Gabi climbed onto Maren’s lap and settled against her arm. Rutherford sat across from them on the sofa.
“You and PaPa are going to marry.”
Her pulse quickened. She dare not look at the man. She knew what courtship generally implied, but they hadn’t discussed marriage. They both still had too much to work through for marriage to be a possibility. When she had regained her composure, she hooked her finger under Gabi’s chin and looked into her blue eyes. “No. Your PaPa and I do not have plans to marry. I need to live in town, and your PaPa needs to live in the house with you and Oma.”
“I want you, too.”
Maren pressed her lips against the emotion threatening to undo her. “I know, little one. But I have to do what is best for all of us.”
“That is you. The best.”
Tears stung Maren’s eyes. Oh, how she loved this little girl. But she couldn’t stay. She wrapped her hands around Gabi’s. “Saturday I will move into town and work in Mr. Heinrich’s store.”
Gabi’s bottom lip quivered.
“I will come see you, and you will come see me. I will see you at church, and I will be here for the apple picking party.” Maren blinked and finally made herself look at Rutherford—a mistake.
A pleading frown dulled his eyes.
Fourteen
S aturday had come too soon, and Maren was not ready to leave the farm. The cow had been milked, but she had skipped her morning chitchat with Rutherford. Instead she had enjoyed a music time with Gabi and helped Mrs. Brantenberg clean up after breakfast. Now she was upstairs packing the flute box into her trunk.
Gabi stood beside the trunk, her face long. “Thursday you will come with Miss Hattie to quilting.” A statement rather than a question.
Maren brushed a curl from Gabi’s sweet face. “I may be working and not able to come every week, but I will see you often. Your PaPa will bring you into town, and I will come to the farm when I can.” Her voice cracked, and her resolve to leave threatened to do the same.
Mrs. Brantenberg rushed into the room, a sack cradled in her hands. “I brought you some food.”
Maren smiled. “I will be working at a grocery store.”
“For a man.” Mrs. Brantenberg seated herself on the bed. “Johann Heinrich is a good man, mind you, but he will not watch that you are eating well.”
Maren sat beside Mrs. Brantenberg on the bed and looked at the red needlework on the sack, too tiny for her to read.
“Geteiltes leid ist halbes leid,” Mrs. Brantenberg read. “Trouble shared is trouble halved.”
Nodding, she ran her finger over the lettering. No one could match Mrs. Brantenberg’s generous cooking or her warmth of heart. She had given Maren a job, a home, a family, hope—her German friend had more than halved her troubles.
Mrs. Brantenberg pulled a smoked sausage from the sack. “I only packed a few of your favorites—ones that would travel and store well.”
Maren pulled each item from the bag and showed them to Gabi. A loaf of rye-wheat bread, a tin of cranberry pemmican, four bacon popovers, a small wheel of white cheese, and a jar of Mrs. Brantenberg’s German mustard. Fighting the emotion clogging her throat, she rested her hand on Mrs. Brantenberg’s arm. “ Takke . Thank you. For everything.”
Mrs. Brantenberg nodded, her lips pressed together.
Footsteps on the staircase drew their attention to the doorway. Rutherford stopped in the open doorway, looking first at the plentiful array of foods, then at Maren. “It looks as though Johann could depend on you to stock the grocery.” He chuckled.
Oh, how she would miss that baritone laugh.
“Johann is too occupied to cook,” Mrs. Brantenberg said. “And Emilie will soon be engaged in her studies at Lindenwood. That basement won’t have any kind of real kitchen. It’s but a few things to give her a solid start.”
Rutherford raised his hand as if to surrender, and Maren bit back a giggle, wondering if he had staged this bit of lightheartedness to
“You and PaPa are going to marry.”
Her pulse quickened. She dare not look at the man. She knew what courtship generally implied, but they hadn’t discussed marriage. They both still had too much to work through for marriage to be a possibility. When she had regained her composure, she hooked her finger under Gabi’s chin and looked into her blue eyes. “No. Your PaPa and I do not have plans to marry. I need to live in town, and your PaPa needs to live in the house with you and Oma.”
“I want you, too.”
Maren pressed her lips against the emotion threatening to undo her. “I know, little one. But I have to do what is best for all of us.”
“That is you. The best.”
Tears stung Maren’s eyes. Oh, how she loved this little girl. But she couldn’t stay. She wrapped her hands around Gabi’s. “Saturday I will move into town and work in Mr. Heinrich’s store.”
Gabi’s bottom lip quivered.
“I will come see you, and you will come see me. I will see you at church, and I will be here for the apple picking party.” Maren blinked and finally made herself look at Rutherford—a mistake.
A pleading frown dulled his eyes.
Fourteen
S aturday had come too soon, and Maren was not ready to leave the farm. The cow had been milked, but she had skipped her morning chitchat with Rutherford. Instead she had enjoyed a music time with Gabi and helped Mrs. Brantenberg clean up after breakfast. Now she was upstairs packing the flute box into her trunk.
Gabi stood beside the trunk, her face long. “Thursday you will come with Miss Hattie to quilting.” A statement rather than a question.
Maren brushed a curl from Gabi’s sweet face. “I may be working and not able to come every week, but I will see you often. Your PaPa will bring you into town, and I will come to the farm when I can.” Her voice cracked, and her resolve to leave threatened to do the same.
Mrs. Brantenberg rushed into the room, a sack cradled in her hands. “I brought you some food.”
Maren smiled. “I will be working at a grocery store.”
“For a man.” Mrs. Brantenberg seated herself on the bed. “Johann Heinrich is a good man, mind you, but he will not watch that you are eating well.”
Maren sat beside Mrs. Brantenberg on the bed and looked at the red needlework on the sack, too tiny for her to read.
“Geteiltes leid ist halbes leid,” Mrs. Brantenberg read. “Trouble shared is trouble halved.”
Nodding, she ran her finger over the lettering. No one could match Mrs. Brantenberg’s generous cooking or her warmth of heart. She had given Maren a job, a home, a family, hope—her German friend had more than halved her troubles.
Mrs. Brantenberg pulled a smoked sausage from the sack. “I only packed a few of your favorites—ones that would travel and store well.”
Maren pulled each item from the bag and showed them to Gabi. A loaf of rye-wheat bread, a tin of cranberry pemmican, four bacon popovers, a small wheel of white cheese, and a jar of Mrs. Brantenberg’s German mustard. Fighting the emotion clogging her throat, she rested her hand on Mrs. Brantenberg’s arm. “ Takke . Thank you. For everything.”
Mrs. Brantenberg nodded, her lips pressed together.
Footsteps on the staircase drew their attention to the doorway. Rutherford stopped in the open doorway, looking first at the plentiful array of foods, then at Maren. “It looks as though Johann could depend on you to stock the grocery.” He chuckled.
Oh, how she would miss that baritone laugh.
“Johann is too occupied to cook,” Mrs. Brantenberg said. “And Emilie will soon be engaged in her studies at Lindenwood. That basement won’t have any kind of real kitchen. It’s but a few things to give her a solid start.”
Rutherford raised his hand as if to surrender, and Maren bit back a giggle, wondering if he had staged this bit of lightheartedness to
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