by Jill Stengl
❧
Monte had a sudden impulse to go beat his head against a tree. Idiot!
Startling revelations raced through his head. Rather than think through his jumbled motivations, he hurried away to find Pete DeSamprio and Mel Hendricks, the two lodge owners he had invited to join the picnic. Their company might serve to distract him from guilty thoughts and convictions.
Neither of the visitors had any idea why he had invited them to join his lodge picnic, but they dug into the spread of food without reservation. “Good chow, Van Huysen,” DeSamprio said, shifting a mouthful into one cheek. “Great view. You ask us here to rub our noses in it, or what?”
Monte tried to smile. “Maybe we can get tips and ideas from each other and band together to bring more business north. This group read about my lodge in their local newspaper. We offered reduced rates for a large party.”
At that moment, the minister requested silence for a blessing on the food. DeSamprio and Hendricks followed Monte’s lead by removing their hats and bowing their heads. Rev. Schoengard gave thanks for the luncheon, requesting God’s blessing on those who had prepared it and asking for safety during tomorrow’s journey home. As soon as the pastor said, “Amen,” the men resumed eating.
Monte brightened, seeing Hardy strolling in their direction with a loaded plate in hand. He waved his partner over. “Join us.” Within minutes, Hardy had the two men discussing advertising and profit margins, and Monte could let his attention wander.
Casually he scanned the grounds for Marva. To his surprise, she was seated at the next picnic table with her parents and the Schoengards. He rested his elbow on the tabletop and his chin on his palm and let his eyes drink her in. With her white skin and that stunning hair against the backdrop of the deep blue lake, she made a striking picture.
She glanced up and caught his gaze but immediately looked away. He watched her try but fail to finish her luncheon. Folding her napkin, she laid it on her plate and glanced once more at Monte. He smiled and nodded. A little frown line appeared between her brows, and she quickly stood up.
Monte rose to intercept her as she left the table. “Leave your plate on the table. The staff will clean up.”
She set down her plate. “Do you have something of importance to say, Mr. Van Huysen?”
“You don’t wish to talk to Mr. DeSamprio and Mr. Hendricks?”
“I do not.” She propped her fists on her hips and looked him in the eye. “If you have nothing further to say, I believe I shall go inside and begin packing.”
“You look lovely today, Miss Obermeier. Like. . .like summertime.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Why, thank you, kind sir. Good day.” And she walked away.
He winced behind her back.
Jealous of his own pseudonym, that’s what he was. Why couldn’t Marva forget her newspaper beau and love him—just plain Monte Van Huysen? Did she find him irritating in person? Maybe he smelled bad or had some annoying habit of which he was unaware.
Hardy approached him and clapped him on the shoulder. “I know just how you feel. That is one peculiar woman. I imagine she’s mentioned to you a man who communicated with her through a newspaper.”
“I know something about it.”
Hardy chuckled without mirth. “I figured she asked you to invite Pete and Mel here. Did she ever talk to them?”
“No.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m thinking she’s the type who likes a man in theory better than a man in the flesh. Try not to break your heart over her pretty face, partner. You won’t be the first or the last, I’d guess. Oh look—there goes Mel after her.”
Sure enough, Mel Hendricks followed Marva toward the lodge. Monte barely restrained a groan.
❧
Marva gritted her teeth to keep back tears. She had to force a smile at Dorothy Hilbert when she passed her on the path to the lodge; almost everyone else must be down at the shore. She could only hope her parents would linger and talk for at least another hour, giving her time to control her overwrought emotions.
That man! That beast! She wanted to kick him in the shins. She would love to give his mustache a sharp tug and smack the smile off his face. How dare he mock her openly! How dare he bring those men to meet her!
“Miss Obermeier!”
At the sound of this hail, she turned on the path. Mr. Hendricks approached, his smile revealing a gold tooth. “I trust you’re fully recovered? Mr. Van Huysen told me the other day that you’d attempted to drive to my lodge to interview me. Do you write for a Milwaukee paper?”
“No sir, I don’t.” Heat rolled up Marva’s throat and flooded her cheeks. “I simply wished to. . . Oh, never mind. The reason no longer exists. I’m ever so sorry you came all this way to no purpose.”
Puzzlement spread over his pleasant face. “It was no trouble, I assure you. Mr. Stowell told me you especially wished to interview unmarried lodge owners in the Northwoods. I’m a widower. Does that count?”
She shook her head. “The man I’m looking for has never married. Thank you anyway, Mr. Hendricks.”
She turned and rushed up the lodge steps before he could say another word. Once inside, she ran to her empty room and started packing. Anger flowed through her every movement, and she had to refold several items before she could pack them.
I don’t care if I ever see that man again!
Was he really a jokester without a sensible thought in his head? No, that was too harsh a judgment. Myles and Beulah esteemed him highly, and the children adored their uncle. He had befriended most of the men in the party while guiding them to the best fishing spots on the lake.
And Marva would never forget his gentle strength and thoughtfulness the day she went looking for Lucky and got lost. That day, he had been a true hero.
Marva was uncertain what her parents thought of him, beyond his abilities with the lodge.
Tired of packing, she sat on the side of her bed and let her thoughts drift. How smug he had looked at the picnic, staring openly at her with that silly smile on his face! Why did he have to be so handsome? It would be much easier to dislike him if she could only find him physically disgusting.
She bent over and pulled her packet of newspaper clippings from the drawer of her bedside table. Leafing through the few papers, she read over Lucky’s words—Monte’s words?—and wondered again if Monte Van Huysen concealed a sensitive, serious heart behind his charming manner.
❧
“You’re not coming to supper?” Mother repeated with concern in her voice. “But it’s our last night here, Marva. Everyone will miss you.”
“I have a headache,” Marva answered truthfully. “Please make my excuses, Mother. I’m truly not up to socializing this evening.”
She felt her mother’s cool hand on her forehead, then her cheeks. “Too much sun again, maybe. Is there anything you wish to tell me, dear one? I saw you talking with Mr. Van Huysen at the picnic, and then you disappeared. He seemed quieter than usual all afternoon.”
“Don’t read too much into that,” Papa said. “A man can have many reasons for being thoughtful that have nothing to do with a woman, difficult though that may be for you to believe.” He gave his wife a wink and squeezed her shoulder.
Mother looked chagrined. “I do tend to imagine too much at times, and I know my speculations have caused you hurt in the past, Marva dear.”
Marva knew her mother referred not only to the long-ago misunderstanding with Myles, but also to imaginary interest from dozens of other eligible men over the years. She reached up to take her mother’s hand. “It’s not your fault. I do the same thing—read too much into people’s emotional states and assume they all relate somehow to me.” Hearing a betraying quiver in her voice, she smiled and fell silent.
Her mother’s eyes held sympathetic understanding. �
�Tomorrow will be a long day. You just rest. I’ll see if we can’t bring you a little something to eat.”
Twelve
Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.
Romans 15:13
Marva busied herself with arranging her bags in the overhead compartments, trying not to eavesdrop on the farewells between Monte and his relatives, yet at the same time straining to catch each word he spoke. Would he take time to bid her an individual farewell? There would be no privacy in this crowded train car, and she had no reason to return to the platform. . . not that privacy could be found there either.
Her hatbox kept popping out of position and threatening to drop on the head of the passenger seated beneath it, who happened to be Caroline Schoengard, the minister’s wife. “Excuse me—I’m so sorry—” Marva reached over the other woman’s head one more time to shove the box back in place. Caroline claimed not to mind, but Marva sensed her irritation. Everyone was tired and edgy, dreading the long train ride home.
“Here, let me.” Monte reached around Marva to rearrange the boxes. Grateful and shaking in every limb, she stood back to watch. “There. That should stay put.” He lowered his arms.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Schoengard added. “Now I don’t have to worry about something dropping on my head at any moment.”
Monte smiled briefly at her, then focused on Marva. “Was that your last box?”
She nodded.
“Where are you sitting?”
She pointed to the row. “With my parents, for now.”
“Until Beulah needs you,” he added.
The train blasted a long whistle. People raised their voices above the clamor. The cacophony bombarded Marva’s ears, and fear blocked her throat. Desperately she wanted to ask the question—this might be her last opportunity ever!—but how could she ask it amid all this confusion?
Someone bumped into her from behind. Monte quickly placed his hand on the small of her back in a protective gesture. A party of strangers had entered at the front of the car and appeared determined to make their way to the rear, shuffling everyone in the aisle aside or ahead. A carpetbag struck Marva between the shoulder blades; angry voices protested on all sides.
Monte guided her to the back of the train carriage. A lady climbed the steps and pushed past them. This time Monte bracketed Marva with his arms, protecting her from wayward luggage. He looked down into her face, shook his head, and smiled briefly. “I don’t believe we’re going to find a more private place than this to say our good-byes. I hope you’ll forgive me for staring at you yesterday. It was rude, I know.”
“Certainly,” she said, brushing that awkward request aside, “and thank you for a lovely vacation, Mr. Van Huysen. You did so much for my parents and for all our friends. I imagine you’ll be visiting your brother and his family sometime.” Formality was difficult to maintain while he stood so close.
He suddenly gripped her hand and looked down at it, then up into her eyes, and then down at her hand again. His fingers pressed hers, his thumb rumpled her glove, and then he took a step back without meeting her gaze and breathed as if he’d sprinted to catch the train.
Marva waited, expecting him to make some declaration or comment. He seemed to be deadly earnest. In fact, he behaved almost like a man in love. . .but then, how would she know how a man in love behaves? Actually, he looked more like a man in pain.
“Mr. Van Huysen, are you well?”
The conductor bellowed his last boarding call. Monte jerked as if he’d been struck. “I—I’ll be visiting sometime. Like you said.” He squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a sigh. “Thank you. Meeting you was—I hope we meet again. Sometime. I—” The train gave a lurch, and his eyes popped wide.
“Marva.”
“Yes?”
“Good-bye.” He released her hand, bolted down the steps, and disappeared.
Marva caught herself as the train gave another jolt and straining metal screamed in protest. Using the seat backs for leverage, she staggered up the aisle and slipped into the vacant seat beside her mother.
“Mr. Van Huysen is waving to us from the platform, Marva. You should wave at him.” Her mother sounded pleased. “I do hope he comes to visit Myles and Beulah. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but I think he admired you, dear.”
Marva caught a glimpse of Monte and Hardy Stowell standing side by side, waving. Monte held his hat over his heart with a funereal air. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocketbook, she waved it at him. As the train gained momentum, the buildings along Front Street slipped out of view; as the train cars moved onto the trestle, the clacking changed in tone.
Would she ever see this little town again? Sparkling sunlight on the lake’s brilliant blue surface brought tears to her eyes. Was that a loon’s white breast in the distance? An open window brought a whiff of water and pine. The breeze felt cool against her damp cheeks. Why was she crying?
She lowered her handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. Depression weighted her chest like a stone. How she longed for privacy, the chance to release her emotions in a storm of tears!
“Marva?”
She looked up. Myles wore an apologetic expression. “Beulah is hoping you’ll help us with the children. Trixie is nearly frantic, and the baby needs to be fed.”
She nodded and rose. It was good to be needed.
❧
Monte watched the train cars slip past. Once he took a step forward, determined to catch hold and climb aboard one of the passing coaches. It wasn’t too late! He could still grab on. . . .
The last car rattled past, and the train slid over the trestle, its noise gradually fading in the distance. He found himself breathing in deep gasps. Why? Why hadn’t he told her? The words were simple enough: “I am Lucky in Lakeland. I love you. Please marry me.”
But no, it wasn’t that simple. Marriage involved much, much more.
He would see her again. Myles had demanded a visit from him before the end of the year. This wasn’t his last chance. He could work up a plan, a perfect way to propose marriage and sweep her off her feet. Heavenly visions of a future with Marva drifted through his imagination.
But between him and that idyllic future loomed his past.
It would be so much easier to pretend he had never met Marva Obermeier and simply resume his undemanding bachelor lifestyle. With luck, he could avoid mentioning his unsavory past to anyone ever again. It was nobody’s business anyway. He’d made no promises; Marva would expect nothing from him. If Lucky in Lakeland never placed another ad in the paper, she might be disappointed, but she would soon forget and move on with her life. A woman that wonderful wouldn’t remain single forever. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had remained unmarried this long.
“Monte, are you gonna stand here all day?”
He turned to stare at Hardy’s sweaty pink face. “No.”
His voice sounded so weak that Hardy’s brows lifted in evident surprise.
Monte pulled himself together and said more firmly, “No. Just admiring the view.”
“Really? Whatever you say.”
He followed Hardy’s glance toward the train yard, weedy, grimy, and strewed with refuse. “No, the lake.” He waved his arm. “Out there. It’s a gorgeous day. Blue sky, blue lake.”
His partner’s lopsided smile told Monte he was getting nowhere. “You head back, Hardy. I’ve got to stop for mail and supplies.”
“Right.” Hardy gave him an ironical salute and walked away, shaking his head.
Monte could ignore the heaviness in his spirit as long as he kept working, but the long, solitary drive home allowed far too much thinking time. Propping his elbows on his knees, he bowed his head over the reins clutched in his
hands. Shoulders hunched, he let the regret flood over him.
“Coward,” he muttered. Then louder, “Coward!”
Buzz and Petunia flicked their ears back as if to listen and tossed their heads in seeming uncertainty. “Do you hear?” he said in a calmer tone. “Your master is an idiot and a coward.”
He tipped his head back and sighed deeply. “I did it again, God. When will I learn?” Tension stabbed at his temples and tightened his shoulders. “I’m still afraid. What if she rejects me when she knows?” The perfect weather seemed to mock his misery. How could skies be blue while storms raged in his heart?
For over twenty years, he had carried around the wreckage caused by sin. Sure, God had forgiven him—his eternity in heaven was guaranteed through Christ’s cleansing blood. But here on earth, he still dragged a burden of guilt behind him wherever he went.
“Why, God? I want to be free!”
Trust Me.
The words came into his head, not as a voice but as a clear message.
Blinking, he looked up as if expecting to see God in the sky.
❧
That evening Monte still wrestled with his questions and argued with God’s clear request. After tossing on his bed for hours, he finally lit a lamp and opened his Bible. Turning to the place marked by a ribbon, the passage in Matthew where he had left off reading that morning, he glared at the page. “If You have something to tell me, I’m looking. I’ve got to have peace, God. If You don’t give it to me, I don’t know where to turn.”
This disrespectful prayer was the best he could manage at the moment. Hopefully God would bear with him. At least he was turning to the Bible instead of a bottle.
He let his tired eyes drift down the page. Chapter 7. Jesus was talking about beams and hypocrites. Pearls and swine. He sniffed and, with one finger, rubbed his mustache.
Then verse 7 caught his attention. “ ‘Ask, and it shall be given you. . . .’ ” He read through the section. “ ‘Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? . . . If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?’ ”