“Fader!” Lowell couldn’t recall his father ever stopping work before lunch and taking a rest. “Are you all right?”
His father didn’t look up when Lowell sat on the step beside him. Lowell was trying to decide what to do when his mother rushed out the front door.
“What’s the shouting about?” Then she saw her husband. She dried her hands on her apron, then dropped to her knees on the floor beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. “He’s burning up. I can feel it through his shirt.”
Father didn’t look at her, either. She threw her arms around him and pulled him back against her with his head cradled against her chest. “Lowell, he’s terribly sick. Go to town and bring Dr. Bradley as fast as you can.”
Lowell stood and looked down at them. “Let me help you get him up to bed first.”
Mother clutched Father more tightly. “No! When you get your horse, send Ollie to help me.” She started rocking back and forth and praying softly in Swedish. If he didn’t already know how upset she was, that would have told him. Mother hardly ever spoke Swedish anymore.
Lowell raced to the barn. Ollie was hanging the pitchfork on its hook. He let go of the handle and turned. “Lowell, what’s the matter?”
“Fader is very sick.” Lowell saddled his horse as quickly as he could. “He’s on the front porch with Moder. She needs your help getting him to the bedroom.”
Ollie ran out the stable door just before Lowell galloped through. All the way to town, Lowell wondered what the problem could be. “Gud, please help me find Dr. Bradley. Let him be in town and not out on one of the farms!”
He was thankful God answered his prayer. The doctor was finishing sewing up a deep puncture wound in Kurt Madson’s leg. Some farm families took care of things like that at home, but Ellie had always been squeamish, and she was going to have a baby. Lowell helped her get Kurt into the wagon while Dr. Bradley grabbed his bag.
Most days Doc kept his horse tied to the hitching post out front in case of an emergency. Lowell was glad they wouldn’t have to wait for him to saddle the horse or hitch up a buggy. He wanted to get back to the farm before something terrible happened to his father.
On the ride, Doc shouted questions, and Lowell answered them over the sound of the horses galloping. By the time they arrived at the farmhouse, Doc knew as much as Lowell did about his father’s condition.
Ollie was pacing on the front porch, watching the road from town. He met them at the hitching post. “I’ll take care of your horse, Dr. Bradley. You go on up to see about Fader.” He led the animal toward the barn. Lowell knew his brother would cool the horse down, give him a good brushing, and make sure he was fed.
Dr. Bradley had been to their home a number of times, but Lowell escorted him up the stairs to the bedroom his parents shared. Doc went through the door and shut it behind him. Lowell knew they didn’t need him getting in the way, but he didn’t want to go very far. So he hunkered down beside the door. He could hear parts of what was happening in the bedroom, but he didn’t learn much. Fear for his father filled Lowell with dread. Bowing his head, he started to pray but soon ran out of words. He didn’t know what else to say.
Often enough he had read the Scripture passage in Romans, chapter eight, about the Spirit making intercession. So while his heart grew heavier the longer the doctor took, he allowed the Spirit to pray for him, expressing to the heavenly Father his anguish about his earthly father.
It seemed like hours before Dr. Bradley opened the door. Lowell stood and studied his face. What he saw didn’t give him much hope. The doctor looked as worried as Lowell felt.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Lowell.” Dr. Bradley, a short, rotund man, looked up at Lowell’s face. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with your father, and I’m not sure I can help him.”
Lowell could hear his mother’s soft sobs and his father’s heavy breathing coming from the bedroom. “What are we supposed to do?”
“These fevers can be severe. We often don’t know what brings them on.” The doctor started toward the staircase. “I gave your mother a list of things that might help.”
Lowell followed him to the barn. Ollie was attacking bales of hay with the pitchfork. His brother was as worried as he was, but he didn’t ask any questions. When anything bad was happening, Ollie always tried to hide from it as long as he could. He often lost himself in the mundane tasks around the farm, waiting and watching. Before the doctor mounted his horse, Lowell pulled his wallet out and removed the usual fee.
“You don’t have to pay me right now.” Doc put his foot in the stirrup and threw his other leg over the back of the mare. “I may not be able to help your father.”
Lowell held the greenbacks up to him. “You were available to come when we needed you, and we like to stay current with our accounts.”
The doctor stared hard into Lowell’s face before he accepted the money and stuffed it in the pocket of his vest. When he was gone, Lowell and Ollie both sat on a bale of hay. Almost in unison, they dropped their heads into their hands.
After a short time, Ollie raised his head. “The doctor’s expression was grim. How bad is it?”
Lowell stood and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “He doesn’t know.”
Ollie jumped up and started prowling around like a nervous barn cat. “What are we going to do?”
Lowell rocked up on the balls of his feet then dropped his heels with a thud onto the dirt floor. “I’ve been praying a lot.”
“So have I.”
“We’re going to run this horse farm to the best of our abilities and help Mor do all Doc said to do to help Far.”
Six
“You will go because I said you will.” Pierre leaned closer. His whispered words hissed across the table, which was draped in a white linen tablecloth and set with fine china.
Marissa closed her eyes and sighed. She was glad no one was sitting close to them in the large dining room of the hotel. They ate most meals at the boardinghouse, but Pierre occasionally took her to the restaurant for the evening meal. Usually the room was full, and he felt the exposure would help them with the confidence game he had planned. Except today he probably was wasting his money. In a way, Marissa was glad. Everything went his way much too often.
Tonight only two other tables were being used, and the people didn’t look familiar. She thought they must be travelers spending the night at the hotel on their journey to somewhere else. None of them seemed to be aware that she and Pierre were sitting across the room from them.
“Why this sudden interest in church, Pierre?” She brought her attention back to the subject they were discussing.
He glared at Marissa. She was sure he was unhappy with her calling him by his first name, but she hated calling him Father. Marissa didn’t remember much about her own father. She and Clari had been so young when he died. She knew he was tall, with black curly hair, much like theirs. He often pushed his curls back from his forehead. The gesture was familiar. When she was a young child, he seemed extremely tall to her. He gave her rides on his shoulders, and she felt as if she could almost touch the puffy clouds that floated in the sky above them. He ran through the open fields on the plantation, holding on to her feet to keep her from falling from her perch. If she got off balance, she would clutch his ears, and he would tell her to be careful not to pull them off. When he sat on a grassy knoll, she would carefully climb down and sit beside him as they studied the clouds, trying to find animals hiding in them. They would laugh together. Life had been full of happiness—and freedom.
“Haven’t you noticed how important church is to the people who live here?” Pierre said sharply.
Marissa was sorry he’d interrupted her pleasant memories. “Yes, all the ones we know go to church.”
“At least the important ones do. They’re the people we want to impress. You’re doing a good job with Gerda, Anna, and the Braxtons. I’m afraid Clarissa was getting a little too friendly with them. I was glad it was time to swi
tch the two of you when I did. I didn’t want her ruining anything.” Pierre whispered the last sentence because the waitress was approaching the table with their plates of steaming food.
Little did he know Marissa also felt a growing friendship—especially with Gerda and Anna. The only friend she had ever had was her sister, but these women were drawing her out of her shyness. They really cared about her. If only she and Clari could stay here in Litchfield. If only they could live normal lives. If only they weren’t pulling a confidence game. If only Pierre would let her and Clari go free. But she couldn’t live on if onlys.
Pierre had ordered steaks for them, and they smelled delicious. They practically covered the plate, leaving little room for the green beans and mashed potatoes that crowded around the edges. Marissa didn’t want to eat. All the pressures in her life were at war in her stomach, but she knew Pierre would be concerned if she didn’t eat at least part of the meal, so she cut a piece of the tender meat. She followed that bite with a morsel she pinched off the hot buttered roll. It melted in her mouth. The more she ate, the hungrier she got, so soon she was enjoying the food as much as Pierre appeared to be.
Maybe it was because his attention had been drawn away from her to a striking woman who had come into the restaurant to dine alone. She was probably single. Married women didn’t dine out alone. Everyone was looking at her, but Pierre’s focus was different. His eyes devoured the woman while he mindlessly forked the food on his plate into his mouth. The looks he gave her made Marissa feel uneasy. She glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. She was thankful no one did.
If circumstances were different, Marissa was sure he would have tried to make contact with the woman. Marissa knew that often when Pierre left the sisters alone at a campsite he went into a different town to spend time with women. Mother would be distressed if she knew the kind of women he pursued. Many young women Marissa’s age didn’t know about that kind of female, but she had found out about them in some of the books she’d read. She wished Pierre would make a mistake here in Litchfield, such as trying to get friendly with the wrong kind of woman. She had heard of several down at the saloon, but she hadn’t seen any. If he did that, maybe the people would recognize what kind of man he was. Maybe it would bring freedom to her and Clari. At least she could dream about such a wonderful thing happening.
❧
It had been a rough week. Lowell and Ollie did all their father’s work in addition to their own chores, but that wasn’t the hard part. Knowing their father was lying in bed, getting weaker every day, brought an emotional turmoil that sapped their strength. Their mother hardly left his side. It was all they could do to get her to go to sleep at night. Sometimes the only way was for one of them to sit with their father. This added activity drained them further. Lowell didn’t remember being this exhausted.
When Anna found out about Father, she had come home and cooked a meal. Then every day after that, some woman from the church brought the noon meal. There was often enough to feed them dinner too. The brothers were working so hard that they weren’t as hungry as usual. At least they didn’t notice their hunger.
When the Saturday evening chores were finished, Lowell went to his parents’ bedroom and insisted his mother get some rest.
“Are you boys going to church tomorrow?” She turned her weary eyes toward him.
Lowell shook his head, thinking that would be the end of the discussion, but he should have known better.
“And why not?” Mother sounded more like her usual self. “Church is important. Besides, our friends will want to know how Soren is doing and pray for him.”
Lowell didn’t want to add to his mother’s distress, so he agreed to go.
“You’ll take Ollie too, won’t you?” she insisted.
Lowell glanced at his brother, who was leaning against the door facing. Ollie gave a slight nod, and Lowell smiled at his mother. “Of course. We’ll both go.”
Not only had the week been hard, but Saturday night, Father didn’t sleep well. His restlessness kept everyone in the house awake, trying to ease his pain and help him. He didn’t want to take the medicine Doc had left for him, so it was an almost impossible task. When Lowell and Ollie finally went to bed, they overslept. They knew that if they didn’t want to be late for church, they would have to hurry to finish the chores and eat breakfast. Lowell was tempted to tell their mother they wouldn’t go.
In addition to the horses that provided most of their livelihood, they also had the usual assortment of farm animals to provide food for the family. It took Lowell awhile to milk their two cows while his brother took care of the chickens and pigs. When he arrived back in the kitchen with the buckets of milk, his mother was cooking breakfast. He knew she hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he had, but she was up early so he and Ollie could get to church. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t going. He just hoped he could stay awake for the pastor’s sermon.
They had a new pastor, who was only a little older than Lowell. Joseph Harrelson had been in Litchfield for a few months, and in that time, Lowell had gotten to know him well. His sermons were biblical and thought provoking. Lowell had grown in his walk with the Lord from listening to them. That was one reason he was so concerned about this thing that was happening between him and his brother. He knew he should talk to Pastor Harrelson about the problem, but he’d been too busy. When Father was better, he would make the time. Lowell felt as if it were stunting his spiritual growth, and he didn’t want that to happen.
The singing had started before Lowell and Ollie rode their horses into the churchyard. But they weren’t the only people who were late. A buggy pulled up while they were tying their horses to a hitching post. Pierre Le Blanc was driving, and Rissa sat on the seat, shading herself from the hot sun with a dainty ruffled parasol that matched her dress. Her black curls were pulled up in an elaborate style, topped by a small hat that perched like a mother bird on a carefully built nest. A thin veil draped her face, making her look more intriguing. . .mysterious. . .inviting.
Lowell swallowed hard and glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Ollie was smiling at the woman. Once again, the knowledge that something had come between him and his brother pierced Lowell’s heart. When he looked back at Rissa, she sent a shy smile his way. He walked over to the buggy.
“May I help you down?” He didn’t care what her father or his brother thought.
Rissa held out her graceful hand, and he clasped it gently. With his other hand, he supported her arm as she stepped from the conveyance. She was such a tiny woman, as light as a feather. After both slippered feet were firmly on the ground, he reluctantly released her. She reached down to straighten her skirt.
“You look lovely this morning, Miss Le Blanc.” He couldn’t keep his voice from sounding husky.
She glanced up at him and blushed. “Please, call me Rissa.” She lowered her eyes and brushed an invisible speck from her sky blue silk dress.
Lowell tipped his hat, and Mr. Le Blanc came around the buggy and took Rissa’s arm. They headed toward the door of the church, leaving Lowell with his brother.
“What do you suppose they’re doing here?” Ollie watched them until they were inside. “I’ve never seen them in church before, and we haven’t missed a Sunday since they’ve been in town.”
“I’m sure she has come to worship, as we all have.” Lowell wished his brother wasn’t so interested in her.
Ollie didn’t look convinced. “Something’s not quite right about her or her father. I can’t imagine either of them worshipping. They’re here for some other reason.”
Lowell stood where he was while his brother entered the building. Ollie had to be wrong about Rissa. Lowell would slip in later, but right now he needed some time alone.
❧
When Marissa and Pierre entered the church, the congregation was singing a song she had never heard before. Even though it was about the blood of Jesus, it sounded soothing instead of gruesome. Marissa had
never liked to see blood—hers or anyone else’s. She had even fainted a time or two when she or Clari was injured as a child. But the music and the words washed over her, warming something deep inside.
Pierre led the way down the aisle to two seats on the second pew. Marissa didn’t like to be the center of attention, but she couldn’t help it when Pierre was around.
“ ‘What can wash away my sins? Nothing but the blood of Jesus! What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus!’ ” Everyone else in the room sang with great gusto, as if they meant every word.
Mother had died when Marissa and Clari were ten, but before that, she had told them stories of children from the Bible. Marissa remembered baby Moses in a basket, little David who killed a giant with his slingshot, and baby Jesus in a manger. Could that be the same Jesus everyone was singing about? How could that baby take away your sins and make you whole? She faintly recalled a story about a Jesus who died; maybe that was the One they were singing about.
When the preacher began his sermon, Marissa listened to every word, although she didn’t understand many of the things he said. Once, she glanced at Pierre, and he looked bored. She was sure he wasn’t listening to the preacher.
It was hot in the room, even though the windows were all open. Marissa took out a folding fan from her reticule and unfurled it. The rhythmic movement of the fan didn’t take her concentration from the sermon.
She didn’t understand it all. He said you couldn’t commit a sin for which Jesus wouldn’t forgive you, if you asked Him. Marissa wondered what kind of sins these people could have committed. She was sure none of them had done anything as bad as the things Pierre made her and Clari do. She wished she could talk to someone about what had been going on in her life, but she couldn’t. None of these people could know what she had done—or what she was going to have to do later. They wouldn’t understand, and if Pierre found out, he would punish her for talking about it. Of course, he always made sure her clothes would cover any bruises.
Double Deception Page 5
