Lonely In Longtree

by Jill Stengl

  Does your letter indicate that you forgive my cowardice, my foolish attempt at deception? Is it possible that you return my regard? Is it possible, dare I dream that your parents might accept one such as I as their son-in-law? I can hardly eat or sleep for mixed dread and urgency to learn your reply.

  I could write paeans to your beauty and grace—in fact, I have written them, and they lay crumpled around my feet. Lest I annoy you with rapturous expressions of devotion, I herein attempt to be sparing of words and simply ask the questions that weight my soul.

  Soon I shall travel to your town to visit my brother and his family. Although I eagerly anticipate my visit with them, my true heart’s desire is to be with you again, to deepen our acquaintance into friendship and more—much more. I demand nothing of you, beloved; I have no right. I simply lay my heart at your feet and humbly implore you to take me as your husband.

  Yours always,

  Montague Van Huysen

  PS I am extraordinarily fond of one particular Petunia.

  Marva read the letter through several times. It was true! Her fondest dream was actually true! How could this be? Dare she believe that all these years her heart had waited for this one man to enter her life? That God had caused her to wait in solitude while He prepared Monte Van Huysen to become her husband?

  But this was not the time for deep introspection; this was the time to revel in his admiration and love. And his beautiful writing! How many men of her acquaintance could express their feelings with such poetic grace?

  None other. Not even one.

  Monte wants to marry me! He thinks I’m beautiful!

  Smiling, laughing, and crying, she hugged her cats and gave whispered thanks to the Lord. Long into the night she lay awake, thinking and dreaming and wondering. What would he do? When would he come? Would he insist upon a proper courtship, or would he ask for a quick wedding? Which would be better?

  But when morning dawned, doubts and indecision crept back into her heart. The main question was the one Monte had asked: Would her parents accept him? They had seemed to like him well enough at the lodge, but Monte as expert fishing guide and genial host was a vastly different proposition from Monte the ex-convict as a prospective son-in-law.

  She did her morning chores distractedly, sometimes drifting off in thought until a protesting moo or a lashing tail brought her back to reality. While watching her chapped hands draw milk from a cow’s pendulous udder, she recognized the irony of her current dilemma.

  J. D. Parker offered exactly the kind of marriage she had decided to settle for back when she wrote that original ad—a loveless business partnership designed to keep the farm in Marva’s family. But she no longer desired that kind of marriage. How had she ever imagined that such an arrangement would satisfy her needs? Blind stubbornness and disrespect for God had brought her to make such foolish choices.

  Although Parker had worked around the farm since early summer, she scarcely knew the man and felt no attachment to him whatsoever. As far as she could tell, he had no feelings for her either. His interest lay entirely in the farm; proposing marriage to Marva was simply a necessary step in obtaining possession of her family’s property.

  Hearing a mew, she turned to see Patches and Tigress watching her hopefully. With a smile, she squirted a little milk in their direction and watched the cats lick it from each other’s fur. Funny creatures.

  Rising, she patted Annabelle’s bony hip and lifted the full pail. The elderly shorthorn still produced a fine calf every year, and her milk production rivaled that of younger cows. “Good ol’ girl.”

  Marva lugged the pail toward the milk room, where sloshing noises indicated that J. D. Parker was hard at work. The cats followed at her heels, cleaning up any involuntary spills.

  The top of Mr. Parker’s head reflected lamplight as he bent over a milk can. He looked up at Marva’s approach and set down an empty bucket.

  “Here, let me take that.”

  Marva handed over her full pail and watched J. D. empty it into the can. Patches hurried to lick up a puddle near the can, but J. D. shoved the cat away with his boot. “Git.”

  Marva scooped up her insulted kitty for a cuddle. What would it harm to let the cats clean up spills? They earned their keep on the farm by keeping rodent populations down.

  Most of the birds and beasts raised on a farm would someday be killed for food, yet Papa treated his animals with kindness as long as they lived. Whenever he was obliged to slaughter a beast, he always dispatched it as quickly and painlessly as possible. Although Parker was never cruel to the animals, he showed little regard for their comfort or feelings.

  A sudden memory of Monte’s mare resting her head on his shoulder while he rubbed her ears and murmured nonsensical sweet talk brought a smile to her face. Monte would appreciate her cats, she felt certain, and they would like him.

  Was she making excuses for her possibly selfish decision to choose Monte over Mr. Parker? Emotions could easily blind a woman’s heart to wisdom. She needed wise and objective counsel, but where could she find such a thing?

  ❧

  Holding his carpetbag in one hand, Monte stepped onto the crowded station platform. The little town of Longtree was busier than he had expected. No one greeted him at the station, since he had sent Myles no definite date of arrival. Rather than crowd into his brother’s house, he had decided to lodge in town.

  Stopping a gentleman on the street, he inquired, “Can you recommend a hotel or boardinghouse?”

  “Certainly, sir. Amelia Martin runs the best place in town.”

  Monte followed the stranger’s directions and soon found himself at a neat establishment located on a side street. The proprietress, an angular, gray-haired woman wearing a stiffly starched apron over a baggy gown, showed him to a small but immaculate bedchamber. “Dinner is served at six in the dining room.” Her voice was incongruously deep. “Don’t be late if you want to eat.”

  After the door closed behind her with a sharp click, Monte unpacked his bag and hung his clothes on wall hooks. Kicking off his shoes, he stretched out on the bed, folded his hands behind his head, and regarded the ceiling. Although no coherent requests passed through his mind, let alone his lips, a constant prayer rose from the depths of his spirit.

  When he arrived downstairs at precisely six, men of varied descriptions filled the dining room with rumbling voices and nearly overpowering body odor. Most of these diners would not be residents of the boardinghouse, he deduced. Women were noticeably absent from their number. He pulled out a chair between a natty salesman-looking type and a sweat-stained laborer with shaggy hair and beard.

  Mrs. Martin and an elderly man called Boz waited on the table. Boz had full use of only one arm, yet he managed to carry platters and bowls of food, pour drinks, and otherwise satisfy his customers. Monte soon guessed that Boz was husband to Mrs. Martin.

  The food was excellent, and the dinner conversation offered nearly as much information as a scan of the weekly newspaper. Monte heard many familiar names, including his brother’s, during the course of the meal.

  “Listen up! I got news.”

  Everyone, including Monte, gazed toward the far end of the table, where a man with a large red nose tapped on his glass with his spoon. “I just come from the Shamrock, where J. D. Parker bought drinks all around ‘cuz he’s fixin’ to get married.”

  The man seated next to him shook his head. “I heard that tale, too, but the fact is, she ain’t given J. D. no answer yet. Ask me, and I’d say he’s counting his chickens too soon.”

  “Who’s the woman?” another man called from Monte’s end of the table.

  “Marva Obermeier,” answered Red Nose.

  Monte’s fork stopped halfway to his open mouth.

  “Eh, he’s good as married. That woman’s been desperate to catch a man for twenty years.
” Bitterness laced the speaker’s voice.

  “If that’s so, why’d she turn you down, Nugget?” someone else shouted, earning raucous and mocking laughter.

  Recovering his poise, Monte laid down his fork and took a sip of water.

  “And you, Buff. I hear you proposed to her once.”

  “That was ten years ago. I reckon most of us have made a try for her and her farm at some time or other,” the burly farmhand at Monte’s left admitted.

  “I heard tell she advertised for a husband in the paper.”

  “That was a sales gimmick,” another voice said in scoffing tones. “Face it, Marva could take her pick of us if she weren’t so particular. If J. D. wins her, he’s one lucky fellow.”

  Amelia Martin burst into the room, leaned over, and smacked a platter of bread on the table. “Enough of your gossip,” she snapped. “And they say women talk too much!”

  Monte took a bite of buttered bread but found it difficult to swallow.

  Sixteen

  And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment.

  Philippians 1:9

  “Mr. Parker, may I have a word with you?” Marva hoped he would attribute the quiver in her voice to the morning chill. Hands clutching at her shawl, she watched him load a full milk can into the wagon.

  He immediately hopped down and faced her, rubbing his gloved hands on his thighs. His quick breath steamed from his smiling mouth. “Anytime.” Bold admiration glistened in his pale eyes.

  “This will take only a moment of your time, actually.” She squared her shoulders and forged ahead. “After much prayer and consideration, I have determined that I must refuse your flattering offer of marriage.”

  He stared at her without blinking. She saw his hands close into fists. “Why?”

  “I have already given my heart to another man. If he will not marry me, I shall remain single.”

  Tight lips and an angry glare revealed the man’s feelings. “Who?” he finally asked through clenched teeth.

  “I cannot see how that information is your concern, sir. I appreciate the honor you gave me by requesting my hand in marriage, but such an arrangement would never work.” With a quick nod, she turned back toward the house.

  His hand closed over her upper arm, stopping her short. Sensing his vastly superior strength, she turned to stare at him, her throat closing in fear.

  “I’ll not stay on this farm as a hired hand. Tell your father either you marry me or he sells the place to me or I leave.” Anger glittered in Parker’s red-rimmed eyes.

  Marva nodded.

  He released her and turned away.

  ❧

  Tension stretched a long silence to the snapping point. Marva chewed a tiny bite of chicken and had to wash it down with a quick gulp of milk. Parker’s sullen stare from across the supper table made her flesh creep. No matter what her parents might say, she did not regret refusing his proposal.

  At last Papa laid his napkin across his plate and reached back to pull the Bible from its shelf. Before he could open it, Parker pushed back his chair and spoke.

  “Unless you’ll sell this place to me, Obermeier, I’ll be pulling out in the next few days.”

  Papa laid the Bible on the table and folded his hands atop it. “I see no reason why we cannot discuss terms of sale. Shall we set up a time to meet tomorrow at the bank?” He spoke with unaccustomed formality.

  Parker’s aggressive manner dissolved into pleased surprise. “Yes, sir, that would be right fine with me.”

  “After dinner, shall we say?”

  “After dinner,” Parker agreed. “You are serious? You’ll consider selling out?”

  “I’ll certainly consider your offer, Mr. Parker.”

  Smiling, the hired man rose and excused himself. To Marva’s relief, he did not glance her way. “I’ll check the stock once more before I head to town.”

  “You have always been dependable and hardworking, Parker. Thank you.” Papa rose to shake Parker’s hand before the hired man departed.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Mother let out her breath in a long and noisy sigh. “Oh, Gustaf, how marvelous! Thank the Lord!” She suddenly covered her face with a handkerchief.

  Marva stared in startled consternation. “Mother?”

  Her mother lowered the handkerchief to reveal her smiling face. “Such a relief! Oh, thank God! I was so afraid you would agree to marry that man, Marva. He asked your father’s permission to propose marriage to you, and we feared you would accept him out of desperation. How I have prayed that you would be wise!”

  Papa snorted softly. “I told you to have faith in our daughter’s good sense. Parker is not a bad man, but why should Marva marry him?”

  Mother leaned forward, her intense gaze holding Marva captive. “Years ago, Papa and I promised each other never again to interfere in your matters of the heart, but I never expected to find it so difficult to keep that promise! When you advertised for a husband in the newspaper, I thought I should die of shock.”

  “You knew?”

  “Not at first,” Papa answered. “But over time we figured it out.”

  “Always we hoped you would confide in us,” Mother said, her tone reproachful. “We might have helped in your search for Lucky while we stayed at the lodge.”

  “Although, as it turns out, we found him for you on our first attempt,” Papa added with a grin. “I suspected he might advertise his lodge in our newspaper for a reason. Never guessed about his being Myles’s lost brother, of course. To be honest, I thought Mr. Stowell was the man at first. I didn’t know about his partner.”

  “Dearest, why are you tormenting that man?” Mother asked. “Have you answered his letter? His past is disgraceful, to be sure, but the Lord has changed him into a man whom any woman should be justly proud to wed.”

  Marva could hardly speak. “How long have you known?”

  “We figured things out sooner than you did,” Mother said, reaching across the table to pat Marva’s hand. “Probably because we could observe the matter more objectively. Both Mr. Stowell and Mr. Van Huysen admired you from the first, but Mr. Van Huysen had an air of purpose about him.”

  “Purpose mixed with fear.” Papa frowned. “I didn’t understand the fear until I read his confession in the newspaper.”

  “You know he is truly a man of God now, don’t you, Papa?” Marva asked.

  “Had I not come to know and respect him prior to his confession, I would have been reluctant to admit such a change would be possible. This old man has learned a lesson about God’s redemptive power. It galls me to marry my only daughter to an ex-convict, yet at the same time, I am proud to marry my only daughter to a godly man and famous author. I believe he will make you happy.”

  Mother smiled and shook her head. “Happy is too weak a word. Such joy I found in seeing a fine man look upon our daughter with love and devotion in his eyes! And to know that she returns his love!” She heaved another ecstatic sigh. “God’s ways are always best.”

  “But now what shall we do?” Marva asked. “I have not yet answered his letter because I did not know what to say. Yes, I love him and wish to marry him, but I cannot simply hop on a train and travel north.”

  Papa nodded decidedly. “Leave that to me, child. I’ll write to inform Mr. Van Huysen of our plans to sell the farm and move north.”

  “You plan to move north, too?”

  Her parents appeared surprised by her question. “But of course,” Papa said. “We have been discussing this for months—ever since our summer vacation. The winters up north might be harsher than winters here, but there we might remain indoors in a luxurious lodge, read, and visit with our daughter and her husband. What more could a lazy old couple like us desire?”

  “We sha
ll come with you and accept your Mr. Van Huysen’s proposal. I’ve been sorting through possessions these past months, preparing for a move,” Mother said in her practical way.

  Marva’s gaze shifted back and forth between their beloved faces as her thoughts scrambled to catch up. Laughter built inside her until it spilled out in a hearty peal. “You darlings! How sneaky you are!”

  ❧

  “We’re home!”

  Marva hurried to the door to greet her parents. “How did the meeting go?”

  “Quite well,” Papa said, letting her take his muffler and hang it on a wall hook.

  Before he could say another word, Mother inserted, “Marva, guess who we saw in town—Monte Van Huysen!”

  Marva paused with her mouth ajar, then gathered her thoughts enough to respond, “Oh.”

  “He apparently arrived the day before yesterday, and of course he’s been at his brother’s house to visit, although he is staying at the Martins’ boardinghouse.” Mother’s eyes snapped with excitement. “He stopped your father and—” Her flow of words cut off suddenly, and she gave her husband an apologetic glance. “But Papa can tell you. . . .”

  Papa finished hanging up his coat and Mother’s. Then, placing his arm around Marva’s shoulders, he walked beside her into the kitchen. “He asked if he might call on us this afternoon.”

  “Today?” Marva’s throat nearly closed with a combination of panic and joy.

  “You’d best tidy yourself before he arrives,” Mother suggested. “The bread smells wonderful, and you baked apple kuchen as well, did you not?”

  “I’ll brew fresh coffee,” Papa volunteered.

  Marva changed into her blue dimity frock, the most becoming of her gowns, though rather light for the season. Seated at her dressing table, she fussed with her hair, pulling wisps down to wave in front of her ears. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright.

  Could a woman die of love? For the first time, she believed it possible.

  ❧

  The sheen of frost coated grass and trees. Monte’s breath froze on his scarf, and his hired horse’s breath beaded its whiskers. Clop, clop, clop. It trotted along a country road, carrying him ever closer to Marva, ever closer to his future.