Lonely In Longtree (13 page)

When he arrived downstairs at precisely six, men of varied descriptions filled the dining room with rumbling voices and nearly overpowering body odor. Most of these diners would not be residents of the boardinghouse, he deduced. Women were noticeably absent from their number. He pulled out a chair between a natty salesman-looking type and a sweat-stained laborer with shaggy hair and beard.

Mrs. Martin and an elderly man called Boz waited on the table. Boz had full use of only one arm, yet he managed to carry platters and bowls of food, pour drinks, and otherwise satisfy his customers. Monte soon guessed that Boz was husband to Mrs. Martin.

The food was excellent, and the dinner conversation offered nearly as much information as a scan of the weekly newspaper. Monte heard many familiar names, including his brother's, during the course of the meal.

“Listen up! I got news.”

Everyone, including Monte, gazed toward the far end of the table, where a man with a large red nose tapped on his glass with his spoon. “I just come from the Shamrock, where J. D. Parker bought drinks all around ‘cuz he's fixin' to get married.”

The man seated next to him shook his head. “I heard that tale, too, but the fact is, she ain't given J. D. no answer yet. Ask me, and I'd say he's counting his chickens too soon.”

“Who's the woman?” another man called from Monte's end of the table.

“Marva Obermeier,” answered Red Nose.

Monte's fork stopped halfway to his open mouth.

“Eh, he's good as married. That woman's been desperate to catch a man for twenty years.” Bitterness laced the speaker's voice.

“If that's so, why'd she turn you down, Nugget?” someone else shouted, earning raucous and mocking laughter.

Recovering his poise, Monte laid down his fork and took a sip of water.

“And you, Buff. I hear you proposed to her once.”

“That was ten years ago. I reckon most of us have made a try for her and her farm at some time or other,” the burly farmhand at Monte's left admitted.

“I heard tell she advertised for a husband in the paper.”

“That was a sales gimmick,” another voice said in scoffing tones. “Face it, Marva could take her pick of us if she weren't so particular. If J. D. wins her, he's one lucky fellow.”

Amelia Martin burst into the room, leaned over, and smacked a platter of bread on the table. “Enough of your gossip,” she snapped. “And they say women talk too much!”

Monte took a bite of buttered bread but found it difficult to swallow.

Sixteen

And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment.

Philippians 1:9

“Mr. Parker, may I have a word with you?” Marva hoped he would attribute the quiver in her voice to the morning chill. Hands clutching at her shawl, she watched him load a full milk can into the wagon.

He immediately hopped down and faced her, rubbing his gloved hands on his thighs. His quick breath steamed from his smiling mouth. “Anytime.” Bold admiration glistened in his pale eyes.

“This will take only a moment of your time, actually.” She squared her shoulders and forged ahead. “After much prayer and consideration, I have determined that I must refuse your flattering offer of marriage.”

He stared at her without blinking. She saw his hands close into fists. “Why?”

“I have already given my heart to another man. If he will not marry me, I shall remain single.”

Tight lips and an angry glare revealed the man's feelings. “Who?” he finally asked through clenched teeth.

“I cannot see how that information is your concern, sir. I appreciate the honor you gave me by requesting my hand in marriage, but such an arrangement would never work.” With a quick nod, she turned back toward the house.

His hand closed over her upper arm, stopping her short. Sensing his vastly superior strength, she turned to stare at him, her throat closing in fear.

“I'll not stay on this farm as a hired hand. Tell your father either you marry me or he sells the place to me or I leave.” Anger glittered in Parker's red-rimmed eyes.

Marva nodded.

He released her and turned away.

❧

Tension stretched a long silence to the snapping point. Marva chewed a tiny bite of chicken and had to wash it down with a quick gulp of milk. Parker's sullen stare from across the supper table made her flesh creep. No matter what her parents might say, she did not regret refusing his proposal.

At last Papa laid his napkin across his plate and reached back to pull the Bible from its shelf. Before he could open it, Parker pushed back his chair and spoke.

“Unless you'll sell this place to me, Obermeier, I'll be pulling out in the next few days.”

Papa laid the Bible on the table and folded his hands atop it. “I see no reason why we cannot discuss terms of sale. Shall we set up a time to meet tomorrow at the bank?” He spoke with unaccustomed formality.

Parker's aggressive manner dissolved into pleased surprise. “Yes, sir, that would be right fine with me.”

“After dinner, shall we say?”

“After dinner,” Parker agreed. “You are serious? You'll consider selling out?”

“I'll certainly consider your offer, Mr. Parker.”

Smiling, the hired man rose and excused himself. To Marva's relief, he did not glance her way. “I'll check the stock once more before I head to town.”

“You have always been dependable and hardworking, Parker. Thank you.” Papa rose to shake Parker's hand before the hired man departed.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Mother let out her breath in a long and noisy sigh. “Oh, Gustaf, how marvelous! Thank the Lord!” She suddenly covered her face with a handkerchief.

Marva stared in startled consternation. “Mother?”

Her mother lowered the handkerchief to reveal her smiling face. “Such a relief! Oh, thank God! I was so afraid you would agree to marry that man, Marva. He asked your father's permission to propose marriage to you, and we feared you would accept him out of desperation. How I have prayed that you would be wise!”

Papa snorted softly. “I told you to have faith in our daughter's good sense. Parker is not a bad man, but why should Marva marry him?”

Mother leaned forward, her intense gaze holding Marva captive. “Years ago, Papa and I promised each other never again to interfere in your matters of the heart, but I never expected to find it so difficult to keep that promise! When you advertised for a husband in the newspaper, I thought I should die of shock.”

“You knew?”

“Not at first,” Papa answered. “But over time we figured it out.”

“Always we hoped you would confide in us,” Mother said, her tone reproachful. “We might have helped in your search for Lucky while we stayed at the lodge.”

“Although, as it turns out, we found him for you on our first attempt,” Papa added with a grin. “I suspected he might advertise his lodge in our newspaper for a reason. Never guessed about his being Myles's lost brother, of course. To be honest, I thought Mr. Stowell was the man at first. I didn't know about his partner.”

“Dearest, why are you tormenting that man?” Mother asked. “Have you answered his letter? His past is disgraceful, to be sure, but the Lord has changed him into a man whom any woman should be justly proud to wed.”

Marva could hardly speak. “How long have you known?”

“We figured things out sooner than you did,” Mother said, reaching across the table to pat Marva's hand. “Probably because we could observe the matter more objectively. Both Mr. Stowell and Mr. Van Huysen admired you from the first, but Mr. Van Huysen had an air of purpose about him.”

“Purpose mixed with fear.” Papa frowned. “I didn't understand the fear until I read his confession in the newspaper.”

“You know he is truly a man of God now, don't you, Papa?” Marva asked.

“Had I not come to know and respect him prior to his confession, I would have been reluctant to admit such a change would be possible. This old man has learned a lesson about God's redemptive power. It galls me to marry my only daughter to an ex-convict, yet at the same time, I am proud to marry my only daughter to a godly man and famous author. I believe he will make you happy.”

Mother smiled and shook her head. “Happy is too weak a word. Such joy I found in seeing a fine man look upon our daughter with love and devotion in his eyes! And to know that she returns his love!” She heaved another ecstatic sigh. “God's ways are always best.”

“But now what shall we do?” Marva asked. “I have not yet answered his letter because I did not know what to say. Yes, I love him and wish to marry him, but I cannot simply hop on a train and travel north.”

Papa nodded decidedly. “Leave that to me, child. I'll write to inform Mr. Van Huysen of our plans to sell the farm and move north.”

“You plan to move north, too?”

Her parents appeared surprised by her question. “But of course,” Papa said. “We have been discussing this for months—ever since our summer vacation. The winters up north might be harsher than winters here, but there we might remain indoors in a luxurious lodge, read, and visit with our daughter and her husband. What more could a lazy old couple like us desire?”

“We shall come with you and accept your Mr. Van Huysen's proposal. I've been sorting through possessions these past months, preparing for a move,” Mother said in her practical way.

Marva's gaze shifted back and forth between their beloved faces as her thoughts scrambled to catch up. Laughter built inside her until it spilled out in a hearty peal. “You darlings! How sneaky you are!”

❧

“We're home!”

Marva hurried to the door to greet her parents. “How did the meeting go?”

“Quite well,” Papa said, letting her take his muffler and hang it on a wall hook.

Before he could say another word, Mother inserted, “Marva, guess who we saw in town—Monte Van Huysen!”

Marva paused with her mouth ajar, then gathered her thoughts enough to respond, “Oh.”

“He apparently arrived the day before yesterday, and of course he's been at his brother's house to visit, although he is staying at the Martins' boardinghouse.” Mother's eyes snapped with excitement. “He stopped your father and—” Her flow of words cut off suddenly, and she gave her husband an apologetic glance. “But Papa can tell you. . . .”

Papa finished hanging up his coat and Mother's. Then, placing his arm around Marva's shoulders, he walked beside her into the kitchen. “He asked if he might call on us this afternoon.”

“Today?” Marva's throat nearly closed with a combination of panic and joy.

“You'd best tidy yourself before he arrives,” Mother suggested. “The bread smells wonderful, and you baked apple kuchen as well, did you not?”

“I'll brew fresh coffee,” Papa volunteered.

Marva changed into her blue dimity frock, the most becoming of her gowns, though rather light for the season. Seated at her dressing table, she fussed with her hair, pulling wisps down to wave in front of her ears. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright.

Could a woman die of love? For the first time, she believed it possible.

❧

The sheen of frost coated grass and trees. Monte's breath froze on his scarf, and his hired horse's breath beaded its whiskers.
Clop, clop, clop.
It trotted along a country road, carrying him ever closer to Marva, ever closer to his future.

The Obermeier farm looked much like every other farm in southern Wisconsin. The barn was in need of repair, and the paint on the house's porch had peeled off in strips; yet overall the place wore an air of comfort. His horse whinnied, and a cart horse in the corral answered.

Smoke trickled from the chimney. Although the farmyard appeared deserted, he knew Marva and her parents were at home. He dismounted and wrapped his mount's reins around a post.

His boots clunked on the steps, and his own breathing seemed noisy. Now that the moment had arrived, his brain felt wooden.

After closing his eyes to pray silently for strength, he knocked on the door.

He heard footsteps inside. A bolt slid back, and the door opened to reveal Mr. Obermeier. “Come in, Mr. Van Huysen, and welcome. Hang your hat and coat on these hooks. My wife will be grateful if you will scrape your boots.”

The greeting seemed restrained. Monte could read nothing in the older man's expression. At their meeting in town that afternoon and always during his stay at the lodge, Mr. Obermeier had seemed friendly. Now he exuded dignity and detachment.

Delightful aromas of cinnamon, yeast, and coffee wafted through the house.

Mrs. Obermeier appeared from the kitchen. “We're so thankful you found time to visit us, Mr. Van Huysen. Our Marva has baked
apfel
kuchen, and we've prepared fresh coffee. I hope you can stay for supper as well.”

If his plans went smoothly, he shared that hope. If not. . .

“Come on into the kitchen where it's warm.” Mrs. Obermeier beckoned him forward. Her manner, at least, was reassuringly unchanged.

As he entered the room, Marva straightened and turned to place a steaming loaf on a wire rack. “Good evening, Mr. Van Huysen.”

“Good evening, Miss Obermeier.”

After giving him a shy smile, she draped the dish towels she had used to protect her hands over a bar on the oven door and removed her apron.

“Please be seated. I'll pour the coffee and serve up the apple cake.”

The minutes seemed to drag. Monte did his best to engage in small talk with her parents, mostly about his relatives, yet he felt acutely aware of Marva's presence. “Ginny took her first steps the other day. Beulah tried to make her walk to me, but she would only walk away from me to her mother.”

“How quickly these children grow!” Mrs. Obermeier observed, giving her own daughter a fond glance, as if Marva were taking her first steps. Monte found this glimpse of maternal affection both amusing and appealing.

Once Marva had served coffee and cake to everyone, she took her seat across the table from him. He found himself caught between the desire to watch her, to drink in her beauty, and the need to conceal his fascination from her parents. The small talk continued while they ate. Monte burned his tongue
on his coffee. Marva crumbled her cake with her fork and ate
little of it.

Mr. Obermeier cleared his throat. “As we informed you earlier, Mr. Van Huysen, my wife and I were at the bank today to discuss the impending sale of our farm. Our hired man has offered to buy it.”

“J. D. Parker?”

“Why, yes. How do you know his name?” Mr. Obermeier lifted one bushy white brow.

“Talk around the table at the boardinghouse the other night concerned his plans to marry into the Obermeier family.”

“Well, of all the nerve!” Marva snapped.

Monte met her irate gaze, trying not to smile in relief. “One can hardly blame a man for trying.”

She huffed, but he saw her lips twitch. “He proposed, but I turned him down. He told me my parents wanted me to marry him, which not only confused me but was also false. I could never have married him under any circumstances.”

He studied her guileless blue eyes. “I'm glad to hear it.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.

Mr. Obermeier linked his hands together and set them before him on the table with an air of importance. “Our daughter tells us you have made her a proposal of marriage as well.”

Monte's throat tightened again. “Yes, sir, I have.”

“We are also aware of the newspaper correspondence you have pursued these past two years. In your most recent post, you mentioned a prison sentence in your past. Before I give a yea or nay to your proposal, I would hear your story.”