Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)
Page 62
Now, only the drone of buzzing grasshoppers accompanied her on the journey into Mobridge.
Daughters sent on last-minute errands packed Ernestine’s Fresh Food Market. Lilly weaved past barrels of dill pickles, jars of sauerkraut, and burlap bags of dried corn and buckwheat kernels. The heady scent of peppermint and coffee encircled her as she slid into line, greeting Marjorie’s sister Evelyn.
“What do you need today, Lilly?” Ernestine sighed, the sheen of perspiration glistening on her wide brow.
“Two pounds of flour, please.”
Willard, Ernestine’s balding husband, winked at Lilly as Ernestine dipped out the flour and poured it into Lilly’s canvas bag.
“Get any letters from the front?” Willard’s voice stayed low, but laughter sang in his eyes.
“Maybe,” she replied, blushing.
His gray eyes twinkled. He winked again and turned away. Ernestine handed her the flour, and Lilly dropped a nickel into the shopkeeper’s sweaty palm.
The basket groaned as Lilly dropped the bag of flour into it. She tucked it into the crook of her arm and pushed toward the door, where the late afternoon sun flooded over the threshold. As Lilly stepped out of the shop, it blinded her, and she plowed straight into a pair of thick, muscled arms.
“Oh, excuse me!” Lilly stumbled backward.
Wide hands clamped on her upper arms to steady her. Her victim’s tall frame blocked the sun, and Lilly stared unblinking at a Viking with a crooked smile, golden blond hair, and eyes blue like the sky an hour before a prairie rainstorm. Lilly’s heart thumped like a war drum in her chest.
“You again!” She pulled her arms from his grasp.
He fingered the brim of his battered ten-gallon hat in apology and salutation. “I keep running you over, Fraulein.” His grin teased, but his eyes spoke apology. “Pardon me.”
Lilly felt a blush. “It’s my fault this time.” Her gaze skimmed his scuffed brown boots, then returned to his angular face. An attractive layer of blond whiskers outlined his rueful smile.
The cowboy’s grin evaporated. For a moment, his brilliant blue eyes kneaded her with an obscure emotion. Then it morphed into pure mischievousness. He stepped aside and doffed his hat, sweeping low and indicating, like an Arthurian knight, that she should pass.
“Thank you,” Lilly stammered. She swept past him, feeling his gaze on her back as she took off in a rapid clip.
Lilly was passing Miller’s when she heard the ruckus start. Angry voices and a string of curses punctuated the air. Lilly whirled, horrified, wondering who would use such vile language in the middle of Main Street.
Brad, Gordy, and Allen Craffey, three burly brakemen and recent imports from Milwaukee, surrounded the man Lilly had bumped into. They pushed him with their offensive words to the middle of the street.
“What’s the matter, can’t ya read?” Brad brandished a long stick, poking at his victim.
Lilly’s stomach clenched. The cowboy had his hands outstretched, as if trying to explain. Gibberish spewed from his mouth.
“I said, can’t ya read?” Brad taunted.
The cowboy stilled, but his words hung like a foul odor. A crowd began to gather. Lilly could smell suspicion in the sizzling breeze. Then she saw the foreigner ball his fists.
“See this…?” Gordy dashed up the steps to Ernestine’s. An assembly of speechless women, Ernestine included, watched as he ripped a sign from her door. Lilly knew it well and hated it: “No Indians allowed.”
Gordy scrambled down the steps and flung it at the man’s feet. “No Injuns allowed!”
The stunned onlookers stared at him, awaiting his reply. The cowboy spoke in tight, clipped English, enunciating each word. “I…am…not…an…Indian.”
Obviously. His fair skin and white blond hair could hardly be compared to the crimson tan of the Oglala Sioux. But his accent alienated him. Lilly swallowed the hard lump in her throat. What was this young, strong foreigner doing here when the majority of Mobridge’s male population was overseas fighting for their lives? An ugly murmur shifted through the crowd.
Lilly noticed Ed Miller, Roy Flanner, and Morrie from the barbershop clumped on the boardwalk, watching with stony eyes.
“Where ya from, blondie?” Brad said it, but it could have been anyone’s voice.
“Deutschland.” The cowboy lifted his chin slightly.
“Dutch land!” Gordy screamed. “Where’s that?”
“I think it’s near England!”
“It’s next to Norway!”
“Isn’t that where they make those wooden shoes?”
Lilly felt as if she’d been slugged. No, it’s our enemy, the people who are trying to kill your sons and husbands. They had a German right here in their midst.
Brad took the confusion and turned it into violence. He cursed and shoved the German with his stick. Lilly held in a horrified scream as Gordy pounced on the German’s back and Brad landed a blow into the man’s chest. He sagged slightly, lost his hat. Brad trampled it and slammed his fist into the German’s stomach. He grunted. Lilly winced. A broken bottle suddenly appeared in Allen’s grip. The wiry Craffey sneered at the German and slashed wildly.
Lilly’s breath caught when the German threw Gordy off his back, then caught Brad’s stick above his head. He wrenched it from Brad’s grasp, while dodging Allen’s jagged weapon.
Why didn’t the German attack? Throw a punch to defend himself? Lilly teetered at the edge of the boardwalk, horrified yet transfixed. Craffeys came at him time and again, yet he stood his ground, no quarter given, but none taken.
Allen hurled the bottle at the German, and it ripped a gash down the side of his face.
Lilly bit her trembling lip and fought with herself. She should help him. No one had moved to his defense. Shame tasted like bile in her throat. What kind of town had Mobridge turned into when a group of Christians let a man be beaten? What had he done but be a foreigner in a suffering town?
Then again, he wasn’t any foreigner; he was German. He deserved to be beaten.
Her sense of justice grabbed her and screamed logic. This German was not part of the Central Powers, the German/Austrian force that started the Great War. He might be an unwelcome presence in their town—but he hadn’t caused the deaths of their South Dakota cowboys.
And Lilly could not let the Craffey boys cause his death.
She dropped the basket and ran headlong into the fight.
Chapter 4
Lilly didn’t know what terrified her more, the venomous look on Gordy Craffey’s face or her own bloodcurdling scream. The sound scattered the Craffey brothers with the effectiveness of three quick jabs.
Brad and Allen stared at her, eyes wide, backing away from her. Lilly halted in a strategic location between the Craffey brothers and the bleeding German. Balling her hands on her hips, she planted her feet and tried to appear fierce. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Gordy Craffey picked himself off the dirt. He stepped toward Lilly like a boxer, his fists high. “Get out of here, Lilly Clark.”
Lilly shook her head, trying to summon her voice. She glanced at the German. His wide chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm; blood dripped off his chin.
“I said get, Lilly.” Hatred animated Gordy’s dark eyes.
Lilly held her breath. Would Gordy strike her? With his whitened fists and neck muscles bunched, he resembled a mad bull. Lilly battled the impulse to flee. There are at least fifty people watching, she reasoned. Gordy wouldn’t dare hit me. Judging by the angry scowls from the onlookers, Lilly wasn’t so sure they wouldn’t join ranks with the Craffeys and drag her, kicking and screaming, from the fight.
She crossed her hands over her chest and fought a violent tremble. “Leave him alone, Gordy. Save your anger for the real enemy.”
Apprehension rode through Mobridge on a smoldering breeze. Lilly smelled the foul odor of perspiration as she met Gordy’s black eyes. They narrowed, raising gooseflesh over Lilly.
“Get him ou
tta here,” he growled.
Lilly freed a shuddering breath and glanced at the German. “Do you have a wagon?”
His gaze remained on Gordy as he jerked a nod.
“Good, you can drive me home.”
Lilly dodged Gordy’s searing gaze as she and the German back-stepped. When they reached a graying buckboard parked in front of Bud Graham’s pharmacy, the German untied the rig while Lilly scanned the faces of the townspeople. It wouldn’t take long for news to race across the prairie. She briefly considered bandages for the German’s wound, but when she saw the cold abhorrence in Bud’s eyes, she snared her broken basket and climbed into the wagon.
“Where to?” the man asked without looking at her.
“North out of town, about two miles.”
The acrid stares of the townspeople burned Lilly’s neck as she rode tall and eyes forward on the bench. But her mind wrung out her impulsive actions. How many understood the German’s words? Lilly bit a quivering lip.
They churned the dust into a thick cloud as they galloped out of the valley and into the yellowing bluffs. Horror throbbed behind Lilly’s every thought, and only her grip on the bench kept her from covering her face with her hands and weeping. What had she just done?
Aside from the obvious foolishness of riding alone with a stranger, she’d just stuck her neck out, in full glare view of the entire Mobridge population, for a virtual enemy, for someone her own Reggie was trying to kill—and avoid being killed by! Traitor. Lilly went cold.
A mile out of town, the German slowed the horses to a walk. The road rippled as waves of heat skimmed it. Overhead, a stealthy red-tailed hawk hunted jackrabbits in an erratic pursuit. The field locusts hissed, interrupted only by the roar of an intermittent breeze. Perspiration layered Lilly’s forehead and began a slow slide down her cheek.
She glanced at the man she’d saved. Blood continued to drip onto his work pants, but he seemed mindless of it. His eyes were trained upon the horses, the endless prairie, perhaps even a land far away across the ocean.
“Are you okay?” Lilly ventured. No, obviously not! Lilly grimaced at her question. He is bleeding and was attacked by three men! Lilly recalled the confusion, perhaps even panic, that twisted his foreign words. It had horrified her; now she only felt sorry for him. Her own countrymen sickened her.
Bigotry always incensed her. It only took her history with the never-ending problem of the prairie dogs to see that injustice eclipsed all rational thinking on her part. Her father was always inventing new ways to extinguish the pests, and it wasn’t without a measure of sympathy for the furry creatures from the women in his family. For a time, Lilly headed up a smuggling ring, teaching Bonnie, DJ, and Frankie how to sleuth out and uncover the dammed-up dens. Then her father discovered their scheme and employed the thin end of a willow switch to help them see the error of their ways. Nevertheless, pity swept over Lilly every time she saw one dart through their carrot patch, and although she shooed them away, she still couldn’t bring herself to alert the local posse. Perhaps, as Lilly watched the Craffey brothers pummel the hapless blond German, she’d been reminded of a prairie dog—hated and stalked. Perhaps that was why she flew into the middle of a street brawl, abandoning her common sense.
She was going to regret that act as soon as her father found out. And what if Reggie heard about it? Aiding and abetting the enemy in his own backyard. Lilly shuddered.
The horses snorted. Their coats were spotted with sweat, darkening their chocolate hides. The German clucked twice to them, encouraging their labors.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lilly scrutinized the blond, German cowboy. His eyes were hooded, and they squinted in the light. He’d left his hat in the dust back in Mobridge, and Lilly couldn’t help notice his golden hair had dried into a curly, askew mop. He had a strong jaw, now clenched, as if reliving the fight.
Lilly cleared her throat and asked again, louder, “Are you okay?”
The German shrugged, deflecting her concern. Lilly frowned, annoyed. Didn’t he know what her actions might cost her?
“You could at least thank me! You know, I’ll never be welcome in town again because of you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” His toneless reply sent fury into her veins.
“But you needed it. They could have killed you!”
The German turned, pinned on her an eternal, impenetrable gaze. Lilly raised her chin against it. Then the corner of his mouth upturned in a teasing grin.
“You think so, ja?”
Lilly’s mouth sagged open, and she bit back a flood of hurt. What an ego. Lilly focused on the sharpening outline of the Clark farm.
Beside her, the German chuckled. She glared at him. He drove, eyes ahead, a loose smile playing on his lips. His powerful sunbaked forearms rested on the patched knees of his work pants as he fingered the reins, and he was so tall sitting beside her, she could hide inside his massive shadow. The absurdity of her protective act hit Lilly like a fist. This man was no prairie dog. No wonder he had laughed.
Lilly hung her head as a blush crept up her face.
Who was this man? Why was he here? Frustration blurted out her question. “What’s your name?”
The German peeked at her and hesitated slightly before answering. “They call me Henry. Henry Zook.”
“Henry Zook.” Lilly twisted the name over her tongue.
“But my friends call me by my given name, Heinrick.” He said it in a tone that made it sound like a request.
Lilly bit her lip. Friends? She wasn’t, couldn’t be his friend. A knot tightened in her stomach.
“Stop please!”
Heinrick yanked on the reins, and the horses skittered to a stop. They were still a stone’s throw from the Clark lane, but common sense screamed at her to leave, immediately.
“What is it?”
Lilly gathered her skirt and hauled herself over the side. Heinrick watched her without a word as she retrieved her basket. When Lilly glanced at him, however, his jaw hardened and he swallowed. Lilly stepped away and waited for him to drive off.
Heinrick made to slap the horses, then paused. He turned and looked at her, and a palpable sadness filled his eyes. Lilly felt a small place in her heart tear apart.
“Thank you,” Heinrick said in a soft tone. Then he flicked the reins and trotted away.
Chapter 5
Mother, I’m back.” Lilly swiped off her straw hat as the screen door slammed behind her.
Mother Clark entered the mudroom, wiping her hands on her patchwork apron. She scowled as she took the smashed basket from Lilly’s hands.
“What happened to this?”
Lilly hung her hat on one of the pegs fastened to the wall. She steadied her voice, hoping it sounded close to normal. “I’m sorry, Mother. I dropped it.”
Her mother first examined the basket, then she scrutinized Lilly’s flushed face. Lilly offered a rueful smile and saw concern seep into her mother’s brown eyes.
“Well,” her mother said at last, “go wash up. Dinner is almost prepared.”
Lilly poured herself a bowl of water and washed off a sticky layer of prairie dust, as well as, she hoped, any indications of her outrageous behavior in town and the disturbing ride home. She freshly braided her hair and pronounced herself recovered, despite an odd soreness in her heart.
Dinner hour in the Clark home was as sacred as a church service. Lilly heard her father tramping about upstairs as he washed off the dirt from the fields and changed out of his grimy overalls. Her younger sister, Bonnie, hollered from the front door, and a moment later DJ and Frankie blew in from the yard like twisters. Lilly poured fresh milk into glasses while her mother removed a batch of biscuits from the wood-burning oven.
“Any news from town, Lilly?” Olive breezed in with a clean and chubby-faced Christian on her hip. Lilly’s mouth went dry.
“Olive, could you please open a jar of pickles?” Mother Clark untied her headscarf and apron, hanging them on a hook near the mu
droom door. Olive headed for the pantry, and Lilly licked her dry lips and felt her heartbeat restart. Maybe she could keep a lid on her latest reckless exploit.
Her father blew a feathery kiss across her mother’s cheek, then took his position at the head of the table. The family gathered around him, leaving an opening where Olive’s husband, Chuck, normally sat. Her mother set a bowl of gravy on the table and slid next to her husband on a long bench. Lilly noticed her father’s face seemed drawn. After he asked the blessing, she discovered why.
“A drought is coming. I read it in the almanac, and I see it in the clear blue sky. No rain. The soil is drying up, and even the wheat I planted in last year’s fallow field is withering.”
Her mother slid a hand over her husband’s clasped hands. Lilly noticed her father’s green eyes seemed to age. “We need to find a way to lay up stores for the winter. I don’t think we’ll make enough on the wheat to hold us through.”
Her father couldn’t tend the crop alone, and without Chuck’s help, the eighty acres he’d added two years ago would revert to the bank.
Despite the beckoning aroma of beef sauced in onion and dill gravy, dinner went nearly untouched. Only Frankie and DJ dove into their food. Lilly wished, just this once, she had their naive trust.
Olive adjusted Christian on her knee and handed him a biscuit scrap. “I volunteered to help out at the armory, with Red Cross packages, but maybe I can find a job, instead. I know they’re advertising for cooks at Fannie’s boardinghouse.”
Her father, who had been examining his fork, glanced at her and smiled. But his eyes spoke regret.
Lilly played with the fraying edge of her cotton napkin. “Mrs. Torgesen asked me to make her something for the Independence Day picnic,” she said. “That will help.” She peeked at her mother, who flashed a reassuring grin.
“We’ll all work together and put it into the Lord’s hands,” her father quietly summed up. The matter was dropped, but apprehension lingered as the shadows stretched out in dusty patterns along the kitchen floor.