know, along with the boarding house, the café and the post office, until they finally reached the unfinished train tracks.

  They stopped before turning back. “It’s a long way you’ve come, Nathalie. I hope you’re not already regretting it.”

  “No, not regret. It’s just—there’s so much work to do in the store, and I don’t know a soul—”

  “Well, you’ve got Pete, and Joe, and Mother…” Isadore began.

  Nathalie looked up at him, tears brimming in her blue eyes.

  “And me, if you’ll have me.” Isadore didn’t know what made him say it, but the feeling of inadequacy he felt around Nathalie when she was appraising the store had completely left him. In its place was a desire, a yearning, to hold and protect her from the hard work ahead, and from her fears.

  “How can I know that, Isadore?” Nathalie said. “I’ve only just arrived, and you are leaving. Did you think a woman would step into your life and take over your responsibilities and not feel a bit put out?”

  Stunned by the honest rebuke, Isadore couldn’t help noticing Nathalie’s plain-speaking ways were different than the beguiling platitudes he was used to hearing from other girls he had trifled with. Most women he had known giggled and flattered, never saying what they really felt until the moment he discovered he had done something wrong, without a clue as to what it was.

  Nathalie was different. He looked at her standing there in the moonlight, her tears already dry on her cheeks. A look not of anger but of true questioning was on her face, her eyes wide and shining, her mouth half-open as if expecting….

  He bent down and kissed her lips, just long enough to find out if she resisted. Nathalie held her mouth still, until the brief moment she felt his lips begin the slightest pressure of an earnest kiss. She turned quickly and began walking back in the direction toward town.

  “Nathalie—I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” said Isadore and in two steps caught up with her and put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  She stopped and looked first at his hand and then up at Isadore.

  “I’m not used to a man who can’t give me a straight answer, Isadore,” she said. “Please, let’s just go home.”

  They walked home in silence, and Nathalie bid Isadore good-night at the bottom of the stairs. She went to her room and after getting ready for bed, went through the belongings in her trunk. She loosened the braided cord on a small velvet bag, pried open the top, and poured her mother’s pearl necklace out into her hand.

  Nathalie got up from her knees and went to the mirror above her washstand. She fastened the pearls behind her neck and stared into her reflection, willing herself in a futile attempt to see any hint of her mother’s face. It might be the face she saw looking back at her, but if it were similar to her mother’s, it was beyond her power to recall.

  She sighed and returned the precious strand to its soft resting place and tightened the cord. She then quietly sorted out her money and stashed some of it in her purse, ready to use for purchases and renovations of the shop. The rest she returned to a hidden pocket in the trunk, a trick her grandfather had showed her on several of their buying trips throughout the Northeast.

  Anyone searching the case would find nothing but clothes. Nathalie whispered. “Let them think so; my secret is safe here.”

  She would invest in the store, but she wouldn’t spend it all. It was only prudent to save enough for a train ticket back to New York.

  Chapter Five | Peter’s Secret

  The next day, Nathalie woke to find Isadore already gone. With no time to worry about her future with him, she made breakfast for Mrs. Maduro and headed straight to the store.

  “Good morning, Miss Nathalie,” Pete said when she came in through the back.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you’d be here already.”

  “Yes ma’am. Isadore gave me the key; said it would help you out if I could be here early and stay late. Hope you don’t mind?”

  Nathalie looked at Pete. She liked his freckled face and brown hair,
although he could certainly use a haircut. He was more knowledgeable about the store than Isadore, and had an easy way with customers that was an asset to the store.

  “No Pete, I don’t mind. I’m going to work on an order for Joe; do you know when he’ll be in to pick it up?”

  Just then Joe came in. “Did I hear my name being taken in vain?” He laughed. “How’s the town treating you so far, Nathalie?”

  “I don’t exactly know,” she smiled. “About this order…”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll read it over on my way. I’m not sure I can get everything on this trip. It might take a time or two to get the store filled back up to your liking.”

  Nathalie handed him a piece of paper with the provisions she wanted to buy, and started to count out some money.

  “There is one thing,” Joe said. “I can’t get any more credit for Isadore until you pay what’s owed for the last order.”

  “Pay what’s owed? He has a debt for the goods? Oh my goodness, he didn’t say anything about that!” Nathalie realized there was a lot she didn’t know about Isadore Maduro. She reached for her purse and added money to the stack she had already planned to pay for her order.

  Joe took the money and paper and backed out of the store, preferring to spend time driving his wagon to talking over details with a woman.

  “Well, I guess that’s the best I can do,” Nathalie said when he had left. “If you don’t mind helping, let’s take the rest of the goods and move them all to the front of the store. Then we can start cleaning and painting, and move things back as we go.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Nathalie. Isadore said I should help you in any way you need.”

  Nathalie and Pete spent the next several days moving crates and bags, dusting shelves, sanding, and applying a fresh coat of white paint to one aisle and red paint to another. Nathalie hoped the brighter colors would make the cans and bags—at least when she had some—stand out on the shelves. Every morning, Pete was there when she came in, and every evening he locked up after she left.