Threads of Love

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Then in the morning.”

  “Maybe.”

  She brought her fingers up and touched the silver necklace. The tiny cross pendent had slid across her throat and lay near her earlobe.

  Iris reached to turn down the lamp, and Emily caught her gaze before the room went dark.

  “I meant to ask you where you’d gotten that pretty necklace you’ve been wearing the past couple of days.”

  A wave of guilt crashed over Emily. “This old thing?” No lie. It had been Jake’s grandmother’s.

  “Oh, so you found it in your room at your parents’ house? That makes sense. It must have been something you acquired before we knew each other.”

  “It was a gift.”

  “How special.” Iris yawned. “Good night, Em.”

  “G’night.”

  “You’re my very best friend, and I love you as much as I would love a sister.”

  “I love you too, Iris. And I’d never hurt you for the world.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” She yawned again. “We’re sisters in Christ.”

  Emily smiled. The room quieted, and Emily grew drowsy, listening to the rain’s gentle drumming against the side of the house.

  The next morning Emily indulged in a hot bath before she dressed. Moving and stretching helped the soreness she felt in her back and legs from scrubbing floors and lifting and pushing furniture, which, in hind’s sight, had been far too heavy for woman’s work. Delegating had never been among the list of Emily’s stronger attributes. Perhaps it came from growing up on a small farm and competing with brothers, particularly her twin, Eden.

  Once she’d dressed in somber attire, fashionable brown skirt and a plain ivory shirtwaist, Emily brushed out her hair. Besta had taught her how to tame her curls with one thick braid and then wind it into a tight coil, which was finally pinned at the nape. She smiled at her grandmother’s story about a smitten Indian brave whacking off several inches of her braided blonde hair for a remembrance. Besta said she’d been terrified until Grandfather Sundberg stepped in to protect her.

  With her hair finished, Emily glanced at the many hatboxes stacked on top of her wardrobe. Which one to wear. She nibbled her lower lip. After several moments she selected one with a wide brim and swathed in tulle, brown ribbon, and rosettes. It complemented both her hair and her outfit.

  Ready at last, she left her room and took to the stairs. Iris had returned from her errands, excited about the prospect of her article being published in the Chronicle. It would be her first.

  “Oh, Granny, won’t it be grand if I can tell my students in the fall that I’m a published author?” Iris helped the elderly woman don her hat while Emily filled a basket of foodstuff that Mrs. Hopper so kindly prepared yesterday.

  At last the three of them left the boardinghouse and waited out in front for Jake’s arrival with the buggy. Emily was surprised when Zeb showed up.

  “The pastor requested that Jake arrive ahead of time so mourners could express their condolences to him if they wished.” Zeb climbed down, careful not to catch the hem of his good jacket on the side of the vehicle.

  “Makes perfect sense.” Iris placed her gloved hand into Zeb’s palm, and he helped her into the carriage.

  Next Zeb assisted Mrs. Hopper aboard and, finally, turned to Emily. Although she was older, he’d grown taller and broad-shouldered, strong like Poppa. With a grin, he took Emily’s hand and placed one hand at her waist. Then he sort of tossed her into the buggy. She landed quite unceremoniously beside Iris. She heard his chuckles.

  Iris clucked her tongue. “Such abuse, you poor darling.”

  “At least someone pities me.” Emily slapped the back of Zeb’s head after he positioned himself in the driver’s seat, reins in hands. Again, Zeb laughed. Mrs. Hopper sent her a curious look, and from out of the corner of her eye, she caught her best friend’s grin. “So you think it’s amusing too?”

  “No, no . . . but your brothers love you, Em.”

  “Sure we do.” Zeb still wore a wide grin.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Hopper seemed charmed by her young, handsome driver. “You’ve become a fine man, Zeb Sundberg.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He gave Emily a grin.

  She hurled a glance at the blue sky.

  The buggy jerked as Zeb urged the team forward.

  Iris leaned close to Emily. “Despite your family’s love, I understand how you might feel . . . suffocated.”

  “I do, Iris.” Emily thought of Poppa and how he’d humiliated her.

  “You’ve never really been on your own, not like Eden.”

  Emily fought off a pout.

  “I haven’t either, and you know how Granny continually presses me to get married.” Iris whispered the remark. “It’s disheartening. She doesn’t see my personal achievements.”

  “Well, I do. The play you wrote at Easter time was brilliant. The message of our Savior’s death and resurrection came alive, and the children were so happy to have a part in the service.”

  “Thank you, Em.”

  She smiled.

  “Our families don’t understand that we’re independent women of the twentieth century.”

  Emily squared her shoulders. “Yes, we are.”

  “So you’ll enjoy the plans I’ve made.”

  “What?” Her confidence waned. “What plans?”

  “I’ll tell you later, after the funeral.”

  Anticipation and dread mingled inside of Emily. But Iris’s plans weren’t always harebrained. She’d been the one to suggest they both earn their teacher’s certificate. They’d acquired jobs, albeit at different schools, and they each had a small savings. However, there were those plans that hadn’t ended so well. Like the time they’d placed orders for two goats, intending to make goat’s milk soap and other luxurious bath accessories. It had sounded so profitable, although they hadn’t investigated the breeder. What had arrived from within a boxcar were ornery old things that butted anyone and anything within close proximity. Momma hated them, and the goats tormented the other livestock on the farm. Finally Poppa had to put them down. So much for their investment.

  “This isn’t one of your goat plans, is it?”

  “Oh, no . . . ” Iris grinned happily before gazing over the busy street. “This is a sure thing.”

  Emily wondered.

  Jake knew it was a bad idea right from the moment he began to read Granddad’s favorite Psalm. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.’” His throat went dry and his voice cracked as he read the rest. He drew in a deep breath before finishing. “‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’”

  The congregation said, “Amen!”

  Jake closed his Bible and stepped off the platform. He headed for his place in the front pew, only to discover that Emily Sundberg had taken his place. He slowed his pace and glanced at the adjacent pew, but it was filled. The entire church was packed from wall to wall.

  Emily must have realized his dilemma because she quickly scooted over, but not before Jake glimpsed the tears in her eyes, shining from beneath the rim of her hat. The sight gripped his heart. He hated the sight of a sad woman—ever since Ma . . .

  Jake halted his thoughts and strode the rest of the way to the pew and eased himself in beside Emily. On her other side, he heard Iris sniff loudly and, next to Iris, he’d glimpsed Mr. and Mrs. Schulz. After he was situated, Emily’s gloved fingers briefly touched the back of his hand. Oddly, Jake felt comforted by her simple gesture.

  The rest of the service went off without a hitch, and Jake decided his grandfather had been rightly honored by the Scripture readings and short testimony from Mr. Schulz. Afterward, at the burial, Jake tossed the first handful of dirt onto Granddad’s coffin. He murmured a last good-bye, remembering Granddad’s intelligent and patient gaze, his words of wisdom from the Scriptures, and his sound busine
ss advice. You love the law like I do, Jake. You’re a fair man. You believe justice will be served . . .

  And then it was over.

  CHAPTER 13

  JAKE PRESSED HIMSELF into a space between Granddad’s parlor and dining room and watched the goings-on. After relaying their condolences to him, people mingled while holding their luncheon plates in one hand and enjoying the array of food. Dishes lined the sideboard and cluttered the linen-cloth-covered table. Awestruck, grateful, and mightily overwhelmed described his feelings at the moment. Almost every female in Granddad’s church brought something tasty to share. If he kept sampling, he’d bust a seam.

  Emily’s mother came toward him, carrying a tray of sweet baked goods. She stopped. “Help yourself, Jake.”

  “Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Sundberg, I’m filled up.”

  She smiled and moved on.

  Soft piano music wafted to his ears from Granddad’s library. Curious, Jake strode in the direction of the library and recognized the melody of “Be Still, My Soul.” Granddad loved that hymn.

  Four dining room chairs blocked the entrance of the library, discouraging guests. Evidently one guest hadn’t been deterred. Jake slipped past through the middle of the chairs and paused at the doorway. Emily sat at the piano.

  “Leave to thy God to order and provi-ide.” She began to sing in a smooth soprano. “In every change He faithful will remain. Be still, my soul, thy best, thy heavenly Frie-end, through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.”

  Jake felt sort of choked up. “You trying to make everybody cry?”

  Emily glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Jake.”

  “Hi, yourself.” He walked forward. “You play beautifully.”

  “Thank you.”

  She began again, and Jake sidled up to the piano and leaned against its polished edge.

  “Poppa thought I should play some of Mr. Ollie’s favorite hymns.”

  “Nice idea.” The melody plucked a soulful chord deep inside of him.

  “Poppa likes to hear that his money has been put to good use on all my many piano lessons.” Glancing up from the keys, she smiled at him, and Jake’s insides warmed.

  “I think your father made a sound investment.”

  The comment earned him another smile, and Jake wished he wasn’t leaving tomorrow morning. He tried to burn this moment into his memory forever. Beautiful and talented Emily Sundberg, serenading him at the grand piano.

  Her fingers rested on the keys. “Any requests, Jake?”

  He thought a moment, his mind devoid of all thoughts except the ones of her and the way the sunshine danced off her reddish-brown hair, and how fetching she looked in the ivory, high-necked blouse she wore. He spotted the necklace he’d given her, its only evidence the tiny cross, resting at her throat. A feeling of pleasure spread through him. Just as he suspected; she wore it every day.

  Because of him?

  Maybe more because Granddad had been a grandfatherly figure in her life too.

  “How about ‘Nearer My God to Thee’? Mr. Ollie liked that one too.”

  “That will do just fine, Emily.”

  She arranged the sheet music in front of her and then began to play. Jake forced himself to back away from the piano, but he couldn’t make himself leave the room. Emily had some inexplicable way of drawing him in and making him stay . . .

  But what of her feelings? Sometimes he thought he sensed they shared a powerful attraction, but other times she made it clear that he was only her friend.

  Jake walked to the second set of bay windows. Sheer white draperies covered them, and he pushed them open. Outside people mingled on the back yawn, ladies in their feathery and flowery hats and somber-colored skirts and dresses, and men attired in their Sunday best on a Tuesday afternoon. He inhaled deeply as his gaze wandered farther, beyond the guests and toward the little stream that ran through the property. Back toward . . .

  He nearly groaned. “Emily, come over here. There’s something you need to see.”

  She stopped playing in mid-chord. Jake turned and watched her slide off the piano bench. She crossed the room, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. The thought of taking her in his arms and holding her next to his heart wouldn’t seem to shake loose and abate. Especially after he’d spotted that massive oak, under which he’d first kissed her.

  “What is it, Jake?”

  Taking her arm, he guided Emily to the window and stood behind her. “What do you see?” A whisper of lavender tickled his nose. Mercy, but she sure smelled sweet!

  “I see Mr. and Mrs. Hansen and Lois Applegate.”

  “Look beyond the folks, Em.”

  “Well . . . the garden needs tilling. It’s probably not too late to plant.”

  “Past the garden.”

  “More lawn, wildflowers . . . ” She gasped.

  Jake grinned.

  “Oh, my . . . the oak tree!”

  “Clear view from this window, wouldn’t you say?”

  She whirled around and paled. Her eyes grew wider. “Oh, Jake . . .” Her fingers covered her lips.

  “I’m wondering if Eden came over looking for me and . . . well, found me.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been Eden. He knew how badly I felt and the guilt I carried for so long. He would have confessed if he’d been the tattler, at least to me if not to Poppa.”

  “Think so?”

  She nodded. “Positive.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder. “We were so stupid to think we were alone.”

  “I know it. God saw everything.”

  Emily groaned.

  “I’m sorry, Em.” He cupped the bruised side of her face. Her skin felt petal-soft beneath his rough hand. “Forgive me for all the hurt I caused you.”

  She leaned into his touch, doing something crazy to his insides.

  “All’s forgiven. Remember?” She turned in her pretty fingers the tiny, silver cross at the base of her neck.

  “I remember.” He barely eked the words out, and when he dropped his hand and lifted his gaze to hers, he battled another onslaught of emotion. Lord, how did she get under my skin?

  “Will you ever come back to Manitowoc, Jake?”

  He never wanted to go. Not now. “Emily, I, um . . . ”

  “I know Poppa is purchasing Mr. Ollie’s home, and I know your life is in Fallon, Montana.”

  Her words brought his senses back. “Right.”

  “But it would be nice if you’d visit sometime.”

  “Why?” Give me a reason, Em. Not that he had any business asking for one.

  “Well . . . ” She moistened her pink lips, her gaze never leaving his. “Momma said Eden met a nice young lady in New York. He might propose over Christmas. Maybe you’ll be invited to the wedding.”

  “I doubt it. I haven’t seen Eden in—”

  “Ten years.”

  Jake gave a slight nod. Come on, Em, you can do better than that.

  Her gaze fell to her now-folded hands. “But my family holds you in high regard.”

  “I hold them in high regard too.”

  “You do?” Her blue eyes sailed up until she met his gaze once more. “Even though Poppa said what he did to you?”

  “Even though.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, Emily.”

  Her smile and pretty blush made him grin. “Then I hope you’ll come back.”

  “Do you, Em?”

  She nodded then quickly took to studying her hands again.

  Jake reached out and touched the tendril, curling down from her temple. Hair like silk. “Then maybe I’ll have to conjure up some excuse to come back.” He traced the soft curve of her jaw with his forefinger.

  “Iris would like that.”

  “Iris?” His insides turned stone cold, and he withdrew his hand.

  “I shouldn’t speak for her, though.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” Disappointment made his words come out more forceful than necessary. Jake set hi
s hands on his hips. “I’d appreciate it if you’d speak for yourself.”

  “I did.” Her gaze jumped to his. “It’s just that . . . well, it’s complicated.”

  The reply didn’t help Jake one bit. She had allowed him to touch her hair and her face. That told him one thing, but out of her mouth came something else.

  Emily’s gaze suddenly darted toward the door. “Hello, Poppa!”

  Jake stepped away and turned toward the entrance.

  “Glad I found you both here.” The captain entered the library with Andy Anderson in tow. “Look who’s with me. Andy. He’s saying his good-byes.”

  Jake watched Emily’s reaction. After a polite smile she glared at her father. Shifting his gaze, he saw the captain reply with an affectionate wink. Jake sniffed, scratched his jaw, and looked at the tops of his boots to keep from smiling at the exchange.

  Andy approached him and extended his right hand. “Good to see you again, Jake.” The man looked slicked and polished, a far sight better than Friday night. “It’s because of you that I’m heading west.”

  “No, no . . . ” He’d hate it if Emily ever blamed him. “You made your own decisions.”

  “But you told me how affordable land is out there.”

  “Sure, but you’re your own man, Andy.” Jake looked at Em, who mouthed something to her father. Was she even paying attention?

  “That I am.” Andy tugged on the lapels of his stone-brown jacket. “My own man and soon to be a wealthy potato farmer and landowner. Not like some of my relatives in Norway.” He moved back around. “See ya, Em.”

  “Bye.”

  Jake scrutinized her every feature. No misty eyes. No crestfallen expression. Now, see, that told him something else.

  “Emily?” The captain captured his attention and halted Andy’s strides. “You may never see Andy again. Isn’t there something more you’d like to say to him?”

  Jake sucked in a breath and held it.

  “Yes, of course there is.”

  There is?

  “Have a nice life, Andy.”

  Jake exhaled.

  “Thanks, Em. I will.” Andy smiled and shook the captain’s hand before leaving the library.

  Captain Sundberg strode toward Emily. Seeing his approach, she folded her arms and lifted her chin.