by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“No offense taken.”
“Well?” Mama stood in the doorway. “What do you—oh, Lori! The window ist wunderbar!”
“You like it?” Lorelei vacillated between being delighted that her mother loved the work and being worried that Russell would get upset at hearing a few German words.
“Ja!” Mama waggled her finger at Russell. “I told you my girl, she makes beautiful windows.”
“She does. I’ll be here day after tomorrow to take her to get supplies. Perhaps you could come with us to the house now so she can get a feel for what she’s going to need.”
“I cannot go. I have food almost ready for the stove—potato soup, green beans fresh from the garden, and bread, of course. It is just humble food, but perhaps you should eat supper here.”
Lorelei watched indecision flit across his handsome features. “Put it in the wagon. You can use my stove. I need to fire up the oven, anyway. Mutt is sleeping next to it at night.”
“This is good, yes. We can come together this way.” Mama bobbed her head approvingly. She spun about and headed back to their cottage.
Russell sat on a stool out of the way as Lorelei took care of the small oven so the fire would go out, then let down the stained-glass windows and put things away. “Where’s your broom, Lorelei?”
She shook her head. “I am odd. I prefer to sweep in the morning, before I start to work. The little slivers of glass welcome me, and I like the way the morning sun turns them all into sparkles. It makes me happy to start to work again each day.”
“Are we ready?” Mama stood in the doorway again.
“Not yet.” Russell slid off the stool. “I’m virtually living in the dark. I have one lamp. It would probably be wise for us to take one of your lamps or a candle along so I can get you back here safely.”
Lorelei slanted him a funny look. “This, coming from a man who leaves logs in our woodpile at night?”
Russell woke, rolled out of bed, and grimaced as his leg cramped. He’d overdone it yesterday, and he’d pay for it dearly today; but since he’d spoken with Lorelei and they’d cleared the air, he felt better.
He’d wondered yesterday if she’d just been in a good mood after finishing that incredible window, so he’d gone down to the garden and tried to act casual as he watched her garden. “Russell! Hello!” Lorelei’s warm smile had drawn him closer.
“I’ll hold that.” He’d taken the bucket off her arm and watched as she deftly started filling it with beans. To his surprise, the smell of soil hadn’t bothered him. He’d absently picked some of the string beans and added them to the harvest. After that, they’d each filled a whole basket with tomatoes. He’d spoken very little; she had chattered sunnily and hummed under her breath. Contentment had radiated from her, and he’d basked in it.
Unwilling to lose the ease he found in her company, he’d urged her to come measure more windows last evening before they’d make the trip to buy supplies. Mrs. Goetz had invited herself along and again made supper for all of them, then puttered around the downstairs as if she belonged there. Only after she’d left had he discovered Mrs. Goetz had worked wonders in the parlor.
Rubbing the morning stubble on his face and staring down at the fresh scars on his leg, he willed away the pain—but the pain didn’t obey. The doctors had removed whatever shrapnel they could, and they’d set his leg—but his leg had healed an inch shorter, and some of the shrapnel remained in place.
I have my leg. I’ll take the pain. Russell shuddered at the memory of them discussing amputation. He’d shouted himself raw, telling them not to do it. In the end, they’d been worried about infection and damaging nerves, so they’d left shrapnel behind—a permanent reminder of war. As if my memories and limp aren’t enough.
In a sour mood, he glared at daybreak’s first ribbons of light streaming through the window. The blanket that normally hung there was missing, and he jolted. The windows! Today he and Lorelei would go into the village and get the supplies to do more work on his house.
Dressed but with his shirt hanging open, Russell hobbled into his kitchen. The aroma of coffee sped his uneven gait. Mutt’s head lifted, and her ears perked up. Slowly, she struggled to her feet and headed for the door. Russell let her out and grinned at the stove.
Just before she’d left last night, Lorelei had put a pot of coffee on the back of the stove. “It has far too much water. During the night, the banked embers in the stove will cause the extra water to steam away. You will start your day with a good cup of coffee.”
Mmm. He reached for a cup and could hardly wait to get a mouthful. It was a fine trick—one he’d remember, just as he’d keep a big kettle of water on the stove each night so he’d have warm water with which to wash and shave in the mornings.
By the time he hitched the horses and drove the buckboard to the cottage, Russell came to a stunning realization: For the first time since he’d come home, he didn’t mind being with other people.
Well, not exactly. He didn’t want to cope with everyone in town, but he found an odd comfort in Lorelei’s company and an undemanding nurturing in her mother’s presence. Odd, but he felt a kinship with them: They didn’t want to have to interact with some of the people in town any more than he did. If Lorelei can face those people, I can, too.
Lorelei laughed the minute Russell drove up. “So you brought your friend?”
He twisted and urged the dog to sit in the back of the buckboard. “Silly dog is starting to follow me everywhere. She jumped aboard as I was leaving.”
“You have doctored her well, that she can jump.” She hefted a bushel of vegetables and swung it into the buckboard. “Mama said you told her we could take the produce to town to sell.”
Russell got down and wrested the next bushel from her. “Give me that.”
Mama came out of the cottage, crossed the brand-new, brick-edged cement veranda he’d made, and started for the buckboard. Russell made an irritated sound, went to her, and grabbed the box of quart-sized canning jars from her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking the produce to town, as you told me I could.” She toddled along beside him. “You brought the dog. Do you think whoever the owner is will claim her?”
He stiffened for an instant, then shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Once they reached town, it didn’t take long to unload the produce at the mercantile. The money went toward their store account, so Lorelei turned toward the paint. Russell stopped her. “Did you need anything?”
“Not today, thank you.”
He stared at her, then asked in an undertone, “I should have asked before we got here. What do you need?”
“Just two days ago, Mama and I came with your buckboard to buy the food to feed your workers. Our kitchen is quite full. If you have the paint, we can go on to get the glass.”
“Okay.”
Russell barely finished loading the paint into the buckboard when an energetic group of boys raced up and encircled him. “Is it true? Were you in the war? Did you kill a bunch of Krauts?”
Lorelei saw sweat bead on his forehead and upper lip as the boys continued to pepper him with questions. The haunted look about his eyes intensified, yet he remained completely silent.
“We want to hear all about it!”
“Not from me.” Russell pushed past them and helped Mama into the buckboard.
“Heroes do not boast, boys,” Lorelei said softly as she slipped past the boys. As they drove off, she leaned forward and whispered to Russell, “We can get the glass another day.”
“No.” His voice was low and harsh. “Whatever needs doing is getting done on this trip.”
Chapter 11
Lorelei rolled the putty into a long, smooth, snakelike cord, then carefully positioned it along the edge of the glass. Once she laid it there, she used her putty knife to press the doughy substance into place and smoothed it so the seal would be sound and the glass secure.
Windowpane after windowpane, she’d done this.
A simple skill, glazing a window didn’t take a lot of thought, but each one gave her a sense of satisfaction. This particular window sash held four panes; two were originals, and she’d replaced the other pair. The original ones had a faint undertone of lavender to them, and she’d searched among all the panes of available glass to match it. Old glass often had ripples, bubbles, or a tint to it, and on the day they’d gone to buy glass, Russell had said he wanted to restore the house to be comfortably livable but have it maintain its old flair. He’d been genuinely pleased at the notion of trying to approximate color matches instead of doing wholesale replacement of all the windows.
Russell. Ever since that day when the boys wanted him to talk about the war, he’s become more reserved.
“Ready for lunch?” Mama asked from behind her.
“In just a minute.”
Mama’s footsteps died out, and Lorelei carefully replaced the lid on the putty can before going to the cottage. Once there, she washed up.
“You stopped singing today,” Mama said as she fished corn on the cob from the kettle with a pair of tongs. “Usually you sing as you work. What worries you?”
“Russell.”
“Ahh.” Mama’s voice held a wealth of understanding.
“For a while, I thought maybe he just needed to meet people. He started being more sociable for a little while, but then he got grumpy again. He’s all by himself up at that house, day in and day out. It’s not good, Mama.”
“He’s hurting. Not his leg—his heart. Men who go to fight can do this. Some call it ‘shell shocked,’ but he is not crazy in the head or dangerous. He has curled away from the world because his soul is wounded.”
“His soul won’t heal if he doesn’t read his Bible or go to church, but I can’t push him. I feel like God is asking me to be patient and gentle with him.”
“God reveals Himself in many ways. It is for us to be right with the Lord so we can be light in the darkness.”
“He won’t talk at all about the war.”
“I can imagine why not. A man who has witnessed the brutality of combat can bear wounds that only the Lord sees. Deep wounds don’t heal rapidly.”
“He came here to get away from those he loves. He told me he did it so he wouldn’t hurt them. Perhaps this is a relapse of the pain that initially brought him to this place.”
“We will pray. God is faithful. He will not let this warrior’s wounds fester forever. There will come a time of healing.”
“That is what is needed,” Lorelei agreed. “A prayer for restoration.”
The smell of sawdust filled the air. Russell moved down one more step and started to sand the next baluster. Mutt scooted down beside him. The dog shadowed his every move. Russell surveyed his work. He’d gotten almost all of this side of the stairs done; the other side had taken four days. Inch by inch, he’d been stripping varnish, sanding, pulling the wood in the house down to bare grain.
The wind off the ocean felt far stiffer today. He welcomed the refreshing change. Most of the month, record-breaking temperatures had scorched the coast. The marble floor of the entryway helped keep the center portion of the house cooler, so he’d purposefully planned to work in this area during the peak of the heat.
The sound of glasses clinking together made him pause.
“Russell!” Lorelei stood in the open front door with a huge smile on her face. “Look at how much work you have done!”
Mutt gave a happy yip of recognition and scuttled down the stairs to her side.
Russell stood and dusted off the front of his shirt and sleeves. “No, look at how much work you’ve done.” He walked toward her and shook his head. “I told you, I don’t need this.”
“We agreed to sharecrop.” She pressed the crate into his arms. “You will not take your portion of the money; the least we can do is see to it you have food put up in your pantry. Mama said you are to come to supper tonight.”
“Your mother would have me eat supper with you every night. She must think I’m starving.”
Lorelei laughed as she passed the crate full of jars to him. “Can you blame her? We saw the charcoal you tried to feed this dog. If that is your idea of a roast, it is a wonder both of you survive!”
The sound of horses made them both turn around. Pinkus Bayley rode right up to the veranda. “Folks,” he greeted them curtly, “ ‘member how I insisted on the men making new storm shutters? Well, I brought the liveryman’s boys to help you get ’em up and batten down the hatches. We’ve got us a big storm brewin’, and the drop on my barometer makes me think it’ll be a hurricane.”
“Oh, my.” The color drained from Lorelei’s face. “I have heard they are fearsome things.”
“Never been in one?” Pinkus shook his head. “Lock the covers on your wells to keep debris out, and board up the windows. You got a basement, just in case it gets bad?”
Russell set aside the jars. “I do. Lorelei, run down to get your mother. Grab kerosene, lamps, candles, and some blankets. Haul it back here in the wagon.” He shook the old man’s hand. “Thanks for rounding up help.”
“Glad to do it.” Pinkus nodded. “Those of us on the windward side of town are seeing boats make for storm anchor, but I reckoned those of you out here didn’t know. Ships are reporting North Carolina’s getting hit hard, and they’ve measured higher than thirty-four knot winds. Hurricane flags went up an hour ago. I’m going on to warn the Rimmons.”
Four hours later, the boys had fastened the storm shutters built onto the upper windows and affixed the ones made for the lower ones. Russell helped them board up the windows down at the Goetzes’ cottage. The boys had refused his offer to stay, delightedly accepted five-dollar bills apiece as payment, and ridden back home.
“I just filled the bathtub,” Lorelei called from upstairs as he came inside. “It’s cold in the basement. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the blankets from your beds and drop them down to you.”
“There’s only one bed. It’s in the last room on the right.” He turned as Mrs. Goetz emerged from the basement. “Is the fire in the stove out?”
“Ja. But first, I made a good stew and plenty of hot coffee. We will have a good meal as we endure this storm, but I have closed the flue so we will not have smoke come in.”
The winds had been picking up steadily. Soon they shrieked, and rain pelted the house. As it sat atop a hill overlooking the ocean, the house groaned in the fury. He’d put it off for as long as he could, but Russell knew the time had come. He led the women to the basement door, sent them down along with the dog, then stared into the dank, dusty darkness. He broke out in a cold sweat. It’s like the trenches.
Chapter 12
Wind howled louder. Lorelei pulled her sweater closed, more for comfort than for warmth, as Russell shut the door and descended the steps. She saw his steps falter. His leg! The steps are steep, and it’s dark.
Lorelei grabbed a lamp and hastened to the base of the stairs to light his way. She forced a laugh. “Promise you won’t be mad when you get down here and see where Mutt is.”
Russell paused and scanned the dim basement.
“Look at the cot.”
“We need more light in here.” His harsh words echoed in the enclosed space.
“Ja, this I am seeing to.” Mama laughed. “Seeing to—that was funny.” She turned with two more lighted lamps, came toward the stairs, and handed one to Russell.
He breathes too fast. His face is sweaty. Lorelei shuffled back a bit. “You’ve worked hard for our safety, and we’re trapping you on those stairs. Come. Sit and rest now.”
He descended the last step and made a sharp turn to the left. Wordlessly, he prowled the basement, inspecting every last inch. The stairs marked the center of a narrow, fifteen-foot room. One end opened into a small, square room.
“This room, since it already has shelves, we thought was perfect for storing everything.” Lorelei scanned what had probably served as an additional pantry in years gone by. “Do you think we h
ave enough?”
Russell barely paid attention to the crate of canned food, the odd assortment of buckets and pitchers filled with water, and the folded stack of blankets. He grabbed a tin of kerosene and shook it. “Almost full.”
“Yes. We also brought a box of candles.” Why is he so concerned about light?
He exited the storage room and looked about as if he hadn’t seen the main room before. He walked the full length and stopped by the clunky vacuum cleaner.
“Mama, she coughs when she gets around too much dust,” Lorelei said. “I didn’t have time enough to clean well, but the worst of the dust is gathered and gone.”
He nodded. “There’s not much of anything down here.”
Mama sat down in one of the three chairs they’d brought down and patted the seat of another. “Come. Sit. Lorelei is right. You have worked hard. There is nothing to do now but wait.”
Russell shook his head. “Things down here look fine for a fall-back position if the need is present. For now, we’ll stay in the entryway.”
“But is that safe?” Mama fretted.
He’d already started toward the stairs. “It’s in the center of the house, away from the wind pattern.”
Lorelei and her mother exchanged baffled glances.
“Hand me the coffeepot and the stew,” Russell called from the top of the stairs. “I don’t want you to spill and scorch yourselves.”
They settled in the curved area of the entryway in the shelter of the staircase. Instead of sitting with them, Russell kept prowling around. He came back with something each time—an overstuffed chair from the parlor for Mama, a small table from the library for their food. After his fifth or sixth trip, Mama grabbed his arm.
“Come. Have coffee with us.”
“Yes,” Lorelei agreed. “You’ve done more than enough to make us safe and comfortable.”
Russell sat on a wooden chair he’d brought from upstairs. He accepted a mug of coffee, curled his big capable hands around it, and took a big gulp. Mutt settled on the floor beside him. “Raining pretty good out there now.”