Shane didn’t enjoy getting up early. Since his college days, he’d grown accustomed to parties until the wee hours of the morning, then sleeping until at least noon. But here he was, up with the sun, no doubt because he’d gone to bed shortly after supper last night. Did all of Hickory Corners close after dark? Why, Arne said there wasn’t even a saloon in town!
Walking across the room, Shane grasped the white, porcelain pitcher and poured water into the matching basin on his bureau. He washed quickly, shaved, splashed on some musky-smelling tonic, and ran a comb through his hair. After dressing, he ambled downstairs, where he found the dining common vacant, but delicious aromas wafted to his nostrils from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled at the smell of fried ham, biscuits, and brewing coffee, and Shane began heading in that direction before he could give the matter a second thought.
Entering the kitchen, he found Elsa standing precariously on the service counter and peering into the uppermost part of the ceiling-high cupboard.
He stepped closer. “G’morning.”
She gasped, turning. As she did so, she lost her balance and fell backward. Shane rushed forward and caught her easily enough.
“Oh, mein Schreck!” she exclaimed with wide, startled blue eyes. “I felt so scared.”
“I’ve got you.” He grinned. “Must be my lucky day.”
“Lucky day?”
“Sure. It’s not every day a lovely lady falls right into my arms.”
Elsa gave him a look of reproof. “Put me down at once.”
More than a little amused, Shane complied with her wishes and set her feet on the plank floor.
With crimson cheeks, Elsa smoothed down the skirt of her brown dress. She’d worn the same outfit yesterday, causing Shane to wonder if she ever changed clothes. Where he came from, women had morning gowns, afternoon gowns, traveling gowns, evening gowns, and ball gowns. But for the second day in a row, Elsa had worn her simple brown frock with its white apron.
“Thank you for breaking my fall,” she muttered.
“My pleasure.” Shane leaned against the adjacent service counter and folded his arms. Despite her rudimentary attire, he decided he enjoyed watching Elsa, and he took to wondering what her hair would look like if she freed it from its pinning.
“Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
“Great. I’m starved.” Shane paused while Elsa busied herself with slicing more ham. “So what were you looking for up there? Maybe I can help you.”
“I was searching for the receipts from your father,” she said over one shoulder. “I thought perhaps Papa had put them up in the cupboard for safekeeping.”
“I see. Would you like me to check?”
Elsa shook her head. “The shelf is empty. I was able to see that much before you walked into my kitchen unannounced and scared me half to death.”
Shane chuckled. “My humble apologies.”
Elsa glared at him, her expression incredulous.
“And don’t worry,” he continued, “I reckon those receipts will turn up … if they really exist.”
“Of course they really exist. Papa wouldn’t lie.”
“I wasn’t implying he would. After spending time with your papa yesterday afternoon, I’m confident he speaks the truth. Of course, the question still remains as to why my father never changed his will if the debt had been paid.”
“Yes, I thought of that myself.”
“I probably won’t ever learn the answer to that one,” Shane mumbled remorsefully. Now that his parents were dead, there were suddenly so many questions he wanted to ask them, about their faith—and about this contemptible contract!
Returning his gaze to Elsa, Shane thought she appeared fretful herself, and he suddenly longed to change the subject. He preferred to see a little fire in Elsa’s eyes, rather than distress.
“Let me ask you something,” he began mischievously.
“Yes?”
“Say I was Mr. Quinsy a few minutes ago …”
“Who?”
“Your fiancé—the guy with the quinsy.”
Elsa huffed with indignation and set her hands on her rounded hips.
“Well, I was just trying to imagine him catching you falling from the service counter.”
“And?” she asked with an annoyed expression.
“And I think you’d squish him like a bug.” Shane grinned broadly as her gaze sparked, and he thought she looked so pretty, all pink-cheeked and furious.
“Get out of my kitchen before I squish you like a bug!”
Shane chuckled. “Well, now, Honey, you’re sure welcome to try—squishing me, that is.”
“Get out!”
“I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee first.”
Elsa reached for the closest thing to her, which happened to be an earthenware bowl, and hurled it at Shane. Having anticipated her reaction, he ducked just in time. The bowl hit the doorjamb with a thud before crashing to the floor in pieces.
“Whoo-wee, you’ve got some temper there, little lady,” Shane remarked with a laugh.
“What’s going on? Elsa? What’s all the racket?”
Her eyes grew wide with horror. “It’s Henry,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to know how angry I got.”
Shane quickly scooped up the sections of earthenware from the floor and handed them to Elsa. When Henry arrived at the doorway, Shane donned a well-practiced look of innocence.
“Miss Fritch just, um, dropped her mixing bowl, and I was just about to help myself to a cup of coffee. How ’bout you? Coffee?”
“Yes, but Elsa always pours it,” the smaller man whined. He glanced from her to Shane, wearing a curious frown. “Elsa doesn’t approve of men in her kitchen.”
“Aw, that’s just an ugly rumor,” Shane quipped, giving her a little wink.
She ignored him. “Why don’t you both have a seat in the dining room and I’ll take care of the coffee.” Walking to the open hearth in the corner of the kitchen, she added, “Papa should return from his morning walk momentarily. When he does, I’ll serve breakfast.”
Shane figured he’d tried Elsa’s patience enough for the time being, and without another word, he followed Henry into the dining common.
Elsa’s hands trembled as she pulled the pan of biscuits from the iron rack in the hearth. She felt angry, afraid, and humiliated all at once. Angry at Shane Gerhard’s insufferable remarks about her and Henry, afraid because he was right about squishing poor Henry like a bug, and humiliated that Shane could antagonize her to the point where she lost her self-control.
Lord, I’m not much of a witness for You this morning, am I? she thought. But in the next moment, she remembered that today was Tuesday and she’d see her friends at Mrs. Tidewell’s house for their weekly sewing circle. Elsa decided the meeting would surely put her in a right spirit, and perhaps Mrs. T would offer a piece of advice. Being the pastor’s wife, the older woman was good for suggesting godly remedies from the Bible.
Feeling heartened by the idea of escaping the boardinghouse and Shane Gerhard, Elsa gloved one hand with a thick, quilted pad, took hold of the hot coffee pot, grabbed two cups with her other, and strode into the dining room. She found both men reading the newspaper. Without a single glance at Shane, Elsa poured the dark, steaming brew. Afterward, she walked several feet to the box stove, placing the pot on its top to keep warm.
Back in the kitchen, she fried six fresh eggs in the same skillet as the ham, and when she finally heard her father’s voice, she served up the meal.
“Won’t you be joining us, Miss Fritch?” Shane asked lightly.
Elsa marveled at the man’s audacity. “No, I’m not … hungry,” she stated, looking at the tips of her worn, brown leather shoes. Then she made haste back into the sanctity of the kitchen.
Minutes later, as she sipped a cup of tea at the small, scarred, wooden table, Elsa wondered over the events of the morning. Shane had called her “little.” He’d said, “You’ve got some temper there, little lady.” Elsa hadn’t been described as “little” since … well, she couldn’t recall the last time that word and her name had appeared in the same sentence. Always, Elsa had been bigger than her girlfriends and most boys, until later in her teenage years when almost all the young men in her class had grown taller than she. Still, Elsa had never felt “little” around them.
Oddly, however, in Shane’s presence she could nearly imagine herself as such. He’d caught her when she’d fallen, and his arms under her knees and around her waist had been strong—strong enough to hold her. Shane hadn’t even appeared strained, and Elsa clearly remembered how nice he smelled and how muscular his shoulders felt beneath her palm as she’d clung to him. His hazel-eyed gaze seemed to penetrate her own, and that rakish smile of his …
Elsa gave herself a mental shake and reined in her wayward musings. She was engaged and ought not think of any other man but Henry in such an intimate way.
She sighed, steering her thoughts toward today’s sewing circle. She was in desperate need of the spiritual uplifting she’d find there. But poor Mrs. Tidewell certainly had her work cut out for her!