Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2)

by Vikki Kestell

  She and Grant talked effortlessly about everything, and he truly listened when Joy spoke. He was the only person she had ever shared her whole heart with. He wanted to know everything about her; he plied her with questions and she willingly responded.

  She confided in him, “I come from a large family—only one brother, but oh, so many cousins, nephews, nieces, and second cousins! We are always teasing each other.”

  “From the time I was a little girl I could do sums in my head, quickly and effortlessly, even complicated ones. All my cousins, Arnie, too, teased me and tried to set sums I couldn’t solve without pencil and paper. It became a family pastime—‘see if we can stump Joy with this one’! But I could always solve those sums, no matter how large or difficult.”

  Grant was, of course, intrigued and had to try her also. Then he was simply amazed as she rattled off the solutions to each problem he set before her.

  “I love our farm back in RiverBend. It is only a typical, small Nebraska farm, but it was a wonderful place to grow up! Even so, Papa and Mama knew how much I wanted to go to college.” She ducked her head modestly. “I just finished my course of study at business college.”

  Her papa and mama had realized that their daughter would never be completely happy on a farm or teaching school. They had wisely sent her to a small business college for women—still a new and audacious concept for females in the year 1900. Joy had loved it and had thrived on every course of study she undertook.

  “No! You cannot be that old,” Grant teased.

  Joy laughed back at him. “I went at 17, sir, and graduated after less than two years. I now possess a thorough understanding of business and accounting.”

  “What! You intend to work, then?” He loved to see her eyes spark when he teased her. Indeed, he was growing to love everything about this woman.

  “I do. Why, this is a new century! The world is changing. I want to change with it,” Joy replied saucily. “Cousin Arnie doesn’t know it yet, but I intend to convince him that he cannot get along without my skills in his law office. So you see, kind sir, I have a plan.”

  She just hadn’t planned on Grant Michaels!

  Grant gently took Joy’s hand, and for some reason her heart began to hammer in her chest, in her throat, in the tips of her fingers. “Dear Joy . . .” he murmured softly. “I have a plan also, and I’m wondering . . .”

  She looked up into his face, his curly hair framing those lovely eyes and, with awe, saw love staring back at her. “You are wondering?”

  “Yes, I’m wondering, dear Joy . . . if your plan is also your dream.”

  “My dream?” Oh, would her heart please stop choking her!

  “Yes, you see . . . my plan is also my dream, the vision of my future that I believe the Lord has given me. It is the dream I cannot live without. So . . . I’m wondering, you see, if your plan is the dream you cannot live without. Because you see, my dear, dear Joy Again Thoresen, you are absolutely essential to my dream. Without you . . . well, you see, it wouldn’t be my dream any longer. It would be merely a plan.”

  “Oh!” Joy could not breathe, could not swallow.

  “Dear Joy, will you marry me? I love you as I love my life. I cannot have a dream, a future, in which you are not my heroine and partner for life.”

  Joy disintegrated into tears. Grant pulled her gently into his arms and, with her face buried in the lapel of his suit coat, he caressed and stroked her hair while whispering every endearment and vow of affection he had stored up in his heart.

  As her sobs finally eased, he lifted her face to his. “Does this mean yes or no, my dearest?”

  “Yeeees.” Joy squeaked at last.

  He nodded solemnly. “So in the future, when you soak my suit coat, shirt, and cravat with your tears, I’ll know you are inexpressibly happy?” He was bursting with delight, but could not resist teasing her, if only a little.

  “Oh, Grant!” and Joy gladly surrendered to his arms again.

  Of course Jan and Rose insisted on knowing every detail about Grant Michaels. They traveled from RiverBend to Omaha and scrutinized him from all possible angles, but Grant passed their inspections handily: He was, of most importance, a man who truly loved God. In addition, he was showing himself to be devoted to their daughter and to providing for a family. Grant earned Jan and Rose’s respect and approval, and in every way he was all Joy could want in a friend and husband.

  Instead of the carefree summer she had anticipated, the next two months were filled with wedding plans and preparations. Friends and family showered Grant and Joy with good wishes and gifts to begin their lives together.

  They said their vows before the Lord on a Saturday in late August, not long after Joy’s nineteenth birthday. The church they attended in Omaha was overflowing with dear friends and family: Jan and Rose; Joy’s half brother Søren, his wife Meg, and their five children; cousins Sigrün, Kjell, and Karl and their families; dear friends (and Meg’s parents) Brian and Fiona McKennie; and Pastor and Mrs. Medford, all who traveled from RiverBend to attend the wedding.

  One face sorely missed in the congregation that day was Joy’s Aunt Amalie. She had gone home to the Lord three years before.

  Arnie, Anna, Petter, Willem, and their church family in Omaha also celebrated with them. And Joy’s dearest cousin Uli, her husband David Kalbørg, and their three children traveled from their home in Colorado to share Joy and Grant’s happy day.

  While Grant had many friends in the community who attended the wedding, he no longer had family other than two cousins who lived in Maryland. His parents and only sister had passed away when he was scarcely grown to manhood.

  At the altar Arnie stood up with Grant, and Uli stood up with Joy. Although nine years separated the Uli and Joy, Joy had been the little sister of Uli’s heart. Uli was Sigrün, Karl, Arnie, and Kjell’s baby sister; their father, Jan’s brother Karl, had died before Uli was born, and Jan had been the only father figure she had ever known.

  When Jan and Rose married and had baby Joy, Uli had promptly appropriated Joy as her own. Some of Joy’s earliest memories were of Uli smiling over her cradle, reading to her, playing with her, and being everything a big sister could be. When Uli married and moved away, Joy had been a devastated little 10-year-old girl.

  As the organ played, Joy floated down the aisle on her papa’s arm. Happy tears trickled down Rose’s face as she watched the two people dearest to her—her husband, still blonde and handsome at 74, and her daughter, blooming, all pinks and whites, her eyes shining for the man anxiously waiting for her at the altar.

  Grant slipped a gold band, the token of his love and promise to Joy, on the ring finger of her left hand. “With this ring, I thee wed . . .”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 3

  Fall 1907

  Over the next years, Joy became Grant’s partner in business as well as in life. Grant owned a tool store on the growing edge of Omaha’s downtown district and had funneled all his ingenuity and industry into making it a success. While still specializing in tools, before long he was able to expand into general hardware and farm implements. The sign above the store declared in gold-edged letters, “Michaels’ Tools, Hardware, and Farm Implements.”

  Joy was enthralled with their business and loved every part of the store—the heavy, oversized entrance doors with their brass hardware and beautifully lettered glass; the distinctive hollow thud of footsteps on the rough, wood-planked floors; the warm smell of oiled leather; and aisles lined with bins chock-full of nails, tacks, screws, washers, nuts, hinges, knobs, and bolts.

  She loved the worn-smooth wooden countertops where their customers did their business and she loved the cheery oil stove in the center of the store where people gathered during the winter to warm their hands on mugs of coffee and swap news and stories.

  Blackie, who befriended every customer, padded freely among the aisles, gently nudging willing hands. Grant kept a basket for Blackie near the stove and here he warmed his aging bones dur
ing the cold season.

  “Good old dog,” Grant would murmur, rubbing Blackie’s ears affectionately. “Good old dog.”

  Joy loved doing the store’s books and prided herself on keeping the ledgers and balancing them every day. Most of all, she loved the life of their store, how she and Grant and their employees served so many people’s needs and how Michaels’ was a needed and appreciated part of their community.

  However, after more than five years of marriage, a void remained in their union. For some reason, children had not arrived. Joy suffered no miscarriages and her cycle was regular. Grant and Joy prayed, but their family did not increase. Joy watched and wondered as their friends’ families bloomed and grew.

  Joy recognized that if she allowed herself to dwell on their lack of children she could become despondent. Her parents had taught her that self-pity was not of God, so she focused her time and energy on what she and Grant were building. They loved and served the Lord together, they had a contented home, and they worked side-by-side, gradually expanding their business and reputation. Instead of buying a house, they chose to make a comfortable home over the store and offices so that they could grow without debt. And they grew in their love.

  “My dear, I shall miss my train!” Grant laughed as Joy caught him and kissed him again at the door. “And you know full well Arnie and Petter are waiting outside to take me to the station.”

  “I don’t care! Must you go?” Joy responded half-playfully, holding his jacket tightly. “Six weeks is such a long time! And it might be longer if the crossing is difficult.”

  She wasn’t pouting. Well, not exactly anyway. And she didn’t mind shouldering Grant’s responsibilities in his absence. It was only that her heart would not be whole as long as he was away.

  Grant knew. He always knew what bothered her and always felt a separation as keenly as she did.

  “I shall not be gone one day, one moment longer than I must, my darling,” he whispered, cupping her chin to look into her deep blue eyes. “We agreed, did we not, on this venture?”

  “Yes . . .” Joy answered reluctantly.

  Because of their frugal living, they had managed to save enough to buy the building next to their store. Opening a second store, one specializing in fine household goods, would diversify their line of business. The new store was to be Joy’s special domain.

  “We know the need is there,” she admitted. “You must go to Boston and on to England to select our inventory and establish our suppliers. But I do so wish I were going with you.”

  “Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Grant smiled. “But who would we leave in charge while we were gone? Mr. Wheatley? Mr. Taub? Billy?”

  They both laughed. Mr. Wheatley was near 70 years old and, although always proper, usually projected a frenzied demeanor, no doubt aided by a head of wispy, perpetually on-end hair. In reality he was as reliable as the sunrise and served their customers well. Unfortunately he also had no head for accounts and began yawning each day at 4 p.m.

  Mr. Taub, who managed their farm implements, was efficient but could be a bit imperious, even with the store’s clientele! Billy Evans, their youngest employee, always wore an infectious grin and tore through his duties with the indefatigable energy of youth. Although he was just past 20 years old, he was already head and shoulders above most grown men. Like a young bull he sometimes bowled over or scattered customers in his wake.

  No, it was clear to both of them that Joy must remain and manage while Grant was gone.

  “All right, darling, I’ll let you go before you miss your train,” and Joy released his jacket, smoothing it as she did. “Do you have the list? You will pay special attention to the few notes I made?”

  Grant laughed. “My dear, I would not dream of misplacing this ‘list,’ although a list of eight detailed pages surely qualifies as a treatise rather than ‘a few notes’?”

  “Do not tease me, Grant Michaels,” Joy retorted. “Sending a man to select fine linens, china, and quality furnishings requires the detailed guidance of a woman with discriminating taste.” She added with mock hauteur, “You must thoroughly acquaint yourself with my notes so that our store is stocked appropriately and with taste.”

  She stopped and then gripped him anxiously again. “Come home soon, my love. The Lord bless you in all you do while you are gone.”

  Grant held her close and whispered for both of them, “Father, we thank you for this new opportunity. We thank you for your grace and mercy every day. Your grace is sufficient for us, Lord. Thank you for watching over us. Thank you for comforting my beloved while I am gone. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Joy echoed.

  Joy received an enthusiastic letter from Grant 11 days later. He had spent five days in Boston searching the stores and warehouses for goods and was satisfied with his contacts and orders.

  I embark on the Richmond the day after tomorrow. The Richmond, while not the newest steamer on the seas, will make excellent time, and should dock in Liverpool after no more than 10 days.

  When I return to Boston in four weeks or thereabouts, I will conclude arrangements with our new suppliers and take the earliest train home to you. Be advised that I shall not let you out of my sight or my arms for a week.

  Joy smiled and warmed at the thought of Grant’s arms around her.

  Grant leaned far out over the rail of the Richmond as space grew between the ship and the Boston docks on that brisk fall morning. He watched with fascination the water churning under the hull of the ship far below. The rails of the many-decked liner, both above and below his level, were lined with passengers waving to loved ones on the crowded pier. Slowly the tugs alongside of them eased them away from the docks and out into the open water.

  It would be an hour before the ship cleared the congested shipping lanes of Massachusetts Bay and began to steam at full speed. Their route would take them north and east, skirting Nova Scotia before arcing across the great expanse of the Atlantic to the British Isles. They would dock at Liverpool, England’s great industrial port on her west coast, north of Wales and across the Irish Sea from Dublin.

  The captain had cautioned that they would be dashing through a light storm as they neared mid-afternoon, but he expected the ship to pass through it quickly. Grant, after meeting his cabin mate and settling his luggage, set out to explore the vessel from stem to stern, intrigued with all he saw.

  Richmond was a modest passenger liner just past her prime. She’d been well maintained and had crossed the Atlantic countless times in her 20-some years at sea. Grant noted some wear and weathering, but he also saw evidence of the care of Richmond’s masters.

  The first mate observed Grant’s curiosity and called cordially to him. “She’s an aging lady, but a grand one, sir. Don’t worry about her! She’ll be plying the sea for another 20 years, I wager.” The mate touched his hat in respect and resumed his watch.

  At noon Grant ate a light lunch and afterwards took a brisk walk on the promenade. Toward mid-day the sky began to darken to their south and the seas began to pick up. Grant reluctantly retired to his cabin to read. Before long, however, his cabin mate took to his bed in distress, obviously suffering sea sickness.

  The ship forged steadily through the rough waters, but Grant soon found it impossible to be inside while the ship battled the growing wind and waves. His cabin mate groaned again on his cot and retched.

  Grant’s stomach tossed a little too, and his cabin mate’s distress was not helping. Craving fresh air to set him right, he donned a hooded slicker and went out of the cabin. He made his way down the hall to the closed hatch that led to their level’s covered passage on the port side of the ship. He pulled it open and stepped outside.

  Aside from a few scurrying crew members, he was alone. The sky, a sickly shade of yellow, hung thickly down upon the ship. The sea pitched violently, and the Richmond alternately rose and dropped in an erratic manner.

  The “light storm” the captain had predicted seem
ed to be something much more. Grant set out to find and ask someone about it. He grasped the rail as a blast of wind sheared down the side of the ship, staggering him.

  A sailor in full oilskins, holding the rail and crabbing down the walkway toward him, hollered above the keening wind, “Eh! Another like that one’ll put ya over the side if’n you don’t have a care, sir! Best to be inside, I’m thinkin’.”

  Grant agreed and acknowledged the sailor’s concern but shouted back, “I thought the captain said this was to be a light storm!”

  “Aye,” the man called into the wind. “But ’tis blowin’ a nor’easter. Turribly unpredictable they are. No tellin’ how long or bad she’ll be.”

  As though to punctuate the storm’s unpredictability, stinging rain began to pummel the ship. The sailor hustled away. Grant followed the man’s example and pulled himself down the deck, grasping the rail hand-over-hand.

  Then the sea did not pitch—it simply opened before the ship. He stared over the side as they swooped down into the hole the ocean presented to them.

  “Dear God!” he exclaimed in horror, unable to look away.

  As large as the liner was, the hole was surely larger. Finally, the Richmond nosed back up, but the wind veered freakishly again, hammering them from the side. The ship lurched over to starboard and momentarily wallowed. Grant lost his grip on the rail and slammed up against the ship’s wall. He quickly regained his feet and the rail. He continued to haul himself down the railing until he came to the closed hatch that led back into the shelter of the cabins.

  A crack of thunder right atop them momentarily stunned him. Then he threw himself at the hatch and grasped the handle—it would not turn! He pounded and pushed against the hatch to no avail. Grant felt the ship leap into the air again as the wild ocean rose—and then dropped from under them.