As they rode off, Maggie wore a winsome expression. “Daddy loved Mama like that.”
The undertone in her voice tugged at him. Todd refused to feign what he didn’t feel. Then again, he’d said love would grow – even promised her uncle that he’d court her. I’ve done well at that so far – I made a bed in the loft for us, didn’t I? And I got up early and took care of the furniture.
Maggie avoided looking at him when he remained silent. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rasped, “I’d better get my apron back on.”
“Your uncle warned me you grew up on fairy tales.” Todd let out a frustrated growl. Though he hadn’t meant to fling hurtful words at her back, she’d turned around at the same time he spoke.
In that momentary pause, Maggie lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Aye, it’s true.” The lilt in her voice disappeared. That was bad enough, but she blinked rapidly.
Reaching out, he captured her shoulder. “Margaret – ” He sounded too gruff. “Maggie . . .” He ought to say something more now to reassure her – but what? Suddenly, it came to him. “We are doing well. Remember? On the train, I said life was good with God in my heart, crops in the field, and you in my arms.”
“God is in your heart, and there are crops in the field and a vegetable garden ready to plant.” She drew a deep breath.
There, she understood. He relaxed.
Until he realized she had focused on his hand. On her shoulder.
Thick-hearted man! her heart cried out, but Maggie couldn’t afford to allow him to see how deeply his indifference wounded her. Likewise, she refused to pretend everything was right . . . let alone good.
“I’m not in your arms; you hold me at arm’s length – and not just this moment. You keep your heart and mind every bit as far from me.”
His hand tightened on her infinitesimally, then he dropped his arm.
“And I’ll be changing my mind, as is a woman’s right.” Gathering her nerve, she looked him in the eye. “I didn’t grow up on fairy tales. I grew up with them. Surrounded by them, aware every moment my parents were together or Uncle Bo and Aunt Maude kept me under their roof that love might well have been pouring straight out of the windows and door, yet there was still so much it spurted out the chimney top, too.” The torrent of the emotion and the flood of memories robbed her of her breath.
“Our marriage is ours.” His words vibrated with restraint. “Yours and mine. And God’s. What others did or had was their marriage. I spoke of fairy tales, not of family. Someday, our marriage can be as strong as any – but it cannot be built on a foundation that is chipped away with comparisons.”
She turned away again. “I need to change out of my Sunday best.” As she walked to the house, she avoided looking at the words they’d put in the cement.
Like it or not, he had a strong point. It wasn’t right for her to compare him to other husbands. She was to love him just as he was, not the way she hoped he’d be. Sure, she’d like some changes, but she did love the lummox.
Tomorrow was Monday – her turn to give him a token of love. Aye, and that’s just what I need to do. Keep reminding him that love grew despite rocky soil. Todd needs me to teach him how. Aunt Maude had to wait two years until Uncle Bo finally showed her how precious she was. I don’t want to wait that long. Still, she’d do things that spoke to a man’s heart, and he’d make gestures back. Soon he’d realize they weren’t empty gestures on his part. She had to keep hope.
After a light supper, Todd sat at the table, reading a farm journal aloud. “There are some recipes here.”
“For anything good?” Ma’s comment set Maggie’s teeth on edge. “It’s been weeks since we’ve had kase knoephla. You always liked my kase knoephla. And yeast bread. Remember my loaves, how you couldn’t wait for them to cool?”
“Your bread was always tasty, Ma.” He named off several of the recipes, his voice rich with enthusiasm.
Soda bread, biscuits, corn bread – those were what she made. With no means of refrigeration, she couldn’t keep a cake of yeast. Most of the foods he mentioned, she’d never heard of, let alone made. And Ma kept egging him on, reminding him of how much he liked the food she used to prepare. The third time Ma mentioned bread, Maggie said, “I’ll see about trading for some yeast.”
“Sehr gut!” Todd flashed a smile at her. “And then Ma can teach you to cook.”
At last! At last she had a job. She’d prove her worth. Helga could scarcely sleep that night. Lying in bed, she made menus and determined she’d teach Magpie how to cook like a good farmwife.
And baking! They’d have so much fun. Raisin cream pie. Shoofly pie. Pumpkin custard. Cinnamon rolls. And she’d demonstrate using a knife to carve wheat stalks on the piecrust, like a farmer’s wife should – not a design of berries or cherries like Maggie did. Then, too, Maggie always cut a cross on the top of a loaf of that heavy soda bread prior to baking it. Odd. The girl was odd as a three-eyed trout.
Why, it would be almost as if Helga was doing all the work herself. Todd’s wife would be her hands.
All day long, Helga tried to teach Maggie everything she could work in – a quick way to tighten the broom since it was dropping straws, how to tell when the farmer’s cheese was starting to curdle, and how to make pfeffernuesse.
Some things, Maggie acted glad to learn. Others, she dug in her heels. Helga did her best to ease past those rough patches, pointing out that farmer’s cheese, butter, and all the dairy products would be different because they had a fine milch cow – not a stinky goat.
At midday, Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “Today’s my turn to give my husband a love token, and I plan to surprise Todd with a special dessert.”
In the interest of getting along, Helga didn’t say the cookies they’d made were enough. That night Todd ate the kase knoephla with gusto, proving it had been a successful day. Then Maggie put aside the plates and produced a cake she’d carefully covered with a water bucket so it would be a surprise. “It’s my turn. I made you a love token.”
“After you do the dishes, we will eat the cake.” Todd pushed aside his coffee cup. His eyes twinkled. “Not often do I say this, but I am full!”
Smile fading, Maggie said, “Fine.”
While Maggie did the dishes, Todd read from the Gazette. The drought was expected to worsen, the railroad strike persisted, and the news from Chicago World’s Fair cited decadent waste of luxuries like California fruit while elsewhere people were struggling to make ends meet because of the stock market’s plunge. Eventually, he folded the paper and set it down.
Maggie picked up a knife and turned toward the table. Helga muttered, “After that grim news, I don’t want cake.”
“Me neither. I’m still stuffed.”
Maggie almost dropped the knife.
“I shocked my wife.” The boyish smile Helga thought Todd lost when his father died lit his face.
“Are you sure?” Maggie sounded incredulous. “Not even a little piece?”
“Nein. Tomorrow I will. But have some yourself.”
“No.”
Todd gave her an exasperated look. “You wanted some. Go ahead.”
“I wouldn’t touch that cake if it were the last scrap of food on earth.” She picked up the platter.
His voice tinted with laughter, Todd said, “You just said you wouldn’t touch it – ”
“You didn’t even look at it! It was your love token!” She wheeled around and opened the door.
“Margaret! What are you doing?” Todd shot to his feet.
“Slopping the hogs. They’ll appreciate getting a love token. You couldn’t care less.”
He grabbed her arm, and she jerked away. The cake slid off the platter and landed just outside the door. “What has gotten into you?”
“Certainly none of the cake.” She stared down at it with tears in her eyes.
“The top layer is still good.” His voice guarded, he suggested, “Lift it back onto the plate.”
Shoving the platter into his hands, Maggie shook her head. “Go ahead.” Helga gasped, but Maggie barely drew a breath. “You need to practice carrying something over the threshold.”
Seventeen
Todd watched her run out into the night.
“Let her go, Son. She needs to collect herself.”
He had no notion of how to handle a woman – let alone a weeping wife. Proud as Maggie was, she probably didn’t want him to see her crying. Squatting down, he tried to figure out what had gone so wrong. Something elaborate swirled and dipped on the cake. Once he forked his fingers between the layers, plopped the top back on the platter, and put it on the table, the lamp illuminated the design: their monogram.
He might manage to clean up the porch and his hands, but he doubted he’d ever remedy the mess he’d made. He’d do his best, though. He went in search of her.
The smallest circle of light gave away her whereabouts. He ought to have known: She went to her treasures. Strewn around her on the barn floor in a kaleidoscope of color lay a trove of whimsy and wealth. Several small dolls dressed in a rainbow of colors, a host of carved angels, a lace collar. She had to know he was there, but she hadn’t turned around.
“Maggie.”
“Hmm?” She scooped up all the angels and dropped them back into the box.
He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Her hands shook, yet she swiftly rolled the dolls into a scrap of an old quilt and laid them back to rest with a lacy covering. “I’ll be there in a while.” She still had something, but he couldn’t see what.
“Together, we will walk back, and I will carry you – ”
“Don’t.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You were right from the start – to not give me a taste of what won’t be. Pretending is for children.”
“The Bible commands me – ”
“That’s between you and God.”
“ – to love you.”
As she stood, several bits fluttered to the ground. “From the start you told me there is more than one kind of love.”
“Time is needed. But for now, it is not good for the sun to go down on your anger.”
“It didn’t.” Something in her strained denial rang true. In a softer voice she added, “It went down on my hurt.”
It’s your love token. If he’d given her a gift and she set it off to the side without a thank-you or kind word or just a smile . . . he’d be upset. Not that they were madly in love, but warm affection had flowered between them. He’d rejected her and her cherished tradition all at once.
“Tonight I will sleep out here.” Todd didn’t give her a choice. He threaded her hand through his arm – the same way he had back by her barn so she wouldn’t slip on the ice. He’d even taught Jer-lund the proper way to escort her. Jerlund wouldn’t have blundered the way I have.
Part of the way across the yard, she released him. “This is far enough.”
“Nein. We are only halfway.”
“Halfway can be good enough.” As if to convince herself, she stood straighter and said with resolve, “Aye. Halfway can be good enough.”
He didn’t relent. He walked her to the door. Once she went inside, he trudged out to the barn. Curiosity led him back to all her stuff. Setting the lamp on the very box into which she’d delved, he looked at the scraps of paper littering the ground. The letters were printed in classic German typeset, and there seemed to be a hand-tinted illustration. It didn’t take him long to piece together enough scraps to know what she’d done. She’d torn out the last page of a book. One that said, They lived happily ever after.
Maggie flew out of the house. Lord, you couldn’t reassure me of your love any better way than this! “Linette!”
“Mercy and I baked up a storm yesterday, just so I could have a day to spend with you. Can you put up with me?”
“Aye, but the true question is, are you thinkin’ you’ll survive the encounter?”
Linette helped her pamper Ma by giving her a proper soak in the tub. Ma had an early luncheon, let them exercise her, then fell into an exhausted nap.
As they started hemming the other half of the curtain, planning to meet in the middle, two loud blows sounded from outside. Linette jumped. Maggie cast an anxious look at Ma, but Ma still snored. They smothered giggles as they dashed out to see the source of the noise.
Long, loose strides carried Todd away, and a flurry of clatters made Maggie wheel around. “My woodicocks!”
“Your what?” Linette looked up and made a face. “I’m going to have to teach you to talk Texan. Those are whirligigs.” She sighed. “Oh, to have a husband. Just look at how he spoils you.”
“Uh-huh. And I never know what he’ll spoil next.”
They took the curtain outside to work on. Linette’s thread tangled. “Oh, Maggie, my life’s knotted up just like this. I’m never going to live down the stupid things I did in the past. Katherine and Marcella – since they’re younger, folks held me to blame. Well, not so much the women. But the men. I’ve thought about moving away – ”
“Don’t you dare.” Maggie tugged gently on one of Linette’s curls. “If you worry about your beautiful hair being short now, just you wait until I shave it off. Don’t try me, because I’ll do it if you start packing.”
“Then I’m doomed to spinsterhood – just like everyone predicted.”
“Nonsense. A plan. That’s what we need.”
Tears filled Linette’s eyes. “You’re the only one who thinks a man might want me. Even my own parents talk about me staying with them forever. I could wear a dress spangled with five-dollar gold eagles, but men would run away the minute I show up.”
“If a man wants you for what you own or what you’re wearing, you don’t want him. I know in my heart there’s a feller who’ll want you for all the right reasons. Men are like little boys – they want most what they can’t have.” Maggie almost leapt up. “That’s it! From now on, you’re what they can’t have. You’re going to be unattainable.”
“I am? How?”
Maggie winked. “By turning the tables. Instead of you working to catch them, they’re going to have to notice you.”
“They notice me and run.”
“Whatever you do, Linette, don’t think about a sleek, whitetail doe.” She paused. “Now what are you thinking about?”
“The doe.”
“Aye. Men are hunters at heart, a-chasing after a doe. In the end, it’s nigh unto the same amount of meat as the steer in his pasture, and the addled man’s worked harder. But you’ve heard men boast and brag about the doe they caught. You’re sleek and have big brown eyes – just like a doe. You’re going to be man-wary like one. They’ll spot you, but you’re going to flit right past and ignore that they exist. It won’t take long ere they’ll take it as a challenge.”
“I’m not going to be good at this.” A hopeless sigh filled the silence. “There’s not a man in three counties who would bother.”
“I already set up a practice for you. Whene’er you stay late, John Toomel’s bound to escort you home.” Linette’s lips formed his name – she looked hopeful and horrified all at once. I thought so. She’s sweet on him.
Nothing wrong with giving love a nudge. “Once someone spies him passing time with you, it’s going to be deer season in Gooding. So starting tonight, you gotta stay late. He’s too proud to come to supper every night, but he’ll be here for certain.”
Delighted with their plan and the finished curtains, they went in to check Ma, made lunch, and took it back outside. Maggie waved to Todd to let him know it was time to eat.
“Linette, you are here to help plant the roses, ja?” Todd asked the question before taking a bite of his sandwich.
“I love roses!”
“Gut. Sehr gut.” He took another bite and nodded as if he’d solved a great philosophical riddle. “Later this week we’ll plant vegetables. Today, you plant roses.”
Maggie couldn’t hide her amazement. “Where?”
&nbs
p; “Roses belong closer to a house. They will come first, then the corn, and finally the sorghum.” Todd shoved the last bite in his mouth and strode off.
They finished eating and went out to the garden. Gently patting the earth, then drawing a circle in it around the first rosebush, Maggie whispered, “Welcome to your new home.”
“You haven’t said what color they are.”
“Vivid pink. You’ve never seen such a color, and you never will again. They’re my treasured legacy for my daughters and granddaughters and great-granddaughters. It’s essential I make them thrive.”
“Okay, so show me what to do, and we’ll get this done before that grouchy mother-in-law of yours beckons you. You haven’t said anything, but I can’t ignore the truth. Todd’s mama would test the patience of a saint.”
Resisting the urge to agree, Maggie leaned forward and stabbed into the earth. “Here’s how I do it. Dig a hole . . . this deep. This is my desiccated, ground-up kelp, and here’s bone meal. Molasses, too.”
“I knew it! I just knew it! I helped old Mrs. Whittsley plant roses last year, and she had me pour her secret formula in the hole and a few drops at the base. I said it smelled like molasses cookies, and she told me I’d be one sick and sorry girl if I tasted from her bottle.”
“And well you might. The molasses for cooking has the sulfur removed; agricultural molasses doesn’t. I made that mistake. Once.”
“Look. Todd is bringing out another crate. I thought you said he’d decided on three.”
Maggie’s breath caught. Four! That meant a total of twenty bushes. Since her roses bloomed throughout the year, that would produce enough not only to meet their needs, but for her to make a few gifts. When Todd set the box in the dirt a few paces away, she smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
Linette waited until he left. “I saw the cake. Don’t you dare think he gave you more roses to make up for whatever he did. He’s not that kind of man.”
Pretending not to hear her, Maggie planted another rosebush.
Todd brought out two more crates!
“He’s so romantic, Maggie. I’d die to have a bucktoothed, bowlegged pauper give me a smile, and Todd’s showering you with the thing he knows you hold so dear.”
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