by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“We’ll oil the hinges, Mr. Diamond,” the elder boy said as he put his weight behind the companion door and got it to budge. “Pa said we need to be sure to wash down everything after we clean it out. No putting your team in here until then, else they’re like to take sick.”
Russell frowned at the boys’ worn shoes. “Might be snakes in here. I’m sure every last spider in Virginia is. Go on back to town and tell Mr. Sanders to put you in boots.”
The boys exchanged a worried look.
“A man pays for the tools and equipment for jobs on his place. Boots—sturdy boots—are a necessity. He’s to put them on my account.”
“Pa don’t cotton to folks takin’ charity.”
Russell gave the boys a steely-eyed look. “I don’t cotton to someone else giving orders to my hired help. While you’re here, you’ll do as I say.”
“Yessir.”
Russell headed back toward the house. The work there literally started with a crash bang. Shingles and boards slid off the roof and smashed onto the earth. Pinkus jerked his chin toward Russell.
“Yeah?”
“Most of the chimneys are in fair condition. The mortar needs some patching, but that’s not much. The one to the parlor needs to be torn down at least to the bottom floor and rebuilt. It’s about to topple. I’ll need to be getting sand and gravel to make cement and a load of bricks. Daniel’s best as they come on chimneys. After we’re done, he’ll clean ’em all. Until then, don’t set any fires.”
“Okay.” Russell squinted toward the cottage. It’s my property, and I’m responsible for it. “Have Daniel repair and clean the chimney over at the caretaker’s cottage while he’s out here.”
“Aye. Fine notion. My men brought lunch buckets today, but most often, folks feed them when they work. Mrs. Goetz is a dandy cook. Think you can talk her into setting up our dinners?”
“We’ll see.” Russell looked back at the top of his house. The smallest effort made shingles come loose and skid. Much to his relief, all of the men were wearing safety ropes.
Pinkus cupped his gnarled hands and shouted, “Ed! Wind and rain pattern would hit the southeast corner hardest. I expect the boards there are weak. Don’t go over there. You’ve eaten too many of your wife’s noodles!”
The men chuckled, and Russell knew he’d gotten the right man for the job.
Pinkus slanted him a sly look. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m older than dirt. Seventy-one. Fought in the War Between the States.”
Russell didn’t reply to that revelation, though it surprised him.
“When I got home, I didn’t want to talk to a soul.” Pinkus squinted at the roof and rubbed his chin. “I reckon folks are makin’ pests of themselves. I told my men they’re to concentrate on this job, not on whatever’s happening ‘over there.’ ”
Russell froze. The old man’s insight stunned him.
“I’m glad you’re takin’ care of the Goetz women. Things are tight for them ‘specially since they lost Johann. Admirable Christians, staunch Americans. You gonna have little Lorelei replace your broken windows?”
“Windows?”
“She took on her father’s trade. Good at it, too. A dab hand at glazing windows and puts together some mighty fine stained-glass church windows. From the looks of it, you have plenty of cracked and broken panes.”
“One thing at a time.” Russell didn’t want to have anyone here at all—let alone a woman. A pretty woman.
One who was German.
They parted, and Pinkus went to holler orders to his men as Russell trudged toward the caretaker’s cottage. He started toward the front door, then recalled he’d torn the porch to shreds. As he knocked on the back door, he secretly hoped no one would be home.
Chapter 8
Pale blue, striped curtains with cherries dotting them parted. Buttercup—Lorelei, he corrected himself since he’d learned her name from Pinkus—peeked out. She smiled and opened the door.
“Why, hello.”
“Is your mother here?”
“No, she went to town today. Can I help you?”
Russell shifted his weight from both feet onto just the left. His right leg ached. “I need to speak with her.”
“She should be home later.” She bit her lip for a second. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He hated to have to ask for help. Waiting only meant he’d have to come back. “I’m going to need dinner for the workmen each day. ’Round about noon—something good and filling. Counting the boys cleaning out the stable, there are ten of us. Do you think your mother could cook?”
“Yes. Yes! Mama loves to cook. We have a wagon. I can help her pull the food up to the house.”
“You can’t very well walk into town and drag back the rest of what you’ll need in a kids’ wagon. Can you drive a buckboard?”
Her eyes sparkled as she nodded.
“Do you have an icebox?”
“Yes. Ice is delivered every Thursday.”
“We won’t need food today. Starting tomorrow at noon, I want solid meals. No skimping. I’ll give your mother a note for the butcher and the mercantile so she can get whatever she needs.” At that moment, Russell realized the mercantile wouldn’t be a problem, but the butcher might well be ugly about selling meat to a German. He added, “I’ll make it clear she’s my cook and feeding my workmen, so there shouldn’t be a problem with her buying the necessary bulk.”
Lorelei smiled. “It will be a lot of food. How many days will they be working?”
“Two weeks.” Her question took him by surprise. He’d expected her to ask how much he’d pay. “New York housemaids earn eighteen dollars a week.” He’d decided twenty would be fair, but Pinkus’s words echoed in his mind. Things are tight. Lost Johann … A closer look showed Lorelei’s dress and shoes were both nearly worn out.
“Eighteen dollars!” Her eyes grew huge. “But that is New York.”
“I’m sure cooks make far more, and I’m asking your mother to feed several hungry men, even if it’s only one meal a day. Tell her I’ll pay thirty a week on top of whatever the food costs.”
He spun around and made it down the steps before she stammered, “Do you have dishes and tableware enough for ten men at your house?”
Dishes and tableware enough, he repeated to himself. It’s not just her voice that sounds German. She puts the words together wrong.
“We have dishes if you don’t.” She spoke the words softly, tentatively.
Russell thought of the mismatched left-behinds he’d gathered. He didn’t own enough to have one guest at his table, let alone nearly a dozen. The notion of doing any formal entertaining left him cold, but he refused to depend on someone else for anything as basic as table service. “Get dishes. None of those painted steel things—real ones.”
“Fancy china?”
Having worked at Diamond Emporium and ordered stock through catalogs, he knew far more than most men ever would concerning domestic goods. He could handle this. Relieved to be dealing with something straightforward and unemotional, Russell turned.
“Haviland. They have an everyday pattern called Ranson that will do. If that’s not available, get Spode’s Tower.”
“Ranson,” she repeated in a tone that matched her astonished expression. She leaned into the doorsill. “What about glasses and such?”
“A case of whatever pressed glass they have on hand. I’ll probably use most of the glasses to mix paint or clean brushes. When the house was locked up, they left a mishmash of cutlery that ought to work, so don’t bother getting any silverware.”
“Very well.”
That settled, he turned to leave. The women would feed the workers, and he could make himself scarce by continuing to work on the interior of the house. He said over his shoulder, “I’ll also have the boys plow a garden for you once they’re done cleaning the stable.”
“Thank you!”
“I’ll have the buckboard here in ten minutes.”
“Make it
twenty minutes, Mr. Diamond. I have cinnamon rolls in the oven.”
Lorelei laughed at how the pots rattled and the toy wagon wheel squeaked as she pulled it up the road. The combination made for a comical symphony, and she delighted in the music because it reminded her of how God had provided this opportunity for them to make money. This wasn’t a tiny sum, either—it was enough to provide for a little while.
Mama would be coming in ten minutes, after the tarts came out of the oven. The men could start in on the main part of the meal first.
Mr. Diamond left his buckboard parked in the yard to serve as a buffet table of sorts. She reached it, spread a cheery scarlet tablecloth over the bed, and started arranging the dishes.
“Chow time!” one of the men hollered to the others.
It wasn’t necessary for him to shout. Two of the men had seen her coming and whistled. Part of her wanted to smile at how silly it was for them to do that, but the other part felt embarrassed. It didn’t feel any better to have them all crowding around as she put a big roasting pan on the buckboard table.
“What did you fix us?”
“Today,” she said as she picked up a kettle and a big saucepan by their handles and plunked them on either side of the roaster, “is pot roast, braised potatoes and baked carrots, peas, salad, and rolls.”
“Got any gravy?”
“In the speckled pot that’s still in my wagon.” She didn’t bother to get it. No less than three men dove to grab the gravy. They were all hardworking men, but when it came to food, they acted like starving little boys.
Old Mr. Bayley cast a woebegone look at the now-empty wagon. “No dessert?”
Lorelei smiled. He was such a nice man. “Mama knows you like berry tarts. She’s taking them out of the oven in a few minutes.”
The men heaped food on their plates and sat in the dirt to eat. Mr. Diamond wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Lorelei feared the men would dive in for seconds before he had a chance to get anything. She took a plate, placed generous portions of everything on it, and went around the back of the house toward what she’d learned was the kitchen.
A chair propped the back door open. “Mr. Diamond! I’m leaving food here for you.” She stayed on the doorstep and peeked inside. The kitchen was homey, and the scarred cutting board made Lorelei think many happy hours had been spent in this room. The sensibly arranged room held a huge, ancient stove. Beside it lay a bedraggled-looking, heavily bandaged dog.
“Oh, you poor baby!” She remained outside, set the plate on the chair, and tugged a little piece of the roast free. “Here, puppy. Are you hungry?”
The dog barely paused to sniff, then gobbled it. The very tip of her tail, free of a bandage, swished to and fro in a sign of pleasure.
“What are you doing in here?”
Lorelei jumped at the harsh sound of Mr. Diamond’s voice and whirled to face him. “You were not there. I saved food for you.”
“You don’t belong here.”
He cast a disparaging look at the food and made an impatient sound. “Not just here in the house. You don’t belong up here at all. You had to hear the men whistling at you.”
Embarrassment washed from her bosom to her scalp in a scorching wave.
“It’s foolhardy for you to deliver dinner alone. I hired your mother, not you. From now on, she’s to bring the food. You can come only if she’s with you.”
“You are here, as is Mr. Bayley. I am safe enough.”
“No one is ever safe.” His voice rang with pain and bitterness.
“God is with me.”
His face hardened, and his eyes narrowed as he shot back, “Where was God when your father died?”
Russell helped Mrs. Goetz put the empty dishes from yet another fine meal into the wagon. Today’s corned beef and cabbage, soda bread, and carrot cake tasted wonderful. Truth be told, she’d managed to bring something different every day so far, each meal far surpassing what he’d expected when they struck their bargain.
Rationing and food “rules” restricted what women cooked. Mrs. Goetz studiously adhered to the government’s recommendations, but it never seemed as if her meals lacked anything at all. Fish and fowl dominated the menu instead of beef—just as the pamphlets advised. On “Meatless Mondays,” she made hearty soup from Lorelei’s vegetable garden or filling casseroles. On “Wheatless Wednesdays,” she’d serve chicken with potatoes or rice and make puddings or baked apples for dessert. With sugar and butter being limited so more could be sent overseas, she still managed to use honey, molasses, currants and raisins, and cooking oil so creatively that the men actually asked for the recipes for their wives to use.
She deserved praise for her hard work, but Russell wasn’t in much of a mood to talk.
“I’m leaving this here for your dog.” Mrs. Goetz set a small earthenware bowl on the buckboard. “Lorelei scraped from yesterday’s chicken bones the marrow and made a special gruel. It helps the puppy grow healthy again.”
“Thanks.”
“Lori and I—we are grateful to you for plowing the garden for us.”
“She was planting stuff yesterday.”
“No. She was mixing in ash and horse droppings to enrich the soil.” Mrs. Goetz curled her fingers through the handle of the toy wagon and crammed her other fist into her apron pocket. “She will have to come with me here tomorrow to get the buckboard. I must go to town for more food, and I do not drive.”
It was the first time anything had been said about Lorelei not coming up to the house anymore. For a whole week, she’d stayed down at the cottage. Clearly, Lorelei helped cook the enormous meals, but never once had she ventured anywhere near the mansion.
Russell fought with himself over whether to go talk to her. He’d spoken in anger, and in doing so, he’d caused her grief to deepen. The memories of how she’d flinched at his words and the tears that filled her eyes haunted him. Her hand had trembled as she lifted it to touch the small silver cross hanging on a fragile chain about her neck. Almost as if she were trying to shield her faith from my cruel onslaught.
“How many more days do you need me to make the lunches? It looks good—this roof of yours. The men are working hard and fast. They will be done soon.”
“Another week.” He cleared his throat. “They’ll also be repairing your roof and chimney, but I’ll do the porch myself.”
Mrs. Goetz shook her head. “No.”
“I understand you’re worried about whether it’s safe to have the men there. Perhaps you could make a few meals ahead and go into town with your daughter so she’s not around them.”
“This is not the problem.” Aching pride showed in her careworn face and squared shoulders. “We do not want anything from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? It’s my property. I’ll do whatever I deem fit.”
Tears silvered her eyes, making him remember how Lorelei’s had glistened. “Patching a porch does not fix hurt feelings.”
He inwardly winced at that observation and didn’t pretend to misunderstand what she was saying. “I made your daughter cry. It won’t happen again.”
“My Lori has a big heart. She cares easily for others.”
He shook his head. “Not after how I spoke to her. She’s been glad to keep her distance.”
“That is where you are wrong, Russell. Lorelei wants to bear your burden as a Christian should, but you have made it clear you want nothing to do with her or with God.”
“She’s not responsible for me or my soul.”
“You are responsible for your soul,” the older woman said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But as Christ’s followers, we believe we are our brothers’ keepers. You were trying to be mindful of her safety when you told her not to come alone.” She hitched her shoulder. “That time, you were being your sister’s keeper.”
Her comment didn’t amuse him. “I upset her. You can tell her I’m sorry. Warn her I’m going to work on the porch so she can avoid me.”
“Lorelei needs no war
ning. Perfect love—the kind God gives us in His name that we are to show one another—this special caring knows no fear.”
Mrs. Goetz left, pulling the wagon behind her. Russell watched her leave. What would it be like to live without fear?
“Here, girl. Come to me. Yes. Good girl.” Lorelei crooned softly to the dog and knelt to capture her. No longer bandaged, the brown and white mutt still looked … well, like a mutt. One ear cocked up while the other flopped to the side. One haunch bore partially healed scrapes and was missing most of the fur. “What are you doing out alone?”
Lorelei gathered her in the basket of her arms, rose, and realized she’d never be able to carry the dog back to Mr. Diamond’s house. He cared for this dog, and once he discovered she was missing, he’d be worried. Lorelei’s gaze fell on the wagon. She managed to lay the dog in it, then worried she might hop out once the wheel started squeaking. Once she finished tying down the dog, she grabbed the handle, steeled herself with a deep breath, and headed toward the forbidden mansion.
Soon she started to sing:
Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your many blessings, every doubt will fly,
And you will be singing as the days go by.
“What are you …” Mr. Diamond’s voice died out as he strode down the drive. His gait seemed steadier, his limp far less noticeable. His forehead creased, then he let out a disbelieving bark of a laugh. “My dog is wearing your apron?”
Chapter 9
It was the only way I could be sure she wouldn’t bound out. She is healing well, but I didn’t think her strong enough to walk back here.” Lorelei started to untie the apron strings she’d wound around the wagon to keep the dog inside.
Mr. Diamond knelt on the other side of the wagon and loosened a stubborn knot. “How did you get out, girl?”
The dog woofed and licked his hand.
“She probably smelled your cooking. I can’t blame her for following her nose. Old Pinkus Bayley told me the men are taking their time to do a good job, but they might be working a tad slower than usual because of the food you’re making.”