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

by Vikki Kestell

  “Yes! Thank you.”

  Kari sobered and made sure the woman understood her. “I wasn’t kidding a moment ago, Bettina. I value you. I need you. I hope my offer reflects my esteem.”

  Bettina flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Miss Michaels.”

  —

  WITH THE NEWS NOW PUBLIC, Kari pushed ahead with her agenda. She and Scarlett interviewed for a human resources manager, and selected a sweet but no-nonsense woman by the name of Laurel Nance. Scarlett made room in her office for a desk for Laurel, and they set her to work establishing employee guidelines and obtaining health insurance bids. Each day they found more tasks to add to Laurel’s list and more reasons to be grateful for hiring her.

  “Scarlett, do you think Oskar would be willing to suggest contractors to renovate and furnish the office suite? We should plan the layout and ask for bids. Whomever we select will have a bare two months to make the offices ready for us.”

  Oskar did more than that. He offered to help Scarlett and Kari determine the staffing numbers Kari would need and he recommended an architect to draw up the office layout. He pored over the drawings, making suggestions and corrections.

  However, when he began showing up at Brunell & Brunell daily, acting more as Kari’s partner than part-time advisor, Kari cautioned him.

  “I won’t have you overtaxing yourself on my account, Oskar,” she warned. “Melanie tells me that four hours a day is your limit—doctor’s orders. If you are here one minute more than that, I will have security escort you out.”

  Oscar turned a petulant glare on her. “Overtaxing myself, my foot! This is the most fun I’ve had in eighteen months!”

  Kari glared back. “And as long as your ‘fun’ lasts no more than four hours a day, you may remain.”

  She had to pinch her leg to quell a twitching smile.

  —

  AS SUMMER HURRIED TOWARD FALL, Kari’s schedule grew heavier, but she had never felt more satisfaction.

  Staffing was nearly complete. Kari, Scarlett, and Oskar approved the layout of the offices. They took bids from three contractors and selected one.

  Oskar—within the confines of a strict four-hour day—would approve the project plan for the construction and oversee the work when it began in October. He, Laurel Nance, and Bettina—aided by Lorene Brunell—would select the color scheme, paint, carpets, window treatments, and office furnishings. In the meantime, Kari and Scarlett kept busy with the day-to-day tasks of managing Kari’s holdings.

  —

  KARI RUBBED HER EYES. She and her team had been working steadily toward the move. It was August now, and they were all tired, but Kari was possibly more fatigued than anyone else.

  She was single-minded, utterly focused on the tasks at hand and ahead, so it was with some surprise that she found her thoughts turning toward the prairie property she owned—Rose’s homestead.

  During the few breaks she allowed herself, a picture of the little house came to mind more and more frequently.

  Why am I thinking of Rose’s house now?

  The last time she had seen it, the old house was listing precariously. Was it still standing? Could it survive the buffeting winds of another Nebraska winter?

  I must take steps to ensure that Rose’s house does not fall down—and I need to do so soon.

  The more Rose’s house intruded on her thoughts, the more she itched to return to RiverBend.

  I would like to oversee the project myself. Make sure it is done right.

  And didn’t I promise myself I would build a house there? But that will mean spending time—perhaps a week or so—not far from Søren.

  Kari was stunned to realize how far from her thoughts Søren and Max had been. For months.

  No, it’s been longer. We’ve not spoken in nearly a year.

  Kari felt a sharp pang in her heart, an aching for what might have been.

  I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

  She sighed and pressed the intercom button on her phone. “Bettina? Could you come in here, please?”

  Miss Fletcher showed up on Kari’s door a moment later. “Yes, Miss Michaels?”

  “This might sound strange, but would you please find me a reputable contractor who specializes in preserving old buildings?”

  “Certainly.”

  Miss Fletcher’s smile and instant response made Kari wince. “I’m sorry; finding a contractor won’t be the hard part. The hard part will be finding one who is licensed and located in the vicinity of RiverBend, Nebraska.”

  “Um, Nebraska. Hmm. I see.” Then she smiled again. “I’m certain I can find someone, Miss Michaels.”

  “Thank you. Oh, and I also need an architect. A local is fine. Someone who designs homes.”

  Curiosity crossed Miss Fletcher’s face, but she merely replied, “Of course, Miss Michaels,” and turned on her heel to get started on Kari’s requests.

  Kari opened her organizer and looked at the months ahead where, hopefully, her calendar was not as packed as it was for the next foreseeable weeks.

  The view was not encouraging.

  The rest of August is out of the question of course, and September will not work, either. What? October is no better? Wait—the last week of October.

  Kari wasted no time penciling out the last week of October. “There.”

  She picked up her phone and pressed the intercom to Miss Fletcher. “Bettina? Please mark me out of office October 25 through 29. And book me a flight into the airport nearest RiverBend for Sunday, October 24. And a rental car, please.”

  Oskar and Lorene will handle any problems with the office renovations.

  Scarlett and Laurel can manage the day-to-day without me for a week.

  Because I need to see Rose’s house again.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 22

  KARI SHIVERED AS A FRESH SHAFT OF WIND BUFFETED HER. She drew her jacket closer and pulled the hood over her head, tucking wayward strands of hair inside.

  Even the little creek down the incline from where she stood could have been shivering, as cold as the morning had dawned. The creek’s clear water rushed by, gamboling over rocks on its way south toward the river. The banks of the creek were rimed by frosty spray; fronds and weeds alike sparkled with ice crystals.

  On the opposite bank, where Kari had spent many summer mornings looking from Søren’s side toward Rose’s house, the poppies were gone, killed by fall’s first freeze.

  Kari shrugged. The poppies probably died weeks ago, she rationalized, but the creek bank’s forlorn appearance saddened her.

  How can that summer have been more than two years ago?

  She placed a hand to her eyes against the morning light and searched farther east, beyond the creek, up the long pasture, toward the imposing barn and comfortable old farmhouse.

  Søren’s pastures. Søren’s barn. Søren’s home.

  This was the second day her contractors had been on site, and she’d seen no signs of him. No sign of Max or Ilsa.

  Surely, he’s noticed all the activity by now? Won’t he come to investigate?

  Behind Kari, the whine of heavy machinery intruded upon her reverie. Yesterday, a backhoe-mounted jackhammer had broken up the cement slab that had been the foundation of the previous house. Now an excavator, its long, jointed arm ending in a massive claw, picked up broken chunks of concrete and piled them into a dump truck.

  The air rang with the crashing sound of a load being dumped into the bed of the waiting truck. Yards away, Kari’s contractor and the construction foreman had their heads together in close conversation.

  At Oskar’s recommendation, Kari’s architect had drawn up plans for a four-bedroom, two-bath ranch house. “No sense going smaller than that, Kari, even if you think you have no need. People never regret having too much space, but they sure bemoan not having enough.”

  Kari glanced from the heavy machinery toward the aging homestead house. Before the crew began work on the new house, she had insisted that they ensure the old ho
use would not fall into further disrepair, that it would remain standing as a testament to Rose’s life.

  The contractor, at Kari’s request, had assigned half the crew yesterday to shoring up the back corners of the house, undergirding its floors, patching the roof, replacing broken or missing window glass. It hadn’t taken more than the one day. To their surprise, the porch that spanned the front of the old place and wrapped around one side—the porch Rose’s husband Jan Thoresen had built with his own hands—needed little work.

  In fact, the porch had been sturdy enough to keep the front of the house square, had likely been what kept the house standing through the years. It was sturdy enough for Kari to stand upon and stare through the windows into the old house.

  Kari had, a few times yesterday, climbed the porch steps and gazed with longing into the four simple rooms. Kari felt Rose’s nearness as she studied the house’s interior. The old structure, impossibly tiny by today’s standards, had been ample enough to house a loving marriage and a small family for more than twenty-five years. More than large enough to birth the legacy that had touched and changed Kari forever.

  The house would never be lived in again, but Kari had asked the workmen to build a fence around the house . . . to set it apart. To mark its significance.

  Kari looked back across the creek toward Søren and Ilsa’s fields and barn and house. Although her life in New Orleans was full and satisfying, she felt a strong, urgent desire for more.

  For love.

  For a family of her own.

  Kari’s thoughts turned toward Albuquerque and the new Palmer House Ruth was overseeing for women escaping domestic abuse.

  When it became clear that I wasn’t the leader you had in mind for this ministry, you spoke to me. You said you had “something else” for me. Is my business all you have for me, Lord?

  A future of only work didn’t feel like the “something else” that the Lord had spoken to her.

  O Lord! I have followed what I believed to be your guidance, and you have blessed and blessed me. When I’m in New Orleans, I am content. It is only when I’m here that I begin to wish for more.

  Perhaps spending time here isn’t as good for me as I thought it was?

  A truck Kari instantly recognized crested the bluff to her far right and headed down the slope toward the bridge over the creek. Even on a frosty morning the truck left a trail of dust in its wake.

  Søren was driving the truck. Kari knew it, and her heart’s rhythm picked up.

  She watched as the truck trundled over the bridge and onto the road that bordered his farm.

  And then it screeched to a stop. Sat unmoving for several deafening beats of Kari’s heart.

  With a grinding of gears, the truck reversed. Backed in a wide swath. Headed back toward the bridge. Picked up speed.

  He’s coming.

  Her insides turned to gelatin.

  When the truck drove onto Kari’s land, one of the contractors waved it down and gestured to a parking spot away from the machinery. Kari did not move from the creek bank.

  She saw the truck stop where directed—and then Max burst from the passenger seat and sped toward her. And Søren. Søren followed, his eyes fixed on Kari.

  “Kari! Kari!” Max plowed into her and hugged her. Hard. Then burst into tears.

  “Dear Max! Please don’t cry!”

  “But I’m s-so g-glad to s-see you,” he blubbered. “And we didn’t know you were coming! Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I-I . . .” How could Kari explain to him without involving his young heart in the kind of pain and difficulties even adults found difficult to navigate?

  And yet when Søren’s long strides reached her, he opened wide his arms and Kari went to them. He enfolded her in a fierce embrace that assured her that nothing had changed—that after two years his feelings were unaltered.

  Kari burrowed into the warmth inside his unbuttoned jacket. “Søren! I thought you’d never come.”

  As though cued by the same maestro, Kari lifted her face and Søren bent to place a kiss upon her lips. The intensity of that kiss, as long as it lasted, was not long enough, and it was all Kari could bear when it ended.

  Søren pulled back a fraction. Far enough to see Kari’s face. “We’ve been gone since before dawn yesterday. Took Ilsa to the airport to go visit friends. We stayed overnight with a cousin. We didn’t know you were here.”

  Max jammed himself into a crack between them. “Yeah, we didn’t know you were here, Kari!”

  Kari stroked his head. “I arrived Sunday evening and met the contractor at eight yesterday morning. I must have just missed you.”

  “Not as much as we’ve missed you!”

  Kari sniggered at the double meaning. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Søren, still holding her against the chill wind, murmured, “What are you doing here, Kari?”

  Max broke away and stared at the excavator and then the new fence around Rose’s house. “Yeah. And what’re you doing to that old house?” Max pointed.

  Kari shrugged and Søren let her go. “I had the contractors shore up the back so it wouldn’t fall down. Fix the roof.” She slanted her eyes at Søren. “I couldn’t bear the thought of it blowing down this winter.”

  He nodded. “It looks good. Chuck Haroldson is your contractor?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a reliable man. What about the other? Where they’re tearing up concrete?”

  Kari hesitated. “Remember I told you I wanted to build a house on Rose’s land?”

  Søren nodded again. “I remember.”

  He looked sad, suddenly, but asked, “So where are you staying?”

  “Um, a hotel. Down the road.”

  “The closest hotel ‘down the road’ is thirty miles. That one?”

  “Uh. Yes.”

  Kari turned her attention to Max. “You’ve grown so tall, Max!”

  And not only in height. Kari saw that Max, at going on eleven years of age, was beginning to think his own thoughts, form his own opinions.

  He proved her observations right when he stuck out his chin, eyes flashing. “Why would you stay at a crummy hotel when you could stay with us?”

  “Well, Max, I—”

  Max frowned at Kari, his gloved hands clenching and unclenching. “Guess Papa’s right.” Max’s breath came in little ragged gasps and tears clogged his throat. “Guess he’s right. You don’t want us anymore.”

  Kari tried again. She reached for him. “Max, I need to explain—”

  But Max tore himself away and ran down the creek bank toward the bridge. When he started clomping across, Kari could see his chest heaving and his hands swiping at his eyes.

  She turned back to Søren—and saw the same pain reflected on his face. Still, she was astonished. And angered.

  “You told Max I didn’t want him?”

  “No, Kari, of course not! But it was hard to know what to tell him. So I said you had other things in life you needed and wanted to do rather than live here on the farm with us. I had no idea how he’d interpreted—.”

  “But that’s not completely true! I offered a solution and you—”

  “Let’s not fight, Kari. Please? You’re here and I’m so, so glad. It’s too cold out here—will you come down to the house with me? Ilsa left a baked ham in the fridge. I’ll make us some grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. Something warm to take the chill off. And we’ll talk. Max will calm down.”

  Kari eyed the toes of her boots. “All right. I don’t want to leave at the end of the week with him thinking that I rejected him.”

  Søren tipped his head toward his truck. “Let me drive you?”

  —

  KARI ENTERED THE FARMHOUSE KITCHEN, and even though she knew Ilsa was away, she nevertheless expected to see Søren’s sister at the stove, her thick, reddish-blonde braid shimmering down to her waist.

  Instead, the house was dark and not much warmer than the out of doors.

  Kari shivered. “
Where’s Max?”

  “I’m sure he’s in his room.” Søren looked around. “Um, leave your coat on. I’ll get a fire started and then some coffee.”

  “I can make the coffee.”

  A while later, hot mugs in their hands, Søren and Kari huddled in front of the wood stove. Its roaring fire was only beginning to radiate heat into the living room, so Kari wrapped her hands around her mug and sipped gratefully from it.

  “Kari, what are we going to do?” Søren asked softly.

  She stared at the mug. “I don’t know. Somehow . . . somehow it feels like the right time for us should be getting closer, but then the circumstances change and appear even more difficult than before.”

  “I want honesty between us, Kari. I stopped calling you because I felt it best at the time. Yet the moment I saw you standing on the creek bank, I was ready to jump out of that truck and wade across the icy water to reach you faster.”

  One of Kari’s hands left her mug and found a place in his palm. He gathered her fingers into the warmth of his hand and pressed them to his chest.

  “This is my heart, Kari. Beating twice as fast because you are here. Do you feel it? Tell me what we are to do, please?”

  Kari said nothing, but her thoughts were racing. “I-I will be here until Saturday. It’s Tuesday now. Can we agree to talk everything out again?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’d like to. Please forgive me in advance for my frustration. I’m sure you remember how badly it behaves—” he let a wry snicker slip between his words “—and I’m pretty sure you will see it in action again before you leave.”

  A little sigh escaped from Kari. “But I think you are . . . softer, Cousin. Less adamant? Am I right?”

  He drew her fingers to his mouth and breathed warm air on them. “It’s been a long, difficult year. I must have reevaluated my life and expectations at least six or seven times.”

  He pressed her palm against his face and Kari closed her eyes as she felt the stubble of his whiskers prick her.

  O Lord, how I love this man! What are we to do?

  —

  WHILE SØREN WENT UPSTAIRS TO SPEAK TO MAX, Kari made the sandwiches and heated some soup. By the time she called to them, the living room was warm enough for them to shed their coats. They ate off TV trays near the wood stove. Max was quiet as they dipped the grilled sandwiches in mugs of hot, creamy tomato soup.