Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)

by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May

  “I don’t want a ride.” Lilly stepped into the road and started walking, her legs moving in crisp, quick rhythm. “Thank you, anyway.”

  Heinrick followed her, the horses meandering down the road.

  “Go away, Mr. Zook!” Lilly called over her shoulder, annoyance pricking her.

  “My friends call me Heinrick!”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  He did not immediately reply, and Lilly felt the sting of her words. The locusts hissed from the surrounding fields, their disapproval snared and carried to her by an unrelenting prairie wind. Lilly pounded out her steps in silence, her knuckles white as she clutched the fabric.

  “Why not?”

  Lilly stopped and whirled on her heels. “Because you are German! And if you haven’t noticed, America is in a war against Germany! My fiancé, Reggie, is over there”—she flung her arm out eastward—“trying not to get killed by your countrymen. I can hardly accept a ride from a man who may have relatives shooting my future husband at this very moment!” She sucked a breath of dry, searing air and willed her heart to calm. “That, Mr. Zook, is why I can’t be your friend.”

  She saw a glimmer of hope die in his eyes with her painful words, and Heinrick’s misshapen grin slowly vanished. A shard of regret sliced through her. She wasn’t a rude person, but she had no choice but to be brutally frank. They were at war, America and Germany, she and Heinrick. And war was ruthless.

  “Please, just leave me alone,” Lilly pleaded.

  Heinrick nodded slowly. “I understand.” His eyes hardened. “But that’s going to be a bit hard, seeing we both work for the Torgesens.”

  “Try, please, or you’re going to get us both into a mess of trouble.”

  He leveled an even, piercing gaze on her. “I am sorry, Fraulein. Trouble is the last thing I hope to bring you. I’d much prefer to bring you flowers.” Then he slapped the horses and took off in a fast trot.

  Lilly gaped as she watched him ride away, his muscular back strong and proud against a withering prairie backdrop. Then her throat began to burn, and by the time she neared her house, she was wiping away a sheet of tears.

  Chapter 7

  An early afternoon sun cast ringlets of light through Lilly’s eyelet curtains and across her vanity. Her brown hair was swept up into a neat braided bun, and a slight breeze, tinged with the smell of fresh lily of the valley, played with the tendrils of hair curling around her ears. Lilly bent over her parchment, scribing her words.

  June 28, 1918

  My Dearest Reggie,

  My thoughts were with you this morning as we walked to church. DJ, who’d lingered behind us, startled a ring-necked pheasant into flight, and I recalled the year when you found an entire nest and gave us three for Thanksgiving dinner. I also remember Harley’s envy that year when you brought in two bucks to his doe. I am counting on your aim to protect you and Chuck and can’t help but shiver with you when I think of you huddling in the foxholes. I haven’t said a word to Olive, who, I fear, believes you all within the safety of a fortified Paris. Perhaps it’s for the best; she and little Chris prefer the cheerful reports from the censored Milwaukee Journal.

  On to glad news. The city fathers have agreed to preserve tradition and host the Mobridge rodeo on Independence Day. In the absence of many regular participants, they have extended an invitation to the children, allowing them to compete in the center ring. Frankie is hilarious with joy. He commandeered Father’s plow and spent the last week practicing his steer roping. As Father won’t let him near the cows, Sherlock became his unfortunate victim. Frank stood upon the plow, flung about him the lasso you constructed, and then wrestled the hapless spaniel to the dirt. After three days of tireless practice, Sherlock finally crawled behind the lattice under the back porch, and since Friday has refused to reappear. Twice I saw Mother slide a bowl of scraps under the steps; I believe she has more than an ounce of empathy for the old pup!

  The prairie is already beginning to wilt; the black-eyed Susans and goldenrod, which were so vibrant only a month ago, have joined the fraying weeds. The heat this year is insufferable, and I know if you were here, I’d find you in the Missouri, fighting the catfish for space. Do you miss the river and the song of the crickets at dusk? I can’t imagine what France must be like—does it have coyotes or prairie dogs or cottonwoods to remind you of home?

  Marjorie is distraught over Harley’s cold. I hope he is recovering and has rejoined you in the trenches, not that I wish any of you there; rather I would have you all here. But I know how you must miss him, and I can’t bear to imagine you alone during an offensive. May God watch over you.

  Mother and Father send their love. I talked to your father in town two weeks ago, and he looked fit and calm, as is his nature. His courageous, faithful prayers continually inspire me; my own petitions seem so feeble in comparison. Nevertheless, my thoughts are constantly upon you and the pledge we made in the shadow of the maples near the bluff. Please come home to me.

  Faithfully,

  Lillian

  Lilly folded the page, slid it into a creamy white envelope, and propped it against her round mirror. She hadn’t mentioned Heinrick, and a sliver of deceit pierced her heart. But why should she? She’d hardly mentioned the drought, either, for Reggie’s own good. She didn’t want him to worry, and neither did she want him to imagine a scenario that had never existed, would never exist, between her and Heinrick. Better to let the matter die in the dust. If he ever did ask, she would tell him she’d merely saved a man from a good pummeling.

  She heard the screen door slam, then voices drift toward her room. Her heart skipped. The Larsens, and perhaps they had news from Reggie!

  Or, and her smile fell at the thought, maybe they had news about her. So far, no one other than Olive had hinted a word about the event in Mobridge, already almost a week past. But, then again, her parents were busy people and didn’t cotton to gossip. Unless, of course, it involved their daughter.

  Lilly gulped a last bit of peaceful air, painted a smile on her face, and bounced down the stairs.

  Reverand and Mrs. Larsen sat in two padded green Queen Anne chairs in the parlor, glasses of lemonade sweating in their hands. Reverand Larsen rose and greeted her. Lilly smoothed her white cotton dress, glad she hadn’t changed after church, and sat next to her mother on a faded blue divan.

  “So, news from Reggie?” she asked and tried to ignore the tremor in her voice.

  Mrs. Alice Larsen shook her head. “Simply a social call to our future daughter-in-law and her parents.”

  Lilly grinned. The coast was clear, no storms brewing on the horizon. Olive sauntered into the room, little Chris on her hip, still in his Buster Brown church uniform. She waggled his pudgy arm at the small crowd. “Going for a nap,” she said in a baby voice, then backed out of the room. She glanced at Lilly, who caught the scorching look, as if in reprimand, from her older sister.

  “Reggie wrote and told us that you’re planning to join the Red Cross?” Reverand Larsen asked Lilly.

  Lilly shrugged. “Oh, that was just talk. I’m not sure right now.”

  “Well, I heard they need volunteers. It sounds like the work is endless.” It seemed Reverand Larsen knew everyone’s needs, business, and talents. At least those of his congregation. “I am sure Reggie would be proud.”

  Lilly blushed.

  “Lilly’s been doing a lot of sewing, especially for the Torgesen family.” Her mother winked at Lilly.

  Mrs. Larsen dabbed a lace-trimmed kerchief on her neck. “It’s so nice that you can help out your family, and sewing is such a needed talent in the church. It will serve you well as a pastor’s wife.”

  “Lilly has much to offer to help Reggie get a firm hold on a nice flourishing congregation when he returns.”

  Lilly shot a glance at her father. She suddenly felt like a prize milking cow, up on the auction block.

  “That is, until she starts filling the house with babies.” Mrs. Larsen cocked her head an
d slathered Lilly with soupy eyes. “I can’t wait to be a grandmother.”

  “So Reggie is going into the ministry after the war?” Lilly’s mother rose to refill the half-empty glasses.

  Reverand Larsen nodded. “He’s all ready to follow in his father’s footsteps.” He held out his glass. “But I won’t be handing over the pulpit too quickly. He’ll have to tuck some experience under his belt first. Maybe take on a smaller church, perhaps up north in Eureka, or plant a missionary church over in Java, that new Russian community.”

  Lilly stared past them at the patterned floral wallpaper her mother had lugged west from her home in Illinois. Her mother had been a banker’s daughter, brought up on fine linens and satin draperies. Life on the prairie had toughened her hands and character, but her refined, padded childhood still lingered in her choice of home decor. Lace curtains blew at the open window, and a portrait of Lilly’s stately maternal grandparents hung on the wall over the rolltop desk. Lilly often wondered who her mother had been before she’d met Donald Clark, before he’d moved her to the prairie, and before life with blizzards, drought, and birthing five children etched crow’s-feet into her creamy face.

  “Lilly, are you listening?” Her mother’s voice pierced her musings.

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Larsen asked you if you’d started your wedding dress yet.”

  Mrs. Larsen leaned forward in her chair. A thick silence swelled through the room. The tick of the clock chipped out eternal seconds.

  “Uh, well, no, actually. I felt I should wait.”

  With her words, the fear about Reggie’s future ignited. The questions, the fears, the unknowns. With one bullet, one misstep in the no-man’s-land between battle lines, their hopes would die. Mrs. Larsen gasped, her eyes filled, and she held a shaking hand to her lips.

  Lilly hung her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Maybe she should start on her wedding dress, as much for her own sake as Mrs. Larsen’s. Maybe that was just what she needed to get her focus back on the plan and erase the memory of her traitorous encounter with Heinrick. The fact that she easily conjured up his crooked smile or those dancing blue eyes bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  “Thank you for the lovely sermon today, Reverend.” Mrs. Clark filled the silence. Reverand Larsen leaned back into the molded chair. It creaked. “Thank you, Ruth. The passage about Abraham and Isaac is such a difficult one to interpret.”

  Her father threw in his chip as if to reassure the preacher. “You did well, helping us to remember it was Abraham’s obedience that won Isaac back to him. He obeyed God, regardless of the cost; that’s what is important.”

  Reverand Larsen nodded. “That’s what I continue to tell our young people”—and he fastened steel eyes on Lilly, adopting his preaching tone—“obedience to God and to the church is the only sure path in this world. If they want to find peace, they will walk it without faltering.”

  Lilly smiled meekly and noticed he’d balled his free hand on his lap, most likely a reflex action. Unfortunately, the Clark parlor had no pulpit to pound.

  “Take Ruth, for example,” he continued, his voice adopting a singing quality. “She, without a husband, obeyed her vows, despite the fact that it would mean a life without children, and followed Naomi to a foreign land. And God gave her Boaz and blessed her for her obedience.”

  “ ‘Obedience is better than sacrifice,’ Samuel told Saul,” added Mrs. Larsen.

  “That’s right, dear.” The reverend tightened his lips and nodded.

  Bonnie entered the room with a plate of shortbread. Her mother took it from her and served the guests. “But what about faith? Wasn’t it because of Abraham’s faith that God counted him righteous?”

  Lilly shot a quizzical look at her mother.

  “Of course!” Reverand Larsen stabbed his finger in the air as if her mother had made his point. “Obedience is faith. It’s faith in action. If we want to show God that we love Him, we will obey. And then, He will bless us—reward us for our faithfulness. Our obedience assures us of God’s blessings and of His love.”

  Reverand Larsen shifted his gaze to Lilly’s father. “That is why so many of our youth have problems today. They abandon the teachings of their church and parents. Without guidance, their lives simply run amok.”

  Her father nodded soberly.

  “But not your Lilly, here.” Every eye turned toward Lilly. “I always told Reggie that Lilly would make a fine wife. I’ve watched her since her childhood, especially while Reggie was at school, and decided she would have no problem being a submissive, obedient wife. I told Reggie so when he returned from college.” He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on both knees, and pinned her with a sincere look. “I’m glad he listened to me.”

  Lilly forced a smile. Had Reggie chosen her because of his father? No, Reggie said he’d been chasing her since her bloomer days. She couldn’t believe the look in Reggie’s eyes was anything but true love. Besides, she would be a good wife. She would see to that herself. She had no intention of falling off the path of the straight and narrow and landing “amok,” as Reverand Larsen so delicately stated it. She knew her path in life, and when God brought Reggie home, she would start walking down it.

  Lilly saw Mrs. Larsen dab at her forehead. She suddenly became conscious of her own glistening brow and the oppressive heat that filtered through the lace from the prairie. It oozed into her pores, flowed under her skin, and bubbled in a place inside her body. The pictures of her grandparents spun at odd angles.

  “Will you excuse me, please?” Lilly rose to her feet, reaching out her hand to grasp the back of her chair.

  “Lilly, are you ill?” Her mother put down the tray.

  Lilly shook her head. “I just feel a bit hot and dizzy.”

  “By all means, go lie down.” Mrs. Larsen had also risen, concern on her pale face. Somehow, the woman managed to avoid the sun despite living in a virtual oven.

  “Thank you for coming, Reverand Larsen, Mrs. Larsen.” Lilly fingered her temple, as if her head were throbbing. But as she exited the parlor and felt a cool breeze filter in from the kitchen, she realized it wasn’t dizziness that had attacked her in the parlor…it felt more like the numbing grasp of suffocation.

  Chapter 8

  The week before Independence Day passed in a flurry of fabric, needles, and fittings. Lilly hiked out to the Torgesen ranch three times during the week to fit the skirt, then the bodice, and finally the end product.

  She couldn’t help but look for Heinrick. His presence at the Torgesen T was a magnet, and despite the warnings in her heart, Lilly couldn’t stop herself from scanning the horizon as she left the ranch, certain she would see him and strangely disappointed when she didn’t. Of course, if she had, she would have ignored him, but still, the fact that he seemed to be avoiding her registered an odd despondency in her heart.

  Mrs. Torgesen did resemble a willow tree. Lilly’s mother dug up a half bottle of Christmas dye, and Lilly colored the lace overcoat a rose leaf green. The three shades of green blended into a pleasing harmony, and Mrs. Torgesen bubbled with delight as she sashayed around the kitchen during the final fitting.

  “Lilly, dear, fetch the millinery box from the parlor, will you? I want you to see the new hat I ordered from Chicago. It came on yesterday’s train.”

  Yesterday’s train! Lilly had been so busy, she’d forgotten about the mail train the day before. Her heart pounded as she retrieved the hatbox. There might be a letter from Reggie waiting in her mailbox right now.

  Lilly set the box down on the kitchen table. Mrs. Torgesen opened it and wiggled out a wide-brimmed, purposely misshapen hat. It was long and oval, meant to be propped low and sideways on Mrs. Torgesen’s head. The brim curled like an upturned lip in the back and sported three layers of transparent white lace wound around the bowl. A flurry of leftover lace dangled from the back like a tail. The crowning feature of Mrs. Torgesen’s new hat was a molded bluebird, nestled in the lacey layers and sn
uggled up to the shallow bowl of the hat in the front. Lilly swallowed a laugh—a bird in the willow! Mrs. Torgesen plopped the hat on her blond head and tied the mauve satin sash under her chin.

  “Well?”

  Lilly shook her head slowly. “Amazing.”

  Mrs. Torgesen glowed. “Well, just because one lives in the middle of a wasteland doesn’t mean one has to blend!” She let out a hearty laugh, as did Lilly. The one thing Erica Torgesen didn’t do was “blend.”

  The sun was still a high brilliant orb as Lilly stepped out into the Torgesen yard. Mrs. Torgesen had paid her well, and Lilly headed for town to pick up more sugar for her mother’s currant jam, also planning a quick stop at the post office.

  Lilly tugged on the brim of her straw hat and tucked her basket into the crook of her arm. A hot breeze whipped past her and brought with it a horse’s whinny. Lilly shot a glance toward the corral just in time to sight a cowboy riding in astride a magnificent bay. The man didn’t notice her. His shoulders sagged as if from exhaustion, and dust layered him like a second skin. But, as he dismounted, Lilly plainly recognized Heinrick. She gasped and reined in her traitorous heart. Her feet seemed rooted to the ground. Heinrick looped the horse’s reins over the fence and turned toward the house.

  In a breathless moment, Heinrick’s eyes fastened upon her, and a wave of shock washed over his face. It seemed as though, in that instant, some film fell away from him and she could see him clearly, unfettered by prejudice and stereotypes. He was a man etching out a life on the prairie, building simple hopes, maybe a home and a family, just like every pioneer before him. The sense of it overwhelmed her, shredding her resolve to turn a hard eye to him. Trembling, Lilly bit her lower lip and blinked back tears.

  A smile nipped at the corners of Heinrick’s mouth. She waited for it to materialize into fullness, but he abruptly extinguished it and offered a curt nod instead, tugging on the brim of his hat. He didn’t move, however. They stood there, fifteen feet apart, staring at each other, and Lilly felt the gulf of an entire ocean between them. The desire to tell him she was sorry and ask how he was doing pulsed inside her. But she stayed mute.