Shining Water 01 - The Icecutter's Daughter Page 18

  “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.

  I do hope that’s the last I hear of courtship with Nils Olsson.

  Merrill quickly put away the contents of the basket at the house, then returned to the sleigh and made her way to the mercantile.

  When she entered the store, the man behind the counter smiled. “Miss Krause, what can I do for you today?”

  “I need flour, salt, sugar, coffee, potatoes, beans, cornmeal.” She paused and looked up from the list. “I have the sleigh out front and hope you might be willing to load those larger items while I continued to shop.”

  He nodded. “Just tell me the amount you want of each, and I’ll get right to it.”

  Merrill handed him her list. “This should help.”

  She smiled and thanked him before turning back to collect a variety of other needed articles. She had just rounded the corner of the fabrics and notions when she spied Svea Olsson fingering some white satin. She wanted to say something to the young woman—something kind, possibly helpful—but for the life of her, Merrill couldn’t find the words.

  Svea glanced up and smiled in her pretty way. “Oh, Miss Krause. Good morning.”

  “Yes, and good morning to you. How are you today?”

  The younger woman returned her gaze to the material. “I’m shopping for some wedding satin. I’m hoping Rurik and I will soon be wed.”

  Merrill looked at the woman and shook her head. “Rurik has told me that you two are no longer engaged.” Svea’s head snapped around as if she’d been struck. “I’m sorry,” Merrill continued. “I’m sure this whole matter is difficult to discuss. And please know that it isn’t my desire to cause you additional pain. Rurik explained how things were between you, and . . . well . . . I also know about your more pressing matter.”

  “What did you say?” Svea stared angrily into Merrill’s face.

  Merrill frowned. “I believe you heard me.” She took a step closer to ensure their privacy. “I don’t wish to make you feel bad, Miss Olsson. I only wanted to offer my friendship. Maybe even some help. Rurik has confided in me about your . . . condition. I know you must feel quite frightened.”

  “He had no right to discuss it with you,” Svea shot back. “This is something that is between the two of us.” She whirled back to the material. “I’ll trust you to keep your mouth closed on the matter. Rurik and I will soon be married, and then no one need be the wiser.”

  “Rurik told me he has no intention of marrying you,” Merrill said quietly. “He said he has made that clear to you, as well.”

  “He has a responsibility,” Svea said, her tone low but unmistakable in its passion.

  “Rurik told me he had nothing to do with your condition.”

  Svea’s mouth dropped open, but she said nothing. The silence didn’t last, however. Her face red, Svea began to speak quite loudly. “You have no right to speak to me in such a way. Rurik and I will marry. We must. He has a responsibility to me, whether he admits it or not.”

  Merrill’s good intentions seemed to be fading quickly toward an unavoidable public argument. “He said the betrothal was broken by you prior to him coming to Minnesota,” she told Svea. “Why should you try to force marriage upon a man who clearly has no interest in marrying you? Especially when you were the one to end the engagement?”

  “I was angry and hurt that he was leaving,” Svea countered. “However, I came here to make amends, and given my condition—well—he must marry me.”

  Merrill lowered her voice. “But your baby isn’t his.”

  “The baby is Rurik’s!” Svea almost shouted.

  Heads lifted and a half-dozen gazes fixed on the two women. Merrill wanted to crawl in a hole. She heard the hushed whispers of the others and knew without a doubt that gossip would spread around town almost before she got out the door. She looked at Svea, but she was smiling again in a satisfied manner. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I think I’ll go look at one of the other stores for wedding satin.” Heart pounding, Merrill watched Svea sway gracefully toward the door, nodding as she passed the other customers.

  Merrill’s heart plummeted. This would not bode well for any of them.

  Rurik and
Carl had barely finished supper when a knock sounded on the front door. Rurik found the pastor waiting on the porch.

  “Come on in,” he encouraged. “We just finished supper, but there are cookies and coffee if you’re of a mind to eat.”

  The man looked a bit sheepish. “No. I mean . . . that is to say . . . well, there’s a matter I need to discuss with you. May we talk in private?”

  Rurik looked at the man’s serious expression and nodded. “Have a seat here in the living room. Just let me tell Uncle Carl of your arrival.”

  When Rurik returned, he couldn’t help but wonder at the man’s obvious nervousness. Apparently, whatever he had to discuss had made the poor pastor most uncomfortable.

  “I’ve had it brought to my attention that you were once betrothed to Miss Svea Olsson,” he began.

  Rurik had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He nodded. “I was. Our fathers arranged it when we were very young.”

  “And this engagement was recently broken?”

  “Yes, prior to my coming here to Waseca,” Rurik said evenly. “Miss Olsson ended it, in fact.”

  “She tells me that she made a mistake, however,” the pastor countered.

  “Perhaps she thinks that now,” Rurik said, “but I don’t believe that to be the case. We were never well suited to each other.” He looked at the pastor for a moment, then asked, “Did Svea send you here?”

  “No. Not at all.” The pastor looked at his hands. “I was made aware of . . . of something else, and . . . well . . . I went to speak to Miss Olsson about the matter. You understand it was done in the strictest confidence.”

  “And she told you that she’s with child?”

  “Yes.” The pastor let out a long breath.

  “The child is not mine,” Rurik said, trying his best not to let his anger show.

  “But Miss Olsson says otherwise. Since you were engaged to marry, it seems to me . . .” His words trailed off.

  Rurik stood and shook his head. “Pastor, I am not the father. I have never been intimate with any woman—and certainly not Svea. She has been like a sister to me since we were youngsters. I have never loved her in any other manner.”