by Amber Miller
Raelene narrowed her eyes.
“Do you know what will happen if people learn I work here but you do more hard work? With five strong men on the farm next to yours? I will bring shame on my family and lose my skin while living if I let that happen. You might want that, but I like my skin where it is.”
The ghost of a smile teased the corner of Raelene’s lips. At least he was getting through to her sense of humor, even if he hadn’t gotten the expression right.
“Mr. Hanssen, I do apologize for appearing to take control. Father said it is one of my worst faults. I get excited about a project and charge into it at a full gallop. I inherited the fault from him.” She extended a hand toward him. “Please, accept my apology.”
Gustaf reached for her hand, clasping it in his larger one. He squeezed firmly, but just as he started to let go, a soft light flashed in Raelene’s eyes, rendering him motionless. Gone was the animosity. Warmth replaced coldness, and he grew lost in their depths.
How long he remained that way, he had no idea. Perhaps it was the collapse of coals in the fireplace that stirred him from the trance. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hold on Raelene’s hand. Heat crawled up his neck. “I. . .uh. . . accept apology,” he stammered. She could be agreeable when she tried. Even more, he thought, glancing away to rein in his errant thoughts.
Seven
Two days later, Raelene sat opposite Gustaf on the grass as they finished their midday meal. Although she’d protested initially, he said it was the best time for them to discuss business. Yesterday, they’d managed to determine their immediate needs for the barn and agree on a plan of action. Today, they needed to plan for the food and music afterward.
She speared a forkful of potato and took a bite. The end of the harvest couldn’t come soon enough. Fresh fruits and vegetables would be in abundance for winter preservation. At least the garden she and Mama had planted was showing signs of producing well. Her mouth watered in anticipation of the savory delights she’d have at her fingertips.
Gustaf took the last bite of roasted chicken and wiped his mouth. That feisty young hen had pecked at her feet one too many times. Thankfully, Gustaf had lowered the ax for her. “Very good.” He patted his stomach and stretched. “It is the right amount to give me energy that lasts the rest of the day.”
Raelene warmed under his praise and stood to gather the trenchers. He’d suggested they use just one, but she couldn’t bring herself to share with him. That would be far too intimate. What was one extra thing to wash? Because she’d been a willing student under her mother’s tutelage and the lessons offered by their cook back home in England, she could at least pretend to enjoy the chores of cooking and cleaning. She knew what was expected of her, even if books appealed to her more. Retrieving the kettle from the hook over the fire, she stepped back outside and refilled Gustaf’s cup.
“Have you made a list of what food the other families can bring when we repair and expand your barn? You can save a lot of work if you let other women help.” He took a long drink. “You only need to provide the fireplace and cooking area.”
“I am well aware of what is involved in planning a social gathering of several families. Mama and I worked together with our cook in England when friends came calling. And we had some small dinners in our home above the candle shop after first moving here. I often read selections from our book collection for entertainment, but I am sure we can find other options. Maybe I should unpack Mama’s china—”
“This is not a fancy event like you know from England or with the landowners and businessmen in town. These are farmers and their families. Simple.” He shrugged. “They do not need much. A fiddler to play. But no china. It will get broken and look like you want to show off your fine things.”
Raelene clenched her teeth. “I realize life here is different from that in England and how we lived in town. I merely wish to appear civilized. My father was a member of the British military, and here he was respected. I want this to be special.”
Gustaf rested his forearms on his knees. “We do not have all the fancy things, but we farmers can have a good time.”
Raelene bristled at the emphasis he placed on “farmers.” Still, he made a good point. These people wouldn’t be looking for anything on a grand scale. Good food, good music, and a break from their everyday lives. “Very well. I will agree to work with you on the details. I’m sure we can come up with just the right balance.”
Raelene stepped toward the side of the house for access to the pump Papa had constructed as their water source. Placing the pail underneath, she cranked the handle up and down. When the pail was full, she walked inside and transferred the water to the basin to wash dishes.
Gustaf placed his hand on her arm, startling her. “To please, I will do that.”
How had he come inside without her hearing him? And a man? Do the washing?
“You talk of books.” Gustaf gestured toward the shelf behind the table. “Pick one and read. I wash.”
It was more of a command than a request, but he spoke with such gentleness, she obeyed. Wondering what he was up to, she scanned the titles of the books on her shelf. Whatever it was, this turn of events delighted her. After picking out one of her favorite books, she pulled the rocking chair closer to the fireplace and sat down.
“I have chosen Don Quixote, written by Miguel de Cervantes,” she said, running her hand over the smooth cover. “It is about a knight full of dreams, who sets out on his old horse Rosinante to seek adventure, and about the materialistic squire who accompanies him from one failure to another. Their relationship, although they argue most fiercely, is ultimately founded upon mutual respect.”
“I think I understand that.” Gustaf peered at her over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth turned up and a twinkle in his eye.
Respect? Was he saying he respected her despite their arguments? Flustered, Raelene wet her lips and prepared to read.
“ ‘In a village of La Mancha. . .’ ”
Raelene read the opening lines, the familiarity soothing her like nothing else could.
“ ‘He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and marketplace, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook.’ ”
“We can use this around the farm. Ja?”
Raelene raised her head, scowling. “Are you going to make a comment at every pause?”
“I am sorry. Please, to continue.”
“ ‘The above-named gentleman whenever he was at leisure. . . sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of chivalry to read, and brought home as many of them as he could get.’ ”
Gustaf chuckled. “This is like you.”
Raelene smiled. Perhaps they could learn to work together, she mused, returning to the story. Several pages later, as he finished washing and she came to a stopping point, he commented again.
“You have nice voice. Good to make babies sleep.”
She placed the marker in the book and returned it to the shelf without a word. She had nothing to say. Mumbling an excuse about needing to tend to the horses, she fled. But his remark stayed with her.
❧
Raelene almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Gustaf had been right about the local response. Once the call had gone out to their neighbors for assistance, the affirmative replies came to a one.
They had arrived that morning, the men with their tools and the women with their many baskets of food, all more than eager to work. Gustaf had laid out the lumber he and some other men had felled earlier that week, and the men set to work. She spent all day with the women, completing the daily tasks around the farm and sharing in the companionship. By noon, the barn’s frame was reinforced, and everyone took a break for dinner. By dusk, the roof had been repaired and the walls had been expanded.
With the work behind
them, everyone gathered inside the barn to celebrate its completion.
Raelene stood in the main doorway, dumbstruck with gratitude and wonder. A handful of ladies who formed a society to assist needy families had insisted on serving the food and drink, while Gustaf’s two younger brothers provided entertainment on the flute and bassoon. The special performance created a festive atmosphere, and the camaraderie dispelled Raelene’s fear of facing the world alone, making her feel a part of something intangible, something that surrounded her heart with warmth.
“Do I find some men to bring in your harpsichord so you can play, too?”
Raelene turned abruptly to see Gustaf standing beside her. “I do not think that is necessary, Mr. Hanssen. Your brothers are doing a fine job.”
“But more music is good, Miss Strattford. Your friends have worked hard. They deserve the most. Ja?” A smirk formed on his lips. “And you can show your talent with music to the men without wives here tonight.”
Raelene’s earlier warmth vanished. For a while, she’d forgotten the marriage requirement. Must Gustaf remind her of the reality of her circumstances every time they spoke? Now, instead of neighbors, she saw married and unmarried guests. That Gustaf suggested she perform like a trick horse to win a man’s favor was humiliating. Why had she ever forced him into the role of choosing that man?
“Very well, Mr. Hanssen,” she grated out. “If you believe my playing the harpsichord would add to this evening, you may arrange for it to be brought over from the house.” He started to leave, but she placed a hand on his arm. His muscles flexed under her fingers as if he was responding to her touch, and it captured her attention for a fleeting moment. Now, what was she about to say? Oh, the harpsichord. “Do be careful, please. It belonged to my mother, and Father moved heaven and earth to purchase it for her.”
“It will be safe.” He raised his free arm and settled an open palm across his chest. “I promise.”
As Gustaf departed, Raelene dwelled on his final word. Promise. Why did it seem to be a word that determined so much of what she did? She was running a farm, working with a man she’d rather see as far away from her as possible, and forced to find a husband before she turned eighteen. Why? Because of a promise.
She had promised her parents she’d take care of the farm and see their dream fulfilled. Gustaf had promised her father he’d take care of her. Her father had required that she promise her life to a man or she’d lose the farm. And she’d made Gustaf promise to find her a husband. What should be a word reflecting joy was shrouded in dread. Motion from behind her drew Raelene from her thoughts as Gustaf’s older brother and father approached with her mother’s harpsichord. No going back now, she thought, stepping aside. Every eye in the room was on her, expectant.
Assuming the proper posture instilled in her from a young age, Raelene followed Mr. Hanssen and Stefan to the area where the younger Hanssen sons entertained with their playing.
She tried to block out everyone as conversations hushed and they watched the progression toward the other end of the barn. What would she play?
A strange sense of panic shoved her repertoire just beyond retrieval. Buying time to collect herself, Raelene arranged her gown to position herself on the bench. But the long train that hung from her shoulders caught under her backside, pulling her shoulders back beyond the line of comfort. Heat rushed to her face. Raelene rose up sufficiently to adjust the problem and gave her lappet cap a nervous pat, just in case the jerk had loosed her hair from underneath.
A minuet. That was the trick. One of her favorites came to mind. As the tune began to play through her mind, she transferred it to the instrument, crisp, dipping, turning notes that conjured pictures of satin gowns, elegant gentlemen in rich brocades, and a far happier time.
❧
Gustaf stood off to the side and observed Raelene. He leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, feigning disinterest. Although everyone in the room listened in rapt attention, he didn’t want to reveal his inner feelings to anyone who might see. His eyes always betrayed him, or so his mother often teased.
Far be it that anyone see what the soft strains of the music that flowed from Raelene’s graceful fingers stirred in his soul. How he longed for a place where birthrights, promises, stipulations, and heartache didn’t exist. A place where he could allow his thoughts to run free and entertain the possibility of things that would never be.
From the look on Raelene’s face, the music took her to another place, as well. Gone was her poorly masked nervousness, replaced by peaceful joy. The thin, bloodless line of her lips had ripened to a serene smile, and the soft lines of her brow had faded, giving up their worry and anger.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?”
Gustaf turned his head to find the son of a neighboring farmer watching Raelene with undisguised interest. A twinge of annoyance crept to the surface, but he held it at bay. He tried to think of a reason to dissuade the young man, but honor demanded that Gustaf consider him as a potential suitor for Raelene.
“Yes, she is.” He focused again on Raelene, overcoming his reticence to fulfill his role of finding her a good husband, so that he might keep his promise to her father and be done with her and her farm once and for all.
“She is a good cook and makes a home very nice,” he added in a stilted voice.
The young man turned to face Gustaf. “And how might you be acquainted with this enchanting mistress?”
Gustaf extended his hand. “I am Gustaf Hanssen. I live on the next farm, but I work as overseer for Miss Strattford.”
The young man returned the handshake. “Erwin Murphy. I live down near the river.”
“How did you learn about this event?”
“My father’s involvement in the community is substantial. When word reached us of the need to have a barn repaired and enlarged, we could not ignore the request.”
Erwin directed his attention to Raelene with renewed admiration. “Now that we are here, I am glad we came. I would not have wanted to miss hearing this charming young woman play so beautifully.” Obviously enthralled, Erwin stepped closer. “Tell me, as her overseer, what do you know about her?”
Gustaf resisted the urge to walk away. It was his duty to hear the man out.
Erwin continued. “I am acquainted with her parents’ tragedy. But does she have any other family or anyone who might come to live with her?”
Gustaf took a deep breath and exhaled, as though that might rid him of this urge to punch the man in the face for what he was clearly thinking. But Murphy was a man of property, a good prospect for Raelene. Gustaf slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, lest they take on a will of their own and end the matter then and there.
“It is sad, but when her parents died, they left Miss Strattford alone. They came here from England when Miss Strattford was fourteen, leaving their other family behind. Mr. Strattford did well in business and bought this land, but there was not enough money to bring their other family here.” Gustaf paused, grappling with the increasing interest developing in Murphy’s gaze.
“Mr. Strattford kept to himself. He traded with farms in the area, and they went to the nearby church when they were able.” He followed Murphy’s attention to where Raelene played with featherlight fingers. “Mr. Strattford maintained order in his home, and his wife and daughter respected him like he was the head of the British army. More than that, I cannot offer.”
Erwin didn’t respond. For a moment, Gustaf wondered if the man had heard a word he’d said.
“Miss Strattford is a vision, isn’t she?” he said at last.
Not wanting to fan the fire of interest in Erwin’s gaze any further, Gustaf held back his full agreement.
“I must learn more about her, speak to her.” The other man reached for his watch fob tucked into a small pocket on the front of his vest. “Migh
t you be able to assist me?”
“Ja, I am able to make introductions.”
“That would be perfect. Thank you.”
Gustaf clenched his fists in frustration. A promise was a promise. But when he’d made it, he didn’t know it was going to be so hard to keep.
Eight
When Raelene finished playing, a round of applause echoed to the wooden rafters of the refurbished barn. Gustaf admired her demure smile, as ladylike as the graceful curtsy she offered in response. When she stepped away from the harpsichord, he made his move.
“Mr. Murphy,” he said to his companion, “please come with me, and I will make introductions.”
Murphy lit up like one of the lanterns overhead. “Gladly.”
Although he was a shorter man than Gustaf, Erwin’s eager strides matched his. As they approached Raelene, Gustaf’s heart seemed to recoil. Could he carry this out? The slight curve of Raelene’s lips as she turned and saw him almost made him lose his nerve. But it was too late. Besides, this was what he wanted, what he and Raelene both wanted. Wasn’t it?
“Miss Raelene Strattford, I introduce Mr. Erwin Murphy,” he said, his voice as stiff as the barn’s beams. “His father owns a farm near the river.”
Raelene extended a slender arm, her palm downward. “Mr. Murphy.”
Clasping her fingers lightly, Erwin placed a kiss just above her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Strattford. Your performance on the harpsichord was beautiful. It added so much to the enjoyment of the evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I am delighted that you enjoyed it.”
Erwin straightened to his full height as though gathering his nerve. “Forgive me if I am being presumptuous, but might I have the honor of calling on you next week? I would greatly like to learn more about you and this wondrous piece of land that is your farm.”
Feeling conspicuous in spite of stepping a short distance away, Gustaf shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to leave them alone. His sense of honor to Raelene, as well as to his promise, made him stay.
