‘‘Have you eaten yet?’’
‘‘No, but I need to finish caring for the guests. I’ll bring my coffee over later if I can.’’
‘‘Tonight I’ll see you at supper.’’
‘‘If I can.’’ Why did the thought that she might be too busy to have their usual visit bring the fog back?
Don’t be silly
, she admonished herself.
Sitting with him is not that important in the overall scheme of things
. Even after telling herself the same thing three times, she turned to another table without her usual smile. What was happening to her? A thought flitted through her mind. Perhaps it was the baby. She’d heard that women who were in the family way often had the vapors. Whatever that was.
When Garth didn’t show up for dinner the next day, she thought of going to look for him but convinced herself that would not be a good idea. He would come when he was ready. But when he didn’t have an office anymore, where could he be? Did he go somewhere else to eat? Should she save food or put things away?
That afternoon she walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Sam sitting on a chair, her head resting back against the wood.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ Mrs. Sam only sat down to peel potatoes or snap beans, neither of which would be what she’d been doing.
‘‘Jes needed to catch my breath.’’
Sophie studied the woman before her. ‘‘Where is Lily Mae?’’
‘‘She gone to the store.’’
‘‘And Lemuel?’’
‘‘He helpin’ his pa for an hour or two.’’
Lemuel often helped Mr. Sam at the blacksmith/machinery shop in the afternoon if not needed at the boardinghouse.
‘‘I think you should go see Dr. Elizabeth.’’
‘‘Now why for would I do dat?’’
‘‘You don’t look good.’’
‘‘I be better in jes a minute.’’
The tinkle of the doorbell caught Sophie’s attention. ‘‘I’ll be right back.’’ While she hurried to see if she was needed at the front desk, she wondered how to get Mrs. Sam to do as she was asked.
A man stood at the counter surveying the room as if measuring or appraising it.
‘‘May I help you?’’ If he were to be measured by his well-fitted suit of black herringbone and the white of his shirt, the man had plenty of money. Tall like the Bjorklunds but with a more slender build, an inside man from the look of him. A dark mustache was clipped in a fine line above a rather narrow upper lip. His long-fingered hands had never shoveled manure and probably not even snow.
‘‘Why, yes, Mrs. Aarsgard?’’ His clipped voice said he was from the East.
‘‘No, she passed away several weeks ago.’’
‘‘I’m sorry to hear that. Could I speak to the owner please?’’ He looked right through her as if she were invisible.
‘‘Yes.’’ She stepped behind the desk and studied him while he in turn studied the staircase. Proper was a word for him but not friendly.
When he turned back, a frown dug lines between his caterpillar eyebrows.
‘‘Would you fetch her please?’’ He was used to speaking to servants.
‘‘Fetch who?’’
‘‘The owner. I would like to speak with the owner of this establishment.’’ He spoke slowly, as if she might not understand him. ‘‘As I asked before.’’
Sophie picked up the letter opener and squeezed it. Hard. Of all the—She cut that thought off, remembering Bridget’s
‘‘You always catch
more flies with honey than with vinegar.’’
As if she wanted any flies. But her mother’s training in manners came through.
‘‘Could I have your name please?’’
‘‘Walter Cumberland.’’
‘‘Mr. Cumberland, I am Mrs. Bjorklund, and I own this establishment. Now what can I do for you?’’
While he stifled the look of surprise before it covered his entire face, she read it in his eyes first. It was worth the good manners.
‘‘I beg your pardon. From all I’ve heard, I assumed that . . . I mean, I was sure the owner was an older woman.’’
‘‘It used to be, until she died.’’ Sophie let him chew on that, not having any spare sympathy to offer him at the moment. ‘‘She was my grandmother.’’ That wasn’t really an exaggeration. After all Bridget believed she was grandmother to all the people of Blessing, both by blood and by adoption.
‘‘I-I’m sorry, er, pardon me.’’
Sophie let him stutter a moment before she smiled. ‘‘That’s all right.’’ Sophie knew how to clip words too. ‘‘Let’s start again. How may I help you?’’ Having the upper hand felt exhilaratingly wonderful. ‘‘Would you like a room?’’
For a week or a month?
‘‘No, not today, thank you. I . . . ah, could we sit somewhere and discuss a business proposition?’’
Sophie’s eyebrow arched.
‘‘No, no. Excuse me. I am . . . I . . .’’
‘‘Please come into the dining room and have a seat. I’ll bring in some coffee, and we can talk.’’ She showed him the way through the arched doorway.
‘‘Thank you.’’ He removed his coat and scarf and hung them over the back of another chair. As nice as it was outside, his coat must have felt too heavy, but that was none of her concern. What did he want? Walter Cumberland. She knew she’d never seen his name on any of the papers she’d looked through. Who was he and what possible business could he have with her if he didn’t want a room?
‘‘I’ll bring in de coffee.’’ Mrs. Sam already had a tray set with two cups and a plate of raisin cookies.
‘‘Cream and sugar too, please.’’ Sophie stepped closer to Mrs. Sam, knowing full well she’d had a view of the man. ‘‘Have you ever seen him before?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘I wonder what he wants.’’
‘‘Ask him.’’
‘‘Thank you. I plan to.’’ Why did she feel as though she were preparing for a battle? What a strange thought.
He stood when she arrived at the table.
At least he has good manners. Perhaps his manner at first was—
Another thought interrupted.
His attitude changed when he found out I
am the owner, not just someone who works here
. All the while her mind was whirling, she was allowing him to seat her and then take a chair himself.
Mrs. Sam poured the coffee and offered cream and sugar, which he declined with barely a shake of the head.
Sophie let him take a swallow of his coffee before asking, ‘‘Now, how may I help you?’’ While she smiled, she knew there was not a lot of warmth to it—deliberately.
He set his cup down, glanced at the cookies, and turned to look her fully in the face, his smile precise. His gaze dropped to her lips, then raised again to her eyes.
Please
, she thought,
I learned that little trick in school. I could make
any boy blush with it. Tsk, tsk
. If they were playing cat and mouse, he thought he was the cat, but she knew she was.
He wanted something.
‘‘Mrs. Bjorklund, let me be frank with you. I work for a company that is contemplating moving west and we heard about the boardinghouse here—’’ ‘‘Pardon me, but what is the name of your company?’’
‘‘We either build or purchase properties as hotels in smaller towns along the railroad, towns that appear to be growing and in need of our services.’’ He sat back in his chair and brought the coffee cup to his mouth, watching her over the rim.
Sophie copied his actions, only leaning forward instead. ‘‘What did you say the name of your company was?’’
‘‘Cumberland and Associates.’’
‘‘I see.’’ So was he the Cumberland or was it his father? ‘‘What exactly do you mean?’’
‘‘I mean that we might possibly be interested in purchasing this property.’’
‘‘Oh really?’’ She kept the leap of interest locked inside and off her face. The few times she’d played poker with the boys, unbeknownst to her mother, she’d won. Someone said she took after Hjelmer, who’d been quite a successful gambler when he was younger, or so the stories went.
Dear Lord, give me wisdom please, and I need it right now
. She started to say something, and then stopped.
He glanced around the dining room. ‘‘Of course, we would have a lot of work to do on this place.’’
Sophie felt herself bristling. He’d have to go far to find a place more inviting and with a better reputation. At the moment she was grateful she’d lived in the boardinghouse in Ballard, for she had something to compare it to.
‘‘How many rooms do you have?’’
‘‘Twenty-four.’’
‘‘Could you possibly give me a tour of your premises?’’
Sophie thought a moment. ‘‘I can show you around, but since many of the rooms are occupied, I can only show you one or two.’’
‘‘You mean that all your rooms are occupied?’’
‘‘Usually.’’
Easy, Sophie, don’t go stretching things or giving him more
information than he needs
. But what if he, or rather they, bought the boardinghouse, and she could use some of the money to take a trip somewhere, anywhere? Perhaps she could move to Minneapolis or Chicago or visit St. Louis and the world’s fair there. Possibilities chased each other through her mind while all the while she kept a pleasant expression in place and passed him the plate of cookies.
‘‘Would you care for more coffee?’’
‘‘No thank you. I would appreciate it if you would show me around, and then if I could stay for dinner?’’
‘‘Of course. The charge is fifty cents for a single meal.’’
Sophie
, her inner voice chided,
be polite and invite him to eat here without charge
. But then she quickly answered herself,
Not on your tintype. He wants to
buy; he can pay
.
‘‘You know, if you would prefer, I could see myself around, in light of . . . of . . .’’ He glanced to her waistline.
Of all the nerve!
Sophie clamped her teeth. Proper gentlemen did not refer to one’s state like that. Not that proper women allowed their approaching motherhood to show as she did. But she had a business to run, and withdrawing to her parlor was not possible. Her mother had run her school right up until Samuel was born. Her full white aprons had helped disguise her state. Perhaps she needed to don more protective clothing.
‘‘Thank you for your concern, but I manage quite well. After all, having a baby is a normal event for women, is it not?’’
‘‘Ah, well, ah . . .’’
She had him there, but she took little joy in the barb. His narrowed eyes gave away his ire. Taking him upstairs first, she showed him a single room and then a bunk room before continuing down the back stairs, where the linen closets were and on down the hall to return to the lobby.
‘‘May I see the kitchen?’’
‘‘Of course, but remember we are getting ready for dinner.’’
‘‘But of course. May I ask how many staff you run here?’’
‘‘There are four of us.’’
‘‘You do all this with four people?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
She showed him the kitchen, the pantry, and the back porch before returning to the dining room, where she invited him to sit until the meal would be served in fifteen minutes.
Leaving him, she headed for her room and sank down into the rocking chair in her sitting area. Her back ached, her stomach felt like it was doing flip-flops, and the baby had taken to dancing a polka on her rib cage.
Had she done what was best? What if he—they—wanted to buy the boardinghouse? What if they didn’t? Could her dream of adventures be starting?
Reality hit like slipping on an ice patch. How could she go on adventures when she had a baby coming?
‘‘
S
O HOW DID YOU GET HOME?’’ Elizabeth asked, a week and a half after the explosion.
Ingeborg turned with a plate of cookies to go with the coffee she had pulled to the front of the stove. ‘‘Getting home wasn’t the problem; getting that horse stopped was. He took that turn into our lane with the sleigh on one runner. I thought sure I was going to tip over. But when he slipped, it was like all the fight went out of him. I jerked the reins hard enough to get the bit out of his teeth, and he trotted into the yard as if nothing had happened. Other than he was flecked with foam, as was I, and his lungs were pumping like bellows.’’
‘‘Thank God we didn’t have another casualty due to the explosion.’’ Elizabeth picked up her daughter, who immediately reached for her grandmother.
‘‘Here. Let me take her.’’ Ingeborg settled the little one in her lap and blew on her neck, making her giggle.
‘‘Mo, Gama.’’
‘‘I thank God every day there weren’t more injured, including me.’’ She blew again. It wasn’t like Elizabeth to just sit like this. They’d had coffee and cheese toast, discussed the progress of the injured men, and shared community news.
‘‘Oh, Penny said to tell you that your washing machine should be here in the next day or two. I’m buying one for the surgery, but I’m sure Thelma will appreciate using it for the household too.’’
‘‘Good. Haakan just rolled his eyes when I said I was buying one.’’
‘‘What can these machine-conscious men say? Thorliff brought up the automobile again. He says it will help me on my rounds. I can just see trying to start that engine after birthing a baby all night.’’
‘‘Many was the time I’d sleep all the way home, knowing my horse knew the way.’’
‘‘Me too.’’
‘‘Speaking of which, what’s happening with the hospital idea?’’
‘‘I don’t know. The woman left, and I’ve not heard from her. I was thinking of approaching the co-op, but by the time they rebuild the flour mill there won’t be any extra money for building a hospital. No matter how much we need it.’’
Ingeborg wrapped her arms around Inga and rested her chin in the little girl’s near white hair, humming a little tune. Inga nestled her ear against Ingeborg’s chest.
‘‘She loves listening,’’ Elizabeth commented.
‘‘I know. Must be like before she was born when she could hear your heart beating.’’
‘‘You think babies can hear when they are in utero?’’
‘‘I’ve wondered that myself. I believe they can sense things, like how much they are loved or aren’t.’’
‘‘Has Thorliff told you our news?’’
‘‘You’re pregnant again?’’
‘‘He did, then.’’
‘‘No, but I’ve known for some time. Just waiting for you to tell me.’’
‘‘How did you know?’’
‘‘You have the look.’’
‘‘The look? I don’t recognize that in women.’’