returned his friend’s wave, then stopped beside the baskets and hopped down from the wagon. Apple cider scented the cool air.
“Quaid.” Rutherford shook his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks, me friend. It’s by the grace of God that I’m able to be seen by anyone.”
“You finished the new cupboard?”
“I did.” Quaid wrapped the reins over a low branch. “Then me mother said the family had outgrown the meager number of porch chairs and wanted two more.”
“No wonder I haven’t seen your hide but once since you come home.”
“Plenty of rockers now for you and your intended to come and sit in the shade of our roof for a spell.”
“We might just do that. Especially if I catch wind there’s a pot of your mother’s stew on the stove.” Rutherford pressed his cap over his brown woolly hair. “You and I were two fortunate ones to be able to return.”
“We were.” They’d fought in the war together and seen hundreds of men face to the sky.
A young woman waved from one of the tables.
Rutherford returned her wave, his smile as wide as the Missouri. “There’s my intended now.” He motioned for her to join them.
But it was the young woman beside her that captured Quaid’s attention. Emilie Heinrich?
Couldn’t be her. Since when was she so tall and … shapely?
“Mr. McFarland, permit me to present to you Miss Maren Jensen.” Rutherford turned to Miss Jensen. “Corporal Quaid McFarland and I served in the same regiment.” His glance came back to Quaid. “Miss Jensen and I will wed in February.”
Miss Jensen bowed with measured dignity. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Corporal McFarland.”
Quaid offered a proper nod. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Jensen.” He turned his attention to the woman seated next to her, whose cocoa-brown eyes shined like polished stones.
“I trust you remember Miss Heinrich from the—”
“Yes. I do.” As a girl with pigtails. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you.” Emilie held his gaze with a confidence he didn’t recall. “The last time I saw you, you were … skinny as a pole.”
Her face suddenly flushed pink. Had she just realized she’d been staring?
“The man has done some growin’ up since then. Saved my hide at least once.” Rutherford glanced toward the food-laden tables, then at Quaid. “We smoked a pig and we’re fixin’ to sit down to a feast. Please join us.”
Quaid was hungry, but it was his curiosity about Emilie Heinrich that compelled him to say yes.
Emilie had satisfied her hunger with generous helpings of pork and potato salad, red cabbage slaw, and apple crisp. Rutherford had read from the Scriptures and thanked God for the bounty of the harvest. Mrs. Brantenberg recited a poem, and then she and her granddaughter, Gabi, delivered three proverbs in German and English.
Emilie always enjoyed harvest days and the feast that followed. But today’s celebration … She couldn’t remember when she’d sung loud enough to hear herself and laughed hard enough to have tears stream her face. And it was all thanks to Mr. Quaid McFarland.
She remembered him as an ornery kid full of vinegar around his friends. But he’d changed.
After the meal, Rutherford seated himself with his zither on a bench at one end of the tables, next to a balding neighbor who had brought his mandolin. With very little coaxing from Rutherford, Quaid had pulled a harmonica from his coat pocket and joined them for a stirring round of patriotic songs and a few hymns.
Judging from the fervor with which Quaid played his harmonica, she’d say he, too, was enjoying himself. On the last note, Maren started stacking plates, and Emilie reached under the table for a crate.
“Been too long since I’ve had that much fun.” The familiar Irish lilt drew her gaze to the bronzed face of the man now standing beside her.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Yes.” She didn’t remember his eyes being such an intense
“Quaid.” Rutherford shook his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks, me friend. It’s by the grace of God that I’m able to be seen by anyone.”
“You finished the new cupboard?”
“I did.” Quaid wrapped the reins over a low branch. “Then me mother said the family had outgrown the meager number of porch chairs and wanted two more.”
“No wonder I haven’t seen your hide but once since you come home.”
“Plenty of rockers now for you and your intended to come and sit in the shade of our roof for a spell.”
“We might just do that. Especially if I catch wind there’s a pot of your mother’s stew on the stove.” Rutherford pressed his cap over his brown woolly hair. “You and I were two fortunate ones to be able to return.”
“We were.” They’d fought in the war together and seen hundreds of men face to the sky.
A young woman waved from one of the tables.
Rutherford returned her wave, his smile as wide as the Missouri. “There’s my intended now.” He motioned for her to join them.
But it was the young woman beside her that captured Quaid’s attention. Emilie Heinrich?
Couldn’t be her. Since when was she so tall and … shapely?
“Mr. McFarland, permit me to present to you Miss Maren Jensen.” Rutherford turned to Miss Jensen. “Corporal Quaid McFarland and I served in the same regiment.” His glance came back to Quaid. “Miss Jensen and I will wed in February.”
Miss Jensen bowed with measured dignity. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Corporal McFarland.”
Quaid offered a proper nod. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Jensen.” He turned his attention to the woman seated next to her, whose cocoa-brown eyes shined like polished stones.
“I trust you remember Miss Heinrich from the—”
“Yes. I do.” As a girl with pigtails. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you.” Emilie held his gaze with a confidence he didn’t recall. “The last time I saw you, you were … skinny as a pole.”
Her face suddenly flushed pink. Had she just realized she’d been staring?
“The man has done some growin’ up since then. Saved my hide at least once.” Rutherford glanced toward the food-laden tables, then at Quaid. “We smoked a pig and we’re fixin’ to sit down to a feast. Please join us.”
Quaid was hungry, but it was his curiosity about Emilie Heinrich that compelled him to say yes.
Emilie had satisfied her hunger with generous helpings of pork and potato salad, red cabbage slaw, and apple crisp. Rutherford had read from the Scriptures and thanked God for the bounty of the harvest. Mrs. Brantenberg recited a poem, and then she and her granddaughter, Gabi, delivered three proverbs in German and English.
Emilie always enjoyed harvest days and the feast that followed. But today’s celebration … She couldn’t remember when she’d sung loud enough to hear herself and laughed hard enough to have tears stream her face. And it was all thanks to Mr. Quaid McFarland.
She remembered him as an ornery kid full of vinegar around his friends. But he’d changed.
After the meal, Rutherford seated himself with his zither on a bench at one end of the tables, next to a balding neighbor who had brought his mandolin. With very little coaxing from Rutherford, Quaid had pulled a harmonica from his coat pocket and joined them for a stirring round of patriotic songs and a few hymns.
Judging from the fervor with which Quaid played his harmonica, she’d say he, too, was enjoying himself. On the last note, Maren started stacking plates, and Emilie reached under the table for a crate.
“Been too long since I’ve had that much fun.” The familiar Irish lilt drew her gaze to the bronzed face of the man now standing beside her.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Yes.” She didn’t remember his eyes being such an intense
Similar Books
