Bending Toward the Sun (9 page)

“Amen.” Emilie spread her napkin on her lap.

“Did you have a good time with your friends this morning?” PaPa looked a little better today, his eyes brighter.

“I did.” Emilie scooped a potato cake and a schnitzel onto PaPa’s plate, then onto hers.

“That’s good.” PaPa cut into his schnitzel. “The widow Brantenberg and her family deserve a bit of happiness, with all they’ve been through.”

“
Ja
. Maren and Mrs. Brantenberg are enjoying planning the wedding.” Emilie reached for her glass and sipped water. “Who won the checkers game?”

“Games. Six of them. Owen won a game. Oliver won two games. And your dear
Vater
won three.”

“Good for you. Sounds like you had a good day.”

“I did.”

“Thank you for giving Maren and me time off today. She found a couple of dresses she really liked.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” PaPa raised his fork to his mouth.

Emilie took another sip of water. “I saw Quaid today.”

He bit off a hunk of bread, looking everywhere but at her.

“For some reason, he seemed in a hurry to get away from me.”

“Oh?” He gulped coffee.

“I found it puzzling. At first, he looked happy to see me. Then he glanced this way and made an excuse to take his leave in haste.”

Studying his plate, PaPa moved the food around with his fork.

“PaPa?”

He raised his head.

With PaPa feeling better today, there was no reason not to ask him if he’d said something to Quaid while they unloaded the wagon. “What did you say to Quaid?”

He straightened in his chair. “I told him you were completing your education.”

“Did you forbid him to see me?”

“No.”

Emilie crossed and uncrossed her arms, refusing to look away.

“I asked him not to encourage your affections.”

She gripped the seat of her chair. “How
could
you?”

“It’s my duty to protect you.”

She leaned on the table. “And what will become of me when you’re gone? Will I be trusted then to know what is best for me? And what of God, that you need to do His job?”

Her hands shook. She’d never spoken to her father that way. Why wasn’t he yelling at her, defending his right to choose her companions? At the very least she expected a hefty scolding for disrespecting her elder. But he didn’t have to reprimand her.

The knots in her insides were discipline enough for speaking to him in such an insolent manner.

She looked across the table. PaPa sat still, his hands cupping his coffee mug. “I’m sorry, PaPa. I know I’m all you have.”

Sadness rimmed his eyes.

Emilie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “It’s good this happened.” She made a show of smoothing the napkin over her lap. “Anyone who could give up on me so easily isn’t a true friend, after all. Quaid’s avoidance of me is a sure sign he didn’t care about me in the first place.”

Eleven

T
he new lumber still lay in the wagon as Quaid carried two cups of coffee to his father’s office. Quaid had been greasing hubs ever since his return from the lumber mill. He didn’t trust himself with a saw right now.

He stepped through the open door. His father sat at his desk, bent over a ledger. “You’ve been chewin’ on the bookwork all afternoon?”

Chuckling, Father waved him toward the desk. “Mostly. I’m hoping one of your sisters’ll take to working sums. And soon.”

He remembered that Emilie did her father’s bookwork. There wasn’t much lately that didn’t bring her to mind. Quaid set a cup at his father’s right hand. “Thought coffee might help.”

“Might not help with the numbers, but it’ll warm me insides.” Smiling, Father nodded for Quaid to sit across from him.

“You’re a hard worker, Son. Glad you came back to be part of the business.”

“Thank you. I’m enjoying makin’ the rounds and catchin’ up with everybody.”

Father lowered his cup. “I’m proud of you.”

Quaid swallowed the lump of emotion forming in his throat. “What for?”

“For one, letting me make the deliveries to Heinrich’s. I’m proud of you for honoring his request, even though it’s a difficult one.”

“I saw Emilie in town today.”

“Aaah.” Father sat straight.

Quaid gulped strong coffee. “I greeted her and her friends, then made an excuse to leave. One of the hardest things I’ve had to do.”

“I can’t think of one thing worth havin’ that’s easy to come by. Not freedom. Not land. Not love.” He rested his forearms on the desk. “If that’s what you’re feelin’.”

“Emilie makes me smile more than I ever did. It hurts not to be able to spend time with her.”

Father looked past him and stood. “Miss Heinrich.”

Quaid rose from the chair, nearly upsetting it. Emilie stood in the doorway dressed like an angel in a dress the color of peaches and cream. A dainty reticule hung from her gloved wrist.

“Mr. McFarland. Please forgive my intrusion … I need to speak to your son.”

“Of course.” Holding his coffee mug, Father made a quick exit, pulling the door shut behind him.

Emilie looked at her gloved hands.

“This isn’t a comfortable place for a conversation. But would you care to be seated?” Quaid pointed to the desk chair.

“It’s an uncomfortable topic.” When she finally met his gaze, he saw a thunderstorm brewing in her eyes. “I’ll stand. Thank you.”

This was his first encounter with Emilie’s matter-of-fact tone, and he didn’t like it. He hated hurting her. Of course she was angry with him. They had been friends growing closer, but lately he’d been avoiding her, practically shunned her this morning.

“I’m sorry we weren’t able to talk earlier.”

Even her sigh charmed him.

“Weren’t able?” She pressed a gloved hand to a cabinet as if to brace herself. “If we were on Main Street now, in my father’s line of sight, would you not run from me again?”

“You talked to him?”

“I had made such a fuss over the dollhouse that day I thought maybe you had decided I was still a child. But it was after you spoke to my father that everything changed between us. When I saw you this morning, I knew my father had interfered. At lunch, he finally confessed that he’d asked you to stay away from me.”

Not to interfere with your education. Not to encourage your affections
. “I’m sorry.”

Squaring her shoulders, she stood straight. “No, I’m sorry you’re not the man I thought you were.”

She couldn’t have stunned him more if she slapped him. He blew out a long breath.

“The man I thought you were wouldn’t cower … wouldn’t abandon someone. Not someone he truly cared for.”

He took deliberate strides toward her. When he’d closed the gap between them, he cupped her elbows, wishing her shawl was anywhere else. Her breath warm on his face, he lowered his lips to hers. Soft lips. Welcoming lips. He made himself take a step backward, still holding her arms. Now, the lightning in her eyes was on his side.

“Does that feel like the kiss of a man who doesn’t care for you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not the man you thought I was if you thought I could toss proprieties aside, show no respect for your father, and risk damaging your relationship with him.”

Tears brimmed her eyes.

“Like you, Emilie, I value family, and your father—”

“Is all I have.” Her voice quivered, and his heart ached. He wanted to take her in his arms and make promises, say she had him too. But he couldn’t.

“My mother told me not to chase my feelings, but to make them follow me.”

A tear rolled from her bottom eyelid onto her creamy cheek. Bending forward, he wiped it away with his thumb.

“I can’t trust my feelings if they mean I can’t be true to myself … who I am deep inside.”

More tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she pulled a handkerchief from her reticule. “I like your mother.”

“Are you sorry I kissed you?”

“No.” Strength had returned to her voice. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re a woman of faith.”

“I try to be. Yes.”

“Do you believe God could change your father’s heart toward me … toward us?”

“I want to believe it.”

“Then you need to trust me. More important, you need to trust God.”

Her lips tight, Emilie nodded, then walked to the door.

Leaning on the office doorframe, he watched her walk past the wagons toward the door open to the street.

“God, help me trust You. I love her.”

Emilie sat in the armchair in her bedchamber. The light from her candle lantern cast a faint glow on the journal she held. Her Bible lay open on the small table beside her. Quaid’s mother was a wise woman, and her son, a wise man. A man who seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And he’d been right; it would break her heart to go against her father. Quaid had refused to ask her to choose.

He was willing to wait.

Had he known she’d heard his prayer and confession of love for her, waiting would have been unspeakable. She’d felt the impatience in Quaid’s tender, but certain kiss. She’d forced herself to maintain her gait until she left the freight house and rounded the corner.

Quaid had done the right thing giving credence to PaPa’s concerns. She needed to follow his example—to honor her father.

Opening her door, she breathed a prayer for God’s grace and the right words. Her father sat in his favorite chair in the sitting room, his nose in a newspaper.

“PaPa.”

He lowered the paper and peered over his wire-rimmed spectacles. “I thought you had retired for the night.”

“I thought so too. I’ve been reading and writing in my journal.” Light from the lantern on the wall above him showed the bald spot at the back of his head. Until recently, he’d seemed ageless. “I went to see Quaid this afternoon.”

“I suspected as much.” He laid the newspaper on his lap.

“I know you don’t want me to see Quaid. I know you think you need to protect me from him.” She clasped her hands. “You should also know that despite his affections for me, Quaid intends to honor your request that he stay away from me.”

He hadn’t done as well with not encouraging her affections, but it wasn’t for lack of effort.

PaPa didn’t respond, so she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, PaPa.” The weight from her shoulders lifted, Emilie walked away. She pressed her hand to her lips and returned to her bedchamber, prepared for sweet dreams.

Twelve

W
ednesday morning, Quaid loaded the last of the railing into the wagon and climbed onto the seat. He’d worked in his woodshop every spare minute since Saturday. Not seeing Emilie hadn’t been easy, but knowing she understood the separation made the avoidance more bearable.

“Let’s go, boys.” A little flick of the reins, and the horses headed to Main Street. Heinrich’s store was out of the way, but they’d received a small shipment. Since this was a school day for Emilie, Quaid had agreed to make the delivery.

He reined the horses to a stop at the storeroom door and climbed from the wagon. He’d only knocked twice when the door swung open.

“McFarland?”

Quaid shook Mr. Heinrich’s hand.

He studied the full wagon. “My daughter ordered all of that?”

Quaid chuckled. “No. Just a barrel of nails and a cask of medicinal in your delivery.”

Mr. Heinrich walked to the wagon. “And this woodwork?”

“That’s the new railing I made for Owen and Oliver’s boat. I’m on my way to install it.”

“I remember them telling me about that over a game of checkers.” Mr. Heinrich ran his hand across the lacquered beam. “S’pose I knew you’d done woodworking, but didn’t realize you were so talented.”

Not Emilie’s exact wording, but the same sentiment.

“Thank you.” Quaid leaned against the tailgate. “With all due respect, sir, I think there’s a lot about me that would be a pleasant surprise.”

Mr. Heinrich smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. Emilie told me you practically ran from her on Saturday. Thank you for honoring my wishes.”

Quaid nodded. “Later, she came to see me at my father’s office.”

“She told me that, also, and what you told her about doing the right thing by me.”

“One of the hardest things I’ve ever been asked to do. I care deeply for your daughter.”

Mr. Heinrich turned toward the wagon. “You get the barrel. I’ll get the cask.”

Quaid wasn’t sure what had just happened here, but he felt good about it. Trusting God had brought him peace.