Lonely In Longtree (3 page)

Laughing, talking people descended the steps, gathered on the platform, and stared at their surroundings with evident interest. Children ducked and scrambled amid the legs and skirts. One man made a grab at a young boy, catching him by the back of his jacket.

It was Myles.

Two

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

Isaiah 41:10

Monte recognized his younger brother instantly, not by his appearance—which had changed over the years—but by his graceful movements and an indefinable quality in his bearing.

“Myles,” he whispered the name.

“Mr. Stowell?”

A tall, burly man with graying blond hair had approached Monte unnoticed.

“Uh, no. Mr. Stowell is over there.” He nearly introduced himself, but indecision tied his tongue in a knot. Hardy had handled all reservations and business with this group from Longtree.

“But you're with Lakeland Lodge, aren't you?”

Monte nodded.

“David Schoengard here. I'm a minister.” Rev. Schoengard smiled and shook Monte's hand. “It was a long ride, but we're here at last.”

“Welcome to Minocqua. The town isn't much to look at, but wait until you see the lodge.” To his surprise, his voice sounded normal.

Only dimly aware of his actions and praying in his heart, he supervised the loading of luggage, including fishing poles and tackle. “You people are serious about your fishing,” he said to a bearded old gentleman waiting near the wagon hitched to Petunia and Buzz.

“That we are, sir.” Anticipation gleamed in the man's faded blue eyes. “Are you our driver?”

“I am.” Monte climbed into the wagon bed, slid a valise beneath one of the bench seats, and arranged fishing poles along a side panel. “You've never had better fishing than you'll find around here.”

“This is a lifetime opportunity. I've read the advertisements for this lodge in our local newspaper these past many months and dreamed about landing one of those record muskellunge.”

Monte climbed down and gripped the man's surprisingly powerful hand. “I sincerely hope your dreams will come true, Mr. . . ?”

“Obermeier. Gustaf Obermeier, sir. And this is my wife, Elsa, and our daughter. . . . Ah, well, she's here somewhere.”

“She's helping Beulah with the children,” Mrs. Obermeier said. “What is your name, sir?”

“Just call me Monte.” He tipped his head toward the wagon. “Your luggage is loaded. I imagine you're eager to reach the lodge and start fishing.”

Mrs. Obermeier chuckled. “Please don't tempt him, Mr. Monte. Morning will be soon enough for that, I should think.”

He took the woman's elbow to assist her into the wagon.

“Mother!” Rapid footsteps clopped on the platform.

Mrs. Obermeier turned back. “There you are, dear. Are you riding with us or with the Van Huysens?”

Hearing that name gave Monte a jolt.

“Beulah asked me to ride with them—the children are nearly beside themselves with excitement. I'll rejoin you at the lodge.” The younger woman spoke rapidly. She had a rich-sounding voice. Monte wondered which man in the party claimed her as his wife. That ash-blond hair of hers would catch any man's attention.

As she walked away, more guests climbed into Monte's wagon: a young couple who behaved like newlyweds and a family of four whose names he missed. While Monte clucked up the horses, his passengers launched into happy discussion of the coming weeks. They mentioned names he found vaguely familiar, probably from seeing them in news articles.

At times he glimpsed Hardy's wagon ahead on the road. Myles and his family were in that wagon, he knew. Sunlight glinted off the lake alongside the Minocqua and Woodruff Road. In summer there could be no cutting across the lakes to shorten the trip home, but the local roads were in decent-enough repair. “What lake is this, Mr. Monte?” one of the women asked.

“Just Monte, ma'am; no ‘mister,' please. It's called Kawaguesaga Lake. Up ahead here the road splits off, and we'll head west toward the Lac du Flambeau reservation.” He jiggled Petunia's reins to wake her up.

“Will we see any Indians while we're here?”

“You're likely to, ma'am.”

“Are they friendly?” Mr. Obermeier asked.

“Mostly.” He shrugged. “They're like any people—some are friendly; some are not. One of the lodge's fishing guides is Ojibwa. We call him Ben. If he can't find you a big fish, no one can.”

They again conversed among themselves, leaving Monte to his thoughts. When would be the best time to approach Myles? Probably not tonight, while the children were overtired and ornery. In the morning, perhaps? But he could never wait that long! Somehow he had pictured himself walking up to Myles on the station platform to reveal his identity, but that idea had fizzled. Myles and his wife had been far too preoccupied with controlling their numerous offspring even to notice his presence.

The lead wagons turned off the main road. “Are we nearly there?” asked one of the men.

“I'm sorry, but the lodge is a good distance off yet,” Monte said.

“No need to apologize, Monte.” Mr. Obermeier sounded tired but cheery. “We all hoped for adventure in the wilderness.”

Monte smiled back over his shoulder. The old man had pluck.

When the lodge appeared between the trees, along with the glimmer of the lake beyond, a chorus of appreciative gasps and exclamations lifted Monte's spirits. “Is this the same lake that surrounds the town of Minocqua?” Mr. Obermeier asked.

“Yes and no. This lake is linked to that one by a channel. However, both parts of the lake chain are called Lake Kawaguesaga at present. It gets confusing.”

“The lodge is magnificent,” the little bride said in evident satisfaction. “George, I'm so glad now that we came here for our honeymoon and not Niagara Falls. You were right.”

Monte left his wagon for the hired men to unload and escorted his party of guests into the large foyer. A quick glance around for Myles left him frustrated once again. He checked the register to remind himself which cabin his brother's family had reserved. Number Five. The largest. If he'd been thinking clearly, he would have guessed as much.

“After you register, head into the dining room where supper is presently being served. Your luggage will be delivered to your rooms or cabins.”

The little group of guests thanked him and moved on about their business.

It might be kinder to wait until Myles and his wife had time to settle their children for the night, but this protracted delay was destroying his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he gazed around the crowded lobby. The staff worked smoothly and efficiently. He felt a moment's pride; the lodge was everything he had envisioned, thanks in large part to Hardy Stowell's business expertise.

If all went as he hoped and planned, Monte would be able to relax and enjoy this next month.

That was a mighty big
if
.

❧

“Miss Obermeier, I hope and pray your visit here at Lakeland Lodge will be some of the best days of your life.”

Marva watched Mr. Harding Stowell twist his hat between his hands and took pleasure in his evident admiration. “Thank you, sir.”

“If you need anything—anything at all—just send word.”

“I'll do that, Mr. Stowell.”

He finally clapped his hat back on his head and walked down the cabin's steps. Marva watched him for a moment, smiling to herself. He was about the right age, single, a Christian man, well educated. . .and rather endearingly socially inept. Although she couldn't be certain he was “Lucky,” her suspicion had strong grounds.

She might have wished for a bit more physical appeal in a potential husband, but she supposed his looks would grow on her as she learned to love the man within. He couldn't help his plain features.

Yet it seemed too coincidental that her correspondent beau should be the first man she encountered in Minocqua, the owner of Lakeland Lodge. Not that God couldn't do miracles, but. . . Well, time would tell.

At Beulah's request, the lodge kitchen staff brought food to the Van Huysens' cabin for the exhausted children and parents. Marva helped feed the hungry brood, told stories and sang songs to Cyrus, Jerry, and Joey, and tucked the three middle boys into bed. When she finally left the darkened bunkroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, her body and head ached.

Beulah and Myles sat in matched rocking chairs near the stone fireplace. Ginny snuggled against her mother's shoulder, her eyes half-closed. Trixie clung to her father and wailed, her face pink and damp. Both parents gave Marva apologetic looks.

“What would we have done without you today?” Beulah sighed. “Are they asleep?”

“Very nearly.” Marva glanced around. “Where's Tim?”

Myles tipped his chin and his gaze upward. “In the loft. He's claimed it as his hideout.”

Trixie's crying increased in volume. “Stubborn little creature,” her father said in evident frustration. “She's been crying for three hours now.”

“I'll put Ginny down and take Beatrix for a while so you can unpack your things,” Beulah said, rising slowly.

Rap, rap, rap
at the cabin door.

The three adults exchanged glances. “I'll get it,” Marva offered.

A man stood on the porch, lantern in hand. “Uh, is this the Van Huysens' cabin?” He removed his hat.

Marva recognized him but couldn't place his identity. “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”

“I need to talk to Myles Van Huysen.” The man's eyes had a desperate look. Uncertain, Marva glanced back at Myles for direction.

“I'll talk to him.” Myles spoke over Trixie's wails and stood up.

Marva turned back. “You may come in, but please be quiet, sir. We're just now getting the children to sleep.” She pushed at the screen door. He opened it and stepped inside, then stood there shuffling his hat between his hands. Marva's curiosity rose.

Myles stepped forward and extended his hand from beneath his daughter's trailing nightgown. “Good evening, sir. Is there a problem?”

The man opened his mouth, closed it, and took Myles's hand. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, though the night air was cool. “I—I—Hello, little brother.”

Utterly confused, Marva stared back and forth between their rigid faces. Trixie flailed in her father's arms, but Myles seemed oblivious even when her arm struck his jaw. The color drained from his ruddy face.

“Monte?” he whispered.

Marva backed toward the kitchen area, feeling entirely out of place during this family moment. To her relief, Beulah emerged from the bedroom, studied the two men, and then approached to stand beside her husband. Trixie climbed into her mother's arms. Myles let her go, his gaze still locked with the stranger's.

Then the two men embraced, both speaking at once in choked-sounding voices.

“You were dead!”

“I'm so sorry!”

“How can this be?”

“I wanted to see you—”

Beulah looked at Marva, then back at the men, her eyes full of questions. Trixie's cries rose in volume, as she jounced in Beulah's arms.

“I'll take her so you can talk,” Marva said. “We'll go out on the porch.” She took the thrashing toddler from Beulah and stepped outside.

To her surprise, Trixie fell silent and clung to her, shivering with sobs. A breeze rippled off the lake and whispered through the trees. Trixie sighed and wiped her slimy face on Marva's shoulder.

“It's so beautiful here, baby girl.”

Marva heard voices rise and fall from inside the cabin. Chairs scraped on the floor and cupboard doors closed. Beulah must be preparing coffee or tea.

Little brother.
Marva dredged up memories from the distant past and vaguely recalled Myles talking about a long-lost brother. How very strange that they would meet here and now! Nothing about this felt real. The entire day seemed like a misshapen dream. She shook her head, wondering if she might wake up soon.

Three

Confess your faults one to another,

and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

James 5:16

Monte sat across the table from his brother and sister-in-law and prayed for courage. Their pale faces increased his sense of guilt. They were so tired, and now this. How could he ever make them understand? Especially when he didn't understand his own behavior or motives.

“You have a fine family.” The comment sounded flat even though he meant it sincerely.

“Thank you. You've never married?” Myles, too, seemed awkward.

“No.” Monte turned his coffee cup between his hands.

“Where have you been all these years? How did—?” Myles shook his head and held up both his hands in entreaty and bewilderment. “How did this happen? You here, meeting us?”

Monte pinched the bridge of his nose, still praying. “Is this a good time to tell the story? You both must be weary to death.”

His brother snorted. “I'll not sleep after this. You might as well tell us.”

Beulah nodded in agreement, her dark eyes wide.

“What about—? I mean, the lady outside and your little girl. . .”

“They'll be fine. Marva is almost like family,” Beulah said.

He took a deep breath for fortification. “Where shall I begin?”

“I saw you get shot out of the saddle and fall into a stampede of cattle,” Myles said. “All these years I thought I had watched my brother die.” His voice held a hint of accusation and a world of curiosity.

Die?
Monte flashed him a quick look but saw only truth in his brother's face. After taking a few deep breaths and a swig of coffee, he cleared his throat and launched into his story-telling mode of address.

“I knew Jeb Kirkpatrick was after my hide,” he began. “I had owed him a bundle of money for months, and he knew I didn't have the cash. . . .”

❧

Hugging the tiny girl close, Marva hummed softly. Her back and arms ached. How long had she been out here—an hour? Every once in a while, she overheard a word or a sentence of the conversation inside the cabin. Caught between curiosity and guilt, she closed her eyes, as if that would make a difference. Sometimes the brothers raised their voices. Other times everything went so quiet that she wondered if they were all asleep.

Were they going to talk all night? Surely some of their catching up could wait for morning. She sat down on the top step, adjusted Trixie in her arms, and leaned her head against the railing. Sleep weighted her eyelids.

Some thing, or things, rustled in the shrubs near the edge of the porch.

Marva's eyes opened wide.

A shadow slipped from the shrubbery and moved along the cabin wall toward her. Glittering eyes reflected the porch lamp. Another something burst out of the bushes and tumbled across the grass, squealing, grunting, and chattering.

Marva scrambled to her feet and rushed for the door, imagining teeth sinking into her legs at any moment.

❧

“I ended up working as a hunting guide at a Wyoming ranch that catered to rich city men with dreams of trophies hanging on their den walls. Some wanted a bear, some a bison, some an elk,” Monte said. “The hardest to bring back were the bighorn sheep. Those critters are wily, nimble, and difficult to track. I befriended some members of the local Indian tribes, too.”

Beulah yawned and patted her mouth. “Oh, I'm sorry!”

“I ought to let you two get some sleep.” He'd been running off at the mouth like he often did when nervous.

Feet pounded on the porch, the door flew open, and the blond woman burst into the room with the tiny girl limp in her arms.

Monte and Myles both jumped to their feet.

She stopped short and returned their startled stares. “I'm sorry. I—I—Um, it was dark. . . .” She glanced down at the sleeping child. Firelight glinted on her pale hair. “Trixie is—Where do you want me to put her down?”

“There's a cot beside our bed in that room.” Beulah pointed. “Marva, did something frighten you?”

“There was. . .I mean. . .” She glanced back over one shoulder. “I heard something.” Her voice sounded tiny. “I saw some kind of creatures out there.”

Monte quickly stepped outside to the dark porch. Moonlight sparkled on the lake's rippled surface. Small shadows waddled across the lawn area between cabins, chattering and bickering softly.
Raccoons.
A smile spread across his face as he rested his hands on the railing.

That Marva woman was really attractive. He'd heard nothing yet about a husband. . .but women that handsome didn't stay single into their thirties, which age he estimated she must be. She might be widowed. Lifting his brows, he looked back over his shoulder at the cabin door and pursed his lips in contemplation.

❧

Marva's entire face burned. “These creatures with glowing eyes came rushing at me, making strange noises. I thought of bears or. . .” She handed Trixie into Beulah's outstretched arms and covered her hot cheeks with her cold hands. “I'm sorry I interrupted. I'll leave now.”

“No, you won't,” Beulah said firmly. “Not until Monte can escort you to the lodge. You think we're going to let you walk back alone and be attacked by a bear? Have a cup of coffee and sit with us. You're family. You might as well hear the story.” She disappeared into the cabin's bedroom.

Myles gave her a tired smile and poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the back of the stove. “It's still plenty hot.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, about my intruding on your family time.”

“Yes. Why not?” He offered her sugar.

A deep voice spoke behind her. “There should be milk in the icebox.” The cabin door closed.

Myles's gaze flicked past Marva. “Really? Thanks.”

Reluctantly she turned to face the stranger. “I suppose there was nothing out there.”

“Nothing dangerous.” He smiled slowly until his white teeth showed beneath his mustache. “You'll get used to the darkness. But from now on, you'd probably best not be alone outside at night. There
are
bears in these woods, but I'll protect you.”

Marva tried to smile in response to his teasing grin. This man was too ruggedly handsome, too confident, too. . . something. She glanced back and forth between the brothers and saw the resemblance. Monte was taller and broader than Myles, with brown hair instead of red. Myles's voice held a musical quality that Monte's lacked. The likeness lay in their facial features and mannerisms.

Myles placed Marva's coffee and a jug of milk on the table. “I should introduce you. Marva, this is my brother, Montague
Van Huysen. Monte, this is Miss Marva Obermeier, our
long-time friend.”

Marva extended her hand. Monte clasped it in a warm grasp and bowed slightly. “I am honored, Miss Obermeier. I believe I met your parents earlier.”

Why was he still holding her hand? She tugged it away and tried not to let her discomposure show. “Oh. Really?”

He still gazed steadily at her face. She tried to meet his eyes but felt her throat tighten. “This is the first travel vacation they have ever taken.”

That charming smile spread across his face again. “I'm glad they chose Lakeland Lodge.”

Of course, his simple statement meant nothing more than the obvious.

Beulah joined them. “Thank you, Marva. She's sound asleep. I doubt cannon fire could waken her after all that crying.” She turned to Monte. “I told Marva to stay until you can walk her back to the lodge.”

He looked pleased. “Certainly. Are you in a hurry, Miss Obermeier?”

“No, sir.”

“I haven't much more to tell, if you don't mind listening.” He pulled out her chair in invitation.

“If you don't mind my hearing it, I don't mind,” she said and sat down. He scooted her chair forward, then seated himself beside her, across from Myles and Beulah.

“So go on,” Myles urged.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, the last few years in a nutshell. One night, after a particularly exciting hunting adventure, I started writing down the day's events so I wouldn't forget. That story turned into my first published magazine article.”

“You always did like to write,” Myles said.

“Using my experiences, I began writing for magazines, serial stories that were later printed as books. Western novels. I write under the name ‘Dutch Montana.' Somebody called me that once, and I thought it made a good pen name.”

Dutch Montana?
The name rang a bell inside Marva's head, but why?

Something thumped on the ceiling. The adults glanced up in time to see a pair of bare legs swing onto the loft ladder. Tim Van Huysen descended rapidly, his breathing audible in the sudden quiet.

“Tim, have you been eavesdropping?” Beulah sounded shocked.

“I couldn't help overhearing, Ma. I can't believe it! I've got a new uncle, and he's
Dutch Montana
!”
The boy, still fully clothed, approached Monte boldly. His dark hair stood on end, and he clutched his pant legs at his sides.

“Howdy, Tim.” Monte grinned at his nephew and shook his hand. “I'm honored that you read my books.”

Tim gaped up at his uncle's face. “The fellers back home won't believe this! Would you sign my books? I brought a bundle of them.”

“Sure.”

“Books. That figures. No wonder your bag was so heavy,” Myles said in amusement. “Well, sit down and join us, why don't you?”

Marva blinked as realization struck her. Papa had been reading one of Tim's Dutch Montana books on the train—that's why the name had seemed familiar to her. She felt a sudden urge to giggle over the coincidence but restrained it. No sense in advertising her overtired condition.

Monte didn't continue his tale until the boy squeezed a chair in between his parents and nestled against Myles's shoulder. “A few years back, I traveled to New York on publishing business and tried to look up the family. The prodigal returned, and all that. Problem was the fatted calf and sundry had disappeared in the meantime. I went to the old family offices and discovered that the Van Huysen Soap Company went out of business long ago, which came as a shock. After much fruitless searching, I thought of looking up Gram's old attorney. He told me to ask Mr. Poole, the detective, about you, and Poole gave me your location—in strictest confidence.”

“Why all the secrecy? Why didn't you come see us then? Gram spoke of you on her deathbed.” Myles's voice held an accusing note.

Monte flinched. Trying to respect his feelings, Marva kept her gaze averted and sipped her coffee. She really should have insisted on walking back to the lodge alone.

Monte took a breath and opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. After a long moment he tried again. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of Gram? Monte, you were the light of her eyes!”

Marva glanced over in time to see him shake his bowed head.

After a strained silence, Beulah spoke softly, “We're thankful to find you now, Monte. I imagine your grandmother is looking down from heaven and smiling to see her boys together again. She prayed faithfully for you all those years. For you and Myles both. She knew you had given your life to the Lord, Monte, and that knowledge sustained her.”

He nodded. Was he crying? Marva wanted to put her hand on his arm and try to comfort him. Shocked at the very idea, she sat still and watched her own fingers trace circles on her coffee cup.

Tim rubbed at his eyes and yawned noisily.

Monte sat up straight and forged on. “I heard about land available in the Northwoods and traveled up here soon after the railroad stopped in Minocqua. I've kept track of your family from a distance these three years.”

How?
Marva wondered but didn't dare ask the question. She glanced up in time to see Monte cast a brotherly look at Beulah. “By the way, little brother, I must say you've found yourself a peach of a wife.”

“God has blessed me, for certain.”

Monte drew a deep breath, then asked, “So, Myles, what were you doing all those years after Texas? I'm pleased beyond measure to discover that God finally got through your thick skull.”

“That He did, though it took years for me to pay attention. After your death—as I thought then—I drifted about, taking jobs at cattle ranches, until a great man named Obadiah “Buck” Watson hired me on to work his farm. Buck is the man whose testimony God used to change my life. Then Buck's stepdaughter stole my heart.” Myles reached his arm around Tim's nodding head to touch Beulah's shoulder.

“You've made better use of your time than I have. Regrets are sorry companions, Myles. If I had been responsible all those years ago, the Van Huysen Soap Company might still be—if you'll pardon the expression—afloat, and your children would have an inheritance.”