Shining Water 01 - The Icecutter's Daughter (19 page)

Early March remained cold, allowing for additional ice harvesting, much to Bogart Krause’s pleasure. Merrill had heard her father say that he was trying to put aside as much money as possible, just in case this was the last winter he’d have customers for their ice.

Merrill bustled around the kitchen, packing snacks the men could eat during breaks from their work. She would drive out to the lake with hot coffee a few hours after they began, and then the men would return to the house later for lunch. It was a routine she’d come to know quite well, and today she had the help of Margaret Niedermeyer, making the work go much more smoothly.

“How’s George feeling?” Merrill’s father asked as Margaret tied on an apron.

“Not good. The doctor fears my husband has grown much too weak. He’s had some trouble with his lungs this winter.” Margaret looked concerned. “I don’t know if he’ll make it, to be quite honest.”

“We’ve been praying for him,” Father said.

“I was almost afraid to leave him this morning, but he
assured me he was feeling better. I suppose only time will tell,” the middle-aged woman declared. She picked up a basket. “I’ll go and start the laundry now.”

Merrill nodded and handed her father a large mug of coffee. “I figured you’d want to drink this on the way to the lake.”

He kissed her cheek and took the mug. “You know me pretty well.” He took a sip, then paused. “You know, Mr. Olsson has asked to court you.”

Merrill shook her head firmly. “I have no interest in him.”

“And why is that?” Her father gave her a quizzical look. “Is there something I should know?”

She shrugged. “I do not find him appealing or interesting. Mother always told me that a man should be both in order to have good husband potential. And since he offers neither to me, I see no reason to go out with him again.”

“That seems reasonable. I thought maybe you were going to tell me that your heart lay elsewhere.”

She looked at her father for a moment. “Well, perhaps. But for now, I’m content merely to continue on as I have. In time, God will show me what I’m to do, I’m sure.”

“Do you still enjoy painting the furniture?”

“I do. And . . . and Mr. Jorgenson has a few new projects for me, in fact. He wants me to try my hand at painting a few music stands and tea carts. I think both will prove to be a great deal of fun,” she finished in a rush.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Merrill Jean. I’ve seen a change in you since you took on this project for the Jorgensons. I was a little worried about what people might say at first; not
too many would approve my single daughter working with a bunch of men. But God helped me to see that it’s best to put my trust in Him and not what other folks think.”

Merrill leaned over to kiss his cheek, careful not to bump the coffee mug. “I agree. It isn’t always easy, but it is always best. I love you, Papa.” She turned back to her bread making. “I’ll be down in a few hours with coffee.”

“Maybe some cookies, too?”

“I’ve already packed those in the baskets you see on the table,” she told him with a little grin.

“Then I suppose I should get on my way. I can’t say I’m too anxious to get out there on the lake. It’s awful windy today, and the cold is starting to get to me in my old age.”

Merrill shook her head. “You certainly aren’t old, Father. But you’ve earned a day off. You could always stay here by the stove and help me.”

Her father laughed as she knew he would. “No, I think I’ll just keep on with the ice. Your work is much harder.”

She chuckled as her father took up the baskets, balancing his coffee mug in his other hand. Merrill went back to forming loaves for the bread pans.

Pausing only to deliver hot coffee and rolls to the men, Merrill busied herself with preparations for lunch. By the time the men came in for the noon meal, Merrill had fresh bread and a large pot of stew ready. The men were cold and famished, and the contents of the pot quickly disappeared, as did the bread and butter. Merrill had anticipated this, however, and brought out several large apple strudels and cream.

“I don’t suppose this will fill you up, but at least you won’t waste away until supper,” she quipped.

Flynn and Tobe took one strudel between them and began to slice away at the dessert. Leo and Zadoc shared another with Father, while the other workmen divvied up the remaining strudel. It didn’t take long before the meal was concluded and the men were out the back door.

Hands on her hips, Merrill surveyed the table of empty dishes. It looked like a hoard of locusts had descended. With a shake of her head, she gathered the platters first and then the plates. Once the dishes were washed, she would turn her attention to preparing supper. Margaret was already busy ironing. Merrill checked in with the woman to make sure she didn’t need anything. Glancing around the front room, where Margaret had strung rope and hung clothes to dry, Merrill could see she had things well under control. A nice fire in the hearth was warming the room, and she had a second iron heating on a hook over the flames.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Merrill asked.

“No, thanks. Things are coming along just fine. I ought to have the sheets all ironed in a few minutes, and then I’ll finish up the shirts. I brushed out your father’s suit and hung it in the wardrobe.”

“Thank you so much, Margaret. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you are doing, particularly on another ice harvest day.”

Margaret offered a hint of a smile and nodded over the ironing board. “I’m the one who’s thankful,” she said, her voice low.

“I have your pay and some goodies for you waiting in the kitchen.”

Margaret nodded again. “George sure likes your treats. He always asks if I’ll be bringing any home.”

“Well, he’ll be happy today. I packed a nice large apple strudel for you. Fortunately our lunch crew didn’t find it,” Merrill finished with a laugh.

“He’ll be glad for that. Maybe it will even help him feel a little better.” Margaret touched her finger to her tongue, then to the surface of the iron to check its heat. Hearing the sizzle, she set to ironing again. “I have yet to see him turn down any of your treats.”

Merrill returned to the kitchen and began working on pies. She thought she heard the sound of someone coming up the drive and glanced at the clock. Too early for the men to be returning. She went to the back door and found the doctor’s sleigh being driven by Granny Lassiter.

“Goodness, Granny, what in the world are you doing out on a day like this?”

“I’m afraid it’s not good, Merrill,” she said quickly but quietly. “I’ve come for Margaret. George has taken a turn for the worse. The doctor is with him now, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Oh no, Granny!” Merrill’s hand was at her throat. “I’ll go get her right now.”

Margaret was busy making beds when Merrill found her. The woman looked up with a smile, but immediately sobered when she saw Merrill’s face.

“George needs you, Margaret. The doctor is with him, and Granny Lassiter has come to take you back to town.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left him,” she whispered, her voice shaky. She looked at the half-made bed. “I’m not quite—”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Merrill hurried to assure her, drawing her toward the stairs. “Just get back to your husband. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Oh, and here . . .” Merrill went quickly to the basket she’d prepared. “Maybe this will rally him. Your pay is also in here.”

Two days later, word came that George had passed on. Though his death had been expected, it was a sorrow shared by the whole community. Merrill hadn’t known the man all that well, but Margaret had become a good friend. Now, more than ever, the woman would need work to keep a roof over her head, and Merrill was determined to see to it that she had what she needed.

Merrill loaded up several plates of food to deliver to the new widow and to Carl Jorgenson, as well. She couldn’t help but hope she might have a chance to see Rurik. It had been nearly a week since she’d last spoken to him. Margaret, clad in black, greeted Merrill at the front door. She was pale but seemed less grief stricken than Merrill had anticipated.

“Come in,” the new widow encouraged.

“I’ve brought you some food. I knew you probably wouldn’t have time for cooking, what with the funeral and all.”

“Folks have been so good to me,” Margaret said, pointing
to a table already filled with various dishes and baked goods. “I don’t guess I’ll ever get around to eating it all.”

“Is there something else I might do for you?” Merrill asked, pushing aside a couple of plates in order to make room for her own gifts.

“The truth is, I need to get back to work,” Margaret said. “I need to keep busy, and I definitely need the pay. Funerals aren’t without their costs.”

Merrill went to where Margaret stood. “You are welcome to come back to work as soon as you are able, Margaret. You may need the work, but remember, I am blessed to have your help.”

“I’ll be there Monday. With the weather warming up, though, are you certain you’ll need me?”

Smiling, Merrill took hold of Margaret’s hands. “I’ve been hoping you could come even more often. I have additional orders to complete for the furniture shop, and it would be very useful if you could come to the house most every day.” Merrill wasn’t exactly sure what all she would have the woman do or how she would afford to pay her, but it was clear that this was the most helpful thing she could offer Margaret Neidermeyer at the moment. “I’ll probably need you to start cooking more.”

The woman looked relieved. “I’ll see you on Monday, then. I can work as much as you need.” She glanced around the room momentarily, and her eyes filled. “I’m afraid . . . well, this place seems mighty empty without George. . . .”

“I doubt our place could ever feel empty,” Merrill said with a little smile. “I’ll tell my father that you’ll be coming.”

Merrill made her way to the furniture shop, her thoughts now focused on speaking to Carl and Rurik about taking on more work. Maybe she could even learn to stain the furniture when she wasn’t busy applying the designs. If she could work nearly daily, she might have enough money to pay Margaret on her own, though she knew her father would cheerfully pitch in his support.

“I thought I might never see you again,” Nils remarked as she came in from the side door near the office. He started toward her. “I thought maybe you were still mad at me.”

Merrill put down the hood on her wool cloak and turned to hang the garment on a peg near the door. “I’m looking for Carl. Is he here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Nils shook his head. “He went with Rurik to handle some business at the bank.”

Merrill stopped, uncertain about what she should do.

“Are you going to paint today?”

She decided quickly and shook her head. “No, not today. I have far too many other things that need my attention at home right now. At least the weather is starting to warm a little. Of course, that will mean thaw and then mud and muck to deal with. I suppose each season has its blessings and sorrows.” She didn’t know why she was babbling on, and turned toward the door.

Nils reached for the basket she held firmly between them. Merrill rather liked having the bit of a barrier in place, however. “I will deliver this to the house and be on my way.”

“Why go so quickly, Merrill? You know I enjoy time with—”

“Mr. Olsson,” she said quickly, “I know you asked my
father for permission to court me, but I must tell you that I will not allow that.”

“I don’t understand.” He looked hurt and bewildered.

“I thought my actions at the end of the winter party would have made my feelings for you quite clear. I think you are kind to seek me out, but truly our differences are too great.”

“But you only think the differences are great,” he argued. “You don’t yet know me. Isn’t it possible you need to get to know me better before—”

“Perhaps,” she interrupted again, hoping to stop this increasingly uncomfortable conversation, “but at this place and time, I cannot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to deliver this basket and do some shopping.” She hurried back out the door without bothering to secure her hood. The breeze on her hot cheeks and in her loosely knotted hair felt good.