He stiffened. His supervisor told him the investors arranged for him to have a beautiful new home. Someone tapped on his shoulder. He turned to see the preacher.
“Mr. Penwell?” Reverend Mathews extended a brown paper-wrapped package. “Someone left this for you.”
“Thank you.” He accepted it.
“Have a blessed day! I’m off to join my family for stewed chicken.” The minister patted his flat stomach and grinned. “We’ll see you at the end of practice, Sonja.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mathews followed them from the building. The preacher didn’t stop to lock it, either, despite all the congregants being gone. With Louis’s bad experiences in this town, he imagined every door should be locked. Yet, he was being welcomed back with open arms. They descended the front steps, Louis holding Sonja’s elbow until they reached the bottom, when she turned toward him.
“Unwrap it.” Sonja tapped the parcel. “That woman in black left it on the shelf for you. I saw her.”
He pulled at the string that secured the paper. Sonja yanked the paper away, revealing Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. An envelope’s edge peeked out from a third of the way into the book. He opened the marked spot. “This is where Christmas Past begins.”
Sonja took the heavy ecru envelope attached to the gift and opened it. She certainly was acting proprietary—like a wife. He couldn’t help grinning, but wondered what the note said. “I believe that is mine, madam.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Miss—not madam.”
Not for long. Louis unfolded the note but leaned in toward her as they read.
Christmas past wasn’t so horrible—if you only look for the love there. You found it in this place. Let God bring healing.
Memories of laughter and hugs chased each other in quick succession.
Chills raced up his arms and something wet his cheeks. He brushed away the unbidden tears, and turned from Sonja who still gazed with rapt attention at the letter. “Louis, who was that woman?”
“I don’t know.” She’d been there at the back of the small group for his father’s funeral but had slipped away. There at his high school graduation, too. It wasn’t until the college graduation that he truly took note.
As they walked, Louis tucked his arm through hers. Would the handsome man be so solicitous when he realized that after his intended, her friend, had died, she’d offered herself as a substitute?
“Here we are.” He stopped in front of the restaurant, which covered the first story of the clapboard building that comprised the inn.
As he opened the door, the chilly breeze accompanied them into the well-heated establishment. Wide pine planked flooring was marked by wet boot imprints. Most of the inglenook booths were filled—except the one Sonja’s family normally occupied.
Miss Mitchell, the proprietor’s youngest daughter, smiled up at Louis, her eyes wide. Although only sixteen, many girls in these parts were already married. “Should I seat you in your parents’ booth, Miss Hoeke?”
Sonja cringed. Hearing little Debbie Mitchell call her “Miss Hoeke” only served to emphasize their age differences; Sonja’s advanced status as an old maid. “Yes, thank you.”
Louis bent and whispered something to Miss Mitchell. He handed her the package and the girl tucked it under her arm. “I’ll set it behind the counter, Mr. Penwell.”
After they were seated and a menu card offered, Sonja pointed out her favorite of the four selections. “Their venison steak is the best.”
He laughed. “I had plenty of wild game meat while out west. I believe it’s the chicken and dumplings for me. And plenty of biscuits.”
Mrs. Mitchell slid a basket of cornbread and biscuits in front of them. “Believe I heard you beg for our dumplings, sir, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You won’t regret it. And Sonja, I’ll have your venison out, too.”
She shrugged. “Let’s make it the chicken and dumplings for me, too.”
With eyebrows raised, their waitress turned and headed to the back to the kitchen.
Sonja lifted a cornbread square and placed it on her plate. “I usually have biscuits but I’m going to have the cornbread today.”
Louis slathered butter, from a blue crock, onto his biscuit. “Seems you’re trying a number of new things.”
“Indeed.”
“But I’d rather you’d not commit to the one.”
She stiffened. Had he received her letter? Had he guessed? Had this man attended service and now invited her to lunch to tell her that while he appreciated her offer, he’d not accept it?
Sonja set the baked good onto her plate. Deborah approached with the coffee pot and poured for them, pushing the creamer in Sonja’s direction. She smiled at her, grateful the young woman had known she needed a drink and quickly.
Perhaps he’d best not comment on her postal job. Louis didn’t want to push his luck. Or blessings as they may be. He chose to change the topic after seeing Sonja’s face blanch. Perhaps he was scaring her with his rushed courtship. Was that what this was? Courtship? With the handful of women he’d courted, all had ceased allowing him to call on them after he’d missed multiple events because of his work. And now he may lose his opportunity with Sonja because of her work. God had a sense of irony—that was for sure.
“Sonja.” Maybe he should be more formal. “Miss Hoeke…”
She raised a hand. “Please, feel free to continue calling me Sonja. After all, I was a dear friend of your intended, as you mentioned.”
His intended? How had she known? Had she read his proposal of marriage? It had arrived after Cora’s death. Perplexed, he took a bite of biscuit and chewed, but it suddenly lacked flavor. Louis set it down and took a long swig of black coffee. “Why don’t we visit Cora’s grave together tomorrow?”
He’d have contacted the sexton by then and made arrangements for the move and could share that with her.
“I have to carry my father’s route for him.”
“Perhaps after?”
She cocked her head at him. “I’ll get my chores done quickly after work, and I’ll meet you there.”
Soon their meal arrived. He surreptitiously watched as Sonja enjoyed her food. She closed her eyes and smiled, as she obviously savored her food. He grinned. This woman enjoyed life. Somehow Sonja had become more like those sisters of hers, who always seemed to be having a gay old time. Sonja relished the moment, as those young women used to do, while she’d trailed after them. He needed to enjoy life more, too. She suddenly opened her eyes and fixed him with a gaze as she ran the tip of her tongue over a bit of gravy that clung to her perfect lips. He swallowed.
“What are you thinking, Louis?”
“I…” He drew in a deep breath and patted his mouth with his napkin, then set it aside. “I was wondering how your sisters are faring.”
Blinking at him, she speared a bit of chicken and brought it to her mouth. Then she cocked her head at him as she chewed.
“I remember a beautiful girl who followed her sisters around and they treated her as though she was a stray cat.”
A spark flared in Sonja’s green eyes. She set her fork on the ironstone plate. She huffed a laugh. “Cora was more a sister to me than my own were. Each has gone off, and the only time Mother and Father hear from them is when they need something.” A few heads swiveled to look in their direction as Sonja’s voice rose.
Louis leaned in and covered her hand, tapping the tabletop with his own. “I’m sorry. You deserve better. And I’m glad our mutual friend was a blessing to you, as she was to me.”
Sonja impaled another piece of meat with her fork. “Can you believe my own sister would take my dog away after her last visit? My pet.”
“What?”
“She said her children needed Darren more than I did.” She tucked the piece of chicken into her mouth and chewed, glaring at Louis as though he had kidnapped her pooch. She swallowed and then set her utensils aside.
She laughed. “An old beau’s name. And believe me—Dar was a better companion than Darren, the man, proved to be.”
“Didn’t your parents object to your sister running off with your canine?”
“Mother is too busy trying to manage father and his diet. She believes he has diabetes as he’s intolerable if he consumes too many sweets—which he does often.”
“And your father truly means to have you leave?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She puffed out a breath. “I can’t really say.”
Louis’s list of things to accomplish just grew. He’d discover her sister’s address and retrieve the dog if it was the last thing he did that week. “Which sister did you say had your pet with her now?”
“I didn’t say.” Sonja tasted her cornbread. Much better than her own.
They both finished their meals, chatting about upcoming events in Shepherd. She’d tactfully omitted anything about the maple syrup run that year, and he was grateful. He didn’t like the reminder of how he’d lost his father. Louis paid the bill and then escorted Sonja to the church. They both shivered, as the temperature seemed to have dropped in that short time, as it sometimes did before a snowstorm.
“I do wish I had some real sheepskins we could use for the children.” Sonja glanced up at him, her face now covered by the shawl, her voice muffled. “Or shepherd’s garb. Even some striped blankets or something.”
Louis stopped walking and Sonja did, also. “I may have just the thing at my new office.”
“Truly?”
“I brought several Navajo blankets with me in case the stove was cold in there, which it was before the man delivered my wood and we got a fire going.”
“That would be marvelous. Do you mind loaning them to us?”
“They are a bit threadbare, but I don’t imagine most shepherds would have been dressed in fine clothes, do you?”
She shook her head.
“How about I’ll run over and get them?”
Her dubious look reminded him of one his last lady friend wore, right before he’d set out to his office to pick up some records. When he’d later failed to meet her at her parents’ home for dinner, their courtship ended before it had really begun.
She tugged at her gloves. “Will you take part in the play?”
“If you need me, I shall.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “The railroad office is just around the corner, and I’ll be right back in two flicks of a cow’s tail.”
“I think you mean donkey’s tail—we’ve no cows in this production, sir.” She smiled prettily, and for a dizzying moment he was tempted to kiss her right then and there.
He laughed, regained control of his impulses, then turned and strode toward his new workplace. After two blocks he was a tad winded. Needed to get back on his walking pace again. As Louis drew his key from his pocket, the wind picked up, shooting needles of prickly, cold air through him. He hastily inserted the key into the door lock. It was already unlocked. He hesitated. Who would be inside?
Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door. Kneeling before his desk, scrubbing the floor, the washerwoman paused. He exhaled, entered the building, and then closed the door behind him.
“Just finishin’ up here, sir, eh? Only be but a moment.” The woman’s drab clothes puddled around her. Her face remained turned away from him, her head wrapped in what appeared to be cotton rags or a large faded cotton scarf.
“No trouble. I’m simply here to retrieve something, and I’ll be out of your way.” Strange to have someone here on a Sunday. But Louis hadn’t read all his predecessor’s notes when he’d been in the office on Friday so he wasn’t sure of the schedule. He’d simply settled his own belongings, preparing to work on Monday morning. He was turning over a new leaf. He had to. That new beginning meant allowing time for life. A life that included Sonja.
Louis went to the closet and opened it. Light streaming through a nearby window assisted him as he sought out the blankets. He pulled out the three woven, striped blankets and ran his hand over them. He’d purchased them from a Navajo trader when he’d first moved out west, and they’d kept him warm through many winters.
The door opened and then quickly closed. Louis pulled the blankets against his chest and turned. The cleaning lady hadn’t even bidden him goodbye. He exhaled loudly. He hoped she’d not be a problem like some of his previous office servants had been.
While he was here, he’d quickly glance at his schedule for the week and at notes left for him for basic functions, such as when he’d likely see the maid again.
As he approached the desk, his eyes lit upon a paper-wrapped package—identical to the one he’d left at the restaurant. Had the strange woman from church slipped in while the washerwoman was there?
Bending over the wide oak desk, covered with a blotter, he read the writing on the brown paper wrapping. The Present.
Swiftly untying the bundle, which felt very much the same size as the Dickens’ book, he opened it to discover an identical copy. Although this one had something marking it about halfway through. Scrawled on an index card was the quote, “There’s no time like the present.” He flipped the card over. Written on the back was, “Don’t miss it.”
Sonja led the girls through their songs, still awaiting Louis’s return. How long could it take to grab some blankets? Finally, she heard the sanctuary doors open and then close. Instead of joining them, he sat on a pew near the back. He laid his new book on his lap and held several striped blankets or serapes in his arms. His eyes were wide, as though shocked. His countenance bore the same affect she’d remembered on his handsome face, as a youth, when his father had died.
When the song was over, Sonja motioned Louis forward. He carried several blankets and offered them to her. “Thank you, Mr. Penwell.”
She needed to set the tone and not have her young charges making any inferences about the relationship between herself and Mr. Penwell. But, two of the girls had already informed her that their mothers were planning on making a wedding quilt for her and Louis’s supposed upcoming wedding. She’d set them straight, but both had giggled as though they knew something Sonja didn’t know. Busybodies in this community—always trying to push people into marriage. At least her old beau, Darren, had known enough to not succumb to their pushing. Or maybe he had. Maybe they had pushed him away and right into the arms of the young woman from Lansing with whom he’d eloped. She’d never thought Darren and she would wed anyway. Her naming of her black Labrador-shepherd mix was not from spite but fun. Surely that was the reason, wasn’t it?
Louis pointed. “Where are your shepherds, Miss Hoeke?”
“I’m afraid my narrator and two shepherds are not here. Perhaps Mrs. Geisig couldn’t do without them today.” Old biddy probably wouldn’t spare the extra hay so the horses could carry them to town. “They weren’t at church, either.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Would you care to narrate, Mr. Penwell?”
“Me?”
“You offered earlier, silly, don’t you remember?”
He flexed his fingers over the book he still clutched. “No time like the present, is there?”
Chapter 6
A “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,” chorus echoed in Sonja’s mind all day as she’d worked her father’s mail route. Only one more stop remained for mail delivery on the route—the Poor Farm. Young Mrs. Welling had returned to Mackinac Island and the mail was put on hold. A twinge of sorrow worked through her. Both Cora and sweet elderly Mr. Welling had succumbed to illness. Christmas this year wouldn’t be the same. The “Merry Christmas” song ceased its repetition in her mind. If it hadn’t been for Louis Penwell, Sonja would be lonely, indeed.
Snug in the fur coat, Sonja ignored the flakes of snow that drifted down—until several fell on her nose and she sneezed. This Christmas could still be a blessed one. She felt it in her s
oul. The practice had gone beautifully with Louis’s narration of the Biblical passage of Christ’s birth. And all of her “sheep” and “shepherds” had eaten their cookies in the fellowship hall at their table rather than racing around the building with them. That counted as a great success. She credited Louis’s raised eyebrow and his warning glance for keeping her little flock in line during refreshment time. Sonja couldn’t help grinning.
As she directed the mare to turn up the rutted lane toward the Poor Farm, she spied movement from the house. Forgive me, Lord, for thinking so harshly of Mrs. Geisig—there may be a perfectly good reason why the children weren’t at church yesterday.
Dark, rectangular boxes or trunks dotted the wraparound porch of the Victorian home. What was going on? Sonja flicked the reins. As she drew closer to the large house, she more clearly discerned luggage and crates of goods. Good quality, chestnut-hued, leather suitcases and trunks covered the entire front expanse. So why would such a person be coming to the Poor Farm? Normally, Iris notified the post office of any new inmates.
The short, round, woman, dressed in a coat buttoned up to her triple chins, emerged through the front door, pulling her brown cap down over her hair and ears.
Clucking her tongue, Sonja urged the mare closer.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shock of gray hair exited the house and joined Mrs. Geisig on the porch. Beyond the house, the two gray geldings owned by the farm pulled forward the farm’s carriage. Ronald, who’d sometimes performed taxi work with his father before the poor man had passed away, drove the coupe forward, a grim line of determination on his flushed face. He gave Sonja a curt nod as he brought the vehicle to a stop.
After securing the carriage, Sonja approached the duo on the porch, clutching the mail to her chest. “Going somewhere?”
“On a very long trip, dearie!” Mrs. Geisig cackled. “I’m out of this place.”
The Substitute Bride: A Novella Page 5
