She wagged her finger at him. “Nonsense. You must look the part. You’re very handsome when I get you all spiffed up, and you must command the respect due your office of pastor. We can’t have you looking less than your ministerial best when it’s time to preach God’s Word.” With quick, efficient motions, she folded the ironing blanket and placed it in the cupboard under the washtub.
Cutlery and plates clinked as she set the table for lunch. “I’ve got stew simmering, and as soon as I get back from the church, I’ll make some biscuits. How does that sound?”
“Like you work too hard. I can make the biscuits, or we can do without. I wish you’d slow down. You don’t have to tackle everything in a day. Between your household responsibilities and all the things you take care of at the church, you’ve no time to relax and enjoy life. You’ve no time for gentlemen like Todd Rambek.”
She lifted her coat and bonnet from their peg by the door. Clamping the edge of her red bonnet between her teeth, she shrugged into the sleeves of her dark-green coat. Once she had the wooden buttons done up, she settled her bonnet on her head. Checking her reflection in the looking glass, she smoothed dark-brown hair off her temples and tied the bow under her chin. Neat and tidy. She gave her reflection a cheeky wink. “That’s right. I don’t have time for men like Todd Rambek. Now, I’m off to the church. I’ll be back before lunch. Don’t worry about me. I’m quite content to ‘Do with my might what my hands find to do’ and wait for the right man to come along. He’s out there, and I’ll know him when I see him.”
Just before she closed the door, Grandpa muttered, “Be careful you don’t miss what’s under your nose because you’re too busy staring at the horizon.”
Todd Rambek pumped the bellows and shoved the tongs into the white-hot coals of the forge. A bead of sweat trickled down his nose, and he swiped at it with his shirtsleeve. A little more hammering and shaping, and this peavey would be done. He had been blessed to pick up extra work from the nearest logging camp, repairing and making peaveys and cant hooks.
The camp blacksmith had gotten kicked by a horse and broken his leg, but he should be back on the job just after Christmas. Until then, Todd had all he could handle keeping their horses shod and tools in good repair as well as meeting the needs of the settlement. The money wasn’t bad either, especially since he was hoping to have need of a bigger cabin in the near future.
His hired man, Billy Mather, brought in another bucket of water. “Do you want me to haul these tools out to the camp tonight, or will they come and get them?” He tugged off his cap, leaving his hair a spiky mess.
“The Push said they’d send someone, but first thing on Monday, he wants me out there to work on the water wagon and to fit a pair of ice shoes to their best team. Can you hold down the fort here if I have to stay overnight?”
“Easy. Who is the Push this year? It isn’t McGowan, is it?”
“No, a new man. Caffrey, I think? To hear the loggers complain, he must be the slave-driving-est foreman they’ve ever worked under, but I hear they’re looking to fell more than a million board feet before the spring log drive. Their blacksmith going down hampered them some. They offered me good money to move out there until he was healed up, but …” He shrugged and pumped the bellows again.
A grin spread across Billy’s open, likeable face. “But … lemme guess. You didn’t want to leave our little settlement without a blacksmith?”
“I have a lot of work to do here, and not just in the shop. I have otherresponsibilities, too. They just made me a deacon at the church. Wouldn’t look right to abandon my post so quickly, would it?”
“Could it be you didn’t want to leave a special someone?”
Wielding the long-handled tongs, Todd yanked the peavey spike from the flames. He hefted his favorite hammer, so familiar it was almost an extension of his arm. Laying the spike on the horn of the anvil, he pounded the glowing metal and sent a shower of sparks toward the floor. Billy didn’t miss much that happened in this hamlet. A few more whacks, and Todd stuck the hook back into the coals.
“So, am I right?” Billy swept his hat across a stump and examined it before taking a seat—a wise move, for any surface in the shop might have a hot coal or piece of cooling metal on it. Todd kept a sign over the forge that read SPIT BEFORE You SIT to warn customers.
“Right about what?” Todd wiped his hand down his leather apron.
“Don’t play games. I’m talking about Beth Sorensen. You like her. I think you more than like her.”
He did, and he had for a long time, but he wasn’t ready to spill his longings to anyone, much less Billy Mather, good friend though he might be. Todd had finally reached a financial position to consider marriage. He’d gone to the preacher to ask if he might call on his granddaughter, and waiting for the reply had driven him to distraction for most of the day. Even as cold as it was, he’d kept the door propped open so he could see the path to the preacher’s log cabin. He pumped the bellows again. “Don’t you have some chores to do?”
“Sure, but what happened when you called on Pastor Sorensen? You asked him if you could court Beth, right?”
Todd whipped around. “You know about that?” His tongs clattered off the front edge of the forge, and he sprang backward to avoid getting burned.
“I do now. You just confirmed my suspicions.” Billy grinned. “I saw you talking to him up by the church this morning when you were shoveling snow, and I figured you might be asking permission to call. So, what’s the verdict? Is she willing?”
A groan started somewhere around Todd’s toes and worked its way up. He throttled it before it squeezed through his teeth. “He said he’d ask her and get back to me, but he didn’t say when that would be.”
“Did he sound like he thought it was a good idea?”
Todd shrugged. “He said he’d ask but not to get my hopes up.” Which was ridiculous, since if his hopes weren’t up, he wouldn’t have asked in the first place.
“That doesn’t sound positive. What if she says no? Will you try to get her to change her mind?”
“You’re worse than an old woman wanting to gab when there’s work to do. Suppose you take those buckets of ashes out and spread them on the pathways to and from the church? Melt some of that snow and ice and make it safe for the old ladies.” Todd didn’t worry that Billy would be offended. Nothing seemed to offend him.
Billy craned his neck to peer through the open doorway. “Wouldn’t you rather do it yourself? Beth’s coming over to the church from the parsonage right now.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the log wall by the workbench. “It’d give you a chance to say hello and maybe test those courting waters.” The grin spread across his face irked Todd for a moment.
Sweat slicked his palms, sweat that had nothing to do with the forge or hard work. His heart popped in his ears like gunpowder under a hammer. “Maybe I will. Anything to get me out of here and your old-woman nagging.” He flung off his leather apron, snatched up the buckets of ashes from beside the door, and strode out into the cold, not bothering to put on his coat.
Beth spied the giant of a man approaching and wanted to sink into a snowdrift until he passed by. He dangled two buckets from his hands, and in spite of the cold, he wore no coat, only a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Todd Rambek. Why did she have to run into him before Grandpa had a chance to talk to him? She cast about for some place to … not exactly hide, but rather to avoid him. Knee-high piles of snow blocked her escape. Like it or not, she was going to have to speak to him.
He drew nearer, his stride eating up the ground. At almost six and a half feet tall, he dwarfed Beth by more than a foot. Hours bending over a forge, molding metal to his will, and wrestling recalcitrant horses into submission for shoeing had given him a physique not too far off the tales of Paul Bunyan.
She shook her head at that fantasy, clasped her hands at her waist, and composed her countenance. “Good day, Mr. Rambek.” Better to spe
ak to him first.
“Miss Sorensen.” His rich, deep voice sent a tickly sensation through her middle. She looked up—way up—into his equally rich dark-brown eyes. “On your way to the church?”
Knowing this man wanted to court her caused her to see things, to see him, differently. Hoping her appraisal didn’t show, she collected his features—the broad shoulders, well-muscled neck, square jaw, lashes thick and straight, and a smile that made her heart bump. She’d known he was handsome, but standing this closely, knowing he would like to call upon her, that he had sized her up and found her to his liking, that heady combination took her breath away.
“Yes,” she managed to get out, gathering her scattered wits and remindingherself not to be silly. He might want to call upon her, but she had turned the offer down. Not that he knew of that yet, but he would. And her reasoning was sound. Her life had been mapped out long ago. Marry a minister, and serve God in the church. No blacksmith, not even a deacon blacksmith, had any part of her future.
“Would you like me to go with you? I could light the fire in the stove if you’re going to be there awhile. The church will be too cold for you to play the piano.”
“Thank you, but I don’t want to take you from your errand.” She motioned toward the buckets.
“No trouble. I was heading to the church anyway. Thought I might spread these ashes on the path to melt some of the snow. I’d hate to see anyone slip on the stairs.” He turned on the narrow path and headed back the way he’d come, his buckets clanking.
Beth followed in his wake. It was thoughtful of him to think of the safety of others. Very thoughtful. Too bad he wasn’t a preacher.
Chapter 2
At the end of the Sunday service, Beth closed her hymnal and lowered the keyboard cover on the piano. She turned down the kerosene lamp next to the music stand before rising from the bench. Congregants stood in little knots in the aisles and amongst the pews, chatting, greeting one another, everything harmonious.
Grandpa gathered his Bible and papers and strolled toward her.
She offered her cheek for his kiss. “Wonderful sermon, Grandpa.”
“Thank you, dear. You played beautifully.” He took her arm and steered her to the back of the log church. They took up their accustomed places, side by side, shaking hands and giving each parishioner a personal greeting.
Beth loved this part of her duties, a substitute for her grandmother, who had passed away in the same epidemic that had taken her parents, leaving her an orphan and her grandpa a widower.
Mrs. Sophie Amboy tottered up, leaning hard on her cane. “Pastor, thank you for opening the Word for us today. We surely appreciate having a fine pastor like you to lead us.” She offered her gnarled hand in its fingerless lace glove. The scent of lavender drifted off her rusty-black dress. “And Beth, the music lifted my spirits. So festive. Well, I won’t keep you, but I will see you this afternoon. Looking forward to taking part in this program you’re planning. I haven’t been in a Christmas program since I was a girl.”
“I’m glad you’re looking forward to it. I’ll see you back here at 2 p.m. sharp.” She held out little hope that Sophie would be on time. She, like many of the members of the congregation, had a rather fluid take on timetables and was apt to show up late more often than not.
“Miss Sorensen.”
She jerked. Mr. Rambek stood before her. A rock lodged in her throat, and heat rushed into her cheeks. A quick glance at Grandpa told her he had yet to speak to Mr. Rambek about her refusal of his suit. Grandpa became engrossed in the story the grocer’s wife told.
“Mr. Rambek.” Beth held out her hand, and his came up, clasping it and dwarfing it between his palms. His work-roughened skin rasped against hers, warm and tingly. Beth smiled politely and withdrew her fingers.
“I’ll see you for lunch.” His brown eyes so mesmerized her she failed to take in his words. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Finally what he was saying penetrated her fascination. “What?” Her voice shot high, and her mouth fell open.
Brows bunching, he tilted his head. “Your grandfather invited me to share the noon meal with you.”
“Oh, he did?” She tore her gaze away and sought out Grandpa’s face.
Shrugging, a sheepish grin on his lined face, Grandpa stepped closer. “Didn’t I tell you? I meant to, but I guess I forgot. Must’ve had my mind focused on my sermon. No matter. Beth always makes plenty. A great little cook, she is.” Grandpa put his arm around Beth’s shoulders and hugged her.
She painted a pleasant expression on her face. Grandpa would hear about this, but not in front of the blacksmith. “Of course, Mr. Rambek. You’re most welcome. If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll head home now to make preparations. You can come with Grandpa as soon as he’s done here.”
“No, child,” Grandpa cut in. “Todd here can escort you to the cabin, and I’ll be along shortly. He can help you lift that roast from the oven. I won’t be long.”
Neatly hemmed in unless she wanted to cause a scene, Beth acquiesced. Perhaps it was better this way. Grandpa clearly hadn’t spoken with Mr. Rambek about his desire to call upon her, so it was up to her to disabuse the blacksmith’s mind that there could ever be any feelings between them.
He helped her with her coat and held her Bible for her while she tied her bonnet strings. When she went to take back her Bible, he shook his head. “I’ll carry it for you.” He held the door and took her elbow to help her down the stairs. Her boots crunched on the cinders he’d spread yesterday, and with the thin winter sun filtering through the pines, they made their way along the path to the parsonage.
With every step, she knew she should tell him. But how did one get started? Just blurt it out? Mr. Rambek, you’re welcome to lunch with us, but after that, I don’t want you to call ever again.
Wouldn’t that sound lovely? A fist of tension pressed under her ribs, and she wished she had her Bible to hang on to, something to do with her hands. It might not sound lovely, but the man had a right to know. Stop dillydallying, and just say it.
“Mr. Rambek—”
“Miss Sorensen—”
They spoke at the same time, and she stopped on the trail.
“Please, go ahead, and I’d be obliged if you’d call me Todd.” He ducked under a low-hanging branch—a branch that she’d walked under with no trouble—and waited.
Her mouth went dry, and she tugged her lower lip, letting the scratch of her woolen glove distract her for a moment. Finally, she mustered her courage. “Mr. Rambek—Todd—my grandfather informed me that you asked his permission to call upon me … socially.” Warmth surged through her cheeks, further intensified by the light that leaped into his eyes. “While I am flattered, I must decline the offer.” There, it was out.
“You don’t care for me?” He tilted his head, the gleam dying from his eyes, leaving puzzlement and hurt behind.
“I don’t really know you.”
He shifted his weight from one great boot to the other and switched the Bibles to his other arm. “Then why turn down the request? You could get to know me better before deciding. That’s what courting is for, to spend enough time together to see if we would suit one another.” Thankfully, he kept his voice low so none of the people walking home around them would hear.
And while what he said sounded reasonable—and would be if she weren’t so sure of God’s calling on her life—she knew she had to stand firm. “I’m sorry, Mr.—Todd, I have my reasons.”
“Does someone else have your affection?” He crossed his arms over her Bible and his against his chest.
She blinked. “No. Not yet.”
“Then I see no valid reason why you shouldn’t allow me to call upon you. We’re both believers, of good health, near enough the same age.”
His logic made her feel rebelliously illogical. “Really, this is silly. You’ve asked to call, and I’ve declined. I would prefer not to go into why. I was trying to be polite, to break it to you as gently as
possible, but I can see I must be blunt. I do not wish you to call upon me socially. I could never have tender feelings for you. You’re obviously well qualified to make someone a wonderful husband, but you will not be mine.” She turned and marched up to the parsonage door, flung it open, and closed it in his face before she remembered he was supposed to dine with them.
Pastor Sorensen was right in one respect. Beth Sorensen was a fine cook. Roasted beef and vegetables with thick, brown gravy, hearty wheat bread, and dried-apple pie with a crust so flaky it shattered when he cut it. Todd forked a portion into his mouth.
Beth held herself so stiffly he thought she might shatter like the pie crust. She picked at her food and avoided looking at him.
Pastor Sorensen alternated between amused tolerance and exasperation, smiling and frowning by turns. He kept the conversation going but had to ask Beth questions point-blank to get any response.
Todd pressed the tines of his fork into the bits of syrupy apple filling and crusty crumbs on his plate and savored the last bite. Pushing his plate back, he rubbed his stomach. “An excellent meal. Thank you for your hospitality. As a bachelor, I don’t often enjoy such fine cooking.”
Beth rose and began clearing the plates. She lifted an apron from a peg beside the washtub and tied the strings into a perky bow at the back of her tiny waist. Moving efficiently, completely at home in her kitchen, she poked the fire, poured water from the kettle over a cake of soap in the washtub, and began washing dishes.
Everything about her spoke of what a great wife and homemaker she would be. Why had she spurned him? Was she being coy? That didn’t line up with what he thought he knew of her.
Pastor Sorensen cleared his throat, jarring Todd, making him realize he’d been staring. Winking, the pastor inclined his head.
Todd grinned, a spark of hope lighting his chest for the first time since Beth had slammed the door in his face. Though her response had set him back for a while, he knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t finished yet. He loved a challenge. If Beth could just get to know him a little better, she’d see what he’d known for a long time. That they were meant for each other. If she thought she could just brush him off and he’d fade away, she had another think coming. “I’ll dry.” He scooted his chair back and plucked a towel off the counter.
Log Cabin Christmas Page 45
