Lonely In Longtree

by Jill Stengl

  He rolled his shoulders and heard his spine crackle. He gave her a quick glance, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “Oh, maybe a bear. Maybe a drunken drifter. You never know in these parts. The rifle wouldn’t do us much good if I left it in the scabbard on Petunia’s saddle.”

  “Have you shot a bear before?”

  “Sure. Out in Wyoming, that was. Nothing but blackies around here, but we used to shoot grizzlies out West. Big, mean bears.”

  “Myles got attacked by a grizzly bear back home.”

  “Huh, not in southern Wisconsin, he didn’t. He must have been pulling your leg.”

  “No, it was a grizzly bear. It escaped from a circus.”

  Monte thought about that one. “If you say so.”

  She chuckled. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to say it. Ask Myles when we get home. He’ll tell you. It stole a steer from Obadiah Watson—he’s Beulah’s stepfather—and when the men hunted it down, it nearly killed Myles. That was right around the time he committed his life to God.”

  “Really? He didn’t tell me that story. I’ll have to pound it out of him.”

  “Spoken like a true big brother.”

  He smiled at her, then couldn’t look away.

  “What?” she inquired, looking self-conscious yet pleased.

  “Smile again.”

  She smiled readily but covered her cheek with one hand. He pulled her hand down.

  “You have a dimple in your right cheek. I noticed before but didn’t really notice.”

  She turned her face away.

  “Why have you never married, Marva? You’re a lovely woman, sweet, able—I don’t understand it.”

  She touched her cheek again but kept her face averted. “The right man never came along. I waited patiently for God’s timing, but it never happened.”

  He recognized sadness and a hint of bitterness in her voice. “You could still marry now.” Realizing how that comment might be construed, he faced forward and studied Buzz’s hindquarters. The horse had dropped to a walk without his noticing.

  “The right man would have to ask.” Her voice trembled as if with restrained tears. “I spent years being angry with God because He never gave me the husband I wanted. All those years gone, wasted! I should have enjoyed each day as it came and recognized that if I remained single it was because God knew singleness was best for me.”

  Had she married years ago, she would likely not be available to marry Monte now. This fact occurred to him while she spoke. But should he be so arrogant as to imagine that God had reserved such a woman and set her aside to be his bride?

  “Why have you never married?” She returned the question.

  “I’ve never asked a woman to marry me.”

  “But why not? Surely you have met many attractive women during your travels.” Although she spoke lightly, he sensed heaviness underlying the questions.

  “None that I wanted to share my life with.”

  She turned on the seat and fixed him with a quizzical stare from beneath her hat’s brim. “But why ever not? Are you so difficult to please? Or do you conceal some dark secret in your past?”

  That last question struck home. She obviously did not know—Beulah must not have told her—or she would never have spoken so lightly.

  “I never stay in one place long enough to suit a woman,” he improvised. “Some men aren’t cut out for marriage.”

  “But you—” She fell silent.

  “But I what?”

  “Never mind.”

  A mosquito whined in Monte’s ear. He smacked himself on the side of the head and knocked his hat askew. “Bugs are bad tonight.”

  “They seem to be bad most every night.”

  The first stars glimmered in the steel gray sky above. “It won’t be long now. I hope they saved us some supper.”

  “I’m not hungry, but for your sake, I hope so, too.”

  Before he turned off the main road into his long driveway, the last glimmers of twilight had faded and stars filled the night sky. The bobbing lanterns threw small puddles of light that scarcely reached the nearest trees. One of the dogcart’s wheels bumped into a pothole, and Marva bumped into Monte’s shoulder. “Sorry about that,” he said teasingly.

  “I shall try to forgive you,” she retorted calmly.

  He grinned, and a sudden wave of affection for her rolled over him. Driving along with this woman at his side felt right somehow. He could easily imagine spending the rest of his life in her company, and the thought started a longing ache in his soul.

  As they approached the lodge grounds, a bonfire’s glow appeared between the trees. Hardy must have lighted it for the guests, who sat on the log benches around the fire pit, singing hymns. He slowed his horse, thinking Marva might like to join her companions, but she laid her hand on his forearm. “Please don’t stop. I need to go to my room.”

  Without a word, he drove the dogcart to the lodge steps, secured the reins, and came around to help Marva alight.

  Lanterns burned dimly on either side of the main door. No one sat on the porch tonight; the lodgers must all be down by the bonfire. Marva reached out to take his hand. Her grip felt uncertain. Courage and determination must be keeping her upright. He sensed that she was ready to collapse. Releasing her hand, he reached for her waist to lift her down. She murmured a token protest. He set her on her feet, facing him, but did not let go. “Can you walk?”

  Her head bobbed. “I think so.”

  “I don’t.” For the third time that day, he hefted her into his arms then mounted the porch steps and fumbled for the latch. She simply let her head bob against his shoulder.

  Once inside, he carried her across the foyer. No one was behind the desk. He entered the hall, trying to avoid bashing her head or feet on anything, then walked its length and stopped at the door to her room. It was unlocked, so he pushed it open and carried her inside. Guessing which bed was hers, he laid her on it. “Marva, are you all right?” he said, trying to stop gasping for breath. His heart raced, mostly from exertion.

  “I’m. . .terribly. . .sleepy,” she mumbled as if drugged.

  He untied her hat and tugged it off her head. Her forehead was warm but not feverish. He gripped her hand and considered what to do next. Feeling around at the foot of the bed, he located a wool blanket, which he spread over her. He would have liked to remove her shoes, but that seemed too personal.

  “I’ll let you rest now,” he said, reluctant to leave her alone. Deep, steady breathing was her only reply. He smiled. Once more he touched her forehead then bent way over and kissed her soft cheek. “Good night, my dear.”

  ❧

  “Marva! Marva. . .why, you slept in your clothes! Whatever possessed you to do that? Where were you all day yesterday? Your father and I began to worry when you didn’t show up at the bonfire.”

  They hadn’t worried until then? Marva sighed and reached up to push tickling hair from her face. She groaned. Every muscle ached, and her head still felt heavy.

  “I went for a drive and got lost. Mr. Van Huysen found me and drove me back home. I had too much sun.” She shifted her legs over the side of the bed and watched listlessly as the blanket slithered to the floor.

  “You’ll have to repeat that, since not one word of it was clear.” Mother sounded irritable. Mother was never irritable.

  Marva straightened her shoulders and groaned again. “I hurt everywhere.”

  “Now that I understood.”

  Mother stood beside the bed in her faded lavender dressing gown, her silver braid hanging over one shoulder. Her normally serene face was creased with frown lines.

  Slowly Marva repeated her explanation, holding out her blistered hands for her mother’s inspect
ion.

  “I should say you did have too much sun! Child, will you never develop good sense? Why did you drive out alone, and without gloves, and on such a hot day? We can be grateful that Mr. Van Huysen found you, or you might have become hopelessly lost in these dreadful woods!” She suddenly clasped Marva in a tight hug. “The Lord watched over you, for certain. Had I known all this before I went to bed last night, I’m sure I wouldn’t have slept a wink! We saw you sleeping when we came in after the bonfire last night, but I never dreamed. . .”

  “I’m fine, Mother, only rather tired and blistered.”

  “Marva, is there anything you want to tell—”

  A knock at the door brought her mother upright in an instant. “Now who could that be? Your papa went fishing.” She hurried to remove the chain lock.

  “Ma’am.” Marva heard a woman’s voice say. “Miss Obermeier’s bath is ready in the washroom across the hall. We left extra rinse water.”

  Mother paused then said, “Thank you very much. I’ll tell her.” Closing the door, she regarded her daughter in surprise. “You ordered a bath?”

  Marva blinked in confusion. “There must be some mistake.”

  Her mother’s head tilted. “Actually, you could use one. Why not take it, since it’s already prepared for you?”

  Reaching one hand up to her hair, which was stiff with sweat and road dust, Marva nodded. A bath sounded like heaven.

  Minutes later, she soaked in steaming, rose-scented water in a huge aluminum tub. Her hair floated around her shoulders. Her sunburned hands stung in the water, but her aching muscles began to relax.

  She remembered Monte carrying her into the lodge the night before. Or at least she had vague but lovely memories of his comforting arms and gentle voice, the scratchiness of his coat against her cheek, the bump of her foot against a doorpost, and his apology. He had laid her on the bed. She knew that much but recalled nothing afterward.

  Tightness built in her throat. He was so dear! So kind and considerate and gentlemanly! Why had such a man never come into her life before now?

  Hot tears blended with the water while she rinsed soap from her hair. Yet a faint hope grew within her that maybe, just maybe, now was God’s perfect timing.

  Eleven

  Every way of a man is right in his own eyes:

  but the Lord pondereth the hearts.

  Proverbs 21:2

  “Watch me, Ma!”

  Jerry Van Huysen jumped off the swim platform with a modest splash. When he surfaced, Beulah and Marva applauded and exclaimed to the boy’s satisfaction. Myles treaded water nearby, watching over the flock of young swimmers.

  Listening with one ear to Beulah’s chatter, Marva tried to soak in the beauty of her surroundings, to store it up for memories. This picnic was the last event of the Longtree vacationers’ holiday at the lodge. Tomorrow they would load back on the train and head south. Somewhere behind her she heard Monte’s deep chuckle. He must be talking with one of the other families. Would he come and sit with his brother’s family to eat his meal?

  An ache rose inside her chest. The idea of leaving, of never seeing this beautiful place again—of never seeing Monte again—did not bear contemplation.

  “Funniest story you ever heard. . .” he was saying. His voice faded for several beats, then she heard “. . .still doesn’t know the truth.” Laughter followed.

  Hearing Beulah speak Monte’s name, Marva refocused on the current conversation. “. . .come back anytime we want to. You know, he insisted that we pay nothing for our lodging, but of course it would be best if that news didn’t spread since he and Mr. Stowell can hardly afford to lodge our entire group for free.”

  “He and Mr. Stowell?”

  Beulah spooned applesauce into Ginny’s waiting mouth. “Yes. They’re partners, you know. Mr. Stowell bought half ownership of the lodge last winter. He runs most of the business end of things. That way Monte has time for his writing again. I thought you knew all this.”

  Marva tried not to let her face reveal her confusion. “I probably heard it at one time but forgot. You’re saying that Lakeland Lodge originally belonged entirely to your husband’s brother? He owns the lodge?”

  Beulah nodded. “Monte’s been keeping track of our family for years, mostly by reading our town newspaper. He got the idea of advertising his lodge in the Longtree Enquirer, and of course it worked. We came without any idea that Myles’s brother lived here. All our arrangements were made through Mr. Stowell.”

  “Oh.” Without any idea—she could relate to that part.

  “I thought you knew all this, Marva,” Beulah said again. “You were at our house that first night when Monte explained everything.”

  “I must have been outside with Trixie during that part of the story.” Marva’s heart pounded so hard that she felt dizzy. All this time she had assumed Monte merely worked at the lodge as fishing and hunting guide. Remembering his air of command, his office inside the lodge, and the respect shown him by staff members, she suddenly felt stupid. How blind could a woman be?

  She rested her forehead on her open hand. “But why the secrecy? Why didn’t he come to Longtree to visit his brother? I don’t understand.”

  Beulah sat up straight, a spoonful of applesauce poised in midair. “If you didn’t hear him tell his story, I really don’t think it’s my place to pass it on to you. He had his reasons, Marva. Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

  Ginny voiced a protest, and the applesauce quickly entered her mouth.

  Marva tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled. “I hardly know him well enough for that, Beulah. You’re right—it’s not my business to know his motivations.”

  A step sounded behind her, and Monte himself settled beside Marva on the quilt, folding his long legs awkwardly. “Hello, ladies. I hope you’re enjoying this fine day. I ordered it for your pleasure.”

  “So thoughtful of you, brother,” Beulah said with a smile. “I also appreciate your getting the applesauce for Ginny. She was too hungry to wait.”

  Ginny crawled across the quilt and climbed into her uncle’s lap, smiling from ear to ear. Monte appeared startled yet pleased.

  “Oh, let me clean her up,” Marva offered. “She’ll get applesauce all over you.”

  The baby protested, but Monte held her still so Marva could wipe her chubby face.

  “Thank you.” His eyes twinkled. “I hope you’re all as hungry as Ginny. The kitchen crew prepared a feast. They’ll be setting up on the outdoor tables soon.”

  “My tribe is working up an appetite.” Beulah indicated Myles and the swimming boys. “Some of the men are fishing—their last opportunity to catch that monster fish.”

  “My father never caught a muskie, but he can’t say enough about his half-dozen nice walleye and that big bass he pulled in last week,” Marva said.

  “And Myles and the boys must have nearly emptied this side of the lake of bluegill and perch.” Beulah chuckled. “Monte, this has been the most wonderful, relaxing holiday! We can never thank you enough.”

  He focused on Ginny, who had pulled out his tie to chew on. “Don’t try. These have been some of the best days of my life, too.”

  Marva caught his glance in her direction. What, exactly, was he implying? A trickle of doubt entered her turbulent pool of thought. Was he playing a joke on her? Had he written notes under the name of “Lucky in Lakeland” to build up a lonely woman’s dreams only as an amusing diversion?

  Had he known all the time that her search for an unmarried lodge owner was actually a search for him? If so, and she began to suspect that this was the case, he had a cruel sense of humor and was not the man she had believed him to be.

  He had attended the church meetings Rev. Schoengard held on Sundays and entered into the worship with apparent sincerity. Was it all an act?

&
nbsp; Or had his letters been sincere? Beulah’s intimation of some secret in Monte’s past made her think. Hadn’t Myles mentioned something years ago about his deceased brother’s scandalous past? But she couldn’t recall the details. Maybe Monte feared rejection. Could her own self-doubt and insecurity cause her to misjudge the intentions of a good man? How could she learn the truth?

  “I invited some local acquaintances to the picnic,” Monte said. “They should arrive soon. Two of the local vacation lodge owners. You’ll remember Mr. Hendricks, Miss Obermeier. He is eager to see you again.”

  His sidelong glance held a glimmer of mischief, and Marva’s suspicions strengthened. He was laughing at her!

  Trixie suddenly tripped on the edge of the quilt and crash-landed beside Marva, bringing with her an abundance of sand. An instant later, a very wet and sand-encrusted hound vaulted the toddler and sprawled in the middle of the quilt, tail lashing.

  “Ralph! Off,” Monte shouted. “Bad dog.”

  By the time the quilt had been shaken out, sand brushed from the toddler, and the dog tied up at Monte’s cabin, the lodge staff had finished setting out a picnic luncheon on tables in the open area near the playground. Myles took the boys up to their cabin to change out of their swimming costumes while Beulah and Marva prepared plates for them.

  As the children distracted his relatives, Monte pulled Marva aside for a moment. “Would you like me to bring them to you here, or shall I introduce you later?”

  “Of whom are you speaking?”

  “Mr. Hendricks and Mr. DeSamprio.”

  “Why did you invite them here?” Anger sharpened her voice.

  “To help you out, of course. I know you never got the chance to interview Hendricks the other day.”

  Hot blood rushed into her face. She could think of nothing, absolutely nothing, to say. Did he know? He must know! And if he knew, he must be. . . Anger and humiliation fomented in her belly until she felt ill. Rather than spew out questions and accusations, she jerked her arm from his grasp and returned to Beulah, who was, thankfully, too distracted by her children’s disputes and scuffles to notice Marva’s agitation.