Sophie's Dilemma

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘Not dat I know.’’

  ‘‘Lying down?’’

  Mrs. Sam shrugged and shook her turbaned head. ‘‘Just go knock on de door.’’

  ‘‘Of course, thank you.’’

  He crossed the dining room and went through the vestibule. Her door was closed. Taking a deep breath to throw off the feeling of apprehension, he tapped on the door.

  ‘‘Come in.’’

  Her voice sounded all right. He pushed open the door and stepped just inside so the door wouldn’t close. ‘‘Sophie?’’

  ‘‘Over here.’’ She rose from the wingback chair that faced the window overlooking the street. One hand clutched an envelope with a sheet of paper.

  ‘‘What is it? Are you all right?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I think so.’’ But her face looked pale, as if she’d received a shock. She held out the letter. ‘‘This is from Mrs. Jorgeson, widow of the captain of the Sea Lily in Ballard.’’

  Garth waited.

  A narrower piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He stepped forward and squatted down to pick it up for her. Handing it back, he stared into her eyes. He knew the paper was a check. What could make her act so strange?

  33

  THIS CAN’T BE REAL.

  Sophie watched as Garth knelt to pick up the check. Thick dark hair, darker than her own, neither brown nor black but a blend. Although from this angle, she saw threads of silver in his. He wasn’t that much older than she, or at least it seemed that way.

  When he looked up at her, confusion carved lines in his broad forehead, perhaps becoming wider as the hairline receded slightly.

  ‘‘Here.’’ He put the paper back in her hands. Hands that now had started to shake. ‘‘I think you should sit down. You look pale.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I’m sure.’’ She took back the check and tucked it into the folds of the letter as she sat on the edge of her chair.

  ‘‘Sophie, what is it?’’ He glanced over to make sure the door was still open before sitting on the footstool in front of her.

  Should I tell him? Who would I rather tell first? Mor and Grace? Her thoughts ran back in time again. Ah, Hamre, so close you were to buying your boat. I don’t know what a fishing boat costs, but this is a lot of money to have saved. No wonder you fussed at me. If you had only told me, perhaps I would have acted better. All the while her thoughts were drifting, she inserted the letter back in the envelope, precisely, to make sure no edges were bent.

  When Garth took her hands, she stared down at them. His broad with dark hairs on the back, hers slender, chapped, badly in need of lotion. When she and Grace were little, their mother had smoothed their chapped hands with goose fat because they had no money for lotions and nice soaps. These had become her one indulgence since she took over the boardinghouse. And still her hands were chapped. She brought her thoughts into focus. Why was he holding her hands like this? Were they such good friends?

  ‘‘I can travel now.’’ Her voice barely stirred the air in the room. Go on all the adventures I want. Why am I not singing and dancing and announcing this to the world?

  ‘‘I see.’’ But his face said that clearly he didn’t.

  She tapped the envelope. Since she’d already started telling him, she might as well finish. ‘‘With the fishing season over, Mrs. Jorgeson sent me the money Hamre had been saving for his boat, including his share from this year’s catch. He’d invested his savings with Captain Jorgeson. No wonder Hamre loved fishing. He made a goodly amount of money.’’ But look at the price he paid, or I paid. According to Pastor Solberg, Hamre is in heaven worshiping at Jesus’ feet. Her nose stung and her eyes filled. And I thought him stingy. Which he was. ‘‘He got really angry at me one day because I took some money from the pouch and bought a new hat. I thought he’d think me pretty and be proud of me.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure he thought you not only pretty but beautiful.’’ Garth paused. ‘‘For you are.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ She drew her hands free. They shouldn’t be alone in her room, let alone him holding her hands like that. And yet it felt so good, so familiar. Ah, how she’d missed a man holding her hands. She peered into his face. A dear face still clouded with . . . with what? Confusion? Of course, so much information . . . and here he—‘‘Think of someone besides yourself, Sophie.’’ She could hear her mother’s words ringing in her ears, words from long ago and inferences from not so long ago.

  ‘‘Oh, you had something to tell me, to show me, you said.’’ Some friend I am, thinking only of myself like this.

  ‘‘I have a feeling your news is of more import than mine.’’

  ‘‘Not at all.’’ She leaned forward. ‘‘What is it?’’

  He pulled some papers out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket. ‘‘I want you to help me choose which house to buy. Like Andrew, I’m going to order a package from Sears and Roebuck. I picked these up at Penny’s.’’ He laid three pieces of paper in her lap. ‘‘On the front of each page is the exterior view and on the back are the floor plans.’’ He held up the first of the front views, then the second and the third. ‘‘What do you think?’’

  Forcing herself to concentrate, Sophie looked at each one carefully. ‘‘I think they are all wonderful. Where will you build it?’’

  ‘‘I bought a half acre lot from Hjelmer. It’s on the other side of the church. There will be room for children to play, to have a garden, and maybe a big shade tree or two.’’

  ‘‘You have been busy.’’

  ‘‘I decided life is too short to spend waiting.’’

  Waiting. That’s what I’ve been doing. She paused, feeling the baby moving. After the baby is born, I can hire a nanny to travel with us. She hesitated to think it, but . . . she would be nearly rich. That would make things so much easier. Perhaps Grace would like to come along. This wasn’t a new thought, but she’d never had the money to seriously think about anything. Unless, of course, she sold the boardinghouse.

  ‘‘So which do you like best?’’

  His question brought her back to the moment. ‘‘Which do you like the best? That is the question.’’

  ‘‘I narrowed it down to these three, and now I need a woman’s opinion. Your opinion.’’

  Then you better go ask my mother was her first thought, closely followed by a warm feeling that flowed around her heart. She returned her attention to the papers, turning them over to see the outlines of the walls and rooms.

  ‘‘They are all big houses.’’

  ‘‘I know. Remember, I already have two children. I like both the front and back porches on this one and the four bedrooms upstairs. I’m thinking of a coal furnace in the cellar. Like Thorliff has.’’

  Who is going to care for your children? The question popped into her mind, and then she remembered another of their talks where he had said his sister might come and live there when he had a house.

  ‘‘I need to sell my house in Minneapolis, but I’m going to order one of these first.’’

  ‘‘So you are leaving?’’

  ‘‘For a while.’’

  How long? ‘‘Who will build your house if you are gone?’’

  ‘‘I’ll be back. You still didn’t tell me which one you like best.’’

  ‘‘What color will you paint it?’’

  ‘‘What color do you like?’’

  ‘‘White with green trim. And maybe some yellow or . . .’’ Her eyes narrowed in thought. ‘‘I saw a house in Seattle with dark green trim and some yellow as part of the trim. It was really pretty.’’ She traced a line around a window on the picture he seemed to like the best. ‘‘Right in here. I vote for this one.’’

  ‘‘We agree.’’

  ‘‘We do?’’

  Staring into her eyes, he lifted one of her hands and brought the back of it to his lips. ‘‘We do.’’ He leaned forward. ‘‘Sophie . . .’’

  A knock at the half-opened door shattered the moment. Feeling like something special had just s
tarted and now lay in shards on the floor, Sophie sat back. ‘‘Come in.’’

  ‘‘There’s a gentleman here to see you, Miss Sophie.’’ Lily Mae peeked around the door.

  ‘‘Who is it?’’

  ‘‘Man who was here the other day.’’

  Sophie sat up straight, slammed her palms on the arms of the chair, and heaved herself to her feet. ‘‘I guess he just doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.’’ She whipped off her apron and threw it across the back of the chair.

  ‘‘I’ll speak to him if you want,’’ Garth offered.

  ‘‘No thank you. I’ll do this myself.’’ She marched across the room and out the door. Without bothering to paste a smile in place, she paused in the middle of the vestibule. The man was standing in the entrance to the dining room, watching something so intently he didn’t hear her.

  ‘‘Mr. Cumberland, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?’’ She could feel her mother at her own house wincing at the tone in her daughter’s voice. Polite was not exactly a good description.

  ‘‘Good morning, Mrs. Bjorklund. Such a fine day, don’t you think?’’

  ‘‘It was.’’ State your business and get out of here. No matter how nice you act, I remember the furious look from the other day.

  ‘‘I talked with my associates. Could we sit down so I can show you what we decided?’’ He gestured toward the dining room.

  ‘‘No, I think not. We are busy getting ready for dinner.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I see.’’

  She could tell he didn’t see at all. Perhaps he wasn’t used to not getting his own way. ‘‘Please, Mr. Cumberland, I have work to do. Just tell me what it is you decided.’’ She put a twist on the word, like it left a bad taste in her mouth, which it did. He decided? He and his associates decided?

  ‘‘Well, ah, I realized that I hadn’t presented my best offer the other day, and I wanted to make amends.’’

  ‘‘Make amends? I thought I explained to you quite clearly what my position was.’’

  ‘‘But you haven’t heard my offer.’’

  She huffed a sigh. ‘‘What is your offer?’’

  He pulled a paper from his breast pocket. ‘‘I have the figures all written down here. Are you sure there isn’t a man you’d like to have look at these? We’ve really put together a very good offer. Perhaps your uncle?’’

  ‘‘My uncle?’’

  ‘‘You know, Mr. Hjelmer Bjorklund? I think he would give you good advice. He understands the business world.’’

  Sophie could feel Garth coming up behind her. She took a step forward and took the paper the man extended. Glancing down the column of figures, she reached the bottom line. Nearly double what he’d offered the time before.

  ‘‘Is this the best you can do?’’

  His face tightened. ‘‘What are you asking?’’

  ‘‘First of all, I am not asking. I am telling you that I have no intention of selling the boardinghouse. Three times the amount you are offering would not be enough.’’ She placed the paper back in his hands. ‘‘And furthermore, spreading rumors about town was not a way to make a good impression. Good day.’’

  When she strode into the dining room, Mrs. Sam and her two children were lined up, clapping silently, smiles as wide as their faces.

  Fighting tears of fury, she blinked and started to grin. When she heard the front door slam, she hid a giggle behind her handkerchief.

  ‘‘Well done.’’ Garth strolled in behind her. ‘‘I wanted to make sure he left before I had to throw him out.’’

  Sophie turned to see his expression of satisfaction.

  ‘‘Remind me to never get on your bad side. You about flayed the skin from his bones.’’

  ‘‘Dat she do.’’ Mrs. Sam stepped forward. ‘‘I ’bout sent Lemuel here for reinforcements, but you done fine. Dat man don’t deserve even staying for dinner, though I make the best chicken and dumplin’s anywhere. He was sniffin’ like a hound on a hunt.’’

  The bell jangled over the front door, and Garth stepped back to see who had come in.

  Miss Christopherson greeted him as she entered the dining room.

  ‘‘What a rude man. He nearly knocked me off the steps.’’

  ‘‘Did he hurt you?’’ Sophie took a step toward her.

  ‘‘No.’’ She brushed off her upper arm. ‘‘But if I never see him again, it will be too soon. And to think he came into my shop the other day.’’

  ‘‘He did?’’ Sophie frowned. ‘‘And did he tell you he was buying my boardinghouse?’’

  ‘‘No, he said he was looking for a gift.’’

  ‘‘And did he buy something?’’

  ‘‘No. He fumbled around and then left, saying he’d come see me again when he returned.’’

  Others were coming into the dining room, so Sophie signaled her help to begin serving. The next time she turned around, Garth was not sitting at his usual table. He wasn’t in the dining room at all.

  Later she found a note on the table in her quarters.

  Congratulations on your skillful handling of that situation. Thank you for helping me choose a house. I’ve turned my order in and am catching the afternoon train to Minneapolis. Waiting even another day didn’t make much sense. We have something more to discuss when I return.

  Yours sincerely,

  Garth Wiste

  Sophie reread the note, especially the part, Waiting another day didn’t make much sense. It didn’t make sense for her either. She knew what she had to do. Taking her shawl off the coatrack and pinning her hat in place, she headed for the kitchen. While she figured she could drive the team, she knew her family would not approve. She would borrow Thorliff ’s team and buggy, and Lemuel would drive.

  They had to go now before she lost her courage.

  On the way she almost asked Lemuel to turn back three times, maybe more. She tried counting fence posts to override her fear, but they blurred with her tears. Where had the spunk she was known for gone? Oh, God, let this work. Please give me the right words and Pa the ears to hear. Would he be out in the fields? She searched the land as they neared her home. No one was out with either team or tractor. Was it too wet to be out there yet, or was something wrong?

  ‘‘I wait here,’’ Lemuel said as he handed her down from the buggy seat.

  ‘‘No, you come inside for a cup of coffee.’’

  He shook his head and looked out across the fields.

  Sophie looked toward the machine shed to see if her father was there. She didn’t see him, nor did she hear him working on the machinery. Not in the field, not in the machine shed—where was he?

  Mor opened the door. ‘‘Sophie! How wonderful to see you. Come in, come in.’’

  Better get this over with. ‘‘Where’s Far?’’

  ‘‘Over at Haakan’s. They are shearing sheep.’’

  Now what should she do? ‘‘I have to talk to him.’’

  ‘‘Then go on over. You want me to come with?’’

  ‘‘No, I want you to pray that . . . that all goes well.’’ She turned back to the buggy. ‘‘Let’s go.’’ Before I lose my courage entirely. All she could think as the buggy wheels turned, carrying her back to Haakan’s barn, was to keep on going and return to the boardinghouse. She could come on this errand later. But something wouldn’t let her do that, so they turned up the lane she’d walked so many times through the years.

  She could hear the sheep bleating before they neared the barn.

  She waited for Lemuel to help her down. All she needed to do was slip on the step or something. Then he’d really think she was brainless, and careless too. She walked through the open door and followed the bleating through the barn to a corral behind where Lars was just letting a sheared sheep run back to the flock. Those waiting to be sheared milled around in a separate pen.

  ‘‘Hey, look who’s here.’’ Andrew waved to her before grabbing another fluffy sheep.

  Sophie smiled and returned his wave.
She nodded at Haakan’s greeting and looked at her father. ‘‘Far, can I talk with you, please?’’ The words had to be forced from her throat. She welded her shaking hands together.

  ‘‘Now?’’ He motioned to the waiting sheep.

  ‘‘It-it won’t take but a minute.’’ The look on his face did not bode well.

  ‘‘Ja, I guess so.’’ He set his clippers on a box and wiped the sweat off his face with his rolled-back sleeve. When he stopped at her side, he looked down with a frown. ‘‘Couldn’t this wait until later?’’

  ‘‘I-I might never have the courage to try again.’’ She peered into his eyes, gray like Grace’s. ‘‘Please, Far.’’

  He nodded and motioned to the shady side of the barn. The two walked the short distance in silence. When she stopped, he crossed his arms and waited.

  Sophie shot another prayer heavenward and cleared her throat. ‘‘I know that I disobeyed you and caused great hurt to you all when I ran off with Hamre, and I have come to plead for your forgiveness.’’ The words tumbled over each other once she started. ‘‘Please. I am so sorry, and I beg you to forgive me.’’

  He stood motionless, his arms still clamped tight. ‘‘You’ve already asked for your mor’s and Grace’s?’’

  She nodded.

  ‘‘Why did you wait so long to talk with me?’’

  Sophie rolled her lips together to try to keep from crying. ‘‘Because I was afraid.’’

  ‘‘Afraid of what?’’

  ‘‘That you would say no. I couldn’t bear that.’’

  ‘‘Ah, Sophie, have I ever not forgiven you?’’

  ‘‘No, but I’d never done such a thing before.’’

  ‘‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come to me.’’ He opened his arms and gathered her to his chest. ‘‘You, daughter, are forgiven.’’ He held her while she cried into his sweaty shirt.

  When she leaned back to dry her eyes, she pulled a piece of fleece from the side of her wet face. She sniffed through a wavering smile. ‘‘Guess I’m like the one the shepherd came to find. I’ve even got damp wool to prove it.’’ She held up the bit between two fingers. ‘‘Thank you. I’m sorry I waited so long.’’