by Erica Vetsch
His eyes were stern, his expression fierce. Though his grip on her arm was firm, it wasn’t tight as he directed her to the porch.
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“We’ll be back soon, Poppet. Just keep on with what you’re doing.” He closed the door behind him.
Kate clasped her elbows, turning to face the sunshine. Overhead, a V of Canada geese honked and flapped, heading for warmer temperatures.
“What are you doing?” Oscar asked. “Scrubbing my floors?”
She looked up at him. He stood with one hand braced on a porch post, the other on the railing, looking out over his fields dormant now that the harvest was over. He wore a patched flannel shirt, the plaid faded from many washings, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with brown hair. Everything about him exuded masculinity and strength. And his jaw had a hint of stubbornness.
He also clearly had a bee in his bonnet about expectant mothers doing basic chores. What was she supposed to do? Wrap herself in a quilt and huddle in a rocking chair until her time came?
“You don’t have to scrub my house. I know I’m no housekeeper, but my house isn’t exactly a pigsty.” He frowned, and she realized he wasn’t upset about her working while in what he called “a delicate condition.” Rather, they had offended him.
“Of course your home isn’t a pigsty.” She went to stand beside him. “I’m so sorry if we’ve overstepped. Grossmutter and I are keeping busy and, in a small way, trying to repay you for some of your kind hospitality.”
Some of the tightness went out of his shoulders. “I’m not looking to get repaid. Anyway, you shouldn’t be scrubbing floors. You should be sitting at that table with your family figuring out what you’re going to do next, where you’re going to go.”
Because the sooner they were out of his house, the better. He hadn’t wanted them to begin with, and he wanted them gone at the earliest possible moment. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard, unwilling to cry.
“We’ll do that now.” She went back into the house, picked up the sudsy bucket and went outside, pitching the contents in a silvery arc onto the grass beside the steps. When she returned to the kitchen, she began placing the chairs around the table once more. Grossmutter and Grossvater stood at the dry sink, watching her with troubled eyes.
“Are we done?” Liesl asked, still holding her rag.
“For now. Why don’t you go see your daddy? He’s out on the porch.”
“I want to stay with you and clean. I like cleaning.” The child swiped the seat of the last chair with a flourish.
“I know you do, sweetling, but there are things we grown-ups have to talk about.” Kate motioned to her family.
Liesl’s eyes narrowed. “Things that little girls aren’t supposed to hear?”
Kate had to smile at the child’s perspicacity. “That’s right, little miss. You go outside, and take Rolf with you. I’m sure he’s ready for a run.”
Liesl took her sweet time going out, letting Kate know she wasn’t pleased with the end of the morning’s activities, and Kate smothered a smile. Such a saucy little minx.
Lowering herself carefully into a chair, Kate clasped her hands on the shiny tabletop and looked at Grossvater. “What are we going to do? Can we rebuild the house? Even a smaller one?”
Grossvater took his wife’s hand in his and shook his head. “There is not much money. Johann didn’t tell you both because he didn’t want you to worry, but he mortgaged the farm to build the new house. And the bull cost a great deal of money, I know. If we still had the bull, we could sell it to get some of the purchase price back, but...” His faded blue eyes were sad, remembering how he had needed to put down the expensive bull who had proven too mean to have on the farm. “We can pay off the loan as soon as we sell the cheeses, but there will not be anything left over. I will go to town tomorrow and talk to the banker, see if he will extend the mortgage and loan us enough to build at least a small house. And if I need to, I will look for a job.”
Patting his hand, Grossmutter nodded. “We need to find a place to stay where we can be together. We cannot stay here forever. Herr Rabb has been generous, but it is clear he would prefer us to be gone from his house. We will need to find a place to rent, and that will cost money.”
Kate twirled a strand of loose hair around her fingertip. “I’ll go to town with you and see if I can get a job, perhaps at the mercantile.” Though she would loathe working for Mrs. Hale, she would do it for these dear people. “Or perhaps at the bank or the café or the hotel. I’m good with figures, or I can cook or clean. At least for a couple of months.”
Grossmutter pressed her lips together, eyes clouded. “There is one more thing we can do.”
“What?” Kate asked.
“Martin, you should send a telegram to your brother. Perhaps he can help us.”
Grossvater pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ask my brother for money?” He puckered as if he had tasted something sour. “I don’t want to have to do that.”
She sighed. “I know you do not, but you should at least write to him and tell him what has happened.”
Kate smoothed her dress over her unborn baby, putting her palm against her side when the little one thumped and stretched. Grossvater’s brother, Victor, ran a leather tanning company in Cincinnati, very successful if his letters were to be believed. He’d often chided Grossvater for becoming a farmer in what he called the backwaters of Minnesota, abandoning the family business to strike out on his own. There had been some rift between the brothers, something she never knew the details of, which made Grossvater asking for Victor’s help even more unpalatable.
Kate spread her hands on the table. “We must also be careful not to impose upon Mr. Rabb more than we have to. I am afraid we might’ve hurt his feelings by cleaning his kitchen. He took offense, thinking our helping him was a judgment of his housekeeping skills.”
“Oh, no, did you explain?” Grossmutter asked.
“I told him we were only trying to keep busy and to repay him for his hospitality, but that seemed to offend him further.”
“He is a proud man, I think. He has asked for no help, not even with the little one, since his wife passed away,” Grossvater said. “We must be careful, as you say. And we must find another place soon. Perhaps we should go to town today.”
“That might be best.” Kate rose. “I’ll get my coat.”
* * *
Oscar drove his wagon up Jackson Street in Berne, conscious of Kate Amaker beside him on the seat. Mr. Amaker sat on a board roped across the wagon box behind them.
“You didn’t have to do this.” Kate gripped her hands in her lap, cocooned in her husband’s big coat that still carried the scent of smoke. “We could’ve driven in ourselves.”
“It’s no trouble. I needed to go to town, anyway.” Odd as it was to be traveling with Kate and Martin, it felt odder still not to have Liesl with him. They were never apart. The ride had been much quieter without the four-year-old’s constant questions and commentary.
Liesl hadn’t even fussed about staying with Inge at the farm.
The ease with which his daughter had taken to the Amakers surprised him. And, if he was honest, made him a bit jealous. He had been her whole world for her entire life, but in less than a day, she had befriended their guests.
Berne was a small town of under a thousand residents. One store, one restaurant, one hotel, one church, one bank. The train had bypassed Berne by ten miles, going through Kasson to the south, stopping the town’s growth and potential while still in its infancy. Still, he liked the little farm town, though since his wife’s death, he came only when he needed to pick up supplies. He had a standing order at the mercantile every two weeks, and he was able to get in and out of town quickly without having to talk to many people.
Not this time, though
, since it would take the Amakers a while to complete their business. “Where will you go first?”
Martin leaned forward. “I will go to the bank, and Kate can go to the store. We will hurry.”
Oscar nodded and pulled up in front of the tiny brick building that housed the bank. He parked the wagon and leaped to the ground, reaching up for Kate. He took great care lifting her down, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting go. She didn’t look at his face, busying herself with brushing her coat and smoothing her hair. He took her elbow. “Don’t worry about the time, Martin. I’ll see Kate to the store. I have business there myself.”
It had been almost two years since he had walked with a woman in town. Gaelle had gone with him every Saturday, rain or shine, enjoying getting off the farm and seeing people. Browsing the store, having tea at the restaurant, visiting her friends. She had been as chatty as Liesl, social and energetic. He hadn’t known that he would miss those trips until they were gone.
The bell over the door jingled as Oscar opened it to allow Kate to go in first. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of vinegar, apples, leather and patent medicines. He’d give Mrs. Hale credit. The store was light, bright and well-organized. The shelves were all painted white, and the floor had been waxed to a high shine. Built on a corner, the store had wide windows allowing sunshine to stream in. She had arranged some of the wares in the windows, inviting browsing customers to come inside, and everything was clearly labeled in a fine script.
Mrs. Hale looked up from where she was writing in a ledger spread on the counter. “Oh, Mr. Rabb, I wasn’t expecting you today.” She slapped the book closed. “It will take me some time to assemble your order.”
“That’s fine. I need to add a few things, anyway.” With three more people to feed, he’d need to increase his grocery list. A frisson of worry went through him. He was comfortably off, but hosting the Amakers for any length of time would be sure to put a dent in his finances.
Kate bit her lower lip, standing beside a table full of bolts of calico. She trailed her hand over the top bolt, pink with tiny blue flowers. Oscar’s mouth twitched. Liesl had asked for a pink dress. For Christmas. Before she’d asked for a baby, of all things.
If those were the only two choices, she’d be getting a dress, and that was that. Perhaps he could prevail upon Mrs. Tipford to sew one up for her. Getting clothes for Liesl was one of the hardest of his tasks as a father, but the pastor’s wife had been helpful recently.
“Mrs. Hale,” Kate said, stepping forward, fingers knotted. “I was wondering if you might need some help around the store. Perhaps through the Christmas season?”
Mrs. Hale had picked up a feather duster and was fluttering it over some perfume bottles on the shelf behind the counter, and she barely paused. “Katie, my dear,” she said, glancing over her shoulder for a bare instant before turning away again. “I am not looking for any help, but even if I was...” She paused. “It isn’t seemly for a woman in your condition to work outside the home. I’m sure you understand.”
Oscar had noted that Kate’s shoulders had gone rigid when Mrs. Hale called her Katie. Katie didn’t suit her at all. It was a little girl’s name, not a grown woman’s, and from what he had observed, Kate Amaker was a grown woman, carrying her burdens with resolution. A widow, an expectant mother, caring for her elderly relatives, and now a disaster-survivor. No, Katie didn’t suit her at all.
She flattened her hands on the gentle mound of her stomach, and she pressed her lips together, lifting her chin a fraction. “Mrs. Hale, this is a community of sensible farmers. I am sure no one would be offended by the sight of a widow earning her keep, even if she is going to have a baby.”
“Regardless,” Mrs. Hale said, brushing Kate’s opinions aside, “I’m not in need of help, but if I was, I would want to hire someone who could work more than a few weeks. You’re nearing your confinement, correct? No.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t work. Now, Mr. Rabb, what can I get for you?” The storekeeper turned her shoulder to Kate as if the subject was forever closed.
Heat flared in his stomach along with a desire to jump to Kate’s defense, which was odd. The less he involved himself, the better. All he wanted was to see them settled somewhere so he could return to his isolated existence.
“Just double my usual order.” He took Kate’s elbow. “We’ll return for it later.” He guided her out of the store. When they stood on the boardwalk, he said, “I’m sorry. But there might be work elsewhere. Let’s try the hotel.”
Kate nodded, but he could read the discouragement in her eyes, the worry that clouded them.
She had no better results at the hotel. Mr. Kindler had no job available. He was barely making ends meet as it was. If not for the stage passengers twice a week, he would have to close up and move to a bigger town. His wife could handle the housekeeping easily.
Oscar and Kate met Martin Amaker coming out of the bank. He looked as if he had aged five years, his shoulders stooping and the lines in his face deeper.
“Let’s go get some coffee at the restaurant,” Oscar suggested, stepping between Kate and the wind that whipped around the corner of the building, trying to shelter her from the brunt of the chilly breeze.
Martin shook his head. “No, no, we must not detain you here in town, and we should not spend money on things we can do without right now.”
“My treat,” Oscar insisted. “Kate needs to get off her feet, and it’s getting cold out here.” The air was heavy with the smell of snow. Kate’s cheeks were red, and she huddled inside her long, drab coat.
Oscar led them across the street to the café, a cheerful little building with blue-and-white-checked curtains at the windows. He held the door for Kate and Martin. The aromas of beef stew and hot bread filled the room.
George Frankel tipped back in his chair, his eyes watery, scrubbing at his nose with a handkerchief. “Hey, Oscar. Come join us?”
Kerchoo! He dabbed his red nose again.
His two companions—his eldest son, George, Jr., who had the heavy-lidded, red-nosed look of a head cold, and Bill Zank, from down at the feed store—scooted their chairs to make room, but Oscar shook his head. “Thank you, but we can’t stay long.”
He directed Kate to a table in the corner, a bit far from the stove, but away from the Frankel sickness. He helped her with her coat, laying it over the back of a chair, and held her seat for her. When Susan, the waitress, came by, he ordered coffee and, looking at how thin Martin was, beef stew for everyone.
“What did the banker say, Grossvater?” Kate asked. She laced her fingers, resting her hands on the tablecloth.
Martin shook his head. “He cannot loan us any more money. He said without Johann to work the farm, it wasn’t a good risk. We have no savings left, and won’t have any income until we can sell the cheeses. And there is more.” He did not look up, drawing circles on the tabletop with his finger. “Johann did not tell me this, but he mortgaged the herd to buy that bull. The note is due on the first of the year. We cannot pay both the mortgages with the little we will make from selling our cheeses in Mantorville and here. I don’t know what we are going to do. Our only assets are the cows, and they are mortgaged like the farm.” His old lips trembled. “I sent the telegram to my brother from the bank manager’s office.”
Kate sat still for a moment, absorbing this new blow.
What had Johann been thinking to incur so much debt? Oscar shook his head. The decision to buy that bull had proven to be fatal for Johann, and might put an end to his family’s ability to keep their land.
Kate leaned forward and covered Martin’s hand with hers. “We’ll think of something. I’ll keep looking for a job. If I cannot find one here in Berne, perhaps I can find one in Mantorville or Kasson, or even Rochester. And perhaps you can find work. Maybe at the lumber mill in Mantorville? You know how to work with
wood, and you know leather work. Perhaps there is a saddler or shoemaker that needs help.”
Oscar frowned. Kate was in no condition to be driving to Mantorville to work, and any farther away than that and she would have to move to wherever she found a job. He didn’t like that idea at all.
The bell over the door jangled, and Pastor and Mrs. Tipford came in, cheeks red from cold, eyes bright.
“Ah, just the people we wanted to see. Mrs. Hale said you were in town.” The pastor’s voice filled the room. Mrs. Tipford came to Kate and squeezed her shoulder.
“What have you decided? Have you found work?”
“Not yet. Not here in town.” Kate pushed out the chair beside her. “We were just talking about some other possibilities.”
“The bank cannot help us.” Martin laced his fingers around his coffee cup on the tabletop. “I have wired my brother.”
Pastor Tipford dropped into a chair, and Oscar braced himself, half expecting the seat to turn to kindling under the impact.
“Times are hard. We’ve asked around, but there just aren’t any jobs or any places that can house all three of you at the moment,” the pastor said.
“If it was summer, Inge said we could do what she did as a girl in the Alps. We could live in the haymow, or even in a tent.” Martin sat back, his gnarled hands dropping to his lap. “We will continue to look for employment and a place to stay that won’t be an imposition on our neighbors while we wait for word from my brother. It should not be more than a day or two if he replies by telegram or a week if he replies by letter.”
Mrs. Tipford sent Oscar a loaded look, and his collar grew tight.
“There’s no rush. You can stay at my place until you hear back from your relatives.” Again Oscar found himself offering hospitality, surprising himself. He wanted them out of his house as soon as possible, didn’t he?
The pastor’s wife beamed.
Helping this family didn’t mean Oscar was ready to rejoin the world. Mrs. Tipford had been after him on her last visit to put away his mourning and perhaps even be on the lookout for a new wife, someone to mother Liesl and be a companion for him...but he had thrust that suggestion away. He loved Gaelle and always would. He had neither the need nor the desire to replace her. Mrs. Tipford was going to have to get used to disappointment if she thought she could pull him back into society and make him forget his beloved wife.
