Lonely In Longtree

by Jill Stengl

  “Are you all right, Mr. Van Huysen? I’m terribly sorry!”

  “Nothing permanently damaged—except my pride. Balance the boat, please. I’m coming aboard.” He pulled himself over the side, dumping another wave into the bottom of the boat in the process.

  “We’ve taken on water,” Papa said in vast understatement. “Better do some bailing out.” He used a tin cup as a scoop.

  “We’re starting our own onboard aquarium,” Marva observed, watching minnows dart around her feet. Even her walleye looked somewhat encouraged by the rising water level. She started scooping water over the side with her cupped hands.

  Meanwhile, Monte hauled off his boots and emptied them over the side. His socks were holey, Marva noticed. Using one of the oars, he fished his floating hat from the water and plopped it on the bench.

  He met Marva’s gaze and began to chuckle. She smiled but felt dangerously close to tears.

  He reached out one big, wet hand to squeeze her arm and gave her a wink. “Guess I needed cooling off anyway.”

  Did he intend some double meaning? He laughed again, pushing his dripping hair straight back from his forehead. Taking another cup, he helped bail, rounding up minnows and returning them to their bucket. With all of them working, the water level inside the boat eventually dropped.

  She tried not to grimace while Monte strung a line through her walleye’s gills and lowered it over the side. “I always feel so sorry for the poor fish once they’re caught.”

  “Nonsense,” Monte said. “He’ll be delicious once he’s fried.”

  At that moment, Marva’s father gave his pole a jerk and eagerly started reeling in another fish. Monte hurried to assist him, just as he had helped Marva. She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid, so susceptible, overreacting to Monte’s touch the way she had. He must find her amusing in a pathetic sort of way.

  To Marva’s relief, the men decided to end the outing early, since sitting around in soggy clothes wasn’t Monte’s idea of a good time. He rowed them back to the landing and helped Marva climb ashore before he unloaded any of the gear. “Wait,” he said, clambering up after her. “Miss Obermeier, please don’t feel bad about my. . .uh. . .swim today. It wasn’t your fault. I was hovering too close and got what I had coming.” He dropped his gaze, then grinned up at her with his chin still lowered. “I’ve never been fishing guide to a beautiful woman before. Guess I found out what not to do.”

  ❧

  Ralph came rushing to meet Monte halfway to his cabin. Tongue lolling, the dog frisked about, stopped to sniff his master’s wet trousers, and then burst back into wild frolicking. Monte watched Ralph’s antics with a fond smile. “Oh, to have such energy and enthusiasm again.”

  He was hoping to escape observance and comment by avoiding the main path, but no such luck. “Mr. Van Huysen, what happened to you?” a female voice called.

  He turned to see a cluster of women on the trail up to the lodge. Every eye was turned upon him. He recognized Marva’s mother in the mix.

  “I fell into the lake,” he said with a wave of his limp hat. “Have a nice luncheon, ladies.” Before they could question him further, he hurried off, shivering.

  “Foolishness,” he muttered while standing on the uneven floorboards in the middle of the cabin’s main room, stripping off his wet garments. “I acted like a fool kid. She probably thinks. . . No telling what she thinks. I’m too old for such foolishness.”

  Grimacing and growling, he continued to berate himself while donning fresh garments and hanging the wet ones over his clothesline hung between two pines. The daunting prospect of facing curious people in the lodge dining room prompted him to rummage through his own poorly stocked cupboards. A can of pork and beans made an unappetizing meal, but at least it stopped his stomach from growling.

  He stepped out on the porch with Ralph at his heels, leaned on the railing, and stared through intervening branches at the glittering lake. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head and closed his eyes, wanting to pray but unable to put a request into words.

  What to do? Thinking back over the morning, he could make nothing of Mr. Obermeier’s comments and reactions from the day’s adventure. Was the old man aware of Monte’s attraction to his daughter? Did he approve or disapprove? That bland German face of his revealed nothing except good humor. Monte thumped his palm on the railing.

  And Mrs. Obermeier was no easier to read. Mild and friendly, she seemed sweetly oblivious to any emotional undercurrents.

  But then, how did he want them to react? What would he do if Mr. Obermeier came calling to inquire about Monte’s intentions toward Marva? If she were eighteen and he were twenty-one, that might be the natural course of events. But now? He had much to offer a woman as far as material possessions were concerned, and all honestly gained.

  If only he had not made such a hash of his life back in those early days. A woman like Marva would recoil from him if she knew his past. How could she not? But for God’s grace, he would be long since dead, a dried-up corpse hanging from a cottonwood tree on the plains of Texas.

  But for God’s grace. Because of Christ’s cleansing blood, he was no longer a hopeless sinner. When God looked at Montague Van Huysen, He saw a man clothed in His Son’s righteousness, sanctified and holy.

  God looks on the heart. However, man looks on the outward appearance, and a man’s past had a way of haunting him throughout life on this earth.

  Again Monte shook his head and sighed. Yet even while he headed to his office to catch up on paperwork, part of his mind calculated where Marva might be at this hour.

  ❧

  “Certainly, Hardy.” Monte leaned back in his chair and peered over the tops of his reading glasses. “Are you planning to spy on our competition?”

  Hardy frowned. “No. This is for a lodger who requested a map of the area.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I was not informed. Does it matter?”

  Monte lifted his brows and tapped the map with his knuckles. “It might. Although we warn our guests about the hazards of wandering unescorted in these woods, there are always some who scoff at danger.”

  “The main roads are safe in daylight hours.”

  “That depends on which roads, which hours, and which traveler, I should say. Hardy, is this map intended for Miss Obermeier?”

  His partner’s blush was answer enough.

  “I see. And you intend to accompany her?”

  “She turned down my escort. I promised her the dogcart,” Hardy mumbled under his breath and fidgeted.

  “All right. I’ll take care of it.”

  “But she’s expecting me to provide the map. She. . .uh. . . didn’t want you to know about it.”

  “You will provide the map, and for all she knows, I remain in ignorance. As soon as I finish marking it, I’ll leave it on your desk. What time did you order the dogcart?”

  “For 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

  Monte bent over the map. “Very well. I’ll be running errands myself tomorrow, so I’ll do what I can to make sure Miss Obermeier comes to no grief.”

  Hardy’s worried expression vanished. “Good. I didn’t want to have to follow her around. At least now I know why she never married. She may be beautiful, but she’s far too bossy.”

  After his office door closed behind Hardy’s back, Monte chuckled, quieted and thought a moment, and then laughed aloud.

  Eight

  Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

  Proverbs 27:1

  Morning sunlight dappled the road and the horse and Marva’s hands on the reins. She gazed up, way up, at shimmering golden green leaves arching over her like the high roof of a cathedral. Blending with the squeak of leather, the clank and whir of metal, and the clip-clop of hooves was t
he clamor of birdsong from every side. A flock of some kind of chirping bird must have settled in this particular patch of trees, for their chatter was nearly deafening.

  Her horse, a wiry brown gelding with a sour expression, answered to the name of Buzz according to the stable boy. So far his nature seemed sweeter than his looks indicated, for he trotted along willingly enough.

  Marva studied her map, frowning. It was difficult to judge how far she had traveled along the dotted line indicating Lakeland Lodge’s driveway, but the main east-west highway, Lac du Flambeau Road, should appear ahead soon. According to Hardy Stowell, the drive to Johnson Lake would take little more than an hour. From there she intended to drive over to another lodge on Brandy Lake, then head home. Taken at an easy pace, the outing should take no more than five or six hours, depending on how much time she spent at each lodge.

  Should she locate Lucky in Lakeland. . . Well, in that case, her calculations might fall through. She drew a deep breath and wriggled her shoulders in an attempt to relax.

  Somehow, when she had pictured coming north to search the area for Lucky, her mind had failed to grasp the enormity and the wildness of this lake country. Interviewing local lodge owners had seemed like a straightforward proposition back then. Perhaps if she were a man and acquainted with the lay of the land, she might have visited every lodge in five counties within three weeks. Ha! Maybe not.

  She had also failed to consider how awkward it would be to ask about unmarried lodge owners. Why did people have to be so nosy?

  But perseverance and ingenuity had paid off. She hoped. Her parents had plans for the day; if all went smoothly, she should be back before they so much as noticed her absence.

  Yet, even after all this effort, she still might find no sign of Lucky.

  Actually, in all likelihood, her efforts would come to naught.

  “Lord,” she prayed aloud, “I know I’m bullheaded as can be, but You’ve opened this door for me, so I’m asking You to bless my efforts. Please let me find Lucky today and bring some answers to my questions! If he is not the man You want me to marry, then I guess You’ll say no, but I would really appreciate knowing Your reasons why or why not.”

  The forest suddenly opened up onto a road still shadowed by trees. Buzz turned right without any command from Marva and picked up his pace. A fresh breeze cooled her face until she shivered slightly. Trying to hold her map still, she checked her next turn.

  A small bridge ahead spanned a stream or small river. Buzz laid back his ears when his feet hit its echoing timbers, and when the cart’s wheels rumbled, he bolted into a canter; but Marva quickly brought him back into control. With the bridge behind, he settled back into his quick trot, ears twitching.

  “Testing me, were you?” she commented.

  He snorted, appearing to ignore her.

  A doe and her fawn grazed on the roadside ahead. Heads lifted, ears pricked, they watched the horse and cart approaching. Turning his head in their direction, Buzz looked at them and whinnied. Immediately their tails lifted and they bounded into the trees.

  “I think you’ve been rejected, Buzz,” Marva commented.

  A wagon appeared on the road ahead, tiny in the distance. At the sight, Marva’s heart picked up its pace. Of course, she could be in no real danger; this was settled country, after all.

  Two Indian men, one young, one with gray hair, occupied the approaching wagon. They studied Marva with impassive stares, returned her polite nod as the vehicles passed on the road, and traveled on west. She heaved a sigh of relief, waving dust away from her face.

  The road ahead forked. “Whoa.” Buzz stopped, champing at his bit and snorting softly. A hand-painted signpost with three branches read: Woodruff, Squirrel Lake Rd., and Merrill. The tilted post indicated points midway between the three roads. She wanted Trout Lake Road. Confusion formed a lump in her chest. She looked from her map to the roads but saw no correlation. Had she somehow managed to miss the highway? Was she at some crossroads not even located on her map?

  At last she decided to take the right fork, which seemed to lead straight ahead. If only she were a better judge of direction. . .

  Within fifteen minutes she knew she had made the wrong choice. Or had she? A lake appeared on her right, but it appeared to be small, nothing like the large lake on her map. At last she reined in Buzz and sat staring straight ahead. “I’m lost.” There was nothing to do but go back, which meant turning her horse around. Rather than attempt turning Buzz on the narrow road, she climbed down and went to his head. He allowed her to turn him until the dogcart faced back along the road she had just traveled, but as soon as she let go of his bridle, he trotted quickly away. “Whoa!” In a panic, she chased the cart along the road, but the horse rapidly outdistanced her. Would he run all the way back to the lodge?

  ❧

  Monte saw Buzz and the empty dogcart approaching at a rapid clip. Marva must have realized her mistake and tried to turn around, and Buzz had played a prank on her. Stupid horse.

  He turned Petunia sideways to block the road and called softly to the runaway. “Whoa, Buzzard Bait, you rotten beast, you.” The gelding pricked his ears, slowed, and turned off to graze on the verge as if he had never intended to run home. Monte dismounted, watching the back trail for signs of Marva. If possible, he preferred to keep her unaware of his presence, since she was certain to resent it. He decided to wait in hiding on the assumption that she was unhurt. Buzz was not a vicious beast, just ornery at times.

  He had to admit: Like his owner.

  ❧

  Flies bombarded Marva whenever she stopped to pant, so she pressed on until a stitch developed in her side and sweat dampened her shirtwaist. A brisk walk while wearing a corset was pure misery, and the thought of the miles of road between her and the lodge deepened her woe. She removed her stylish suit jacket and felt slightly cooler, but she still could not draw a full breath. She must have been out of her mind to attempt this trek on her own in a strange place.

  But then, rounding the road’s slight bend to the right, she saw Buzz ahead, grazing contentedly at the side of the road. He lifted his head and pricked his ears in her direction, gave a derisive little snort, and then ripped up another mouthful of grass. She approached the horse cautiously, talking in her calmest tone and hoping he wouldn’t sense her anxiety.

  He allowed her to catch him and lead him back to the road, and he stood quietly while she climbed into the dogcart. Relieved, she thanked God for His intervention on her behalf.

  Soon she once again headed east, having lost nearly an hour from her time schedule. An unmarked track on her left caused her to stop and study her map again. Surely that could not be the road she wanted. . .or could it? Taking her chances, she forged on ahead. As she passed lakes not marked on her map, fear built in her chest. Where am I? Lord, please help me! A crossroad appeared ahead. This might be Trout Lake Road, although it did not look the way it was marked on her map. She turned left.

  The forest on either side of the road gave way to clear-cut spaces and farms, resembling farmlands much farther south, although the houses and barns looked quite new. At another fork in the road, she saw a sign for the town of Woodruff. Stopping Buzz once more, she studied her map and realized that she had traveled far out of the way.

  However, if she turned left here and passed through Woodruff, she could turn left again just north of town and reconnect with the road she had missed, making her way to the lodge on Johnson Lake. The knot inside her chest eased slightly. At least she now had some idea where she was.

  Woodruff resembled Minocqua in its rough-hewn timber construction and appeared to be a thriving town. New construction met her gaze on all sides. Several horsemen and a few buggies and wagons occupied the streets. She saw only two women and a few children, but many men of all ages. Her passage through town garnered more interest than she desired. One man who
oped out a comment, which she mercifully could not decipher.

  Once more, she seriously doubted the wisdom of this solo endeavor. But then again, whom could she have brought along? Not either of her parents, certainly. And Beulah was far too busy with her children.

  The road crossed railroad tracks, then turned left, which would be west, she figured. Hardy had drawn a dotted line indicating a turnoff to the—she squinted at the map—Northwoods Oasis, owned and operated by Mel Hendricks of Milwaukee.

  Buzz’s trot had slowed. She clucked and jiggled the reins. He laid back his ears but picked up his pace again. Buildings became scattered, and fences marked pastureland and fields. Did crops grow well here? The growing season must be short this far north.

  Where was that lake? Stumps dotting many of the surrounding fields indicated that the area had been clear-cut for lumber. Marva had expected more shade during this drive. Her wide-brimmed hat kept direct sunlight off her head. She had decided against wearing driving gloves because they stung her hands, which had sunburned slightly on the lake the day before. A poor choice, she realized now that it was too late. The tops of her hands were mottled red and white and felt like fire.

  Sweat trickled down her temples and between her shoulder blades. Who would have thought it would be so hot and humid today? She slipped one hand beneath her hat. Her hair was nearly hot enough to scorch her fingers.

  She shaded the map with her hat and looked again for directions. The images blurred before her eyes. She fanned herself with the map and hunted for her canteen. Where was it? Had it fallen from the cart? Had she even put it into the cart that morning? Of all things to lose! But never mind. Once she arrived at the Northwoods Oasis lodge, she would surely be offered a cool drink and a chair in the shade.

  Buzz must be suffering from the heat, too. Sweat foamed between his hind legs and darkened his shoulders. She should have stopped to get him a drink when they passed through Woodruff. If not for all those staring men, she might have thought of it.