by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“Does that mean it’s started?” Lorelei listened as the wind whistled through the shutters.
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Hurricanes can also have bands of rain clouds that come before the brunt of the storm. We’ll sit tight.”
“This is a good place to be.” Mama craned her neck and studied the area. “It is like being in the cleft of the rock. I don’t remember where that is in the Bible.”
“Exodus thirty-three.” Russell jerked his cup up to his mouth and took another drink.
“Let’s read it.” Lorelei strove to hide her surprise at how quickly he’d rapped out the citation. She took a small Bible from the pocket of her apron. “I tucked this in before we left the house. Exodus thirty-three …” She ran her finger down the page until she reached the passage.
“Starting at verse twenty-one. ‘And the Lord said, Behold, there is a place by me, and thou shalt stand upon a rock: And it shall come to pass, while my glory passeth by, that I will put thee in a clift of the rock, and will cover thee with my hand while I pass by: And I will take away mine hand, and thou shalt see my back parts: but my face shall not be seen.’ ”
Russell didn’t seem to be in the least bit interested in the scripture, but the fact that he’d known precisely where to find the verse hinted that he’d spent considerable time in the Word at some point.
Mama began to hum. She paused and smiled at Russell. “This is your house. You do not mind if we sing, do you?”
He shrugged.
Mama began to sing, and Lorelei joined in:
A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord,
A wonderful Savior to me;
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
Where rivers of pleasure I see.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life with the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
As they finished the last line, Russell leaned forward and reached for the coffeepot. Lorelei grabbed it and poured more for him. He’d tolerated the hymn, but clearly, he hadn’t enjoyed the lyrics.
Instead of letting things fall into awkward silence, she said, “You’ve done much to the house. What will you do next?”
“I’m stripping the wood.” He reached up and curled his fingers around one of the balusters. “Think I’ll strip wallpaper out of the parlor, then do a lot of staining and painting.”
“The wallpaper is ready to come down in there,” Mama agreed. “If you mix vinegar and water, then put it on the paper with a sponge, it will make the glue let go.”
“Vinegar?”
Mama nodded. “The day you do this, you will smell like the pickles or sauerkraut.”
When he chuckled, relief poured through Lorelei. She settled back. “What color will you paint the parlor, and what will you do about curtains?”
Gusts of wind and rain pelted the house. They discussed his plans, gave suggestions, and finally ate stew. When Mama yawned, Russell took a second lamp, lit it, and ordered Mutt to stay before he walked off.
“I think he’s getting the cot, Mama. I’ll go get the blankets from that little room in the basement.”
“Do you need the lamp?”
“No, Russell has one. It’ll only take a minute.”
Lorelei descended the stairs, took a few steps, and let out a gasp as something knocked her to the floor and hands closed around her throat.
Chapter 13
Russell.” His name came out in a breathless whisper. It took another second for him to realize his assailant wasn’t fighting back. Long strands of hair filled his hands, too. Lorelei!
Russell let go and rolled to his knees. “Are you all right?”
Lorelei lay there, her eyes huge with fright, yet she nodded.
“Can you breathe?” He anxiously brushed her hair back as remorse clawed at him.
“Yes.”
“Did I hurt you? Can you move?”
She rolled to the side and started to push herself into a sitting position. “You surprised me is all.”
Gently as he could, Russell pushed her back down. He dragged the kerosene lantern he’d left on the floor closer. Even as he gently turned her head so he could examine her neck, she protested.
“Truly, Russell, I am fine.”
Fear turned to anger. “Why did you sneak up on me?”
“The blankets—they’re down here.”
“If I’d had another second or my trench knife, you’d be dead.”
She shook her head and rested her hand on his arm. “No, Russell. You would never hurt me.”
“Buttercup, you have more faith than brains.” He stood and loomed over her. “Go back upstairs.”
She took his hand and got to her feet. He braced her, afraid she might suddenly collapse, sick at the thought she’d cower from him. Lorelei rested her hand in the center of his chest—more, it seemed to still the thundering beneath her palm than to steady herself. Standing there, she looked so fragile, so feminine. He’d scared the wits out of her, yet she smiled up at him and acted as if her heartbeat didn’t match his. Being down here scared him; being around her scared him even more.
“I’ll get the blankets, and you can get the cot,” she decided.
He clamped his hands around her waist, lifted, and set her halfway up the stairs. “Get going.”
She took hold of the stair rail, so he let go and turned his back on her.
“I’ll wait here. If you go get the blankets, you can hand them to me.”
“Stubborn woman.”
Her laughter warmed the basement. “Yes, I am.”
She’s not leaving me down here alone. Russell didn’t know whether to be relieved or mad. He strode to the small room, grabbed the blankets, and stomped back. “Here. Scat.”
“Yessir!” Humor tinted her voice.
He grabbed the cot he’d been folding, snatched the lamp, and sped up the stairs. Though desperate to be out of there, he still wasn’t ready to let matters alone. Russell set up the cot with a few practiced moves, then tugged Lorelei’s hand. She lost balance and tumbled into his arms with a surprised cry. He laid her on the cot.
“What is this?” Mrs. Goetz hopped to her feet.
“Loosen your daughter’s collar and check her out. I practically broke her neck.” Russell paced away and kept his back turned.
As soon as the storm’s gone, they’ll be gone—and I’ll make sure they don’t come back. I could have killed her.
“A week,” Lorelei grumbled under her breath. “A whole week, and he still barely speaks to me.” She scored the glass, tapped along the underside with her cutting tool, then snapped it neatly into two pieces. Ever since he’d set upon her in the basement, Russell had kept his distance.
“Now, Lori,” her mother chided as she cleaned one of the windows, “don’t be so impatient. Russell Diamond is a good man. He’s been very busy clearing away all of those branches which fell—and didn’t he cut them into logs for our very own fireplace and stove?”
“Yes, Mama. You don’t have to convince me that he has many fine qualities.”
“Well, you have been very busy, too. You were in town most every day, fixing windows that storm broke.” Mama smiled. “I still thank God that it did not worsen and become all we feared.”
“If that was a storm, I don’t want to live through a hurricane!” Lorelei walked to the glass rack and selected a small scrap of green to use for a leaf. As she decided how to cut it to use the swirl pattern in the glass to its best advantage, she added, “God heard us when we were singing that He covered us with His hand.”
“Ja, so this is true.” Mama finished the window and set aside her rag. “And what about the gardens? I thought for sure the plants would all blow away.”
“Having the gardens by the hedges helped. They served as a windbreak. If you take produce into town tomorrow, could you please tell
Mr. Rawlin that this window is done? Maybe he can drive out to get it.”
A shadow fell on the workroom. She glanced up. “Russell!”
“How big is the window?”
“Come see.” She gestured to him.
He ordered Mutt to stay in the doorway, walked around the edge of the workroom as he had before, then came to her side to look at it. “Pretty, but not big at all.”
“No, it’s not.” She nudged a piece into alignment. “Teddy broke one just like it when he was playing ball. It belongs to Miss Florina.”
Russell winced. “I broke a neighbor’s window once. Worked long and hard to pay for it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I … um … came to ask a favor.”
“That is what neighbors are for.”
“I don’t know about that. I got a letter from home.”
“Is everything okay?” Mama blurted out.
“Yes.” He shot her a kind smile, and Lorelei liked him all the more for how nice he always was to Mama. “To put it in a nutshell, my mom and sister have decided they need to come see the house. It’s nowhere near ready to have visitors, and I’m not even sure what I need to get.”
“Curtains, towels, beds, and bedding for two rooms,” Lorelei said at once.
“I like to sew.” Mama smiled. “You get many yards of nice fabric, and I can make curtains and pillows and a cushion for a chair in each room.”
Russell held his hand up in surrender. “Wait! I figured I’d have you come shopping with me tomorrow. We’ll deliver the window while we’re at it.”
“Stay for supper. You need to eat better.” Mama shook her finger at him and headed toward the door. “And come for breakfast. It will be a long day tomorrow.”
His head pounded unmercifully, his leg ached, and Russell knew they’d barely begun. He shot Lorelei a get-me-out-of-here glare.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Whorter. I am positive he won’t want Chinese urns.” She picked up a crystal vase and turned it toward the sun. It cast myriad rainbows about them. Unlike everything else in the store, it was American-made instead of imported. “This Heisey vase is the last thing. You will pack it with the rest so we can pick it up in an hour?”
“Yes. Of course.” Mrs. Whorter set the vase on the counter next to an appreciable pile of towels and toiletries, then gave her a shrewd look.
“Good. We’ve got to get moving.” Russell got out of Whorter’s Imports and collapsed on a bench on the boardwalk.
“This is moving?” Lorelei plopped down beside him and giggled.
“I have to recover. I kept wanting to sneeze.” He scrubbed his hand across his nose to try to stop the tingling from all the perfumed soaps, powders, and whatnots. “What’s wrong with getting all of that stuff at the mercantile?”
“Nothing.” Lorelei tugged on the edge of her glove. “But Mrs. Whorter is a widow, and it is nice to give her business. We can go to the mercantile after we go to the china shop—unless you want to use those everyday plates we already bought for when we were feeding the workmen.”
“I’m only doing this once. Since I have your help, we’ll get the fancy china today.”
Ten minutes later, Lorelei somehow managed to get Mrs. Sweeny to seat Russell in a dining chair at a table. “Now, then,” Lorelei said, “it is easier to picture the place setting.”
She coordinated so well things that made it all go together—the Garland pattern of the Fostoria crystal carried the same graceful motion as the swags between the historical cameos on the Virginia pattern of the Lenox china. The Mount Vernon pattern of Lunt silverware featured the same style of curve.
Even a year ago, this would have irritated him to no end. Now, having a young lady set pretty things on the table before him, worry about whether it harmonized with the other pieces, the soft rise and fall of her sweet voice, the graceful little gestures—it all rolled over him like a balm. War did that to a man, made him aware of the gentling effect women exerted in an otherwise savage world.
Lorelei shifted, bit her lip, and replaced the goblet with another. “There. What do you think?”
I think I’d like to stretch this moment for a long while. Russell lifted the plate to assure himself he’d not been woolgathering and misheard the pattern name. “Virginia.” Russell raised a teasing brow. “The silver is Mount Vernon. Are you going for a theme here?”
“Of course.” Lorelei set a pair of candlesticks nearby and crooked her head to examine the match. “You told me you were restoring the house. The patterns are old-fashioned looking and honor your heritage. Isn’t that what you want?”
“I have the Hanover pattern,” Mrs. Sweeny held out a plate with a touch of red amidst heavy gold embellishment around the edge. She cast a sideways glance at Lorelei, and her voice took on a decided bite. “It might suit your heritage, too.”
Russell didn’t like the undercurrent. He pushed to his feet and tucked Lorelei behind himself as if to protect her from any cruelty. One ugly comment, and the peace he’d craved died instantly. Once again, he was a warrior, and he’d defend Buttercup from anyone who dared pose any threat or unkindness toward her.
“The lady already showed her preference. We’ll just go elsewhere—”
“No! Oh no, there’s no need for that.” Mrs. Sweeny blanched. “I misspoke.”
“Yes, you did. Years ago, Americans didn’t want my Irish ancestors to immigrate here. I went to war because our country believes all men are created equal.” As he spoke, Lorelei shifted to stand beside him. His arm went about her waist, and he tucked her close to shelter her. “It would be unspeakable if the freedoms we fight for were denied the citizens at home.”
“Yes. Of course you’re right.”
Russell dared to look at Lorelei. Her eyes glistened with tears, but instead of looking pained, she glowed.
“Russell, your words are so wise. Papa would have been so glad to know such a good man as you. For those things, he went to fight, too.”
“We don’t have to do business here.”
Lorelei traced the tip of her forefinger on one of the cameo pictures on the salad plate. “Mrs. Sweeny is sorry. Even before America entered the war, her son’s ship was hit by a German U-boat.”
Lorelei obviously didn’t want to make a scene, and Russell knew it would be best to follow her lead. He bought the china and led her out of the china shop, silently vowing he’d never spend another cent there.
As they waited at the corner for a buggy to pass before they crossed the street, Lorelei turned her face toward the sunshine. The joy on her face sent pangs of envy through him.
“Is there some specific charitable cause I should know about at the next store?”
Lorelei spluttered, then laughed. “Russell, even when you are wry, your wit tickles me.”
He smiled back at her. She made being grumpy seem so ridiculously selfish. Few were the people he knew who could laugh at themselves; Lorelei did so regularly. She also coaxed him out of being in a bad mood simply with her sunny disposition.
They’d dropped her mother off at the mercantile in the first place. While they were taking care of the other matters, Mrs. Goetz was supposed to arrange for several other items. Now Lorelei and her mother chattered like birds on a clothesline, and Lorelei kept insisting that Russell make a decision between two things. Finally he leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.
“This must be done today so the house is ready for your guests,” Lorelei scolded playfully.
Russell turned to Mr. Sanders. “I’ve got dozens of rooms to furnish, and she’s fussing like I wouldn’t have someplace to stick another bedstead. Just take all of the stuff and dump it in my buckboard. If it won’t fit, deliver it.”
“But you didn’t decide on the material!” Lorelei’s mother glowered at him.
He gave Mr. Sanders a yet-another-tempest-in-a-teacup look. The storekeeper grinned as Russell said, “Just throw the whole bolt of whatever fabrics she liked
on there, too. Now give me a bottle of Bayer aspirin. Domestic matters are a headache.”
Lorelei waited until they reached the mansion and started to unload the wagon. Mama had taken an armful of goods into the house before she tapped Russell on the shoulder. He turned around, holding a gleaming teakettle.
“What?”
“Your headache—is it all you have? Is anything else bothering you? In Boston, the navy is having many cases of the grippe.”
“I heard about that. They’re calling it the Spanish Influenza. You don’t need to fret. I’m fine. Besides, there haven’t been any cases down here or out west, so you can stop worrying.”
A heavily laden wagon trundled up, and a young man jumped down. “Mr. Sanders ordered me to help carry all of this in. Where do you want it all?”
For the next two days, Lorelei and her mother went up to Russell’s house. Russell was more than generous each time they worked for him, and the sock with their savings finally bulged.
Lace curtains hung in the parlor, and Mama had sewn new cushions for the window seat. She’d salvaged the material on the underside of the cushions and made pillows that still matched the old settee they’d uncovered. Russell had already stripped the wallpaper and freshly stained the floor, so he painted the walls a creamy color and nodded appreciatively as Lorelei filled the Heisey crystal vase with a fistful of black-eyed Susans.
She’d concentrated on the bedrooms. He’d painted each of them a pale shade of green. An ornate, white, wrought iron bedstead in one room was covered with a deep green counterpane. It had taken very little time for Lorelei to stitch hems in the dark green material, and after she’d hung the draperies, she’d pulled them open with white, tasseled cords. The room had no bedside table, so she’d tossed a tablecloth over a barrel and set a flowery, globed lantern on it.
The other room boasted cabbage rose bedding and curtains, and fresh, fluffy towels graced the washroom bars.
“What do you think of this?” Russell knocked on the top of a small chest of drawers. “I’m finding stuff in the attic that looks salvageable. When I first got here, I didn’t bother looking there, but since I’m going to need some furnishings, that place is full of stuff.”