Nein, nein,” Arne said, shaking his head. “I paid Georg Gerhard.”
“Are you sure? You paid him?” Suddenly the hysteria that had been brewing inside Elsa all afternoon began to dissipate. “So there’s no outstanding debt, and I don’t have to marry Shane Gerhard?”
“Ja, das right.”
Elsa blew out a breath of relief and continued kneading the bread dough in the kitchen while her father sat at the small table and sipped coffee. He’d just awakened from his afternoon nap and this was the first time Elsa had been able to discuss the matter with him. “Well, it sounds like a misunderstanding,” she said. “You and Mama made a contract with the Gerhards after they sponsored us, but later you discovered they made strong drink—beer.”
“Ja, und I paid Georg und told him no daughter uf mine marries into a family makin’ sinful beer.”
Elsa worked her lower lip between her teeth, trying to put all the pieces into place. “The Gerhards had been good friends of yours in Germany, is that right, Papa?”
He nodded. “But Vanda und I,” he said, referring to his deceased wife, “never knew about da strong drink—und da Gerhards got rich makin’ it.”
“Despicable.” Elsa didn’t like Shane Gerhard, and this latest discovery only intensified her negative feelings. Of all the nerve. The man should have made sure of his facts before storming into a person’s life and demanding she marry him.
Dividing the dough, Elsa shaped it and put it into two pans, then slipped them on to the iron rack in the hearth. Now to finish supper. Henry Peabody, her fiancé, was coming, and as always, she wanted to display her culinary skills. They would marry next month and live here at the boardinghouse so Elsa could continue to look after her father. Henry disliked the idea, but what else could she do? Her father needed her. With each passing day, he became more and more forgetful.
“I cannot believe da Gerhards are dead,” Arne said mournfully, staring into his cup. “Such a shame.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.”
“Georg und Lise ver younger dan me. Dey ver your mutter’s age. I vas an old man vhen I married Vanda, und yet I outlived her … und da Gerhards.”
“Don’t despair. Mama’s in heaven, and I’m glad I have you still around.” She glanced over her shoulder at her aging father, who looked so forlorn, she felt tears stinging her own eyes. “Were the Gerhards believers?”
“Oh, ja. But dey still made da beer.”
“I don’t think their son is a Christian.”
“Nein?”
“No. He said rude things to me, Papa.”
“Vhat did he say?”
Elsa swallowed down the last of her indignation. “He called me … schatz.”
Her father’s guffaw filled the warm, steamy room.
“It’s not funny, Papa.” Elsa gave him a stern look, and he managed to wipe the smirk off his face. “I think you should speak to him about his manners.”
“Nein. Young Shane is, like your brother Herrick, teasing you.”
Elsa sighed and gave up the cause. All her life she’d felt like there was no one in the world to protect her. Why should things change now that she was twenty years old? In school, if the boys goaded her, Mama used to cluck her tongue and tell Elsa to ignore the jeering. She said the boys were “sweet” on her, and that’s why they harassed her so. Papa always chuckled and told her to be proud of her ample bosom, causing Elsa to feel even more self-conscious about her full figure. Why couldn’t God have made her tiny and slender like Betsy Larkin, one of the young ladies at Mrs. Tidewell’s Tuesday afternoon sewing circle? Betsy, with her golden-blond hair, brown eyes, and petite frame was everything Elsa wished for in her own physical appearance. Instead, Elsa stood five feet and six inches—as tall as Henry!
“Anybody home?”
Elsa cringed. He’d only been in Hickory Corners four hours, and already she’d grown to recognize and despise the sound of Shane Gerhard’s deep voice. To further her animosity, the man walked into her kitchen uninvited, and if there was one thing Elsa couldn’t abide, it was a man in her kitchen. She tolerated her papa’s presence, but only because the Bible instructed her to “honor thy father.…”
“Sure smells good in here.”
“Hungry, young Shane?” Arne asked with a wry grin.
“Sure am. I haven’t had a decent meal in over a week.”
“Vell, Elsa is da best cook in town.”
Stirring her pot of stew over the open hearth, she refused to look in Shane’s direction.
“From what my nose is telling me,” he said, “I’m inclined to believe it.”
“Sit. Sit,” Arne invited. “Elsa, make our guest something to eat.”
“The stew will be done in an hour,” she replied curtly.
“Nein, make him something now.”
“Aw, that’s all right, Mr. Fritch, I can wait.”
Without even so much as a glance, Elsa knew her father was frowning at her disobedience. But she couldn’t seem to help it.
“I imagine your daughter told you why I came to town,” Shane said.
“Ja, und I told her dat I paid your vater da money he put up to bring us to America.”
“You paid him?” There was a note of incredulity in Shane’s voice.
“Ja, dere is no contract. Your vater made strong drink, und I vould not allow my Elsa to be a part of such sin.”
Slowly, she turned from the large, bubbling, black kettle to glimpse Shane’s reaction.
“My father owned a brewery.”
“Ja, das right.”
“What do you mean to call it sin? I don’t understand.”
“Da Bible says woe upon dem who is givin’ der neighbor strong drink. Breweries make und sell it, und da people get drunk. Drunk is a sin, too. It hurts people, makes dem sick.”
Shane shifted, appearing uncomfortable. Then he glanced at Elsa, who nodded.
“Well, before you condemn me,” he said on a harsh note, “let me just put things into perspective for you. I wasn’t the one who started the business. My father did—and I didn’t even inherit it. My oldest brother, Edwin, is now president of Gerhard and Sons Brewery. My second oldest brother, Frederick, was awarded my parents’ estate. Being the youngest of three boys, I got a handsome sum of money, except I can’t get my hands on it until this contract is satisfied.” Shane pulled out the same folded piece of paper Elsa had read earlier. “I don’t suppose you’d have receipts, Mr. Fritch, or something showing that you paid my father.”
“Receipts? Ja, I got ’em.”
Shane smiled broadly, revealing strong white, even teeth, and Elsa had to admit he was a handsome man, but in a rugged sort of way. He certainly wasn’t her kind of man, and, goodness, but his dark-blond hair could use a good trimming. The tendrils hanging past his collar and over his ears gave Shane a reckless appearance.
Suddenly, he glanced her way, his hazel eyes alight with gladness, and Elsa returned a tiny smile.
“I am as relieved as you are, Mr. Gerhard,” she assured him.
“Well, now, I meant no offense,” he explained. “I’m just not a marrying man, but if I were, I’m sure—”
“I am already betrothed.”
“Oh, right …”
Papa rose from the wooden chair. “I go to find da letters uf payment from Georg.”
Elsa watched her father saunter into their family’s quarters off the kitchen before she turned and resumed supper preparations.
Shane cleared his throat. “Um, I guess I was a bit brash this afternoon.”
“A bit?” Elsa replied, keeping her back to him. “I would say you behaved like a rogue.”
Shane laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”
His mocking tone grated on her nerves, and Elsa deliberated on what name she would really like to call him—none being very Christian-like.
“I’ll tell you what, Miss Elsa Fritch. How ’bout I apologize for my knavish conduct, and we begin anew?”
Cautiously, she turned around.
“Don’t look so suspicious.” With a charming smile, Shane stood and bowed. “I am sincerely sorry for offending you this afternoon. I was just having a bit of fun. Of course, I did want my inheritance—still do—but I reckon I wasn’t thinking clearly. Now that I’ve rested up some, I can see the error of my ways. Please forgive me.”
“I think you have rehearsed that speech one too many times, Mr. Gerhard.”
He replied with a wounded expression. “I’m quite serious, I assure you.”
Elsa didn’t believe him, and she certainly didn’t want to accept his apology. However, she knew it was her Christian duty. “All right, I forgive you.”
“Why, thank you.”
It was then that Papa appeared at the doorway. “Elsa, vhere is da box uf important papers I keep by my desk?”
“I don’t know. It should be there, Papa.”
“I don’t know.…” He shook his head, frowning heavily. “I cannot find it.”
“May I help you locate it, Mr. Fritch? Elsa says there’s time before supper.” Shane swung his gaze around and winked. “I believe she said we have an hour before we eat.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Elsa replied, feeling somewhat flustered all of a sudden.
“Ja, come und help me, young Shane.”
“My pleasure,” he said, crossing the kitchen. Then he paused in mid-stride and glanced at Elsa. “Now, I don’t mean that personally.”
She stifled a grin. “I will be praying you find those receipts … very soon.”
Sixty-five minutes later, the table was set, the stew and bread were done, and now Elsa was watching out the window for Henry, her arms folded in front of her. Papa and Shane were still scouring his bedroom for any letter of release that might prove the contract was no longer in effect. But the longer they turned up nothing, the more Elsa began to fret.
“Oh, Papa, what did you do with those papers?” she muttered just as Henry came walking up to the front door. Henry, a clerk at Montclair’s Shipping Office just up the street, wore round, wire spectacles, and kept his light-brown hair neatly parted and combed.
Elsa ran to the door to greet him. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, helping her fiancé off with his overcoat.
He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to see you, too. Do you think you could rub the back of my neck? It’s been bothering me since I woke up this morning.”
“Of course. Come and sit down.”
“And my head is throbbing.”
“You poor man,” Elsa cooed. Once Henry was seated on the wooden benches, she kneaded his neck and shoulders.
“Not so rough, Elsa.”
“I’m so sorry,” she replied, lightening up her touch.
“Why are there four places set tonight?” Henry asked.
“We have a guest.”
At that very moment, Shane and her father ambled through the kitchen.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked hopefully.
“Nein,” Papa replied, looking disappointed. “But I know I have dose receipts somevhere.”
“What receipts?”
“Oh, nothing, Henry dear,” Elsa said quickly. She looked at Shane and silently pleaded with him not to divulge the circumstances. She saw his head dip in subtle acquiescence. “I’ll fetch supper. Papa, why don’t you introduce the two men.”
“Ja, I can do dat.”
In the kitchen, Elsa ladled the stew into thick, wooden bowls, then sliced the fresh bread and put in on a platter. Next she filled a pitcher with fresh milk before placing everything on a large tray. Hoisting it above her right shoulder, she carried their meal into the dining room.
Seeing her approach, Shane jumped up from his seat and rushed to her aid, taking the tray from her.
“I can manage,” she assured him, even though he had already set it down on the table.
Shane gave her a quizzical glance. “Women should not carry anything heavy.”
Elsa laughed softly. “I carry heavy things all the time. Please, Mr. Gerhard, make yourself comfortable, and enjoy your meal.”
“I plan to. It looks wonderful.”
Feeling oddly pleased by the compliment, Elsa took her place beside Henry. She felt more at ease, probably because her fiancé was here to force Shane Gerhard into behaving himself for a change.
“Papa, will you ask the blessing?”
Shane listened to the old man pray, thanking God for the food and for Elsa’s capable hands that prepared it. Shane remembered as a young boy hearing his parents pray. They were Christians, like Elsa and her father. But over the years, his parents’ faith seemed to wane, and Shane figured religion wasn’t all that important. They had never talked to him about God. He was Someone who had an omnipresence—similar to the portrait of Shane’s grandfather that hung on the wall by the stairwell in his folks’ mansion. The painting was there in the background, but no one really paid much attention to it, and that’s how Shane viewed God—just sort of there and everywhere, but who needed Him?
“Would you care for some bread, Mr. Gerhard?”
Shane snapped from his reverie. “Don’t mind if I do, Miss Fritch. Thank you.” He took a slice off the plate she held out to him.
As he ate, enjoying every savory bite, he glanced from her to Henry Peabody and wondered what Elsa saw in the man. He resembled a scrawny little weasel and didn’t talk…. He whined.
“I think I’m getting another cold. My throat is sore again.”
“You poor thing,” Elsa murmured in a motherly tone. “Must be your quinsy acting up.”
“Quinsy?” Shane sure hoped it wasn’t contagious.
“Severe tonsillitis,” Henry informed him. “Doc calls it quinsy.”
“Oh …” Shane chanced a look at Arne, who seemed oblivious to everything around him as he spooned his dinner into his mouth.
Several seconds of uncomfortable silence ticked by.
“So, Mr. Peabody,” Shane began, attempting small talk, “did I understand Mr. Fritch to say you’re employed at a shipping company?”
“Yes, and I hate my job. My eyes get so tired looking at numbers all day long. From sunup to sundown.”
Elsa gave her fiancé a sympathetic smile, while Shane wagged his head at the pitiful scene.
They don’t even look good together, he thought, harboring an amused grin. Elsa has larger biceps.
The meal proceeded, and Shane couldn’t help feeling things were all wrong between the couple. Of course, he was no expert, but he had a good set of eyes. Why didn’t Arne see it? Was he really going to allow his daughter to marry a dandy like Henry Peabody? Elsa needed a real man.
Well, it wasn’t any of his business. What did he care? All Shane wanted was his inheritance, and as soon as he finished supper, he planned to help old Arne find those letters of receipt. After that, Shane would hop on the next packet leaving Hickory Corners, and he’d never look back.