Promises, Promises

by Amber Miller

  From all appearances, Raelene seemed to be interested in what Erwin had to say. Well, not quite all. Gustaf had been around her enough to know that her rigid back, half-lidded eyes, and the way she methodically ran her thumbs across each other were evidence that she longed for retreat. Nevertheless, good manners prevailed. An admirable trait. One of her many.

  Before his admiration addled him completely, Gustaf turned his attention to Erwin. He supposed the man had redeeming qualities. But his clothing was a little too clean, and his hands not as rough as those of a farmer who worked the land. Raelene needed a hardworking man, not a fop.

  “Yes, you may come on Tuesday, next week,” Raelene said, startling Gustaf from his observation. She shifted from one foot to the other and schooled her expression, but he’d caught a flash of annoyance before she reined it in. She didn’t like Erwin. Something in Gustaf’s chest unknotted with relief. “Mr. Hanssen will be at the farm and can serve as chaperone.”

  Erwin failed to conceal his annoyance. Both overgrown eyebrows shot up as he glanced Gustaf’s way. Gustaf swelled with an air of importance, making it clear that he was in charge. Surely the little wart didn’t think he’d have access to the lady without a proper chaperone. It wasn’t done.

  “Of course,” the man said, recovering with a bright smile. “Then I shall come midmorning.”

  Raelene dipped her head. “Very well.” She started to step away. “I hope you have a pleasant week.”

  Erwin once again reached for Raelene’s hand. “Anticipation at seeing you will improve my week tenfold.”

  With that, the prospective suitor departed, leaving Gustaf and Raelene standing face-to-face.

  “Did I meet with your approval, sir?”

  Her manner was as brittle as ice with formality. It wasn’t his fault the marriage stipulation was in her father’s will. But if he were in her place, he’d be angry, too.

  “Miss Strattford, your manners were perfect,” he told her, letting her misplaced hostility slide. With a “Humph!” Raelene whirled away, storming past a cluster of guests preparing to leave. As two women from the church stepped into her path to say their good-byes, her entire demeanor changed. A smile that would melt ice replaced the thin line of her lips.

  Gustaf shook his head in exasperation. His was a hopeless situation. Somehow he’d get through this. With God’s help, he’d fulfill his promise and be on his way.

  ❧

  The day of planting arrived, and so did Erwin Murphy. Raelene had a direct view to the front of the barn where Gustaf paced back and forth like a military sentinel on guard duty. She didn’t know why he seemed so concerned. It wasn’t as if anything was happening.

  With her hand in front of her mouth, she barely managed to conceal a yawn as she sat and listened to Erwin read several selections of poetry. She tried to remain focused on her guest, but her eyes strayed to the barn every time Gustaf appeared. Even at his most infuriating, he was more appealing than the educated Mr. Murphy. Her attention shot back to her present company.

  Casting a glance around the farm, Raelene pictured little Erwins in her mind and inwardly shuddered. This had to stop. Now. She’d asked Gustaf to find her a husband, and he’d done his part. But she couldn’t do hers. Not with Mr. Murphy, anyway.

  Raelene cleared her throat, causing Erwin to pause. Relief coursed through her at the blessed silence. She hoped his verbal discourse was over. “Mr. Murphy, do accept my sincerest apology. But as you are no doubt aware, we are in the middle of planting preparations, and it is going to require as much assistance as can be gathered.” A silent plea echoed in her mind that he wouldn’t offer to help. “I do appreciate your taking time away from your farm to read to me some of your favorite poetry, but I’m afraid I cannot tarry any longer.”

  Disappointment clearly displayed on his face, Erwin closed his book in resignation and stood. “Say no more, Miss Strattford. I will take my leave immediately.” Setting his hat on his head, he made his way to his wagon alongside the cottage. Propriety demanded that Raelene follow when she wanted to go inside and begin preparations for dinner. The neighbors coming to help with planting, as well as the workers they’d hired, would be famished by midday, and she could at least offer some refreshment.

  “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Miss Strattford,” Erwin said in a stilted but polite voice from his seat on the wagon bench. . .as though he recognized the futility of his visit. “May your farm see great success.” With a tip of his hat, he drove off.

  ❧

  Gustaf studied the expanse of freshly cleared fields. His team had done its job for the initial pass. Raelene, a handful of their neighbors, and the hired help had done the rest with hoes, axes, billhooks, and digging sticks. Pride at what they had accomplished made him smile.

  He snatched his hat from his head and bent to one knee as he raised his face toward the sky. “Father in heaven, You bless this humble work. Thank You for Your goodness.” If only You’d bless my task of finding a good husband for Raelene as much, he added in silence.

  A cat screeched, startling Gustaf from his prayer.

  “By my troth, if I step on that cat’s tail again, I will kick it to kingdom come!”

  The frustrated voice coming from within the barn made Gustaf chuckle. At least it wasn’t anything serious.

  “Gustaf, will we start close to the barn or at the far end and work our way back?” Jurien Layne stepped out from the barn with a hoe in hand and shaded his eyes from the sun that had turned his yellow hair a white gold. The son of Dutch and British parents, he bore the characteristic fair coloring of his heritage.

  Gustaf stood and turned toward his best friend of more than ten years. Always there when needed and offering to help no matter what the chore. Jurien’s hard work was balanced by his penchant for stirring up mischief at every opportunity. When he learned of the state of affairs at the Strattford farm, he’d volunteered to double his own workload.

  “Working for the woman who refused you, despite having her father’s blessing. That penance deserves special merit.” Jurien studied Gustaf in a way that always made him uneasy. “Unless there is more to your personal sacrifice than simple charitable service.”

  Jurien also didn’t miss a chance to put his own slant on the circumstances.

  At Gustaf’s prolonged hesitation, Jurien slapped his thigh and beamed a wide, gap-toothed grin. “I knew it! You still have a feather in your cap for her.”

  Rather than lie and deny it, Gustaf held his tongue. But given the distance Raelene was determined to keep between them, his true feelings meant nothing. “Jurien, I tell you the truth. Anything other than business is not possible.”

  Jurien shrugged. “Our Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  Although a man of faith, Gustaf had his doubts about any divine influence regarding Raelene. It would take a change of heart and soul for Raelene to look at him as more than a farm worker.

  Motion alongside the cottage caught his attention. Raelene stood by the wagon as Erwin climbed up and bade farewell. As soon as Erwin was on his way, Raelene pivoted on her heel, gave Gustaf a hard glare, and disappeared. A moment later, the back door to the cottage slammed shut.

  “You can see, my friend, there are no good feelings for me,” Gustaf muttered.

  “But even fewer for Mr. Murphy,” Jurien observed. He winked. “Best we put our minds on things a man can make sense of, like farming.” He pointed to the lane where another wagon passed the departing Mr. Murphy. “See? Benjamin and Gabriel have arrived. We have work to do.”

  On the wagon with Benjamin and Gabriel were their wives, Margaret and Anne, as well as Kaariana Janssen, whom Jurien had been courting. Upon reaching the wagon, Gustaf removed his hat, head dipping in a show of gratitude. “Thank you very much for coming today. You will be a great help in getting the land ready for planting. Raelen
e will be out soon. She had a visitor,” he explained.

  “A visitor?” one of the women asked with a lift of her brow.

  “Competition for Gustaf,” Jurien teased, giving Gustaf a jab in the ribs.

  “I cannot say what Mr. Murphy is. I speak as the overseer, nothing more.” Gustaf made a sweep with his arm encompassing the fields beyond the farmyard. “You can see,” he said, changing the awkward subject, “that God Almighty blesses our work. If the weather stays good, we will have a generous crop.”

  Jurien handed him some seed and a hoe, a knowing twinkle in his gaze. Thankfully, his friend let the matter of Raelene pass.

  “The land is ready to plant.”

  “That is why we’ve come today, good friend,” Benjamin said, helping the women down from the wagon.

  “You know about mounding. Ja?” At their nods, he continued. “We will do this today. The hired hands are already working in the other fields. Each of us will take a section in this field close to the house to work.”

  In no time at all, the men stood ready with their broad hoes, and the women had taken up digging sticks. While Gustaf divided the seed Raelene had purchased from Mr. Borgson into two pails for each couple, she emerged from the cabin in her work dress to join them.

  “Did you enjoy your visit, Raelene?” Kaariana asked, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. The young woman was the perfect match for Jurien, Gustaf mused, watching Raelene grow suddenly wary.

  Avoiding Gustaf’s attentive gaze, she replied, “Mr. Murphy is a fine gentleman who no doubt will make some woman a good husband.”

  “Some woman?” Kaariana pressed playfully.

  “Some woman,” Raelene answered, making it clear that some did not include her.

  Gustaf suppressed the smile that threatened his lips as Raelene tied her apron securely behind her back.

  “So, are we going to work this afternoon or not, Gustaf? Benjamin spoke up. “Where should Anne and I start?”

  Gustaf tore his gaze from Raelene, a betraying heat creeping up his neck. “You and Gabriel work with your wives on the middle section.” He turned in time to catch Jurien winking at Kaariana. Pink rushed to the maid’s cheeks. “Jurien, you and Kaariana start near the chickens and work toward the large oak on the western end.” Gustaf ventured a look at Raelene, whose humor was barbed at best. Almighty God, please let this work. “Raelene and I will take the area near the cottage.”

  “With eight of us working together, we should be finished before dusk.” Gabriel stretched his brawny arms over his head, tightened the string holding back his charcoal black hair, and placed his left arm around his wife’s waist. “What say we make a little wager?”

  “Gabriel,” Gustaf chided, “you know I do not make bets.”

  “Now, Gustaf, I do not mean with money,” Gabriel reassured. “The team that finishes last has to make supper for the others.” He patted his ample middle with his free hand. “And as the largest of this group, I can eat a fair amount.”

  “Then you had best make sure you are not last, or you and Anne will be in the kitchen a long time.” Benjamin chuckled, taking up the challenge.

  Margaret placed her hand on her husband’s arm and smiled. “Benjamin, if you work as fast as you eat, we should be among the first finished.”

  “We are ready. Ja?” Gustaf announced, eager to escape the couples’ companionship for the distraction of hard work.

  With supplies in hand, they all headed for their designated areas. Gustaf hiked his hoe on his shoulder and headed toward the section he and Raelene were to work, aware that she fell in behind him, silent.

  “The working arrangements are good, ja?” he said over his shoulder in a low voice. “You learned mounding only a few days ago when you add to your garden. But we will not plant squash today. We will plant corn and beans. I do not want you to feel badly around the other farm women.”

  “I am grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

  Her tone was cold. Father, help me.

  He dug the hoe into the earth and piled the dirt into a mound. “I will do this in an even spread as we work down the rows.” With the digging stick, he made two holes in the mound. Stepping toward the two tin pails of corn and beans he’d set down nearby, he reached into the one with corn and dropped a few kernels into the top indentation. “Corn will go in top. Beans will go at bottom.” After sprinkling in the beans, he covered the holes with dirt.

  “So, we will plant both into the same mound.”

  “Ja, the beans use the cornstalk as a pole to stay straight and tall. We will check later to stop the weeds from growing.”

  Raelene grabbed handfuls of each type of seed and placed them in two pockets on the front of her apron. It was ingenious. She’d obviously sewn them in preparation for today, because he’d never noticed such deep pockets in her apron before. The other women had no choice but to transport their pails with them as they moved along the rows.

  She looked up in time to catch him watching her, dumbfounded. “What do you think?”

  He cleared his throat. “Inventive,” was all he could manage.

  “If we are to make certain not to finish last, this will help our pace.” For the first time that day, Raelene smiled.

  Gustaf wanted to return the expression, but hesitated, lest he break the spell. Besides, she hadn’t smiled for him but for her own creativity. No doubt, she was delighted at the chance not to have to cook for a change, but the moment the others were gone, the walls would go up again. He’d be left on the outside.

  “Ja, good thinking,” he said cautiously, determined not to tip her mood one way or the other. He moved ahead to dig the next mound. “But our work is not done with mounding and planting. We will have to come back to plant fish in each mound to fertilize. Then we keep the weeds away and watch as seeds take root and sprout.”

  Raelene dug into her pocket for more corn, but not before Gustaf saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes at his indifferent reply. She waited in pronounced silence until the mound was ready, then dug the holes and inserted the seeds as shown.

  It is just as well, he thought. The less communication they had, the easier it would be to get lost in his work. But the longer the silence lasted, the more his conscience was pricked by guilt. Ignoring her misery to protect himself went against his grain. As a believer in God Almighty, his duty to minister to her superseded his personal feelings. Father, help me find the right words.

  As she planted the mound he’d just made, an inspired thought entered his mind. “These seeds are like us,” he began.

  Confusion skimmed over her face.

  “After we are born, we need care so when we are older, we will be productive. Our roots are formed from the instruction of our mother and father and other people in our lives.”

  He moved down the row, working as he spoke. A glance at his companion revealed piqued interest. “When we are ready, we break free from our family, like you divide your flowers when they grow too thick, and we become mature plants—independent, but from the same roots. If the conditions are right, we grow a strong foundation like our parents had and produce smaller plants to be separated when strong enough. And so the cycle goes, no?”

  Raelene poked two holes in the resulting mound, exactly as he’d shown her. “I never thought of farming and family in that perspective.”

  “Our faith in God is almost the same way.”

  ❧

  Raelene dug into her apron, making a fist around a handful of beans. God again. She groaned inwardly. Why did Gustaf insist upon connecting the analogy to faith? It would have been fine to leave it as a parallel to their physical growth. She didn’t want to hear anything about God or how much she needed Him. Her life couldn’t be compared to seeds tended as they grow. God had uprooted her and left her to wither and die without water or sust
enance.

  Gustaf continued without looking up. “We begin as little seeds when we first believe. By reading the Bible and going to the parish with others who believe, we receive the nourishment to grow.”

  Raelene tried to ignore his words, but it was impossible not to hear them.

  “We live and plant seeds in others and help them grow as we grow. If our faith is strong, when the rain and winds and storms come, we survive.”

  The winds and storms hadn’t stopped since her parents’ deaths, she fumed in rebellion. And she was surviving, but not by God’s help. She’d had to compromise her own desires, use her own innovation. She was using Gustaf to save her parents’ farm just as she’d promised she would. Although, she had to admit, she was enjoying his company far more than she thought she would, more than she wanted to.

  And certainly far more than the boring Mr. Erwin Murphy. She had thought that man would never leave so that she could show Gustaf her new invention. Yet after the hours she’d spent reading her father’s books on farming and discovering a way to make the work easier, he acted as if her ingenuity didn’t matter a whit.

  Raelene glanced at the progress of the others. She and Gustaf would finish far ahead of them, thanks to her. But instead of running on about her brilliance, he all but ignored it, rambling on about God and storms.

  She remained quiet and focused on the planting. Let him continue to talk to himself. Perhaps that audience will be preferable to my participation.

  But soon, Gustaf lapsed into silence, a silence that felt as cold as the April winds blowing through the trees at the northern edge of her farm. At least they agreed on something. Not talking would prevent disagreements or arguments. And since almost all of their conversations ended in some form of conflict, maybe silence was the answer.

  Nine

  Gustaf reined in his horse and dismounted at the outskirts of New Castle. Handing the reins to the young lad waiting outside the town corral, he held out a coin.