Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Saundra picked up a small wooden tray holding a full porcelain teacup and some toasted bread. “It’s a pleasure talking to you, too, Hans. Let’s have a game of chess after supper, ya?”

  “Ya!” their visitor said, his blue eyes twinkling. His gaze followed her until she disappeared down the hall; then he picked up two biscuits from the plate before him and lifted his spoon, a look of bliss on his face.

  After three bowls of stew and four biscuits, Hans stayed behind when Barry went outside. “Miss Angie, Barry won’t need me for at least two hours. May I help you with the dishes? I’m a good cook if you could use some help. Or maybe you have a floor for me to scrub?”

  Angie stared at him, shocked. She’d never heard a man offer to help with housework before. “Why, thank you, Hans,” she stammered. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Please.” Genuine pleading appeared in his eyes. “You saved my life. I want to help. Chust tell me what to do.”

  Lifting two empty bowls from the table, she paused a moment longer. Finally she said, “As a matter of fact, things have been difficult with Lane sick.” She considered. “Maybe you could do the floors in the downstairs. Not all of them today but between now and Thanksgiving.”

  “Thank you.” He stood and grabbed his own bowl and cup then set them on the counter near the washbasin. “Show me the bucket and the soap, and I’ll get started.”

  Trying not to stare at his delighted expression, Angie found the bucket, a rag, and a brush. “The crock of soap is behind the cellar door,” she told him and returned to her washbasin in the kitchen. What an unusual man.

  Angie finished the dishes and put a fat hen in the oven for supper. Thinking she would check on Lane, she hurried toward the stairs and drew up short.

  Kneeling on the second step, Hans leaned forward until his nose almost touched the back corner of the fourth step. He seemed to be pulling on something. Suddenly he stiffened, and his brush swished along the length of the step.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Angie murmured, “but I need to get by you.”

  “Oh, Miss Angie!” he said, leaning until his shoulder touched the wall. “I didn’t hear you there. Go right on up. Chust be careful. The wood is wet.”

  When Angie opened the door of the master bedroom, Saundra sat in the oak rocking chair beside Lane’s bed. As Angie eased the door wider, Saundra’s eyelids drooped then opened wide. Lane lay on the goose-down pillow with his head cocked toward his left shoulder, eyes closed, breathing softly.

  “How is he?” Angie whispered.

  Saundra shrugged. “The same. He’s too weak to talk much, and he took only a little sip of tea.”

  Angie touched her shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll sit with him for a while.”

  Saundra stood to her feet and touched her hair at the back. “Thank you, Angie. I am a little tired.” She padded out, and Angie sank into the chair.

  Watching Lane’s haggard features, Angie had an urge to sweep his black hair off his broad forehead, to rest her hand against his cheek. Please, Lord, let him get well. She repeated the sentence again and again in her mind. After awhile her eyes drifted toward the gauzy curtain that let in a feeble light.

  A deep sigh from the bed brought her to full awareness.

  “Water,” Lane muttered. “Gotta have water.”

  She picked up the glass on the bedside table and stood to help him lean forward and drink. Plucking the glass from his hand, she started to set it down but paused when he breathed, “Angie!”

  “Yes, Lane? Do you need something?”

  He reached out his thin fingers to clasp her hand, and his eyes drifted closed.

  Tears welled up. What would happen to her if he didn’t get well? What would happen to Judy?

  Please, Lord, help him get better. She couldn’t stop saying it.

  An hour later Saundra came back to sit with Lane, and Angie returned to the kitchen. The polished wood on the stairs reflected the light from a nearby window in a honeyed gleam. On the way down Angie paused to peer into the corner that had captured Hans’s interest. The corner shone—like all the other corners on the staircase. She straightened, pleased. Hans was a diligent worker. His cleaning supplies stood beside the back door, rinsed and ready for the next use.

  With a smile Angie returned to her supper preparations. Hans was going to be a blessing to have around.

  Thursday was Thanksgiving Day. Angie and Saundra planned a special menu, but as the days wore on, they wondered if they’d have anything to be thankful for.

  The holiday spirit was squelched by the smell of sickness in the house. At Angie’s prodding, Judy made half-moon pies with scraps of dough from Saundra’s schnitzel and leftover dried-apple filling. A worried frown on her young face, Judy tasted one of her creations, declared it delicious, then left most of it on the saucer. She hadn’t eaten a single full meal since her father became sick.

  For most of Tuesday Judy sat on the top step outside her father’s door, chin on hand. Her knitting lay in a tangle on her bed.

  Wednesday Lane awoke with a clear head, but he still felt as weak as a newborn. Angie cooked a rich chicken broth, and Saundra fed it to him. When Saundra brought Lane’s empty dishes to the kitchen, she sank into a chair, her delicate features drooping from fatigue, but she managed a pleased smile. “You were right. He’s very nice.”

  “Is he better?” Angie asked, instantly alert.

  Saundra nodded. “He thanked me kindly for looking after him.” She stood and carried the tray toward the dishpan. “He wants to see you.”

  “Why don’t you take a nap, Saundra?” Angie suggested. “I’ll see to Lane today. You’ll need your strength to cook the turkey tomorrow.” Angie rinsed dishpan suds from her hands and hurried up the stairs.

  When Angie stepped into his room, Lane lay on his side with his arm folded under his head, staring at the door. In silence he watched her progress toward him. His face looked worn and tired.

  Angie sank into the rocking chair. The seat suddenly seemed so close to him. “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  “What are you up to?” His voice had gained strength since she last heard it.

  “Up to?” Angie tried to look puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you keep sending Saundra here to look after me?”

  Angie answered quickly. “She wants to help, Lane.”

  “That’s mighty nice of her. But I’d rather have you.” He studied the edge of his quilt. “Of course, if you’re too busy—”

  “It’s not that. I just thought….” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t think of a good ending for the sentence.

  Lane’s features relaxed, and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being hard to live with.” He rolled over onto his back.

  She stood to lean over him. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” She adjusted the quilt, trying not to look into his eyes, afraid and not sure why. Her heart rate stepped up a notch.

  He touched her hand. “I’ve put a lot on you, Angie, these past years. I want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done, how you’ve taken Judy under your wing and all.”

  “I was glad to do it.” Wanting to pull away, yet enjoying his nearness, she drew in her lower lip. He released her hand, and she rubbed it on her skirt. “You’d best get some rest now,” she murmured.

  He nodded weakly, eyes closed. “When I wake up, I want to see Judy.”

  Angie tiptoed out and eased the door shut behind her. She crossed the hall to her room and closed the door, leaning on it. What was wrong with her? He hadn’t scolded her, so why did she feel like crying?

  Chapter 8

  On Thanksgiving Day, Lane felt strong enough to join the family at a dining-room table filled with German delicacies as well as traditional American fare. Now that the crisis had passed, a sparkling energy filled the house. This would be a Thanksgiving to remember. Saundra and Angie had done themselves proud.

  Beside the stuffed turkey sat a wid
e dish of hot potato salad sprinkled with tiny bits of bacon, a bowl of fresh noodles, and a plate holding dozens of cheese-filled pastries. Roast sweet potatoes and corn rounded out the feast with apple schnitzel and cheese strudel for dessert. The expression on Hans’s face when he saw the table would have made a perfect portrait of a man entering the pearly gates.

  While Lane ate tiny portions—his first complete meal in almost a week—Barry finished the potato salad almost single-handedly.

  Hans beamed at Saundra and repeated at thirty-second intervals, “This is the best cheese strudel I’ve ever eaten, Saundra,” sometimes in English and sometimes in German.

  Angie sat near Lane, watching him eat, ready to run for anything he might need.

  An hour later she walked with him up the stairs. He spoke little, and his hands trembled as he pulled off his shoes. Pausing to tidy the top of his wide bureau, she stayed until he dozed, tucked under the quilt.

  When she returned to the kitchen, the family had slid chairs away from the table a few inches, relaxing against the backs of their chairs and sipping coffee.

  “That was my last year in Frankfurt,” Hans was saying. He squinted toward the ceiling. “Thirty—no, thirty-five years ago.” He beamed at Judy, who was sitting beside him, staring and fascinated. “After that I went to Berlin and got a job with five hundred people under me.”

  “Wow,” Judy breathed.

  Saundra smiled, and Barry looked duly impressed.

  Hans chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling. “It was a very important position.” His glance included Angie in the conversation. “I mowed the city graveyard.”

  Barry guffawed. Saundra let out a light laugh, and Judy shared a smile with Angie.

  Judy glanced at Saundra. “What was Christmas like in Germany? Did you do anything special there that we don’t do here?”

  “Oh, yes,” Saundra said. “We always filled the Christmas tree with short white candles so it glowed like the sun.”

  “And don’t forget the Christmas pickle,” Hans added.

  Judy’s nose wrinkled. “Pickle?”

  Saundra nodded. “Every Christmas Eve my mother would hide a pickle deep in the branches of the tree. The first one to find it would get a special present.”

  “Did you ever find it?” Judy asked her.

  Saundra’s eyes twinkled. “Not every year, but sometimes I did.”

  Hans said, “My brother, Johann, was always the winner in our family. I used to get mad at him. Especially when the present was fudge or a fat piece of fruitcake.” He patted his thin stomach.

  Judy giggled.

  Hans looked at Saundra then. “Would you like to play chess after the dishes are put away, Frau Dryden?”

  Saundra’s lips curved upward. “Please call me Saundra,” she said. “We’re all friends here.” Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t play with you tonight. I promised Barry a game.”

  Hans held up a wide palm. “Don’t apologize. I’ll make a reservation for tomorrow night then, ya?”

  “Of course.” She stood and began gathering plates.

  “Don’t, Saundra,” Angie said. “Judy, Hans, and I will finish these. You need a rest. You’re a guest here, remember?”

  Saundra continued gathering plates. “I don’t want to be a guest, Angie. Please. I’ll help you.” She moved toward the washbasin. “It’s more fun that way.”

  Saundra started washing dishes while Judy and Angie finished clearing the table. Hans picked up a dish towel to dry the clean ones.

  When there was nothing more for her to do, Judy called out to Barry where he leaned his chair back against the kitchen wall, idly watching the others work. “Barry, how about playing me a game of checkers while you wait for Saundra?” Judy asked him.

  Barry brought his chair down on four legs. “You’re on.”

  Judy set off for the living room at a trot. “I get the red ones,” she called over her shoulder.

  A few minutes later Saundra’s lilting voice made Angie look at her. “You were right, Angie. Lane’s a dear. Just like his letters.”

  “Has he said anything to you?” Angie asked. She tried to act casual, but her throat tightened, and she felt a familiar flutter in her middle.

  “He hasn’t spoken directly.” Saundra smiled into the dishpan. “He calls me ‘ma’am’ at the end of every sentence.”

  “You like that?” Angie set the last plate in the cabinet.

  “It’s—quaint.” Saundra reached for a serving bowl and placed it in the dishpan.

  Her hands still moving across a glistening cup, Angie wondered about Saundra’s definition of the word. Angie knew what quaint meant, but she’d never heard anyone actually use it before. She decided to change the subject.

  “Saundra, I’m glad you’re here to help us through the holidays.” She glanced at Hans quietly wiping the table beside her. “You, too, Hans. We haven’t had a happy Christmas since Charlotte died three years ago.”

  “It’s been years for me, too,” Saundra said. “At the hotel Christmas was a working day like any other.”

  “It was the same for me,” Hans said, handing Saundra the dishcloth. “Since I came to America, I’ve always worked on a farm. Chores have to be done on the holidays the same as any other day.” His expression grew sober. “I hope I can stay long enough to enjoy Christmas with your family.”

  Angie nodded. She couldn’t stand the thought of turning Hans out into the cold again. He was so helpful and entertaining, and Judy was getting attached to him. “I’d like that, too, Hans. I’ll speak to Lane about it.”

  She set a cup on a shelf. “Let’s make this the best Christmas ever. We can gather pine boughs to decorate the house. I saved some red velvet ribbon from one of Mother’s party dresses. We can use it for the tree. We can string popcorn and cranberries, too.”

  Saundra’s eyes sparkled. “I brought twenty-five white candles with me in case you’d like to put them on your tree this year.”

  “How lovely!” Angie exclaimed. “Judy will be beside herself when she sees them.” She paused to retie her apron strings. “We’ll have hot apple cider and sing carols by the fireplace.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Hans said wistfully.

  Saundra plunged the roasting pan into sudsy water. “We must make a list soon.”

  When the last dish was put away, Saundra said, “After I beat Barry at the chessboard, we can work on that list.”

  Angie laughed. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  Hanging his dish towel neatly on the rack beside the kitchen window, Hans followed the ladies into the living room.

  “He’s got me!” Judy exclaimed when she saw them. “I’ve only got one man left, and Barry has three kings.”

  They gathered around the playing board to see Barry’s black checker men surrounding Judy’s lone red soldier. While they watched, Barry lifted the king on the far right and made a swift end to Judy’s trooper.

  “My turn,” Saundra said, lifting the box of chessmen.

  Angie drew open the top drawer on the maple secretary desk in the corner of the living room and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. “Let’s plan what we’ll bake for Christmas, Judy,” she said. “Saundra can add her favorites when she finishes playing Barry.”

  “When I finish beating Barry, you mean,” Saundra added, a gleam in her eye.

  “Set ’em up,” Barry said, a firm slant to his stubbled jaw.

  Hans perched on the hearth near the crackling fire. He held his hands toward the flames for a while then moved to a low stool nearby.

  Angie and Judy huddled together over their list.

  “Gingerbread men,” Judy said. “I’ll decorate them with currants, and we can hang some of them on the tree.” She looked at Angie. “We will have a tree this year, won’t we? A big one?”

  Angie smiled, her eyes wide, her face tilted sideways. “We’ll see what we can work out.” She glanced at her fiancé. “Barry will help us—won’t you, Barry?”


  He drew up and looked at her. “What are you getting me into now?”

  “We want a big Christmas tree,” Judy answered. “Will you help us get one?”

  Barry grinned. “What do you think?”

  Judy reached into Angie’s darning basket standing beside her chair, picked up a ball of yarn, and threw it at him. Barry ducked, laughing. The ball rolled along the floor toward the hearth.

  Suddenly Angie noticed Hans sitting close to the fireplace. He leaned forward, staring at the stones so intently that he seemed to be reading some message printed there. He leaned forward to touch a stone nearby.

  The yarn ball touched the German man’s brown work shoe and stopped. Hans reached down to pick it up and hand it to Judy. Then he returned to his stool and stared into the fire.

  Angie turned back to her list, but Judy’s chattering voice next to her sounded far away. What was Hans looking at?

  A moment later Hans moved closer to the chess table to watch Saundra’s contest with Barry, and Angie wondered if she had imagined the newcomer’s strange behavior. At seven-thirty Hans said good night and trudged out to his room.

  “Angie, the list is finished,” Judy said, after Hans left. “Let’s start making some ornaments for the tree. As big as it’s going to be, we’ll need lots of them.”

  Excited, they hurried upstairs to look in Angie’s trunk. On the way past Lane’s room, Angie paused to open the door a crack. Lane lay in the dim light of a coal-oil lamp, fast asleep.

  The trunk was a treasure chest of fabric scraps, bits of ribbon and lace, mismatched mother-of-pearl buttons, embroidery thread, scarves, and outdated clothes. Armed with fabric scraps and lace, Angie and Judy returned to the kitchen table to sort and plan. Angie lit a lamp and two candles and set them in the middle of the table. The heat of the flames lent some warmth to a cold evening.

  Saundra’s game with Barry finished, the players arrived in the kitchen laughing. “See, I told you I’d win,” Saundra told him. “Why should tonight be different from any other night?”