“So we’ll be going to inspect the house MacLachlan secured for us,” Father announced. “There will nae doubt be a fair amount of cleanin’ to do.”
“I haven’t the strength,” Mother protested, her voice weak and lifeless. She lifted her eyes in supplication to Emmalyne. “I’m afraid you’ll have to see to it without me.” Her voice was missing the heavy Scottish brogue revealing her early upbringing in the south of Wales.
“’Tis all right, Mother. I can tend to it.”
For Emmalyne, the last decade was consumed by a routine that did not vary. Her mother’s sadness left her with little energy or will, and hence the bulk of responsibility, as expected, fell to Emmalyne. Emmalyne, now twenty-eight, accepted her lot in life with as good an attitude as she could muster. Yet her broken heart had never really healed, no matter the amount of time she spent in prayer or reading God’s Word. She kept searching for some sort of sign that would indicate God’s blessing was upon her for her obedience. But misery and suffering were her only companions.
“We’ll take a broom and mop. Soap and towels, too,” her father said. “At the price we’re payin’, I’m sure we can borrow from the hotel. If we have need of more, I’ll return to town. Rabbie said there’s a good-sized pot out there for heating water outdoors and a working well.”
Emmalyne finished assisting her mother and went immediately to her trunk. They had left Minneapolis only days before, and she hadn’t wanted to return to St. Cloud for fear of running across Tavin again. But she couldn’t help but wonder how he was and if he’d married yet. Eleven long years had passed . . . and for eleven years that unanswered question had whirled through her mind.
She’d exchanged a few letters with Fenella after their move to Minneapolis, but even those had stopped after a time. Fenella was no doubt married with wee ones, and taking time to write to an old friend was probably difficult to spare.
Pulling a heavy work apron from the trunk, Emmalyne nodded to her father. “I’m ready.”
“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Mother begged, taking hold of Emmalyne’s hand as she passed. “A doctor is supposed to come today, and I would rather not be here by myself.”
“Hush, woman,” Father demanded. “There’s no need for Emmalyne to remain. She’ll have work to do to set the house right. I’m not gonna spend a single dollar more on a hotel room than I have to.”
Mother looked properly chastised and bowed her head. “Aye, Luthias, of course you are right. I pray you won’t be long.”
Emmalyne saw her father give a brief nod, but in no other way did he acknowledge his wife. It seemed sad that two people who had shared so much should be so distant. Emmalyne couldn’t help but wonder if her father had ever shown love to his wife. If so, Emmalyne had certainly never witnessed it, and her mother was unwilling to speak on such matters.
Making their way downstairs, Emmalyne longed for a cup of strong tea and something to eat. She glanced toward the dining room. “Father, might I have a bit of breakfast first? The day will no doubt be long.”
He looked at her with a scowl and gave an exasperated sigh. “Bring along something ye can eat in the wagon.”
“What of you and Angus?” she asked, trying her best to sound sweet.
“We were up long before ye and ate at a decent hour.”
Emmalyne nodded. “I won’t be but a minute.” She hurried into the hotel dining room and motioned to one of the serving girls.
“Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?” The waitress didn’t look that much younger than Emmalyne, and it seemed strange to be called “ma’am.”
“I find myself in need of breakfast that I can take with me. I wonder if you have some biscuits and cheese, perhaps?”
“Let me see what I can find for you. I’m sure we can prepare something.”
Emmalyne nodded and added, “Please hurry. My father is waiting.”
The waitress scurried from the room, ignoring one man waving his cup for more coffee. Emmalyne glanced toward the door, where her father waited. He would no doubt be angry that she had delayed their departure; however, she’d been up quite late with Mother. When Rowena had one of her spells of sadness, it was best that she keep company with someone—and that someone was most generally Emmalyne.
When the waitress returned with a small wrapped bundle, Emmalyne put aside thoughts of the night. “Thank you so much.”
“I put in an apple, as well,” the girl said. “Should I charge this to your room or will you pay now?”
Emmalyne dug out a few coins and handed them to the girl. “Will this cover it?”
“Yes,” the girl replied. “If you wait here, I’ll bring you your change.”
“That’s all right,” Emmalyne said, taking the food. “You keep it. I appreciate your quick help.”
She made her way to where her father stood. “I’m ready. They were quite kind to prepare this in a hurry.”
“I’m thinkin’ the cost will be outrageous,” Father grunted.
“I paid for it with my own money, Father.” She hoped that might put an end to his grumbling, but of course it did not.
“The sooner we are out of this hotel, the better. Everything costs so much. Why, they charge more’n any man has a right to.”
“But we have a clean room, and you and Mother a good bed,” Emmalyne offered. She didn’t bother to remind him that at least he had slept in one—she and Angus made do with the floor. “With Mother feeling so poorly, it’s best for her to be close to a physician, Father. Didn’t you say that this house we’ll live in is outside of town?”
“Aye. MacLachlan said it was the best he could get us for the price I could afford. I’m sure ye can make it suitable. Your mother will just need to get better.”
Emmalyne tried not to grimace at another reminder that the MacLachlans were once again going to be an intricate part of their lives. Why her father had decided to uproot his family and move back to St. Cloud was beyond her. Father trusted only a few people, and among those was Robert MacLachlan. But given the past between them, Emmalyne thought it strange they would return to the very place where they’d known such pain. Mr. MacLachlan must surely have offered Father a most lucrative deal, because as far as Emmalyne knew, money was the only thing capable of enticing her father these days.
She climbed into the back of the wagon and sat on the edge, dangling her legs as she ate her biscuit and cheese. Beside her were the various cleaning items her father had somehow secured. The bulk of their household goods were due to arrive by train that afternoon.
Biting into a biscuit, Emmalyne again thought of Tavin. Fenella had told her in a letter that Tavin had packed a few belongings and left shortly after the Knoxes’ departure. What little communication she’d had from Fenella after that only mentioned Tavin briefly, stating that he had gone east in search of quarry work. He had planned to make his way to Maine, where he had heard the work was plentiful. His anger was all that seemed to guide him, and Fenella had been quite worried about him.
Are you still in Maine, Tavin? Her mind churned with questions, finally ending with the one that haunted her constantly: Do you think about me as much as I think about you?
St. Cloud had grown considerably since Emmalyne had left. When they had previously lived in the area, they had resided in a small house located between the city and Sauk Rapids, just to the north and east. Now, however, her father informed them they were to live southwest of St. Cloud, closer to the MacLachlans’ home and quarry. Emmalyne prayed fervently that Tavin would stay away. She feared she’d never be able to put him from her thoughts otherwise.
She tried her best not to be bitter. God had command of her life, didn’t He? At least that’s what she had always been told and believed. Even after her father abandoned his faith, she had continued to trust God for wisdom and guidance. But her father had little tolerance for attending Sunday services, and that extended to his wife and children. Emmalyne knew her mother missed attending services; she missed them, a
s well, though as the years passed, Emmalyne had found occasion to slip away to church. Sometimes she’d even convinced Angus to escort her. He never complained, but neither did he seem overly interested. Emmalyne sometimes wondered about her brother’s beliefs. He said little, most likely because he knew Father wouldn’t tolerate such talk around the table. There was very little occasion for conversation at other times.
Trying a taste of the cheese from her perch at the end of the wagon, Emmalyne glanced around at the town of St. Cloud. There were banks, churches, and a bevy of storefronts that offered nearly anything a person could think of—jewelers, clockmakers, dress designers, stores selling ready-made clothing, barbers, and grocers. The town was nowhere near the size of Minneapolis, but it certainly had increased its offerings since Emmalyne had last been there.
“Looks like they’ve had fair weather,” Angus said from the wagon seat beside Father.
“Yes,” Emmalyne agreed. “Everything is so green and pretty.” The sun had already warmed the morning and felt good against Emmalyne’s face.
“Hope there’s still time to get in a gairden,” Father commented. “Rabbie said there are plum trees on the property.”
Emmalyne finished one of the biscuits and put the other aside for later. “We can make jelly and jam. That will be good.” She noted the busy streets were less congested as they made their way west. Here residences began to dot the landscape and businesses were fewer. A church rose up before them, and Emmalyne noted well-tended flower gardens gracing the property. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad living here. After all, she’d simply go on caring for her mother and father—Angus, too. At least until Angus found a wife and married. The thought brought a pang to her heart. That wasn’t to be for her. She gave her head a small shake and went back to her inspection of the town.
She saw more trees as the wagon lumbered along away from the city proper. Emmalyne noted elms, maples, black walnut, and cottonwood among their numbers. She recalled that her father had mentioned there being a small stream on the property—a burn, her father called it—and a pond, if she remembered correctly. It gave her hope that there might also be willows, her favorite tree. As a child she had loved to hide beneath their sweeping branches and imagine herself in a castle.
The town eventually gave way to farmland and fewer houses. Emmalyne found herself enjoying the ride, imagining a simple outing to see the countryside with no work awaiting her. The sounds of birds and the rustling of the grass complemented her daydreams. How wonderful it would be to merely lie upon a blanket and stare up at the sky. Emmalyne smiled to herself and drew in a deep breath. The scents of the country filled her. Perhaps she had missed it more than she’d realized.
Several miles from town, Father turned onto a much narrower dirt road. The farmlands were now edged with forest and rocky outcroppings that bespoke the wealth of granite available to those who cared to try their hand at the difficult labor of quarrying it. Emmalyne’s family had always been involved in quarry endeavors. Her father had at one time worked with the stone itself, but over the last twenty years he had contented himself with managerial tasks in the business. He was good with figures, and this made him an asset for invoicing and keeping accounts in order. In Minneapolis he had worked for a small factory doing just such work.
“How much further?” she asked, hoping her question wouldn’t upset her father.
“Jest a ways,” he replied, seeming to be deep in thought.
After years of living in the large city of Minneapolis, Emmalyne now could only wonder at life in the country. She was used to having things readily available to her. If there was a need, she could simply walk a short distance to obtain whatever was desired. It would be more than a short walk to St. Cloud, and since they had no extra horses or wagons, Emmalyne knew those trips would be few and far between. There would also be no electricity or indoor plumbing, both of which she would miss dearly.
Father turned the wagon down yet another even narrower road that dipped in and out of thickly treed grounds. Emmalyne looked upward at their shade and hoped their property might also be filled with such beautiful foliage. It might make for some very pleasant evenings outdoors, if the flies and mosquitoes would leave them be.
She tried to imagine their home. Father had said it was a wood-frame structure that had two large bedrooms on the first floor and a third upstairs. Emmalyne had already chosen the upper floor for her room—not that she’d really been given a choice. She imagined the privacy and ability to get away from the arguments her father was bound to have with Mother. It seemed the two were always quarreling over one thing or another—usually related to expenses.
Perhaps she would be allowed to paper her room. She would, of course, have to buy the materials herself. Her father would never pay for such a frivolous thing. Emmalyne still had some money of her own she’d received from sewing, but it was dwindling fast. She couldn’t help but wonder if she might be able to take in some sewing here. Of course, with their home so far removed from town, it would probably be difficult to find customers.
The wagon slowed, and Emmalyne craned around to see if they had arrived. Her father urged the horses right. Emmalyne gasped, unable to silence her shock. The driveway was little more than a grass-grown path with ruts, but it served to bring them alongside a well-weathered house—if the place could even be called that. Signs of neglect were everywhere. Thick, high weeds had taken over what might have once been an attractive little yard. The walkway that led to the broken-down porch was obscured by an overgrowth of vegetation and debris.
“What hath God wrought?” she finally murmured.
Chapter 3
Alighting from the wagon, Emmalyne stared at the sight. Were they really to live here? The porch roof sagged at an odd angle and clearly needed support. The wooden steps to the porch were . . . well, missing, with the exception of a partial frame showing where they once had been. The structure itself was in great need of paint and repair. Two of the windows were broken, and the tail of a tattered curtain blew out of one as if shooing them away from the abomination.
“Well, donnae stand around like a stookie,” her father declared, his Scottish brogue thick with irritation.
A stookie, an idle person, would not be a correct description of Emmalyne. There would be no rest for her in the weeks to come.
“Ye be a-cleanin’ the bedrooms and kitchen first,” her father ordered. “We’ll be stayin’ here on the morrow.”
“But this place will take weeks to put in order,” Emmalyne protested. “Unless, of course, you want to hire someone to help me.”
“Wheesht! Be quiet! Ye know I donnae have the coin to spare. Ye can manage jest fine. Yer mither can help ye.”
“But Mother has been sick,” Emmalyne countered. “This wouldn’t be a good place to bring her. She should be close to a doctor.”
Her father turned a fierce scowl on her. “Ye need to be mindin’ yer mouth, lass. Now leave us go in and see to matters there.”
Emmalyne felt herself grow red at the rebuke, but she nodded, knowing that inside would probably be no better. It turned out she was right. The former owners had abandoned the place, it seemed, without thought to putting anything to rights. Several broken chairs were overturned atop a tattered rug. Beneath that, very worn boards made up the floor. They were so scarred and damaged, Emmalyne wondered if they could ever be properly sanded and stained.
She moved as if in a daze through the downstairs. The front room where the curtain flapped from the window was mostly empty. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and the fireplace looked like it hadn’t ever been cleaned. Animal tracks and their droppings were easy to spot, and there was a strange collection of leaves in one corner.
“The frame seems solid enough,” Angus offered hopefully.
Emmalyne looked at him in disbelief. “If it is, then I’m Queen Victoria.”
He grinned at his sister and gave her a wink. “Well, Ye Olde Vic, you’d best not let our father hear you say so
.”
“Where is Father?” she asked, looking around in surprise. “He was right here a minute ago.”
“Said he wanted to see the rest of the property. There’s supposed to be a barn in the back for the horses.”
“I can’t believe the state of this place.” Emmalyne wouldn’t have dared to grumble so in her father’s presence. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it.” She grabbed the scarf she’d tied around her neck and arranged it on her head to keep her hair protected from the dirt and dust.
“I’ll fetch the mop and bucket.”
“I’d rather you find the big wash pot Father said was here. I’ll need that carted outside.”
Angus nodded. “I can manage that well enough. Anything else?”
“A fire. I’ll need a fire to heat the water.”
Again he nodded. “Would you like me to chop some wood, as well? I doubt you’ll get by with just one pot of hot water for this place.”
“Aye.” Emmalyne headed for the door. “We’ll need plenty of wood, water, and soap to make this house livable.”
She heard a scratching noise and looked over in time to see a large mouse scurry across the floor toward the kitchen stove. If mice were the only current residents, she’d count herself lucky.
“Angus, we need to be on our way,” her father called as she stepped out onto the porch.
“Where are you going? I thought you were going to help me.” Knowing she’d once more overstepped her bounds, Emmalyne tried to soften her voice. “I mean, I thought we could get more done together.”
“I cannae. We’re to meet with Rabbie and his men,” Father said, surprising her with an actual explanation. “Ye get to work, and we’ll be back by and by.”
Angus came around the side of the house. “Your kettle is out back, Emmy. There’s gonna be no moving it. I’ll bet it weighs three hundred pounds. It’s well positioned for a fire. I’ll get you some wood.”
“Nae.” Her father shook his head. “We must be on our way. Yer sister knows well enough how to set a fire and chop wood.”
Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02] Page 2