CHAPTER SIX

Alex watched Lydia drop her gaze to her plate.

“Tell me about yourself, Lydia,” he encouraged, hoping to draw her out and not simply defer to her brother on every issue.

“There’s not that much to tell. I enjoy cooking, of course.” She flushed a little. “And my jams and jellies usually win blue ribbons at the county fair.”

“No kidding? That’s great.” Alex sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t been to a county fair since I was a kid and my grandparents took me.”

“I’m planning to enter my strawberry-rhubarb jam this year. My rhubarb plants were exceptional this year.” Her voice grew animated as she described the large leafy plants with edible red and green stalks, but the light in her pale eyes dimmed when Clarence interrupted to impart information about the spring’s weather. As he talked right over her, Lydia’s soft, round features hardened into a scowl. It occurred to Alex that Clarence’s obliviousness to his sister’s feeling’s might easily churn up a rebellious spirit in the mild-mannered Lydia.

“Liddy is the youngest in the family,” Clarence informed Alex, “born when our mother was in her late forties. At the time, it seemed like a calamity, an embarrassment, you know, having a child at such a late age, but it turned out to be a blessing.” He turned a fond eye on his sister, who was blushing pink as the single peony Alex had picked for the table.

Alex wondered what it would be like to be considered the family “calamity.”

“But Liddy here took care of both our parents until they passed away, and now she’s invaluable to Jacob and me. Quite the little cook and housekeeper, that’s our Lydia.”

Alex felt a little sorry for Lydia, caretaker first for her parents and now her brothers. Before he could comment further, the conversation veered into territory more pertinent to Alex himself.

“Have you met the Holmquists yet?” Clarence asked as he took a bite of his cake.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll like Mildred and Chester,” Lydia assured him.

“Mildred was quite a looker in her day,” Clarence added.

Lydia sent him a disapproving look.

“She’s in her eighties now, but I remember her when I was a boy. Our father told us that every single man between the ages of six and sixty wanted Mildred for his wife, but once she met Winchester Holmquist, that was it for everyone else. She never looked at another man.”

“He was a handsome fellow too,” Lydia added. “And polite! I’ve never met another man with such lovely manners.” She flushed. “But you have lovely manners too, I’m sure, Pastor.” Lydia folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “Such a nice love story. So romantic.”

“Romance!” Clarence erupted. “Lydia, you’re a perfectly good woman if you’d keep your head out of the clouds.”

Lydia pursed her lips and ignored her brother. That was probably what had kept her sane all these years with him under the same roof—ignoring him.

“Has anyone told you about the Bruuns yet?” Clarence inquired. “One of them is a little”—he put his finger to his temple and made a circular motion—“crazy.”

“And those Packard kids that run wild around here! Let me tell you…”

“What about your brother Jacob?” Alex urged, eager to get the train of conversation on an alternate track. “You haven’t said much about him.”

Lydia and Clarence exchanged a quick glance that Alex couldn’t decipher. The garrulous Clarence became suddenly secretive.

“Oh, Jacob is a homebody. There’s not much to say about him,” Clarence said dismissively. “Is there, Lydia?”

“Jacob is a little shy,” Lydia explained. “He’s a hard worker but doesn’t leave the farm much.” She flushed a little. “And he’s a big fan of my pies, especially the crème ones and my lemon meringue.”

Clarence snorted derisively. “You spoil him, Lydia.”

She straightened and thrust her chin forward. Alex could see the faintest flicker of fire in her eyes. Her diminutive frame seemed to gather volume, and her mousey brown hair fairly bristled with indignation. “You don’t seem to complain about my strawberry-rhubarb crunch or sour cream–raisin pie, Clarence. Or the cakes, cookies and those orange scones I serve with cream.…”

Jared coughed into his elbow to hide a smile. Alex used sheer willpower to suppress his. If Lydia were ever to decide to resist Clarence’s brotherly bullying, it might be an interesting match to watch.

Lydia insisted on washing the dishes while the men had seconds of her tender chocolate cake.

“You don’t have to do that, Lydia,” Alex said, but she was already scrubbing at the casserole dish vigorously, putting her whole body into it. There were damp curls at the base of her neck. “Relax with us. It will give me a chance to try out the new dishwasher later.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but Clarence beat her to it. “She doesn’t mind. Our Liddy has her hands in dishwater three times a day. She’s used to it.”

“Yes, Clarence,” she said meekly, but rolled her eyes at Alex.

A portrait of the Olsons was coming into view. So far there were just hints of the officious Clarence, the quiet Lydia with her deeply buried feisty streak, and the mysterious Jacob. Lydia, most likely, was the glue that held their household together. But she was underappreciated and, like a good adhesive, nearly invisible, only noticed when it came unbonded and no longer worked.

“Have you got plans for the evening, Reverend?” Clarence inquired, readying himself to settle in and entertain the new pastor for the rest of the night.

“My nephew is leaving on the train for Chicago in a few hours.” Alex glanced at Jared, who looked away. “How far, exactly, is the drive to the depot?”

“I’d plan for more than a hour. It’s better to be there earlier rather than later. The train pulls in and out again so fast it barely stops.”

“Oh my, we’d best be going.” Lydia placed her dish back into its carrier. “We don’t want you to be late.” With a hearty round of handshaking and good wishes, Clarence and Lydia made their way to the car.

As they stood on the front step waving them away, Alex turned to Jared and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Jared chewed on his upper lip for a moment. “I’m glad I won’t be around when Lydia Olson finally gives her brother what’s coming to him.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

The Olsons’ taillights disappeared over a slight rise in the road, and Jared turned to his uncle. “I’m sorry I have to go home,” he admitted a little sheepishly. “I’d like to find out how this all turns out.”

Alex picked up the broom leaning against the wall. “What do you mean?”

“This place is full of stories.” Jared’s brow furrowed. “The people we’ve met— Lauren and Mike, Dixon, that sad-looking man Jonas, and now the people who just left—they’ve all got stories, and we’ve only had time to experience the first page of each of them.”

His nephew was right. Hilltop was a veritable library of reading material. Alex would have to peruse and eventually understand it all.

“You’d better put your stuff in the car,” Alex called to Jared. “Since I don’t know exactly where the station is, I’d like to start a little early.”

Jared’s head popped out the door that led to the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth, and nodded. He disappeared again, and Alex heard the sound of running water. Shortly he reappeared, grooming evidently complete. “Are you sure we have to go already? I wish we’d come straight here rather than spending time at the water park and sightseeing.”

Alex recalled how much talking he’d had to do to convince his nephew to make this trip with him to “beyond nowhere,” as Jared had so succinctly put it. He clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Then we should discuss when you’re coming back.”

Jared’s shoulders sagged. “Talk to my mom. She’s got this thing about missing school. She won’t let me do it. I’d stay away from school entirely if she’d let me.”

On their trip, his nephew had made several comments in the same vein, Alex observed. “I wasn’t suggesting that. You’ll have school breaks, and there’s always next summer. Why don’t you look at your school calendar and call me with some dates?” Before Alex could pursue it further, he heard a vehicle pull into the yard.

He moved aside the curtain to peer out. It was Dixon Daniels again, this time in a pair of khaki trousers and an indigo knit shirt that emphasized the blue sparkle of his eyes.

Alex opened the screen door, and Dixon sauntered to the door and stepped over the threshold. “How do you like your new place?”

“Great, so far. Lydia and Clarence Olson were here with an amazing supper. We’re beginning to feel right at home.” He turned to his nephew. “Right, Jared?”

“Yeah.” The boy’s face was long and gloomy.

“You don’t look all that happy about it,” Dixon commented. “I saw another guy recently with that very same expression on his face. ’Course, a horse had just stepped on his foot.”

“Jared’s not ready to leave,” Alex confided. “I don’t want him to go either, but we’ll both have to answer to my sister if he doesn’t show up at the train station tomorrow.”

“Leave a sock under the bed,” Dixon advised the teen.

Jared cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Seed. Whenever my family went somewhere, we always ‘accidentally’ left something behind—a piece of clothing, a pair of reading glasses, a toy. My mother said it was seed for another visit because we’d have to come back to pick it up.”

Jared brightened. “Maybe I’ll leave the iPod. It belongs to mom, and she’d be out here in a heartbeat if I left it behind.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Dixon advised. “I’d recommend a jacket or maybe a belt.”

“Gotcha.” Jared glanced at his watch. “I suppose I’d better check to see if I’ve left anything behind.”

He disappeared up the flight of stairs three steps at a time, and Alex turned to Dixon. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I just washed my truck,” Dixon said, “so I thought I’d volunteer to give you and Jared a ride to the station. It will be a long drive home, especially when you’re anticipating your first night at the parsonage.”

A load lightened in his chest, one he hadn’t even known was there. This place with its wide open spaces, sparse trees and endless horizon left him feeling exposed and a little vulnerable. He knew how to maneuver himself about in a seedy neighborhood, but this…

“That’s very nice of you.”

“No problem. I just have to make one stop to drop off a chain saw that I borrowed from one of your neighbors. His name is Mark Nash. I’ll introduce you. You’ll like him. Mark’s a good guy.”

“I believe God provided me with a very human guardian angel, Dixon—you. I needed someone with whom to navigate this first bumpy patch as I learn my way around Hilltop Township.”

Dixon looked startled and then amused. “I hope I’m not an angel. There’s no room under my shirt for wings.”

They put Jared’s dufflebag in Dixon’s truck and set out. Dixon pulled out of the yard and drove the two and a half miles to another farmyard. A man was in the yard, his head under the hood of an old Jeep. A lanky dog sat at his feet. The animal, skinny and long legged, looked to be part greyhound, but had fur the pale silvery gray of a Weimaraner. She had a white head and a dusky ring around one eye like the dog in The Little Rascals. She looked like she had been put together by a committee with opposing visions. Her long, straight ears perked up when Dixon’s pickup entered the yard.

“That’s Dixie,” Dixon said, pointing at the dog. “Mark picked her up at a flea market when she was a pup. Kinda looks like she came from a rummage sale, doesn’t she, a little bit of this and a little bit of that?”

Indeed she did. But her tail began to wag in a slow, fanning fashion that indicated welcome.

“Good dog, Dixie. Smarter than a whip. She knows every car and truck in the township and only barks at strange ones. Don’t be offended if she barks at you the first time you bring that van down the road. She’ll soon learn who you are, and then she’ll be silent as a lamb.”

Alex remembered his Uncle Bert’s dog, Wally. Wally had had as questionable a lineage as this mutt but, also like this one, was intelligent and sensitive. Alex had pleaded for a dog many times in his childhood, but his apartment building didn’t allow pets, so his pleas had always fallen on deaf ears.

“Do you have dogs?” Alex asked.

“Hunting dogs. Labs. Willie and Wonka. They’re pretty rowdy, so I don’t usually bring them with me in the truck.” A faint blush crept over Dixon’s features. “They’re more like pets than most hunting dogs. Don’t tell anyone, but they sleep in my bed at night. It’s great in the winter. We have plenty of two-dog nights.”

Seeing the confusion on Alex’s face, he continued. “You don’t know about dog nights? In Alaska, mushers bring their sled dogs into bed with them to stay warm. If it’s really cold, you might need four or five dogs. Most people are familiar with a three-dog night, but that might have something to do with the fact that there’s also a rock group by that name. Like I said, a two-dog night usually works for me.”

“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” Alex murmured. Chicago seemed farther away by the minute.

Alex catalogued that bit of canine information, opened the door and slid to the ground. He would have to find a more polished way to get out of these high vehicles. The seats must be three feet off the ground. Long-legged Jared leaped out far more gracefully.

Mark’s head appeared around the hood of the Jeep. He was a man familiar with hard work, Alex guessed. His eyes were sharp with intelligence and his expression good natured.

He sauntered toward them, wiping his hands on an oily rag that had seen better days, but somehow he’d avoided getting any grease on himself. He wore his jeans and denim shirt like they were business attire. He looked nothing like the farmer in bib overalls Alex had imagined before he’d arrived in Hilltop.

“Hello, Dixon,” Mark’s voice sounded cultivated and refined. “Who have you got here?”

“This is the pastor, Alex Armstrong, and his nephew Jared. I’m driving them to the train station so Jared can go back to Chicago. I thought I’d return your chain saw on the way.” He gestured toward a building behind the house. “I’ll put in the shop.”

“Pleased to meet you, Reverend, and you too, Jared. Welcome to Hilltop.” He studied them with sharp eyes, and Alex felt a little as though he was being run through an X-ray machine. Dixie, the dog, was staring at them in exactly the same way, sizing them up.

Then her tail started to fan wildly. Soon her whole rump was involved in the welcome. Alex and Jared had been approved.

“We’ve spoken on the phone once,” Mark said. “I was part of the call committee.” Before Alex could respond, he turned to Jared. “Do you know much about engines?”

Jared brightened. “A little.”

That was an understatement. His uncle knew that he’d taken the family vacuum cleaner, sewing machine and lawn mower apart by the time he was six.

“Take a look under the hood. I’ve been tightening belts.”

Jared darted forward and disappeared under the Jeep’s hood. “The fan belt is fine, but your alternator belt is still a little loose. Mind if I tighten it?”

“Here’s a nine-sixteenth wrench.” Mark put the tool in Jared’s open hand.

With Jared occupied, Mark turned again to Dixon and Alex. “How’s Hilltop so far?”

“Good.” Alex shrugged. “The church, the parsonage, the people…all wonderful.”

“Mark’s great-grandfather homesteaded here in the late 1800s, like everyone else,” Dixon explained. “He came from the ‘old country’ like most of the Norwegians and Swedes who settled around here. The original house is gone. Burned in a fire. Still, this is the family place.” Dixon moved his hand in a grand gesture that encompassed the tidily mowed grass, the newer ranch-style house and lush fields.

“So you’ve lived here all your life?” Alex nodded to Mark.

“Off and on.” Mark slid the rag into his pocket. “I went to college, spent some time in New York working as a stock broker, saw the error of my ways and came back to farm a few years ago. One of the smartest moves I’ve ever made.” He laughed. “I decided that if I was going to be involved with bulls and bears, they’d be of the Angus and grizzly kind.”

“I don’t have the stomach for the ups and downs of the market,” Alex said. “People’s emotional highs and lows are one thing. The financial ones are quite another.”

Mark smiled knowingly.

Alex had always been diligent about money, not for his own gain, but for pet missions and charities that he’d given to for years and that needed support now more than ever. “I admire people with financial savvy. You’re on the board of trustees for the church, I hope.”

Mark and Dixon laughed out loud.

“He’s going to be good, I can already tell,” Dixon said. “He’s already trying to put people on committees.”

“Just so you don’t put me on the potluck dinner committee. My mother was in charge of it for years. She said she didn’t know how the ladies did it, but some years almost everyone would bring desserts, and another it was all salads. She started buying hams to have in the refrigerator in case all that came in was Jell-O and buns.”

“I’m anxious to experience my first potluck at Hilltop.”

“You’ll enjoy it,” Mark assured him. “Once Hilltop gets a look at you, you’ll be fed quite nicely, I’m sure.”

Dixon sniggered and dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his khakis.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re single. As soon as the ladies around here think there’s someone without a wife who needs feeding, they’ll be right on it. You can expect two or three casseroles a week, I’d wager.”

“Yeah, and that’s only from the married ones,” Dixon added. “The single ones are even more attentive.” He grinned. “Mark and I should know.”

A sense of foreboding shimmered at the edge of Alex’s consciousness. The last thing he needed right now was romantic involvement. Only months before his wedding, Natalie had announced she was in love with someone else. If Alex had had his way, he never would have even heard of Hilltop, but now he was here. God had given him what he had needed—a fresh start—and he wasn’t going to mess that up just yet.

“Until the single ladies know if you are a serious bachelor or could possibly be husband material, they’ll keep feeding you. There aren’t many new men moving to the area, so every eye will be on you. Trust me, Mark and I have been through it.”

“And you are serious bachelors, I take it?”

“That’s the public face,” Dixon said cheerfully. “Otherwise we’d have so much attention that we’d be like pigs fattened for slaughter right now.”

“Thanks for the word of caution.”

Dixon clapped a hand around Alex’s shoulders. “The Three Musketeers, that’s us. Our motto will be theirs, ‘All for one and one for all.’”

Athos, Porthos and Aramis. The inseparable friends from Dumas’ French novel Les Trois Mousquetairs. Alex felt warmed and welcomed by the idea.

“Hey, Unc,” Jared called, emerging from under the hood. “What time does the train leave?” He wiped his hands on a rag on the roof of the car.

Dixon and Alex simultaneously looked at their watches. “We’d better get going,” Dixon suggested.

They said their good-byes, and Dixon peeled out of the yard, gravel flying from beneath his wheels. Alex sat back, feeling pleased that he’d met two men who could become good friends. He’d worry about the concerned women of the church later. For now, it was a start.