“Go. Do not let the careless words of one person keep you from what you enjoy.” Papa had practically pushed Wande out the door. She was at the rehearsal for the chorale society at his urging. She had promised, so she took a deep breath and placed her hand on the doorknob.
Soft chatter made Wande turn her head. The two girls she had met at the chorale booth were coming: Johanna, who had seemed nice enough, and Ertha, the blabbermouth.
Before Wande could react, Johanna waved. “Wande. I am so glad you decided to join us.”
Wande nodded and went inside. The less she spoke with these two, the better.
“Wait.” Ertha frowned, and she ran up to Wande. “I want to apologize for what I said on the day we met. I could tell my words upset you.” The afternoon sun created a halo around Ertha’s red hair. “I spoke without thinking. I do that too often, my mama says.”
Wande wanted to turn her back, but that was not the Christian thing to do. And hadn’t she spoken out of turn at least once? Everyone did. “I accept your apology.”
Ertha slipped her hand through Wande’s elbow. “I do hope you’ll sit with me. You must be a soprano, with your lovely voice.”
Wande smiled. “Yes, I do sing soprano.”
Johanna joined her on the other side.
“Wonderful,” Ertha said. “Then we can share our music folder while Herr Musik Dirigent prepares us for the concert. I want to be your friend, if you will let me.”
Johanna also smiled.
Wande looked at Ertha. “We can be freunde, yes.” She allowed the two girls to lead her to the waiting choir.
Marion hummed, the way she always did when Calder visited. Unlike Jud, Calder injected an element of humor into even the worst of times. His arrival with his family, a week earlier than expected, changed the mood at the Morgan ranch.
“You’re sure you don’t mind going to the party at the Fleischers’?” Ma asked Calder for the third time in five minutes.
“We are all eager to meet the family we’ve heard so much about. They’re all Marion ever writes about, except for Tom, of course.” Calder winked at her. “Have you set a date?”
“Not yet.” Marion winked back. “But we will.” She poked her head into the parlor and raised her voice. “As soon as Jud says it’s okay.”
Calder raised an eyebrow.
“He’s making Tom save all this money before he’ll let us announce our engagement.”
“I’ll see if I can get him to change his mind.” Calder scooped up his son, Riley, who had snatched one of his granny’s cookies. “You’d like to go to a party today, wouldn’t you, scout?”
“Will they have cake?”
“They might have strudel and spice bars instead, but they taste good,” Marion said. “We’ve enjoyed some good food while Wande’s been cooking for us.”
“If it’s as good as you say, I’ll have to get the recipe,” Emily said. “But do you suppose she can write the instructions in English?”
Marion laughed. “We’ll figure it out.”
Jud came in, followed by Tom. “Are you ladies ready to go?” Her brother wore his best Sunday clothes even if a scowl threatened to take over his face. Tom looked downright handsome, if uncomfortable in his fancy duds. After days on the road, Calder had settled for his cleanest pair of pants.
Marion matched Tom’s finery in “that pretty yellow dress with the purple sprigs.” She had loaned Emily her best winter dress.
“Shall we?” Calder offered Emily his arm. Riley raced ahead out the door. Tom escorted Marion to the wagon, and she felt as fancy as a queen on her way to a royal ball. Dinner and a concert—she hadn’t had this much fun for almost longer than she could remember.
Not since Billie had disappeared.
Jud decided to make the best of the day. He had promised Ma.
“Shame on you, Judson Morgan, for getting yourself in a knot about Alvie Fleischer winning the prize. The Bible says to rejoice with those who rejoice, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
What else could he say when his mother quoted the Bible at him? Nothing except, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”
When Calder and Emily showed up a week early, he thought he might get a reprieve. But no, they wanted to go to town and catch up with old friends. Maybe Jud could pass the time watching his nephew. The last time he had seen Riley, he wasn’t even crawling. Now he had turned into a walking, talking, tiny human being. He reminded Jud of how much fun Billie was when she was small. Oh, Billie.
By the time they arrived, several wagons had already gathered on the church grounds. Jud found a spot in the sunshine and helped the ladies climb down.
“Walk with me, Jud.” Ma looked nice in a spring dress she had brought out of mothballs. “I don’t want to be the only Morgan without a man to escort me.”
The others had already gone ahead to the guesthouse next to the church where the Fleischers lived. “It would be my honor, Mrs. Morgan.”
“I hope I won’t be the only Mrs. Morgan in our house for too much longer.” Ma patted his arm.
They arrived at the house before Jud could chew on what his mother had said. Wall-to-wall people spoke in a babble of German, Spanish, and even some English.
“Mrs. Morgan, Jud, you came!” Alvie darted between Marion and Tom and met them at the door.
Ma leveled a look at Jud. He understood the message.
“Congratulations on winning the contest.” There, he had said it. That should satisfy Ma.
“Marion showed me the essay Billie wrote when she won the contest. You must miss her a lot.” Alvie’s face turned solemn. “I miss Ulla, too. I wish I could show her my prize.” She gestured at the ribbon pinned to a wreath on the wall.
Ma smiled at Alvie. “Where shall I put my pie?”
“Over here, next to Wande’s.” Alvie led them to a table laden with dishes giving off strange yet enticing aromas. Among the German dishes Jud spotted a platter of fried chicken, a bowl of beans, and a pan of cornbread.
“Chicken? Beans? Cornbread?” Jud grinned at Alvie. “Who cooked all this?”
“I did.” Wande joined them, her cheeks pink. “I tried to remember everything you taught me, Mrs. Morgan.”
“I’m sure you did fine. Now, where do we start?”
Jud picked up a plate and surveyed the table. The first dish held that looked like shredded cabbage, but smelled unlike anything he had ever tasted.
“That is sauerkraut. It is very good.” Wande’s blue eyes urged him to sample it.
“Be brave,” Ma whispered in Jud’s ear. “Remember how much you enjoyed her strudel.”
Jud took a spoonful, then continued around the table, taking a small amount from each dish. Wande stayed so close, he couldn’t bypass anything without her knowledge. He filled his plate before he reached the fried chicken. He pushed the servings closer together and took a couple of thighs and two spoonfuls of beans, as well as a hefty chunk of cornbread.
“It is good I cooked American food today.” The laugh lines around Wande’s eyes told him she didn’t take offense. “You must tell me what you think.”
When she looked at him like that, he forgot her German name and remembered only how kind and sweet she was. He would eat every bite—even if it tasted like rotten apples.
She cut herself a small piece of cornbread and placed it on a napkin. “I didn’t want to take the first piece.”
Ma had chosen with greater discretion, serving herself a generous helping of the sauerkraut and a meat Wande called wurst that resembled sausage. She added a slice of bread and butter. “I can’t resist the bread. It’s a rare treat in these parts. And I’ll take some of your beans. They smell heavenly.”
Wande led them outside, where planks had been set up for extra seats. Jud closed his eyes.
He heard Wande’s voice. “Pastor Bader blessed the food before you arrived—but God will not mind hearing your thanks as well.”
Jud wouldn’t admit that he was praying for courage to t
ry all the new dishes. He said “amen” out loud. Dipping his spoon into the sauerkraut, he broke off a piece of cornbread to follow, just in case. The cabbage tasted different—spicy—but good.
Next to him, Wande choked and spit a bite of cornbread onto her napkin. “This tastes terrible. Nothing like your delicious cornbread, Mrs. Morgan. What did I do wrong?”
Jud placed the cornbread back on his plate.
“It can’t be that bad.” Ma reached for the piece he had abandoned. “May I?”
“Go ahead.” Let Ma pass judgment on Wande’s cooking.
She chewed a small bite and managed to swallow it, but put the remainder back on the plate. “You may have used too much baking powder or maybe baking soda. It’s a mistake we all make at some time—confusing teaspoons with tablespoons, I expect.”
“I should have used the small spoon?” Wande moaned. “I could not remember. I thought it was good to use more of the powder for baking. But I ruined it.” She brought her hand to her mouth. “Let me remove it from the table.”
“I’ll do it for you.” Ma winked. “I’ll pretend it was my mistake.” She stood and went inside.
Jud took a tentative bite of chicken, then a second hearty taste. He gestured with the bone. “This is delicious.”
Tiny wrinkles appeared on the bridge of Wande’s nose. Jud resisted the urge to laugh. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate the humor of the situation.
Ma reappeared with Calder and Emily. “Wande, I’d like you to meet my son Calder.” She completed the introductions.
Calder was juggling his plate in one hand and Riley with his other arm. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fleischer. Ma and Marion have told us so much about you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jud. “And Jud, well, sometimes his silence is louder than anything the womenfolk say. He thinks a powerful lot of you.”
Jud would gladly have strangled his brother. Instead, he said, “Both Wande and her brother Georg have been a godsend this year.”
Wande smiled and cocked her head before accepting Calder’s handshake. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan.”
“Calder, please.”
“Calder. And—Emily?”
“Very pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”
“Uncle Jud, can you play with me? You promised.” Riley squirmed in his father’s arms and reached for Jud.
“May I go and play with you,” Emily prompted.
“You want to come too, Mommy?”
Wande laughed and spoke to Riley. “I also have trouble understanding when I should say ‘can’ and when to say ‘may.’”
“You do?” He opened up wide blue eyes so like Calder’s. “Play time, little man.”
“Yay!” Riley almost leaped from his father’s arms to the floor. As Jud chased him, he called over his shoulder, “See you at the concert?”
“I’ll be there.”
“But where will you put us all?” Marion asked the question that Wande was debating. “You didn’t expect Calder and his family when you invited us to spend the night.”
“If we must, we will sleep on the floor,” Wande said. “We have enough bedding.”
“You can’t do that,” Marion said.
Wande laughed. “We did it on our way to Victoria. And on the ship, we did not have beds for everyone. We took turns sleeping on the floor. We will be fine.”
“It was fun.” Alvie buttoned the white blouse she would wear at the concert. The party guests had stayed so long that Wande and Alvie excused themselves to change. Both the adult and the children’s chorales would perform, as well as an orchestra.
With Bach and Beethoven, Weber and Schumann on the program, Wande would bask for the evening in the words and melodies of her homeland. Only the lure of the music she’d learned in childhood had convinced her to join the German Chorale Society—after the things Ertha had said when they first met.
Except for a tendency to say whatever entered her mind, Ertha was a kind, friendly soul. At the chorale, she had taken Wande under her wing, and they even shared a music folder.
More than Christian love prompted Wande’s reconciliation with Ertha. It was a practical necessity. She watched Georg return from his afternoon stroll with his sweetheart—Ertha Schumann. Their families expected them to marry before the end of the year.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Why not let them get married this year?” Calder sat across from Jud in his bedroom. “I don’t know what Marion sees in Tom either, but her mind’s made up. You don’t want her eloping.” He threw his arms across the back of the chair. “You told me I was too young to get married, and Emily and I have done all right.”
Jud scowled. “She wouldn’t dare.” He was glad he could talk things over with Calder. Everywhere he looked, he saw reminders of their shared childhood. The mark on the windowsill made during one of their fights, a box that held their collection of tin soldiers. Calder might want to take those for Riley. “At least you knew the value of a dollar. Tom doesn’t. And I don’t want to see Marion hurt.”
Calder leaned forward. “You can’t protect her forever. She’s going to make mistakes. We all do. But don’t you think she’s old enough to decide for herself?”
“She’s old enough, but—”
“What does Ma say?” Humor twinkled in Calder’s eyes.
“That she and Pa were younger than Marion and Tom when they got married.” The reminder stuck in his craw. “Can you come back for a fall wedding?”
“Sure, after the harvest. Emily would jump at the chance to see her family again.” Calder hopped out of the chair and clapped Jud on the back. “You’ve made the right decision.”
That afternoon, Jud sequestered himself in the ranch office and took out the account books. To Tom’s credit, he hadn’t once asked for any of the money Jud had set aside for him. Then again, he hadn’t added anything to it. He spent his pay almost as soon as Jud gave it to him. At least Marion had a little more sense.
Calder had probably already told Marion about his decision. But Jud wanted to do more to provide for Marion financially. If Tom put a dollar a week into savings between now and harvesttime, he should have almost enough to purchase some land. If he didn’t have quite enough, Jud would help him.
Acreage disappeared almost as soon as it came up for sale, gobbled up by the new settlers—German settlers. Jud shook his head. He couldn’t do anything about that. But he knew about some land that the public hadn’t heard about yet.
Jud saddled JM and rode to the northern boundary of his property. He let the horse drink before he turned the gelding in the direction of his nearest neighbors. He found Eli Walford in the field nearest his house, plowing in preparation for spring planting. Waving to Jud, he left the ox and plow and walked to the fence to greet him.
“Good to see you, Morgan. Tell you what, I’m about done for the day. Come on in the house and let the wife fix you up proper.”
A few minutes later, Jud had settled on their couch, drinking coffee and eating a slice of peach pie. The small room felt cozy—the Walfords only had one son, and he had moved to Louisiana a few years ago.
They exchanged obligatory greetings: Had Ma recovered from the burn? How was Calder? And what about his son? Then Walford asked, “What brings you to our part of the world today?”
“I heard tell you’re thinking of moving.”
The couple exchanged looks. “We haven’t announced it, but we’re pretty set on it. I’m getting too old to enjoy working the land sunup to sundown, and the missus wants to be near her grandchildren. And our John, he says we have a home with him whenever we want to come.”
Jud nodded. “What will you do with the farm when you move—if you move?”
“I’d like to sell it, to the right party. I don’t expect John to come back here.” Walford set down his coffee cup to indicate the start of negotiations. “Why? You wanting to expand?”
“Maybe. An investment—for my sister. She’s got her heart set on getting married this fall, after harvest.”
“That’s wonderful news.” Mrs. Walford cut him an extra slice of pie. “I’ve had my suspicions, seeing how the two of them look at each other.” She hesitated. “She is marrying young Tom Cotton, isn’t she?”
“He’s the one.”
“I’m so happy for her. For all of you. You deserve some happiness, after what happened last year and all.” Mrs. Walford walked to a cedar chest in the corner. She opened it and pulled out a set of linens. “Give these to her for me, will you—for her hope chest? I kept them in case I ever had a daughter. I’d love for Marion to have these.”
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