by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“The way you’re wielding that knife, no one would dare bother us.”
“I’d offer them some of my coleslaw and make the enemy my friend, just as the Bible tells me to.”
Lorelei shredded carrots. “Where does the Bible talk about coleslaw?”
Mama tried not to smile, but her eyes twinkled. She set down the knife and drummed her fingers on the cutting board. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with that. Concentrate on where the Bible talks about children respecting their parents and girls getting married.”
Dumping the carrots into the bowl with the cabbage, Lorelei teased, “Mama, don’t tell me the Bible mentions South Dakota along with your coleslaw.”
Mama pursed her lips and pretended to think on it for a minute. “Remember in Proverbs where it says a meal of herbs in harmony is better than a fatted calf with a contentious wife?”
“I thought we were praying for God to deliver a man to our porch.”
“Oh, so that is why you keep thinking you see a man.”
Mama’s sly look made Lorelei shiver. “Mama, you’d better not be doing anything more than praying. If I find out you’ve been trying to help God by playing matchmaker, I’m going to be perturbed.”
“When have I had a chance to be a matchmaker?” Mama tossed mayonnaise and only a skimpy bit of sugar into the bowl, then started to stir. “Once a week, we go to church. The iceman and the milkman come to make deliveries, but they are both married. I’m going to go to my grave without ever becoming a grandmother.”
Lorelei dipped a fork into the bowl, swiped a sample of the coleslaw, and ate it. “Since you’re hinting that we have only a matter of hours or days left before God calls us home, I’d go to my grave happy, having tasted your cooking. It’s heavenly.”
“Heaven should be filled with the sound of children laughing, not the taste of a humble salad.”
Though they carried on the conversation as if it were a lark, Lorelei knew her mother was serious. She’d been talking about the future and marriage nonstop ever since Monday’s storm. Once Mama got a notion in her mind, it was there to stay. Unwilling to continue the conversation, Lorelei took off her apron and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “It’ll be another thirty minutes before the casserole is done cooking. I’ll go work on that window a bit more.”
“You do that. Be sure to keep your eyes open for that strange man.”
“So you do think someone’s here!”
Mama shook her head. “No, Lori, I don’t.” She turned away and added in a pained voice, “It would be nice to have a man at our table again.”
In the months since Papa had left, then after they learned he’d died, Lorelei discovered that Mama would turn to her if she wanted consolation. When Mama spun around the other way, she wanted to be left alone. Respecting her mother’s desire for privacy, Lorelei slipped outside.
Lord, this hurts so badly. I miss Papa terribly, and Mama pretends she is okay when I know her heart is broken. Please help us.
Chapter 4
Mabel, get on out here.” While the storekeeper shouted those words, he kept staring at Russell.
A rawboned woman muttered something under her breath as she came out of the back room. A two-inch brooch secured a red, white, and blue ribbon to her bodice. Russell didn’t have to see the picture on the brooch to know it was their son. He braced himself for what he knew would come next.
“We got us a soldier!” The storekeeper came around the counter, headed for Russell, and rubbed his hands in delight. “I can tell by the set of your shoulders—that military bearing is unmistakable.”
Russell’s stomach started to churn. He hadn’t thought to eat before he came, and the emptiness in his belly underscored how little he cared about even the most basic things now. I just want to buy some stuff and leave.
The woman shocked Russell when she threw herself at him and hugged him like a long-lost son. “You dear boy! Where were you? Did you meet my Herbert?”
“Herbert Molstead. He’s with the First Division.” The storekeeper’s voice rang with pride. “Eighteenth Infantry Regiment.”
Russell awkwardly patted the woman even though he wanted nothing more than to get out of there. “Sorry. I was with the Twenty-eighth.”
“Oh.” Disappointment creased her face, but she still clung to him.
“Twenty-eighth? That’s under Bullard! We got us a whiz-bang hero, Mabel. They beat the socks off the Krauts at Cantigny.” The man stood a bit straighter and stuck out his hand. “A pleasure to be in your company, young man.”
Still patting the woman with his left hand, Russell reached out and shook hands. “Sir.”
“Mabel, turn loose of him and let him tell us all about it.”
The last thing Russell wanted to do was talk about the war. These people wanted to hear stories about glory and victory; his memories were gory and vicious. He gently pulled free and indicated the brooch. “What do you hear from Herbert?”
“That boy.” Mabel Molstead tsked. “He said he’s up to his ankles in mud all of the time.”
“Trenches,” her husband added knowingly. “Mama’s sure he’ll catch a cold. She sent him socks.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate them.” Russell wanted out of there. He quickly revised his plans. Not wanting to let anyone know he’d taken up residence, he’d ridden to a town just north in order to buy supplies.
On the way there, he’d decided to buy a buckboard so he could haul a mattress back to the estate. Knowing the buckboard would enable him to transport supplies made it a good investment, and the thought of having a comfortable, soft mattress lightened his mood.
Now those things didn’t matter. What he needed most was to get away.
“Oh! Oh, mercy me. You would still be over there unless …” Mrs. Molstead’s voice died out.
Mr. Molstead cleared his throat. “Yes, well, then. We’ve been nattering on, and I didn’t even ask what you came in to buy.”
“Just a few basics.” Russell spied a folding cot and reached for it. “Do you have bread, or is there a local bakery?”
Ten minutes—an eternity—later, he secured packs to one horse and mounted up on the other.
“Here, son. The missus wanted you to have this.” Mr. Molstead held up a pair of home-knit socks.
“Much obliged.” Russell forced a smile, nodded, and rode off. He’d barely accomplished a thing coming here. No mattress, scant repair materials, and the groceries would last only a few days—especially since he didn’t have an icebox. At least he’d gotten parts to repair his pump.
Since his last name was Diamond, the Molsteads wouldn’t connect him with the Newcomb family or house. He’d still have his refuge. That and the thought of sleeping on the cot gave Russell grim satisfaction.
“I can see what you mean, Miss Goetz.” The sheriff frowned at the big old house. “Someone’s definitely torn down most of the boards. Footprints are fresh, too. I’ll go in and take a look-see.”
Lorelei nodded. As soon as the sheriff crossed the veranda and stepped foot into the mansion, she scampered up behind him.
“Miss, you’d best not come in here. No telling what I’ll find.”
“You’ve taken the county championship for pistol marksmanship for the past three years, Mr. Clem.”
His chest puffed out a bit. “Could be whoever’s squatting here is outside. Stay close so I know where you are.”
“All right.” Chills chased down her spine. Lorelei glanced about the entryway.
“Only one fella,” the sheriff whispered. “See? One set of boot prints. Dust in here is thick. He’s got a bum leg—see how the stride’s uneven?”
“Looks like he’s gone upstairs a few times.” Dust still coated the stairs, but in a very thin layer that bore fresh scuffle marks.
“We’ll check downstairs first.” Sheriff took his pistol from the holster. “You stay right behind me. Even if he’s not here right now, no telling if the floorboards are rotten.”
Lorelei felt a spurt of relief that he’d thought of that potential problem. She’d been gawking around from the moment she’d entered and now paid more attention to the floor. She tapped her toe, sending puffs of dust swirling about her worn shoes. “This is marble.”
Sheriff started toward the left. “Typical enough of these old houses. Rest of the place ought to be fancy wood floors. No linoleum in the olden days, you know.”
“I’d not thought of such a thing.” She carefully followed his footsteps through a parlor, then into what must have been a ballroom. The long room at the back of the house where the windows overlooked the ocean held an enormous buffet and a few chairs. “They must have had splendid suppers here.”
“Kitchen’s likely through these doors.” Sheriff Clem cast her a warning look. “The evidence from the outside and the footprints show he’s been in there a fair bit. You stay back.” A minute later, he called, “It’s okay in here.”
So far, the rest of the downstairs hadn’t been disturbed in ages. Gray tan dust clung to every surface, giving a dismal air to what once must have been exceptional beauty. She couldn’t tell what furniture formed the lumpy shapes under canvas sheets. The sheriff didn’t bother to search beneath them because none of the footsteps that stood out in shocking relief on the floors ever approached the abandoned pieces.
Lorelei couldn’t believe the difference as she sidled into the kitchen. Clean. The walls, counter, and floor gleamed from a fresh scrubbing. The iron cookstove off to the side was big enough to prepare food for an army. A small hodgepodge of dishes peeked through the glass-fronted doors on one cabinet, and stacks of canned food, neat as a row of soldiers, sat in another.
“Whoever this is, is planning to stay a good long while.” The sheriff nosed into the pantry and tilted his head toward another door. “Best be getting on with the search.”
An entrance to the other wing hadn’t been traversed, so they bypassed it and peeked through the rest of the downstairs, including what had to be one of the most dismal sights Lorelei had ever seen: book-filled shelves in a library, a treasure trove left ignored in the passage of time.
Once upstairs, they discovered the squatter had trundled up and down the hall a few times, but the most noteworthy thing was that he’d scoured the master bedchamber and made it into his own place. A bureau, a table-sized Turkish rug, and a cot showed the mysterious occupant had made an effort to create a tidy, functional place for himself.
“See that cot? Made up right and tight—the military way. We got us a soldier boy here, Miss Goetz. Gotta be careful. Some men go to war and come back teched in the head. Could be a dangerous situation. I’ll see if I can’t catch this fella, but until I do, you and your mama might be wise to stay in town.”
Lorelei stood in the room and closed her eyes. Sadness swamped her. She opened them and blinked away the tears that threatened. “Whoever this is, he has been here awhile and never bothered us.”
“Never know.” Sheriff Clem shook his head ponderously and escorted her out of the room. “I reckon you and your mother can ask around to see who’ll take you in for a few days until I can come back and lie in wait for this soldier boy. I’ve got me some important things to do for the rest of the week. ’bout middle of next week, I could see my way clear to coming to set a trap for this trespasser.”
Her step faltered at the top of the stairs. She stopped and pled, “Must we do anything? Maybe he just needs to rest awhile before he’s on his way.”
“Trespassing is a crime—and before you let that tender heart of yours come up with excuses, no one had to post signs. The boards on the doors and windows gave the message loud and clear.”
They descended the gritty stairs and went back outside. Sheriff kicked one of the boards that must’ve once blocked the front door. “Suppose I’d be ten kinds a fool to bother tacking that back up. If he’s just resting up, he’d best be gone by next week.” His brows beetled, and he gave her a meaningful look.
“I’ll talk to Mama and see what she thinks.”
He nodded. “You do that, Miss Goetz. It shouldn’t take you long to pack a few necessities and walk to town.”
The sheriff mounted up and tipped his hat. He rode off down the lawn and across past the shrubs and took the shortcut to town through the wooded area. For all of his warnings and concerns, he’d not offered to give Lorelei a ride back to her cottage.
She hadn’t expected him to. He had two sons in the American Expeditionary Force “over there.” Like so many townsfolk, he couldn’t quite ignore her last name, accent, or Nordic coloring. He’d done his duty by coming out here to investigate, but the delay in any attempt to apprehend the trespasser because he had “important” things to do made it clear he’d rather wash his hands of the affair.
Russell winced as he exited the narrow passageway. Once he closed the secret door, he limped to the window and braced himself as he watched the man ride off and leave the girl behind.
He’d heard them coming and slipped into the hideaway. Dad had told the story of how the black sheep of the family had experienced spiritual revival and used that passage to get into the house and borrow some keepsakes so he could reproduce them. The missing items had caused Great-Uncle Duncan to suspect one of the maids was a thief. Once matters had been ironed out, Duncan had ended up marrying the maid. Aunt Brigit had been one of Dad’s favorites. As soon as he’d prepared a decent place to sleep, Russell had remembered that family lore and located the secret passageway.
Prying busybodies. They had no call to bother him. He’d kept entirely to himself.
Russell watched as the girl walked the weed-encrusted gravel road that arched around toward the main thoroughfare. She moved gracefully, with a fluid step that made her hem sway. Cutting across the grass would have saved her time and distance. Why would she stay on the path, and why hadn’t the sheriff given her a ride back to the cottage? For all of his brave talk about safety, the sheriff had done nothing. He’d left the girl behind, alone.
Pretty thing, too. Tall and willowy. Had sunbeam yellow hair. She halted for a moment, stooped, and rose. Even from her profile, he could see her smile. She held up something and pursed her lips. Wishing on a dandelion? “Honey, don’t you know wishes and prayers are for children?”
He startled himself by speaking those words aloud. He’d heard everything the sheriff had said while they’d been in the house, but her voice had been too soft for Russell to hear most of what she’d said. The lawman had called her Miss Gets.
Before enlisting, Russell had worked at his father’s emporium. He recognized the material of Miss Gets’s dress—one of the economy prints that sold for a paltry three cents per yard three years ago. Money must be tight.
But the sheriff was right—she and her mother shouldn’t be living out here alone. Russell knew the caretaker’s cottage they inhabited was part of his property. He’d write a letter to his attorney and tell him the place wasn’t for rent any longer.
Chapter 5
There’s definitely someone living up at the big house, Mama.” Lorelei tugged the baby blue table oilcloth straight, then put a small vase of pansies in the center.
“It is not our concern. We have no responsibility for that old place.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, so I went to town and asked the sheriff to meet me there. We went inside.”
Mama whirled around so quickly from rinsing radishes, she showered water in an arc around the kitchen. “Lori!”
“It was perfectly safe. You know Sheriff Clem. He even wore his pistol. He walked ahead of me every step of the way.”
Mama turned away, banged her hands on the sink to supposedly shake off the water, then came toward the table. The effort she put into wiping her hands off on the dish towel told Lorelei she was trying to control her temper. “What did you think you were doing, to walk into danger like that? Do not tell me Mr. Clem would protect you. He is one who believed your father went to fight with the Germans. Even after the army delive
red those medals saying Johann was a brave American soldier who died for this country, Mr. Clem did not apologize for his ugly lies.”
“His wife always talks to us at church.”
Mama sighed. “What am I to do with you, child? You want to believe good of everyone. The world is not like that. It is why Jesus came—because man is sinful. You cannot give away your trust so easily.”
“I need to talk with you about that very thing.” The chair scraped the battered linoleum floor as Lorelei pulled it out. She sat down and patted the table in an invitation for Mama to join her.
Mama sat down and folded her hands on the table. Just as quickly as she folded them, she unfolded them and reached out to hold Lorelei’s hand. “What is it?”
“Until Sheriff Clem can meet the man who’s living at the big house, he thinks we should move back to town. He said it’s not safe here for us.”
Mama didn’t say anything, but her hold tightened.
“I promised him I’d speak with you about it.” Lorelei leaned forward. “Mama, I don’t want to go back to town. I wouldn’t have the workshop, and it’s important for me to honor my promises to complete the windows on time.”
“Your safety is more important than a thousand windows.”
“I feel that way about you, too, Mama.” She shrugged. “I don’t feel scared at all out here. Even when I was in the mansion, I didn’t worry.”
“Tell me then why the sheriff thinks we are unsafe here.”
“From what we saw, only one man is there. Mama, he’s probably a soldier. Sheriff Clem judged the footprints to be made by a lame man. More than that …” She paused and tapped her temple. “The sheriff thinks he could be dangerous because war can change men.”
“This is true. It can.” Mama ran her forefinger down Lorelei’s arm. “You have been thinking. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I have.” Lorelei leaned forward. “Mama, if Papa had come home from war with an injury, we wouldn’t love him any less.”