Shining Water 01 - The Icecutter's Daughter (7 page)

By now the Krause brothers were gathered around, and they lifted their moaning father and pointed to the wagon Rurik had been driving.

“Let’s get him in the wagon and back to the house,” Leo instructed.

Again the men worked as a team, each instinctively knowing what needed to be done. The exception was the one busy with the now-calmer team, leading the two large beasts to an area away from the other horses.

Leo continued barking out orders. “Rurik, you ride in the wagon with my father. Tobe, Flynn—help Merrill get the teams in. Zadoc, you come with me. I’ll probably need your help carrying Father into the house.”

No one questioned the man, but went quickly to work. Bogart Krause moaned from his injuries, but attempted to protest that he was fine as they made their way back to the house.

“I’m sure it’s just sore ribs and such,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nothing feels broken.”

“Just the same, it’s best that you get back and let the doctor look you over,” Rurik countered.

Inside the house, Rurik helped Leo and Zadoc make their father more comfortable. With great care he unlaced the older man’s boots and pulled them from his feet while Leo checked his father for broken bones. It wasn’t long before the last of the brothers joined them, the one Leo had called Merrill.

Rurik was stunned, as this one began to shed layers of protective garments, to discover that this sibling was not a man at all, but a woman. A beautiful woman with soulful eyes that held great concern for her wounded father. She gave Rurik a brief nod and pulled a knit cap from her head. Long, dark curls fell about her shoulders and down her back. Rurik had a strange urge to run his fingers down the wild mane, but of course did nothing of the kind. Merrill didn’t seem to notice the effect she had on him.

“Father, how are you feeling?” she asked, bending over him.

“I’m all right, daughter. You’re all making too much of a fuss.”

“I’d wager your body is saying otherwise.” She raised his shirt and carefully began to run her fingers over the man’s chest and ribs. “Are you breathing all right? Does anything feel broken?”

“Nothing’s damaged but my pride,” the older man muttered. “Now stop fussing.” He struggled to sit up, but gasped and laid down again. “It’s . . . my back,” he said, looking at Merrill with a bewildered expression.

She nodded. “You boys get Father in bed, and I’ll bring him something for the pain.”

After some time, Merrill determined that her father’s back was only strained and that the horses had done little damage overall. Bogart Krause tried to argue with his daughter when she demanded he stay in bed, but Rurik got the distinct impression he wasn’t trying all that hard to fight her.

The Krause brothers insisted Rurik stay for supper, and when the meal was finally presented, he found that his appetite wouldn’t have let him leave even if he’d wanted to. He sat between Flynn and Zadoc and marveled at the thick meatballs and gravy covering mounds of mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. He’d never eaten such a combination before but found the variety of flavors to be quite complementary. Added to this were buttery rolls the likes of which Rurik had never tasted—light and just a touch sweet. It looked like Merrill had prepared much of it ahead of time and finished it up after working the ice harvest all day and taking care of her injured father to boot!

Merrill checked on her father from time to time and took him additional food, but otherwise she seemed content to let her brothers do all the talking. Rurik answered their questions about his work with furniture and his plans for the future, but all the while he kept his eyes on the young woman, hoping no one would notice. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Even his own sisters . . . the women in Rurik’s life, with exception of Svea, had all been strong, industrious workers. But Merrill seemed to outshine them all. Rurik couldn’t imagine the woman ever sat idle.

After the meal Rurik helped to pick up the dishes while Merrill’s brothers excused themselves to see to chores. Following Merrill into the kitchen, Rurik immediately noticed the painted cabinetry.

“This is quite beautiful,” he said, placing a stack of dishes by the sink. The cupboards were painted a powdery blue and trimmed in white. The white borders had been carefully decorated with colorful flowers and entwining green vines. “May I ask who painted the cupboards?”

“I did,” Merrill answered as she poured hot water from the kettle into the basin.

“You’re very talented, Miss Krause.”

“Call me Merrill, and thank you,” she said, placing the cutlery and plates in the water to soak. “My mother taught me. She loved to paint, and I do, too.”

Rurik made his way to a pie safe. On the doors, Merrill had created pastoral scenes for each of the four seasons. “This is charming. I think it would be a wonderful thing to offer on the furniture my uncle Carl builds. I can imagine women all over the country enjoying such a piece.” He looked back at Merrill for her response.

She shrugged. “It’s something I do to feel close to my mother. She died when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Merrill. It couldn’t have been easy growing up without any womenfolk around.”

“It’s worked out well enough.” She shrugged. “Would you like to see a dresser my mother painted?”

He smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

She picked up a lamp and led the way into a small room
off the main hallway. “She did that green piece right under the window.” She crossed the room and placed the lamp atop the dresser. “She was considerably more talented than I.”

“Not from what I’m seeing here. I easily note the same remarkable traits. You’re both gifted.”

Merrill smiled. “Thank you.”

He again was struck by her expressive face, particularly her eyes.

She seemed embarrassed by his praise, so Rurik said nothing more about her artistry. But in the back of his mind he was already making plans to speak to his uncle. It was entirely possible that Miss Krause could be a great asset to them. Painted furniture was popular, and Rurik knew there was nothing like it at the Jorgenson Furniture shops.

Smiling to himself, he followed Merrill back to the kitchen. He picked up a towel and began to dry the dishes as she washed them, and considered how he might go about convincing his uncle.

Sundays were a mixed blessing to Merrill. She always worked hard the day before to prepare food for the dinner they would enjoy after services. This allowed her more freedom after church, and that afternoon, her single bit of time off for the week, could be spent in more leisurely activities. But Sunday also represented the frustration of putting on a smile and pretending she fit in with the other young women of the congregation. Merrill knew she was sometimes the talk of the town because of the manner in which she labored and dressed. Granny had once told her that church attendance wasn’t about her clothes or finery; church was meant for fellowship, study, and encouragement. Even so, Merrill knew that many of the women measured one’s worth by the fashions worn or one’s manners or other things that were neither of interest nor importance to her.

“We’d best not dawdle,” her father instructed, pulling the wagon alongside the church. “Else we’ll be late again.”

He helped Merrill down and smiled. “You look lovely today, Merrill Jean.”

She smiled back. “Thank you, Father. The bonnet is a new one Granny Lassiter made for me.”

“Well, it’s a doozy,” he said with a grin.

“That’s the one she wears to help with foaling,” her brother Zadoc added with a wink.

Merrill rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. Granny made me try it on at just the wrong time.”

“I think it looks mighty good,” her father said. “You look like a fine lady.”

“I feel like a pig dressed up for the fair,” she murmured, unsure that her father would understand her words. She recalled Granny’s comments about the hat and couldn’t help but add, “A pig in a poke . . . bonnet.”

“What was that?” her father asked.

Shaking her head, Merrill hooked her arm through his. “Nothing of importance.”

They made their way into church just as the organist began to play. Merrill wasn’t surprised to see Rurik and his uncle in the pew just ahead of them, where Carl Jorgenson generally sat.

Merrill took her place between her father and Zadoc and quickly shed her coat. She adjusted the green scarf at her neck and smoothed the lines of her plum wool dress, hoping that she looked better than she imagined. Her hair had been so uncooperative that morning that she had been more than glad to hide it beneath Granny’s bonnet.

The congregation rose to sing a hymn, and Merrill found herself standing directly behind Rurik Jorgenson. His towering height reminded her of her own brothers. None of
her family was under six foot three, with herself the only exception. Rurik was every bit that tall. His golden brown hair had been combed neatly and parted to one side, and he wore a nicely fitting blue suit that Merrill imagined drew out the color of his eyes.

They sat again while a male soloist offered a hymn of adoration. Merrill’s mind, however, was not on the words about God’s goodness. She tried to keep focused on the Lord, but her eyes kept drawing her attention back to Rurik.

She liked the look of his broad shoulders and remembered him helping her clear the table the day of the ice harvest. He had taken off his coat, and his muscles had strained against the white fabric of his cotton shirt while he dried the dishes for her. Though she’d seen her brothers in various states of undress, this sight had felt surprisingly intimate.

The solo ended, and Merrill bowed her head with the others as the pastor led the congregation in prayer. Yet she still found it hard to think about anything but the man sitting in front of her.

Throughout the rituals and the sermon, Merrill tried to focus on God’s Word and the pastor’s sermon, but thoughts of Rurik continued to steal her attention.

After the service ended, Rurik and his uncle turned her way, and Merrill feared her face might betray her thoughts. She nodded and glanced down the aisle, hoping she might simply slip out of the church without having to say anything. It was not to be.

“You certainly look different today,” Rurik said with a smile. “I must say you are quite fetching, Miss Krause.”

Merrill felt her face grow hot. “Ah, thank you.”

“We get her in a dress from time to time,” her father said with a chuckle. “And isn’t that a nice new bonnet?”

Zadoc leaned over. “She’s only worn it once before.”

Merrill elbowed him hard, but that only made her teasing brother laugh.

Carl was the next one to speak, however. “It is indeed a lovely thing, Miss Merrill, and you are as pretty as they come.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson.” Hoping to steer the conversation to something other than herself, she said, “How are you set for cookies? I baked several batches yesterday and would be happy to bring you some.”

“I would like that. No one bakes quite as well as you,” Carl said in a lower voice. “I don’t want to offend any of the other ladies, however. They might stop bringing me treats.”

Merrill smiled. “No worries. It’s our secret. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

“Why not have Carl and Rurik join us for lunch today,” her father said, “and then they can take them home with them.”

Merrill tried to hide her surprise at her father’s unexpected invitation. “That would be . . . wonderful.”

“How about it, Carl? Can you follow us home for dinner?”

“Ja, I think we can.” He looked to Rurik. “What say you?”

“I’ve had Miss Merrill’s cooking once before. I’d certainly enjoy another round,” Rurik said, rubbing his hands together in obvious pleasure and glancing her way.

Merrill felt a tremor go through her and quickly looked away. “That sounds . . . good. I have more than enough warming for us.”

“It’s settled, then,” Bogart Krause announced. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Basil.”

“And I have some folks to introduce you to,” Carl said to Rurik. “Miss Merrill, if you’ll pardon us.”

“Of course,” she said, glad they were leaving before she might make an utter fool of herself. Her brothers were off speaking to friends, so Merrill began to pull on her coat.

“Did you meet him?”

Merrill turned to find Corabeth at her side. “Meet whom?”

Corabeth glanced around as if trying to keep her comments secret. “Mr. Jorgenson’s nephew, of course.”

“Yes, he came to help with ice harvesting the other day. He and his uncle are joining us for lunch.”

“I met him when Granny and I went to take Carl some food. I found him rather . . . I don’t know . . . startling. Granny had him to dinner and I thought he was very stern.”

Merrill frowned. “Rurik Jorgenson?”

“Well, maybe not stern. He was friendly enough.” She looked confused. “He just . . . well . . . he seems rather bold—imposing,” Corabeth replied. “And he’s so tall.”

“No taller than my brothers,” Merrill said with a laugh. “And, Corabeth, I seem to recall that the height of one brother in particular doesn’t bother you in the least.”

Corabeth blushed. “Zadoc is much more mild mannered. I think Mr. Jorgenson might be rather . . . well, like I said . . . bold.”

Merrill laughed again. “Mr. Jorgenson is perfectly well mannered and kind. I like him very much.” Corabeth gave her a raised eyebrow at this declaration, but Merrill was
unconcerned. “So what do you think?” She waved her hand from the top of her bonnet and down past her gown. “Does the bonnet suit the gown as well as you hoped?”

“Oh, that and more. Granny and I were commenting on it during service. We think you look quite elegant.”

“What a relief. I’m glad to have met with your approval,” Merrill said in a teasing tone. “The bonnet was a blessing this morning. My hair refused to do anything I wanted it to, so I finally gave up, knotted it, and tucked it under the hat.”

“Maybe you should wear more bonnets,” Corabeth suggested. “You look nice, the way your hair is curled around the edges of the bonnet. It’s as though you planned it that way.”

Just then Zadoc walked up and nodded toward the young woman. “Miss Corabeth.” He turned to Merrill. “Father said not to keep us waiting too long, since we’re putting on dinner for the Jorgenson men.”

“I’ll be right there.” She looked at Corabeth and then to Zadoc. “Don’t you think Corabeth looks pretty in her new dress?”

Zadoc looked down at the gown and nodded his agreement. “Fits you like a good saddle. I always did like blue.”

Corabeth seemed to glow under his admiration, and Merrill couldn’t help but smile. “It matches her eyes, don’t you think?”

Zadoc narrowed his gaze and leaned closer. “Yup. Looks to be the same color.”

Merrill lifted her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Her brothers could all do with some lessons when it came to courting
women. If their mother had lived, they no doubt would have learned to handle themselves in a different fashion.

“So you coming?” Zadoc asked his sister.

Merrill nodded. “I will speak with you later, Corabeth.” She leaned over to hug her friend. “Do come for a visit when time permits.”

Once they were outside, Merrill turned to her brother. “Zadoc, you really are so clueless sometimes.”

He threw her a puzzled look, his lips drawn down. “What are you talking about?”

“The same thing I’ve been hinting to you for months. But now I’m going to just come right out with it. You know that Corabeth is sweet on you. I happen to think you like her, too. She’s hoping you’ll ask her to next month’s church party.”

Zadoc looked at her with a blank expression for a moment. It wasn’t long, however, before his face lit up with a cocky grin. “She’s sweet on me, eh?”

Merrill sighed. “Forget I said anything. If my brothers are too dim-witted to know when a girl likes them, then they deserve to be bachelors.”

She reached the wagon, where her father took her arm and guided her into the seat beside him. Zadoc joined his brothers in the back.

“Guess what?” Merrill heard Zadoc exclaim. “Corabeth Lassiter likes me.”

Merrill rolled her gaze toward heaven as her father put the team in motion.
Lord
, she prayed,
you’ve got your hands full with that one. Help him to not miss out on what you have in mind for him
.
And maybe for Corabeth
.

Rurik had figured the Sunday meal would be a simple affair, but he was pleased to discover an overflowing smorgasbord of food. Apparently Merrill Krause had prepared the meal the day before. There were dishes he recognized and some he didn’t, but he was eager to try them all.

“Merrill is the best cook in the state,” Carl told him. “She wins at the fair all the time.”

“Oh, you can stop that now, Mr. Jorgenson,” Merrill admonished. “Otherwise your nephew will come to expect far too much.” She positioned a bowl of green beans and
spaetzle
on the table and took her seat.

Mr. Krause bowed his head and spoke what Rurik presumed was a prayer. He didn’t understand the German words, however.

“
Komm, Herr Jesu; sei du unser Gast, und segne, was du uns bescheret hast. Amen
.”

Merrill Krause quickly interpreted, “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and bless what you have bestowed. Amen.”

“Amen,” Rurik murmured.

“My father sometimes forgets that not everyone speaks German,” she explained with a smile.

“Just like my family with Swedish,” he replied.

“Ja, we sometimes still talk in the old language, don’t we, Rurik?” his uncle asked in that typical Scandinavian cadence.

“We do. I like to keep the language familiar,” he said. “I’m sure there are many similarities between Swedish and German.”

“Ja,” Merrill replied, and she smiled again.

The bowls and platters were passed around the table, and Rurik found himself enjoying a most pleasant lesson in German cuisine. There were dishes that he hoped to have again soon, and some that he was less enthusiastic about. By the time Merrill brought apple strudel and whipped cream to the table, Rurik thought it would be impossible to eat another bite.

He found himself to be wrong on that count, however. The warm apple dessert all but melted in his mouth, a buttery richness that made him long for more. When the meal concluded, he was almost embarrassed to admit he’d had two helpings and would have taken a third had the platter not been empty.

“Goodness, but I don’t know when I’ve had such a fine meal,” Carl declared. “Merrill, I don’t know if I’ve told you this or not, but your strudel is my favorite dessert. I like it better than anything else.”