Serendipity

  Serendipity

  CATHY MARIE HAKE

  © 2010 by Cathy Marie Hake

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287.

  E-book edition created 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-1187-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Follow Me.

  – Jesus

  Put on the whole armor of Christ.

  – St. Paul

  So far, I’m okay. But leave it to me to need a little more. Namely, bubble wrap.

  In the past year and a half, I’ve fallen three times – broken an ankle, broken my foot, broken my right wrist, and got a walloping concussion that’s hanging on.

  Special people have surrounded me in my brokenness. My editor, Sarah Long, deserves a halo for her patience and kindness. Tracie Peterson ought to have a jewel in her heavenly crown for her steadfast praying. My hubby gets a duct tape helmet for protecting me. And Dr. Serge deserves a golden stethoscope for patching me together because I’ve fallen to pieces. And readers who have written me precious encouragement – God, grant them wings!

  I might not be doing too well at staying on my feet, but you all help me stay balanced. This book is for you!

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  One

  CARVER’S HOLLER, ARKANSAS

  1893

  “Hoo-ooo-ie, she’s het up!”

  Margaret Rose shook a spatula at the men in her kitchen. “If you plan to eat supper, you’ll not be egging him on.”

  All three bearded jaws dropped.

  “I mean it.” Never once had she made that threat. In her five years of cooking and caring for a baker’s dozen ragtag of old men, Maggie managed to tolerate plenty. Love made it easy to dote on them and overlook blunders. Most often, her “uncles” showered her with affection, appreciation, and endless amusement. Today, however, was different. Their discussion frayed the edges of her patience so badly, a tattered sock would have looked brand-new by comparison. She didn’t often rue being the only woman in Carver’s Holler, but this counted as such a time. “After being hounded for six days, I deserve some rest.”

  “You’d get more rest as a married woman,” Uncle Bocephus encouraged. “As a wife, you’d feed and doctor only one man. Not thirteen.”

  “Nonsense!” She nibbled on a broken cookie. “I’d have fourteen men.”

  “All the better reason.” Paw-Paw rose from the table. Breath hissed though his teeth and his features tightened. “Thirteen’s unlucky.”

  Alarm shot through her. “Paw-Paw, you’re hurting! What’s a-wrong?”

  “Wood leg’s giving my daddy fits,” Jethro tattled. “Wore a hole in the stump sock, and now he’s going to rub a raw spot on what’s left. He doesn’t want to tell you so.”

  “Mercy’s sake, Paw-Paw. Take off your leg and pass over the sock. I’ll have it darned in a trice.”

  Paw-Paw plopped down and yanked up his pant leg. “Take it from an old man, Maggie. Life is full of surprises.” He gestured in a wide arc to the view out her window. Meager beams of sunlight snuck through the heavy gray clouds, the sky promising a rare snowstorm. Maggie had seen all of three snowstorms in her whole life, and the wicked chill sweeping through the holler promised a mean fourth. “Even the critters know a change is on the wind, lass. They’re planning ahead for what’s to come. You should, too.”

  She laughed. “I am! I’m planning on having thirteen hungry men at my supper table. Sure and for certain, they won’t change one bit. They’ll all come early because of the weather. The Flinn twins will give us a storm update and Mr. Collier’s suspenders are going to be twisted,” she predicted.

  Uncle Bo let out a sigh powerful enough to flip over a sack of potatoes. “Don’t you see, girl? Deep as this holler – that’s my love for you. Only things that matter a whit to me are tramping in God’s footsteps and doing what He wants – especially regarding you.” His Scots-Irish accent grew thicker as emotion built. “My callin’ is to walk you down the aisle and see you waltz off with a good man. The Lord’s got the right one for you, and I’ll not bind you here to me. We clung to each other in our sorrow after my Maude went to the bosom of the Almighty – ”

  “And in His infinite mercy, the Almighty gave us one another to lean on.” She gazed adoringly at Uncle Bo, her only living relative.

  “Lass, grief mellowed into sweet memories, yet we’ve leaned ourselves right into a rut.”

  “Rut! I know you’re not talking about emotions, because you just said our grief has mellowed. You taught me resilience and even moved me into my own house so I’d stand on my own.” Slapping away Jethro’s hand as he tried to sneak his fourth cookie, Maggie frowned. “Surely you aren’t calling my pretty house a rut, not when I’m happy as a magpie in her nest. You’d crush my feelings!”

  “Feelings cloud the senses, and I’ve come to mine at long last.” Uncle Bo pointed at her. “The time’s a-comin’ for you to meet the future God has planned for you.”

  “You ain’t gettin’ any younger, Maggie.” Paw-Paw arched a scruffy brow and didn’t even have the grace to look guilty.

  “I’m shocked! Back when your wives were with us, bless their souls, you would never mention a lady’s age!” As she turned to add almost seven dozen oatmeal cookies to the goodies in her pie safe, laughter tinted her voice. “Time must be sneaking up on you just as fast as it’s creeping up on me.”

  Wagging his head side to side, Jethro folded his arms on the tabletop and sagged forward. “Old age took us captive the moment we picked up our rifles and fought for the Confederacy.”

  “Since we forfeited our larking years,” Uncle Bo shared a glance with the others, “we reckon time owes you a few extra.”

  He considered it a mark of honor to shield her from the soul-deep burden he carried from the War Between the States, so Maggie pretended not to hear the sadness dragging at his voice. “First you said I’m getting old, but now you’re telling me I’m still young and owed more youth.” She made a show of tapping her chin with her forefinger as though deep in thought. “That must make me an old maid, Uncle Bo. I’m sure keeping me underfoot makes for a heavy burden, but this will shore you up.” She handed a mug of steaming chicory to him.

  Maggie brewed chicory special for him. Everyone else in Carver’s Holler, Arkansas, drank coffee, but she’d do just about anything to make her uncle happy – other than getting married. She held firm to the belief that marriage ought to be grounded in faith and promises of love. The only grounds she could claim swirled in the bottom of a chicory pot.

  “You don’t listen any better than those bullheaded Belgians out in the barn,” Jethro grumbled about the draft horses. “Ornery things only do one thing: eat!”

  Neither Ad
am nor Eve would do a thing for anyone but her, so Maggie couldn’t disagree with that part of the comment. “I do listen. You’ve told me I’m tottering on the edge of decrepitude, so let’s not waste our limited days nattering about something that isn’t going to change.” Pleased with how she’d put an end to the conversation, she turned away to get the silverware.

  “It is gonna change.” Uncle Bo stepped up beside her. “That’s what I’m a-tellin’ you. Plain and simple, I’ve got it pressing on my heart to ask God to send a man for you.”

  The drawer came out completely when she yanked it, flipping silverware into the air as though the cutlery wanted to slice through her hopes of changing the topic. “How many times have you told me just because I pray for something, it doesn’t mean God’s going to follow my wishes?” She handed him the empty drawer and knelt to pick up the mess. “You taught me to pray for His will, not for my wants – but now you’ve turned it around.”

  “Nothing’s turned around a-tall. Told you it’s been pressing heavy on my heart. Sure as can be, God’s easing me into letting go of you.”

  “Nonsense!” She sorted through silverware and conversation, picking which pieces best served her. “I’m where I belong, with the people I love, right in the center of God’s will for me.”

  Her uncle gave her his don’t-try-my-patience look. “Can’t expect the Creator, who has an imagination big enough to build this whole wide world, is going to stop putting things together or pulling them asunder. Our lives change at His bidding.”

  This was a new direction in his argument. But Uncle Bo couldn’t pray a groom out of thin air.

  “I’ll respectfully disagree in part. Regardless of what life brings, God lets us grow and stretch – but that just means we improve. Some things last forever. Like love. And my roses. Mama and Aunt Maude made sure to pass those legacies down to me.”

  Jethro broke in. “You’re making the argument for him, because they’re both gone. So’s your daddy.”

  She lifted her chin. “Daddy will live on as long as I thirst for knowledge and enjoy reading. But I’m still blessed with lots of loving ‘uncles’ – and the rest of them will be here soon. Jerlund will show up first – probably in the next minute or two.”

  Within a heartbeat, a slightly garbled voice called out, “Maggie?” Upon hearing his distinctive shuffle, Maggie filled a cup halfway with milk. Jerlund had the body of a strapping man, but the mind of a seven-year-old child.

  When Maggie flashed a victorious smile at Uncle Bo, he gave her an exasperated look. Still, his voice sounded kind. “C’mon in, Jerlund.”

  Helping him shrug out of his coat, Maggie told Jerlund, “You may snitch one cookie. I won’t have you spoiling your supper.”

  A couple men bumped shoulders and wedged into the kitchen just behind Jerlund. “Cookies?!”

  Maggie giggled softly. “See? Things don’t change. Every last one of our neighbors is going to be here by quarter past the hour.” She shoved corn bread into the oven. “And no one should be surprised. I bake cookies every Monday.”

  “Thass why I wan more’n one,” Jerlund pouted. “You got gobs of ’em. And they’re liddle cookies.”

  “One or none at all, Jerlund. You need to save room for the stew.”

  The door stayed wide open. Men kept coming in, their hats and coats bearing a telltale shimmer. “Colder ’n blue blazes out there!”

  Maggie dashed to the window. “Oh! It’s snowing! I thought we’d get sleet, but it’s pure snow.”

  As if they hadn’t just come inside, three men crowded by her at the window. One said, “So much snow, Elding is stringing a clothesline for us to follow home.”

  “It’s the only time that stinker uses a clothesline!” Uncle Bo shot back.

  “He’s not the only one capable of raising a stink,” Maggie gave her uncle a meaningful look.

  “What’s that?” Another man stopped shedding his coat and gave her a perplexed look.

  “Margaret Titania’s in a dither because I’ve reminded her God’s got a man for her.”

  Real trouble loomed whenever Uncle Bo used her middle name. She hadn’t lived among men for all these years without knowing this situation called for a deft mix of humor and gumption. “But you’ll all notice I’m not sashaying to the altar.”

  “Weddin’ calls for a groom,” someone concurred.

  “Exactly!” Maggie resisted the urge to cheer. Finally someone was going to put an end to all this nonsense.

  Paw-Paw chortled. “Once Bo sinks hisself into a notion, a rabid wolverine couldn’t shake him off. Magpie, you need a man to hunt and provide for you, to love you and give you a passel of young’uns.”

  A chorus of “Aye,” “So be it,” and “Yep” rumbled the walls of her kitchen, yet Maggie refused to give in. “If that’s God’s plan, He’ll work it out. He created man. If – ”

  “Exactly!” Uncle Bo smacked the tabletop. “He’s a-gonna bring your man here, and it’s fitting for me to remind you.”

  “Several times a day for a week.” Maggie couldn’t bear it anymore. “After six days of work, even God rested!”

  “Told ya; she’s het up!” Jethro leaned back and elbowed his dad. “Ain’t seen anyone this hotheaded since Maude took an axe to Bo’s bagpipes.”

  “Aunt Maude? Bagpipes?” Deep chortles and chuckles filled the room, but Maggie gaped at her uncle. Color crept up his neck and turned his ears barn red.

  “Wasn’t no secret.” When Maggie continued to lock gazes with him, he muttered, “Just never occurred to me to mention it is all.”

  “Then you can tell me what drove a serene woman like Aunt Maude to such action while I darn this sock.”

  “He can do that later. Stick to the important subject.” The grizzled man beside the stove inched out of her way. “Last week I told y’all that my Genevieve” – a chorus of “God rest her soul” ran as an undertone while he continued – “has sisters planning to come live in the holler. Us men will have womenfolk to help us out, but you got a future to mind.”

  “Stop kickin’ and start listening,” Uncle Bo growled. “You’re of an age to mull over matrimonial considerations.”

  At twenty, I’m also of an age to make my own decisions. Biting back that retort, Maggie let out a slow breath and wrestled with the whole situation. She didn’t want to sound disrespectful. I’ll always be their little girl. The only time they treat me like an adult is when I barter or heal. . . . Aha!

  She’d exercise her skills as the region’s barterer and concoct a diplomatic bargain. “You can talk to the Lord all you want about it. If He has designs on me marrying up, He can send that groom on by. God or groom – them I’ll listen to. That’s the best deal you’ll get.”

  Everyone agreed – all except Uncle Bo. “Nope. Not me. I got the rest of this sixth day to wedge in important points as they occur to me.”

  Maggie tried to look outraged, but she felt the smile tugging at her lips. Keeping face among his friends mattered. Uncle Bo couldn’t just give in, and she reckoned as long as the nagging would end, she could endure a wee bit longer. “Bartering is my profession, but you’re making a counteroffer? I suppose I’ll have to settle for twelve silent men and you exercising discretion for the rest of today.”

  “I didn’t say a thing about discretion.”

  Maggie brushed a kiss on Uncle Bo’s cheek. “But you’re a man of honor, and I trust you. The rest of today – then you’ll forever hold your peace.” Quickly, before he could add on anything, Maggie sealed the agreement. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Forever?!”

  Lifting the lid on the pot and filling the kitchen with fragrant steam, Maggie mused, “Isn’t it a perfect match – how I like cooking and you’re always hungry?”

  Anger coiled inside Todd Valmer as the train chugged away, leaving him and Ma behind in an obscure valley in the Arkansas Ozarks. In the middle of a growing snowstorm, too. Between violent gusts of wind, he spotted smoke curling out of a distan
t cabin.

  “Here, Ma. Soon you’ll be warm.” Ma held fast to him, her right arm hooked around his neck and the rest swathed in a blanket. Todd left their valise to sink in the slushy mess and took long strides toward the smoke. With no road to follow, he forged his own path.

  Drawing closer, he noted well-traveled trails from various directions converged like stems to branches, as if the house ahead were the trunk that kept everyone rooted here. But Todd’s steps slowed. Surely this couldn’t be the right place. He squinted and scanned all around, finding two other, smaller, cabins. Neither boasted a picket fence, though – and according to the porter on the train, a doctor lived at the only house with a picket fence.

  All confidence in this doctor’s capabilities evaporated as Todd stared at the ludicrous array before him.

  Someone had hooked or tied washtubs, horseshoes, cookie tins, and whisk brooms to the pickets. More than a few sets of praiseworthy antlers, some plates, and multiple pelts joined them. If that display wasn’t mind-boggling enough, an array of brightly painted whirligigs fluttered madly in the wind all around the eaves in merry mockery of the heavyhearted people who’d walk below them.

  Up closer still, a sturdy lean-to shielded contents from the weather – lengths of chain, rope, and a plethora of farming implements. What use would a doctor have for such equipment? None. But what if he’d taken it as payment and by doing so ruined a man’s ability to provide for his family?

  I’ve got three bucks to my name. Either he helps Ma or he doesn’t, but at least she’ll be warm. Resolve hardening his jaw, Todd started up the stone steps to the porch.

  A woman’s voice reached him. “Jerlund, get back here and give Paw-Paw his leg, or I’ll not feed you a lick!”

  “We’re right on target, Ma. This has to be the healer’s place if someone inside has a wooden limb.” To his relief, Ma stayed quiet. The icy wind cut across the landscape, whipping at her blanket and hem.

  Once he reached the top porch step, a gust of wind sent a stupid whirligig careening toward him. He evaded the wheeling wings and wooden body painted like a magpie, of all things. The realization twisted his lips in a wry smile as he recalled the odd bounty adorning the fence. A sign he’d thought was the doctor’s came into focus. It read MAGPIE’S BARTER, BUY, OR SELL. If ever someone hung a sign that truthfully proclaimed their business, this was it. Magpies collected whatever caught their fancy and cluttered their nests with the madcap mixture.