soften her departure.
He peered at the bag. “I still have the sack you sent with me.”
Mrs. Brantenberg lifted her hand to her collar. “You kept it?”
“I did.”
“Der apfel fällt nicht weit vom stamm.” Mrs. Brantenberg wagged her finger at him. “Thankfully, it’s true—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You came back.”
He nodded. “I moped all about camp the day the bag emptied, and for several days more.”
“I, too, will treasure the sack you have given me, and the food will surely keep me fed until I can settle in.” Maren looked long into Mrs. Brantenberg’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Rutherford glanced toward the window. “Boone and Duden are waiting at the rail.”
Maren tucked the sack into her trunk. There was no place like home, but this farm had been the closest she could hope to come to it.
***
Maren and Rutherford were nearly to the dry goods store when she shifted on the wagon seat. They’d not spoken more than a handful of sentences to each other on the ride in, and those were limited to the turkey they had seen bustle across the road and the clouds Rutherford saw gathering on the horizon.
He cleared his throat. “The store is closed on Sundays. Will we see you at church tomorrow?”
She glanced at the darkening sky. “If the weather permits it, you will.”
“Then I’ll pray for good weather.” He reined the horses to a stop at the back of the store and looked at her. “You’re sure about this?”
“I am.” But was it too much to hope that her stay here—away—would be short-lived?
“As you wish, then.” Rutherford jumped from the wagon and was at her side in an instant.
She accepted his hand, allowing him to help her to the ground. If she had her way, he would never have let her go. But he did, and he slid his hand into his trouser pocket. Had he, too, felt the chill in the letting go?
***
By the time Rutherford reached the lane to the farmhouse, rain had begun to form mud puddles.
Mother Brantenberg greeted him at the kitchen door, a frown dulling her eyes. The kitchen smelled of sauerkraut and sausage.
“You left her there?”
He set his rucksack on the bench. “It’s what she wanted.” He sighed. “And probably best, for now.” Believing that may make the separation more tolerable.
Mother Brantenberg nodded and pulled three dinner bowls from the shelf. “You are a wise man.”
“I don’t feel very wise.” A lonely man, yes. An impatient man.
A warm smile deepened the creases at her eyes. “I could ask the Becks to bring me and Gabi home from church tomorrow.”
“And I could take Maren on a picnic.” He looked out the window at the soggy sky. “Or bring her back here for lunch and music.”
“That would be nice. Gabi and I moved her things into my bedchamber.”
He kissed her forehead and glanced at his bag. “I’ll take mine to the room and tell Gabi dinner is ready.”
To the room where he’d seen Maren’s dressing gown hanging on the bedpost.
***
Maren sat on the narrow rope bed and glanced around her new home. An oil lantern flickered atop a small table. A pot-bellied stove popped and crackled at the far wall. Still, the room was too quiet without Gabi’s slumber-purr. Blue gingham curtains hung at the window above her trunk. She already missed looking down from her bedroom window at the farm to watch Rutherford walk to the barn and stop to wave at her. Her fingers slid down the chain about her neck and grasped the whistle, tempted to sound it.
Just in case … I would come running .
No. This was something she needed to do on her own—with God’s help.
Maren pulled her Bible and reading glass from her trunk. While a hardy rain splashed the cobblestone street outside and thunder boomed overhead, she reread the third chapter of Ecclesiastes.
To every thing there is a season.… A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.… A time to
He peered at the bag. “I still have the sack you sent with me.”
Mrs. Brantenberg lifted her hand to her collar. “You kept it?”
“I did.”
“Der apfel fällt nicht weit vom stamm.” Mrs. Brantenberg wagged her finger at him. “Thankfully, it’s true—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You came back.”
He nodded. “I moped all about camp the day the bag emptied, and for several days more.”
“I, too, will treasure the sack you have given me, and the food will surely keep me fed until I can settle in.” Maren looked long into Mrs. Brantenberg’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Rutherford glanced toward the window. “Boone and Duden are waiting at the rail.”
Maren tucked the sack into her trunk. There was no place like home, but this farm had been the closest she could hope to come to it.
***
Maren and Rutherford were nearly to the dry goods store when she shifted on the wagon seat. They’d not spoken more than a handful of sentences to each other on the ride in, and those were limited to the turkey they had seen bustle across the road and the clouds Rutherford saw gathering on the horizon.
He cleared his throat. “The store is closed on Sundays. Will we see you at church tomorrow?”
She glanced at the darkening sky. “If the weather permits it, you will.”
“Then I’ll pray for good weather.” He reined the horses to a stop at the back of the store and looked at her. “You’re sure about this?”
“I am.” But was it too much to hope that her stay here—away—would be short-lived?
“As you wish, then.” Rutherford jumped from the wagon and was at her side in an instant.
She accepted his hand, allowing him to help her to the ground. If she had her way, he would never have let her go. But he did, and he slid his hand into his trouser pocket. Had he, too, felt the chill in the letting go?
***
By the time Rutherford reached the lane to the farmhouse, rain had begun to form mud puddles.
Mother Brantenberg greeted him at the kitchen door, a frown dulling her eyes. The kitchen smelled of sauerkraut and sausage.
“You left her there?”
He set his rucksack on the bench. “It’s what she wanted.” He sighed. “And probably best, for now.” Believing that may make the separation more tolerable.
Mother Brantenberg nodded and pulled three dinner bowls from the shelf. “You are a wise man.”
“I don’t feel very wise.” A lonely man, yes. An impatient man.
A warm smile deepened the creases at her eyes. “I could ask the Becks to bring me and Gabi home from church tomorrow.”
“And I could take Maren on a picnic.” He looked out the window at the soggy sky. “Or bring her back here for lunch and music.”
“That would be nice. Gabi and I moved her things into my bedchamber.”
He kissed her forehead and glanced at his bag. “I’ll take mine to the room and tell Gabi dinner is ready.”
To the room where he’d seen Maren’s dressing gown hanging on the bedpost.
***
Maren sat on the narrow rope bed and glanced around her new home. An oil lantern flickered atop a small table. A pot-bellied stove popped and crackled at the far wall. Still, the room was too quiet without Gabi’s slumber-purr. Blue gingham curtains hung at the window above her trunk. She already missed looking down from her bedroom window at the farm to watch Rutherford walk to the barn and stop to wave at her. Her fingers slid down the chain about her neck and grasped the whistle, tempted to sound it.
Just in case … I would come running .
No. This was something she needed to do on her own—with God’s help.
Maren pulled her Bible and reading glass from her trunk. While a hardy rain splashed the cobblestone street outside and thunder boomed overhead, she reread the third chapter of Ecclesiastes.
To every thing there is a season.… A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.… A time to
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