Serendipity

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Still, they came – crate after crate. At first, Maggie wasn’t sure. But Linette opened her eyes. Todd knew how much she treasured her roses. This couldn’t be a mere apology – it was far more! He might not love me . . . yet. But he’s trying. Things can still work out. I need to be patient and persistent.

  Finally, Todd brought out the very last one. Maggie’s heart was so full, she almost wept.

  Wiping his neck with his red bandana, he came closer to survey the dozen bushes they’d already planted. “It’s practical to have the roses between the corn and the house. It keeps vermin from the house.”

  “Aye, ’tis practical.” Though not nearly as sweet. I was foolish to let my hopes run wild.

  Knotting the bandana around his neck, he added, “With the rose garden close, Ma can sit outside and talk with you.”

  Maggie fought the urge to help him tie the bandana much, much tighter.

  “Better, too, for me to yield land outside the barn than to leave boxes in the barn.”

  Maggie stared at him in disbelief. She’d actually started to believe that he wasn’t just sorry, but even developing deep feelings for her. But he wasn’t penitent in the least. And certainly not passionate. No amount of patience or persistence would soften his hard heart.

  Maggie made a snap decision. She wasn’t going to win him; he had to win her.

  “Not again.” Smacking his hat against his thigh, Todd growled, “Margaret.”

  He’d had ulterior motives in having her plant all of the roses: It would clear out a dozen crates, Maggie would get involved with her beloved legacy, and she’d be busy enough that she’d stop all of her haggling. Friends remarked on the deals they’d made with her. Even Daniel Clark said something – undoubtedly because he’d noticed a dent in his business at both the mercantile and the lumber and feed. Todd growled her name again.

  Maggie’s head popped up over a wheelbarrow. “Uh-oh. What did I do this time?”

  “Someone’s coming. Whoever it is, make it quick. Time away from the fields is wasted.”

  Men came to the farm, and Magpie talked with anyone. She had no idea of her appeal. Cowboys and farmhands didn’t want to have to wait until Sunday to catch sight of a pretty woman. As long as men came to his land, Todd would have to bird-dog his wife – for her safety and to scare the men off instead of feeding them.

  Shading her eyes, she looked down the road. “It’s one of the boys from Checkered Past. Those five whiskered boys stay clumped together like marbles in a bag. They’re about as sharp as marbles but not nearly as useful.” Maggie shook her head. “I’m guessing at his age you had work to do, not notes to carry for Mama. Are any of them worth a hoot when they get a job?”

  “Fencing. They’re good at fencing.”

  Maggie quirked a brow. “Useful fencing, or waving-skinny-swords fencing?”

  In spite of his irritation, Todd cracked a smile. “Useful. Two can rope.” They went into the barn.

  Dragging his feet in the dust, the young man mumbled, “Mrs. Valmer, ma’am? I got a note.” He patted his shirt pocket, then crammed his hands in his pants pockets. “Here.”

  Maggie took the note, opened a ledger, and frowned. “Can’t do this. Go back and tell your mama that it’s got to be a full half of a steer.”

  Todd felt anger surge, but he kept silent until the kid left. “When it comes to providing meat – ”

  Maggie penciled something on a tablet. “Meat. Go ahead. I’m listening. The Van der Vorts and the Pattersons are supposed to get this meat. The Van der Vorts could eat the whole thing in two meals, but then the Pattersons’ boys wouldn’t muck the livery.” She looked up and asked, “The trader’s fee is a few cuts of beef, depending on what they are. What do you fancy?”

  “What does Checkered Past get?”

  “Their choice of two Van der Vort IOUs: Either they shoe eight horses, or they’ll take one of the boys and apprentice him for a month – which was why I was asking if they can do anything useful.” Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “How does a roast sound?”

  “That barter did not get rid of anything. Emptying the barn of all your things – that is the goal. There is too much to do here. No more, Margaret. Clear out everything.”

  Slapping her ledger shut, she said, “You have another think a-comin’ if you believe I’ll do so.”

  “A wife does not speak thus.”

  “Neither does a husband,” she shot back. “Just look about you. Go on ahead. What do you see?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “My things – and I’m not talking sparkles and specials – I’m talking your basic, start-up-a-home stuff. All of it except for the washstand are stuck out in the barn. Not in the house. In the barn! That’s Ma’s table and chairs in there. Her dresser, too. Mayhap if I had some of my things in the house, then you wouldn’t be bumping into them out here.”

  He compressed his lips.

  “I can’t move the furniture by myself, and you’re too busy. I reckoned we could blend things in and store the rest here until we have a wee bit of elbow room.”

  Standing with his arms folded across his chest, he met her hot look. “The pots in the house are sufficient.”

  “Not when harvest rolls around and I’m cooking for a couple dozen men.”

  She had a point. He cast a look in the stall. There was more now than when she first arrived. Given free rein, she’d take over the whole barn. “Most of this, you could get rid of. We would not miss it.”

  “You might not. I sure would. I’d delight in setting my rose china on the table.”

  “You have your rose garden. It is fair Ma has her plates.”

  Maggie’s jaw tightened and her eyes sparked. “Those plates were given to her by a husband who knew the importance of a woman having the dishes she dreamed of. A man who loved his wife and paid his last cent to be sure she got them.”

  “So you hold against me that I have not bought you new china.”

  “ ’Tisn’t the truth, and well you know it.” Her voice shook.

  “Do I? I’ve given you nothing but debt. You chase all over, bartering because I haven’t given you what you want or need.”

  Bang! She thumped her ledger on the table. Upending an envelope, she sent slips of paper flittering in the air. “Have a look. Just have a look! There’s not a soul in the whole town who hasn’t needed to barter. And I said need. Did you think less of Piet and Karl because that is how they get their meat? Or of the Pattersons? There’s not enough money, but plenty of necessities. One neighbor helping another.”

  One by one, he flipped or turned the papers. “A cord of wood. Butchering. Credit for Clark’s Mercantile?”

  “Daniel Clark suggested it. He’s getting coal for his home and store. He wanted some of my lotion and soap, so we have a little store credit, ourselves. I didn’t tell him how much Mrs. Ludquist sent us for the soap and lotion she wanted. He’s been so good to everyone, I wanted him to take it for free – but he wouldn’t.”

  Shaking his head, Todd continued to look at the things people had to offer. In her ledger, she listed what everyone needed.

  “We’re a team – yoked together and pulling a mighty weight called debt. Every chance we have, we’re dropping it – by putting in the sorghum, planting a huge garden, and by snaring meat and dozens of other ways. What kind of wife would I be, to go against my very nature and not do something that will ease things? Bartering is natural as breathing for me.” She paused a second and added in a wry tone, “But when it comes to farm stuff, I’ve got a sore, sad case of hay fever.”

  Pride and need warred inside him.

  “I’d rather see you handling lots of the deals. . . . I don’t know enough about farm tools to fill a thimble. And I don’t know if I should accept some offers. One lady says she’ll sew a fine church shirt for a man. I’m not sure any of the men would take that deal.”

  “Widow O’Toole and Linette can both sew well. A married man has a wife to do the sewing, but a bachelor won’t
touch that trade.”

  “See?” She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. “I didn’t even mention names. So why don’t we work together?”

  He pondered the idea.

  Maggie squeezed his arm. “For our future.”

  “Did you say we’ll get a roast?”

  Two chairs sat out on the porch that very evening. Maggie’s dowry chest now served as a bench on the far side of the table. Ma looked at the china Maggie drew from the barrel. “Oh.” It was so . . . ordinary. All it had were little sprays of roses on it.

  “You’re speechless. I was, too, the first time I saw it.” With a grand flourish, Maggie put a cup and saucer on the table. “So now that you’ve seen it, we need to decide whose china is for everyday, and whose is for extra-special occasions.”

  Helga thought for a minute. “Yours are plain and mine are fancy. Someday, my granddaughter will want to use my china, so we’ll save the best for best. No putting it in that barrel, though! It’s getting stored safe and snug in your dowry chest.” She poked at Maggie. “I expect German food on my plates for the holidays.”

  Maggie looked at Todd and laughed. “Your ma sets a mean bargain.”

  “All the trading and swapping I’m seeing, it’s fair I do some, too.”

  “You are going to see plenty more, Ma. Maggie and I are going to work on it at the table every couple of nights. Maggie, the rear axle on the buckboard is cracked. That’s the first thing we have to arrange. You already traded the axles you brought. But what about a wagon jack?”

  “Jakob owns it now. He gave two water barrels to Widow O’Toole, and she promised me she’d come help do the canning. I don’t doubt he’d be willing to let you borrow it, but I’ll send along some of my lotion. You can tell him it’s because Hope and Annie have fragranced my life with their sweet friendship.”

  Todd grunted. Helga liked how he did that because he sounded just like his father.

  “As for the axle, Mr. White has a spare. No doubt he’d part with it for half a day of Adam and Eve’s labor – but he’d dicker over it for the other half of the day. Millie Clark has her heart set on a jet intaglio for her sister. I have one she particularly likes. Millie could extend store credit to Piet Van der Vort, and I’m sure he has an axle.”

  Helga croaked, “Todd, you can’t mean to go begging.”

  “Cooperating, Ma; not begging. Maggie and I – we’ve kept it from you, but things are more than tight. We’re hanging on by a thread.”

  Helga stabbed the needle in her work. “I’ve got the perfect trade. Simplest thing you could do.” Cocking her head so she could see them both, Helga said, “Write Arletta. Tell her to send money, or you’ll send me back.”

  “We will not!” Maggie threw down the dishcloth as she yelled. “I’m not selling you!”

  For all the times she felt like a burden, Helga drank in the vehement reaction. But they needed the money. “You’re not selling me. She got rid of me before. The girl won’t take me back – especially like this.”

  “She’d better be beautiful, because sure and for certain, that girl doesn’t have brains or a heart.”

  Todd folded his arms across his chest. “Sis looks just like Ma. Same brown hair and eyes.”

  Heart twisting, Helga whispered, “No one looks like me. Not like this.”

  “No one looks like anyone else. It’s like my cameos. Sometimes, though, it’s not what’s carved on the outside. On the most beautiful, it’s the light that shines through it.” Tender as could be, Maggie pushed in one of Helga’s hairpins. “Think on that, Ma.”

  “The intaglio cameo – that would be the best choice for the axle.” Todd studied Maggie’s face. “But I know you love your cameos.”

  “I have my favorites. I’m a barterer. Getting rid of things is my job, and just you watch me do it.” Maggie turned to her. “And you are not a thing, so don’t you dare think that applies to you.”

  Maggie went out to get her ledger from the barn.

  “She’s fond of you, Ma.”

  “She did it for you, not for me.”

  “Then make her change her mind and be glad she did it for all of us.”

  Weeks passed, and Maggie fell into a routine. Each Sunday, she’d relish not only worship, but an afternoon of friendship. Heart and soul – Sundays filled her up.

  All her friends held to the cockeyed notion that Monday was washday, so Tuesdays Maggie ironed. Other than that, she worked in baking and cleaning.

  In many ways, it was like life back in the holler. Everyday chores were the same. But here, the bartering was much, much brisker. And she was working in the fields. With the weather growing hotter, they’d rise up early of a morn and do chores before the worst of the day. Every drop of water had to sink in – and Maggie learned the tricks of “dry gardening.”

  But she missed the cool mountain breeze and the mist. And the impish twinkle in Uncle Bo’s eyes. Paw-Paw’s wise counsel. The sound of Jerlund planting both feet on each step. But most of all, Maggie longed for the contentment she’d once taken for granted.

  Men back home spoke their hearts freely and did so in a musical, run-together way. Cowboys and farmers – especially the German ones, guarded their hearts and hoarded their words.

  The blue curtains looked . . . fair. Strung on twine, they dipped a bit in the middle. So she drove a few pegs above the window and swagged her beloved Rose plaid across.

  “The blues match.” Coming from Ma, Maggie took it as a compliment. “Like from our wedding.” Approval warmed Todd’s voice.

  Black lines separated the jeweled green and blue squares – making it handsome, yet reminiscent of a stained-glass window. She’d always had a plaid across her mantel. Depending on her mood, she’d choose one of the three belonging to Clan Rose, but the ancient hunting one had been Daddy’s favorite. The change made this feel more like home . . . but it also made her feel much, much farther away from Carver’s Hollow.

  Maggie anticipated the weekly letter she received from Uncle Bo and read it over and over. In his letters, Uncle Bo told of the happenings. Often her uncles sent notes, too. And bless her dear uncle, he had Jerlund write his name on envelopes and sent them with stamps affixed. She never breathed a word about how their farm was at risk; no one in the holler ever asked about finances. But Maggie suspected Uncle Bo knew. About every other letter, he’d include money and receipts for some of Maggie’s trade goods he’d sold. Every penny of it went in the jar that held their savings.

  Two magnificent double eagles sat in the bottom of the jar – ten whole, blessed dollars from Mrs. Ludquist. She’d requested Maggie send a bottle of perfume and some soap to her home in Boston – a rush order, because she wanted to take it with her on her travels. Maggie couldn’t help seeing the irony of it: Mrs. Ludquist wanted the roses as she left home; all Maggie wanted was to grow roses at home!

  Saturday morning Maggie wrapped her own plaid around Ma’s shoulders. “I aim to go pamper my roses. They’re struggling. Come on outside.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  Maggie dropped Ma’s embroidery in her lap. “I’m honored you noticed.”

  Maggie fretted over her beloved roses, and Ma’s stitches improved each week. Todd stopped by to admire both.

  Linette sashayed up. “I hope you don’t mind, but John Toomel is meeting me here so I can measure him for a shirt.”

  “We don’t mind at all.”

  Todd waited until Linette was out of earshot. His hot whisper sounded appalled. “We don’t mind? You said we were helping our friends and neighbors with this bartering. Don’t even consider trying to play matchmaker between your friend and my neighbor.”

  “What’s mine is yours.” She frowned at a leaf. “I’m just helping along two folks who are our friends.”

  “I’m saddling up and warning my friend about yours. He can’t possibly know what he got himself into.”

  A moment later, while Ma stayed in the shade, Linette yanked Maggie into the house. “I can�
�t believe John really asked for this trade.”

  “Aye, and you’re going to be proper as a stiff-rumped professor. No fluttering or small talk. And I’ll chaperon. Afterward, we’ll cook a roast. The other one was so delicious, Todd’s been wrangling all sorts of deals to bring in another.”

  Plopping down on the edge of Ma’s bed, Linette gave her a woebegone look. “You’re smart and beautiful and talented. You even had Belgians. Todd is blind to what a bargain he got. If that didn’t get you love, then I’m sunk.”

  It was the first time Linette implied Todd didn’t love her. Maggie turned away. “Love can’t be bought. And I’ll have you remember you are a sleek doe – a very talented and smart one that can sew and bake. In a few months, I might change my mind. Could be, love isn’t bought, but a man can make a first payment on it with a shirt.”

  She poured lotion into Linette’s hands. “When you measure his collar and cuffs, you want your hands nice and soft.”

  “This smells heavenly. Do you make other fragrances?”

  “The rose is my specialty, but I can mix other things. What would you like?”

  “I don’t know. Can you ask John what his favorite flower is?”

  “I’ll do it today.”

  Linette rubbed her hands a little more, then inhaled. “You ought to sell this. People would buy it!”

  Maggie looked out the open door. “No one has that kind of money. Wheat and corn prices dropped again. We’re all praying to make ends meet. Luxuries, like fine perfume, soap, and lotion . . . Only the very rich are indulging.”

  Until now, Maggie hadn’t let herself imagine what would happen if they lost the farm. They could start over again. Todd did it once, and he’d get us through anything. . . . But if we leave Gooding, I wouldn’t be with my dear friends anymore.

  John arrived. “Hello, Miss Richardson. I’m looking forward to getting a new shirt for church.”

  “Did you have any preferences?” Linette pitched her voice just right. “Some gentlemen are having shirts with the collar and cuffs attached instead of removable. And would you like the sleeves standard length, or longer so you can uhhh . . .” Linette didn’t want to say “garter.”