Ilsa:

by Shanna Hatfield

  Although Aundy carried a small revolver with her most of the time, Ilsa knew she couldn’t carry a gun. She’d have to think of something else to use as her figurative big stick.

  Smiling, she didn’t think a pair of sewing scissors or a pack of sharp needles probably qualified.

  “What’s so funny?” Tony asked as he walked past her with another trunk.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something made you smile.” Tony set down the trunk and flexed his arms, causing his muscles to bunch impressively. He wiggled his eyebrows at her with a roguish wink. “Was it my dashing good looks? Did watching me lug your trunks of frippery make you think forbidden thoughts? Are you imagining yourself wrapped up in these strong arms?”

  “No, you arrogant man. I might have to start calling you Napoleon if you’re going to get all full of yourself like Aundy’s rooster.”

  Tony scowled, indignant, making it clear that she’d insulted him.

  When she started giggling, he hefted the trunk and carried it on to her workroom. She followed him and put a hand on his arm when he set it down.

  “I’m just teasing.” She hadn’t meant to offend him. Not when he’d become so important to her.

  He glared at her a moment before breaking into a wide smile and pulling her against his chest, kissing her cheek.

  “I know, chickadee, but I couldn’t resist getting you back here for a moment alone. Now, tell me what made you smile.”

  “Did you read in the paper about the speech President Roosevelt gave regarding speaking softly and carrying a big stick?”

  “Yes, I did. I thought it was quite interesting.” Tony wondered what that had to do with Ilsa’s current happy mood.

  “Well, I was just thinking about what I could use as my big stick and decided sewing scissors and sharp needles probably weren’t the best choice.”

  Tony chuckled and shook his head. “Probably not. How about you speak softly and I’ll follow along with a big stick? Maybe even a club.”

  “Like a cavedweller? Are you going to wear animal furs and grunt instead of speaking, too?”

  “Maybe.” Tony dropped his shoulders, slouching so his hands hung down by his knees and plastered a dopey look on his face that made Ilsa giggle.

  “I don’t have time for your mischief today.” Ilsa grinned at him as he took her hand and walked with her to the front of her store. “Are Nik and Garrett picking up my shipment at the depot?” She was excited the fabric and other supplies she ordered had finally arrived.

  Tony grunted and nodded his head, resuming his interpretation of how a caveman would walk as he went back out the door.

  A few minutes later she watched in surprise as friends and family arrived, offering many hands to help carry in her things. Nora and Aundy took over arranging her living quarters while Ilsa attempted to maintain order in the shop.

  Her stomach let her know it was almost time for lunch. At noon, they stopped their work and walked down the street to Caterina’s. She volunteered to make them lunch and it was easier on her to not transport the food, even if it was just a block down the street.

  Hugging her friend, Ilsa thanked her for feeding them all. “It’s the least I can do, since I’m not over there helping.”

  “I, for one, am most grateful you stayed here,” Dent said, as he bit into one of the meaty sandwiches Caterina prepared.

  In addition to Kade, Tony, and all the Nash family, Dent and a few of the hands helped set Ilsa’s store to rights.

  Although they’d all been fond of her before her incident with Delmon, they’d come to love her as they watched her struggle to overcome her fears and resume her plans to open her shop. They all looked out for her, tried to protect her.

  With everyone hovering around her all the time, she looked forward to the quiet of her shop where she didn’t have to worry about trying to paste on a smile when she’d rather cry.

  Discussing the episodes that made her chest hurt as she fought to catch her breath with Doc Reed, he told her it was a normal reaction to a traumatic experience. He gave her breathing exercises she could do when she felt an attack coming on and assured her when she felt like she needed to cry or scream or even throw something, to do it.

  The more she released her emotions, the faster she would recover.

  Not wanting Aundy to know about her problem, she’d managed to keep it a secret, but hoped being alone in her shop would give her the space she needed to truly come to terms with what happened and move on.

  Once her upstairs quarters were arranged to Aundy’s satisfaction, because Ilsa didn’t care as long as she had a bed and a chair, her helpers finished a few projects downstairs before declaring it time to go home.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with us to Nash’s Folly?” Garrett asked, worried about leaving the girl alone in town. “I’d be happy to drive you back and forth.”

  “No, Garrett, but it’s sweet of you to offer.” Ilsa kissed his cheek then turned to hug Nik and Aundy. “I know you are all worried about me, but I’ll be fine. The telephone was installed yesterday, so I can call if I need help. It’s not like Tony isn’t just a few doors down.”

  “And she seems to think if she calls, I’ll come running,” Tony said, making everyone laugh, although they all knew it was true.

  “If you insist on staying, then we’ll see you tomorrow. If you change your mind, call and I’ll come get you.” Garrett walked out the door with the rest of the work crew.

  Aundy lingered behind, along with Tony. He disappeared into the workroom, giving the two sisters time to hug and Aundy to fuss over Ilsa.

  “I can stay with you tonight, if you want,” Aundy offered, studying her with obvious concern.

  “No, Aundy. You need to go home with your husband. I’ve interrupted your life far too much as it is.”

  When Aundy started to protest, Ilsa held up her hand to stop her. “You both have been wonderful and I appreciate your love and support more than you can know, but I need to do this. I need to know I can take care of myself. Besides, I have Peaches here.”

  Although the kitten Nik had rescued did little more than eat and sleep, it would at least provide a little company for her.

  “I understand, sweetie. More than you know.” Putting her arm around Ilsa’s waist, the two sisters walked to the door. “You’re a brave girl, Ilsa Ingrid Thorsen, and I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Aundy. Now go home with that handsome husband of yours and don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

  Garrett smiled as Aundy walked outside and put her hand in his. He lifted her up to the wagon then waved at Ilsa. “Remember, call if you need us.”

  “I will. Now, go home!”

  Ilsa watched as he guided the team into the late afternoon traffic on the busy street then disappeared around the corner.

  “I thought they’d never leave.” Tony’s voice close to her ear made her jump.

  Slapping a hand to her chest, she glared at him. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a body like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak. My boots clomping across this wooden floor make enough noise to disturb the dead.”

  Ilsa didn’t know what to say to that, so she shut the shop door and marched to her workroom where she planned to assemble a dress form to put in the store window.

  Reading the instructions for the third time, she still had no idea how to put the silly thing together. Holding a screwdriver in her hand, she tried to figure out where to install the first screw.

  “What are you doing?” Tony asked, taking the screwdriver and screw from her.

  Within minutes, he had the form assembled and began working on the second one. Ilsa ordered four adult forms and two for children. She planned to use some in a grand window display and others around her shop.

  “Where do these go?” Tony asked, holding a form under each brawny arm.

  “Nowhere, at least until they’re properly attired.”

  Tony quickly set them down and ju
mped back. “You mean I’m handling indecent dress forms. What will become of me?”

  Ilsa laughed at his theatrics and sat down on a stool at the tall worktable.

  “Oh, Tony, you make my heart smile.” She looked at him with such fond affection, he fought the urge to kiss her, as he had every time he’d been in her company.

  “Well, if there is only one body part I can make smile, I guess that is as good as any, although your mouth and eyes have joined in the fun.” He grinned at her, but the tone of his voice was no longer teasing. It held something else, something that made a delicious shiver run from Ilsa’s head down to her toes.

  “You know, you promised to show me your place of business and with everything that’s happened, I’ve never seen where you make your ice,” she said, desperate for a distraction from the unbelievably good-looking man who stood gazing at her with fire in his golden eyes.

  “Then by all means, let me give you a grand tour of my unique establishment.” Tony bowed and held his arm out to her. She curtsied and hooked her hand around his forearm. Stopping to get her hat and gloves from where she’d left them that morning, he pushed her out the door and shut it behind him before she could put them on.

  “Wait, Tony, I need to at least put on my hat.”

  She turned around to go back in her shop, but he hooked an arm around her waist and carried her down the back steps.

  “We’ll cut through the alley and no one will even see you without your hat. You women, with all the doodads you think you must wear to be proper. It’s a bunch of nonsense if you ask me.”

  Having too much fun to be annoyed with Tony, Ilsa glared at him for a moment, just to let him know he couldn’t bully her. He grinned as she took the arm he once again offered and marched across the barren lot behind her building toward the alley that would bring them out on a street a block away from his business.

  When they reached the street, Tony stopped and poked his head around the corner, looking both ways.

  “I don’t see anyone who will report you for not wearing your hat. Let’s make a run for my place.” He grabbed her hand and made her giggle.

  “Can you be serious, for even a moment?” she asked as he walked her across the street and around the corner to his shop.

  Standing outside, she read the lettering on his front window with surprise.

  Antonio Campanelli, Photographer

  Ice Made to Order

  Ilsa turned to Tony with a searching look.

  “You’re a photographer? Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t anyone else say anything?”

  “It’s something I do more in the winter months when the ice business is slow,” Tony said, unlocking the door and motioning Ilsa inside the building. He gathered up a few envelopes from the floor. People knew to leave their orders for both ice and photography appointments by sliding them under the door when he wasn’t there.

  Walking around the small reception area, Ilsa stared at framed photographs on the walls. Tony had photos of wheat harvest, cowboys, Indians, and even a few Chinese on display.

  Stepping closer to one of the photos, she realized it showed wheat harvest at Nash’s Folly. Nik, Garrett, and Kade wore broad smiles as they stood next to one of the mule teams.

  “You do wonderful work, Tony. This is amazing.” Ilsa grasped his hand with hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I still can’t believe no one told me. Why keep it a secret?”

  “I wanted you to see the photos. Some people think it’s a waste of time. I wanted you to study my work before you judged it.” He kept his gaze fastened on a photo of Pastor Whitting and his wife hanging on the opposite wall.

  Tugging on his hand until he looked at her, she offered him an encouraging smile. “I wouldn’t have judged you or your work. That’s not what friends do. Besides, there are many people who think what I do is a waste of time and encourages women to waste money. I know you don’t think that way.”

  “What you do is create wearable works of art that anyone can appreciate, although I think they look best on you.” Tony took her hand and led her into his photography studio where he had a variety of screens and chairs set up along with several different cameras.

  More framed photos lined the walls. Her favorite was a photo of Garrett and Aundy. She’d seen a similar photo sitting on their fireplace mantel, but this one was larger. A photo of Nik sitting beneath a tree with his two dogs and Butter caught her eye.

  “Oh, look at Nik.” She stepped closer to the photo to better view the detail. “You even captured that fun-loving spark in his eye.”

  “He’s a great subject to photograph.” Tony pointed to another photo of Nik with some of his school chums.

  “Nik is such a sweet, good boy. I’m going to be sad when he leaves for college,” Ilsa said, moving on to study more photos.

  Tony suddenly wondered how attached Ilsa was to Nik. The boy was only three years younger than her, while Tony was almost seven years her senior.

  “Is Nik someone very special to you?” Tony asked, trying to decide exactly how deep her feelings for the boy went.

  “Of course.” Ilsa turned to smile at him. “He’s technically my nephew, so he’s very special. In actuality, though, he’s like an adorable little brother. I always wanted a younger brother.”

  Relieved by her answer, Tony let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But you have an older brother, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Lars. I haven’t seen him in nearly five years. He ran off right after our mother died and we haven’t heard from him since. Now that we’re no longer in Chicago, I don’t know how he’d find us even if he did go back there looking for us. It’s not like Louisa would tell him we’ve relocated here.”

  “I’m sure someday you’ll see him again. Even though all my brothers live in New York, I know it’s only a train ride away to visit them.” Tony guided Ilsa through another door to a large room with stacks of burlap on a shelf. Bales of straw and barrels of sawdust lined the walls. Two large doors, like she’d seen on barns, opened to allow him to drive his ice wagon inside for loading. “Are you sure you want to see where I make the ice?”

  “Yes, I do. This venture of yours is quite interesting. I’d never have imagined you being a photographer. What other talents are you hiding?” Ilsa watched as Tony took a heavy coat from a peg on the wall and held it for her to slip on.

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.” Tony slid the coat over her shoulders and handed her a pair of mittens. Sometimes Caterina came to visit him while he cut ice and she always bundled up because it was cold down in what he called the ice hole. “Ready?”

  “Lead on,” Ilsa said, accepting the hand he held out to her, while his other clutched a lantern.

  Opening a door, he led her down a steep set of stairs. The air grew colder the farther down they went until she could see her breath in the light cast from the lantern. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Tony guided her over to what appeared to be a hole in the ground. Divided into sections, he explained how he used a mixture of chemicals to freeze water into big blocks. Once they were frozen, he used a pulley system to lift them out of the sections and cut the large frozen squares into four blocks so he could transport them with more ease.

  Ilsa knew Tony worked hard. The evidence of his physical labor was obvious in his finely muscled body, but she had no idea he worked in such a dark, dank place to provide ice for the community.

  “Tony, how can you stand to be down here?” she asked, feeling oppressed by the atmosphere. “It’s so cold and bleak.”

  “It’s not like I’m down here for hours on end or locked in. I made sure that could never happen.” Tony recalled the time his brother Alonzo thought it would be funny to lock him in their icehouse next to the grocery store. No one missed him for almost an hour and he had nightmares for months after his father finally came to his rescue.

  “Why do you do it? Work so hard at this?”

  “I don’t mind it. On summer days when it’
s sweltering outside, it’s quite pleasant to be down here with the ice.” Tony turned Ilsa around and ushered her back up the steps. He didn’t want her to have another one of her episodes when she couldn’t catch her breath. She said she had been doing better, but he didn’t want to be the reason she had one before spending her first night alone in town.

  Closing the door to the ice hole behind him, he helped Ilsa remove the heavy coat and hung it back on the wall then tossed the mittens in a basket he kept on the floor.

  “Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asked, walking her back through his studio to the front of his shop. Caterina had picked out the furnishings and decorated the waiting area. He thought it looked both welcoming and elegant.

  “I don’t want to be any bother. Aundy made sure I have plenty of things to eat so I won’t starve.” Ilsa couldn’t help stopping to stare at a photo of an Indian woman holding a baby strapped to some sort of board with a detailed pattern decorating the surface. A blanket, one the local mill manufactured and called an Indian Pattern Blanket, draped around the woman’s shoulders.

  “Her name is Mary Coyote,” Tony said, stepping close to Ilsa’s side. “She lives on the reservation. I got permission to take photos out there.”

  “She’s beautiful, Tony. I love her smile.” Ilsa admired the woman’s thick, dark hair caught in two long braids and her high cheekbones. “What is that thing behind the baby? It looks like a board.”

  “It’s a cradleboard. The babies are strapped into them during their early months when they need a protective carrier. Some women carry the boards on their backs while they work. Sometimes you see the boards leaning up against something, or even hanging from a sturdy tree branch. It allows the mother to move around while making sure the baby is protected and safe. Many of the mothers decorate the cradleboards until they look like works of art.”

  “Is that beading?” Ilsa asked, suddenly feeling inspired to learn how the women created the unique motif to use with some of her own fashion designs. She could envision the wonderful floral pattern down the front and around the hem of a dress. The women in Chicago would go mad for it. “Do they ever teach others the art?”