by Amber Miller
Joy touched his gaze. How could he feel joy in the midst of this tragedy?
He squeezed her hand. “With God. . .we will watch. . .you.” A pain-filled but reassuring smile formed on his lips. He winced, and his breath caught. “Our land. . .”
“I’ll take care of it, Papa. But I can’t do it alone.” Raelene sniffed. “I need you, Papa.”
Her father struggled to take another breath. His pain added to hers. “Not alone. . .have help.”
Help? From where? From whom?
“God. . .” He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked straight at her. “Remember. . .God. . .is with you.”
“I need you, Papa, not God. Do you hear me?”
He put his hand on Raelene’s lap, his gaze fixed across the small divide where his wife lay. “Help me, Railey. I want to touch her once more.”
Numb, Raelene took her mother’s still-warm hand and joined it with her father’s, holding the two together with her own.
She didn’t know how long she held them, her eyes squeezed tight against the flood of tears building behind them. Raelene couldn’t think. She could only feel the loss of the present and of that to come. It was unbearable, yet she was bearing it.
Bearing it in silence. The labor of her father’s breath no longer racked the room. She opened her eyes to see that his eyes were closed as if he’d slipped off to sleep, a sleep as still and eternal as that of her mother. Their pain was gone.
Hers had just begun.
The depth of that pain hit her. She cried for her mother, for her father, for her unknown brother or sister, for the family back home across the ocean. Finally, she cried for herself, for how much she would miss them, for how unfair it was that she couldn’t be with them. What would she do now?
Bitterness and anger welled, joining the desolation that filled her. Not wanting to stay in the room where death filled every crack and crevice, Raelene wiped her eyes, stood, and headed for the kitchen. Four people watched her as she emerged, but grief blinded her to their identities.
“They’re. . .they’re both gone.” Her announcement carried a sense of finality, taking her last sliver of strength.
Raelene took one stumbling step before her legs gave out. The crash of a wooden bench reached her ears at the same time two strong arms caught her. Anger at God was the last thought Raelene had before she succumbed to the blackness that welcomed her.
Two
The breeze made a sorrowful sound as it swept across the sloping hills and through the bud-filled trees. With the dismal sky, it created a perfect backdrop to the events taking place on the corner plot of the Strattford farm. Rain was the only thing needed to complete the somber scene.
The handful of dirt sifted through Raelene’s fingers and dusted the pine boxes that held her beloved parents. A snake, a loose bolt, and a pair of spooked horses had deprived Raelene of joy and sentenced her to a barren stretch of loneliness.
She had cried enough to fill the entire Christina River all the way north to Wilmington and wished she’d died with them. The fever that had kept Raelene in bed and away from church had run its course. She could have gone with her parents, but her mother had made her stay at home.
Now she faced the world alone. The pastor’s eulogy droned in her ears, fading to a distant echo as the events of the past two days played over in her mind. The neighbors stopping by with food and words of condolence. The sad faces. Raelene mechanically going through the motions. None of it brought her comfort.
“God is with you, child.”
Raelene startled out of her reverie at the voice beside her, repeating her father’s final words. She looked up and met the kind eyes of the pastor who had officiated. He had served at the parish in town, but after her family had moved out to the farm, they had switched parishes. Although in no mood to talk, Raelene nodded.
“I’m sorry we did not get into town often. Mama and Papa missed your sermons.”
The pastor covered her hands with his own. “Your family is as important to me as all of my sheep. My duty to our Lord is to tend to each one in need. When I heard of the accident, I could not deny your request to come.”
“Th–thank you.”
“Do not fret, my child. ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ ”
Joy? In the morning? It had been two mornings since the accident, and joy was as absent from her life as were her parents. Unable to acknowledge the comfort the pastor offered, Raelene allowed her gaze to focus on the two pine boxes that lay side by side, waiting to be lowered into the ground and forgotten.
Forgotten by everyone but her.
A tiny box in honor of the unborn child had been crafted and placed upon the one that held her mother. Raelene swallowed against the swell of emotion. Her throat burned at the thoughtful gesture.
Her ties to this land amounted to nothing. What good was a home and land without loved ones?
She tried not to dwell on the bleak future awaiting her, but her mind refused to listen. If she hadn’t promised her father on his deathbed that she would fulfill his lifelong dream, she’d have purchased passage on the next ship to return to their homeland across the frigid Atlantic. Her paternal family in England would welcome her with open arms. Even her mother’s family in Sweden would be happy to have her, despite their initial disapproval of her mother marrying a man in the British Royal Navy. He would be wed to his service, they had said. Years later, when Papa had resigned his commission, Mama’s family had warned her against going with him to a strange land rumored to be inhabited by savages—a barren wasteland sure to kill them all.
Well, Mama’s family had been right about one thing. The land had killed Raelene’s parents. Now she was bound by her love for them and her promise to make something of that land. . .alone. No matter what Papa and the pastor said, she’d do it alone. She had put her trust in God for the last time.
❧
Gustaf Hanssen watched Raelene step away from the three coffins and raise a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Just as he was tempted to go to her and offer comfort, she straightened her back and lifted her chin, demonstrating an amazing inner strength.
There’d always been a certain depth beneath her delicate features and feminine ways. It’s what had attracted him from the start and made him approach Mr. Strattford about courting his only daughter. Her family had purchased the land six months ago, before winter set in, not in time for planting or harvesting.
Raelene’s strength and spirit were admirable in one so young. Other women he knew wouldn’t have been able to withstand the funeral service or watch as the men lowered the boxes into the ground and covered them with dirt. Several strands of her honey blond hair fluttered around her face. She didn’t appear to notice, just stood like a statue, her face frozen in grief. And shock, no doubt.
The small gathering of friends approached and offered their condolences. She met them with cursory responses, her demeanor demure. Finally, his family approached her. Gustaf knew he should probably be with them, but he held back.
“Take care of her,” her father had said as Gustaf placed Duncan’s broken body into the back of his father’s wagon. Duncan had placed his hand on Gustaf’s arm and implored him with his pain-filled eyes. “She’s headstrong, but she needs a friend. . . . Please. . .promise me.”
Gustaf had.
Now what was he going to do? He’d have to talk to Raelene sooner or later. As his three brothers and two sisters, along with his father and mother, stepped away, Gustaf drew near.
Words failed him. The intensity of the pain clouding Raelene’s sapphire eyes struck him. But the unwavering jut of her chin told him the fight hadn’t left her. She didn’t want his comfort any more than she had wanted him. After all, he was just a farm boy. Worse yet. A son who would never inherit the family land once his father left
this world.
Gustaf shoved his hands in his pockets, torn between anger and a contrary urge to take Raelene in his arms and give her the comfort she needed, regardless of what she thought she wanted. Instead, he focused on ridding his words of the thick accent that plagued him in her presence and maintaining a respectful distance.
“Miss Strattford, I want to give you my sorrow. It is a sad day.”
She peered up at him through narrowed eyes. Not a word escaped her perfectly formed lips. Not a line marred her smooth skin. At her unyielding stare, his discomfort intensified. Unable to stand the prolonged silence, Gustaf cleared his throat.
“You will find someone to buy this land from you, ja?” The words came out in an accented tumble.
Wrong choice of words. Fire melted the ice in her blue gaze. Her small hands balled into fists at her sides as she answered with more vigor than she’d displayed since running down the lane the day of the accident.
“No, I will not!”
Gustaf reeled inwardly, the fierce assault of her words battering his thoughts. “Well, since my father owns—”
“I am well aware of who your father is. You need not remind me.”
Perhaps the bite to her words was a shield against her true emotions. Gathering his scant patience, he tried again. “But I thought—”
“What you thought, Mr. Hanssen,” she said, emphasizing the formality of his name, “doesn’t matter.”
The transformation from a grief-wilted daughter to a prickly rose robbed Gustaf of an acceptable reply. More than anything, he wanted to match fire with fire against the irascible young woman. Forget his promise. He’d head west like he’d planned before being thrown into the middle of this. Let her fend for herself with her high-toned ways. Gustaf clenched his fists and almost walked away. But his strict upbringing stopped him.
He extended his hand to her, wondering if she would ignore it. Should he have washed his hands before coming? Hesitant, Raelene took it, no doubt out of her instruction in deportment rather than because she wanted to treat him with any form of civility. A pained smile touched her lips.
“Miss Strattford, I am sorry if I cause you more grief. I want to say I am sad about your mor and far.” At her answering silence, Gustaf made one last attempt to repair the damage. “Deg Gud till aere oss till gavn.”
To God be glory, us to gain.
Her stony appraisal cracked with recognition of the common Swedish prayer. She tugged her hand free from his, her expression softening. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of tears glistening in her eyes.
Gustaf groaned in silence. A woman’s tears were his undoing. Why did she have to show her vulnerability? His words had touched her. That much was obvious. Now he’d have to stay. But he’d have to guard his heart, lest she serve it to him in a trencher. It wasn’t good enough for her, anyway.
❧
Raelene watched Gustaf walk away, trying to ignore the distraction that turned her already topsy-turvy emotions over again. His mere presence wreaked havoc on her senses. How dare he suggest she sell her land? Didn’t he know she could see right through his words to his true intentions? Just like when he had asked Papa for permission to marry her. He had only his interests at heart. . .not hers. Papa had been willing to agree to the marriage, but Raelene had rejected it.
She noted the broad expanse of Gustaf’s shoulders and back and the inherent grace of his movements. He worked hard but possessed a gentle side. His determination reminded her of her father, although she had never seen eyes in such a dark shade of blue. They showed compassion, then steel. And his accent brought back memories of her mother.
How could she be looking at Gustaf that way? He was only after the land. She’d have to keep her traitorous thoughts in check and remember his true motives.
Raelene inhaled to lessen the tightness in her chest as she stood alone once again on the land of her parents.
Her land now.
The first drops of rain splashed onto her cheeks, the desolation of the day complete. The final words of her father echoed in her mind, but she couldn’t give in to the comfort they offered. Even Gustaf’s parting blessing did little to remedy the hopelessness within.
As she surveyed the gently sloping acreage, Gustaf’s words played over and over. “Deg Gud till aere oss till gavn. To God be glory, us to gain.” She heard her mother’s voice speak the common blessing, and the memory nearly undermined her muster of courage. Surely Gustaf couldn’t have known that when he said it. Nor could he suspect the bitter aftermath that now flooded through her.
“Deg Gud till aere.”
God, she thought in contempt, the plop of shovel-loads of dirt being tossed into the graves echoing behind her.
Give glory to Him? Why should she?
He’d taken away everything she held dear and left her alone on this barren land with no one to mourn with her. If anything, she would survive on her own. She would fulfill her promise to her mother and father.
And she would do it alone.
“Oss till gavn.”
Us to gain.
Yes, that’s exactly what would happen. She would gain from the work she put into this land, just like her father had promised. And when she was finished, she would have a legacy created by her own hand. Not God’s or anyone else’s. Hers alone.
Three
Raelene dumped a half-eaten bowl of porridge into the pail near the back door. What little she’d eaten, she’d barely tasted. Although grateful to the women who had brought food to her for the past week, she didn’t have much appetite. As owner of this farm, she found that more important tasks occupied her mind and time.
She grabbed her mother’s pearl-accented reticule and opened the clasp to make certain the halfpence and farthings were tucked inside. With the land agreement in hand, she headed outside to hitch up the buggy. She stepped inside the barn in need of repair that housed the four horses and two cows, half expecting to see her father busy with the feeding. Nearby sat the pile of wood he’d started to gather in preparation for the repairs.
You have to be strong, Raelene. Her father’s familiar admonition made her sweep away her tears with the back of her hand and square her shoulders. A solid barn was first on her list.
She harnessed her favorite horse and ran her hand across the slope of his solid bay coat and over his withers. Like warm satin. . .the opposite of his coarse mane and tail. At sixteen hands and with a wide forehead, strong back, and sturdy hooves, the Andalusian was an ideal companion for her daily rides. It was an indignity to relegate him to pulling a buggy, but he was well trained to the task and she needed a familiar companion today. She couldn’t bear to harness Papa’s hunter, Jägar. That stud had been with Papa through his British military days. His name made him every bit as much a hunter as his breed.
Raelene reached for Valdig’s reins with one hand, touching the animal’s soft jowl, and peered into his charcoal eyes. “One of these days, Valdig, this land will have a magnificent barn with twenty stalls, a place to store hay, and plenty of room for a workshop. Just like Papa dreamed.” She kissed his forelock, then hitched him to the buggy. “We’ll have workhorses to pull the plow and lead the wagon, and you and Jägar will be free to run as you were born to do.”
Valdig brushed his muzzle against her cheek and whinnied. Raelene smiled, hungry for affection, a break in the unbearable loneliness, even if it came from a horse. She gave Valdig a final pat and hoisted herself into the buggy. With a slap of the reins against Valdig’s back, they set off at a plodding pace down the dirt road.
Almost three weeks had passed since she’d ventured this far from the land. Her illness and her parents’ deaths had kept her close to home. With the exception of church services once a month, or every two weeks when the weather cooperated, Raelene and her parents had been storing up supplies for the winter and
worked on the farm, erecting the building she now called home. Made of brick and mortar with just a kitchen, bedroom, and the loft where she slept, it was enough to get started.
But Papa had had much higher dreams for the place.
I want to build a grand house with room for social gatherings, Papa had often said. And it’ll have plenty of bedrooms for the future generations we hope and pray to have.
“Despite your prayers, Papa, you never had that big family your heart desired.” Instead Raelene and nine small graves marked by wooden crosses back in England were his only legacy. Yet another request God had chosen to ignore.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves echoed on the hard-packed dirt. A slight breeze whispered through the evergreens and oaks that lined the earth-and-gravel path toward town. Mourning doves and sparrows called out to each other as they flew from tree to tree, some taking food back to their nests for the babies nestled there. Raelene was tempted to stop and pick one of the sweet honeysuckle blossoms along the roadside to scent her purse, but she refrained.
It hardly seemed fair that life could go on so vividly around her when her parents lay dead and buried. It was as if God were adding salt to the raw wounds of her grief.
Besides, she had no time for fanciful dreaming or picking flowers. Raelene held a responsibility normally shared by two people. Working the land to make her parents’ dreams come true was all that lay ahead for her.
“Anything beyond that will have to wait.”
With a determined set of her jaw, she slapped the reins again and clucked to Valdig to go faster. She needed to speak with the man who held the note to the farm and convince him she was capable of honoring the agreement her father had made. After Papa resigned his commission with the navy, they had had only their investments to start over with in the colonies. Two years later, they had regained their holdings, but the final payments had yet to be made. The sooner she could get to town, the sooner she could make good on Papa’s promise.