Shane ambled out of the quaint clapboard church and walked alongside Elsa and Arne back to the boardinghouse. He wondered at what he’d heard tonight from Pastor Tidewell’s pulpit. Was it true? Was there really a place called heaven and a place called hell? Sure, he knew that’s what Christians believed, but was it true? The question continued to play over and over in his mind.
“I’ll make some tea,” Elsa said once they entered the boardinghouse. She headed for the kitchen, leaving Shane and her father in the dining common.
“So, Uncle Arne, tell me,” he began, “do you think the Bible is truly God’s Word?”
“Ja.” The old man nodded vigorously.
“I always wondered …”
“Your parents did not teach you da Bible?”
Shane shrugged. “I have had some Sunday school lessons. That is, when I didn’t get tossed out of class for misbehaving.”
Arne chuckled softly just as Elsa reentered the room.
“I set the kettle on to boil.”
Shane grinned in reply. He didn’t give a whit about tea, but he’d sit and sip it politely just to be in Elsa’s company. He watched her take a seat at one of the long tables and marveled that in the course of a little better than one week, he’d begun behaving like some lovesick swain. What in the world was wrong with him, anyway?
“Your vater vas a troublemaker in his younger days, too,” Arne said, still grinning broadly. “But after he met your mutter, he settled down. Could be das vhat you need—da love uf a gute voman.”
“You think so, eh?” Shane had to keep from glancing at Elsa. He forced himself to walk toward the small window at the front of the dining room. Moving the curtain aside, he gazed out onto the darkened dirt road. Across the way, the mercantile had already closed for the evening. The entire town seemed to close up after sunset. No theaters. No race tracks or gaming tables. No dance halls. “I rather enjoy my life. Carefree, no responsibilities. I don’t have to answer to anyone except me. I can stay out all night if I want to. I come and go as I please.”
Who am I trying to convince, he wondered, the Fritches or myself?
When no reply came from his hosts, he turned to face them. “Getting back to our original topic, I’ve got another question for you.”
Arne nodded as he sat down by the hearth. “Ask, young Shane.”
“If what the Bible says is true, and there really is a heaven and a hell, and my folks knew it … then why didn’t they sit me down, look me in the eyes, and tell me that I was a sinner destined for a godless eternity? My parents loved me, cared about me.” He paused, searching his own mind for an answer. “Why didn’t they tell me?”
Elsa looked at her father.
“Perhaps, young Shane,” Arne began, “your parents did not think you vould listen.”
“Maybe. And maybe they would have been right, too, but they still could have said … something.”
Arne appeared momentarily thoughtful, then said, “Ja, dey could have said something. But das no longer an excuse, is it? Tonight, you have heard da truth, dat Jesus Christ is God, sent by God da Vater, and salvation is through Him.”
Shane nodded out a reply. “Sure, I heard. I just don’t know if I believe it.”
“That’s the decision we all encounter at one time or another,” Elsa said.
The warmth in her voice touched Shane’s heart in an odd way. He crossed the room and straddled the bench opposite her, the scarred tabletop between them. “So you didn’t believe all this Bible stuff at first either, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I was twelve years old when I accepted the Lord,” Elsa explained. “Papa tried to tell me about Jesus. Mama tried to tell me, too. But I thought I was a good girl, because I always tried to obey at school and at home, and I couldn’t understand that I was just as much a sinner in need of salvation as anyone else.”
“Hm …” Shane thought it over. “Well, I don’t have trouble with the sin aspect. Contrary to your childhood disposition, I was always the ‘bad’ one, the rabble-rouser. In fact, my grandfather often called me a ‘ne’er-do-well’.”
“It’s never too late to change,” Elsa stated with a hint of a smile.
Shane folded his arms and grinned back at her. “Are you insinuating that I haven’t changed?”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I think I hear the water boiling for our tea,” she said, hastily rising from the wooden bench.
She fled to the kitchen, leaving Shane chuckling in her wake.
The next morning, Elsa finished dressing two chickens for the noon meal, then impaled them on a spit, which she placed over the fire in the hearth. The Bunk brothers had announced at breakfast that another packet arrived in town. They told Elsa to expect some hungry river men at noontime—themselves included, of course.
Elsa fretted over her lower lip. Perhaps she should roast three chickens … no, she’d just double up on the biscuits instead.
“Papa,” she called into the back hallway. “Papa, are there more canned beets in the cellar?”
“Ja, I think so.” He walked slowly out of his room and headed her way. “I vill get you a jar.”
“Fetch two please, Papa. We might have several guests today.”
He nodded, and Elsa’s heart went out to him. Her father had been searching relentlessly for those receipts since awakening this morning. Finding nothing, he looked so defeated. It almost seemed as though he felt his honor was now at stake, although Shane appeared to believe Papa when he said he paid the debt in full.
A disturbance in the dining area suddenly caught Elsa’s attention. Wiping her hands on her apron, she strode into the other room, where she found Shane pushing a two-tiered, wooden tea cart on wheels in the front door with Samantha Thomasohn trailing behind.
“What’s all this?” Elsa asked.
“Look what Mr. Gerhard purchased for you!” Samantha exclaimed, her cheeks reddening with enthusiasm. “Nathaniel Harmon made it in his carpentry shop.”
“For me?”
Shane nodded. “So you won’t have to carry that heavy tray anymore.”
“First, Mr. Gerhard came to our mercantile,” Samantha explained, “but we don’t sell what he had in mind, so he ordered it special from Mr. Harmon. I just had to come over and see the look on your face.”
“Well, I’m certainly surprised, but I do not need a cart.”
“Yes, you do, too, need it,” Shane said. “Now, look here …”
Leaving the tea cart in the middle of the dining room, he sauntered into the kitchen, and Samantha gasped.
“He’s in your kitchen, Elsa. He just walked right in!”
“He does it all the time,” she muttered.
Samantha brought her fingers to her lips in effort to stifle her giggles, while Elsa shook her head as Shane returned with the offensive serving tray.
“See, Elsa? You simply place your tray on top of the cart, load it up, and voila! You push it into the dining room instead of carrying it. Much easier. Underneath the cart, you’ve got some shelf space for water pitchers and the like.” He grinned. “What do you think?”
She opened her mouth to reiterate how unnecessary a tea cart was; however, Shane looked as excited as a little boy on Christmas morning. How could she break his heart?
“I think …” She glanced at Samantha, who gave her an encouraging smile. “I think this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Shane. I’m ever so grateful.”
“I knew you’d like it.” His grin broadened, and an amused twinkle entered his hazel eyes. “Besides, you can always wheel Henry around on it when you’re not serving food. This cart seems sturdy enough.”
Elsa narrowed a warning gaze at him, and Shane laughed.
“I think I should be getting back,” Samantha said, looking curiously from one to the other. She turned toward the door, and her dark blue skirt swirled at her ankles. “Mama probably needs me. She’s still so sick.”
“Of course,” Elsa replied, walking her friend to the door. “Is there anything we can do to hasten your mother’s recovery?”
“Pray.” Samantha’s blond brows furrowed with concern. “Please keep praying.”
“We shall.”
Elsa gave her friend a quick embrace, and then Samantha raced back to the mercantile across the road.
Spinning on her heel, Elsa placed her hands on her hips and faced Shane.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he blurted before she could utter a single word. “You’re going to tell me I shouldn’t have poked fun at Mr. Quinsy, and I reckon you’re right. I apologize.”
He gave Elsa a humble-looking bow, and she rolled her eyes. “Always the charmer, aren’t you? I’ll bet you got yourself out of plenty of whippin’s when you were a lad.”
“Why, Miss Elsa,” he said with a wounded expression, “are you suggesting that I’m being insincere?”
“Yes!” With that, she walked past him into the kitchen. As she suspected, Shane followed.
Papa had returned from the cellar with two jars of beets and a small crate. “Look, Elsa. Look vhat I found.” He set his burdens on the kitchen table.
“Do you think the receipts are in the crate?” she asked.
“Ja, dey could be.”
Shane rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “Want me to help you, Uncle Arne?”
“Ja, sure.”
The two men pulled out their chairs and began to sit down when Elsa halted them.
“Out of my kitchen,” she ordered. “I’ve got biscuits to bake. You two can do your sorting at a table in the dining room, and Papa, please remember to charge guests who come for lunch today. We forgot yesterday. It’s just a good thing our guests were honest.”
Standing, her father nodded his head and scooped up the crate with both hands.
“Is she always so bossy, Uncle Arne?” Shane asked with a teasing grin.
“Ja. But she keeps me in line.”
“Who keeps her in line?” He winked at Elsa.
“Das a gute question, young Shane. Gute question.”
The men chuckled together on their way out, and Elsa decided to let them have their fun. She couldn’t out-quip Shane Gerhard if she tried. Returning to the service counter, she mixed together the ingredients for her famous baking soda biscuits.
It was shortly after the noon hour when the Bunks and six other scraggly looking men clamored into the boardinghouse. Their deep voices and laughter seemed to fill every nook and cranny.
Knowing the men were hungry, Elsa quickly placed the tray onto the tea cart and set several plates of food on it. Next she wheeled it into the dining room, deciding it was much easier to push than to carry.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” a scruffy-bearded man asked.
“Chicken, biscuits and gravy, and canned beets,” Elsa replied politely.
“Forget the supper—you’re quite a dish yourself, Honey.”
Chuckles went up and down the table, and Elsa tried to ignore them as she continued to set a plate in front of each guest.
“What’s your name?” the man persisted.
“This is Miss Elsa Fritch,” Zeb Bunk answered. “Miss Elsa, that there is Weaver.”
“My full name is John Adams Weaver.”
Unimpressed, Elsa gave him a perfunctory smile, then glanced over the men’s heads to where Shane sat at a nearby table, watching the goings-on with a critical eye. She looked to her far left and saw her papa, sitting behind the greeting counter, busying himself with the funds he’d collected. Elsa quelled her uneasiness by telling herself she was safe with Shane and Papa in the room. Then she wondered why she felt so flustered. She had managed bold men by herself in the past.
The river men began to eat, and Elsa noted only a few bowed their heads and thanked the Lord before digging in. Back in the kitchen, she prepared two plates for Shane and her father.
“Thank you for being patient and waiting,” she murmured to Shane as she set the meal before him.
“Aw, Elsa, I’m not that much of a guest.”
She replied with a grateful smile, then served her papa.
“Looks gute,” he said.
She kissed the balding crown of her father’s head before returning to the kitchen.
At the service counter, Elsa sliced the cinnamon spice cake she had baked earlier and lay each piece on a dessert plate. Next she served the river men, taking away their empty dinnerware and stacking it onto her new tea cart.
“You sure are a purty thing,” Weaver said. His hair and beard were the color of the brown mud along the banks of the Ohio. His deep-set eyes seemed spaced too far apart on his wide face, and Elsa thought he resembled a reptile. “How ’bout a little kiss for dessert instead of this here cake?”
“I think you’ll have your cake,” she retorted.
Several guffaws emanated from Weaver’s cronies.
“I think I won’t.” He stood, a determined gleam in his eyes.
Elsa swallowed her sudden fear and tried to back away, but Weaver caught her shoulders. She pushed on his chest, turning her head to escape his eager lips.
In the next moment, Weaver abruptly freed her, and Elsa staggered backward. A strong arm caught her around the waist. Before she even saw him, she knew it was Shane. But then Elsa glimpsed the shiny pistol in his hand, pointed directly at Weaver.
“Don’t you ever touch this woman again,” Shane said in slow, menacing intervals.
“Das right!” Papa hollered from across the room. “Und you can leave my boardinghouse dis minute!”
Weaver held up his hands as if in surrender. “Now, look, I was just having a bit of fun.”
“Get out,” Shane demanded.
The river man nodded and grabbed his battered hat from off the bench on which he’d been sitting.
“Me and Zeb’ll see to it he leaves for good,” Horace Bunk announced.
He took one of Weaver’s arms, and Zeb took the other. Ignoring his protests and arguments, they escorted their unruly pal to the front door of the boardinghouse. Then, taking Weaver by the seat of his pants, the Bunk brothers tossed him out onto the road. Elsa winced at the resounding thud of humanity hitting hard dirt.
“Anyone else have a mind to try my patience?” Shane asked, waving his pistol at the other men at the table.
“Nope.”
“Uh-uh.”
Another man shook his shaggy, blond head and continued to eat his cake.
“Good.” Shane tucked away his gun and peered down at Elsa. “You all right?”
“Yes,” she stated, feeling embarrassed and grateful all at once. She stared up into his hazel eyes, and in that moment, she determined Shane was something of a hero.
As if divining her thoughts, he suddenly appeared chagrined. Releasing Elsa, he stepped away, nodded politely, and walked off in Arne’s direction. When he returned to his place at the table, Arne gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. Shane looked over at Elsa, and she smiled.
My hero, she thought, making her way into the kitchen. He special orders a tea cart to ease my workload, and he defends my virtue.
Conversely, she wondered what she’d ever do when he left to go back to St. Louis!