“Certainly.” He followed her through the kitchen and out the door.
“I know you have met my mother.” She put you up to this.
Mary Martha’s smile widened. “How nice to see you. Welcome to our home. Can I get you something to drink, eat?”
“Mr. Gendarme has invited me to have a soda.”
She started to introduce the children but didn’t get the words out before Mark looked up from snapping beans and interrupted. “Oh, that sounds so good.”
The youngest, Emily, came running. “Are we going for sodas, Ma?” She was almost dancing for joy.
Deborah sent her ma a pleading look.
“Would you mind, Mrs. Solberg, if they all came along? You included, of course,” Mr. Gendarme said. He certainly looked sincere, but still Deborah wished she could crawl under the porch.
“Please, Ma, please,” the little imps chorused.
“Well, if you are sure . . .” Mary Martha said.
Anton smiled at Deborah. “I have two younger brothers and two younger sisters, and I haven’t seen them in far too long. I am delighted to meet yours.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Please let me do this.”
What could she say? Several ideas flitted through her mind, but practicality took over. “All right.” She turned to the eager mob. “You have to wash your hands and faces, and Emily, bring a brush so you don’t look like a wild woman.”
She and Mary Martha both pinned their hats in place, and out the door they went.
Rebecca greeted them from behind the counter. “Welcome to all of you. Deborah, I was beginning to think you were mad at me or something.”
“Whatever for?”
“I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I know. You have met Mr. Gendarme, I hope.”
“I did, at the soiree. And I’ve seen you at church. I hear they put you to work on the haying crew.”
“They did. I will always appreciate how much it takes to ensure that the animals are well fed.”
“Now, that’s a nice way of saying that. I used to help with haying too, but now I’d rather make and serve ice cream and sodas.” Rebecca pointed to the sign on the wall that listed the flavors.
“Why don’t you serve the others first while I make up my mind?” Mr. Gendarme stepped back.
“That’ll be two chocolate and one vanilla?” Rebecca looked to the children, who nodded and grinned. “And what about you, Mrs. Solberg?”
“The raspberry, of course.” Within minutes, the sodas appeared on the counter, and Deborah handed them out.
“Did you decide, Mr. Gendarme?” Rebecca asked.
He nodded to Deborah. “Her first.”
“Oh, she wants raspberry. Deborah’s helped me choose what to serve, and we both favor the fresh berry ones.”
He glanced at Deborah, who nodded. Rebecca handed her the frosted glass with a dab of raspberry syrup on the outside.
“You can have tastes if you can’t decide,” Deborah said before sucking on her straw.
“No, thanks. That one looks too good to pass up.”
Sodas in hand, they joined the others at the tables outside in the shade.
The chatter and questions came thick and fast.
“Are you going to teach at the grade school too, Mr. Gendarme?” Emily asked.
“Funny you should ask. Mister—er, Reverend Solberg and I were talking about that. I might teach a music class there.”
“Really?”
“That would be wonderful,” Mary Martha said with a smiling nod. “This last year without Elizabeth, our music program, if you could call it that, pretty much died.”
“She taught Linnea how to play the piano. Now Linnea sometimes plays with our band and at Sunday school,” Emily said.
“I’ve heard wonderful things about Elizabeth. I can see why she is so missed.”
“I heard you play the violin,” Deborah said.
“I do and play at some other instruments. Jonathan and I used to play together for our church and some other places. Then we grew up and moved away. In his case, far away.”
They all finished their sodas and meandered toward home.
“Thank you for such a marvelous treat.” Deborah smiled at him.
“You are welcome.” He smiled back at her. “I like your family. They remind me of home.”
“You lived in the city, correct?”
“True, but during the summer we move to our beach house on Long Island.”
“On the ocean?” Emily’s eyes rounded.
“Yes.”
“Someday I want to see an ocean.” She grinned up at him. “Thank you for the soda.”
He turned to Mary Martha. “Thank you for letting me intrude on your afternoon.”
“Intrusion? I think not. You are welcome any time. Would you like to stay for supper?”
“No, thank you. I told Grace I would be there, and I have more things to prepare for my classes.”
“You will be attending the box social?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t look too good if the schoolteacher wasn’t there to help in a party to raise money for the new school, now would it?” He glanced at Deborah. “I hear that the creators behind the boxes is a tightly guarded secret.”
“We try really hard to keep it that way, but . . .”
“But secrets sometimes have a habit of leaking out?”
“That they do. Thank you again.”
He bowed slightly over her hand. “My pleasure.”
She watched him jog down the two steps, settle his hat back on his head, and start toward the Gould house.
Now, that was certainly not what she had planned for the afternoon.
Saturday night the people of Blessing flocked to the schoolhouse, where gaily wrapped boxes graced a table and the platform stood in place for the auctioneer and later the band. Tables and benches surrounded the well-packed area used for dancing. The table for baked goods expanded to two as more women brought their gifts.
“Deborah, just look at this! I can’t believe we have all that!” Sophie stared at the laden tables. “I mean . . .”
“I would say this is the way some families feel they can help with the fundraiser.” Deborah moved a tall cake to the back so that it would not hide a dainty little pink-frosted cake.
“How do we price these?” Mary Martha brought out the box with the change for the cashiers.
Sophie studied the table. “What if everything is the same price? Then we don’t have that problem. Make it a nickel or a dime.” She turned to Ingeborg, who set three loaves of bread on the table. “What do you think, price-wise? Easier if everything is the same?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. Did I hear nickel or dime for one serving? Then twenty-five for a whole pie, cake, or loaf of bread.” She put a finger to her chin. “And we could be open for dickering, especially as we near the end and someone wants to purchase a lot.”
“I would think so.”
Freda set down a plate of her famous cinnamon rolls. “Are we open for business?”
“We are.” Sophie strode to the platform and picked up the megaphone. “May I have your attention, please?” A whistle from the back did the trick. “Remember, all the money we earn tonight will go into the fund to build and supply our new high school. All of it. And with that, the bake tables are open for business!”
Reverend Solberg took the megaphone. “We’ll start the bidding for our box social in half an hour. Please, no eating until all the boxes are sold to the highest bidder. And after that, the dancing will begin.”
Astrid and Amelia had agreed to arrange the box social table. Deborah made sure hers was as inconspicuous as possible.
“Do you give hints?” one of the single men asked.
Amelia smiled at him. “No, you take your chances. I can guarantee you will have good food and a charming partner. I’m warning you, the bidding will go fast.”
He pointed to a basket with a blue bow. “That one.”
�
�No, Heinrich, you must bid on it when it comes up; you tell the auctioneer what you are willing to pay, then someone else will make an offer. You’ll see how it goes.”
Deborah crossed the dance floor to help out at the bake sale. When the rush at the bake tables slowed down, she finally had a chance to look around. There was Toby, right over there. Was Mr. Gendarme . . . yes, back there talking to Mr. Belin. He was supposed to have a gift for languages. Were they conversing in English or in Russian? And why was she mooning about him when Toby was right over there?
Her pa picked up the megaphone again. “Come on, folks, we’re ready to start the bidding. Garth Wiste will be our auctioneer tonight, and you have fifteen boxes to bid on. Fifteen chances to enjoy a meal with one of our charming young ladies.”
Garth took the megaphone, tried talking through it and, shaking his head, put it down. “Raise your hand, please, to bid. We’ll start with box one.” He took the box Amelia handed him and held it up. “Looks good to me. Who’ll bid a nickel?”
Hands shot up.
“Ten cents?” When he upped it to twenty-five cents, three hands were left. “Thirty-five cents?” Two were left. “Forty!” One fellow stood alone.
Garth rapped his gavel. “Do I hear forty-five? Going once at forty, twice at forty . . . sold! To that lucky fellow for forty cents. And who is the lucky lady who brought this box?”
Rachel Anderson, Goodie Wold’s niece, stepped forward with a shy smile.
The boxes quickly sold until only five remained. Deborah made sure she kept a straight face.
Mercy Hastings stood next to her. “Did you tell him?”
“Tell him? No, I did not!” She frowned. “Tell whom?”
“Mr. Gendarme. Or Toby. Whoever.”
“No!” Then she added, “But . . . I hope.”
Some of the men had been bidding on boxes just to get the bids up, Deborah knew, but they were running out of boxes, and Toby, Anton, Samuel, and a couple of the newer men were still without supper.
Down to three boxes. The highest price so far was one dollar for Maxine Heinrick’s.
Garth held up a red and white box, smaller than most of them, with no ribbon, no adornment. Just a box. “Now fellas, this looks very plain and”—he sniffed the box—“smells mighty good. Who’ll give me thirty cents?”
No hands.
Garth looked around. “This is a fundraiser, folks, get it? Fundraiser, and some of you are hungry. I’m gonna start over. Who’ll bid forty cents?”
Many hands went up.
“That’s more like it! And it really does smell good; fresh bread for sure. Fifty cents. Sixty! Sixty-five? Going once, going twice . . . sold, for sixty cents! Samuel, you got yourself a supper partner.”
Mercy breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Samuel as he took the box. She followed him to a table in the corner.
Deborah and Sophie exchanged glances. I don’t want to be last. Deborah stared at the auctioneer, refusing to look at the men.
He held her basket up next. Who would she eat with? You know you hope Toby will get this. There was that voice again. The bidding climbed quickly to seventy-five cents. She could feel the heat in her neck. This is all for the school, all for the school.
“One dollar!” Toby’s bid.
“A dollar ten,” called another.
“Two dollars.”
The crowd murmured.
She refused to look around. Did she want to have supper with Mr. Gendarme?
“Three!” Toby.
Three dollars? This is absolute craziness. That was too much money to spend like this. It’s all for the school.
“Three fifty” came from the back of the room.
Silence. Then, Toby: “Four.”
Garth looked at his bidders. “Four going once, four going twice—”
“Ten!” from the back.
People gasped.
“A fortune! Anyone wanna bid two fortunes?” Silence. “Going, going . . . gone to our new schoolteacher, Mr. Anton Gendarme.” Garth brought his gavel down.
Was it disappointment she felt? Or out and out embarrassment? She smiled at Mr. Gendarme and handed him the basket. “Shall I go get my family to chaperone again?” she asked.
He chuckled and offered her his arm.
Deborah was happy to see the bidding heat up again on the final box. Now she was not the only one. The price reached three seventy-five and stayed there. Toby would have supper with Naomi Lindquist.
The other single men headed for the bake sale table to purchase their supper. Families brought out their picnic baskets, some offering to share with the men who’d not gotten a basket.
“Where would you like to sit?” Mr. Gendarme asked her.
“Wherever you wish.” Ten dollars! The sum still stunned her.
“I was thinking there.” He pointed to a spot near Mercy and Samuel.
They sat down, and she flipped out a tablecloth and set out the food. “First of all, my crackers and some of the Blessing soft cheese.”
“Your crackers?”
She nodded. “I came up with the recipe. Freda makes the cheese. Then deviled eggs, sliced beef with horseradish, chicken and lettuce salad, and pickles. And I hope you like potato-bread rolls.”
“This looks delicious.” He smiled at her. “I figured it would.”
“Why?”
“Because from what I’ve heard, anything you do, you do well.”
She studied him. He’d asked other people about her? Was that what he meant? “But you bid on the boxes earlier . . .”
“To help get the bidding going and going up.” He took several crackers and smeared the soft cheese on one. “This is really good.”
“And you stopped?”
“I was hoping for your basket.”
“How did you know which was mine?”
“I gambled.” He reached for one of the deviled eggs. “Our cook used to make these. I haven’t had any for a long time. Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I am.” She helped herself.
“And I watched the faces. Teaching school has taught me a lot about watching people to understand them.”
“I was careful.”
“You were, but Mrs. Wiste was watching you. Dead giveaway.”
She glanced over to another table when she heard Toby laugh. He seemed to be having a fine time. She opened the salad. “I hope you like this. It’s Ingeborg’s recipe.”
He spread some of the soft cheese on a roll. “Uncle David told me there were great cooks in Blessing. He wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“Well, let’s see. I’m the oldest of five.”
As he continued, she watched his face. He ate delicately, like a cultured person, and he seemed so totally at ease. A short distance away, Toby and Naomi were giggling and mock fighting over what was probably the last cookie. It broke, and they laughed with a lot more humor and enthusiasm than the situation seemed to call for.
Deborah forced her attention back to her supper companion. He was talking about his uncle and Jonathan. And his friends. And a beloved old rat terrier named Fred. When he started talking about the chickens they raised during the Spanish-American War, she realized she really wasn’t interested in this at all.
Toby laughed again. She didn’t have to ask him to tell her about his family. She knew his family.
She was having dinner with a handsome young man who was obviously interested in her, and all she could think about was Toby.
Chapter 25
Ah. Rebecca, I don’t know how you can cook such a fine supper and make sodas and ice cream all day too.” Toby leaned back in his chair. “Thank you.”
“It’s been too long since you’ve not been working till dark.”
“I should be over there now too.”
“That’s what you have foremen for.” Gerald passed the dishes of ice cream around the table.
“Do I get to keep driving wagons?” Benny asked, grinning up at h
is mor. “Or do I come back to the Soda Shoppe?”
“Keep in mind you are going to start school in a couple weeks.”
“I know.” Benny handed Agnes back her spoon. “Now, eat with that. You can’t eat ice cream with your fingers.”
Nessie shook her head, picked up her bowl, and drank the rest of it.
“Agnes Mary Valders!”
Benny tried to keep a straight face, but a giggle sneaked out.
“Benny, don’t encourage her.” Rebecca handed him a washcloth. “Here, you mop her up.”
Toby smiled at his brother. “Thank you for supper. I s’pose I better head on home.”
“It’s early yet. Come on outside and we’ll see if we can fend off the mosquitoes.” Gerald looked toward the kitchen.
“Your pipe is on the stove, where it’s supposed to be,” Rebecca said.
Gerald flinched. “Oh. Where did I leave it this time?”
“Out on the porch.”
Toby looked around the table. Did he want this too? Four children and, looking at Rebecca, it seemed that another might be on the way. Marriage sounded good—being with a good woman, sharing their lives—but kids . . . kids were something else. Was he ready for all that?
“Thanks again, Rebecca,” he said as everyone scattered from the table.
Her smile always made him feel welcome. “You’ve been working too hard, like all the others. I’m glad you agreed to come for supper. I figure you must get lonely in that big house by yourself.”
He snorted. “I’m never there but to fall into bed and leave again before sunrise. The garden is thanks to you and Benny, so I do hope you’re harvesting all you need.”
“Mrs. Sam has been coming with me to harvest, and she did some of the weeding too. She has been drying the string beans, and now we’ll let the rest of them mature so we can have plenty of dried beans. I’ve been saving seed for you too. Or rather, Gerald has. He goes out to the gardens nearly every evening. I think he gets tired of being cooped up inside the telephone office all the time.”
From This Day Forward Page 23
