Promises, Promises

by Amber Miller

  Bracing herself with a deep breath, she pushed aside the large, two-story door and stepped into the wooden, barnlike structure at the far end of town. The scents of hay and sack-cloth filled her nose the moment she set foot inside. Sacks of grain and a variety of other seeds for every need were stacked almost as high as the roof. Wooden rails and thin walls separated the different types of grain. It was a feast for the eyes and nose.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  Raelene turned to face a portly gentleman and gave him her most winsome smile. She stretched out her hand. “Yes, I am Raelene Strattford, and I am in need of seed for my farm.”

  The man took her hand with obvious reluctance. “Henry Borgson.” Peering over her shoulder, he scratched the stubble on his chin. “You say you have a farm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your husband here with you?”

  Raelene refused to be daunted by his implicit challenge. “I do not have a husband, Mr. Borgson. An accident has recently taken my parents, and the farm was left to me. It is now my responsibility to make it work.”

  Mr. Borgson rubbed his hand across his lower jaw. “Well, I do not normally do business with women unless their husbands or overseers are here in town or have given their permission.”

  “As I said, Mr. Borgson—”

  “Yes, I know,” he interrupted. “You do not have a husband. But I am going to need assurance of your ownership. You cannot be undertaking this responsibility alone?”

  For the second time that day, Raelene was grateful for Gustaf’s promise of help. She withdrew the papers tucked inside her mother’s reticule and unfolded them. “I spoke with Councilman Harvey this morning, and the arrangements have been made.” She pointed at the two names scratched on the line at the bottom of the deed. “You will see my name there as the sole owner and Mr. Gustaf Hanssen’s name as the overseer.”

  Raelene watched the man scan the document, her confidence wavering. Should she find Gustaf and request that he accompany her? “I do not know what other assurance I can give you, sir. No one in my family is left, and the deed to the farm was signed to me by my father.” She clutched her mother’s reticule between her hands and held her breath, waiting for his response.

  “Hmm.” Borgson handed back the document, watching as she returned it to her purse. “If I agree to sell you what you need,” he began, looking in the direction of her transport, “how do you intend to get it back to your farm with just that little buggy there? You are going to need a wagon for this load.”

  Raelene bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that. Having a wagon had been commonplace for her family, but it had been destroyed in the accident. Behind her, footsteps crunched on the mixture of straw and hay, diverting her attention.

  Gustaf!

  “Good afternoon, Henry!”

  “Ah, good afternoon, Gustaf.”

  Raelene exhaled in relief. Just when she needed him.

  “What brings you over here this afternoon?” Borgson exclaimed.

  Gustaf ignored the question and gestured toward Raelene. “I see Miss Strattford came for her farm.”

  Mr. Borgson cast a wary glance at Raelene. The tension was as thick as morning fog.

  “Is there a problem?” Gustaf inquired, picking up on it.

  Mr. Borgson cleared his throat. “I was just telling Miss Strattford that she would need a wagon to carry her seed sacks back to that farm of hers.”

  Gustaf looked out the door at the waiting buggy. “Ja, I know this when I saw her horse outside.”

  Raelene squashed the urge to tell Gustaf about Borgson’s other doubts. Besides, Gustaf obviously guessed. The look he gave Mr. Borgson would make an errant schoolboy confess to all his mischief. “That is all?”

  Oh, to have the imposing presence Gustaf exuded. Raelene wished she possessed more of her mother’s calm self-assurance rather than the childlike uncertainty wreaking havoc on her nerves.

  Mr. Borgson scuffed the toe of his boot against the straw on the floor of the granary. “I am not accustomed to discussing sales and purchases with women.”

  “Her coins are good, Henry.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And if a wagon is the problem, she can use mine.”

  Raelene sent an appreciative glance toward Gustaf. Like it or not, she needed him.

  “I noticed your name on the deed, as well.” He glanced at the two of them. “Is a more permanent arrangement involved?”

  “Of—”

  “We are still talking about that, Henry.”

  Raelene clamped her mouth shut, breathing heavily through her nostrils. One more person who would believe their lies.

  Mr. Borgson shrugged. “I can accept that.” He reached out and shook hands with Gustaf, affording Raelene no more than a cursory glance. “I will sell you the seed you need.”

  Relief coursed through her. “Thank you, Mr. Borgson. I do appreciate your kindness.”

  He shrugged off her gratitude as he stepped behind a rough table in the corner. On it sat an inkwell with a quill pen and a box that no doubt held the money he kept for transactions in any given day of business.

  “Miss Strattford, if you and Gustaf will look over the bill of sale after I get it written, we will arrange to have the seed loaded.”

  Once the bill was paid, Raelene waited for the men to load the seed in Gustaf’s wagon. His muscles rippled beneath the coarse-looking material covering his back, riveting her attention despite her effort not to stare. That they worked for her gave her a sense of security—the same she had when her father was alive. Not that her feelings toward Gustaf were anything close to daughterly admiration.

  They were as conflicted as her thoughts. Twice, Gustaf had stepped in to negotiate when men weren’t interested in talking with her. His word and handshake had opened doors that had slammed in her face. She appreciated it, but it rankled her that a woman’s word wasn’t taken seriously. Then there was the question of Gustaf’s motives. She knew he wanted her land—she’d seen the true nature of his opinions in his eyes at the funeral and again this morning before she met with Mr. Harvey.

  Once again, she caught herself enrapt by the wide expanse of his shoulders and the carefree manner in which he caught the sacks and tossed them into the back of his wagon. The memory of the day her parents had died, of how he’d held her, carried her in those same arms, took her breath away.

  Of course, there’d be no more of that, she told herself sternly. Why she even thought of it was beyond her. Those muscles would work for her, just like her father’s prize horse did. Actually, she held more affection for the horse. It had no ulterior motives.

  Gustaf dusted his hands on his pants and shook hands once more with Mr. Borgson, then turned to face her. One corner of his mouth turned up as he caught Raelene in the midst of her study. Heat rushed to her cheeks, stiffening her spine as well. Refusing to look away, she read his expression. Cordial enough, she supposed, but there was more—a flash of something that disturbed her. Was it triumph or anticipation? Or both?

  “If you are done for the day, Miss Strattford, I will follow you home,” he offered with a gesture toward her horse, who stood waiting patiently. “We will get the seed to your farm.”

  Raelene decided to allow him his peacock-proud moment. He might have rescued her, but he didn’t own her, and he’d never own her land. “Very well, Mr. Hanssen. I will see you there.”

  She headed for her buggy and grabbed hold of her skirts to climb aboard. Once again, Gustaf was right there to assist her. She accepted his hand and settled onto the leather seat. With the reins held loosely between her fingers, she dismissed him with a nod and called to the horse to head home.

  Behind her, Gustaf called to his own pair of steeds. By the time Raelene reached the edge of town, the man had caught up with her. />
  Her thoughts tumbled into a quandary of emotion during the hour-long journey to her farm. She should be comforted by the man’s support, but needing him was not only humiliating; it was alarming.

  A knot formed in Raelene’s stomach, pulled tight by the conflict. The only relief came from the knowledge that, while nothing had turned out as she’d planned, thus far, she still had her land and the seed that would make it prosper. Whatever his intentions, Gustaf was no more than the means and muscle to ensure her parents’ dream came true. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Six

  Gustaf grabbed the first sack of seed.

  “You can stack it there.” Raelene pointed to the only empty part of the wall inside the cramped barn.

  He tossed it on the ground, glancing at the cows and the horses Raelene had just led to the troughs. At least the animals received sufficient care. And this land gleamed with promise. His senses came alive at the prospect awaiting him. Anticipating the end result made him want to get to work right away. But first things first. He turned back to his wagon to unload the remainder of the seed.

  Raelene had disappeared around the front of the small, thatch-roofed cottage she called home. She certainly didn’t live a privileged existence, despite the money he knew was available from her inheritance. The modest shelter and the serviceable barn proved she’d been raised to use only what she needed. But that would soon change when she received a return on her investment. She had to turn a profit, or she’d lose the land. And from the few words Raelene’s father had spoken after the wagon accident, he knew that profit would be put to good use. He could see it in his mind’s eye. The big house, the two-story barn, the fields full of corn and beans as far as the eye could see. Or were those Gustaf’s dreams?

  The thrill of excitement dwindled with the reminder that none of this was his. He was simply the hired help and overseer. Neither the farm nor the decisions were his.

  Raelene owned the land.

  His name might be on the agreement, but she had final approval on what was to be done with it. He’d have to tread lightly. Gustaf couldn’t plow his way through and hope she’d follow blindly. No, if he could trust his hunch—and he usually could—this young woman would prove to be quite adept at handling the responsibility dumped upon her delicate shoulders—shoulders with an inner strength that attracted him.

  That kind of strength came from only one source, and despite her anger in the wake of her parents’ deaths, Gustaf knew Raelene would find it again. His own offer to help had stemmed partly from his desire to see her lean on God once more. She’d live a very lonely existence otherwise.

  “Can I offer you tea or coffee before we discuss our arrangement?”

  Raelene’s melodic voice broke through his pensive state. He raised his head to see the young woman standing not five feet away.

  Gustaf straightened, wiping his forehead. Despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat had formed on his face and neck. Refreshment sounded as good to his ears as a dip in the creek.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Do please come inside when you are finished, and we can discuss pertinent details over some cookies and tea.”

  Gustaf watched Raelene’s graceful retreat until she disappeared around the corner. By the time the wooden front door creaked open and closed, he was back at work with renewed gusto. Once finished, he made certain the sacks wouldn’t topple over, then headed for the front of the house. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior, but he soon recognized the ample kitchen with a doorway that led into the bedroom off the side where Raelene’s parents had died. Next to the fireplace, an open door revealed the stairs that led up to the loft. Nothing fancy, but suitable for the needs of the Strattford family, as they had been.

  “Please sit down,” Raelene invited, her voice betraying her nervousness.

  Gustaf took a seat at the hand-sawn log table in the center of the kitchen. Raelene removed the muslin wrapping from a wooden trencher of cookies and placed the platter and a tin cup full of steaming tea in front of him.

  “Thank you. They smell good.” Gustaf sank his teeth into the chewy treat. Delicious! “When you have time to make these?” His accent and stilted words surfaced again. Why couldn’t he speak coherently around her?

  “I baked them this morning before I headed into town. Mother always kept a small basket of cookies around the house. Father loved to sneak one or two each time he came in from working outside.” A wistful look crossed her face.

  Gustaf blew on the hot tea before taking a drink, drawing her attention back to the present. “Your mother taught you well.”

  A sheen formed in her eyes. She blinked several times to clear the tears, but a pleased expression remained. Raelene took her seat opposite him and placed her hands around the tin cup in front of her. She started to chew on her lower lip, her brow drawn in contemplation.

  “I wanted—”

  “We need—”

  They both stopped and laughed as their words tumbled out on top of each other’s.

  “You begin,” Gustaf said.

  Raelene offered a halfhearted smile. “I wanted to discuss how we would work things from this point forward.” She twisted the cup in her hands but maintained her focus on his face. “You have made an offer to help, and I need to hear what you have in mind.” Her gaze shifted toward the window. “You have no doubt seen the amount of work that needs to be done. But you also have work on your father’s farm, and I do not wish to keep you from that.”

  “It is good to have brothers to share the work. Stefan, the oldest, does the most. My two younger brothers help where needed.” Gustaf took another bite and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “Yes, I have my job, but there is no problem for me to spend half my day here and half at home. Mor and Far will not turn away from helping a neighbor in need.”

  “That solves the problem of time.” Satisfaction relaxed her worried brow for a moment before it creased again. “What about the order in which we complete what needs to be done? Should not we make a list and divide the tasks according to our abilities? I am not as strong as you are. Neither am I too fragile to work.”

  Raelene was direct. Gustaf admired that. “Ja, that will be good for most things, but first we need a better barn for your animals and more solid shelter for the grain we harvest when it is ready.”

  “How will we do that alone? Repairing a barn takes many days or a rather large number of workers. We have neither.”

  “We have workers. We only need to ask.”

  “Who?”

  “My family will help. The five of us, my brothers and father and me, built our barn in three days after getting the materials. We will do the same for you.”

  Suspicion flickered in the beguiling blue of his companion’s gaze. “I do not wish to be indebted to your family.”

  Or was it stubborn pride? “We are neighbors.” Gustaf brushed off her protest with a wave of his hand. “It is what we do. Help each other in time of need.” She started to say something, but he cut her off. “If you want more workers, we can ask others and have the barn ready in one day. Food, drink, and music will follow.”

  Raelene considered his suggestion, the thoughtful purse of her lips making it difficult for Gustaf to think business. “Very well,” she agreed. “Not only would the barn be built sooner, but it would give me a chance to visit with those who live nearby and thank them for their kindness after. . .” Her voice caught. “Well, you know. I have not called on anyone recently. It was always a favorite pastime of Mother’s.” She squared her shoulders as if shaking off melancholy before it set in. “What about the planting?”

  What kind of life had Raelene lived before coming to the colonies? Obviously privileged. That was clear by her speech and mannerisms. Was she ready for this?

  Gustaf set down his
cup and rested his forearms on the hand-planed surface of the table. “I will bring my horses to help. They know what to do, and they work hard. They will be a good example to your two workhorses.” Seeing Raelene bristle, he added hastily, “Planting is not easy. You have a big burden now. You do not need more.”

  “I am not afraid of hard work, Mr. Hanssen.”

  “I did not say that, but some things a man should do. As a woman, you can—”

  “I can do more than knit, bake, fetch the milk and eggs, and other common tasks.”

  He took a drink of tea, now at a temperature that wouldn’t burn his tongue. “They are not so common when you work all day and come home tired and hungry. It is like rain after a drought.” He reached for a cookie to demonstrate his point. “Learning to work a field will take time; time we do not have.”

  She placed her hands flat on the table, sparks flashing in her ice blue gaze. “Mr. Hanssen,” she seethed, “if you are not willing to accept my help, I will find someone who will.”

  An equal fire kindled in Gustaf. He stood to gain nothing by working her farm, yet she treated him as dispensable as yesterday’s slops. He held back the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue and prayed for guidance. He’d had encounters with difficult people before, but Raelene Strattford tested his patience like no other. Fulfilling a promise almost wasn’t worth this. But he would stay. He owed it to her father.

  Releasing a deep breath, Gustaf raised his gaze to Raelene’s. “That is not what I mean. You should learn all you need to make your farm a good one. Get a list, and divide the tasks as you wish.”

  Confusion softened the tension in her jaw and glare in her eyes. “As I—”

  “Miss Strattford,” Gustaf interrupted, “I wish for you to do the lighter work for a selfish reason.”