by Amber Miller
Lord, I hope Mr. Harvey will deal with—
Raelene broke off the prayer. Old habits died hard.
“You abandoned me when I and my parents needed You most,” she said. “Why would You be here now?”
“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
The words floated across her mind like the butterfly that glided over the wild honeysuckle vines. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, vexed by the uninvited verse. It would take awhile to unlearn all the Bible verses she’d been taught from the time she could sit at her father’s knee. Her parents had told her the words would comfort her whenever she needed them. But they hadn’t. They made her angry.
God’s Word was as empty as her heart.
Despite His promise, He’d left her—forsaken and alone. And He’d left her parents. Their faithfulness hadn’t helped them when they needed God most. Raelene wouldn’t make the same mistake.
As the edge of town came into view, Raelene slowed Valdig to a trot. The horse’s hooves echoed on the cobblestones. On her right, the millinery and leather shops flanked the candle store that her family had sold last year when her father bought their land. Even from this distance, she could smell the wax and hear her mother’s words.
“Raelene, remember to dip them in beeswax to make them last longer.”
A bittersweet smile formed on her lips. Oh, the grand times they’d shared. Papa had brought them to America in 1736, when Raelene was fourteen, and opened the shop to give them a stable income while he saved money to buy land. Almost three years later, memories were all she had left.
Between the buildings, an alley led to the back doors of quarters where owners lived above their shops—a gap, just like the one that now existed in her life with a door that allowed only pain inside. The candy shop came next. Memories of lemon drops, candy balls, and sweet treats that Papa brought home tied in a cloth almost brought another smile to her face. What she wouldn’t give to be that girl again, carefree and so loved.
Raelene clenched her jaw against a quiver of emotion. She had to stop reminiscing, think of anything but what used to be or what might have been.
With her mind focused on her objective, she turned the buggy around the town green. Sunlight filtered through the trees and cast light on the sign placed at one end: New Castle, Founded in 1651.
Almost one hundred years later, and despite the progress evident in town, Raelene felt as if time stood still. Behind the sign, several children ran and played. A barking dog jumped in the middle of the melee, causing some of the children to stumble over the furry animal and giggle even more.
Raelene ignored them. The business she had required all her focus. She drew the buggy to a stop in front of the town hall. In her rush to escape anything that might trigger more anguish, her skirt caught on the metal tread as she stepped down, jerking her off balance. She tumbled forward and would have landed on the ground had it not been for the firm arm that caught and steadied her.
“Oh my. Thank—” Her gratitude died on her lips as her gaze met that of her rescuer.
Gustaf.
What was he doing here? It seemed like every time something bad happened, his face appeared.
“I have my footing now, thank you.” She withdrew her elbow from his large, work-hardened hand.
He called after her as she turned to leave. “Miss Strattford. . .”
Raelene spun around to face him once more. He opened his mouth as if he had something important to say but remained silent. She hoped it wasn’t anything to do with selling the land.
“You look well today.”
The man was an oaf. . .but those eyes of his. If he could put into words what they suggested, they could make a girl feel like Helen of Troy.
“Thank you, Mr. Hanssen.” Raelene couldn’t help but feel flattered.
“I say many prayers for you.” The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. Somehow it breeched the wary wall Raelene had built around her beleaguered heart and struck a kindred chord. If she were honest with herself, his face had never been far from her thoughts since the funeral when he’d spoken the Swedish blessing. She no longer believed its sentiments, but the thought behind it seemed sincere.
Or maybe she was so lonely she wanted it to be. She steeled herself. Trust no one—not God and certainly not the oafish man who hoped to gain by purchasing her parents’ land.
“Mr. Hanssen, if you do not have anything to say, I would like to be on my way. I have business to attend to and cannot afford to be detained while you founder in your ignorance.”
The admiration in his gaze hardened. “Maybe the next time you trip over your feet, I will let you fall onto the street. And”—he pointed toward the commons—“the shops for ladies are over there.”
The fluidity of his words made Raelene falter. Then she gathered her wits. “I am headed there.” She nodded at the town hall.
With what sounded like a combination snort and a chuckle, Gustaf jerked his thumb toward the building in front of them. “Mr. Harvey does business only with men. You are sure he will talk with you?”
No, she wasn’t, which made her all the more incensed by this farm worker’s condescension. Raelene rose to her full five-foot-four-inch height, chin tilted in defiance.
“Mr. Harvey will see me, Mr. Hanssen, because there is no one else to handle the affairs of my farm. It has been a week since. . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “If I am to continue living in my home,” she continued, “I must make certain my farm is secure.” She gathered her mother’s reticule close to her abdomen. “If you will excuse me.”
Gustaf remained rooted to the spot, probably trying to think of something else to say in that thick accent of his; but when she narrowed her eyes at him, he stepped aside. Raelene felt his gaze on her all the way to the main door of the hall. She was tempted to glance over her shoulder, but the idea of being caught looking back wasn’t worth the humiliation. She reached for the latch instead. Bracing herself with a deep breath, she stepped inside.
❧
Gustaf watched Raelene disappear inside the imposing brick edifice, into a world that was sure to swallow her whole. One moment, hot and thirsty from his volunteer work on the town hall, he was helping himself to a ladle of water, and the next, he was just in time to save the high-toned little vixen from sprawling onto the street.
Of course, he’d intended to head her off as soon as he realized her destination, but the moment he was confronted by the defiant tilt of her chin and those saucy retorts, words failed him—the right words, that was.
Why had he pointed out Mr. Harvey’s characteristic dislike for women in business? He’d started out with a reasonable compliment. She’d been flattered, too, judging by the way pink crept to her cheeks. But the moment he’d told her that he’d prayed for her—and he had—she acted as if he’d committed the original sin.
Gustaf couldn’t tell if she’d been mocking his faith or the fact that, in her eyes, he was nothing but a farm worker with no future, unworthy of conversation with the likes of her. That had fired up his temper. And when that happened. . .well, disaster struck.
How would he be able to keep his promise to look out for Raelene when he couldn’t speak to her without her mounting her high horse and riding over his pride?
Lord, I know I’m a prideful man, long on temper and short on patience. But You know my heart. Help me to honor my promise, so that I can move on with my life and my future.
Tension slowly flowed out through his fingertips. With it went the clouds of anger and frustration from his mind.
Care, tact, and timing. He needed all three to get Raelene to trust him if he was to help her get her place going. Caring was no problem. At least it hadn’t been before she refused his suit. He had to be there to support her, no matter how she trampled his pride. The tact
. . .well, he’d have to lean on God for that. As for timing, it was slipping away even as he stewed.
Gustaf stepped silently into the town hall and hoped no one would notice him. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw Raelene sitting on a cushioned bench across from one of Mr. Harvey’s personal assistants. Despite his pinched face and bespectacled eyes, the man could not conceal his contempt. Gustaf took a step forward, ready to defend the lady until he saw Raelene returning the gentleman’s disdain with an icy glare.
Having endured that glare himself, Gustaf didn’t envy the clerk one bit.
Mr. Harvey approached and extended his hand toward Raelene.
“Miss Strattford, I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances. Please allow me to extend my condolences on your loss.”
Raelene placed her gloved hand in the town father’s and dipped in a polite curtsy. “Thank you, Mr. Harvey. And thank you for seeing me.”
Harvey released her hand and motioned her into the office behind him. “Shall we?”
With a demure nod, Raelene preceded him through the massive oak-trimmed entrance.
Harvey appeared cordial enough, but just before he closed the door, Gustaf caught the patronizing exchange between the man and his clerk. The meeting would not go well.
Although work on the town hall needed to be done, Gustaf determined to wait until Raelene came back out. If she needed his assistance, he wanted to be there.
Aware that he’d aroused the interest of the clerk, Gustaf stepped outside for some fresh air and ambled over to the open window of Harvey’s office. Through the plants shading it from sunlight, Gustaf saw Raelene lower her gaze under the stern but sympathetic appraisal on Harvey’s face.
Was he going to call in her father’s note on the land?
Despite his own opinions about women and business, Gustaf knew he had to do something now. With a purposeful stride, he marched into the town hall and headed past the clerk, directly for Mr. Harvey’s office.
“I am sorry, b–but Councilman Harvey was imperative that he not be disturbed,” the man blabbered after him.
Gustaf nodded. “I know this. I should be in there, too, and I am late.”
He rapped twice on the solid oak door and entered. Ignoring the raised eyebrows of the town elder, Gustaf walked straight over to Raelene. With his most affectionate smile, he leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek. Shock riddled her face, blessedly rendering her speechless.
“Forgive me, my dear, that I am tardy.”
Straightening, Gustaf offered his hand to the dumbfounded councilman. “Mr. Harvey, I am Gustaf Hanssen, the overseer for Miss Strattford. . . .” Gustaf conjured another endearing glance at Raelene. “Until a better agreement can be made.”
Four
Councilman Harvey recovered first from the bold declaration. “Well, why didn’t you say so? That makes a substantial difference.”
Raelene still reeled in shock. Her skin tingled from the brief touch of Gustaf’s lips against her cheek.
Mr. Harvey focused his attention on Raelene. “Had you stated you had someone in mind, we wouldn’t need to discuss the issue of your marriage.”
Just one glimpse of the smug smile on Gustaf’s face thawed Raelene with annoyance at the man’s audacity to interrupt the meeting and pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
“Mr. Hanssen!” she said, clipping each syllable. “I—”
“I do apologize, Mr. Harvey.” Gustaf eased into the seat next to Raelene. “I hope I am not too late.”
How dare he? Raelene thought, gathering steam.
“Not at all, Mr. Hanssen,” Mr. Harvey replied, pausing for thought. “Hanssen. Hanssen.” Recognition sparked in his eyes. “Ah, yes. Jarel Hanssen is your father.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I should have recognized the name the moment you said it. The Hanssen farm is quite substantial.”
“Yes, it is.”
Had his chest just expanded a bit, or was it her imagination? Raelene wadded her fists in the folds of her skirts. It wouldn’t do to speak out of turn and risk losing what appeared to be her only chance to save her farm. Perhaps Gustaf could prove useful, after all.
“I am here to help Miss Strattford.”
Gustaf’s gaze found hers, and the sincerity in his eyes startled her. Her heart swelled as if receiving a message meant for it alone: that he cared about her and not just the land as her head insisted was his motive. While the two men exchanged formalities, Raelene sat in silence. She didn’t know what Gustaf was up to, but she did notice a change in the councilman’s countenance from the moment Gustaf entered the office. Perhaps the respect paid to Gustaf could be used to further her plans.
Raelene called a smile to her lips, aiming it first at Gustaf, then turning it on Mr. Harvey. She imitated Gustaf’s self-assured manner, sliding back from her perch at the edge of her seat until she rested against the curve of the chair’s back. These land issues must be settled in time for spring planting, no matter who settled them.
Ignoring her, Mr. Harvey adjusted the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose and gave a quick tug of his tailored broadcloth before settling into the high-backed chair behind the polished mahogany table. He leaned forward, and when two ringlets of his powdered wig fell forward, grazing his shoulders, Raelene had to suppress a giggle. This man was all pomp and utterly ridiculous, but he held her future in his hands.
“Now, Miss Strattford, I believe we were about to discuss the stipulations of the signed document and monetary agreement your father had with us,” Mr. Harvey announced, obviously for Gustaf’s benefit. “Your father was well respected for his integrity and thoroughness, and I have verified from my copy that no aspect has been left unaddressed.” He gestured in the direction of the parchment pages she held across her lap. “Have you had time to peruse the nature of the agreement?”
Raelene nodded. “Yes, sir, but I confess that much of the terminology is foreign to me. Would you be so kind as to state the contents in more general terms?”
“I am happy to oblige, Miss Strattford.” Harvey adjusted his spectacles and glanced down at the papers in his hands.
“To please, could I read the agreement?” Gustaf extended his hand toward Raelene, his eyebrows arched over inquisitive eyes.
Despite logic’s warning, she passed her father’s papers to Gustaf and watched his face for any sign of his plans. The speed with which he read them surprised her. If he was an oaf, he was an educated one.
“May we continue?” Harvey asked with a tinge of impatience.
“Yes, please.” Raelene lowered her eyes.
“From the will your father requested when he purchased the land, you are the sole owner, assuming all responsibilities pertaining to the land. According to the land agreement, you will be required to make the monthly payments on the loan, which ends in one year.”
“I understand.”
Harvey stood and walked to a desk in the corner of his office. The wood gleamed, just like the rest of the furniture in the immaculate room. It reminded her of her home back in England, where her father’s position in the British military had afforded a similar affluent way of life. But she wasn’t in England. She was in the northernmost of Pennsylvania’s three lower counties. And she would transform her family’s farm into one that rivaled the Hanssens’, with elegant furnishings that outdid their simple decorations, no matter what sacrifices she must endure.
First, she had to convince Mr. Harvey that she was capable of honoring the agreement her father had made.
Harvey perused the loan papers. “Half of the land must be cultivated for crop growth or grazing and be in full profit production for the loan to remain in good standing.”
Concern for the undeveloped state of the land caused her stomach to flutter. She had no i
dea how to ready land for farming other than chop down trees and clear brush. Common sense told her there was more to it than that—more than any single woman could do. “Does the loan provide a time limit for this requirement?”
Mr. Harvey glanced up from the papers, his eyebrows raised. “Do you foresee this as a problem?”
“I cannot say for certain, but we had purchased the land only last autumn and managed to erect a modest cottage of two rooms and a loft before winter arrived. There wasn’t time to plow the land or get supplies for planting.” Raelene twisted the clasp to the reticule in her lap. “That is why I journeyed into town. I wanted to be certain all of the affairs for the farm are in order and establish contact with you so we can continue the arrangement my father made.”
“Please, do forgive my boldness, Miss Strattford, but might I inquire as to your age?”
“Seventeen,” she replied, holding her head high. “I’ll be eighteen in October.”
Mr. Harvey tilted his chin and observed her over his glasses. “Miss Strattford, the assembly is willing to extend a brief period of one month on the loan to allow you the opportunity to properly grieve your loss and make plans for planting season.” He stood again and stepped around the table. “Would you tarry one moment while I step into the other room to retrieve additional paper in order to document this alteration?”
The moment Mr. Harvey disappeared, her shoulders fell. When Gustaf shifted next to her, she steeled them, cocking her chin at him in defiance.
“I don’t know what you think you are up to, Gustaf Hanssen, by intruding on this meeting and implying there is more to our acquaintance than truly exists, but if you think you’re going to gain access to my father’s land by pretending—”
“Miss Strattford, it is clear Mr. Harvey was not happy to see a woman in grief or talk business with you. But he gave your father much respect by agreeing to do so,” Gustaf pointed out with a practicality that was as frustrating as it was true. “I came so he knows you will be able to do what you are promising.”