by Amber Miller
Gustaf had tucked the book under his arm on his way outside. He hoped Raelene would read this afternoon, despite the guest at their meal. Kaariana’s face registered surprise at his invitation.
“A story?”
“Ja, Raelene and I enjoy reading after our midday meal. She has many books.” He directed a teasing grin at Raelene. “Robinson Crusoe was a compromise.”
Raelene tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pressed her lips together. Her flushed cheeks never failed to warm him, as well. Without acknowledging him, she faced Kaariana with a composed demeanor. But Gustaf knew she was ill at ease by the way she worried the embroidered edges of her apron.
“Yes, Gustaf expressed interest in the reading material I had available,” she explained. “So I agreed to share various selections as he cleared away our dishes.”
Kaariana’s eyes widened. “You do not clean? A man should work in field, no?”
Before Raelene could get defensive, Gustaf rushed to smooth over the misconception. “I have two sisters, but Mor always makes sure we help her with chores other women in the family would do if they were here.” He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and crossed his one ankle over the other. “But I do not mind the chore, especially if it means I am treated to stories of faraway lands and adventures.”
Kaariana shifted to her knees and sat back on her heels, an excited gleam in her eyes. “I have heard of this Robinson Crusoe. He travels on boat and finds trouble.”
“Yes, but that is not all that takes place in the story.” Raelene took the book from Gustaf. She opened it to the page she had marked when they had left off yesterday.
Father, please let her share the deeper, spiritual journey on which Robinson embarks. Let her see there is more to this story than the adventures, Gustaf prayed.
“We already read about how Crusoe’s vessel was captured by Turkish pirates, how he established a successful sugar plantation in Brazil, and how he became a slave trader. But several hurricanes wrecked his ship on one journey and landed him on a desolate island.”
A slight breeze stirred the loose tendrils of her hair and sent Raelene’s lavender-soap scent toward Gustaf as she continued to summarize the story for Kaariana. He closed his eyes as the scent of her wafted his way, inhaling it, savoring it. . . .
What am I doing? Distance, he told himself sternly. He needed distance. There was no room for any sort of awareness beyond that of their business arrangement. He couldn’t allow it. His pride had been damaged enough by her continual inference that he would never compare to her English cousins. He dared not put his heart at risk as well.
“Almost five years later, the English adventurer is still alone on this island. But he has found many ways to make life easier for himself and survive with what the island provides. He’s started with nothing more than the few things washed ashore from the shipwreck and built himself a home with many comforts.”
English adventurer. Gustaf latched onto those two words. Must be why she seemed to enjoy this story more than the others. It reminded her of England and Gustaf of the indisputable differences between her past life and his.
The realization overwhelmed Gustaf like a dark cloud. Yet he continued to listen in the hope that Raelene might recognize the similarities between her situation and Crusoe’s. He, too, had lost everything but, despite overwhelming odds, had prospered. That same survival spirit existed in Raelene. If only she’d rely on it more.
“He survived alone for five years?” Kaariana asked.
Raelene tucked her ankles together at a ladylike slant. Even in the fields, she carried herself with grace.
“Yes,” she replied. “But by now, he’s built a home and become quite resourceful.”
“Did he not have anger at God for what happened?” her friend pressed on.
Gustaf’s pulse checked as he waited for Raelene’s answer.
Raelene pursed her lips, nearly distracting Gustaf from her carefully composed answer.
“At first, yes. Memories of his father and the advice given made him pray and read the Bible daily. Although he’d initially scorned his father’s words, through his bleak circumstances, he realized how true those words were and how much he needed God.” Raelene fingered the pages of the book, suddenly contemplative.
Had she heard her own words? Gustaf found himself clenching his thigh in anticipation. Was her heart open to listening?
Her expression broke with a sudden brightness. “Would you like to remain while I continue reading?”
Gustaf’s heart fell. If she’d seen any similarity in Crusoe’s plight and her own, she’d dismissed it. Never in his life had he seen such a hardheaded woman.
“Yes,” Kaariana exclaimed. “I wish to hear more of Mr. Crusoe. A very interesting story, this is.”
Seemingly satisfied to have the attention of both listeners, Raelene resumed the story and read of how Crusoe remained on the island for another twenty-four years.
Please, Father. Let her heart absorb the deeper meaning. She will not be truly happy until she surrenders her anger.
Gustaf realized that no good could come of his growing attraction for the troubled young woman, but he wanted more than anything for her to turn back to God.
It was a hope he would not relinquish, at least until his promise to her father was fulfilled. If she’d not turned to God by the time Gustaf found her a husband, then the responsibility would fall to that man. Only then could Gustaf leave in peace. Until that time, neither of them would experience peace, short of a miracle.
Twelve
Although September was upon them, Raelene still couldn’t dislodge the memories of that afternoon. Passages of Robinson Crusoe’s story floated across her mind. His triumphs and his failures. His good fortune and his great losses. Through it all, his faith and reliance on God remained unshaken. Just like Mama’s and Papa’s. Their faith had sustained them both in dark and happy times, and they’d raised her with it.
She remembered sitting on the floor at Papa’s knees as he read scriptures and Mama sang. Even when Papa ended his commission in the British navy, knowing he would inherit next to nothing as the second-born son, her family hadn’t complained. He wanted more than a lifetime of service to the king, and they followed.
How had she lost the faith and peace they’d shared?
Since that day she’d shared the meal with Kaariana and Gustaf, sleep had been difficult at best. In her dreams, she saw Mama and Papa together, smiling, reaching out for her. But then she saw their tears. And when she awoke, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t figure out why they were sad.
She’d done everything they’d asked. She’d worked side by side with Mama in the candle shop, even when she wished daily to return to her grandfather’s country estate and be with her cousins. When they purchased the farm, Mama had continued to teach her about cooking and cleaning and daily chores. Papa had also taught her a little about farming, and what he’d not taught her, he’d left to her in his books.
Unable to sleep, Raelene lay on her back staring up at the thatched roof. It hadn’t been easy moving down to her parent’s bedchamber, but the unbearable heat of the loft had left her little choice. At least the soft rhythm of the falling rain from the summer storm offered a reprieve from the high temperatures and soothed her troubled mind some.
“Maybe that is why I am seeing them in my dreams now,” she muttered aloud. Being in this room where they had slept made her feel closer to them. But in her dreams, any comfort she might have was overpowered by the sadness Raelene saw in her parents’ faces.
Was it because she had turned away from God? Didn’t they understand how much God had taken away? Didn’t they know she couldn’t accept the pain He had allowed into her life? They were together. They were happy and together, not abandoned to face the cruel reality their deaths had created.
She could no more be like them than she could be like Robinson Crusoe. Shipwrecked with only the clothes on his back, he hadn’t had the support of friends or neighbors. He hadn’t even had a home. Yet he still acknowledged God’s favor and blessings and read daily from the Bible. For twenty-four years, he praised and thanked God in the midst of his trials.
She’d at least had the support of friends—godly people—but her heart would not soften toward God. It rebelled against her longing to fill its emptiness with peace.
“Why can’t I do that?” Raelene brushed away an errant tear. “I want that peace so badly.”
A bright flash of lightning, followed by an immediate crash of thunder, made Raelene nearly jump out of bed. She fought to catch her breath and still her rapidly beating heart. Tossing the light covering aside, she arose and padded across the wood floor to the diamond-paned window.
As the storm intensified, she watched the progression of the natural waltz play out before her. Lightning danced in the dark clouds, filling the air with sparks and briefly lighting up the ominous swirls in the sky. Thunder answered in rumbling response. The rain poured down in opaque gray sheets against the blackened sky, almost obscuring the view of the fields behind the house. Raelene pushed open the window and breathed in the fresh scent carried on the storm winds. She extended her arm and allowed the cool rainwater to form rivulets on her skin.
A minute later, the drops hardened, stinging her hand. The clatter on the windowsill sounded like the pelting of tiny pebbles against metal, replacing the soft sound of the rain.
Hail!
Raelene froze. “Oh, no! The crops!”
In seconds, she threw a wrap around her nightdress and dashed outside toward the fields. A she stumbled blindly, loose strands of her waist-length hair whipped about her face, making it even more impossible to see where she was going. When she finally reached the edge of the first field, she fell to her knees in the muddy puddles.
“Look at the plants and see how they are faring!”
Gustaf’s shout from at least two or three rows away startled her almost more than the initial thunderclap had. How long had he been there? And why wasn’t he tending to his own crops? Raelene brushed aside her questions. That wasn’t important now. The crops were, and she was grateful for his presence. I would have been at a complete loss as to what to do. Once again, he was putting the needs of her farm above his own.
Side by side, they moved up and down the rows of vegetables, then made their way through the wheat. Despite the ferocity of the storm, the diminutive pieces of ice weren’t large enough to do much damage to the hearty crops. By the time they’d finished inspecting each row, the storm had receded and the downpour softened. Soaked to the skin in seconds, with mud seeping through the thin layers of her night shift, Raelene shivered and folded her arms to ward off the chill.
Gustaf whipped off his cloak and wrapped it around her, tucking it beneath her chin. With his face so close, she had nowhere else to look, and neither did he. Lightning flashed, illuminating his face. The immediate warmth of his eyes and his cloak offset the damp chill. A tingle rivaling that from the lightning bolts surged through her. She breathed in his familiar scent that even the rain couldn’t diminish. Gently, he freed her braided hair and loosened strands from underneath the cloak, never once breaking their visual connection.
After what seemed an eternity between heartbeats, he blinked. Then he cupped his hands around her elbows and pulled her to a standing position to escort her toward the cottage. In no time at all, Gustaf had the fire stoked and blazing and pressed a hot cup of tea into her hands, taking one for himself as they sat together in front of the hearth.
“Th–thank you,” she stammered over the rim of the tin cup.
“It is my duty,” he replied.
His duty, Raelene thought. But it was more than that. She knew it, and so did he. Why was he trying to downplay the importance of his presence here tonight? He seemed no more willing to admit that than he was to acknowledge the brief bond they’d shared while standing in the fields. He was trying so hard to maintain his distance. Had she really been that cold and reserved?
Yet despite her less-than-cordial treatment of him, here he was, enduring a summer hailstorm to make sure her crops remained safe and seeing to her comforts, as well. He could have stayed and helped his family, but he chose to help her instead. And for what? Land that he’d never own and crops that would bring profit only to her.
As they sat in companionable silence, allowing the heat from the fire to dry their clothes and warm their skin, Raelene realized just how cruel she’d been. Well, not anymore!
He’d borne her bitterness, biased assumptions, and unfair judgment with humility and patience. Even when he lost his temper and stormed off, he always returned to apologize and set things right. She’d given him nothing but hostility in return.
I’ve changed. And I’ll prove it.
❧
Sunlight filtered through the window and fell on Raelene’s face the next morning. Moaning, she rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.
The sun!
A new day had dawned and she had overslept. She dragged herself out of the warm cocoon of her bed. Her entire body ached, and her mind was so foggy from lack of sleep, she didn’t know how she’d make it through the day. She had a vague memory of muttering “Good night” to Gustaf before stumbling to her bedchamber, but that was about it.
The tinny clang of a tool against what sounded like iron drew her to the kitchen door. Upon opening it, she spied Gustaf outside, pounding what appeared to be a horseshoe. As she watched, he returned it to the fire and then put it back on the anvil to hammer again.
Leaving the door open, she turned toward the fireplace and nearly tripped over the feather tick from her bed in the loft.
“Now how did that get here?”
Had Gustaf slept in the kitchen after she left? Raelene reached for the pillow on the tick and hugged it to her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed in the masculine scent as she recalled sitting in front of the fireplace with him just a few hours before.
“What am I doing?” She dropped the pillow. There was no time for fanciful daydreaming. The eggs needed to be gathered and the cows milked, and since Gustaf was already here working, she would whip up batter for johnnycakes.
Raelene dressed and reached for the pail before heading to the barn, nearly spilling the milk in it. Why, it was half full already! A glance in the basket sitting on the table confirmed the eggs had been collected, as well. How in the world had she not heard Gustaf this morning?
“I must have been more exhausted than I realized.”
She stepped toward the back door. “Gustaf,” she called out, hoping he’d hear her above his pounding. He stopped the hammer in midstroke and looked up. “Thank you for gathering the eggs and milking the cow this morning. I can prepare a meal for us if you wish.”
“You are welcome,” he called back. “And thank you, but I ate leftover bread this morning. It was enough.”
When he returned to his work, Raelene realized she needed to get moving, as well. She made do with what was left of the bread and headed to her chores.
❧
As midday approached, Raelene stood outside, beating the rugs from the kitchen, bedchamber, and loft. She’d spent a few hours tending the garden while Gustaf repaired the damage to the thatched roof. Papa had secured a double layer and spoken of his plan to replace the thatch with wood. Perhaps that could be done before the harvest.
Once the rugs were back on the freshly swept floors, Raelene returned to the laundry. The clop of horse hooves on dirt drew her attention to the lane leading to the main road at the edge of her farm. She shielded her eyes from the sun, trying to identify the lone rider as he drew near.
He exudes a certain air of confidenc
e, she thought as the man dismounted. His well-styled flaxen hair and pressed clothing bespoke a man of status. Or at least that he took pains with his appearance. When he caught sight of her, he swept his cocked hat from his head and bowed.
“Miss Strattford, I presume?”
She dried her hands on her apron and dipped a slight curtsy. “Yes, and who might you be?”
Tucking his hat under his arm and holding the reins to his fine steed, he smirked in condescension, as though she should have known his identity. “My name is John Singleton. Perhaps you have heard of my family’s substantial acreage north of town?”
Raelene bit back the sarcastic retort that came to mind and forced a polite smile to her lips. “Yes, I do believe your family paid mine a visit once or twice when we owned the candle shop in town.”
His chest puffed proud as a peacock at her recollection. “That we did. But I do not recall a beauty such as yourself gracing that fine establishment.”
From the corner of her eye, she noted Gustaf’s slow approach, farm tools in hand and a scowl on his face. If she didn’t know better, she might think he was attempting to look threatening. With effort, she remained focused on Mr. Singleton, but she couldn’t resist a slight affront to his arrogance.
“Perhaps because I was only fourteen at the time and most likely below your line of vision,” she replied pointedly.
Gustaf covered his mouth with his hand, an act Raelene suspected was to cover a laugh, and turned away. With effort, she maintained her composure as she waited for the remark to penetrate Mr. Singleton’s pride. But when he realized what she’d said, to his credit, he showed minimal reaction to her barb, save a narrowing of his gaze.
“Yes, well, had I the fortune of making your acquaintance then, this meeting today might not be necessary.”
Oh, please. Save me from this pretentious and self-absorbed boor.
“Miss Strattford!” Gustaf bellowed. “I am going into town to learn of the damage from the storm. If you wish to come with me. . .”