Serendipity

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Why keep something made in stupidity?” Ma muttered under her breath.

  Maggie gazed at Todd, willing him to understand. Did he? And if he did, would he stand up for her and preserve the special meaning of her cameo, or would it be ruined by an old woman’s bitterness?

  “The man was not simply carving a beautiful woman to appeal to a sense of worldly vanity, Ma. He was honoring God’s union of marriage.”

  “He got it wrong.” Ma shot a meaningful look at Maggie.

  “Ah, but that’s why it means so much to me.” Tracing the shell’s delicate relief with her fingertip, Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Like that carver, I work to be pleasing to the Lord, and still I fall short. I make mistakes.”

  “But that’s what grace is about.” Beneath the table, Todd slid his hand atop hers and squeezed. “If we could live a blameless life, Christ’s sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary. I, too, fall short.”

  If only she could take this feeling and bottle it up! She’d fill every container she owned and relish every last whiff that hovered in the air. Todd just confessed what most strong men would not – at least, not in front of his bride and mother – that he made mistakes. If I were to name this scent . . . Bliss? Contentment? Unity?

  Ma heaved a stretched-to-the-limits sigh. “If the cameo is so special, you should keep it for Sunday best, like today. But you wear it other days, too.”

  “Because it serves as a reminder that God looks past my flaws and at the intent of my heart. He takes me just as I am. I want to be like that to other people. Whenever I wear this cameo, that sentiment sings in my soul.”

  Todd tightened his grip on her hand. “When we married you took me as I was.”

  The mention of their wedding touched her. “Aye, I did. Even though you’ll forever be ‘stuck in pants,’ as Jerlund said.” A smile slid across her face. “The shawl I wore is Clan Rose’s ancient hunting plaid. I still have a man’s full-length plaid. You’d look very handsome in it, too.”

  “Too?” Ma inhaled sharply. “Who else wore it?”

  “I meant that my husband looks handsome in trousers, but he’d also cut a fine figure in a kilt. I traded for it as a gift, but God took Daddy ere I gave it to him.”

  “God could have taken me, but He did not show me that mercy. Everyone knows He has stricken me. You read about it yesterday in Proverbs. ‘Therefore shall his calamity come suddenly; suddenly shall he be broken without remedy.’ ” Ma burst into tears. “That is me. I will be like this for the rest of my life!”

  Maggie hopped up and wrapped her arms about her mother-in-law. “Nay, Ma. Don’t think that way. Why, look how much better you are – your face doesn’t droop as much, and you hardly drool at all. And you’re feeding yourself.”

  “Ja.” Todd nodded once with zeal. “And Maggie gave you the cane. She expects you to walk again. Thus we will prepare a smooth way for you today.”

  “We don’t know that.” Ma’s shoulders shuddered with her sobs.

  “We have faith.” Maggie mopped some of the tears away and added, “But faith without works is dead. Now that you’ve recovered from the train ride, I’m going to start cracking the whip and make you put all your efforts into getting back to where you used to be.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Nonsense!” Maggie tapped the wheel on Ma’s chair. “I’m too stubborn to let you sit around here forever.”

  Ma sniffled. “I cannot go back. Arletta is gone.”

  Does Ma want to live with Arletta? Maggie’s mind whirled. Is that why Ma’s been so unhappy?

  “Sis cannot have you. You are ours.” Todd set down the Bible.

  “No one’s going anywhere but church.”

  They barely made it to church on time. Linette had saved the end of her pew for them, and Maggie grabbed her hand. “I’m downright giddy. I’m in a real church with a regular parson, betwixt my man and my new friend. Someone’s going to have to shush me on account of me hollering praises to God Almighty long after the worship’s done.”

  The woman in front of them turned around. “The Bible says to praise without ceasing.”

  “Mrs. Bradle, this is my wife, Maggie, and my mother, Mrs.

  Crewel. Mrs. Bradle is the parson’s wife.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you. I want to speak with you right after the service.” Mrs. Bradle turned back around as her husband gave the invocation.

  Maggie’s heart glowed with delight at each part of the service. Hearing other sopranos and altos surprised her. She’d forgotten what it sounded like for the upper register to blend in harmony with the tenors and basses. Then the reverend plumbed truths from God’s Word.

  After the benediction, Mrs. Bradle spun around. “The reverend and I would love to have you all come to supper.”

  “Ma’am, your invite is truly generous, but I’d have a trio of hungry bachelors back on Valmer Farm upset with the both of us.”

  “Next week, then?”

  “We’d be honored, wouldn’t we?”

  “Ja,” Ma said as Todd nodded.

  Two men in the pew behind them leaned forward. “You’re feeding bachelors?”

  “No, she isn’t.” Linette shooed them away.

  A blond woman with a little girl on her hip replaced Mrs. Bradle. “This here’s Emmy-Lou and I’m Hope Stauffer. Our farms are catty-wampus. Cowhands and farmers hereabout are like stray hounds. Once you feed ’em, they’ll be showin’ up, stepping on your door every evening, howling for food.”

  On the train, Todd warned her Hope invariably mangled sayings. He hadn’t mentioned how endearing it was. Maggie leaned forward and gave Emmy-Lou and Hope a hug together. “They’re not stepping on my door unless they’ve sung for their supper. You’re welcome anytime – music notwithstanding.”

  “I tried to come, but I had too many feet in the fire. We’ll make plenty of time in the days to come. I’ll visit just to hear your voice. My mama had that same musical lip.”

  Todd’s hand enveloped hers. “My Margaret’s lilt is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Children’s giggles are music to me.” Ma reached out and gently stroked a little girl’s cheek.

  No one seemed in a hurry to leave the churchyard. It wasn’t fitting to conduct business, so Maggie merely confirmed that she bartered when asked. That question came up several times as she met more people.

  A couple of men helped get Ma and the wheelchair into the wagon, then Todd lifted Maggie onto the bench and unhobbled Axe and Wrench. “Carver’s Holler boasted a population of fourteen. There’s twice that many women here in Gooding!”

  “I promised you woman friends.” Todd climbed up next to her.

  “Aye, that you did – and right quick.” But how long will I have to wait for your love?

  His gaze mesmerized her. “It may take some time, but I keep all my promises.”

  Fifteen

  Sand, gravel, and Portland cement were all shoveled together, then mixed with water into a thick, heavy mess. “We can start smoothing it out,” John said.

  They’d emptied the house and started at the back. Grandy, a cowboy from a nearby ranch, had done masonry in the past. He’d pointed out two bags of cement had no sand or gravel with which to mix it. A dried creek bed provided both, and his calculations assured Todd they could pour both a floor in the house and a porch.

  Todd looked at the rippled, wet muck at the back quarter of the cabin and glanced around the place. Floor, walls, and roof – those were his to worry about. The stuff on them and in between – that was woman territory. Well, except for what went in the pot. Maggie made the food, but he still needed to put meat on the table. Yesterday he’d snared a brace of hares Maggie fried up for their Sunday supper. Every last piece was gone . . . and he’d done his part in making it disappear.

  Knowing Ma needed rest, Maggie had hauled Ma’s mattress to the barn. With Ma bedded down, Maggie kept herself busy. Walking around the work, she carried a bucket and gave the men di
ppers of cool water and wiped Todd’s face with a damp cloth. As if his bride could sense the heaviness in his heart, she gave him a searching look more than once. “Hot, hard work,” he explained.

  “A grand result. I’m proud of you – of all of you – for this.” She wiped his face again and went to refill the water bucket.

  “That’s some wife you caught.” Grandy gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  Todd nodded. A man didn’t boast about enjoying what others didn’t have. The facts spoke for themselves – a good meal, freshly plowed fields, and a comely wife. In his absence, these men had all witnessed the decline of his farm. A few things still weren’t quite up to Todd’s standards, but the additional plowed field for sorghum ought to yield some profit. Ought to – but might not. The talk he’d heard at church weighed heavy on his heart.

  After they finished the job, Maggie gave each man a paper-wrapped stack of cookies. The first few times he’d tasted Maggie’s cooking, Todd acted just as crazed as these men. He and Maggie traded an amused look as they rode off.

  They caught up on the essential Sunday chores, and he tested the edge of the porch. “Not ready.”

  “Reckoned it wouldn’t be. I got Ma set up so she’ll keep warm and snug in the barn tonight.” In the waning light, he noticed the hectic color filling Maggie’s cheeks.

  “We will use the loft.”

  She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “Back home, when they set a foundation, it was customary for the owners to each make a mark.”

  “The last part over on the side’s still able to take an imprint.” Todd refused the pencil-thick twig she extended to him. “It is your custom – you make the first mark.”

  “Nay. As head of the home, it’s your right and responsibility to lead.”

  Such a silly waste of time. He’d already been on his knees all day. The last thing he wanted to do was hunker down and mess up a glass-smooth finish. Only she stood there, eyes full of stars. He chose a spot and scribed, Maggie and Todd Valmer March 15, 1893. Once he started, the idea grew. His bride’s soft, pleased gasp made him glad he’d done this. After scripting, God bless our home, he passed the twig to her. “Now it is your turn.”

  Beneath his writing, she drew a cross, a shamrock, a heart, and a rose. Between them she wrote FAITH, HOPE, LOVE, CARE. He thought she was done and cupped her shoulders to help her up. “One last thing.” Leaning forward, she tapped and smoothed something and doctored it with the twig. Popping up onto her tiptoes, she whispered in a playful lilt, “ ‘Beware the Ides of March.’ ” Todd peered down in the failing light. She’d doctored the five, turning it into a three. He’d gotten their wedding date wrong.

  Todd held Maggie close all night. If only he could stop time to the moments they’d marked the cement and he’d kissed the laughter off her lips but left it in her eyes. She’d been so happy. But for how much longer? Todd ran his hand down her luxurious hair. At some point earlier, he’d unwoven her nighttime plait, wanting it as wild and free as she was. Only from what he’d heard at church, they weren’t free at all. Every hour of labor used to represent a greater yield; this week the price of grain plummeted to the point that it cost almost exactly as much to grow it as he’d earn. In the months between now and harvest, if the price dipped more, his production costs would be greater than the crop brought in. He’d poured that floor in a home he couldn’t afford. Etching into the cement God bless our home had been a plea for the Lord to let this home remain theirs. But the bank had every right to sell the house – the farm – everything because he’d mired them in debt.

  Sometime before dawn, Maggie woke. Pushing a lock of hair from his forehead, she murmured, “Your mind is troubled.”

  For an instant, he considered denying it. Though Maggie knew of the debt and that finances were real tight, he longed to shield her from the looming disaster. But his wife deserved the truth, and it should come from him. “It is.”

  She shivered.

  “Here.” Todd wrapped his arms about her as if he’d keep her world together and hold back any ugliness. But God would have to intervene, because their situation was far beyond what Todd – or the two of them – could handle. “Wheat. A few years ago, it sold for $2.24 a bushel. Last year, I got $1.09. It was enough to cover the mortgage note and met the expenses, but that was all.”

  Tilting her head back, she smiled. “You had unusual bills because of your horses – Hammer tangled with the barbed wire and the wolves preyed on Nuts and Bolts.”

  “Don’t you think I took that into account? It is beyond that. At church yesterday I heard the price for wheat now is at seventy-eight cents. Seventy-eight stinking cents.”

  “But the yield this year will be higher – oft you’ve said so. What with the sorghum we’ve added, it should be more than enough. Especially since we’ll need so little in the way of provender. The garden will yield plenty. The farm’s self-sufficient when it comes to feed. Aye, then there are buyers for my rose goods.”

  She believed they’d be fine; short of a miracle, he knew they’d be lucky to hold on. More than half of the farmers who came west failed. He just never imagined he might be among them. “You deserve to know.”

  Snuggling back down, she murmured, “We’ll be fine. I have faith in you and in God.”

  Todd let her fall asleep, then inched away and went out to work in the dark. He couldn’t ask the Lord to bless his farm if he didn’t put in his full share of work – and more. Maggie believed in both of them, and he refused to disappoint her.

  “You moved the furniture back inside!” Maggie’s delight made Todd glad he’d gotten up early. Then she went up on tiptoe, gave him a quick hug, and whispered, “Next Monday’s my turn.”

  “Next Monday?”

  She beamed as she nodded. “I’ll have to come up with something mighty special to match such a fine token.”

  “What are you jabbering about?” Ma voiced his question – and he was glad of it. His wife wasn’t making a speck of sense.

  Brow wrinkling, Maggie asked, “Germans don’t do love tokens? On Mondays?”

  “Never heard of it. Not with the Dutch or Spanish or English, either.” Todd watched her expression go from amazed to saddened to resolute.

  “Then it’s Carver’s Holler tradition, and we’ll keep it. Our duty is to keep the heritage, so I’ll explain. Sunday is God’s day. Monday is for the man and wife. They take turns every other week, giving the other a little surprise. Todd beat me to giving the first token of love. Look how he got the house all ready for us so bright and early, and his instincts led him to do it. He kept the tradition going right from the very beginning. Next Monday, it’s my turn.”

  Ma looked around and announced, “We need curtains. Purple, I think.”

  “A love token is a surprise. It can come at any time of the day on Monday, too. I’ll have curtains up before then. I set aside some special cloth the same color as Todd’s eyes.”

  “That’ll do.” Ma studied the window. “This place needs some color.”

  “Just like you said, Todd. I’ll handle the inside things whilst you see to the beasts. Ma, when it comes to horsemen, Todd’s got them all beat. I’ve never seen a man as talented as Todd. He charmed Eve straight away, and stubborn as Adam is, he still obeys Todd’s ‘whoa!’ There wasn’t a man in all Carver’s Holler who could do the same.”

  All of Maggie’s cheerfulness and compliments made him suspicious. Ma and Arletta both resorted to flattery to get their own way. Todd figured Maggie had to be up to something. “Halting a horse is nothing.”

  “Balderdash! It’s the most important order to train horses to obey. They can’t cause havoc if you stand ’em still.”

  “Magpie’s right, Son.”

  Tension seeped from his shoulders. Clearly, Ma seemed to have turned a corner. She’d been pleasant about Maggie’s choice of curtains and now agreed with her. Hopefully now life would go as smoothly as her wheelchair glided across the new floor.

  After break
fast, he read Proverbs 8, then decided, “We’ll finish the vegetable field. Did you ask Hope Stauffer about planting?”

  “Hope told the beautiful woman with a little baby girl that this week would be the best time.”

  Ma enthused, “That was the prettiest baby.”

  “Sydney,” Todd provided. “That was Big Tim Creighton’s wife, Sydney. The baby’s name is Rose. While we work, we’ll set aside space for the flower bed.”

  “Oh! Thankee!”

  “So much else wants doing. A rose bed is the last thing you need to waste time on.” Ma fumbled with her napkin. “Today is laundry day.”

  “Monday?” Maggie’s voice held puzzlement. “Friday is laundry and Saturday is ironing so everything’s fresh and clean for the Lord’s Day.”

  “No one does it that way.” Ma quoted, “Mondays, laundry, Tuesday, ironing . . .”

  He left the women and went out to the barn. First Todd mucked, then lifted the enormous hames to fit around Eve’s neck. He’d rather wear the heavy thing himself than carry around the knowledge that all this hard work wouldn’t be enough.

  The day did not go as expected, though. Nothing got done about Maggie’s roses, but it was her own fault. After church, she’d shamelessly confirmed that she bartered and brought things with her. They weren’t treasures, as she’d claimed. They were trade goods, and she’d barter or sell anything for the right price. He’d seen it happen several times today. She kept leaving the planting to escort curious folks into his barn and wrangle deals. Good thing he’d hauled all of their belongings back into the house this morning; otherwise, she might have traded it off. By this time next week, she ought to have dealt her way through half of her junk.