All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7)

by Vikki Kestell

  “Is this your house, Kari?” Max asked, his eyes wide.

  “Yes. This is it.”

  Kari directed the driver to take the bags in and leave them in the foyer. She led the way up the porch and unlocked the front door. When the driver finished bringing in the luggage, Kari stepped outside and gave him a generous tip.

  When she returned, Max was still standing in the foyer, his head all the way back, gaping at the ornate ceiling and chandelier high above him.

  I did the same thing, Kari remembered.

  Søren and Ilsa had moved into the living room, so Kari left Max and followed them. Ilsa had one hand to her mouth. Her eyes were open wide. Søren, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, stared around.

  Kari tried to see the room with fresh eyes—the large living and dining rooms and their high ceilings, the tall paned windows and expensive drapes, the polished wood floors and carpets, the furnishings including many antiques. The nine-foot Christmas tree in the corner and the other decorations only added to the elegant charm of the house.

  “I was overwhelmed the first time I saw it,” Kari whispered.

  Ilsa nodded. Søren’s glance passed right over Kari. His eyes were shuttered.

  Kari prayed, growing a little desperate, Lord, I’m going to need your help here.

  Kari grabbed Ilsa’s overnight case and started up the stairs. “Let’s take your bags upstairs, shall we?”

  Max grabbed his suitcase and followed on her heels.

  “Your Christmas decorations are exquisite,” Ilsa murmured as she and Søren trailed behind. She paused on the first landing and considered the stained glass window. With one finger she traced the glowing panes of brilliant blues, purples, and greens that formed a peacock looking over his shoulder and down upon his fully fanned plumes.

  “This is exquisite.”

  “Thank you. I think so, too.” Kari climbed higher, made the turn at the second landing, went up three more steps and walked out upon the mezzanine overlooking the foyer. Max followed closely behind her.

  He leaned over the rail and studied the parquet floor far below and the intricate coved and corniced ceiling above. “This is sure somethin’.”

  “I love the view from here, Max. The first time I saw it, I wondered if my father had stood right here, looking down like we are. It made all of this,” she gestured with her free hand, “a little easier to accept.”

  Kari walked on and stopped in front of the newly remodeled master suite. “This will be your room, Søren and Max. There’s a bathroom through there. Please make yourselves at home.”

  Max went exploring without further urging. “Wow! This is super!” He ducked into the bathroom and shot back out. “Papa! Look at this! There’s a tub and a shower! An’ I’ve never seen a bathtub like this! It’s like a little swimming pool.”

  Søren and Ilsa stepped into the bedroom, so Kari followed them. She patted the new king-sized bed. “I hope you and Max don’t mind sharing. This is actually the master suite. I recently had it remodeled. I guess I’ll eventually move in here, but I thought it would be easier for Ilsa and me to share the hall bathroom than for all of you to share it.”

  “Not that we don’t at home,” Søren muttered.

  “I think it’s wonderful, Kari,” Ilsa whispered. She put her head into the bathroom and Kari heard her muffled, “Oh, my! I officially have bathroom envy.”

  “You’ll have to thank Lorene for the décor. She managed the remodel for me. She has superb taste.”

  “It’s so fancy, Kari!” Max gushed. “Really, really cool.”

  “Yes, well . . .”

  Søren said nothing. He stood silent with his hands jammed into his pockets, so Kari tipped her head and added, “Ilsa, your room is down this way.”

  She and Ilsa went down the wide hallway, past Kari’s room on the left and another bedroom on the right. Kari gestured to the next bedroom as they came to it. “This will be your room, Ilsa. The bath is right here at the end.”

  Ilsa stepped into her room and sighed. “Oh, Kari. This . . . this is so lovely.”

  Lorene’s fingerprints were upon this room also, and Kari admired the new paint, paper, curtains, and linens and how they enhanced the beautiful old furniture.

  For the first time since her guests had arrived at the house, Kari relaxed and smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I really hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

  Ilsa placed her bag on the bed and moved to the window to look out. “Enjoy our stay? You might have trouble getting me to leave, Kari. I might play the ‘poor shirttail relative’ card—and then you’ll be hard-pressed to get rid of me!”

  Ilsa laughed and Kari relaxed a little more.

  “Cousin, you are welcome to come as often as you like and stay as long as you want!”

  “Get thee behind me,” Ilsa joked.

  They snickered in tandem.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack, then. You should find hangers in the closet and all the drawers are empty.”

  “Thank you, Kari.”

  Kari went back down the hall to the master suite. Søren was sitting on the bed listening to his son’s exuberant chatter. He glanced up when Kari stopped in the doorway.

  “Azalea is serving dinner at six. Until then, feel free to unpack and come see the rest of the house. Maybe you’d like to walk around the grounds with me?”

  “Sure, Kari. We’ll be down shortly.”

  Søren didn’t seem quite as shell shocked as he had been a few moments ago.

  Kari attempted a smile. “See you then.”

  —

  “AND THIS IS AZALEA BODEEN, my friend and housekeeper,” Kari said as she introduced her guests. “What’s on the menu for dinner tonight, Azalea?”

  “Blackened catfish, steamed crayfish, red beans and rice, and a spinach salad, Miss Kari. For dessert, I’ve whipped up a chocolate-pecan king cake.”

  “Chocolate cake with pecans? Yum!”

  Kari hugged Max around the shoulders. “Not merely a chocolate-pecan cake, but a king cake, a New Orleans’ specialty. And wait until you taste Azalea’s breakfast beignets or popovers, young man.”

  “Baynays? What are those?”

  “It’s a French word pronounced more like ‘bain-yays.’ Think of them as hot, fresh doughnuts sprinkled with powdered sugar.” Kari turned to Ilsa and Søren. “Shall we go outside?”

  With Max appropriating her hand, Kari led the way out the back door and down the steps. Ilsa called from behind her.

  “Is that the infamous garage?”

  “Yup. That’s where I found the Caddy and then discovered Rose’s journal. In the attic.”

  “Can we go up there, Kari?” Max asked. “Into the attic?”

  “Of course. But first let me show Ilsa and your dad around the yard.”

  She saw Toller striding across the lawn and waited for him to come close. “Søren, Ilsa, this is Toller Bodeen. He’s my groundskeeper.”

  “Pleasure t’ meet y’all,” Toller said. As he shook Søren’s hand, he added, “Would you like a tour? I understand you own a farm. I’d like t’ hear ’bout it. Got t’ be different than Louisiana farming.”

  Quite naturally, he and Søren began talking and, within minutes, they had moved off together, leaving Kari, Ilsa, and Max to wander the grounds. Kari was a bit relieved.

  “What I really want to show you, Max, is on the other side of the house. You see, I own a tree that is begging to be climbed.”

  —

  OVER DINNER, KARI KEPT AN EYE ON SØREN and was glad to see him start to unwind. As for Ilsa and Max, they had no difficulties falling into “vacation mode.”

  “This is the best catfish I’ve ever tasted,” Ilsa raved.

  “Yes, Azalea has pulled out all the stops. I think she has made it her mission to spoil us rotten. You’ll get to sample some very good Louisiana cooking while you’re here—right up till Christmas Eve. Why, she’s even filling the fridge and freezer with good things we can delve into after s
he leaves for her own Christmas celebrations.”

  “I can cook for us, too,” Ilsa offered.

  “I’m sure we will fend for ourselves just fine, but after Christmas, while Azalea is still on vacation, I’d like to take us out to eat a few times. I want you to savor some NOLA ambience from the French and Garden Districts.”

  Azalea brought in the king cake then and served everyone a slice.

  “This is yum!” Max proclaimed. He slid another—sizable—bite of cake and pecan filling into his mouth.

  “Fabulous,” Ilsa agreed.

  “Quite goo—” Søren’s brows bunched together and he fished something from his mouth. “What in the world is this?” It clinked as he dropped it onto his plate. It was a tiny plastic baby.

  Kari hooted and couldn’t stop. “Søren! If you could see your face!”

  Azalea came back with the coffee pot. “I see ya got the baby king,” she observed.

  “The what?” Søren was busy forking the rest of his cake, suspicious of another surprise. “I about broke a tooth on it.”

  “That’s why it’s called a king cake, Mr. Sør’n. Has a little baby Jesus inside it. We bake king cakes for Christmas and special occasions, but it’s really for Epiphany, January 6, the traditional date for celebrating the three kings’ visit t’ the stable and their bringing gifts t’ the real King.”

  “That’s so cool!” Max picked the plastic toy from Søren’s plate and wiped it off. “Baby Jesus even has a little crown!”

  “’Cause he’s th’ King, o’course.”

  After Azalea finished serving dessert, Kari insisted her housekeeper go home. “We’ll clean up, Azalea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, then, miss.”

  “Wow. Azalea’s a treasure,” Ilsa whispered as soon as the back door closed.

  “Don’t I know! And wait until you taste her coffee in the morning.”

  —

  THEY AWOKE THE NEXT FEW DAYS to the tantalizing smells of Azalea’s coffee—along with sausages, fried potatoes, fruit, juices, and pastries. Every dinner was an exploration of another facet of Southern cuisine. Their days were spent sightseeing all over the city, their evenings playing board games in front of a crackling fire.

  One afternoon, as Kari had promised, she drove them over Lake Pontchartrain. She played the tour guide as she paid their toll and they drove onto the causeway.

  “You can see the causeway is actually two bridges—one in each direction, both with two lanes of traffic.”

  The unobstructed view from the Caddy was spectacular—the causeway so long and the lake so vast, that the bridge appeared to stretch into infinity. The sun shone down from a sky filled with fluffy, swift-moving clouds. The sun-kissed, white-capped waves sparkled from far below.

  Max was in awe. Even Søren, gawking from the passenger seat, grinned his pleasure to Kari.

  “What a wonderful day!” Ilsa sighed. “And such pleasant weather you have here.”

  “Yes, but you know it’s not always this nice, right? We have tropical storms. Downpours. Floods. Hail. Hurricanes. Even tornadoes.”

  “You have tornadoes here?” Søren was surprised.

  Kari’s smile was wicked. “Oh, yes. Woe to the driver caught on this bridge when a tornado decides to dance with Lake Pontchartrain!”

  Søren glanced into the back seat and snorted a laugh. Max’s eyes were darting about as though a funnel cloud might drop down on them out of the blue. Then he followed Max’s gaze and frowned. “So where would you go if you were out here and a tornado struck?”

  The bridge had no shoulders, and he spied precious few places to pull off in case of an emergency.

  Kari arched her brows. “Where, indeed?”

  —

  ON SUNDAY, KARI’S GUESTS ACCOMPANIED HER to church. Afterwards, they joined others from the service for brunch.

  “I haven’t had this much fun in a decade,” Ilsa declared on Monday evening, “and I’ve never been pampered like this!”

  “Well, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We’ll be on our own after that until New Year’s.”

  “I’ve looked in your freezer, Kari. You won’t have to cook for a month.”

  “Are you having a good time, Søren?” Kari needed to hear from him.

  He shrugged. “Sure. It’s different, but a nice change.”

  “Well, I’m having an awesome time,” Max assured her. “This is the best vacation ever!”

  —

  THE MORNING OF CHRISTMAS EVE, Kari got up early and made the coffee. Not long after, Søren and Ilsa wandered down the back stairs and joined her at the small kitchen table built into the bay window.

  “I like this little nook,” Ilsa commented over their first cup. “It is cozy, and the view is delightful—not the awe-inspiring wide-open spaces of the prairie, but lush and green and intimate.”

  “Mmm.” Kari nodded in agreement. “I agree. To be truthful, I have come to love this house and its beauty. At first, it overwhelmed me—and I was absolutely creeped out because it had Peter Granger’s fingerprints all over it. Well, I’ve made enough changes that now it feels like it is mine.

  “Whenever some aspect of the house does remind me of him, I try to recall that my father grew up here, and I replace Granger’s image with Daddy’s. For example, I can picture him right where we are, eating his breakfast before school, milk and cookies afterwards.”

  Kari caught Søren watching her. “What is it?”

  His smile was one-sided. “You haven’t been here long. I hadn’t imagined you having real ties to New Orleans, to this house.”

  Kari met his gaze. “Yes, it has grown dear to me.”

  He kept studying her, and Kari hoped Søren understood what she meant.

  —

  BEFORE BED, KARI HELPED MAX HANG HIS STOCKING from the fireplace mantel. She pointed to the underside of the mantel. “Look, Max. There’s only one hook here. It had to have been where my father hung his stocking.”

  “That’s pretty special, Kari.” Max put his stocking’s loop over the hook and stood back to view it.

  Later they left for the Christmas Eve service. Kari loved every part of the candlelit evening: The reverence of the traditional hymns, the message, the fellowship of other believers.

  As they sang Silent Night, Max leaned into her and snuggled under her arm. Søren slid closer and slipped his arm behind Max and around Kari. The three of them joined their voices with the rest of the congregation and sang the timeless words.

  Silent night, holy night!

  Son of God, love's pure light.

  Radiant beams from Thy holy face

  With the dawn of redeeming grace,

  Jesus Lord, at Thy birth

  Jesus Lord, at Thy birth

  Kari yearned to belong to Søren and Max. Lord, she prayed, if ever I needed your guidance, it is now. I trust you. Please show me which way to go.

  —

  CHRISTMAS WAS SPENT SLOWLY SAVORING THE MORNING and playing wild, competitive board and card games in the afternoon and evening. They ate whenever and whatever they liked, praised Max’s silly jokes and riddles, and generally kept to themselves.

  I’m so glad they came, Lord, Kari rejoiced.

  The days after Christmas were much like the days after Thanksgiving. Time slowed and they made the most of those languid hours. Kari, Søren, and Max took long, wandering walks together and talked for hours, Kari and Ilsa cooked, and together they all kept the house tidy.

  —

  NEW YEAR’S DAY 1992 DAWNED BRIGHT AND CLEAR. Kari teased Max into running with her early in the morning. They returned to the house, breathless and laughing.

  Ilsa met them. “Kari? You have a phone call. It’s your attorney.”

  Kari took the call on the living room phone. “Happy New Year, Clover!”

  At his first words, she paled. “Oh, no! But is he all right?”

  Søren and Ilsa turned to watch her. She listened, asked questions, and ended the call with, �
��We will be praying, Clover.”

  When she hung up, she sat down, stunned. Søren sat beside her and took her hand.

  “What is it, Kari?”

  “It’s Oskar. He’s had a heart attack.”

  Ilsa exclaimed, “What? But he’s too young . . .”

  “He is fifty-five. Clover said that Oskar got up this morning and had been up only an hour when he began to complain of being dizzy, of pain in his jaw and shoulder.”

  Søren asked what they all wanted to know. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “They don’t know yet. He’s in the hospital and they are running tests.”

  —

  LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, Kari and Søren left Ilsa and Max at the house and drove to the hospital. They sat with Clover and Lorene, Oskar’s wife, Melanie, and Oskar and Melanie’s daughter, Suzanne, and waited for Oskar to come out of surgery.

  Hours later, the doctor came out to speak to Melanie and Suzanne.

  “Mr. Brunell came through the surgery and is in recovery.”

  Kari exhaled. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.

  “He is resting now. We did a bypass on two arteries. His recovery period from the open-heart surgery should last approximately six weeks; however, I need to tell you that his heart muscle itself has suffered some damage.

  “We will not know the extent to which he will be restricted until he has healed from the surgery but, based on the damage I observed, he may require oxygen for daily activities—and I do not include work in his daily activities. Oskar will not be able to resume the rigorous schedule I understand he is accustomed to.”

  “He won’t be able to work again?” Clover repeated. Kari could see how dazed her old friend was.

  “Certainly not for months and, after that, certainly not full time. The damage to his heart will leave him weak.”

  Lorene stared at Kari, and Kari had never seen her look as frail as she did now. She placed a fiercely protective hand upon her husband’s shoulder. “Clover cannot take on Oskar’s schedule. I will not allow him to even try.”