by Emily Woods
Gerta furrowed her brow.
“That’s what I am nervous about,” Gerta said softly.
“Charles’s son is precious, and I know he needs a mother, but being the mother to a child with bad eyes? It seems like an awful lot for a young bride to take on.”
“Now, Gerta,” Paul said, gently edging away from his wife and sitting back up in bed. “Charles is a good fellow, and Billy is a sweet little boy. Miss Betha seemed like a sensible, kind-hearted girl when we met her last night, and I don’t think that Billy’s blindness will change anything!”
Gerta turned to face her husband.
“I don’t think Charles has told his bride-to-be that his son is blind! Don’t you think that will cause problems, Paul?”
Paul folded his arms across his dark-haired chest.
“Gerta, you and I both know that sometimes, all things don’t get told before a mail-bride walks down the aisle, or even arrives in town! That don’t mean that things won’t work out between the couple. We know the truth in that. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and if He brought Betha here to wed Charles, then we ain’t got to worry about a thing.”
Gerta thought about her husband’s words as she cooked a large breakfast for Betha O’Connor, her newest guest. Betha had arrived at the Pinecone Inn the previous day. She was a pretty little Irish girl with a thick accent and a good heart, and Gerta was delighted to have her around the inn. Gerta and Paul’s guests were usually traveling doctors or ministers, and with so few women in the rural town, Gerta reveled in the company of Charles’s bride-to-be.
Charles, the most beloved, eligible bachelor in town. With his good looks and sweet spirit, Charles was sought after by young ladies all over the county. Charles’s only obstacle in finding a long-lasting love was his son, Billy. At three years old, Billy was well-behaved and resembled an angel. with beautiful golden curls and round cheeks that the ladies in Pinecone loved to pinch. Billy was adored by all, and with his mother dead, he received more attention than any other child in town.
When Billy was six months old, however, Charles discovered that his baby boy’s vision was poor. Billy’s eyesight quickly disintegrated over the next year, and by the time the boy was two, he was completely sightless. Charles adapted well to his son’s challenges. Charles was an inherently patient man, and his easy-going nature allowed for Billy to grow up with all of the love and tenderness he deserved.
Not everyone accepted Billy’s condition. Charles had nearly married a local girl last year, but the wedding was called off when the young woman discovered that her future son was blind. It was a difficult predicament, but Charles was desperate to find a mother for his son, and eventually, he placed an advertisement in the newspapers on the East Coast in hopes of finding a bride.
Betha O’Connor of Ireland, by way of Boston, had answered the advertisement, and yesterday, she had arrived in Pinecone. Charles had arranged with Paul and Gerta for Betha to stay at the inn before the wedding for the sake of propriety, and Gerta was thrilled to host the bride-to-be.
“Miss Betha?” Gerta whispered as she knocked on the door of Betha’s room, careful to balance the large tray of food she had brought up to serve to her guest. “Wake up, Miss Betha! Today is the day! I made a hearty breakfast for you! Every bride needs her strength on her wedding day, and I have fixed eggs, sausage, bacon, and grits for you!”
Betha opened the door and smiled sleepily at Gerta. Her dark, curly hair was messy, and she had not yet begun preparing for the wedding ceremony.
“Good morning, Gerta!” Betha exclaimed, her accent light and whimsical like a children’s song. “It was too kind of you to prepare such a fine meal for me! I don’t deserve such a spoiling!”
Gerta grinned.
“I remember what it was like to arrive in Pinecone as a bride-to-be, and I can only imagine that you will need all of your wits about you today, and especially tonight,” Gerta said, winking mischievously at her guest as Betha’s pale face turned a soft pink.
“Come in!”
Gerta carried the tray inside and surveyed Betha’s things scattered about the room. A small valise laid open on the floor, and several outfits spilled out.
“Where is your wedding dress, girl? Do you need something to wear?” Gerta asked.
Betha shook her head.
“I have it tucked away in the wardrobe,” Betha explained. “It’s the finest thing I have ever owned, and I did not want to dirty it with my messy belongings. Everything is so dirty from my journey to California from Boston, and I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining my dress!”
“Of course! Speaking of dirty, you look a mess, girl! Let us get you all prettied up and ready for your wedding day!”
Two hours later, Gerta had scrubbed Betha from head to toe and combed through the girl’s unkempt dark curls.
“There!” Gerta said, admiring her handiwork as Betha stared at her reflection in the mirror. “You are a beauty, Miss Betha! Charles won’t be able to take his eyes off of you!”
Betha placed her left hand on her chest and took a long, deep breath.
“My heart is beating faster than it ever has,” Betha admitted quietly as she watched herself in the mirror. “I think my nerves are catching up with me. Was your heart beating this quickly on your wedding day, Gerta? Were you at all scared to marry Paul?”
Gerta paused, thinking back several decades to her very own wedding day.
“Oh yes, darlin’,” Gerta finally replied, a serious look on her face as she wrinkled her nose.
“My heart was pounding, and I was a bit nervous, but when I saw him staring at me as I walked down the aisle, I knew that God’s plans for me were even more important than my nerves.”
2
15 Years Earlier…
“They’re dead, Gerta. I am so sorry to tell you that your parents have perished.”
A young Gerta stared at the police officer in disbelief. Her large brown eyes instantly filled with tears, and she buried her face in her hands.
“Dead? How can they both be dead? The fire was small and contained quickly! The house is damaged, but your men told me that many of our things are salvageable! How can my parents be dead?”
The police officer shook his head, his eyes filled with sympathy for the young woman weeping in front of him. He awkwardly reached out to pat Gerta on the shoulder, but she brushed his hand away.
“The smoke was too strong, ma’am,” the police officer said quietly as the last of the flames was extinguished at Gerta’s home. “The smoke was too strong, and they were not able to breathe. It was a quick death, I promise you, ma’am. We have recovered the bodies and can soon open up the house to retrieve your things. I trust your husband is at work right now? Can you send for him, ma’am?”
Gerta fingered the wedding band on her left hand. She looked down at her leather boots and smoothed her soot-covered skirts.
“My husband died three years ago,” Gerta whispered to the police officer as his look of sympathy shifted into a look of immense pity.
“It’s just my parents, my daughter, and me.”
The police officer nodded, but shifted uncomfortably as hot tears poured from Gerta’s dark eyes. The smoky air was thick and pungent, and a gray film was settling on their skin. Gerta glanced around at the chaos ensuing on the street in front of her home. Wagons and carriages had been diverted to surrounding streets, but passersby still walked in front of the red-brick townhouse, staring and pointing at the disastrous scene. Nearly fifteen firemen still scurried about, each carrying a bucket filled with water. Gerta felt her stomach drop as she watched the beautiful townhouse slowly develop dark, sinister-looking stains as the smoke curled out of the windows and into the streets.
“Where is my daughter? Take me to my daughter!”
The police officer took Gerta’s hands and looked her in the eyes.
“Ma’am, your daughter is at school. It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
Gerta frowned.
“Bring her to me! Bring my daughter to me, now!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The police officer ran away, a relieved look on his face. He had been trying to calm Gerta down for nearly an hour to no avail, and he was happy to escape the scene, even if only for a few moments.
Gerta sank to her knees on the sidewalk in front of the smoky house. The Philadelphia coroner's wagon careened to a stop outside, and she watched as a tall, mustached man carried two large bags into the house.
“Mutter. Vater. Sei mit ihnen, Gott,” Gerta murmured in German as the coroner’s assistants accompanied him inside.
“Mother. Father. Be with them, God.”
One week later, Gerta and Inge, her eight-year-old daughter, lay cuddled together at a boarding house only blocks from their former home. The police officers had arranged for two months’ free accommodation at the boarding house while Gerta collected her bearings. The house they had known and loved was unable to be inhabited, according to the city, and Gerta and Inge were now destitute.
Until the fire, Gerta had always known a comfortable life. Her parents, German immigrants, had settled in Philadelphia and made their fortune before Gerta was born. As their only child, Gerta enjoyed privileges and luxuries that her parents had not experienced during their humble childhoods in Trier, Germany. Gerta was given private music lessons, language lessons, dance lessons, and drawing lessons in addition to her own private English and mathematics education, and her parents doted on her every move and word.
Gerta had grown into a great beauty. With her long, thick blonde hair, and almond-shaped brown eyes, she had an exotic look that attracted the attention of everyone in their wealthy neighborhood. Suitors visited Gerta in the small parlor of the red-brick townhouse, and Gerta’s parents were confident that their beautiful, bright daughter would marry well.
Gerta did marry well. Her husband, Peter, swept her off her feet when she was only sixteen years old, and Gerta was satisfied with her life as a wealthy banker’s wife. Peter was a self-made man, something her parents respected, and Gerta spent her days entertaining his clients and hosting events in their three-bedroom luxury flat downtown.
Ten months after her wedding day, at seventeen, Gerta gave birth to Inge, her daughter. The doctors had insisted that Gerta’s child was a boy, and Gerta was ecstatic when they delivered the baby girl.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Peter? She is our little prinzessin! She is our little princess!”
Peter had smiled at his wife and kissed her forehead as she cradled their baby girl to her bosom. Gerta had never looked so radiant. She was glowing as she held the child, and Peter’s heart swelled with affection for both of the girls in his life.
“She is perfect, Gerta,” Peter whispered in his wife’s ear.
“We are so blessed!” Gerta exclaimed as she peppered her daughter’s soft cheeks with kisses.
“May God’s blessings continue to grace our family,” Peter agreed with a laugh as he looked at his new family of three.
God’s blessings were difficult to identify in the years to come. When Inge was barely three years old, Peter unexpectedly took ill. The doctors could not identify his malady, and he grew weaker and weaker with every passing day. Unable to care for her husband and daughter and maintain their apartment, the trio moved into Gerta’s parents’ three-story townhouse. Gerta’s devoted parents helped tend to their daughter and her family, but after a few weeks, Peter passed away. Gerta was devastated. She was only twenty years old, and now she was a widow.
While Gerta mourned for her husband, she found solace through her parents’ love and care for her. Living under their roof once again made Gerta feel young and innocent, and she was happy to spend her time sewing with her mother, reading the newspapers with her father, and watching as her parents doted on Inge. Inge was cherished by her grandparents, and despite the enormous heartache Gerta felt as she missed her husband, she slowly began to feel like herself again. Her daughter grew up surrounded by her loving and supportive family, and Gerta even had a steady stream of suitors hoping to catch the attention of the young, vibrant widow.
“Mama?” Inge asked as they lay together on the narrow bed at the boardinghouse. “When are Oma and Opa joining us?”
Gerta stroked her daughter’s thick blonde hair and planted a kiss on Inge’s forehead. She had not yet had the nerve to tell her young daughter that her grandparents had perished, and Gerta was unsure of how to answer Inge’s questions. Inge was a sensitive girl. She was constantly the target of bullying at her school, and even the most harmless words could hurt Inge’s feelings. Inge had been heartbroken to learn that the house had been destroyed in the fire, and Gerta fretted that the blow of losing her beloved grandparents could break her gentle-hearted little girl.
“Oh Lord, what do I say to her?” Gerta thought as her daughter leaned into the crook of Gerta’s shoulder.
Gerta glanced around the tiny room at the boardinghouse. It had been so kind of the police officers to arrange accommodation, but Gerta was not used to living so humbly. The room was dank, the floorboards creaked, and the pale blue painted on the walls was horribly chipped. Gerta had to remind herself to be grateful for the charity. Without her parents, she had nothing, and she knew it was better to have a roof over her head than to be out on the street.
“Mama? Please, tell me, Mama. Are Oma and Opa joining us here? Will we be going to a new house soon?”
Gerta repositioned herself so that she could look into her daughter’s bright blue eyes.
“She has my blonde hair,” Gerta thought as she stared at her daughter. “But everything else is her father! Her blue eyes, the dimple on her left cheek, her small nose, and her high cheekbones are the spitting image of her father.”
Gerta took Inge’s face into her hands.
“Liebling,” Gerta said. “Oma and Opa went somewhere…”
Inge cocked her head to the side.
“Where, Mama?”
Gerta took a deep breath.
“Inge, Oma and Opa went to Heaven, where your daddy is, and where Jesus is! They will all be together now, Inge, and Daddy will no longer be lonely! Oma and Opa will take good care of Daddy, and someday, when it’s our turn to go to Heaven, Oma, Opa, Daddy, and the Lord, Jesus, will all be waiting for us at the golden, sparkling gates of eternity! Doesn’t that sound lovely, liebling?”
Inge cocked her head to the other side and pondered her mother’s words. Gerta watched as her daughter furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose.
“Are they happy in Heaven, Mama?” Inge finally asked.
Gerta nodded, thankful that Inge had not burst into hysterics.
“Yes! Yes, liebling, they are so happy together! Lord Jesus lives in a beautiful, wonderful Heaven, and Oma and Opa and Daddy are so joyful there. It’s unlike any place we can imagine, my dear! Now, it’s late, Inge. Why don’t you close your eyes, and we can talk more about Heaven as you fall asleep?”
Inge nodded sleepily. She slid down onto the single pillow they shared and closed her eyes.
“Is there dancing in Heaven, Mama?”
Gerta ran a hand through her daughter’s blonde hair.
“Of course, liebling! There is dancing, and music, and all of the food you could ever imagine!”
Inge’s mouth turned upward, and Gerta could see the slightest trace of a smile on her daughter’s face.
“Mama? Daddy has been in Heaven for a long time now. Will I ever have another daddy?”
Gerta’s heart sank. She had not anticipated this question, and with the conversation regarding her parents’ death going relatively well, Gerta did not want to upset her daughter.
“Mama?”
Gerta kissed Inge on the nose.
“That will be up to the Lord, Inge,” Gerta responded.
“Because the Lord has a plan for us?” Inge said, her voice thin as she drifted into slumber.
“That’s right, my girl,” Gerta whispered. “You have been listening well in church! Tha
t’s my good girl. Yes, Inge, the Lord has a plan for us, and we will see what His plans will bring us.”
3
“I ain’t sure how you’re gonna run this here inn all by yourself, Paul,” said Tim.
Paul glared at his best friend as the two surveyed the Pinecone Inn. The inn was small, but beautiful. It was painted a crisp white, and the windows shone from a recent washing. The front door had received a coat of new paint last year, and it was the brightest red Paul had ever laid eyes on.
He tugged uncomfortably at his tie. Paul never wore a suit and tie, but today, on the day of his father’s funeral, he had no choice. Paul ran a hand through his chestnut-colored hair and sighed.
“I knew that my ma and pa was gonna leave the inn to me someday, Tim,” Paul said, his deep voice breaking when he mentioned his father. “I just didn’t know it was gonna be this soon. I always thought I would get the inn when I was an older man with a good wife to help take care of things. I ain’t ever thought I would be doing it alone.”
Paul closed his eyes. He imagined his parents, the former owners of the Pinecone Inn. They had opened the inn years ago, and they delighted in caring for their guests. Paul’s mother took care of the cooking and cleaning, while Paul’s father tended to the repairs around the inn. They both enjoyed hosting their guests around the large stone fireplace in the drawing room, and they loved every minute of raising their own family of five sons in the back rooms.
Tim crossed his arms in front of his chest. He studied his best friend. Paul was nearly seven feet tall, and with his dark eyes and dark hair, he could almost pass for one of the tribal men living nearby. Paul was strong as an ox and brave as a soldier, and Tim couldn’t imagine his best friend giving up his current job as a cowboy to look after an inn.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Paul?” Tim asked his friend quietly as the two men leaned against the white picket fence separating the inn from the rest of the town.
Paul nodded.
“I promised them that I would take mighty fine care of this place. The Pinecone Inn has been part of this town since the first settlers arrived in this part of California nearly fifty years ago! It’s my duty to my parents’ legacy to keep this place up, and mark my words, I’ll make ’em proud. All of my brothers took off to ranch, or trade, or hunt up north, and I am the only one left here to take care of things. I’m the oldest son, Tim. This is my responsibility.”