Elsa glimpsed Shane Gerhard from out of the corner of her eye, and chose to ignore him. But she quickly reminded herself that she had to be courteous at all costs. The Lord would not approve of treating Mr. Gerhard with anything less than her Christian best. Even so, Elsa tightened her hold around Henry’s elbow.
“Ouch! Why are you squeezing my arm?”
“I didn’t squeeze it, Henry.”
“Yes, you did.”
Elsa clenched her jaw, feeling irked with her fiancé for the first time ever. Why couldn’t he act like more of a man? Oh, she didn’t mean that! Poor, dear Henry didn’t feel good again today. He couldn’t help being so … so sensitive.
Elsa released her hold on his arm, and to her chagrin, Henry rubbed it as if she’d just socked him. At that precise moment, Shane crossed the street, all long legs and broad shoulders, and stood in their way, looking like a bully. Wearing dark trousers, a crisp white shirt under a black, tweed vest and matching jacket, he looked the part.
He removed his hat, nodded politely, and Elsa noticed the haircut. She glanced at the barbershop where Doc stood in the doorway and waved. Forcing a smile, she waved back, then fixed her eyes on Shane again.
“Lovely day for a stroll,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Elsa replied, doing her best to be friendly.
“Will you be joining us for an early supper, Mr. Gerhard?” Henry asked in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat. “We’re on our way to the boardinghouse.”
Shane’s lips curved into a rather wolfish-looking grin. “I’d be delighted to join you,” he said, staring pointedly at Elsa.
“Actually, I do the cooking, not the eating,” she stated with an uneasy glance at Henry, who seemed oblivious to Shane’s flirtations. “And I really must get back to the kitchen. Excuse me.”
Elsa skirted around Shane and made for the boardinghouse. Inside, she removed her bonnet and quickly strode through the dining room. It was then she noticed Zeb and Horace Bunk, sitting patiently at one of the long tables and awaiting their meal.
“Thought you’d never git back,” Zeb said with a toothy smile. His wide face was unshaven, as usual, and his brown hair was matted. Even from her distance, Elsa could smell that the brothers were in need of a hot, soapy bath.
The Bunks were what the Hickory Corners called “river rats.” They made their living by trading up and down the Ohio River, and Zeb and Horace were quite successful. And, while they were friendly enough fellows, they were a young lady’s nightmare for a potential suitor—which was another reason Elsa was glad to finally be betrothed.
“We’re starving, Miss Elsa,” Horace declared. “Whatcha serving up today?”
“Leftover stew.”
“That’s my favorite.” Zeb’s smile broadened. “Yours too, eh, Horace?”
“Yep.” He didn’t look much different from his brother, same stocky build and short legs, except Horace had rusty-colored hair. Like his brother’s, however, it was in need of a good scrubbing. “Say, Miss Elsa, you got some of them biscuits to go with it?”
She nodded. “Coming right up.”
Behind her, she heard Shane and Henry enter the boardinghouse. She quickened her step and headed into the kitchen.
“Papa, what are you doing?” she cried, seeing the disarray on the table and service counters.
“I have been searching for Georg’s receipts.”
Elsa grimaced. “You haven’t found them yet?”
“Nein.”
Feeling discouragement creeping in, Elsa tried in vain to will it away. She prayed while sliding the biscuits onto the iron rack in the hearth to warm and ladling the stew into four bowls. Father in Heaven, please allow my Papa to find what he needs to prove the debt was paid so Shane Gerhard can be on his way and out of my life forever!
Elsa loaded up her round serving tray, waiting a few more minutes on the biscuits before pulling them from the hearth. Setting them onto a platter, she placed that, too, onto the tray. But before she could carry it into the dining room, the object of her troubled thoughts sauntered into the kitchen.
“I thought you might need some help.”
“Thank you, but no. And I’ll thank you to stay out of my kitchen.”
Arne chuckled under his breath.
“Whoa, little lady, I’m just trying to be useful,” Shane said, palms up as if in self-defense.
Elsa inhaled deeply, remembering one of the fruits of the Spirit was temperance, although she didn’t miss the fact he’d referred to her as “little” again.
She softened her tone. “Thank you for asking, but I can manage.”
“Miss Fritch, you are going to hurt yourself if you continue to carry that heavy tray.”
“I won’t hurt myself, and I only dropped it once, and that was when I was thirteen.”
Shane looked at Arne. “Talk some sense into your daughter, Uncle Arne.”
Uncle Arne? Elsa swung her gaze to her father, who chuckled.
“You remember, young Shane.”
“Yes, I remember.…”
“What? What are you two talking about?” Elsa wanted to know.
“Back in Germany, your parents and mine were as close as siblings,” Shane explained, “and I called your father ‘uncle’ and your mother ‘aunt.’ You did likewise with my folks, although I suspect you were too young to recall.”
“I remember, too,” Arne said with a faraway gleam in his eyes. “My Elsa followed young Shane around like a puppy.”
“I did no such thing!” Elsa exclaimed, feeling her cheeks flame.
“Ah, but you did. Und young Shane put up vith it, quite a marvel for an eight-year-old boy.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I gave you, Miss Fritch, horsey-back rides.”
Elsa felt so embarrassed, she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. But, no such luck.
With a rakish wink in her direction, Shane picked up the tray and carried it into the dining area.
“Papa,” Elsa whispered, “please find those receipts … fast!”
“Acht! I am trying, but I cannot think uf vhere to search next.” He stood from where he’d been sitting at the table, sifting through various documents and articles of importance. Pausing before Elsa, he patted her cheek affectionately. “Mean-vhile, ve can enjoy young Shane’s visit. He reminds me of Georg, und I miss my friend. I vish your mama und I vould not have burned bridges betveen da Gerhards und us. Ve might not have agreed vith der vocation, but dey ver still our friends. Now it is too late to reconcile.”
“Papa—”
“But maybe not,” he added, the lines on his face deepening with an emotion Elsa could not discern. “Maybe not.”
With that, he walked into the dining room.
Flustered, Elsa followed him and finished serving the meal from the tray Shane had carried in for her. When the Bunk brothers grabbed more than their share of biscuits, Elsa smacked both their hands. “Half a dozen each is plenty. There are other mouths to feed here besides yours.”
“My apologies, Miss Elsa,” Zeb said with a lopsided grin, “It’s jest that your biscuits are the best we’ve ever tasted.”
“They’re nothing special,” she contended. “Why, they’re not even fresh. I made them this morning.”
“Pardon me, Miss Elsa, but they’re a far sight better than the hardtack we’ve been gnawin’ on,” Horace said with his mouth full of stew. Gravy dribbled from the corner of his mouth, down his chin, and into his scraggly beard.
Appalled by the Bunks’ table manners, Elsa quickly set the platter down in the middle of the table and retreated to the kitchen. She smoothed down her apron and took a deep, calming breath. In that moment, she wasn’t sure who disturbed her more, Shane Gerhard or Zeb and Horace.
A knock sounded, and Elsa strode to the back door at the far side of the kitchen and opened it. Mrs. Tidewell’s pleasingly plump form stood in the threshold, her beaming face framed by her snowy-white hair. She held out an apple pie.
“I thought perhaps you could make use of this.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. T. I certainly could. I didn’t do any baking this morning.”
“I figured, what with the sewing circle and all.”
The pastor’s wife stepped inside, and Elsa closed the door.
“There are five men in my dining room as we speak who will be happy to see this pie.”
Mrs. Tidewell chuckled. “Yes, I heard the Bunk brothers were back in town, so I thought they would show up at your dinner table soon enough. You’re the closest thing this town has to a public eatery.”
“I try my best.”
“I know you do, Dear, and I can tell you are feeling overwhelmed.”
Unexpected tears filled Elsa’s eyes, and she nodded.
“But do you think any of this is a surprise to God? Of course it isn’t. No matter what is occurring here on earth, God is still on His throne. He is still in charge.”
“Everything would be just fine if Shane Gerhard would go back to St. Louis where he came from,” Elsa whispered as she began to slice the pie.
“He’s that much of a nuisance, is he?”
“That much and more!”
“Hm … well, I have an idea,” Mrs. T said as she took plates from the cupboard. “It goes along with what we talked about this afternoon.”
“Yes?”
“You need to kill him, Elsa.”
“Mrs. Tidewell! How could you even suggest such a thing? You’re a pastor’s wife.”
She laughed. “No, no, I don’t mean really kill him. I mean, kill Mr. Gerhard’s badgering with kindness. Do what the Bible says in Proverbs 25: 21–22. ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Be courteous to Mr. Gerhard, Elsa. My husband and I have run up against his kind before. He thinks it’s fun to tease you because you react, but if you’re not rankled and instead you’re sweet-spirited, he won’t be quite so amused.”
“Really?”
“Try it and see.”
Elsa liked the idea of heaping coals of fire on Shane Gerhard’s conceited head. In her opinion, it was the least he deserved. “I’ll do it, Mrs. T.”
“Good girl. Now, don’t forget about our planning meeting on Thursday, and we’ll do our baking the following Friday night at my house. Our Spring Fling is going to be so much fun this year. The unmarrieds in this town need a bit of prodding, I’d say.”
Elsa grinned, and for the second time that day, she felt God’s peace that passes all understanding fill her being. She wrapped her arms around the older woman, thinking Mrs. Tidewell was as motherly as her own mother might have been, were she still alive. “Thank you, Mrs. T. Thank you for coming over this afternoon.”
“You’re quite welcome.” She returned Elsa’s hug with a small squeeze of her own.
Moments later, she was on her way out the door, leaving Elsa to wonder if she’d squish Henry like a bug if she embraced him as heartily as she’d embraced the good pastor’s wife.
To her dismay, she presumed she probably would!
The next morning, Shane sat on the outside stoop and watched Elsa hang clothes on the line. The sun’s rays felt warm against his face on this March morning, and the breeze felt tepid, comfortable. Arne said it’d been an early spring this year. But Shane didn’t give a whit about the weather. He was growing restless in this sleepy little town. He wanted to get back to St. Louis and its nightlife. He wanted his money, just sitting there waiting for him in that trust account. He envisioned the extravagant parties he could throw with that kind of loot lining his pockets.
“You know, I think you’re going to have to marry me,” he told Elsa. Then he grinned, anticipating a tart reply.
To his disappointment, she sighed … and agreed. “If Papa doesn’t find those receipts, I’ll have no other choice but to fulfill our part of the contract.”
“Well, look at it this way, as soon as I get my money you can divorce me and marry your precious Henry.”
“I could never divorce you.”
Shane frowned. “Why not?”
“Because the Bible says God hates divorce. I could never do something God hates.”
“All right, then I’ll divorce you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Shane felt suddenly perturbed. Standing, he walked toward her. “Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but all I want is my inheritance. I have no intentions of getting saddled with a wife.”
To his shock and delight, Elsa smiled at him, the prettiest smile he’d ever seen on a woman. A smile that produced dimples in both her cheeks. A smile that caused his heart to flip.
“I completely understand your frustration, Mr. Gerhard.”
“Um, sure you do.” He swallowed hard but recovered quickly. “I think it’s high time you called me by my given name, don’t you?”
She looked a bit taken aback. “Well, I don’t know.…”
“Aw, c’mon,” he teased her, “Mr. Quinsy won’t mind. He scarcely pays any attention to you unless he wants to whine and complain about his many ailments.”
Elsa’s cheeks flushed slightly, but not a spark of indignation reached her blue eyes. “If you insist … Shane. Then you must call me Elsa.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
She bent and picked up one of her father’s shirts from the large wicker basket.
“So, what do you do for fun around here, Elsa?”
“There’s church tonight.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait,” Shane quipped.
She gave him an amused glance while pinning the shirt on the line. “There’s the Spring Fling coming up in a week from Saturday.”
“What’s a Spring Fling?”
“A gathering of all the young people in town and some older ones, too. Mr. Stahl plays his fiddle, and—”
“Don’t tell me you all dance.”
“Oh, no!”
Elsa looked aghast, and Shane hung his head back and hooted.
“Somehow, I didn’t think so,” he said.
She reached for several linens and hung them over the line to dry. “This year, we’re having a big surprise for all the unattached fellas. We girls are making big, round cookies and baking a slip of paper with our names inside of them. Whoever gets that particular young lady’s cookie, has to eat supper with her.”
Shane grinned. “You’d best hope and pray Zeb or Horace Bunk don’t get your cookie.”
Elsa paled visibly.
“Well, now, don’t worry,” he assured her with practiced charm, “you just tell me what your cookie looks like, and I’ll make sure it falls into the right hands.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I’m sure you’ll be back in St. Louis by the time the Spring Fling comes around.”
“And miss this grand event? Not a chance.”
“You can’t mean that. I—”
Elsa seemed to catch herself before a sharp retort could pass though her berrypink lips. They were ripe for kissing, as far as Shane was concerned.
“You’re more than welcome to attend, of course,” she began again, “although I don’t imagine you’ll find our simplistic form of entertainment to your liking.”
“Guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
After a shrug, she picked up her now-empty basket and headed for the boardinghouse. Shane watched her enter through the back door, thinking he might indeed find the Spring Fling to his liking … especially if he chose Miss Elsa Fritch’s cookie.