by Jill Stengl
Marva pushed with her toes to rock her chair and enjoyed the temporary peace. It was a fine day with the crisp edge of autumn adding spice to the air. Some of the maples along the drive held touches of red.
The football game broke into shouting and accusations. Caroline rose and approached the porch rail. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted for the boys to quiet down and behave like humans instead of beasts.
All those big boys wilted into submission, and their game resumed peacefully.
Caroline sat back down and gave Marva a self-conscious smile. “I know I’m loud, but I’ve had to learn to project my voice to make myself heard.”
“I’m impressed. All those large beings intimidate me,” Marva confessed. “But I suppose a mother can’t let herself be intimidated by her own sons.”
Caroline laughed. Sobering, she gave Marva another side-long glance. A nosy question was coming, and soon. What it would be, Marva could only guess.
“May I ask you a rather personal question?” Caroline asked. “I’ve been longing to ask it for a long time now. You’ll probably think I’m silly, but. . .well, I’m not the only person who has wondered. Gossip is a sin, so I thought I would rather ask you directly than discuss the matter with anyone else.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll probably think I’m silly to ask, but. . .” Caroline sucked in a quick breath and let it out in a gust. “Awhile back—oh, many months ago—I saw an ad in the paper.”
Oh, no.
Caroline chuckled and shook her head. “At first I thought it was a sales gimmick—you know how newspapers can be. But then. . .well. . . Oh, I’m messing this all up. You see, it was an advertisement from a single woman looking for a husband. My husband laughed about it at the time and teased that his daughters might try the same thing someday if it worked for this woman. None of us thought anything would come of it, but then there came an answer from a man.”
She suddenly stopped and gave Marva a close look. “Have you seen the letters? Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes, I’ve seen them.”
“Oh, good. I thought you must have. People have talked about it off and on for a long time, but now more than ever. Have you seen the latest letter?”
“The one in which the man confesses his past? The prison sentence and all?”
Caroline nodded. “Isn’t that heartrending? I’ve seen no answer from the woman yet. All of us are afraid she will turn him away now. One can hardly blame her, but still. . .”
Marva merely nodded. “What was it you wished to ask me?”
Caroline met her gaze for an instant, then laughed and shook her head. “You must think I’m crazy, but. . .many people in town believe that you are the woman who writes those letters. You’re a Christian woman, and you live with your elderly parents on a farm—you fit her description exactly!”
Marva lowered her chin. “I can think of several other women who fit that description. Two or three even at our church.”
“You’re right, of course. . .but, oh well, it would have been so romantic! You’re beautiful, so everyone immediately thought of how blessed that poor, lonely man would be to marry a woman like you. I mean, most of the other spinsters in this area aren’t. . .well, they just aren’t like you.”
“Thank you. I had no idea. . . .”
Caroline chuckled. “You look years younger than any other woman your age, married or single. I think half the married women in the church are jealous of you. I know I am sometimes. By the time I was your age, I had lost my figure and my complexion.”
“You were married with several children. That makes a difference.”
“Perhaps. No one can understand why you’ve never married, Marva. Most people think you’re too particular, but I disagree. Better for a woman to remain single than to marry in haste. The apostle Paul would uphold your position. I’ll confess that David and I thought you and Monte Van Huysen made a striking couple, while we were up north, you know.”
“Did you?” Marva smiled, hoping to appear amused by the notion.
“And when that most recent note appeared in the paper. . . well, one can’t help adding two and two. Everyone acquainted with the Van Huysens knows the tragic story of Virginia’s lost grandson, the prodigal who never got the chance to return. My fertile imagination immediately sprouted the notion that Monte must be Lucky in Lakeland. He’s the right age, he owns a lodge on a lake, and the letters sound like him.”
Caroline’s anxious eyes studied Marva’s face. “You undoubtedly think I’m crazy, coming up with this incredible romance for you. Once again, I appear to have added two and two incorrectly. Dave constantly tells me I must stop speculating about people and their business. I know he’s right, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
Marva tried to end the conversation on a noncommittal note, but Caroline’s words haunted her.
❧
Saturday night, Marva examined her reflection in her dressing table mirror, seeing the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, noting the deeper lines in her white neck. Silver blended almost unnoticeably with the gold of her hair. Deep blue eyes were her best feature by far. Although she had always worked to protect her complexion from the hot sun, her hands showed definite signs of wear and tear. Her figure, though far from ideal, was better now than it had been fifteen years earlier, since she no longer baked and ate many pastries and cakes, having long since given up on capturing a man with her cooking skills.
Would a man truly feel blessed to have her as his wife? Why now, and not twenty years ago? Gazing into her reflected eyes, she recognized the changes God had worked on her heart over the past few months. Bitterness no longer lingered at the corners of her lips. Her expression held sorrow, mostly over the tangled results of her own headstrong behavior, yet hope brightened her eyes.
After church the next morning, she cornered the pastor’s busy wife. “Caroline, you should be a sleuth,” she said quietly.
Caroline stared at her blankly for a moment—then comprehension dawned. She clapped one hand over her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake. Giving up, she threw back her head and laughed heartily. “And you should be an actress! Marva Obermeier, you had me entirely convinced that I’d dived down the wrong rabbit hole.” Eyes glowing, she gripped Marva’s arm and whispered, “How right was I? Did you write those letters? Is Monte the man?”
“I wrote the Lonely letters, but I’m not sure about Monte. I need to answer Lucky’s letter in a way only Monte could understand. I’ve been trying to work up enough courage. I’ve been thinking how to do it. Caroline, does everyone think I’m crazy? I’m so ashamed, so embarrassed for ever writing that first ad!”
“Nonsense.” Caroline patted Marva’s arm. “Everyone I’ve heard talking about the matter thinks it’s the most romantic story they’ve ever heard. And if it should turn out to be Monte. . . Even Dave noticed the way Monte watched you while we were at his lodge. The entire company was buzzing about it.”
“Buzzing.” Marva repeated the word, her hands trembling. “Oh, Caroline, please pray for me. I don’t want to do anything foolish again, trying to force God’s hand.”
“No one can force God’s hand,” Caroline said firmly. “Be honest and true, and let Him handle the consequences.” Her eyes began to twinkle again. “And tell me every detail !”
❧
Monte awaited his turn in the barber shop, listening with part of his brain to the other men discuss fishing and hunting successes and failures, but mostly pondering the fact that Lonely in Longtree had not yet replied to his confession.
In all his consideration of her possible responses, it had never entered his mind that she would refuse to answer at all. He wanted to believe that she was simply taking great pains with her response. But, then again, her taking such great pains would indicate a kind yet n
egative response. He sighed and folded his arms over his chest.
Whenever he worked up enough courage to pick up his mail today, he would probably find the latest edition of the Longtree paper. It might contain Marva’s reply; it might not. Dread of yet another disappointment caused him to procrastinate.
He had promised Myles a visit during the autumn or early winter. A visit to Myles would entail attendance at his church, where an encounter with Marva was nearly inevitable.
If Marva turned him down, if she could not bear the shame of his past, he would prefer never to see her again, rather than torture himself with the unattainable. He might be obliged to explain this fact to his little brother, rather than risk wounding Myles and Beulah by breaking his promise with no explanation.
“Van Huysen, you’re next.” The barber waved him over.
❧
A short time later, Monte rode Petunia north on the Woodruff Road, his sober gaze fixed on nothingness. His saddlebags contained the day’s mail, including a newspaper that he had not yet opened. He sensed it there behind him, waiting.
The autumn days were growing short and cold. Wind rippled Petunia’s mane and tried to steal Monte’s hat. He clapped it down more firmly on his head, then wriggled his fingers in his thick gloves. He and Hardy and the lodge staff had been busily storing boats and equipment for the long winter, sealing up the cabins and the lodge, and otherwise preparing for hibernation. Although Monte looked forward to free time for his writing, he dreaded months of loneliness.
“This is stupid,” he told Petunia. “I’m putting myself through torture.” He stopped the mare right there on the road, dismounted, and unpacked the newspaper from his saddlebag. He was obliged to remove one of his gloves in order to turn the pages.
Petunia turned to whiffle softly at the fluttering pages, then closed her eyes as if awaiting her master’s pleasure.
Fighting the wind, squinting to read the newsprint by fading twilight, Monte scanned the page of ads. Then his entire body jerked. There it was, her reply. He looked away for a moment, almost unconsciously praying for strength.
Dear Lucky in Lakeland, Thank you for your honesty. Now that you have bared your soul, it seems only fair that I confess weaknesses of my own. I am overly sensitive to the sun’s heat and to the ridicule of other people. I have a dread of unscheduled detours, yet I appreciate shadows of substance. If you can endure these peculiarities, perhaps we should plan to meet. Do you care for petunias? Lonely in Longtree.
Monte crammed the unfolded paper into his saddlebag, wrapped his arms around Petunia’s neck, and buried his face in her mane. A few minutes later, he spun around and whooped.
Calming and catching his startled horse consumed a few extra minutes of his time, but he was too happily distracted to care.
Fifteen
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God,
that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.
James 1:5
Marva stepped out of the chicken pen and latched its gate. The basket on her arm held few eggs. This cold weather discouraged the hens from laying, even though they were snug inside the barn.
One of the cows lowed plaintively. The farm always seemed quiet and peaceful as autumn advanced toward winter. Last week had been hectic, what with slaughtering the pigs and all the work involved in that unpleasant chore. No matter how much she enjoyed eating sausages, Marva intensely disliked making them.
“Miss Marva?”
She tried not to reveal her surprise. J. D. Parker had a way of appearing out of nowhere. The hired man approached her from the stanchions where the milk cows licked up the last of their evening feed.
“Yes, Mr. Parker?” She smiled. J. D. was stocky in build, nearly bald, yet rather nice looking.
He twisted his cap between his large hands, and his face turned an unbecoming red. “I know this is bold of me, but I’ve discussed it with your father, and he’s agreeable if you are. I’d like to marry you, ma’am. It would be a good thing for everyone involved. Your parents could stay on with us in the house as long as they live. You and I would make a good partnership.”
Marva felt as if she were watching the little scene from somewhere far away. She stared at Parker’s earnest face until he looked away in confusion. “Meaning no insult, ma’am. I thought—I hoped—you might approve the idea.”
With an effort, she gathered her senses. “I am not insulted, Mr. Parker. I simply. . .I had never considered such a thing. You say my parents have approved?”
He nodded, his gray eyes lighting up. “I’ll not press you for an answer, Miss Marva. We’ve time to consider.” He bobbed an awkward little bow and made his escape.
Marva returned to the house as if in a trance. Marry J. D. Parker? Her parents wanted her to marry him?
While she prepared the evening meal, Marva pondered this unexpected turn of events. Her parents chatted comfortably to each other, apparently unaware of their daughter’s inner turmoil. During supper she picked at her food, feeling J. D.’s frequent glances from across the table. As soon as he finished eating, he excused himself and stepped outside. He never stayed for Papa’s nightly Bible reading.
Thinking of J. D.’s proposal, of all that marriage to him would certainly entail, gave her an inward shudder. Nice man though he was, she had no interest whatsoever in giving herself to him as a wife. At one time she might have snapped up his offer, considering it the best chance she was likely to receive. At one time she had been foolish.
But then again, had she ever actually been that foolish? Over the years she had discouraged the attentions of many would-be swains. Always her heart had continued to hope that somewhere out there in the great world existed at least one man whom she could respect and love without reserve.
Was she being unfair to J. D.? Although he attended church regularly, she had no idea what he believed about God and salvation. He was also rough with the animals at times, demonstrating a lack of patience and kindness.
Papa closed his Bible, and Marva realized she had not listened to one word. While he led in prayer, she closed her eyes and had her own private conversation with the Lord.
Please guide me, Lord. I am terribly confused! I have pleaded with Thee for wisdom and guidance, but I’ve heard no answer. I don’t know what to do!
Papa shoved back his chair and patted his stomach. “Another excellent meal, daughter. Nothing like fresh pork chops.” Something crackled in the bib of his overall. He paused and reached into the pocket, pulling out a folded, crumpled letter. “Ah, forgot about this.”
She reached to take the letter he held out to her.
“It came the other day, and I plumb forgot about it. I ask your pardon for an old man’s faulty memory.”
Marva glanced up from her perusal of the unfamiliar handwriting on the envelope long enough to smile at her father. “Of course, Papa. I’m just as forgetful as you are.”
“Who is it from, Marva?” Mother asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ll read it after I clean up the kitchen.” She had no desire to read her unexpected letter under her parents’ curious eyes.
Although she didn’t like to suspect them of inordinate curiosity, Papa and Mother did seem to stay up past their usual bedtime hour. Once, while she swept the kitchen floor, she caught her mother watching her with an expectant look. “What’s the matter?” Marva paused to ask.
Mother waffled for a moment, then said in carefully casual tones, “I was simply wondering when you planned to read your letter.”
“Probably after I go upstairs.” Hearing a meow, she opened the outer door to let in two waiting cats. They rubbed about her ankles while she hung up the dishtowels to dry over the stove. After giving each one a small plate of minced pork chop, she squatted down to pet her kitties while they ate.
Bef
ore she headed upstairs, she kissed her parents good night. Her mother wore a fixed expression as if trying to appear unconcerned. “Good night, dear.” Even her voice sounded restrained.
Marva caught her father giving her mother a warning look, but he instantly switched it to a fond smile as she bent over him. “Good night, Papa.”
“Good night, my Marva.”
The cats followed her upstairs and laid claim to the bed. Her bedchamber was cold. She probably should have brought up a hot brick for her feet, but she hadn’t thought ahead to warm one. Shivering, she set her candle and the letter on her bedside table and deliberately prepared for bed. She took down her hair, brushed it, braided it, and tucked it beneath her nightcap. Wearing woolen socks with her flannel nightgown, she slipped beneath her coverlet and two quilts. The cats immediately curled up at her sides like two purring hot-water bottles.
At last she reached for her letter and tore open the envelope. Rising to lean on one elbow, she tilted the page so that the candlelight fell upon it.
Dear Marva,
I hope I do not offend by addressing you so, but in truth, you are inestimably dear to me. Your recent letter in the Enquirer with its clever allusions to our adventures together fills me with hope that my suit is not entirely abhorrent to you. Can you truly forgive and forget my wicked past and accept me as a new man in Jesus Christ? I would have spoken many times while you graced my lodge with your lovely presence, and I would have revealed my identity as your newsprint admirer—had not fear held me in its grip—fear of your rejection if you knew me for what I am. I do not know how long ago you guessed my identity as your devoted Lucky in Lakeland. I guessed—I hoped—you might prove to be my Lonely in Longtree that first evening when I met you at my brother’s cabin.
Already I was fond of you in print. Never had I imagined that my hoped-for bride would be as beautiful as a man’s daydreams! How often have I invented for my fictional heroes lovely heroines whose descriptions closely match yours. I laugh to think of it. How well God knows my heart!