Steadfast Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  “Yes, madam. Will there be anything else at present?”

  Mother thought for a moment. “Not just yet. Later this afternoon, however, we will need to accomplish baths and hair, so you can prepare for those things.”

  “Yes, madam.” Mary slipped from the room as quietly as she’d entered.

  Lenore looked at her mother and smiled. “Thank you for doing this for me, Mother. You do not know what it means to me.”

  “Oh, I don’t?” she asked. “I was a young girl with flights of fancy and love once. I want you to be happy, Lenore, and if this young man makes you thus, then I want to see things go well for the two of you. Now, come to my writing desk and we will figure what to plan for the meal and which china to use.”

  Lenore wanted so much to tell her mother everything that had transpired the evening before. It had been such a wonderful event—the happiest moment Lenore had ever known, and she longed to speak of it.

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Mother, but Kolbein told me that he cares very deeply for me.”

  “And what did you tell him? You know it doesn’t befit a properly brought up young lady to declare her feelings too early. You mustn’t let him take you for granted.”

  Lenore smiled at the thought of anyone taking Kolbein Booth for granted. “I love him, Mother. I’ve loved him from first glance. I suppose that might sound silly to some, but it’s the truth. I’ve even prayed about this. Abrianna told me that God would show me His direction for my life, and I believe that direction points to Kolbein.”

  “Goodness, now you’re speaking for God?” Mother shook her head. “I appreciate that your friend is a woman of faith, but honestly, why would God spend time on such a thing when the entire world cries out for help?”

  She supposed it didn’t make sense, but Abrianna told her that was what was most important about faith. Having faith in God when you had only His Word and prayer wasn’t easy. She could almost hear Abrianna going on and on about why such things were illogical yet vital to a Christian’s walk. Just then Lenore remembered something they’d talked about in Sunday school.

  “The Bible says that God has numbered the hairs on our head, Mother.”

  “Honestly, Lenore, you are full of surprises.”

  “Perhaps I am, but wouldn’t such a Bible statement imply that God cares about the details of each person’s life?”

  Mother pulled out her china book and leafed through the pages. Lenore knew her mother was proud of her dozen sets of various dishes. Some had been given down from mother to daughter for generations, while others were later acquirements.

  Mother looked up only briefly. “I suppose it could, but I certainly wouldn’t venture to put words in God’s mouth.”

  “I don’t believe I’m doing that. Quoting a Bible truth merely asserts what God has already said. That’s why I feel that this is a direction God has for me. I’m not trying to speak for Him, but rather to trust Him.” For a moment Lenore thought her mother hadn’t heard, but then she spoke.

  “You sound so very grown-up. I suppose I must accept that you are a woman now.” She smiled. “If you believe God is speaking to you in the Bible, then who am I to say otherwise?”

  Lenore was surprised by this, but before she could say anything, her mother continued as if they hadn’t had the discussion. “Let’s use the blue and gold Coalport china. It dresses the table nicely and gives a refined elegance to the evening.”

  “I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable,” Lenore said, uncertain as to how Kolbein might react to such grandeur. “We could use grandmother’s Foley.”

  “Much too simple. It would be lovely if we were having an afternoon tea, but tonight we will need something that picks up the light. Oh dear. I completely forgot about flowers,” she said, getting up to pull the cord for the housekeeper.

  When the stocky woman appeared, she seemed out of breath. “Yes, madam?”

  “We will need flowers for this evening.” Mother tapped her chin. “A large center arrangement—something grand. Send someone to Matley’s immediately and tell them to make it up right away.” She continued to tap her chin several times as she considered the arrangement. “It should have roses. Tell them to use the Marchesa Boccella double pinks.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “And tell them it needs to be delivered by three o’clock.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Once the housekeeper set out on her task, Lenore looked to her mother, feeling an unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Mother. I know this is taxing on your first day home, and I wouldn’t have invited Kolbein, but . . . well . . . he’s very important to me. I know he’s the man I want for my husband.”

  Mother seemed perplexed and spoke with hesitation. “Lenore . . . I want you . . . to be happy . . . but you mustn’t give yourself into marriage too easily. While your father is anxious that you should marry, I don’t want you to rush into it. I married young and would have you wait . . . to be certain of your heart before you agree to wed.”

  “But I am certain,” she countered, leaning forward as if to emphasize the truth. “You must trust me in this, Mother. We seem to think very much alike, and . . . well . . . I feel confident of his love.”

  For several long moments Mother said nothing. Finally she closed the china book with a snap. “Well, we shall see what your father thinks of him. I suppose love at first sight is possible, and if your father approves of this young man, then of course I give my blessing. Now, let’s figure out a menu for our meal.”

  Lenore felt a moment of panic. “And if Father doesn’t like him or thinks him too poor?”

  Mother’s expression was compassionate, but her words were firm. “You cannot go against your father, Lenore. It simply isn’t done.”

  Wade waited patiently for his turn at the sale of baked goods being held by Mrs. Madison’s students. The event took place every Friday during the warm months at a nearby park, and many a bachelor flocked to buy whatever he could and to speak with the pretty girls. Mrs. Madison had a strict rule for the receptions she held on Saturdays. The men had to pay to attend those affairs. This was in order to prove to Mrs. Madison’s satisfaction that they had enough money that they could support a wife. But here at the bake sale, even the poorest man could seek the attention of the pretty maidens. When his turn finally came, Mrs. Madison spied him and pulled him aside.

  “You know you needn’t wait in line. I have a basket full of things for you.”

  “I’m happy to pay for my share,” Wade said with a grin. “The food is always too good to pass up.”

  “Be that as it may,” Mrs. Madison continued, “you work hard with all the help you give us. Giving you a basket of goodies is the least we can do. But that’s not the only reason I took you away. We need to talk to you a moment about Mr. Welby.”

  Wade followed her to where Mrs. Gibson and Miss Poisie sat knitting. Their hands seemed to move in unison. “Ladies,” he said, offering each a nod. “You look very lovely today, Miss Poisie . . . Mrs. Gibson. Are those new hats?”

  The ladies stopped their knitting, and Mrs. Gibson actually touched her hand to the straw concoction on her head. “They are. We made hats last Tuesday.” She seemed quite pleased that he had noticed.

  “Well, actually we made over old hats,” Miss Poisie corrected. “A lady can remake old styles over and over and save her husband a great deal of money. Isn’t that so, Sister?”

  “Indeed it is, but a discussion about hats is not the reason I’ve invited Mr. Ackerman to join us. Put aside your knitting and let us discuss Mr. Welby and his offer to buy our building.”

  The ladies did as they were bid and devoted their attention to Mrs. Madison. She nodded in approval and took a seat while Wade continued to stand. “Mr. Welby continues to pursue this matter, and I am inclined to accept. Mr. Booth has looked over Mr. Welby’s offer and believes it to be most generous.”

  “I’m glad, but I’m not sure how this involves me,” Wade said, feeling rather
confused.

  “We trust your opinion,” Mrs. Madison told him. “We have heard from several sources that Mr. Welby is highly regarded in some circles and despised in others.”

  “That’s often the way with businessmen,” Wade said. “For a variety of reasons, however, I do have some concerns about the man’s transactions. I’m not trying to cast doubt on his business or this offer, but I wouldn’t sign anything without Mr. Booth present. And I’d make sure that the money was on the table.”

  Mrs. Gibson nodded. “Mr. Gibson . . .”

  “God rest his soul,” Miss Poisie reminded. The ladies gave their usual response.

  Mrs. Gibson continued. “He was of a mind that a man should prove himself able to deliver on his promises. He often said that he would demand this proof in whatever way seemed necessary. Of course he also drank brandy and read a great many books that no doubt displeased God.”

  Wade nodded. “No doubt.” Poor Mr. Gibson. No matter his earthly flaws, Wade could only hope that God had indeed given his soul rest.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Madison said, glancing past Wade. “It would seem Mr. Welby has decided to visit us once again.” Wade glanced over his shoulder to find that the man was even now making his way across the park to join them.

  “Perhaps he’s here to see Abrianna,” Miss Poisie suggested.

  “Where is Abrianna?” Wade asked.

  “She’s helping Liang in the kitchen,” Mrs. Madison replied. “Poor Abrianna. She is still quite insufficient in her baking, but I will say that she does try very hard to please.”

  Wade knew full well that Abrianna did what she could to satisfy her aunts. She loved those women more than life itself, but Wade also knew she was quite vexed with herself for being, as she put it, such a disappointment.

  Nothing more was said on the topic, however, as Mr. Welby joined their number. He gave a sweeping bow toward the trio on the park bench. “Good day, ladies.”

  “It’s late afternoon,” Miss Poisie corrected.

  “But I still hope that you had a good day,” he replied.

  Mrs. Madison patted her sister’s arm. “What brings you to us today, Mr. Welby?”

  “Well, of course, I came for the bake sale. I must say I’ve been pleased with the pies I’ve purchased in the past.”

  “It’s the lard,” Mrs. Gibson declared.

  Poisie nodded and followed with her own comment. “We render our own.”

  Mr. Welby seemed rather confused, but Wade found it amusing. The man had no idea what he was up against. The trio was quite formidable when they chose to be.

  “When I saw you over here, I thought I might inquire as to whether you had come to a decision on my offer to buy your building.”

  Mrs. Madison met his smiling face with a stern look. “I told you I would first have to speak with Mr. Fulcher on the matter, as well as our attorney. While I’ve done the latter, Mr. Fulcher only returned yesterday. I will no doubt have to wait until Monday to see him.”

  Wade saw Welby’s jaw clench. He was clearly unhappy at the news. Why did he want that building so much? Was there something driving him besides the import business?

  “I do apologize, ladies. My desire for a rapid conclusion to this business has to do with my receiving a rather large shipment of goods from China. I am quite desperate to find a place to house them.”

  “But why is the Madison Building so important?” Wade interrupted. “Surely there are other buildings available to you—warehouses that can be leased.”

  The older man was not pleased to have Wade’s interference. Wade could see that much in the man’s narrowing eyes as he turned. “I have my reasons. The location is perfectly located near my other holdings. It’s close to the harbor, and I have it on good authority that the railroad will come through no more than a quarter mile away.”

  “But that may not be for years, Mr. Welby,” Mrs. Madison said thoughtfully. “Therefore, I see no reason that you should rush into this decision. Surely there are other places you could store your imports in the meantime. Frankly, I need time to thoroughly consider it. And I need to speak to God on the matter.”

  “And Mr. Fulcher,” Miss Poisie added.

  Mrs. Madison nodded. “So you see, I am hardly in a place to give you an answer at this time.”

  “Very well,” Welby said from clenched teeth. He squared his shoulders and smiled. “Since we cannot attend to that business, perhaps we might speak about my courtship of Abrianna.”

  “She doesn’t desire to court you,” Mrs. Gibson announced.

  “Might I ask why?”

  Mrs. Gibson looked to Poisie and then to Mrs. Madison. Upon the older woman’s nod, she looked back to Welby. “She fears you are a Mugwump. She heard you mention that you were against the tariffs put in place by the Republicans. She was adamant that she couldn’t love a Mugwump.”

  Welby laughed heartily. It wasn’t at all what Wade had expected, and from the look on the faces of the ladies, neither had they.

  “I am no Mugwump,” Welby assured them. “I do protest the Republican tariffs, but as an import man I believe I’m entitled. In my business the evolution of government taxation has become a most desperate concern.”

  Mrs. Gibson poked Miss Poisie with her elbow but said nothing. Mrs. Madison, however, rose and extended her hand. “Mr. Welby, you were quite good to come to the sale today. I know you are disappointed that our niece has no desire to court you, but we are not in the business of forcing any woman to become a bride. We believe that love should come naturally through getting to know each other, and if that time spent together is displeasing to either party, we believe it should be terminated. You are, however, welcome to attend the receptions to search for another potential bride.”

  Welby shook his head. “Thank you, no. I do not believe my heart could be so easily manipulated.” He took hold of her gloved hand and bowed. “I must attend to other business. If you’ll excuse me.” He released her and straightened to glare at Wade. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good afternoon,” Miss Poisie corrected, but Welby was already stalking across the park lawn.

  “Oh, Miriam, I’m not at all sure that we should further entertain Mr. Welby’s offer. He’s no doubt a Darwinist. You heard his mention of ‘evolution.’ No good Christian would put such a word in their vocabulary.” She drew out a handkerchief and dabbed it to her neck. “Goodness, he talks just like Mr. Gibson did.”

  “God rest his soul,” Poisie murmured.

  “Amen.”

  16

  Kolbein found the Fulchers to be rather superficial. Before they sat down to dine, Mrs. Fulcher made certain he admired her collection of various expensive objets d’art, and as they started in on the meal, Mr. Fulcher seemed interested only in knowing Kolbein’s financial status. Kolbein felt sorry for Lenore. Her parents spoke of her as one might of a pampered and spoiled pet or a beloved painting.

  “Lenore has known comfort all of her life,” Mr. Fulcher said. “I’m not opposed to having a working man amidst us, but I would want to be assured that he could continue to support Lenore in a proper fashion.”

  “Oh, Father,” Lenore said, shaking her head but smiling with a girlish kind of charm. “I thought we agreed to put that aside for now. Why don’t you drill Mr. Booth on whether he can match you in croquet or tennis? You will have plenty of time to badger him about his earnings and net worth later.”

  Kolbein was surprised at her comment but couldn’t help but feel proud. He liked that she could stand up to her father without resorting to belittling or rage. She had obviously learned the value of a sense of humor and of treading carefully where her father’s worries were concerned.

  “I do play a very good game of tennis,” Kolbein said, looking back to Mr. Fulcher. “Do I dare hope we might have a match?”

  “I would like that,” the older man said with great enthusiasm. “I haven’t had a worthy opponent in some time. Many of my associates don’t even play the game. Their schedules will no
t allow for it. However, mine shall be considerably less filled in the days to come.”

  “And why is that?” Kolbein asked, nodding at the servant to remove his dinner plate.

  “I have sold my freight brokerage to an acquaintance in San Francisco. The man has great plans for expansion. He intends to send his men up this summer to scout out a location that will best serve his needs. For the meanwhile, I am hopeful that I might persuade Mrs. Madison to continue renting the first floor of her building to Montgomery and Sons.”

  Kolbein realized that Fulcher knew nothing of Mrs. Madison’s thoughts about selling her building. He kept the matter to himself, hoping that perhaps Lenore would introduce the subject, but she apparently knew nothing of it, either.

  The servants cleared the table and then brought coffee and a tall coconut torte cake that beckoned Kolbein to find room in his already overstuffed stomach. He took a slice of the cake and waited until everyone else had been served before changing the subject.

  “I am curious as to why you chose now to sell your business.”

  “It was for numerous reasons, the most important of which was that I have no son to pass it down to. When Montgomery approached me about buying it, it seemed a logical solution.” Fulcher waited for the servants to leave the room before continuing. “I have done business with Montgomery for years. He runs his company headquarters from San Francisco, while his sons manage affairs in San Diego. His family has been involved with shipping for many generations and thought my brokerage business would come alongside quite nicely. I believe his biggest reason, however, was that he heard me mention selling and he desired a foothold in Seattle. I don’t doubt that he’ll one day run the entire West Coast of this country. At least where shipping and freighting are concerned.”

  Kolbein could see that Mrs. Fulcher was displeased that the conversation had turned to business, so he quickly posed a question to her. “And, Mrs. Fulcher, will you and your husband travel now that he’s free?”