Dandelions on the Wind (12 page)

“I saw her just a few weeks ago, and she hadn’t yet had her baby. Is she well?”

“Yes. A baby girl.”

His silence told her he was battling old regrets.

“You’re here now.” She squeezed his hand.

He nodded and gave her one of his knee-weakening smiles.

“She said they plan to take a wagon to California in the spring.”

“That’s curious.” He cocked his head. “I received an interesting letter from a childhood friend today who talked about going west.” After stuffing his cap in his pocket, he cupped her elbow and guided her over the threshold toward the dining room. “I’ll tell you about his writings when we’ve settled at our table.”

Seated across from her, Rutherford glanced at the menu board on the wall behind her. “I think I’ll have the venison stew.”

“And one for me as well.”

A woman with a thick braid over one shoulder returned with two coffee mugs, and Rutherford placed their order. When she walked away, he pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Garrett Cowlishaw and I were in school together in Virginia. Swam. Fished. Hunted. His mother called us inseparable. That is, until I left at sixteen to make a fresh start in Missouri.”

“That would’ve been right after your parents died.”

He nodded. “Within the month. My uncle soon turned to the flask.”

“You seem to have received more than your share of sorrow.”

“I’ve seen many who have suffered far worse.”

Maren remembered the little Indian girl he spoke of who had lost her entire family.

Rutherford unfurled the piece of stationery like a flag and, leaning forward, began to read.

My dear loyal friend
,

I truly regret the unforgivable length of time that has passed since my last word to you. We have but the war to blame. And as your new home, Missouri, was confounded in her loyalties to the Confederacy, I am most grateful not to have met up with you in the fields
.

I hope these pen strokes find you and your family well
.

Rutherford lowered the letter and reached for his cup. After a long gulp, he continued reading.

In the spirit of our lasting friendship, I feel bound to inform you of my impending visit to your fair city. I received communication from Mr. John Joseph Mathews with an invitation to command a caravan of wagons to California
.

“Garrett was a scout on two caravans west before the war.”

“He sounds like an independent fellow.”

Rutherford nodded, bobbing the brown curls at his ears. “He is without a wife or other encumbrance.”

My old friend, you will soon have the pleasure to look upon my face again
.

In all sincerity
,

Garrett Cowlishaw

Maren’s stomach knotted. Now that Rutherford had heard from his dear friend of the expedition headed west, would he too sense a call to adventure? She knew what it was like to set off for the unknown, albeit on a ship rather than in a covered wagon, and the feeling was no doubt the same—that of a dandelion on the wind.

Sixteen

T
hursday morning, Rutherford lay awake the last two or three hours before dawn sorting through various memories of his times with Maren. Their conversation at The Western House Inn occupied his thoughts. Specifically, Garrett’s letter and Mary Alice Brenner’s talk of going west. Thus far, the idea of moving to Oregon or California had been a phantom impulse that he’d refused to entertain. But now that a caravan would be leaving from Saint Charles in a matter of months, the thought swirled in discord with his affection for Maren and the promise of settling down. What if he wanted to go and Maren didn’t want to?

After he dressed, he took his Bible from the bedside table on his way out the door. The brisk morning air soon chased away any remnants of sleepiness. The sun streaked the sky with stripes of reds and oranges, stretching its light across the top of the orchard like a crown.

At the creek bank, Rutherford settled on the log he’d first come to with Gretchen more than six years ago. That was when the thought of leaving the farm or Missouri hadn’t yet crossed his mind. That was before the Union and the Confederacy declared war. Long before his future wife drew her last breath. He glanced at the Bible in his hands and flipped it open to the book of Psalms. He’d spent a lot of time there during the war, commiserating with King David and learning that he wasn’t in charge.

How sweet are thy words unto my taste! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth! … Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.

Maren didn’t depend upon sight to guide her. The day would come, perhaps soon, when her eyes would fail her completely. And yet Maren trusted God to light her path, to show her the way and guide her. One step leading to the next, despite the path’s hazy unevenness.

Rutherford heaved a sigh. He’d mapped his own course and placed his faith in it, until his life took a fork in the road he wasn’t prepared to navigate.

Lord, forgive me. I want to have the kind of faith Maren has. I want to walk this earth by faith, not in dependence upon my sight or on my own strength
.

Wiping his eyes dry, he turned to the book of Proverbs.

Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Be not wise in thine own eyes.

Rutherford set his Bible on the log and picked up a twig. His own understanding certainly couldn’t be trusted. He needed to trust his past, his present, and his future to what PaPa Christoph referred to as “God’s supreme knowing.”

He studied the shimmers on the rippling waters and rolled the twig between his hands. “I loved you, Gretchen. I always will, but—”

But what? His insides quivering, he fought to draw in a deep breath.

“You’re gone. Not coming back to me. And I trust God’s plan—His future for me.”

Rutherford watched a squirrel scamper up a nearby linden tree. Then he stood and walked to the shore.

“You’d like Maren.” He twirled the twig in his fingers. “She plays the flute. She is kind and cheerful. She loves your mother and our little girl. And she sees more in people than most folks with full sight. I love Maren.” There, he’d admitted it.

God had shined His light on the path. He’d led him back to Mother Brantenberg and to his precious daughter, Gabi, to Maren Jensen, and to a future he hadn’t dreamed of. He was ready to follow, wherever the path may lead.

Maren would be at the house this morning. She and Hattie Pemberton had been coming early on Thursdays to help Mother Brantenberg prepare the food for the quilting circle. It would be a good time to let Maren know his intentions.

After completing the chores and apologizing to Bootsie once again, he carried the egg basket and milk bucket toward the house. Stepping onto the brick walkway, he caught sight of the Pemberton’s wagon turning onto the lane. He set his load on the step and headed out front. His pulse raced as he quickened his steps to meet them. Instead of Maren and Hattie sitting on the backseat, Hattie was seated in the front beside her mother.

He waved and the wagon pulled to a stop beside him.

“Ladies.” He stared at the back of the wagon as if he could will Maren to be there. “Good day, Woolly.”

Hattie lifted the generous brim of her pumpkin-colored hat. “I’m sorry to inform you that Maren is unable to join us today. Mr. Heinrich took sick in the night and needed Maren and Emilie to work in the store.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Both that Johann was ill, and that Maren wasn’t here. “Does he require a doctor?”

“Emilie said he was suffering from exhaustion and needed bedrest.” Hattie pulled a folded sheet of paper from her skirt pocket. “Maren sent a note for you.”

“Thank you.” He unfolded the note.

Dearest Rutherford
,

I regret not being able to see you today, to walk beside you in the orchard. I am needed here at the store and must remain. I will look forward to seeing you in town Saturday. Until then
.

Sincerely
,

Maren

Now that he’d accepted the depth of his feelings for Maren, he couldn’t possibly wait until Saturday to speak with her.

***

Harvest season had begun, and it seemed most farmers had chosen today to bring in their goods, both raw and canned, carried in baskets, sacks, or crocks. Emilie served as the clerk for the dry goods while Maren managed the grocery side. She had filled five barrels with green beans, onions, carrots, eggplant, winter squash, figs, and beets.

She gathered the strips of butcher paper used to list out the credit vouchers, then looked up. Rutherford walked toward her, waving in broad strokes. He knew of her failing sight, and had adapted to it quickly and graciously.

As he approached the worktable, he removed his cap and tucked it into his pocket.

“You read my note?”

“Yes, Miss Hattie delivered it with finesse.” He raised his hands, forming a wide bonnet brim, and bounced his head.

Maren giggled.

Rutherford glanced toward Emilie, who stood at the yard goods table with a customer. “How is Johann feeling?”

“Better, I believe. About an hour ago Emilie went upstairs to check on him and said he was sitting in his chair, reading.”

“Good. Can’t keep a good man down.”

She was looking at one now. “You’re a good man.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” He leaned over the table slightly, close enough for her to see the shine in his brown eyes. “It’s the company I keep.”

She drew in a deep breath to still the flutters in her stomach.

“Can we talk for just a moment? Privately?” He nodded toward the back door.

Her mouth suddenly dry, Maren moistened her lips and glanced at the customers milling about. “Let me ask Emilie.” She carried the papers to the dry goods counter, then received Emilie’s blessing for a short break.

***

Standing on the lawn at the bottom of the back steps, Rutherford looked out toward the Missouri then back at her. “The Lord has been so good to me. I’ve only been back for six weeks, and I’ve already been so blessed with sweet times with family and friends.”

He reached for her hand, sending the familiar shiver up her spine.

“That first night after you had returned home, in her bedtime prayers, Gabi thanked God for you. She adores you.”
And I love you
.

After Orvie’s rejection, Maren never expected to give her heart away, but Rutherford Wainwright had surely captured it.

He held her hand up between them. “Gabi loves you, Maren. And so do I.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Had she heard him right, or was her hearing playing tricks on her too?

He drew in a deep breath, and, dropping to one knee in the grass, he enfolded her hands in his. “Until I got to know you, I never would’ve believed it possible that I could love again. But I love you, Maren.”

And, oh, how she loved this man! Tears of joy spilled onto her cheeks. “I love you too, Rutherford.”

“I know you’ve had plans to return to your family in Denmark. Would you consider a plan that would bring them to America instead?”

“Gladly.”

“Maren, my beloved, will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

“Yes!”

Rutherford’s smile promised forever as he stood close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her face. He rested his hand on her cheek, then brushed her lips with his.

The kiss sent shivers down her arms.

After a moment, he looked into her eyes, his own brimming with tears. “God has surely shed light on my path.”

“And on mine.” Maren smiled at the man who would become her husband. “I don’t want this moment to end, but—”

“It must for now. Emilie needs your help.”

She nodded.

“I’ll return this afternoon. A walk along the river?”

“Yes.” As she opened the door, she turned for another glimpse of the man with the brown woolly hair and thanked God for a time to love.

D
ANISH
G
LOSSARY

Fader
—Father

Moder
—Mother

Takke
—Thank you

G
ERMAN
G
LOSSARY

Bleiben sie ich zurück
—Stay behind me

Brötchen
—Bread

Danke
—Thank you

Der apfel fällt nicht weit vom stamm
—The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

Geteiltes leid ist halbes leid
—Trouble shared is trouble halved

Gleich und gleich gesellt sich gern
—Birds of a feather flock together

Güt morgen
—Good morning

Herzlich grüße
(the
ß
is pronounced as a double s)—Friendliest greetings or warm wishes

Hunger ist der beste koch
—Hunger is the best cook.

Johann
(the
J
is pronounced as a
Y
)—John

Liebling
—Little one, little darling

Meine
—Mine, my

Mutter
—Mother

Oma
—Grandmother

PaPa
—Father

Schnitzel
—A breaded cutlet dish

Tochter
—Daughter

Unsinnig
—Nonsensical

Willkommen
—You’re welcome

Author’s Note

The Historic Main Street District of Saint Charles, Missouri, charmed me during my first visit in 1999. My return in 2012 deepened my fascination with its rich historical past and modern-day charm.