Serendipity Page 7

  “Miss Rose.” Mr. Valmer’s deep, morning-husky voice whispered across the distance.

  I’ll miss the sound of his voice. Glancing up in the mirror, she spied him over in the doorway. The intensity of his unwavering gaze made tingles go up and down her spine.

  His eyes met hers in the mirror, and one side of his mouth kicked upward as he beckoned her. I’ll miss his crooked grin, too – though it doesn’t mean anything. That’s what I have to keep in mind.

  Setting down the brush, Maggie chose a comb. She held it between her teeth and twisted her hair into a long rope as she walked to the door. Once the whole length gave just the right tension, she coiled her hair and grabbed the comb. Daddy formed the comb with only three teeth – but they were all an inch apart and five inches long. Wiggling it back and forth from scalp to bun, she whispered, “Your mother had a difficult night. I’d like her to gain another hour of sleep yet.”

  “Fine . . . good.” Mr. Valmer stared at her as she crossed the room, but as she reached him, he tore his gaze away and muttered, “Sleep. The raveled care . . .”

  “ ‘Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.’ ” Even though he’d jumbled Shakespeare, it was touching. He slipped in a quote from the Bible here or there and occasionally even a line from Shakespeare! Since Daddy died, she hadn’t spoken to anyone with the same ability.

  As Maggie squeezed past him and out of the room, they brushed against one another. She felt breathless and tingly. Funny, she never really noticed her heart picking up pace around any other fellow, but it kept happening around Mr. Valmer. He’s the only man near my age I’ve seen more than once. Well, other than a few of the fellows who come a-trading – and business is strictly business.

  Maggie wished to give Uncle Bo a piece of her mind. If he hadn’t been yammering about her “marryin’ up,” she wouldn’t be making such a goose of herself. These momentary reactions were nonsense, plain and simple. Besides, even if she were absolutely full-on smitten, nothing would come of it. This farmer must get back to his fields in Texas, and she was still needed in the holler.

  Pulling the door shut, Mr. Valmer cleared his throat again. “The door – it was ajar. I did not mean to intrude.”

  “The way you check on your mother warms my heart.” One last wiggle and stab, and the comb secured her hair. Maggie entered the kitchen.

  “It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop.” His eyes sparked with humor. “As much as she’s cried, I worried you might be in danger of drowning. I came to rescue you.”

  Maggie found his admission disarmingly clever. “Especially at the start, it’s normal for a body to be sorrowful. As time passes, if your mama keeps a-crying a pond of tears and wallows in it, you’ll need to set her straight. Christ Jesus did the ultimate work when His precious arms and legs couldn’t move anymore.”

  He nodded curtly. “So will I tell her. The thought – it is sehr gut. ”

  Maggie reached for her mixing bowls. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  The door banged open. “Maggie! I’m starvin’ again!”

  Grudgingly, Todd set aside their discussion until later.

  “Let’s see to breakfast.” As Miss Rose spoke, deep rumbles of male conversation converged on the porch.

  For pete’s sake, every last one of the holler’s inhabitants had showed up for the meal. As far as Todd could see, St. Peter was the only one not sitting at the table. Left up in heaven minding the pearly gates, he was probably having a good laugh at Todd’s predicament. Todd wanted a nice, quiet breakfast and hoped to escort Miss Rose on a walk after church, where he could propose.

  Earlier, he’d lost his breath when he’d spied her with her hair spilling down in inky splendor. She’d refrained from scorching his ears for gawking at her in such a compromising state. Instead, she spun her tresses round and round, disciplined them into that bun, and nabbed it in place with the comb. His fingers itched to pull it back out and test the texture of her hair.

  Why did the “uncles” have to show up for breakfast?

  All the noise and laughter woke up Ma. Miss Rose bundled Ma into a robe, braided her hair and secured it in the same across-the-head-and-back arrangement Ma favored. Ma screeched as Todd picked her up. “Where do you think you’re taking me? There are men out there!”

  “You’ll be eating breakfast with us and sharing in the worship. It’s Sunday, and everyone under my roof attends church.” Miss Rose bustled ahead. “Mr. Valmer, please position your mother next to yourself.” After setting the invalid cup of soupy oatmeal in front of Ma, Miss Rose took a seat across from her.

  Mr. Collier said a prayer, then Miss Rose poured milk into her oatmeal, heaped in some sugar, and stirred it. Setting aside the spoon, she picked up the bowl and drank her oatmeal! It didn’t take but a minute before the men at the table followed suit. Ma blustered. Todd added more milk to his own oatmeal.

  “Nein. Fresst du nicht! ”

  Todd shot Ma a scowl for ordering him not to eat like an animal. His fingers curled around the china bowl, and the warmth radiating to them matched his feeling toward the young woman across the table who’d abandoned her own manners in order to make Ma feel less self-conscious. He spoke to her in German. “Don’t worry about how I eat, and I won’t worry about how you eat.” The oatmeal went down easily. He nudged Ma’s invalid bowl closer. “Das Wichtigste ist, dass wir essen.”

  “Yep,” Mr. Carver declared. “That’s a smart son you got there, Mrs. Crewel. The important thing is that we all eat.”

  “Sprechen sie Deutsch?” The side of Ma’s face that didn’t droop turned into a mask of embarrassment.

  “Only me and Maggie. Lot of her books are in German. Once in a blue moon, she even barters in German. Brings to mind the time my Magpie traded that wagon wheel. . . .”

  Soon Ma sipped oatmeal while Mr. Carver related how that wheel skipped about like a stone on the surface of a lake from one trade to the next – all with his niece’s brokering – until nine trades later, that wagon wheel came back to her possession along with an apron and so many quarts of berries.

  “No wonder you’ve got so much stuff!” Ma scanned the kitchen.

  “I’m aiming to bring in more.” One of the men planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “That gnarled old tree finally gave up last night. I already marked what sections I want for carving. The rest can go for our Magpie’s stove. It’ll take at least six of our horses or your Belgians to drag the tree, Bo. The pair of them could probably tap it once and send it skidding here.”

  Ma huffed. “Today is Sunday.”

  “Yep. But if we don’t move it today, tomorrow’s train could derail and kill folks.”

  Mr. Carver cleared his throat. “Magpie’ll have to do it.” Chortles filled the room. He looked Todd in the eye. “My niece spoilt them horses. They won’t listen to a single command I give. Just the other day I told Paw-Paw that pair is Maggie’s dowry because they’ll do me no good staying behind.”

  “Uncle Bo!” Miss Rose turned a fetching shade of pink.

  “I had all my kitchen goods, thirteen fine quilts, and a milch cow when I married Todd’s father.”

  “But no bride brings a dowry of such great worth as matched Belgians!” Todd didn’t want Miss Rose to witness his delight. She’d assume he’d proposed to get the horses. “The man who wins Miss Rose’s hand has received treasure enough.”

  Jerlund gestured around the room. “ ’Cuz of all her treasures she’ll take.”

  “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.” Ma pushed her now-empty cup away. “But I’m seeing plenty of trash and very few treasures.”

  “Ma . . .” Todd said in a low undertone.

  At the same time, Jerlund scrambled to his feet. “That wasn’t nice. I don’ like her bein’ mean to our Maggie. We love our Maggie.

  Uncle Bo, Paw-Paw, Daddy – you tell her.”

  “Shhh, Jerlund.” Miss Rose stood and patted Jerlund. “I
t’s like when I bake cookies. You like all of them. Mr. Collier favors the oatmeal ones, but if they have raisins, he doesn’t eat them. Different people have different tastes.”

  Jerlund frowned. “But Mr. Collier never tole you your cookies are trash.”

  “Nothing you cook could be mistaken for trash, Miss Rose.” The minute she’d stood, Todd shot to his feet. “The good Lord above knows my gratitude’s robust when I gave thanks for your meals. Even more, though, I’m indebted to you for the tender care you’ve given Ma.”

  He meant every word, but he feared it was too little, too late. Miss Rose wouldn’t ever leave these men who hung on her every word and competed to earn her smiles – not to be the wife of a stranger, bribed with a pair of horses into proposing so she would care for his ailing, sour-tongued mother.

  Only Todd Valmer wasn’t a quitter. He’d concoct a way. But fast. Because they’d have to get hitched tomorrow morning. First, he’d get Miss Rose alone. “I insist on hauling that tree here after church. Lives hang in the balance. Please, Miss Rose, won’t you come along to show me where it is?”

  Ice on the ground crackled as the men unhitched the tree she and Mr. Valmer dragged over. As long as they rode side by side, Adam tolerated carrying Mr. Valmer. Back in the barn, they groomed the horses – but Adam wouldn’t allow Mr. Valmer to touch him. Eve endured his ministrations with a rather twitchy response. “I want to apologize for Ma. The way she talked at your breakfast table – ”

  Maggie held up a hand. “She’s not herself right now. Besides, God has forgiven me for worse. How could I hold a few words against your mother?”

  The way his body changed – from ready-to-snap tension to strong and able astonished Maggie. Just a few words of honest Christian charity, and the poor man looked as if she’d relieved him of a two-ton burden. “You are most kind, Miss Rose.”

  Thinking of all the help he’d given to her uncles and the extra time and attention he lavished on Jerlund, she responded. “I thank you for the compliment, but most of all for jumping in and being so hardworking.”

  Mr. Valmer cleared his throat. “That is something I wanted to discuss with you before breakfast. I don’t believe our exchange has been fair.”

  He wanted to renegotiate? “In the spirit of being a straight dealer, I should warn you: You might wind up with a wagon wheel or an apron. Just how brave are you?”

  “I have no wife to wear the apron. I would exchange it or the wheel for the berries you undoubtedly preserved.”

  He isn’t thinking of having a wife anytime soon. Maggie didn’t want to think about why that disappointed her so much. The barter. I need to stick to business.

  “My uncle had no business repairing roofs. You’ve been a hardworking man, putting your hand and back to the heaviest chores. As a result, I gained peace of mind that’s worth every last teakettle in Russia. Just as I pitched in with your kin, you pitched in and helped mine. I reckoned we’d already decided to call it an even swap. But I insist on sending you away with a crate of food.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  Since he didn’t consider it fair, he ought to counteroffer. Only he stood there, staring at her. He’d done much harder physical labor in horrible weather. She’d been up several times a night with a grumpy, sick woman. But men loved sweets, so he undoubtedly wanted more jam. It was no hardship. “We’ll make it two crates, and I’ll be sure you have plenty of corn and peaches.”

  He shook his head, and his brow furrowed.

  “What is it you want, then?”

  His gaze swept over her. A slow, handsome smile kicked up one side of his lips. “You . . .”

  Six

  “You . . . you have a sled!” He pointed to the sled hanging in the shadows behind her. “I have never ridden one. For the trade to be fair, I will have one crate of food and you will teach me to ride the sled.”

  “The sled!” Turning to look at it, Maggie let out a shaky laugh. “This kind of snow is such a rarity, I forgot it existed. Mama, Daddy, and I would all ride it together.”

  Mr. Valmer lowered the sled. “Now it will hold us as you teach me.”

  Being that close to this huge man? Barely brushing by him in the house set her into a tizzy. Each time he sat beside her at the table, she couldn’t believe the difference between his Viking physique and the age-tempered, smaller stature of the holler’s men. “The glory of young men is in their strength: and the beauty of old men is the grey head.” Proverbs 20:29 expressed the feeling perfectly. Until she sat alongside Mr. Valmer, Maggie hadn’t known the sheer sense of physical shelter and protection a young man exuded. Would she feel that way toward any other man?

  No. No, it was definitely him. The notion of sitting with him on that sled? She shook her head.

  “Come,” he rumbled, the word half temptation, half order.

  “No.” Dusting the sled with a burlap sack, she avoided looking at him. With every second the sled shrank more. “I’m sure you have the necessary coordination to sled by yourself.”

  “You would rob a man the joy of your laughter when he first learned to play thus?”

  If she hadn’t been flustered earlier, his attentive gaze set her to stuttering. “I-I-I’ll watch.”

  “But if you aren’t with me, how will you teach me? Dragging the tree, you used tricks with the horses. Sledding must have tricks, too. I’d rather learn from example than exasperation.” He tugged the burlap from her and tossed it over a stall gate. “So are we agreed? Riding together is reasonable.”

  I agreed to nothing of the kind. How is a woman supposed to deal with such an imposing man? Mee-Maw Jehosheba’s sage words flashed through her mind and straight out of her mouth. “Whenever a man calls a situation ‘reasonable,’ any sane woman ought to run screaming into the dark.”

  Merriment sparkled in his blue, blue eyes. “You would not want me to call you unreasonable. That was clever, but ‘A witty saying proves nothing.’ ”

  “Voltaire.” Maggie blinked at him. He’d quoted Voltaire. Daddy would be so pleased. But Daddy wouldn’t get asked to share a sled with Mr. Valmer. “Mee-Maw Jehosheba’s wisdom is what I cited. Mee-Maw Jehosheba lived to be ninety-one, and I’d take her advice over Voltaire’s.”

  Mr. Valmer pretended to look serious, but the corners of his eyes wrinkled. “I can’t say if she was wiser. Her advice is more current . . . But just slightly.”

  “By a whole century.” Maggie couldn’t quite contain her smile. Mr. Valmer’s humor was disarming. She’d almost think him wise – except for the fact that he still believed she should sled with him.

  He hunkered down and tilted his head. “I don’t see more than the runners – is there no way to steer?”

  “Daddy said leaning together was more fun, and if it didn’t work, falling and laughing was part of sledding. According to him, it was cheating to use a fancy sled. It robbed us of the thrill when we made a perfect run.”

  Mr. Valmer nodded thoughtfully. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

  “He was. Mama and I adored him.” Would you become the kind of husband that Daddy was to Mama? She closed her eyes against such useless thinking. “Shall I take you to the incline I first learned on?”

  Rising, he looked down at her. Stared at her, actually. His lips are right at the level of my forehead. What would it be like if he brushed them across . . . Heat filled her face.

  “Your blush gives you away. Likely, it is no more than a bump in the road. Take me to the last place you went sledding.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Please don’t ask what I do want.

  Adjusting the collar of her coat, he said, “I won’t get hurt; I have seen pictures. The person in front is smaller. Thus will you teach me.”

  How could such a simple gesture feel so intimate? Warm, callused hands brushed against her neck as Mr. Valmer pulled up the collar and straightened it. “I won’t let you chill.” He rumbled the words in a soft, deep voice that made her want to sit on the sled
with him. Right now.

  “We’ll need rope.”

  “I’ll keep hold of you.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. “It’s easier to hang a rope down the hill. After the ride, you tie the sled to it, use the rope so you don’t slip on the ice when you climb back up, and then draw up the sled.”

  “Brilliant! Let us go.”

  Winsome memories threaded through her mind as they made their way to the top of a sloping road. Mr. Valmer positioned the sled perpendicular to the drop and held her hand as she sat down. Immediately memories dimmed and doubts abounded. Days ago, bracing her hand as they looked at cameos, he’d made her tingle. When he climbed onto the sled, it felt as if a gentle bear enveloped her. His arms wrapped snugly and his entire bulk overshadowed her. Maggie couldn’t decide whether to hop up and run or to lean back into his engulfing warmth.

  What have I gotten myself into? He made it sound so simple!

  “See what being reasonable gets you?” Delight resonated in his voice. “Before we go, show me how much to lean to steer this.”

  Move? Surrounded by him? Heaving with all her might, she almost tipped them over. Todd’s firmly planted feet prevented disaster.

  “Whoa!” He straightened the sled. Leaning close, his breaths washing over her cheek, he chided, “You thought my strength would work against you. Never. Now we will work together, ja? To have fun?”

  “Agreed,” she rasped. Just then the cold, crisp air carried the sound of a fiddle.

  He plunked one leg up onto the sled. “Now, so, with my other leg, if I push backward . . . and I use the opposite arm thus, we face downhill.” Several folks had their own special little twist on how to get going on a sled, but Mr. Valmer’s technique would leave every last one of them gaping. “So what song is – ”

  Gravity and the slick ice took over – but his right foot still wasn’t up. “Whoa! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!” His boisterous laughter echoed around them. Trying to get his right foot up, he swung too hard and made the whole sled veer. Maggie accommodated for it, making them zigzag. She leaned forward to grab the hem of his pants, and he leaned forward, too, practically mashing her. “Ho! Ho!” he belted out, sending her into breathless laughter. Mr. Valmer kept hold and straightened them up together, but he pulled too far.