by Jillian Hart
“Ja, and curtains to match. I have a rug started.”
Then Mr. Hanson set out several miniature cabinets, some with countertops, but all with carved doors and brads set for handles. “For the kitchen. I have a chest of drawers about done for the bedroom.”
“Oh, I can’t tell you how pleased I am! Did you never sleep last night?”
“Ah, what with the wind howling like a banshee, sleep would have been impossible, anyway, you know?”
Arley finished her roll and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Delicious as always. When Grandmother rings, I’ll take her tray up. Maybe that will help calm her curiosity.”
When Arley left in the sleigh sometime later, her one basket had overflowed into another, this one holding finished products.
The snow on the steps to the door of the shop had been shoveled and swept when Arley arrived. Hanson helped her out of the sleigh and carried one of the baskets for her, then pushed open the heavy door.
“There you go, miss. I’ll fetch you about two. And no ideas of walking, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” Her grandmother wasn’t the only stubborn person in the Dexter household. “It’s me!” she called, stomping her feet on the mat to get rid of the snow as Hanson shut the door behind them.
“Come on back,” Mr. Gunderson said, holding back the curtain. “Feels like I better add some wood to that stove, too. Not much chance of customers, but they’ll stay longer if they’re not freezing.”
“Wait until you see what we have,” Arley said. She stopped with a gasp at the entrance to the workroom. The dollhouse. The roof and dormers were in place, along with a cunning chimney that looked like real brick. “Oh, how perfect!” She looked to the two Gunderson men. “I take it there wasn’t a lot of sleep going on here, either.” When they started to make excuses, she raised a hand. “I know, the storm was too noisy to sleep.”
Lawrence chuckled as he set the baskets on the table. “The older one gets, the less sleep one needs.”
Arley turned from hanging up her things. “Mrs. Hanson sent some buns and bread along.” She dug in the basket. “And jam. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” The older man added wood to the stove. “So today you will stay for dinner?”
“Hanson’s coming back to get me at two.”
“Indeed I am,” Hanson said.
“Good, good,” Lawrence said. He picked up the cabinets and held them to the light. “How perfect. We’ll install them today.”
Eugenia rubbed against Arley’s skirt and greeted her with a chipper meow.
“Well, look at that.” Nathan nodded at the cat. “You are indeed a member of the family now.”
“Mr. Hanson, you must look in the box.” Arley crossed to the wooden crate. She leaned over and picked up the white-footed kitten, cuddling it in her two hands. “Isn’t he the cutest?”
Hanson ran a gentle finger over the tiny head. “Look, his eyes are opening.”
The kitten yawned, showing pink tongue and minute needle teeth. He squirmed and Arley put him back with the others, who immediately set up a kitten chorus demanding their mother return.
Nathan smiled at Arley. “See what you started?” His gaze held hers. “I’d better get back to small pieces.”
“Poor Eugenia, never a moment’s peace with four young’uns.” Mr. Gunderson followed the cat to the door and let her outside. “Well, let’s get at it. I already mixed some paste for the wall coverings. I’ll keep working on the porch pieces and Nathan has promised us siding.”
“Siding? Can’t we just paint the outside?” She ignored the chuckle from the workbench.
“I’ll return later.” Hanson tipped his hat. “Keep up the good work.”
Arley stared at the dollhouse. “I thought of turning the red-and-white gingham on the diagonal for wallpaper in the kitchen.”
Mr. Gunderson nodded. No response from the workbench.
She cut fabric to fit and smeared the paste on the wall, smoothing out little lumps of flour with her fingertips.
“Here, let me help.” Lawrence removed the roof and together they tipped the house on its front. “Good thing we haven’t added the porch yet. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I did.” Nathan was paying attention to the conversation after all.
Arley nodded toward the workbench and sent the older man a questioning look. He shrugged. Arley shook her head. Light and dark, that was Nathan. She decided to ignore him and focus on the job at hand.
“That’s crooked.”
The male voice over her shoulder made her jump. “Bad bugs! Couldn’t you have warned me?”
“It wasn’t like I snuck up on you.” Nathan’s voice bore a hint of laughter. “Bad bugs?”
It was laughter, she could see it in his eyes.
“If my grandmother had raised you, you would have learned early on the folly of swearing or speaking crudely.”
“The bar-of-soap treatment?”
“Yes, it was quite effective.” She returned to straighten the fabric wallpaper while it was still wet enough to do so. “She always said that intelligent people did not need to swear.”
“Sometimes knowing a foreign language is helpful.” He used the turpentine rag to work glue off his fingers. The smell of turpentine was imbedded in the very walls, she was sure.
“You swear in foreign languages?”
“If necessary.” He left her to throw another log in the fireplace.
She felt a cool draft against her neck. It seemed to come from the spot where he’d been standing. Had she sensed his presence even before he’d spoken? What a silly thought!
When he came back, he took a chair across the table and picked up a carving knife. He made one cut and set it down again, a small sound of disgust accompanying the action.
“Bad bugs?” she said, glancing up at him.
“Not quite. Just need to sharpen this again.” He stood. “Grandpa, you have anything that needs sharpening?”
“Yes, thank you.” His grandfather held up several carving tools. “Even pine and cedar take the edge off quickly.”
So, Mr. Nathan Gunderson, tell me about your siblings, she considered asking. Was that intrusive? What could she use to start a conversation? What did you do before you came to Willow Creek? Somehow she had an idea he did not want to talk about his former life. Since politics and religion were hardly safe topics and he’d gone into his own world again, she left that and focused instead on the dollhouse kitchen. Now the diagonal on the other wall did not match the first two. She took it off and tried again.
With a frown, she pushed back her chair and walked around the table.
“Can I help you?” Lawrence asked gently.
“I…I’m not sure. Will there be trim around the window holes?” She crossed her arms and tapped her chin with one finger. “It just doesn’t look quite right.”
“Why not use plain white on that wall?” Nathan said. “You are going to make the curtains out of the plaid, too, right?” He had left off smoothing the tools on the whetstone and come up behind her again. “A bit jumpy, aren’t you?”
“Well, if you would quit sneaking up on me…” She turned to glare at him, but found him so close she bumped him with her elbow. The contact made her swallow. Bad bugs. She was getting as grouchy as he was and it was all his fault.
“Sor-ry.” He returned to his sharpening. His grandfather wiggled his eyebrows at her and she plunked herself back in the chair to rip the gingham off the wall.
“And it’s gingham, not plaid,” she said with a tad more force than necessary.
“Looks plaid to me,” Nathan returned.
She ignored him. Eugenia jumped up on the table and walked around inspecting the dollhouse. She sniffed the walls and batted at a string hanging from the upper floor, then sat in the square of sunlight and proceeded to give herself a bath.
Arley watched her, entranced by the light glinting off the fluffy gray fur, the care with which the cat licked her pa
ws and swiped her face and ears. The end of Eugenia’s tail twitched in rhythm with her coarse tongue. “You are so beautiful,” Arley said.
How could her grandmother call cats dirty? The description didn’t fit, not with all the care cats took to keep their fur clean. She’d watched the mother cat clean her babies, not always to their delight. What would it take to get her grandmother’s agreement for her to have the gray kitten? What would she name it? Three white boots, a pink nose with white around it in a stripe up the forehead. At bit of white on his chest. All the rest, gray fluff, like his mother.
Eugenia finished her ablutions and strolled over to bump Arley’s hand. When she sat back in her chair, the cat jumped down in her lap and, purring loud as a train engine, curled into a ball and promptly fell asleep. Arley stroked her back and the purr deepened. The vibrations soaked through the layers of her skirts and warmed her legs. How could one cat emit so much heat?
“Do you need help?” Mr. Gunderson asked.
“No, but I can’t work with her on my lap.”
“Put her down then,” Nathan suggested. His chuckle said he’d come back to join them again.
“But she’s sleeping.”
“Cats are opportunists. If they find a comfortable lap, they take advantage.” Mr. Gunderson rose and picked up the cat, setting her on the chair he’d just left.
Maybe that was something she’d missed in her growing-up years. A comfortable lap to take advantage of. Maybe a cat on the lap with a soothing purr was what her grandmother needed.
Chapter Ten
The cottage and Sunday church
She could hear him playing just after she crossed the bridge. The notes kissed her ears and warmed her heart. How could a man who played like he did not be carried out of his sadness, for she had thought it that. But perhaps it was bitterness. Well, she knew the result of bitterness; she lived with it every day, though try as she might, she could not understand what her grandmother was bitter about. Yes, her husband had died far too young, but other widows were able to go about their lives without a cloud hanging over their heads. Standing there, enjoying the sun and the music, she thought of her grandmother and the mystery of her and Mr. Gunderson. Surely there had been feelings there. What had happened?
She paused when the notes dropped to a pianissimo too soft to penetrate beyond the walls. But when they soared again, she smiled and walked to the door. If only she’d had the talent to go along with all the hours she’d spent at the piano. She could play well enough for people to sing along, but not with the heart a true musician could pour into the effort. Like this violinist.
She pushed open the door and the music stopped as if connected to the tinkling bell. “Why do you stop playing when I come?” she asked as she crossed the showroom floor to the blue curtain.
“I wasn’t sure it was you.” Nathan was putting the violin back in the case.
“Shall I announce myself with a special rap?” She shrugged, as her words had more than a hint of pepper to them.
“Would you like me to continue?” He held the bow, ready to loosen the tautness by twisting the screw at one end.
“Yes, if you please.” She hung her things on the tree. “Where is your grandfather?”
“He went to pick up a package at the depot. He said he’d be right back.” Nathan settled the violin against his shoulder. “Is there anything special you would like to hear?”
“You were playing Handel’s Messiah one day. I would love to hear that again.” She crossed to look into the kitten kingdom. All were sprawled, tummies rounded, smiles on their faces. Eugenia greeted her from the hearth, where she lay with her front feet folded under her chest, her green eyes blinking. As soon as Arley stroked her back, the purr joined the music flowing from the instrument again. Arley joined the cat on the raised stone hearth, the better to watch Nathan play, for it was also a visual delight.
He played the violin with his entire body. Eyes closed, he swayed to the rhythm, his bowing arm strong and limber so the bow brought rich and vibrant notes from the strings. His fingers danced on the strings, flashing faster than the eye could see as the tempo soared, singing the hallelujahs straight to heaven. “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth…”
Her mind formed the words as her eyes closed. Hallelujah. She felt the burn of tears behind her lids. How could one help but cry at the incredible beauty of the music? She knew she had come to work on the dollhouse, but how could she do anything but worship?
Her God, the music.
Her eyes fluttered open. She felt like a giant bud was growing within her and bursting into bloom with the music, welling up with joy unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Oh, the power in music.
She peered through her lashes to make sure he wasn’t watching her. Eyes closed, he appeared still lost in the music. She breathed a sigh of relief and schooled herself back into Arley, ordinary Arley, sitting on the hearth, stroking a purring cat who had crawled into her lap and thinking on what next to do on the dollhouse.
“Wonderful, counselor, almighty God the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” The words would not leave her.
“Wonderful!” Mr. Gunderson pushed open the back door, interrupting her reverie, and set the box he was carrying on the bench by the door. “Ah, I see you made it, Miss Dexter. What do you think of our efforts?”
Eugenia leaped from her lap, creating a cooling of the warm comfort she’d shared with Arley. She dashed out the door before it closed, making Mr. Gunderson laugh.
Nathan ended his playing and laid the violin in its case, releasing the tension on the bow and clipping it to the lid. “And all is well?”
“Yes, and glorious to come home to such a concert.” He hung up his things and stopped at the table where the dollhouse stood, the exterior ready for paint.
“The porch is beautiful,” she said with a smile. Nathan’s beautiful, when he plays. How can he be grumpy with gifts like that?
“We are rather pleased with it. Nathan cut the gingerbread so carefully. We need to have a swing on the front porch, along with a couple of rocking chairs, don’t you think?” At her delighted nod, he continued, “We’ll make the chain out of wire, perhaps.”
“What if we crochet the wire to make the chain—of course, that depends on how fine the wire is.”
“What a marvelous idea. You think it possible?”
“I’ll have to try. Isn’t the wire you hang pictures with made up of finer wires?”
“It is.”
Watching the grandfather, she could feel the grandson watching her. When had it grown so stifling in the room? Generally she felt chilly here and so brought a shawl. She carefully folded that across the back of the chair and took up her basket of supplies, setting out the finished things. Henny had woven two rugs on a miniature loom Mr. Hanson had fashioned. Mrs. Hanson had created bedding for the son’s room, including two pillows with white slips. Mr. Hanson had carved a trunk with a lid that lifted on tiny hinges of leather and rubbed it with black shoe polish until it shone.
“Those are perfect. What little girl will not be enchanted with all these furnishings?” Lawrence examined the trunk. “What shall we put in it?”
She could feel Nathan behind her. Her heart knew his nearness before he spoke.
“Books, a ball and bat,” he said.
The three of them sat down and placed all the furnishings finished so far in place. No room was complete yet, but each had some things in it.
“I’m working on the front door now,” Nathan said. “I’ll finish that before attaching the porch.”
Arley couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers as he moved the furniture back out of the parlor. The scar peeked out when he stretched his arm too far. Would he ever tell her what had happened to him? Would asking his grandfather be too nosy?
Again she jerked herself back into ordinary-Arley mode. “I can’t stay as long today. Grandmother is insisting that I must accompany her to a tea this afternoon.”
Gunderson s
enior handed Arley a five-inch carving that he was fashioning into a man. “Do you want to make clothes for the dolls also, or should I just carve them on?”
Arley studied the doll. “Carving and painting might be best for now. Our time is getting so short.”
“Three days until the party at the orphanage, right?”
“Yes. I checked. They have everything in order.”
“Good.” Mr. Gunderson nodded.
“And we have to figure out some way to keep the house covered so no one guesses what it is.”
“What about that crate in the shed?” Nathan asked.
Mr. Gunderson nodded. “If we put it on its side and use hooks to hold the top in place so we can slide the house out, rather than lift it…” He visually measured the house and headed out the back door. When he returned, he was nodding. “That’ll work. Two inches taller and we’d have to build something.” He smiled at Arley. “Have you been planning the party, too?”
“Only in the beginning this year. I got them trained so they could handle it.”
“No wonder your grandmother prizes you so. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
Arley stared at him. Her grandmother didn’t prize her; in fact, she rarely had a good word to say, always finding the least little thing wrong. The look on her face must have said more than she wanted it to, when he nodded again. “I know she’s headstrong and critical but—”
“How do you know all that?” The words sprang from her lips before she was even aware she’d spoken. “I mean, you’ve been gone and you never see her now.”
“Observation. Listening. From what I hear, she hasn’t changed a whole lot through the years, only I think her more negative traits have been winning in recent years. Sometimes that happens when you lose someone you love.”
Arley dropped her gaze. This man seemed to see right into one’s soul. Did her grandmother really love her husband that much, or was there something else that happened she didn’t know about? She thought about asking, but something stopped her. Maybe another time.
