by Lorena Dove
“I’m very sorry to have not told you in advance,” he said, not looking sorry at all. “I’ll put this to you as plainly as I can. Your grandfather and I were business partners for some 40 years, and now that he is gone, I’m selling the business. You are his only heir, and you will receive a fair price for the assets. But the funds to continue the store operations and the household staff were terminated as of your grandfather’s death. I have it all right here, signed and proper.”
“But—that can’t be! Grandfather has trained me to take his place,” Nathalie said, her hand flying up to her neck in her embarrassment at being kept in the dark.
“He may have done so, but it’s my right to continue the association or not. And I have chosen not to. I have other investments in mind for the money. Here, you can review the papers I have prepared, and you will see everything is in order. You are receiving 50% of the proceeds, minus a small administrative fee for my services, of course.” The thought of the administrative fee gave the old lawyer a greedy pleasure that he could not hide from his face.
Nathalie looked through the papers he shoved across the desk toward her. The sale of the store had brought in a large sum, but with Silas Jacobson’s “fee,” a good less than half was to be hers. It surely would not be enough to live on and keep the household going for more than six months. A wild idea came to her and without restraint, she blurted it out:
“I will buy your half, sir, rather than take my share,” she said. “I know how to run the business and will gladly sign for the debt.”
A cackling laugh escaped Silas Jacobson’s lips, so dry and harsh that Nathalie sat back in shock.
“I don’t want your money, or your pledge, young Fraulein Luxe,” Mr. Jacobson hissed. “For forty years I worked for the day I could be rid of my association with the Luxe family. But don’t worry; from the goodness of my heart, I’ve included a few investment recommendations in your paperwork. I’m sure one of them will work out for you.”
With that, he turned his chair away from Nathalie and began reading through other papers on his desk. Nathalie’s face grew red with anger, but she knew when to hold her tongue. This was not the time to speak out; she needed a chance to look through the paperwork and make sure everything was correct.
“I will review the papers and return them to you, signed or unsigned,” Nathalie said as she rose to leave. “If I find anything amiss, they will be returned to you by the fraud investigator.”
“Who do you mean, Jack Rust? Yes, yes, a friend of mine. Well, good day, Fraulein Luxe.”
Nathalie’s mouth dropped open at the brazen rudeness of the shriveled man before her. She turned without saying a word and left with the sheaf of papers shaking in her hands.
***
Out on the street, Nathalie blindly made her way back toward Luxe’s Department Store. Tears stung at her eyes over Mr. Jacobson’s rude treatment, her previously unknown peril and how her grandfather could have left her without the income from the store she had helped him build.
Out of the blue, a distant memory of her maternal grandmother’s words of farewell came to her mind, spoken lovingly to her before her father brought her to America. The words confused Nathalie at the time but she had mulled them over in times of trouble ever since: “You must study and work hard, Meine Liebe. Be accomplished at something,” Oma Dwiger had said. “In this way, even if you remain single or are left widowed young as I was, you will never be dependent on anyone.”
Nathalie remembered her grandmother smoothing the hair away from her face as she continued: “Learn what you can from your Opa Luxe and you will never go hungry or be forced to depend on kindness. Whether from family or strangers, it is wearying to the soul.”
I have studied, and worked hard, Nathalie thought, and sure enough, her tears began to dry as anger took over. Not wanting to look so distressed when she reached the store, she veered off the street into a small cafe to read the papers and gather her thoughts.
An hour later, her tea gone cold in its pot, Nathalie looked out the window, chin in hands and her elbows propped on the table. Everything for the sale of the store was in order; Silas had been right about that. He was rude and horrible, but apparently not a thief. All she had to do to receive her share of the proceeds was to go to the bank and show them the signed papers. The store’s new owners were waiting to take over.
“Nathalie, thank goodness I found you!” She looked up to see Sylvia Johnson standing near her table. “I’m sorry to have left work early, but you see, a man came in and said our services were no longer needed. Oh Nathalie, is it true?”
Nathalie broke from her thoughts to comfort her friend. Sylvia had worked for her grandfather for the last two years in the store, and though only 16, she was a hard worker and gave most of her pay to her parents. Before that, they had been schoolmates since grammar school, until Sylvia had to go to work and Nathalie continued on to upper school.
Sylvia sat down and Nathalie gestured to the waiter for another cup and more hot tea. As she poured for her friend, her resolve grew to find a way out of this situation—for herself, and for Sylvia, Gadsen, and Mrs. Porter.
“I’ll find a way to open a new store with my share of the proceeds,” Nathalie said. “It’s either that, or go into business with someone I don’t know.” Nathalie looked through the papers and found the section on investment opportunities. Mr. Jacobson had entered three names with short descriptions.
“Look at these, the two stores here in the city aren’t worth putting a dime into,” Nathalie said in disgust. “The only other choice listed is not even in New York City—why it’s all the way in South Dakota! If Mr. Jacobson thinks he can get rid of me that easily, he doesn’t know me at all!”
“Silas Jacobson?” Sylvia asked. “He’s the man who came to the store to tell us all to leave. He was such a sourpuss, he surprised me when I heard him laughing with the new owner. I didn’t think anything was funny about it.”
“What was he laughing about?” Nathalie asked, trying hard to picture Mr. Jacobson in any sort of humorous pose.
“That’s why I came to find you as quickly as I could,” Sylvia said. “I overheard him say he was sure to get rid of you—and get your share of the money back in the process. He said he knew you wouldn’t take the New York offers; nobody would. But he figured he’d get you to invest and go west. He said he owns the note on the store there, and when it fails, he’ll foreclose.”
Nathalie read the third investment listing out loud. “General Store in growing town on rail line. Owner requires manager and seeks wife for longevity of partnership and passage to heirs. Contact Mr. Isadore X. Maduro, at Maduro General Store, Springvale, South Dakota.”
“You couldn’t possibly!” Sylvia exclaimed. “The nerve of that Mr. Jacobson! I’ll find him and give him a piece of my mind if he thinks he can send you off to nowhere!”
Nathalie burst out laughing at Sylvia’s outrage, drawing her further protest. “It’s not funny, Nathalie! How can you laugh? Oh my, what would I ever do without you? You can’t seriously consider going!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—well it took you two months to speak to our customers, and the thought of you confronting Mr. Jacobson—oh, it makes me smile just to think of it.”
“Well, someone has to put him in his place. It might as well be me.”
“No, dear heart. I don’t want you to say anything to Silas Jacobson. You stay as far away from him as possible. But thank you for giving my mind a rest from my worries.” Nathalie thought how amazing it was that a bit of laughter could provide her such clarity of direction.
“My mind is made up—I’m going to write to Mr. Isadore X. Maduro—and I’m going to make that store into something my grandfather would be proud of. Hang Silas Jacobson, I’ve had enough of him trying to ruin my life!”
“Nathalie, don’t say such things!” Sylvia cried, but she grasped her friend’s hand. If you’re going, then take me with you. You know I can help in the store.”
>
“No, I can’t agree to that, much as I would like to have you with me,” Nathalie said. “I can’t guarantee any sort of pay for you. I’ll recommend you for a new position here in the city. I’m sure one of Luxe’s competitors will snap you up. There now, don’t be sad. I’m going to make this right—for all of us.”
##
Read the rest of Nathalie: The Circuit Rider’s Rhineland Mail Order Bride by downloading from Amazon today!
About the Lorena Dove
Lorena Dove has been reading and fantasizing about living during the great westward migration since she was a young child growing up in New York and then Virginia. A descendent of Italian and German immigrants, she enjoys the interplay of cultures and passing down of traditions, recipes and family values to her children and grandchildren.
Lorena raised four children in a modernized 1880s log cabin for 10 years in West Virginia. The seasons of nature, the beauty of the mountains and rivers, and the simple enjoyment of gardening, reading and quilting have been her passions. She lives with her husband, a retired Marine Corps colonel, and sons in Virginia. She collaborates on books with her daughter, whose passion for historical fiction exceeds her own, and is waiting for her granddaughters to fit into their mother’s dress-up hoopskirts and bonnets.
You can keep in touch with Lorena by visiting her Facebook page or sign up for her readers’ list at [email protected].