Lonely In Longtree (6 page)

But then. . .what if he was wrong about Miss Obermeier being his newspaper lady? He was 98 percent sure, but that remaining 2 percent loomed large in his mind despite his attempts to ignore it.

Real life never resembled fiction. . .did it?

Six

The heavens declare the glory of God;

and the firmament sheweth his handywork.

Day unto day uttereth speech,

and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

Psalm 19:1-2

Monte shoved the watch back into his pocket and leaned on the windowsill. His eyes opened wide; then he jutted his chin forward and squinted in disbelief. Was he seeing things?

Silvery moonlight gleamed on the pale hair of a lone figure seated on the end of the dock. Monte saw no one else nearby, although a person could be hidden from his view by intervening trees. Squinting and trying to peer around these brushy obstacles, he searched for. . . For what? His rival? Why was he behaving like a jealous schoolboy?

The sound of a familiar, hacking cough almost stopped his heart. Immediately he stepped across the hall and knocked on the door of the office that connected to Hardy's sleeping quarters. No answer. He knocked harder.

“What is it?” Hardy growled. “I'm in bed. Go away.”

“When did you get back? I've been waiting to talk to you.”

More coughing. “I got back before you did. Can't it wait until morning? I'm tired.”

He was heartless, no doubt, to feel cheered by the depressed tone of his friend's voice, but Monte couldn't stop his reaction. “All right. See you then.”

He quickly closed up his office and left the lodge. A few guests lingered in rocking chairs on the long veranda facing the lake. He returned their greetings and hurried on toward the lakeshore.

His steps slowed gradually, and his breathing became short. There she was, still perched on the end of the dock. With hair like spun starlight, it could be no one but Marva Obermeier. He heard water splashing as she swung her feet.

As soon as his boots touched the dock, she turned her head to look at him.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked softly. “It's a perfect night.”

She faced back toward the lake, her shoulders stiff. “I have no claim on the dock, Mr. Van Huysen.” Her shoes made a dark mound on the boards behind her.

“No, but you do have a say about whether or not a man sits beside you. I promise to be quiet if you're craving peace.” He proceeded to the end of the dock.

She braced her palms on either side of herself but made no move to rise. He sat nearby yet not too close. “Is the water warm?”

“It's nice.” Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear.

“I'd take off my boots and dangle my feet, except I'm afraid the stink of my feet would chase you away.”

She laughed, a quick snort and chuckle. “I'm not that sensitive, Mr. Van Huysen. My papa keeps pigs. I doubt your feet could smell worse than their sty on a summer night.”

“You might be surprised.”

Monte untied his boots and removed them and his socks, one after another. The cool water gave his feet a shock at first, but within moments, he scarcely felt the chill. Happiness filled him so full that some of it had to escape in a deep sigh.

“A busy day?” she asked, back to that polite and formal tone.

“No busier than usual. Tomorrow I've got to make a run into town.”

She looked at him with evident interest. “May I come along? I have. . .inquiries to make.”

Inquiries?
His thoughts raced ahead. “If it's not impertinent to ask, what kind of inquiries must you make? Perhaps I might be of assistance.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and studied them. Monte simply watched her, enjoying the view.

“I need to find out about resort lodges in the area. I need to. . .to meet their owners.”

Monte rubbed his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “You're dissatisfied with Lakeland Lodge?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. This is another matter. A private matter. I spoke with Mr. Stowell today, and he told me that several local lodges are owned by unmarried gentlemen.”

“I can think of a few. Why must the owners be unmarried?”

“That is not your business, Mr. Van Huysen.”

He turned his face away until he could keep amusement out of his voice. “Tell you what: After I pick up the mail and supplies, I'll drive you around to some local lodges. We'll make up a list, and you tell me which ones you want to visit.”

When she turned to look at him, her face was in shadow. “Do you really have time for that?”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Obermeier. At Lakeland Lodge, guests always come first.” He gave a little seated bow. “If you don't object to a personal observation, I'd say that you need a break from my nieces and nephews for at least one day.”

When she said nothing, he continued. “I admire how you help Beulah with her children. She can't praise you highly enough, to my way of thinking.”

“They're dear children.”

“I agree, yet even the dearest children get tiring. You must have patience beyond the lot of mortals. From the Lord, that is.”

She laughed again. “I get wearier and crankier than anyone knows, because if I expressed my frustration, everyone would know the real me—and I can't let that happen!”

Although she spoke in jest, he heard the note of truth in her words. “Aren't we all that way—hiding our real selves from the world? But the good thing about it is that we can sympathize with one another. I still admire the fact that you keep up a cheery front—put on a brave face.”

She gazed out across the lake, moonlight turning her features to marble. “If I were truly brave and cheery, it wouldn't have to be a front. I know I should trust God and be grateful for the life He has given me, but instead of being content, I doubt His wisdom and try to force change into my life.”

Startled by this sudden glimpse into her soul, he pondered an equally honest reply. “My method of doubting Him is more along the lines of being afraid to attempt changes.”

Silence fell between them. Monte could think of nothing more to say, yet he wanted to prolong the moment.

She turned around and picked up her shoes. “What time do you plan to leave for town in the morning, Mr. Van Huysen?”

“Not till after breakfast.” He rose and helped her up. Her hand felt cool and strong in his. “I'll bring the wagon around in front of the lodge.”

“Then I'll see you in the morning.” She smiled briefly at him and walked toward the shore, her footsteps nearly silent on the dock. He hoped her bare feet wouldn't pick up splinters.

❧

“But Marva, I don't understand why you feel this need to go into town. I disapprove of an unmarried woman riding around this wilderness land with an unmarried man, even if he is Myles's brother.”

Marva tucked a wisp of hair back into her bun and picked at her breakfast pancakes with a fork. “I simply wish to make a few inquiries around town, Mother, and there is nothing indiscreet about sitting beside a man in an open wagon.”

Papa cleared his throat. His beard bobbled back and forth as he chewed. He swallowed and said, “I believe your mother is asking what kind of inquiries you intend to make. I confess a curiosity along those lines myself.”

Marva met his direct gaze and acknowledged herself defeated. “Never mind. It isn't important anyway. But I do believe I am old enough to travel about unescorted without setting too many tongues wagging.”

“Not with a handsome man like Monte Van Huysen, you're not,” Mother said with uncharacteristic shortness. Marva sensed her parents' displeasure at her refusal to explain, but she wasn't about to deceive them, and neither would she tell them the truth.

Now that she thought the matter over objectively, she realized how awkward it would be to interview lodge owners with Monte Van Huysen hovering in the background, possibly nosing into her personal business. And if she were to find Lucky, he might well object to her coming to meet him in the company of another eligible bachelor. Her parents' objection was probably for the best.

She asked for Monte at the front desk but was told that he had already left his office. “You might find him at the stables, ma'am.”

“And the stables are. . . ?”

The grizzled desk clerk pointed straight at the door, then jerked his finger to one side. “Quickest way is out the lodge door, turn left, and follow the path until you see the stables.”

After hurrying back to the dining room to tell her parents where she was going, she started her quest. The lodge grounds were quiet at this hour. A doe and her spotted twin fawns crossed the path ahead of her, stopped to stare, and then trotted on into the underbrush. A woodpecker hammered somewhere overhead, but Marva couldn't spot it.

She soon saw weathered buildings in a clearing. From the confines of a large corral, a mule and several horses observed her approach with mild interest. The distinctive odors of horse and hay mingled with the scent of pine.

As she rounded a bend, she saw Monte Van Huysen in front of a carriage house, harnessing a horse. The animal pricked its ears and snuffled at her approach, and Monte turned to follow its gaze. Seeing her, he straightened and brushed off his hands. “Miss Obermeier.”

“Good morning, Mr. Van Huysen. I came to tell you that I will not be able to go to town with you today after all.” She couldn't help but be pleased to see his evident disappointment. “My parents disapprove of the idea. Mother thinks it unseemly for me to ride alone with you into town, which I think is ridiculous, but I cannot change her mind.”

“They're welcome to come along with us.”

She shook her head. “That wouldn't work, but thank you anyway.”

“Maybe another day?”

“I—I don't think so.”

He sighed. “All the anticipation just drained out of this day, Petunia, old girl.” He addressed the words to his horse. Marva smiled in amusement.

“Do you enjoy fishing?” he asked, giving her a look from the corner of his eye.

“Sometimes. I used to enjoy it anyway.”

He took a step closer. “I'm taking your father out tomorrow morning. You could come along. . .if you wanted to. You haven't truly experienced the Northwoods until you've been out on the lake early on a summer morning.”

“I might just do that. Thank you. Have a good trip today, Mr. Van Huysen.”

She felt his gaze follow as she walked away, head high, shoulders back.

But finding Lucky should be her focus. Frustration
with her own weakness for a handsome man increased her determination. Somehow, one way or another, she must visit neighboring lodges. Time was slipping past, and soon her chance would be gone. If she did not make an opportunity, no one would.

Mr. Stowell rose politely and smiled when she entered his office.

“Please, Mr. Stowell, could you arrange for me to borrow a horse and cart?”

He gripped the back of his office chair. Standing with his shoulders against the wall, he seemed to use his desk like a shield against her influence. “I would be pleased to drive you anywhere you wish to go.”

“Thank you kindly, but no, I would not feel right about dragging you away from your work. I am an able driver.”

She at last wangled a promise from him that she might have use of a horse and dogcart Thursday morning. He still seemed uneasy, but he did agree.

“Thank you ever so much! I appreciate this more than you can know, Mr. Stowell. You are a gem and a true friend.”

“Am I?” His face flushed.

“I can harness and hitch a horse by myself,” she offered.

“That won't be necessary. Our boys will ready one for you. At nine o'clock?”

“Ideal! I shall be there. Oh! One more thing—do you have a map of the area, and might you be willing to mark on it the locations of the nearest vacation lodges?”

He appeared bewildered. “A map? I don't know the area all that well. Mr. Van Huysen would be better able to assist you in that way.”

“Mr. Van Huysen? I would prefer he not know about my venture. I wish you would please do it.” She used her most persuasive tone and blinked sweetly.

“I'll—Well, I'll try.”

Something in his tone informed her that he remained wary.

Seven

Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us,

by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost; which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Saviour.

Titus 3:5-6

“Take my hand—careful now.” Marva gripped Monte's hand and stepped cautiously into the small fishing boat. Papa took her other hand and helped guide her to the small bench set in the bow. She turned in time to see Monte release her skirt from a splinter on the gunwale while Papa rescued a bucket of bait from overturning.

“I'm sorry. I hope this wasn't a bad idea, my coming along today.” She knew she had made them get a late start. The rosy pink in the eastern sky was already fading to silver blue, and sunlight peeked through the treetops across the lake.

Papa made a noncommittal little grunt. Monte loaded a tackle box, untied the boat from the dock, and hopped in. Just before he started rowing, he glanced back at Marva over one shoulder and winked. “A woman aboard ship may be bad luck, but we'll take the risk.” He turned to her father. “Would you please shove us off?”

Marva turned forward, letting the moist morning air brush her face. No breeze disturbed the lake's mirror surface. With each stroke of the oars, the little boat surged forward. Just beneath the water's green surface she saw the tops of water weeds and an occasional fish.

“Right around here is where the reverend and I caught those walleye the other day,” Papa said from his seat in the boat's stern after Monte had rowed a good distance.

“This is a good spot,” Monte said. “Want to drop anchor here and give it a try?”

“Why not?”

Marva heard him ship oars as quietly as possible. The anchor made a little splash when he slipped it over the side. She tipped her head over the bow and stared down into the dark water, straining her eyes to glimpse a fish.

“You'll catch more fish with a pole and some bait, Marva-girl,” Papa said in mild reproof. She turned with a smile and had to shade her eyes. Morning sun reflected off the water with almost unbearable brilliance.

“Good thing you wore that sun hat. It's going to be a hot day,” Monte remarked.

Marva adjusted her hat's broad brim. “I do burn easily. You don't share your brother's complexion, I notice.”

“I was lucky. Our mother was a redhead like Myles. I got my hair and complexion from our father, though I burn more easily than he did.” He adjusted his cap. “Still need a hat on a day like this, though. No sense in taking chances.”

The two men were already baiting hooks and adjusting their lines. Marva disliked impaling minnows or worms; she preferred artificial bait even if nothing bit at it. Smoothing her skirt, she allowed herself to watch Monte. So active and strong. Gray sprinkled the hair at his temples, and his face was lined from squinting into the sun. . .or maybe from smiling. This evidence of age was comforting rather than repelling, since her own face and form were beginning to show signs of wear.

He turned to straddle his bench and gave her a sideways look. “I dug beetle grubs out of a rotted log last night. Sometimes I have luck with them. Want me to bait your line?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Always tried to break the girl of squeamishness,” her father said regretfully. “Never could get her to bait her own hooks.”

Monte chuckled. “Gives us men a purpose—hook baiters.” He handed her the pole with the squirming grub swinging from the end of its line. “Know how to cast?”

She nodded and concentrated on taking the pole without hitting herself or anyone else in the face with the grub. Monte slowly released his hold and sat back to watch her cast. The grub sailed smoothly through the air and hit the water's surface with a tiny
plop
a good distance away.

“Nice cast.”

“Thank you.” Marva returned his smile.

Soon the three of them sat and watched their bobbers. A bald eagle soared near the shore and landed in a dead tree, studying them with its head turned to one side. Marva could see its yellow beak and ruffled feathers.

Monte sat with his feet propped on the edge of the boat, leaning his elbows on his knees. She heard him humming softly but couldn't catch the tune. He reeled in his line, grumbled over stolen bait, and cast again.

“Look over there.”

Marva followed Monte's pointing finger and saw a V-shaped ripple moving near the shore. “What is it?”

“I'd guess it's a muskrat. We had a family of minks nesting on our shore two years back. They cleaned out all the muskrats and chipmunks. But then the minks moved on, so the little critters are coming back.”

Papa caught a small bass, too small to keep. He baited his hook with a minnow and tried again on the other side of the boat.

The sun's heat began to penetrate Marva's hat and her blue cotton gown. She shifted uncomfortably and thought about taking off her shoes.
Oh, to be a carefree child again!

A breeze sent ripples over the lake's surface, making the boat gently rock and spin in a lazy circle around its anchor chain. Marva leaned her arm on the side of the boat and rested her head on it. Sunlight trickled through the weave of her hat. She closed her eyes, waving off a fly.

Sometime later she stirred, dimly realizing that she had dozed off. Something brushed against her side, and she started up. “Oh!”

Monte was kneeling on the floorboards beside her seat, holding her wildly bending and pulling fishing pole. He glanced down and saw that she was awake. “You got one, Marva! Hurry up, take the pole and reel it in!” He grabbed her hand and shoved the pole into her nerveless fingers. Still dazed, she couldn't seem to grasp it properly, so he helped her, his hand over hers on the reel, his other arm reaching around her to steady the pole. His touch served only to increase her ineptitude. “There he is! We've got him now!” The fish's silvery sides flashed in the sunlight as it made a wild leap into the air.

Monte half stood in the teetering rowboat, his chest pressed against the back of Marva's head, his hands reaching for the line. “Get the net, Mr. Obermeier! Hurry!”

Papa scrambled to hand him the net and moved Monte's pole out of the way.

Leaning far over the side of the boat, Monte reached for the fish as it dangled from the end of the line. Water sloshed into the bottom of the boat. Marva tried to hold the pole steady, but the fish flipped and struggled.

“Easy! Reel him in a bit farther.”

“I'm trying to. He's heavy!” Finally the netted fish lay in the bottom of the boat.

“A magnificent walleye! What a fish! Congratulations, Miss Obermeier, you are the fisherwoman of the day!” He sat beside her on the narrow bench and gave her shoulders a squeeze. The walleye lay on the floorboards, gasping for breath. Marva felt like gasping for breath, too.

“Isn't he a pretty fish?” A brainless comment, yet she didn't know what else to say or do. Did Monte know what he was doing to her?

Papa seemed entirely unaware of his daughter's reactions. He and Monte both crowed over the fish and praised Marva to the skies.

On the pretext of examining her catch more closely, Marva bent over, out of Monte's casual grasp, and reached out to touch the fish's slimy side. It gave a final, violent flop. Startled and nervous, she sat up with a jerk, coming halfway to her feet just as Monte started to rise. Her head connected solidly with his jaw.

“Ow!” His cry blended with hers. Grabbing the top of her head, she sat down hard, nearly missing the bench. The boat rocked wildly. Amid scrabbling thumps and startled exclamations from both men, a bait bucket turned over and doused Marva's feet with flopping minnows and smelly water. Squealing, she jumped up again, lost her balance, and dropped back to her seat.

Splash!
Water cascaded into the pitching boat as Monte back flopped over the side. Marva and her father stared, openmouthed, Marva clutching the top of her head. Her hat dangled over her shoulder. Minnows skittered around her feet in a good inch of lake water.

Monte surfaced, wiped water from his face, and wiggled his jaw back and forth. “All these years as a fishing guide, and this is the first time I took a plunge.”

“Are you all right, Mr. Van Huysen? I'm terribly sorry!”

“Nothing permanently damaged—except my pride. Balance the boat, please. I'm coming aboard.” He pulled himself over the side, dumping another wave into the bottom of the boat in the process.

“We've taken on water,” Papa said in vast understatement. “Better do some bailing out.” He used a tin cup as a scoop.

“We're starting our own onboard aquarium,” Marva observed, watching minnows dart around her feet. Even her walleye looked somewhat encouraged by the rising water level. She started scooping water over the side with her cupped hands.

Meanwhile, Monte hauled off his boots and emptied them over the side. His socks were holey, Marva noticed. Using one of the oars, he fished his floating hat from the water and plopped it on the bench.

He met Marva's gaze and began to chuckle. She smiled but felt dangerously close to tears.

He reached out one big, wet hand to squeeze her arm and gave her a wink. “Guess I needed cooling off anyway.”

Did he intend some double meaning? He laughed again, pushing his dripping hair straight back from his forehead. Taking another cup, he helped bail, rounding up minnows and returning them to their bucket. With all of them working, the water level inside the boat eventually dropped.

She tried not to grimace while Monte strung a line through her walleye's gills and lowered it over the side. “I always feel so sorry for the poor fish once they're caught.”

“Nonsense,” Monte said. “He'll be delicious once he's fried.”

At that moment, Marva's father gave his pole a jerk and eagerly started reeling in another fish. Monte hurried to assist him, just as he had helped Marva. She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid, so susceptible, overreacting to Monte's touch the way she had. He must find her amusing in a pathetic sort of way.

To Marva's relief, the men decided to end the outing early, since sitting around in soggy clothes wasn't Monte's idea of a good time. He rowed them back to the landing and helped Marva climb ashore before he unloaded any of the gear. “Wait,” he said, clambering up after her. “Miss Obermeier, please don't feel bad about my. . .uh. . .swim today. It wasn't your fault. I was hovering too close and got what I had coming.” He dropped his gaze, then grinned up at her with his chin still lowered. “I've never been fishing guide to a beautiful woman before. Guess I found out what not to do.”

❧

Ralph came rushing to meet Monte halfway to his cabin. Tongue lolling, the dog frisked about, stopped to sniff his master's wet trousers, and then burst back into wild frolicking. Monte watched Ralph's antics with a fond smile. “Oh, to have such energy and enthusiasm again.”

He was hoping to escape observance and comment by avoiding the main path, but no such luck. “Mr. Van Huysen, what happened to you?” a female voice called.

He turned to see a cluster of women on the trail up to the lodge. Every eye was turned upon him. He recognized Marva's mother in the mix.

“I fell into the lake,” he said with a wave of his limp hat. “Have a nice luncheon, ladies.” Before they could question him further, he hurried off, shivering.

“Foolishness,” he muttered while standing on the uneven floorboards in the middle of the cabin's main room, stripping off his wet garments. “I acted like a fool kid. She probably thinks. . . No telling what she thinks. I'm too old for such foolishness.”

Grimacing and growling, he continued to berate himself while donning fresh garments and hanging the wet ones over his clothesline hung between two pines. The daunting prospect of facing curious people in the lodge dining room prompted him to rummage through his own poorly stocked cupboards. A can of pork and beans made an unappetizing meal, but at least it stopped his stomach from growling.

He stepped out on the porch with Ralph at his heels, leaned on the railing, and stared through intervening branches at the glittering lake. After a moment's thought, he shook his head and closed his eyes, wanting to pray but unable to put a request into words.

What to do? Thinking back over the morning, he could make nothing of Mr. Obermeier's comments and reactions from the day's adventure. Was the old man aware of Monte's attraction to his daughter? Did he approve or disapprove? That bland German face of his revealed nothing except good humor. Monte thumped his palm on the railing.

And Mrs. Obermeier was no easier to read. Mild and friendly, she seemed sweetly oblivious to any emotional undercurrents.

But then, how did he want them to react? What would he do if Mr. Obermeier came calling to inquire about Monte's intentions toward Marva? If she were eighteen and he were
twenty-one, that might be the natural course of events.
But now? He had much to offer a woman as far as material possessions were concerned, and all honestly gained.

If only he had not made such a hash of his life back in those early days. A woman like Marva would recoil from him if she knew his past. How could she not? But for God's grace, he would be long since dead, a dried-up corpse hanging from a cottonwood tree on the plains of Texas.