by Amber Miller
“Treat her well, and you might see another upon my return.”
The boy beamed a wide smile. “Yes, sir! She will receive the royal treatment.”
He patted the lad’s shoulder and strode off in the direction of the courthouse. Planting season had commandeered all of his spare time between working two farms. He missed the opportunity to converse with members of the assembly and other men in town on the latest happenings throughout the colonies. Being the second-born son had its advantages. With Stefan assuming the lion’s share of the responsibility for the farm, Gustaf was free to pursue his interests in politics and events both local and abroad.
Although Raelene believed him to be nothing more than an uneducated farmer, at least in town he could embrace a lesser-known pastime. A lad was hawking the latest issue of the Pennsylvania Gazette. Gustaf signaled the boy to approach and gave him a few halfpence. After Benjamin Franklin had purchased the Gazette, it fast became the most successful newspaper in the colonies. Gustaf snapped open the paper and read the headings, wondering what news from Philadelphia or outrageous reports he’d find in this issue.
His favorite outlandish announcement was from last November. The postmaster, Benjamin Franklin, had published news of the wife of a peasant being brought to bed by the impending delivery of eight children, seven girls and a boy, all healthy and living. Gustaf couldn’t fathom having two children at once, let alone eight. How the woman coped, he had no idea.
The first notice to catch his attention was an announcement of an expedition headed for the Spanish West Indies.
“Gustaf, your timing is impeccable.” Jeremiah Shaw hailed him from the front steps and main doorway of the courthouse. “Planting season has no doubt kept you from town; am I right?”
From the dark cloak fastened with two buttons over his narrow frame to the tan breeches and dark stockings covered by buckled shoes, Jeremiah was the picture of dignified society in New Castle. The customary powdered wig was absent in rebellion of the British custom, and a single ribbon tied back his dark hair at the neck.
Gustaf ascended the wide steps and joined his friend, spying a copy of the same newspaper in his hand.
“Ja, and as overseer for the Strattford farm, I cannot come to town when I like. Have I missed much?”
With a reportedly weak constitution from frequent bouts of illness, Jeremiah wasn’t suited to working a farm like Gustaf. But his connections to the assembly through his father had benefited Gustaf more than once.
Jeremiah held up the paper and pointed to an article at the top. “There has been a command from Governor George Thomas. He is commissioning as many as are willing to enlist to join the expedition for attacking and plundering the Spanish West Indies!”
“Ja, I was about to read that.”
“Ironic, don’t you think? We have had our own legislature and assembly here in New Castle for almost forty years, but we are forced to remain under Pennsylvania’s jurisdiction.”
“At least we are allowed to meet here in New Castle. Better than having all of our decisions taking place in Philadelphia, no?”
“True.” Jeremiah’s expression turned grim. “My older brother has been summoned, as have Abraham and Jacob Gooding, among others from Pennsylvania’s three southern colonies.”
“Both sons?” Gustaf felt like he’d suffered a solid blow to his midsection. He’d known the Gooding family since he was a boy. What would Josiah do with his only sons gone on some military expedition?
Jeremiah seemed to read Gustaf’s thoughts. “Only one of the Curtis sons is called, so Samuel is going to send two of his other sons to help out on the Gooding farm.”
“I wondered how Josiah would get through planting season without them. Samuel is a good man. I will tell Far and Stefan. They will help, too. I am busy with my farm and the Strattford farm. But I will help where I can.”
Jeremiah folded the paper and tucked it under his arm, then gave his cloak a tug downward. “So I have heard, but I am interested in the news from your mouth. How are things faring with that irascible young maiden to whom you have indebted your service?”
Gustaf grew wary at the eagerness displayed on Jeremiah’s face. He was as bad as a woman in a quilting circle sometimes. Gustaf chose his words carefully. “We get along well.”
Jeremiah flashed a conspiratorial grin, the same one that had won him the favor of many a fair maiden. “Well, you say? I would venture a guess that you are still far more besotted by the fair-haired beauty than you care to admit.” He threw his arm around Gustaf’s shoulders and forced him to bow to Jeremiah’s shorter stature. “Come, come. I know you had the good fortune to obtain a view of the land agreement her father signed.”
Gustaf breathed a sigh of relief. Jeremiah hadn’t taken up matchmaking after all. “Ja, and everything was good. Miss Strattford became the full owner when her father died.”
“No clause of any kind that would provide you or anyone else with access?”
Gustaf hesitated. He’d been careful to speak only with Jurien about the truth of his circumstances, but even he didn’t know everything. Jeremiah was trustworthy. Of that, Gustaf had no doubt. And he needed to get this off his chest.
“Ja, there was one thing. Miss Strattford got very upset.”
An interested gleam shone in Jeremiah’s eyes.
“She must marry before her eighteenth birthday or she loses the land back to the assembly.”
“And when is this fated day?”
Gustaf would no doubt regret this, but he’d come this far. No sense not sharing the complete details. “Fifteen, October.”
“That’s less than six months hence.”
“Ja, I know the time is not long, but there is more. Miss Strattford and I argued about this. Now I must find a husband for her.”
Jeremiah slapped his thigh with the newspaper and chortled. “I must say, that is the most humorous bit of information I have had the pleasure of being told in quite some time.”
A sense of urgency rushed in at Jeremiah’s raised voice. “You cannot tell anyone. The agreement must be honest. If men learn this, there could be problems. I want Miss Strattford safe.” As if I haven’t done enough already. “I promised to help, and I will not break that promise. No deceit.”
Jeremiah held out his free hand without hesitation. “On my honor.”
Gustaf clasped Jeremiah’s hand in a firm grip. “Thank you.” He placed his tricornered hat on his head and positioned it. “Now I have many shops to visit. Then I will return to the farm. Give my greetings to your father and brother. I pray he returns from his travels quickly and in good health.”
Jeremiah gave his friend a two-finger salute in parting. “By your leave.”
Relief filled him at bringing Jeremiah into his full confidence. Although he’d uttered many long petitions to Almighty God, having someone of flesh and blood made the task seem less daunting.
In no time at all, he’d completed his errands and returned across the cobblestone street to the corral. Under his arm, he carried a copy of the latest Poor Richard’s Almanack for Raelene and a dusty volume of a novel written by Daniel Defoe entitled Robinson Crusoe that Mr. Walwoord from the dry goods store had recommended and sold him. If Raelene was going to continue reading to him during their midday meals, he wanted to choose some of the stories she read.
As he rounded the corner of the candle shop, he stopped fast upon hearing Raelene’s name.
“Yes, the Strattford maid,” Preston Sanbourne was saying. “I have it on excellent authority that she will be agreeable to what I have to offer. It has been my pleasure to observe her during her visits to town. The opportunity to turn that observance into a more permanent arrangement is one I simply cannot ignore.”
Gustaf peered around the corner, careful to remain concealed from the small group of men assembled i
n front of the tavern. At the center was Sanbourne, a braggart if ever there was one. As the man revealed partial contents of the Strattford will, Gustaf’s anger began to fester. Where had he learned that information? Surely not from Jeremiah! Sanbourne must have eavesdropped on their conversation. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart at his role in spreading Raelene’s humiliating circumstances. Instead of protecting her, he’d made it worse. All because he wanted to share his burden. He should’ve left it with God.
Gustaf wanted to beat Sanbourne’s words back into him, but violence was not the answer. It would only spread the news faster. Thankfully, Sanbourne wasn’t sharing everything with his comrades, but he obviously knew enough to cause trouble.
Taking the path behind the tavern to the corral, Gustaf gave the lad another coin, mounted his horse, and pointed her toward home. The near-hour ride gave him ample time to formulate a plan.
❧
“Why can you not understand or respect my wishes, Mr. Hanssen?”
Gustaf remained with his back to Raelene, staring out the diamond-paned window at the rain that fell as she reprimanded him. Once again, he had tried to turn their discussion after the midday meal toward God and faith.
“You know nothing of what I have endured, nor can you comprehend all I have lost, beginning when Father moved us here from our home in England.” She placed the marker in the newly acquired copy of Robinson Crusoe and placed the book in her lap. “We had it all—servants, fancy gowns, invitations to the most affluent of societal events, and the promise of aligning my family with another of equal or greater standing than our own.”
The nerve of the man, she thought, running her fingers over the worn cover of the book. Her pleasure upon receiving this wonderful gift had been quickly dampened by Gustaf’s desire to use Crusoe’s rejection of his father’s advice as a parallel to her own decision to turn her back on God.
“How can someone like you begin to imagine what that life is like? Farming is all you have known, and you still have your entire family with you.”
If only he would allow her to read without interjecting his perspectives on the state of her relationship with God. The story of a lone English adventurer on the high seas could make their forced situation more than bearable.
When Gustaf finished drying the last of the dishes and turned to face her, a mix of sympathy and hurt dominated his face. Mouth downturned, he took a step forward then stopped, propping one leg on the bench at the table. Clearly at odds with himself, he folded his arms across his chest, then dropped them to his sides and at last clasped them in front of him.
The man made what she had always considered an ample kitchen seem much smaller. It was impossible to ignore him, even though warning bells rang at the prospect of giving him her full attention. Why couldn’t he simply dispense with the platitudes so they could finish the chapter before they had to resume work for the afternoon?
She nervously opened the book again and made a show of trying to find her place, even though it was well marked. His silence was as bad as his penchant for preaching.
“Miss Strattford,” he began after an interminable time, “I know you suffer.” He paused and cleared his throat. “And I see your pain.”
Raelene tapped her foot on the floor. He always cleared his throat to speak when they were alone. Did she make him as nervous as he made her? The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing.
Squaring his shoulders, he folded his arms across his chest. “You are impatient like a wounded animal, because you are in pain. It hides the good and decent person inside and makes you swim in self-pity and anger at the only One who can heal you. But you should know, Miss Strattford. Your pain is nothing compared to what His Son suffered in your place.” With a look that nailed Raelene to her chair, Gustaf straightened and marched for the door. Jerking it open, he slapped his hat on his head and paused. “Continue to blame Him if it is your wish, but it will not heal the hurt inside. You must give it to Him.”
The door slammed behind Gustaf, leaving Raelene stunned. But the tearing at her insides would not be contained. She raised the back of her hand to her stinging eyes and wiped away a bitter tear. First one, then another. . .and another. Her anguish tore from her throat in a sob of hopelessness. If only. . . She hugged herself, starting to rock with the brutal onslaught. If only what Gustaf said were that easy.
❧
Gustaf ran the brush down Valdig’s neck and across the gentle slope of his back, working out his frustration through the methodical routine. He’d already given Jägar a daily grooming, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t yet relaxed. How that woman could tweak the one nerve that invariably caused him to lash out without taking time to think before speaking!
Valdig sidestepped Gustaf’s heavy-handedness and twisted his head around to nudge Gustaf’s arm.
“I’m sorry, boy.” He stroked the animal’s forelock and resumed brushing at a gentler pace. Leave it to God to use one of His creations to send a simple message to him. Gustaf turned his eyes heavenward.
“Father above, You know how deep is Raelene’s pain. I can only try to reason with her. Her heart is hard, and only You can make it soft. Please bring her back to You. Let me be like Your hand to offer comfort where I can. Use Your servant and take my humble offer.”
Peace settled over him at leaving the situation in God’s capable hands. He should know better. Every time he tried to handle things himself, he only succeeded in making them worse. Gustaf had planted the seeds, perhaps more of them than were needed. But only God could work the miracle Raelene needed to make them grow.
Later that night, as he carried some blankets up the ladder to make a bed in the hayloft of Raelene’s barn—a decision he’d made after hearing Preston declare his intentions to pursue Raelene earlier that day—Gustaf wondered if he’d already gone too far.
Ten
When he turned the situation over to God, Gustaf hadn’t known it would still be so difficult to fulfill his promise. He had introduced three men to Raelene in the past month. And she’d found something wrong with each one. The woman was impossible to please.
If he were to admit the truth, so was he. Not a one had he really been comfortable in introducing to Raelene, despite having checked on their characters and abilities to take over in his stead once she was married. Sometimes he felt more like Raelene’s father than a reluctant matchmaker, unwilling to show favor on any man because no one was good enough for her. And being forced to chaperone each meeting was sheer torture, even if it did give Gustaf insight into the lady’s nature. He’d picked up on little nuances of disapproval that she tried to hide behind a facade of politeness.
Today, Nicholas Ridgely had chosen to call upon Raelene at noontime, effectively interrupting their daily routine. Long in the face and narrow at the shoulders, the man struck Gustaf as someone better suited to an educated profession than to hard labor, although he’d checked out the man’s qualifications. Good family, educated, and serving as counsel to the assembly. He could hire an overseer if need be. Raelene invited Gustaf to join them for dinner, but he wasn’t as good at hiding his true feelings as Raelene. Or worse, he’d say something foolish, demonstrating his lack of formal education.
So he declined. “I am behind in my chores, so I will work through the noon meal today.” Gustaf had taken his plate and backed away as if fire nipped at his heels. A moment later, he backtracked and stood in front of them. “Thank you, Miss Strattford, for the venison and rice. I will bring back the trencher when I am done.”
He piddled about close by like a watchdog, making a show of fixing one of the new stable doors that had swollen and needed its edge shaved. All he could see was the flash of panic that had entered her eyes when he had declined to join them. At least, he thought it was panic. For all his observation of Raelene, when it came to her feelings regarding him, she was a puzzle.
But sh
e needed to make up her mind without his influence. That would never happen as long as he remained on hand and provided her with an excuse. He ran the carpenter’s plane over the edge of the door, watching as a paper-thin layer of wood curled up behind the razor-sharp blade.
As Gustaf felt the smooth edge of the unfinished wood with his fingers, voices drew his attention to where Raelene had led Nicholas outside to sit beneath the shade of a tall oak. Had she done that to remain in his sight, or did she merely wish to enjoy the warmer weather of late spring? Gustaf set the door against the side of the barn to mount it on its hinges later and walked over to the woodpile. The constant need for split wood would allow him to remain nearby, if indeed she really felt more secure in his presence.
Despite the whoosh of the ax cutting through the air and the loud crack of the splitting wood, Nicholas’s attempts to sustain a conversation still reached Gustaf’s ear.
“You have done. . .a—a lot with this farm.”
“Thank you. It has not been accomplished without a great deal of effort and the assistance of several workers.”
“You are to be commended.”
Raelene took a bite of the cookies she’d made for dessert and chewed with slow contemplation. “Tell me,” she began after swallowing, “have you much experience working a farm?”
Nicholas reacted with so much enthusiasm, Gustaf thought he’d fall off the bench. He almost overturned his plate. “Oh my! Do forgive me.” He wet his lips. “Yes. I have w–worked all my life on our farm. B–but in a lesser capacity than my father and brothers.”
Great. If this nervous stammering continues, it will take Nicholas until this time next year before he communicates his interest. Nicholas was the first of Raelene’s suitors for whom Gustaf actually felt sorry. It was a matter of time before Raelene sent him scampering like the rest, although she’d do it kindly.
