Icecutter's Daughter, The Page 8

  “It isn’t that,” Rurik said, shaking his head. “It’s just that I always figured I’d start my own business and bring in a good friend to run the office and sales part for me. Nils Olsson is the brother of Svea—the girl I was engaged to. Nils and I have been friends a long time. I figured even if I didn’t marry Svea, I would still continue with the plans to work with Nils.”

  “You could invite him to join us here after we expand. I would like to have someone take on the office work. That way I’d be free to do more designing. Then after I’m gone, you could make him your partner.”

  The idea held more potential than Rurik could have hoped. “I suppose this might sound strange,” Rurik began, “but have you prayed about this? Have you sought out counsel from others? It seems maybe a bit abrupt. . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked carefully at his uncle.

  Carl laughed. “I’ve been thinking about it since you were a boy. When Aron told me that you had no desire to be a farmer, I have to admit the idea began to take root. I have prayed long and hard about such an arrangement, and now it’s time for you to do the same. I don’t expect you to give me an answer without taking time to really think it through, pray about it along with me, and talk to your own family.”

  Rurik nodded and rubbed his chin. “I will. Maybe I’ll write to Nils, discuss it with him, as well.”

  “Good. That’s all I ask. I can’t help but believe God brought you here for such a reason. However, like you, I want to be sure.”

  Later, while sanding the intricate curlicues of an étagère, Rurik found himself praying for guidance. There really was no reason to return to Kansas. His brother’s family didn’t need him, and Svea had made it clear she would just as soon never see him again. Thinking about that now, in fact, gave Rurik a great sense of relief. He could easily send for the remainder of his things, and Carl had more than enough room for him to stay on at the house.

  To his surprise, however, it was the mental image of Merrill Krause that made the possibility even more appealing. He didn’t know why, but he had found himself thinking of her more and more of late. He’d seen her several times at church, as well as when she’d come to deliver food to his uncle. He’d even gone to help with another ice harvest and, truth be told, had done so in order to see her again. The feelings he had lacked for Svea Olsson were abundantly present for this young woman he hardly knew. Of course, knowing that he’d be leaving in another month or so had kept Rurik’s feelings in check. However, if he stayed on in Waseca and became his uncle’s partner . . .

  “So, Lord, how does Merrill Krause fit in the plans you have for me?” he prayed.

  “Mr. Jorgenson?” Merrill had knocked several times on the man’s front door, and now she was worried. She smiled in relief when he finally opened the door and welcomed her inside. “I thought perhaps you were at the shop.” In truth, however, she feared he’d fallen too ill to hear her knocks.

  “No. I was stoking the stove in the kitchen. Did I keep you waiting long?”

  “Not so long,” she said, holding up a basket. “I come bearing gifts.”

  “Oh, you take such good care of me.”

  Merrill followed him through the house to the kitchen and waited while he checked the fire. “Ja,” he said, nodding his approval. “The fire is good.”

  “Are you preparing a meal?” she asked.

  “Ja. Rurik will be here soon.” He straightened and pointed to a cast-iron skillet. “I boiled some potato sausage earlier, and now I’m frying them up for our dinner.”

  “Why don’t you let me do that?” she suggested, placing the basket on the table. She quickly unbuttoned her coat. “I have some extra time, and besides, some of the food I’ve brought will go well with the sausages.”

  Carl didn’t argue with her, but took a seat at the kitchen table and checked the contents of the basket. “I see you made kladdkaka. My favorite.”

  “I knew it was. I thought you might enjoy some. Granny gave me the recipe at Christmas.”

  Carl was already pinching a piece of the cake off to sample. “Just as good as my mor used to make.”

  She smiled. “I had a strudel for you as well, but . . . I’m afraid Flynn got into it. He didn’t realize I had made it for you. I promise, however, I will make you another and hide it from my brothers.”

  Chuckling, Carl took another piece of the kladdkaka. “This will do for now.”

  Glancing around the room, Merrill didn’t see any sign of an apron, so she grabbed a dish towel. Fishing out a couple of safety pins from her pocket, Merrill quickly fastened the towel over the front of her flannel shirt and wool skirt. This would save her clothes from most of the grease splatters.

  “Mr. Jorgenson—”

  “Please, just call me Carl. You can even call me Uncle Carl as Rurik does.”

  Merrill nodded. “Since I have no living uncles, I would like that very much. But in return for that favor, I would like to ask you a question. And if you don’t want to answer, that’s all right.”

  “Ja, you go ahead.”

  “Why did you never marry?” With the sausages starting to sizzle in the skillet, Merrill went to the table and began lifting items out of the basket. “Like I said, if you’d rather not tell me, I understand.” She searched his face to make certain she hadn’t offended him.

  Carl smiled. “I was married once. Not long, but long enough.”

  Merrill frowned. “Was it . . . well, was it that bad?”

  He laughed. “No, it was that good. So good I never wanted another wife. She was a very sweet woman, but she died of typhoid not long after we were married. I had loved her for a long time, and no one else could replace her.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Jor—Uncle Carl. I didn’t know. You must think me terribly nosy for asking. I apologize.” She held up a jar of sauerkraut. “Would you like some with the sausages?”

  “Ja, that would be good.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee. “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t mind the question.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to bring up bad memories.”

  “My memories of Mary are all good—except for her passing. She was such a wonderful woman.” His accent thickened. “But she was frail and tiny. Not healthy like you, Merrill.”

  She smiled and turned back to the sausages. There would never be anything frail or tiny about her. Taking up a fork, Merrill gently turned the sausages to brown them evenly.

  “We married after the War of the Rebellion,” he continued. “In August 1865. She was just eighteen. Before the first snow, she was gone.”

  “I am so very sorry,” Merrill said, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject.

  “I’m sorry for the loss, but not sorry to have loved her,” Carl said. “Mary was the best thing to happen to me.”

  Merrill changed the topic by going back to the table and pulling a large loaf of bread from the basket. “Would you like me to slice this up?”

  “That would be good.” He gave his stomach a pat. “I’m mighty hungry.”

  Merrill heard the front door open, and her heart gave a little leap. No, she told herself, he is engaged. . . .

  Carl pulled his pocket watch out and nodded. “That’s Rurik. He’ll be hungry, too.”

  “Well, dinner is just about ready. Where do you keep your dishes?”

  Carl pointed to the cupboard, and Merrill went right to work. She was taking the first of the sausages from the skillet and arranging them on a plate when she heard Rurik say, “Smells mighty good, Uncle Carl—” He stopped. “Miss Krause, I didn’t know you’d come to visit.”

  “Ja, she brought us some good food and then stayed to cook for us,” Carl announced. “Look— kladdkaka, just as good as your mor used to make.”

  “Have a seat,” Merrill said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “Everything is ready, so I’ll leave you two to eat in peace.”

  “No, you must stay and eat with us,” Carl insisted. “After all, the workman is due his wage, as the Good Book says
.”

  “Yes, the workman is indeed due his wage,” Merrill agreed, pulling pins from her makeshift apron. “But my workmen at home will wonder why they have no hot supper if I don’t get going. I left them a nice stew on the stove for lunch, but they’ll want something more for the evening meal.”

  She took the last of her offerings from the basket. “Here are some more cookies. I know you brought some home on Sunday, but I figured they didn’t last long.” She smiled at the two men.

  “And they haven’t,” Rurik admitted, chuckling. “I’m afraid I’m to blame.”

  His bold gaze warmed her to her toes. Merrill found Rurik most compelling, but she reminded herself once again that he belonged to another.

  She picked up her coat and slipped it on. “I’m glad you liked them.”

  Taking up her basket, Merrill bid the men good-bye and hurried from the house, feeling overcome by her emotions. For the life of her, Merrill couldn’t understand what was happening. She teetered dangerously on the brink of falling for a man who’d already been spoken for!

  “Such foolishness,” she chided herself.

  “Miss Krause!”

  She turned to find Rurik running toward her. She took a breath to still her nerves and faced him with a smile. “Yes?”

  “You forgot these,” he said, holding up her mittens.

  “Oh, goodness. Thank you. I would have missed those for sure before I got home.”

  He smiled. “Thank you for seeing to Uncle Carl. I suppose you know he isn’t well.”

  Merrill nodded. “Yes. I think the entire town knows that. He’s a dear man. He’s been so good to folks here that all of us want to see to his needs.” Not knowing what else to say, Merrill took the mittens from Rurik and pulled them on. “Thank you again.”

  Rurik held her gaze and nodded. “Tell your father that if he needs my help on Saturday, I should be able to come. Just send word.”

  “I will,” Merrill agreed.

  “By the way, I wonder if I might ask you about something else?”

  Merrill looked at him and nodded.

  “Well, after seeing your artistic ability, I’m wondering if you would consider painting a pie safe for us. I know Uncle Carl has some buyers coming later in February. I thought if we could show them what you can do with the four seasons on the doors of the safe, it might generate some interest and orders. Would you like to try it? I mean, it could require a commitment on your part if it turns out like I’m hoping, but you would be paid.”

  “You mean paint the pie safes on a regular basis?”

  He smiled. “I have a feeling they will be very popular. You might find yourself with more than a little bit of work.”

  She frowned. “I don’t know that I would have the time. I mostly painted ours in the evening after chores were done.” She thought of Granny’s suggestion that they hire a woman to help out at home. Maybe if Merrill were making a regular wage painting the cupboards, she could pay for help herself.

  “Well, you wouldn’t have to do as much detail,” Rurik suggested. “Maybe a simpler scene for each season. Keeping it modest might also allow for doing a number of them in quick succession.”

  “I suppose I could try my hand at one, and see what I manage to put together. Your uncle might not like it at all.”

  “I have no doubt he’ll love it as much as I did, Miss Krause. I’m telling you: Women across the country will be fighting over your decorations.”

  Merrill shook her head and smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t want to stir up fights, but if you bring a safe out to the house, I’ll give it a try.”

  “I’ll get one out to you right away.”

  “All right, then,” she said and turned to go.

  “It was nice to see you again,” Rurik called after her.

  Merrill gave a little wave, then hurried off.

  Merrill tried her best not to think of Rurik Jorgenson and his gentle smile as she began supper preparations for her own men. She focused her attention on her tasks and reminded herself that she was most likely not meant to court and marry. As she had told Granny Lassiter, it was her duty to see to her widowed father’s needs.

  By suppertime her father and brothers had returned from loading ice onto the train cars. They were tired and hungry, and she poured cups of hot coffee and waited for them to wash up before coming to the table. She remembered Rurik’s invitation as her father came to sit beside her at the head of the table.

  “I saw Mr. Jorgenson today,” she began. “His nephew, Rurik, said to send word if you need him to help on Saturday.”

  Her father nodded and asked, “How was Carl?”

  “He didn’t look too bad. I think having his nephew there has been a relief.” She glanced at Flynn. “He was disappointed that I failed to bring him strudel.”

  “Aw, you didn’t tell him it was my fault, did you?” her brother asked.

  “I did, but he seemed forgiving once he tasted the kladdkaka.”

  Her father laughed. “That will teach you, Flynn. Your sister will no doubt start hiding the desserts from now on.”

  “She can’t hide them anywhere we can’t find them,” Zadoc teased.

  Father shook his fork in the direction of his two youngest sons. “You’d best be on your guard and do what you know is right. Merrill isn’t above teaching you both a lesson.” He winked at his daughter. “A dose or two of castor oil or ipecac might do the trick.”

  “Don’t be giving her ideas,” Flynn said, his face screwed up in disgust.

  Merrill rolled her eyes. “I can think up plenty on my own. Anyway, don’t forget about Rurik’s offer.”

  Her father nodded. “This Rurik is a hard worker. I know Carl hopes he’ll take over the furniture business.”

  “In Waseca?” she asked.

  “Yes. He told me he has offered to make Rurik his partner and heir.”

  There was no time to ask further questions as her noisy brothers joined them at the table. Merrill couldn’t help but wonder if Rurik would do as his uncle wanted. Would he return to Kansas and marry his intended and then come to Waseca to live? Would Merrill like this woman Rurik planned to make his wife?

  “You seem mighty deep in thought,” Leo said, elbowing her. “Father is ready to pray, and you’re just gawkin’ around.”

  Merrill murmured an apology and bowed her head while her father blessed the food.

  “I suppose you’re thinking on Molly,” Leo said around a bite. “I checked on her just before we came in. I think she’ll probably foal soon. I put her in the birthing pen. She’ll be just fine there.”

  “Thank you,” Merrill said and forced a smile. “That definitely eases my worries a bit.” No one seemed the wiser that her thoughts were on a certain six-foot-three-inch Swede rather than a nineteen-hands-high broodmare.

  Chapter 9

  It was now early February, and Merrill had to admit she was pleased with the results of the pie safe. She had taken Rurik’s advice and painted four seasonal scenes, keeping them fairly simple. Autumn showed a few cornstalks and pumpkins. Winter presented a snowy pine sheltering a white rabbit, while spring was represented by a colorful grouping of flowers surrounding a water pump. Summer bore a collection of fruits and vegetables on a table. It wasn’t anywhere near as detailed as her own pie safe, but it had taken very little time to create.

  Without further delay, Merrill wrapped a carriage blanket around the little safe, hoisted it in her arms, and loaded it in the wagon. She went to retrieve Jack and Jill, an older team of Belgians, and led them out of the barn.

  The winter air took her breath away, and Merrill quickly wrapped a knitted scarf around her face. The cold temperatures were a blessing for ice harvesting, but not for much else. It was difficult to harness horses with mittens, so Merrill worked quickly without them. By the time she had the team ready to go, her fingers were stiff and red from the cold.

  She put on her mittens, climbed to the wagon seat, and tucked a couple of thick blankets around her woo
l skirt. She was grateful for the trousers and long underwear she had on underneath, but the blankets were a requirement. Merrill doubted the temperatures had even reached zero that day.

  Jack and Jill didn’t seem to mind the cold, their thick sorrel coats keeping them warm enough. But Merrill knew that ice would no doubt collect around their eyes and nose as they journeyed into town.

  On days like this, Merrill was especially careful to make one trip count for many purposes. She had a list of supplies to pick up, a long-overdue visit with Granny and Corabeth, banking to tend to, and, of course, the pie safe to deliver.

  Merrill couldn’t help but wonder if Rurik would like her artistic work. She had struggled with her feelings for him the entire time she’d painted the safe, and her prayers bore witness to the wrestling of her conscience. Rurik was a handsome and considerate man, and she couldn’t help but be impressed by the way he was always ready to lend her father a hand. Father had mentioned that Rurik had never asked about pay but offered his work freely as a family member might. Bogart Krause still intended to pay the Swede for his work, however, and had been setting aside a portion of the earnings for him with each and every job. She smiled, however, knowing it might well prove an interesting match to see which stubborn man won that argument.

  Merrill’s thoughts kept her busy and the drive to town passed quickly. She reached Waseca about the same time one of the regular trains was ready to pull out. The hissing and steam of the locomotive engine upset Jack and Jill, so Merrill drew them to a halt and waited for the train to clear the area before heading toward the furniture workshop.

  “See there,” she chided the horses, “it’s only a much bigger horse made of iron and steam.” But even as she teased the team, Merrill remembered it hadn’t been that long ago that an accident with another wagon and train had claimed the life of a man. Perhaps Jack and Jill were the smart ones when it came to avoiding such encounters.