Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) (33 page)

Chapter 2

Arnie Thoresen smiled contentedly at his pleasant wife, his
healthy young sons, and his cousin, Joy, who had just arrived in Omaha. They were finishing lunch outdoors at a sidewalk café, and it was a very lovely
late spring day. Arnie hadn’t seen his much younger cousin for more than two
years. He leaned back, relaxed and replete from the meal, and indulged in his
favorite pastime: people watching.

At almost 19 years old, Joy was proving herself to be a
charming, unspoiled young lady. She was tall for a woman but as slender and
supple as a willow branch. Her thick, white-blonde hair, inherited from her
Norwegian father, hung to her waist in a silken sheaf. She wore it more in the
mode of the last century than in the manner of a modern woman of the 1900s.
Arnie liked that immensely.

Joy’s father and Arnie’s father had been brothers. Arnie,
compared to Joy, was also tall but broad rather than lean, and he sported a
shaggy head of dark-blond hair. Unlike his brothers, who remained on the
family’s farm, Arnie had chosen to study law and establish a practice in the
city.

Arnie listened as Joy praised something Arnie’s older son
Petter said, her hand resting on Petter’s arm. It was obvious that both of his
boys were smitten with their second cousin.

Arnie grinned as Joy declared that Petter was “brilliant”
and the young man reddened in both embarrassment and delight. Petter’s little
brother, Willem, punched Petter under the table, and attempted to distract
Joy’s attention toward himself. Arnie and Anna exchanged amused glances.

Arnie’s hand was dangling over the arm of his chair when he
felt a warm, wet nose snuffle his hand. Startled, he momentarily jerked his
hand away and looked down into the soft brown eyes of a black-and-white border
collie. The dog nudged his hand again and Arnie rubbed between his ears.

“Arnie! It’s good to see you.”

Arnie turned to find the greeter. “Grant! The pleasure is
mine. How are you keeping?”

“Fine, fine; thank you for asking. I see Blackie found you.
He never forgets a friend.” Grant Michaels snapped a leash onto the dog and
nodded and smiled at the group. And then saw Joy Thoresen. And stared.

Joy stared right back, her lips slightly parted. Petter and
Willem looked from Grant to Joy and back and then glared. Arnie shook his head
and smothered a chuckle.

“Grant, I believe you know my wife, Anna?”

“Pleasure,” Grant muttered, still staring.

“And these are my sons, Petter and Willem.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Grant nodded in their general direction.

Petter and Willem’s eyes narrowed and drilled holes in
Grant.

“And this is my cousin, Joy Thoresen. She has just arrived
in Omaha and will be staying with us this summer. Joy, this is my good friend,
Grant Michaels.”

Grant reached across the table to gently shake Joy’s hand.
He smiled into her deep blue eyes.

Joy smiled back and said sweetly, “Won’t you join us, Mr.
Michaels?”

“I’m so sorry; I believe we’ve finished lunch and were just
leaving,” Petter stated flatly.

Willem added in an icy tone, “Yup. Too bad you can’t join us
’cause we’re a-leavin’.”

As if he hadn’t heard, Grant Michaels seated himself across
from Joy. Blackie laid himself down under Grant’s chair.

“How long have you had your dog, Mr. Michaels?” Joy asked.

“Blackie and I have been pals since he was a pup. He’s grown
now at five years old, and he is a good dog and loyal friend.”

Joy could not take her eyes off this new acquaintance. He
was a little taller than she was with a riot of dark brown hair curling around
his face and his laughing hazel eyes.

Such lovely hazel eyes . . .

Since Grant was both Arnie’s friend and business
acquaintance, conversation that day was uncomplicated and natural. On Sunday,
Joy spied Grant across the filled pews of Arnie and Anna’s little church. He
smiled and nodded at her and she found him lingering after the service to greet
the family. Of course, Anna invited him home for Sunday dinner.

Over the next several weeks, wherever the Thoresens happened
to be in town, Grant Michaels somehow also “happened” to be there. He happened
to meet them when he was walking Blackie, he spied them outside the milliners,
he encountered them in the library, he chanced upon them out at dinner. He and
Blackie became frequent dinner guests at Arnie and Anna’s. Before long he was
calling at their home for Joy, taking her on drives and to church functions.

She and Grant talked effortlessly about everything, and he
truly listened when Joy spoke. He was the only person she had ever shared her
whole heart with. He wanted to know everything about her; he plied her with
questions and she willingly responded.

She confided in him, “I come from a large family—only one
brother, but oh, so many cousins, nephews, nieces, and second cousins! We are
always teasing each other.”

“From the time I was a little girl I could do sums in my
head, quickly and effortlessly, even complicated ones. All my cousins, Arnie,
too, teased me and tried to set sums I couldn’t solve without pencil and paper.
It became a family pastime—‘see if we can stump Joy with this one’! But I could
always solve those sums, no matter how large or difficult.”

Grant was, of course, intrigued and had to try her also.
Then he was simply amazed as she rattled off the solutions to each problem he
set before her.

“I love our farm back in RiverBend. It is only a typical,
small Nebraska farm, but it was a wonderful place to grow up! Even so, Papa and
Mama knew how much I wanted to go to college.” She ducked her head modestly. “I
just finished my course of study at business college.”

Her papa and mama had realized that their daughter would
never be completely happy on a farm or teaching school. They had wisely sent
her to a small business college for women—still a new and audacious concept for
females in the year 1900. Joy had loved it and had thrived on every course of
study she undertook.

“No! You cannot be that old,” Grant teased.

Joy laughed back at him. “I went at 17, sir, and graduated
after less than two years. I now possess a thorough understanding of business
and accounting.”

“What! You intend to work, then?” He loved to see her eyes
spark when he teased her. Indeed, he was growing to love everything about this
woman.

“I do. Why, this is a new century! The world is changing. I
want to change with it,” Joy replied saucily. “Cousin Arnie doesn’t know it
yet, but I intend to convince him that he cannot get along without my skills in
his law office. So you see, kind sir, I have a plan.”

She just hadn’t planned on Grant Michaels!

Grant gently took Joy’s hand, and for some reason her heart
began to hammer in her chest, in her throat, in the tips of her fingers. “Dear
Joy . . .” he murmured softly. “I have a plan also, and I’m wondering . . .”

She looked up into his face, his curly hair framing those
lovely eyes and, with awe, saw love staring back at her. “You are wondering?”

“Yes, I’m wondering, dear Joy . . . if your
plan is also your dream.”

“My dream?” Oh, would her heart
please
stop choking
her!

“Yes, you see . . .
my
plan is also my
dream, the vision of my future that I believe the Lord has given me. It is the
dream I cannot live without. So . . . I’m wondering, you see, if
your plan is the dream
you
cannot live without. Because you see, my
dear, dear Joy Again Thoresen, you are absolutely essential to my dream.
Without you . . . well, you see, it wouldn’t be my dream any
longer. It would be merely a plan.”

“Oh!” Joy could not breathe, could not swallow.

“Dear Joy, will you marry me? I love you as I love my life.
I cannot have a dream, a future, in which you are not my heroine and partner
for life.”

Joy disintegrated into tears. Grant pulled her gently into
his arms and, with her face buried in the lapel of his suit coat, he caressed
and stroked her hair while whispering every endearment and vow of affection he
had stored up in his heart.

As her sobs finally eased, he lifted her face to his. “Does
this mean yes or no, my dearest?”

“Yeeees.” Joy squeaked at last.

He nodded solemnly. “So in the future, when you soak my suit
coat, shirt, and cravat with your tears, I’ll know you are inexpressibly
happy?” He was bursting with delight, but could not resist teasing her, if only
a little.

“Oh, Grant!” and Joy gladly surrendered to his arms again.

Of course Jan and Rose insisted on knowing every detail
about Grant Michaels. They traveled from RiverBend to Omaha and scrutinized him
from all possible angles, but Grant passed their inspections handily: He was,
of most importance, a man who truly loved God. In addition, he was showing
himself to be devoted to their daughter and to providing for a family. Grant
earned Jan and Rose’s respect and approval, and in every way he was all Joy
could want in a friend and husband.

Instead of the carefree summer she had anticipated, the next
two months were filled with wedding plans and preparations. Friends and family
showered Grant and Joy with good wishes and gifts to begin their lives
together.

They said their vows before the Lord on a Saturday in late
August, not long after Joy’s nineteenth birthday. The church they attended in
Omaha was overflowing with dear friends and family: Jan and Rose; Joy’s half
brother Søren, his wife Meg, and their five children; cousins Sigrün, Kjell,
and Karl and their families; dear friends (and Meg’s parents) Brian and Fiona
McKennie; and Pastor and Mrs. Medford, all who traveled from RiverBend to
attend the wedding.

One face sorely missed in the congregation that day was
Joy’s Aunt Amalie. She had gone home to the Lord three years before.

Arnie, Anna, Petter, Willem, and their church family in Omaha
also celebrated with them. And Joy’s dearest cousin Uli, her husband David
Kalbørg, and their three children traveled from their home in Colorado to share
Joy and Grant’s happy day.

While Grant had many friends in the community who attended
the wedding, he no longer had family other than two cousins who lived in Maryland. His parents and only sister had passed away when he was scarcely grown to
manhood.

At the altar Arnie stood up with Grant, and Uli stood up
with Joy. Although nine years separated the Uli and Joy, Joy had been the
little sister of Uli’s heart. Uli was Sigrün, Karl, Arnie, and Kjell’s baby
sister; their father, Jan’s brother Karl, had died before Uli was born, and Jan
had been the only father figure she had ever known.

When Jan and Rose married and had baby Joy, Uli had promptly
appropriated Joy as her own. Some of Joy’s earliest memories were of Uli
smiling over her cradle, reading to her, playing with her, and being everything
a big sister could be. When Uli married and moved away, Joy had been a
devastated little 10-year-old girl.

As the organ played, Joy floated down the aisle on her
papa’s arm. Happy tears trickled down Rose’s face as she watched the two people
dearest to her—her husband, still blonde and handsome at 74, and her daughter,
blooming, all pinks and whites, her eyes shining for the man anxiously waiting
for her at the altar.

Grant slipped a gold band, the token of his love and promise
to Joy, on the ring finger of her left hand. “With this ring, I thee wed . . .”

~~**~~

Chapter 3

Over the next years, Joy became Grant’s partner in business
as well as in life. Grant owned a tool store on the growing edge of Omaha’s downtown district and had funneled all his ingenuity and industry into making it a
success. While still specializing in tools, before long he was able to expand
into general hardware and farm implements. The sign above the store declared in
gold-edged letters, “Michaels’ Tools, Hardware, and Farm Implements.”

Joy was enthralled with their business and loved every part
of the store—the heavy, oversized entrance doors with their brass hardware and
beautifully lettered glass; the distinctive hollow thud of footsteps on the
rough, wood-planked floors; the warm smell of oiled leather; and aisles lined
with bins chock-full of nails, tacks, screws, washers, nuts, hinges, knobs, and
bolts.

She loved the worn-smooth wooden countertops where their
customers did their business and she loved the cheery oil stove in the center
of the store where people gathered during the winter to warm their hands on
mugs of coffee and swap news and stories.

Blackie, who befriended every customer, padded freely among
the aisles, gently nudging willing hands. Grant kept a basket for Blackie near
the stove and here he warmed his aging bones during the cold season.

“Good old dog,” Grant would murmur, rubbing Blackie’s ears
affectionately. “Good old dog.”

Joy loved doing the store’s books and prided herself on
keeping the ledgers and balancing them every day. Most of all, she loved the
life of their store, how she and Grant and their employees served so many
people’s needs and how Michaels’ was a needed and appreciated part of their
community.

However, after more than five years of marriage, a void
remained in their union. For some reason, children had not arrived. Joy
suffered no miscarriages and her cycle was regular. Grant and Joy prayed, but
their family did not increase. Joy watched and wondered as their friends’
families bloomed and grew.

Joy recognized that if she allowed herself to dwell on their
lack of children she could become despondent. Her parents had taught her that
self-pity was not of God, so she focused her time and energy on what she and
Grant were building. They loved and served the Lord together, they had a
contented home, and they worked side-by-side, gradually expanding their
business and reputation. Instead of buying a house, they chose to make a
comfortable home over the store and offices so that they could grow without
debt. And they grew in their love.

“My dear, I shall miss my train!” Grant laughed as Joy
caught him and kissed him again at the door. “And you know full well Arnie and
Petter are waiting outside to take me to the station.”

“I don’t care! Must you go?” Joy responded half-playfully,
holding his jacket tightly. “Six weeks is such a long time! And it might be
longer if the crossing is difficult.”

She wasn’t pouting. Well, not exactly anyway. And she didn’t
mind shouldering Grant’s responsibilities in his absence. It was only that her
heart would not be whole as long as he was away.

Grant knew. He always knew what bothered her and always felt
a separation as keenly as she did.

“I shall not be gone one day, one moment longer than I must,
my darling,” he whispered, cupping her chin to look into her deep blue eyes.
“We agreed, did we not, on this venture?”

“Yes . . .” Joy answered reluctantly.

Because of their frugal living, they had managed to save
enough to buy the building next to their store. Opening a second store, one
specializing in fine household goods, would diversify their line of business.
The new store was to be Joy’s special domain.

“We know the need is there,” she admitted. “You must go to Boston
and on to England to select our inventory and establish our suppliers. But I do
so wish I were going with you.”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Grant smiled. “But
who would we leave in charge while we were gone? Mr. Wheatley? Mr. Taub?
Billy?”

They both laughed. Mr. Wheatley was near 70 years old and,
although always proper, usually projected a frenzied demeanor, no doubt aided
by a head of wispy, perpetually on-end hair. In reality he was as reliable as
the sunrise and served their customers well. Unfortunately he also had no head
for accounts and began yawning each day at 4 p.m.

Mr. Taub, who managed their farm implements, was efficient
but could be a bit imperious, even with the store’s clientele! Billy Evans,
their youngest employee, always wore an infectious grin and tore through his
duties with the indefatigable energy of youth. Although he was just past 20
years old, he was already head and shoulders above most grown men. Like a young
bull he sometimes bowled over or scattered customers in his wake.

No, it was clear to both of them that Joy must remain and
manage while Grant was gone.

“All right, darling, I’ll let you go before you miss your
train,” and Joy released his jacket, smoothing it as she did. “Do you have the
list? You will pay special attention to the few notes I made?”

Grant laughed. “My dear, I would not dream of misplacing
this ‘list,’ although a list of eight detailed pages surely qualifies as a
treatise rather than ‘a few notes’?”

“Do not tease me, Grant Michaels,” Joy retorted. “Sending a
man to select fine linens, china, and quality furnishings requires the detailed
guidance of a woman with
discriminating
taste.” She added with mock
hauteur, “You must thoroughly acquaint yourself with my notes so that our store
is stocked appropriately and
with taste
.”

She stopped and then gripped him anxiously again. “Come home
soon, my love. The Lord bless you in all you do while you are gone.”

Grant held her close and whispered for both of them,
“Father, we thank you for this new opportunity. We thank you for your grace and
mercy every day. Your grace is sufficient for us, Lord. Thank you for watching
over us. Thank you for comforting my beloved while I am gone. In the name of
Jesus we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” Joy echoed.

Joy received an enthusiastic letter from Grant 11 days
later. He had spent five days in Boston searching the stores and warehouses for
goods and was satisfied with his contacts and orders.

I
embark on the Richmond the day after tomorrow. The Richmond, while not the
newest steamer on the seas, will make excellent time, and should dock in Liverpool after no more than 10 days.

When
I return to Boston in four weeks or thereabouts, I will conclude arrangements
with our new suppliers and take the earliest train home to you. Be advised that
I shall not let you out of my sight or my arms for a week.

Joy smiled and warmed at the thought of Grant’s arms around
her.

Grant leaned far out over the rail of the
Richmond
as space grew between the ship and the Boston docks on that brisk fall
morning. He watched with fascination the water churning under the hull of the
ship far below. The rails of the many-decked liner, both above and below his
level, were lined with passengers waving to loved ones on the crowded pier.
Slowly the tugs alongside of them eased them away from the docks and out into
the open water.

It would be an hour before the ship cleared the congested shipping
lanes of Massachusetts Bay and began to steam at full speed. Their route would
take them north and east, skirting Nova Scotia before arcing across the great
expanse of the Atlantic to the British Isles. They would dock at Liverpool,
England’s great industrial port on her west coast, north of Wales
and across the Irish Sea from Dublin.

The captain had cautioned that they would be dashing through
a light storm as they neared mid-afternoon, but he expected the ship to pass
through it quickly. Grant, after meeting his cabin mate and settling his
luggage, set out to explore the vessel from stem to stern, intrigued with all
he saw.

Richmond
was a modest passenger liner just
past her prime. She’d been well maintained and had crossed the Atlantic countless times in her 20-some years at sea. Grant noted some wear and weathering,
but he also saw evidence of the care of
Richmond
’s
masters.

The first mate observed Grant’s curiosity and called
cordially to him. “She’s an aging lady, but a grand one, sir. Don’t worry about
her! She’ll be plying the sea for another 20 years, I wager.” The mate touched
his hat in respect and resumed his watch.

At noon Grant ate a light lunch and afterwards took a brisk
walk on the promenade. Toward mid-day the sky began to darken to their south
and the seas began to pick up. Grant reluctantly retired to his cabin to read.
Before long, however, his cabin mate took to his bed in distress, obviously
suffering sea sickness.

The ship forged steadily through the rough waters, but Grant
soon found it impossible to be inside while the ship battled the growing wind
and waves. His cabin mate groaned again on his cot and retched.

Grant’s stomach tossed a little too, and his cabin mate’s
distress was not helping. Craving fresh air to set him right, he donned a
hooded slicker and went out of the cabin. He made his way down the hall to the
closed hatch that led to their level’s covered passage on the port side of the
ship. He pulled it open and stepped outside.

Aside from a few scurrying crew members, he was alone. The
sky, a sickly shade of yellow, hung thickly down upon the ship. The sea pitched
violently, and the
Richmond
alternately rose and dropped in an
erratic manner.

The “light storm” the captain had predicted seemed to be
something much more. Grant set out to find and ask someone about it. He grasped
the rail as a blast of wind sheared down the side of the ship, staggering him.

A sailor in full oilskins, holding the rail and crabbing
down the walkway toward him, hollered above the keening wind, “Eh! Another like
that one’ll put ya over the side if’n you don’t have a care, sir! Best to be
inside, I’m thinkin’.”

Grant agreed and acknowledged the sailor’s concern but
shouted back, “I thought the captain said this was to be a light storm!”

“Aye,” the man called into the wind. “But ’tis blowin’ a
nor’easter. Turribly unpredictable they are. No tellin’ how long or bad she’ll
be.”

As though to punctuate the storm’s unpredictability,
stinging rain began to pummel the ship. The sailor hustled away. Grant followed
the man’s example and pulled himself down the deck, grasping the rail
hand-over-hand.

Then the sea did not pitch—it simply opened before the ship.
He stared over the side as they swooped down into the hole the ocean presented
to them.

“Dear God!” he exclaimed in horror, unable to look away.

As large as the liner was, the hole was surely larger.
Finally, the
Richmond
nosed back up, but the wind veered
freakishly again, hammering them from the side. The ship lurched over to
starboard and momentarily wallowed. Grant lost his grip on the rail and slammed
up against the ship’s wall. He quickly regained his feet and the rail. He
continued to haul himself down the railing until he came to the closed hatch
that led back into the shelter of the cabins.

A crack of thunder right atop them momentarily stunned him.
Then he threw himself at the hatch and grasped the handle—it would not turn! He
pounded and pushed against the hatch to no avail. Grant felt the ship leap into
the air again as the wild ocean rose—and then dropped from under them.

Realizing how precarious his situation was, Grant again
threw himself on the rail. To his right was a round life preserver tied off to
the railing. He looped his arm through the ropes that secured the preserver and
hunkered down on the deck, wrapping his legs about a railing post. Through the
white bars of the railing he saw the sea open again to suck them down. They
were dropping . . . and overhead the shadow of a mammoth wave
grew.

As the wall of water slammed into them from above, Grant
clung for his life to the rail, grateful for the ropes securing him. His legs
washed out from under him, but he held on, choking on the frothing salt water.

Suddenly he dropped to the deck. Safe! O thanks be to God!

The howling wind dropped off abruptly. The surface of the
sea smoothed. Grant prayed the worst was over. After several moments he began
to hope.

But it was not to be.

The ocean rose again, higher and higher, and a scream of
agony ripped the air, the shriek, not of wind, but of rending iron and steel.
The
Richmond
stood atop the sea, her bow hanging over an abyss.
Down the length of the ship Grant saw it all . . . the bow end
of the
Richmond
bending toward him, then with a screeching rend of
metal . . . twisting and falling away.

There would be no surviving this storm.

As the rest of the ship began to tilt forward, Grant spoke
softly. “O Lord, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Through the rain Grant saw people, machinery, and debris
dropping from the broken ship into the chasm. And then the rest of the ship
lurched over and followed.

~~**~~

End
of Excerpt
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