Icecutter's Daughter, The Page 7

  Chapter 7

  Sundays were a mixed blessing to Merrill. She always worked hard the day before to prepare food for the dinner they would enjoy after services. This allowed her more freedom after church, and that afternoon, her single bit of time off for the week, could be spent in more leisurely activities. But Sunday also represented the frustration of putting on a smile and pretending she fit in with the other young women of the congregation. Merrill knew she was sometimes the talk of the town because of the manner in which she labored and dressed. Granny had once told her that church attendance wasn’t about her clothes or finery; church was meant for fellowship, study, and encouragement. Even so, Merrill knew that many of the women measured one’s worth by the fashions worn or one’s manners or other things that were neither of interest nor importance to her.

  “We’d best not dawdle,” her father instructed, pulling the wagon alongside the church. “Else we’ll be late again.”

  He helped Merrill down and smiled. “You look lovely today, Merrill Jean.”

  She smiled back. “Thank you, Father. The bonnet is a new one Granny Lassiter made for me.”

  “Well, it’s a doozy,” he said with a grin.

  “That’s the one she wears to help with foaling,” her brother Zadoc added with a wink.

  Merrill rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. Granny made me try it on at just the wrong time.”

  “I think it looks mighty good,” her father said. “You look like a fine lady.”

  “I feel like a pig dressed up for the fair,” she murmured, unsure that her father would understand her words. She recalled Granny’s comments about the hat and couldn’t help but add, “A pig in a poke . . . bonnet.”

  “What was that?” her father asked.

  Shaking her head, Merrill hooked her arm through his. “Nothing of importance.”

  They made their way into church just as the organist began to play. Merrill wasn’t surprised to see Rurik and his uncle in the pew just ahead of them, where Carl Jorgenson generally sat.

  Merrill took her place between her father and Zadoc and quickly shed her coat. She adjusted the green scarf at her neck and smoothed the lines of her plum wool dress, hoping that she looked better than she imagined. Her hair had been so uncooperative that morning that she had been more than glad to hide it beneath Granny’s bonnet.

  The congregation rose to sing a hymn, and Merrill found herself standing directly behind Rurik Jorgenson. His towering height reminded her of her own brothers. None of her family was under six foot three, with herself the only exception. Rurik was every bit that tall. His golden brown hair had been combed neatly and parted to one side, and he wore a nicely fitting blue suit that Merrill imagined drew out the color of his eyes.

  They sat again while a male soloist offered a hymn of adoration. Merrill’s mind, however, was not on the words about God’s goodness. She tried to keep focused on the Lord, but her eyes kept drawing her attention back to Rurik.

  She liked the look of his broad shoulders and remembered him helping her clear the table the day of the ice harvest. He had taken off his coat, and his muscles had strained against the white fabric of his cotton shirt while he dried the dishes for her. Though she’d seen her brothers in various states of undress, this sight had felt surprisingly intimate.

  The solo ended, and Merrill bowed her head with the others as the pastor led the congregation in prayer. Yet she still found it hard to think about anything but the man sitting in front of her.

  Throughout the rituals and the sermon, Merrill tried to focus on God’s Word and the pastor’s sermon, but thoughts of Rurik continued to steal her attention.

  After the service ended, Rurik and his uncle turned her way, and Merrill feared her face might betray her thoughts. She nodded and glanced down the aisle, hoping she might simply slip out of the church without having to say anything. It was not to be.

  “You certainly look different today,” Rurik said with a smile. “I must say you are quite fetching, Miss Krause.”

  Merrill felt her face grow hot. “Ah, thank you.”

  “We get her in a dress from time to time,” her father said with a chuckle. “And isn’t that a nice new bonnet?”

  Zadoc leaned over. “She’s only worn it once before.”

  Merrill elbowed him hard, but that only made her teasing brother laugh.

  Carl was the next one to speak, however. “It is indeed a lovely thing, Miss Merrill, and you are as pretty as they come.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson.” Hoping to steer the conversation to something other than herself, she said, “How are you set for cookies? I baked several batches yesterday and would be happy to bring you some.”

  “I would like that. No one bakes quite as well as you,” Carl said in a lower voice. “I don’t want to offend any of the other ladies, however. They might stop bringing me treats.”

  Merrill smiled. “No worries. It’s our secret. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

  “Why not have Carl and Rurik join us for lunch today,” her father said, “and then they can take them home with them.”

  Merrill tried to hide her surprise at her father’s unexpected invitation. “That would be . . . wonderful.”

  “How about it, Carl? Can you follow us home for dinner?”

  “Ja, I think we can.” He looked to Rurik. “What say you?”

  “I’ve had Miss Merrill’s cooking once before. I’d certainly enjoy another round,” Rurik said, rubbing his hands together in obvious pleasure and glancing her way.

  Merrill felt a tremor go through her and quickly looked away. “That sounds . . . good. I have more than enough warming for us.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Bogart Krause announced. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Basil.”

  “And I have some folks to introduce you to,” Carl said to Rurik. “Miss Merrill, if you’ll pardon us.”

  “Of course,” she said, glad they were leaving before she might make an utter fool of herself. Her brothers were off speaking to friends, so Merrill began to pull on her coat.

  “Did you meet him?”

  Merrill turned to find Corabeth at her side. “Meet whom?”

  Corabeth glanced around as if trying to keep her comments secret. “Mr. Jorgenson’s nephew, of course.”

  “Yes, he came to help with ice harvesting the other day. He and his uncle are joining us for lunch.”

  “I met him when Granny and I went to take Carl some food. I found him rather . . . I don’t know . . . startling. Granny had him to dinner and I thought he was very stern.”

  Merrill frowned. “Rurik Jorgenson?”

  “Well, maybe not stern. He was friendly enough.” She looked confused. “He just . . . well . . . he seems rather bold—imposing,” Corabeth replied. “And he’s so tall.”

  “No taller than my brothers,” Merrill said with a laugh. “And, Corabeth, I seem to recall that the height of one brother in particular doesn’t bother you in the least.”

  Corabeth blushed. “Zadoc is much more mild mannered. I think Mr. Jorgenson might be rather . . . well, like I said . . . bold.”

  Merrill laughed again. “Mr. Jorgenson is perfectly well mannered and kind. I like him very much.” Corabeth gave her a raised eyebrow at this declaration, but Merrill was unconcerned. “So what do you think?” She waved her hand from the top of her bonnet and down past her gown. “Does the bonnet suit the gown as well as you hoped?”

  “Oh, that and more. Granny and I were commenting on it during service. We think you look quite elegant.”

  “What a relief. I’m glad to have met with your approval,” Merrill said in a teasing tone. “The bonnet was a blessing this morning. My hair refused to do anything I wanted it to, so I finally gave up, knotted it, and tucked it under the hat.”

  “Maybe you should wear more bonnets,” Corabeth suggested. “You look nice, the way your hair is curled around the edges of the bonnet. It’s as though you planned it that way.”

>   Just then Zadoc walked up and nodded toward the young woman. “Miss Corabeth.” He turned to Merrill. “Father said not to keep us waiting too long, since we’re putting on dinner for the Jorgenson men.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She looked at Corabeth and then to Zadoc. “Don’t you think Corabeth looks pretty in her new dress?”

  Zadoc looked down at the gown and nodded his agreement. “Fits you like a good saddle. I always did like blue.”

  Corabeth seemed to glow under his admiration, and Merrill couldn’t help but smile. “It matches her eyes, don’t you think?”

  Zadoc narrowed his gaze and leaned closer. “Yup. Looks to be the same color.”

  Merrill lifted her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Her brothers could all do with some lessons when it came to courting women. If their mother had lived, they no doubt would have learned to handle themselves in a different fashion.

  “So you coming?” Zadoc asked his sister.

  Merrill nodded. “I will speak with you later, Corabeth.” She leaned over to hug her friend. “Do come for a visit when time permits.”

  Once they were outside, Merrill turned to her brother. “Zadoc, you really are so clueless sometimes.”

  He threw her a puzzled look, his lips drawn down. “What are you talking about?”

  “The same thing I’ve been hinting to you for months. But now I’m going to just come right out with it. You know that Corabeth is sweet on you. I happen to think you like her, too. She’s hoping you’ll ask her to next month’s church party.”

  Zadoc looked at her with a blank expression for a moment. It wasn’t long, however, before his face lit up with a cocky grin. “She’s sweet on me, eh?”

  Merrill sighed. “Forget I said anything. If my brothers are too dim-witted to know when a girl likes them, then they deserve to be bachelors.”

  She reached the wagon, where her father took her arm and guided her into the seat beside him. Zadoc joined his brothers in the back.

  “Guess what?” Merrill heard Zadoc exclaim. “Corabeth Lassiter likes me.”

  Merrill rolled her gaze toward heaven as her father put the team in motion. Lord, she prayed, you’ve got your hands full with that one. Help him to not miss out on what you have in mind for him. And maybe for Corabeth.

  Rurik had figured the Sunday meal would be a simple affair, but he was pleased to discover an overflowing smorgasbord of food. Apparently Merrill Krause had prepared the meal the day before. There were dishes he recognized and some he didn’t, but he was eager to try them all.

  “Merrill is the best cook in the state,” Carl told him. “She wins at the fair all the time.”

  “Oh, you can stop that now, Mr. Jorgenson,” Merrill admonished. “Otherwise your nephew will come to expect far too much.” She positioned a bowl of green beans and spaetzle on the table and took her seat.

  Mr. Krause bowed his head and spoke what Rurik presumed was a prayer. He didn’t understand the German words, however.

  “Komm, Herr Jesu; sei du unser Gast, und segne, was du uns bescheret hast. Amen.”

  Merrill Krause quickly interpreted, “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and bless what you have bestowed. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Rurik murmured.

  “My father sometimes forgets that not everyone speaks German,” she explained with a smile.

  “Just like my family with Swedish,” he replied.

  “Ja, we sometimes still talk in the old language, don’t we, Rurik?” his uncle asked in that typical Scandinavian cadence.

  “We do. I like to keep the language familiar,” he said. “I’m sure there are many similarities between Swedish and German.”

  “Ja,” Merrill replied, and she smiled again.

  The bowls and platters were passed around the table, and Rurik found himself enjoying a most pleasant lesson in German cuisine. There were dishes that he hoped to have again soon, and some that he was less enthusiastic about. By the time Merrill brought apple strudel and whipped cream to the table, Rurik thought it would be impossible to eat another bite.

  He found himself to be wrong on that count, however. The warm apple dessert all but melted in his mouth, a buttery richness that made him long for more. When the meal concluded, he was almost embarrassed to admit he’d had two helpings and would have taken a third had the platter not been empty.

  “Goodness, but I don’t know when I’ve had such a fine meal,” Carl declared. “Merrill, I don’t know if I’ve told you this or not, but your strudel is my favorite dessert. I like it better than anything else.”

  “You are very kind to say so, Mr. Jorgenson. And just for that, I shall make you a strudel all your own and bring it to you later this week.”

  The man beamed and elbowed Rurik. “See there, by golly, that’s how you get a strudel for yourself.”

  Rurik nodded and patted his stomach. “It was quite delicious. My sister-in-law is a fine Swedish cook, but this surpasses even her abilities.”

  “Maybe you should get Svea up here to learn how to make strudel,” Carl suggested, then turned to the others. “She is Rurik’s intended. They will no doubt marry soon.”

  Rurik started to contradict his uncle, then thought better of it. A public setting such as this was no place to discuss family matters. Rurik had failed to tell his uncle about Svea’s decision; he could explain on the way home.

  “Well, you are welcome to join us anytime,” Bogart Krause announced. “Now, why don’t we head into the front room and we’ll play some checkers.”

  Carl shook his head. “I’m afraid I must decline. I know it is impolite, but I think I need to get home and rest. Please forgive me, but I will have Rurik drive me home now.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Carl. You never have to worry about formalities around here,” Mr. Krause said. “In fact, I think I’d like a nap myself.”

  Rurik got to his feet and helped his uncle up. He looked back to thank Merrill again for the delicious meal but found she was already gone. No doubt already at work putting away the food and doing the dishes.

  On the drive home, Rurik decided to tell his uncle what had happened with Svea. He went into some detail about wanting to do what was honorable to his father’s memory, but that he didn’t love Svea as a husband should and he didn’t think she loved him either—in fact, she had all but banished him after their last interaction. For several minutes Carl said nothing, and Rurik feared he had offended his uncle.

  “You know, a man has to trust God first,” Uncle Carl said after some time. “I told your father that such marriages were old-fashioned and even dangerous in these modern times. He wouldn’t listen to my advice.”

  “So you aren’t disappointed with me?” Rurik asked just as they reached the edge of town.

  “Disappointed?” Carl laughed. “I couldn’t be upset at a man for listening to God. Son, you should never marry anyone unless you feel certain it is the woman God has given you for your helpmate. You cannot undo a marriage . . . I would have you pray and seek the Lord and do His will. My brother vas good intentioned, but not so good at understanding the heart.” Carl grew thoughtful and was silent a moment before he continued. “You should not marry out of a sense of obligation, but rather by the Lord’s direction. Otherwise, you will be most unhappy. And so will she.”

  Chapter 8

  January was slipping by at a rapid pace for Rurik. He found his experiences at Jorgenson Furniture fulfilling; the detail and quality of the workmanship met with his approval, and he was proud to come alongside the men and be a part of the items produced. He also began to recognize the positives and negatives of handling a large number of employees and deadlines.

  “You’re a quick learner,” Carl commented as he motioned Rurik to sit with him in his office. “You always were.”

  Rurik took the seat and smiled. “You are a good teacher. I’m also happy to say you’ve been looking a bit stronger of late. Your color is much better.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you a
bout. Your being here has given me great peace of mind. I’ve long wondered what I would do about this place . . . you know . . . if my illness got worse.”

  Nodding, Rurik leaned back in the chair. “I’m glad I’ve been able to lend a hand.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about another way you could help me out.”

  “Anything, Uncle Carl. You know that.”

  The older man nodded and folded his hands. “I’ve been thinking a long time about expanding the business. The orders are coming in more regularly and the requests are for larger quantities. I could easily double the size of the workshop. I can certainly afford it. However, I don’t have the strength to do it alone. I need a partner.”

  Rurik was surprised by this announcement and didn’t try to hide it. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say. Are you suggesting I become that partner?”

  “Who else?” Carl raised his hands, emphasizing his words. “All of this should go to a family member after I’m gone. If you come in as my partner, there will be no hesitation in leaving it to you. I’d like to know that it stays with the Jorgenson name.”The idea of moving to Minnesota permanently and taking over the Jorgenson Furniture business had never occurred to Rurik. He had always hoped to begin his own business, but to start with something already this well established was more than he could have dreamed.

  “You’ve definitely caught me by surprise,” Rurik said. “But what about the men who work for you? Surely there’s a man among them that would make a good partner.”

  “The men are good, but they aren’t family. I’ve never so much as hinted that I might take a partner. I think, however, with your coming here they all figure this is what I’m planning to do. They like you, Rurik. You’re honest and hardworking, and you’ve got an understanding of this business and my hopes for it. There’s no one better suited to take over, carry it on.”

  He paused and looked at Rurik, concern in his expression. “I realize you would have to leave your brothers and sisters—all your friends, as well. Coming here might not be to your liking.”