Robin Lee Hatcher (12 page)

“Karola?”

Her laughter forgotten, she answered, “I was trying to make Charlotte jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

The last of her amusement drained from her like the dregs of bathwater from a tub. “Of me … and you.”

He looked like the horses had kicked him in the head. “Me and
you?
”

She nodded, completely miserable now. It had been a stupid, irrational thing to do. Who in their right mind would believe Lance would prefer Karola to the younger and stunningly beautiful Charlotte White? All Jakob wanted from Karola was for her to watch his children and cook his meals and clean his house. Perhaps that was all any man would ever want from her.

Lance bumped his hat brim with his thumb, pushing it up on his forehead. “You thought if Charlotte believed I was interested in you, she might … ?” He let the question drift into silence.

Karola nodded. “It was a foolish thing to do. And it was not honest. I am sorry.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to apologize.” He grinned. “Who knows, Karola. This little charade might work if we play our cards right. Charlotte did seem to be payin’ attention as we were leavin’.” He slapped the reins against the horse’s backside. “Yes, sir. I reckon it might work at that.”

The time for the first cutting of hay arrived, and for many days Jakob and Lance labored from sunup to sundown, mowing the fragrant alfalfa plants, waiting for it to cure beneath the relentless sun, raking it into rows, then into bunches, and finally stacking and hauling. The men were tortured by a dried mixture of cheat grass and fireweed that climbed up pants legs and drifted down sweaty shirt collars, prickling their skin. They ate the dust that swirled around them and breathed chaff up their nostrils. Their faces and forearms were sunburned, and their muscles cried out for relief.

Jakob kept an eye on the weather, hoping he wouldn’t see rain clouds forming on the horizon. Rain at this time could spell disaster for his crop.

Each day, Karola brought lunch to the two men—ham sandwiches or cold fried chicken, chowchow made by Geraldine Mason or dill pickles preserved by Theodora Shrum, and one of Karola’s wonderful desserts, one day a cake, another day a pie. Jakob and Lance would sit in the patch of shade cast by the wagon while they ate, thankful for a brief respite from their work, even more thankful for the delicious food with which to fill their bellies.

Jakob didn’t fail to notice the easy camaraderie that had blossomed between Lance and Karola of late, and he couldn’t say he liked it much either. They smiled and they laughed and they gently teased one another. It never went on for long. Their behavior couldn’t be called inappropriate.

Yet it irritated Jakob as surely as the cheat grass beneath his collar.

Chapter Eighteen

I
akob stood in the creek, two feet from the bank, casting his line, him against the fish in the cool of a summer morning. It was what he’d been needing. Solitude. Time to think.

“There you are, boy-o!” shouted a familiar voice. “Sure, and I knew I’d be finding you here.”

Jakob looked over his shoulder to see Tulley Gaffney strolling toward him through the cottonwoods, carrying a tackle basket over one shoulder, a fishing pole in the opposite hand.

So much for solitude.

“Aye, you’re wondering how I knew you’d be fishing.” Tulley set the basket on the ground, then sank onto a boulder, huffing slightly from the walk. “’Tis no secret, Jakob. You always come to fish when the haying is done. ’Tis your reward to yourself.” Tulley searched through his tackle for the right fly. “Are they bitin’ this morning?”

“I’ve had a few nibbles.” He faced the creek.

“’Tis a fine morning for it.”

Don’t talk, Tulley. Just fish.

A few moments later, Tulley joined him in the creek, several yards upstream.

For a while, it seemed he’d read Jakob’s thoughts. He remained silent, casting his fishing line in a practiced rhythm. But it wasn’t in Tulley’s nature to be quiet for long. “Is it true what I’ve been hearin’?”

“Is what true?”

“About the lass and Lance Bishop.”

Jakob shrugged, pretending ignorance.

“Folks are sayin’ there’ll be a wedding before the year is out, ’tis that serious. I’d not be surprised, you know. She’s a fine girl, that one. A
fine
girl.”

Jakob wished Tulley would keep his comments to himself.

“Never have I seen children take to a lass the way yours’ve taken to Karola. Sure, an’ she’ll make a fine mother for her own wee ones when the day comes. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.” His mind filled with images of Karola, her arm around Maeve, laughing with Bernard, bathing Aislinn …

He stopped the flood before he could imagine her with him.

Tulley let a few minutes of silence pass, then said, “I was thinkin’ it would be you who married the girl. ’Tis not often I’m wrong about such things. Why’d you let her go, Jakob?”

He stared at the river. “If you’ll recall, it was Karola who decided not to marry me.”

“Aye, I’m knowin’ that, but that was more than a month ago now. Your heart’s different than it was then and so is hers.”

Jakob turned toward the Irishman. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Sure, and I’m thinkin’ ’tis you who’s wrong, me boy.”

Jakob scowled at him, then reeled in his line, stepped onto the bank, and headed downstream, not stopping until he’d gone beyond a bend in the creek.

Little good it did him.

“So”—the Irishman rounded the bend himself—“this is the way I see it. You lost your darlin’ Siobhan, and your heart was after bein’ broken, it was. There wasn’t one of us who didn’t see your heartache, me boy, for we was all grievin’, too. And right it was for you to feel that way, I’m thinkin’. She was your wife and the mother o’ your children. But Siobhan’s gone, and ’tis time for you t’join the livin’.”

“Shut up, Tulley.”

“I don’t think I will. ’Tis words you’re needin’ t’hear that I’ve got to say, and say them I’m going to.”

“I don’t have to listen.”

“Are you forgettin’ I lost me own wife? I’m knowin’ what ’tis like, what you’re goin’ through, the things you’re feelin’. I’m knowin’ that you’re afraid to risk lovin’ again, for fear of losin’ a second time. ’Tis worth the risk, Jakob. Love is always worth the risk. Sure, and I’m thinkin’ Karola Breit is worth lovin’ and that you know it, too.”

Jakob ground his teeth to keep from saying anything.

“’Twould be a pity if she were to marry the wrong man, with you lovin’ her as you do.”

That was too much. He glared at the man. “I’m
not
… in love … with Karola.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well then, I guess it won’t be botherin’ you when Lance bids for the lass’s boxed lunch come Independence Day.” With that, Tulley turned and headed back upstream, disappearing quickly from view.

Bothered? No, Jakob would
not
be bothered.

He returned his attention to the creek, concentrating hard on his delivery loop as he silently dared some hapless fish to take the bait.

He hoped when one did, it would put up a long, hard fight. Jakob Hirsch was itching for a good fight.

“It seems to be true,” Emma said to Charlotte as she reached for a straw bonnet on display in the millinery shop window. “I overheard Winifred Thompson talking to Ida Noonan, and
she
said—”

“Who could possibly care what those two old gossips have to say?” Charlotte stared into a mirror as she adjusted a silk and feather concoction on her head. “They almost never know what they’re talking about.”

“Well, you go to the Lutheran church these days. Were they sitting together last Sunday or not?”

Charlotte turned from the mirror. “Mr. Bishop sat with Mr. Hirsch and his family. He’s done that before. The two men are friends, and Mr. Bishop works for Mr. Hirsch.”

“But he sat
beside
Karola Breit. Right?”

“Oh, what on earth does it matter, Emma? He couldn’t possibly be interested in her.”

“Why not? Karola’s very nice.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “She’s a
foreigner.
” She was careful to whisper, not wanting Nadzia Denys—who had stepped into the back room a few minutes before—to overhear. “She doesn’t belong in Shadow Creek, and the sooner she leaves the better. She should hightail it back to Germany, if you ask me.”

“Charlotte, that’s unkind.” Emma’s eyes were filled with disapproval.

“Well, it’s how I feel.” She tilted her chin upward. “I’m entitled to my opinion, just like anybody else.”

With a slight shake of her head, Emma returned the straw bonnet to the display in the window. “I’d better get home. Mother is working on the banner for the gazebo, and she said she would need my help with it.”

Charlotte knew Emma was making an excuse, but she didn’t try to stop her from leaving. The last thing she wanted was to continue this conversation. She waited until Nadzia returned with the hat she’d ordered, then left the shop herself, her mood turned sour.

It can’t be true,
Charlotte thought as she walked toward home. He couldn’t be seriously interested in that woman. Karola Breit was at least five years older than Lance, far too much to be considered a suitable match. And while Charlotte supposed Karola was pretty enough in her own way, she certainly wasn’t
that
attractive.

Besides, everybody in town—Charlotte included—knew Lance Bishop had been sweet on
her
since he first came to Shadow Creek. And she had to admit he was cute and kind of charming, and she’d always liked the sound of his laugh and the shy looks he shot her way from beneath his Stetson.

But her sights had been set on Jakob Hirsch. He had the finest house in the valley, and her father said he was one of the best farmers around. He was sure to be wealthy one day. Of course, he
was
thirteen years older than Charlotte, and he
did
have three children to raise.

Lance’s image drifted into her thoughts a second time. Lance Bishop—young, handsome, childless … and if rumors were true, interested in Karola Breit.

It simply wasn’t possible!

Karola was washing the last of the children’s breakfast dishes, Aislinn playing with blocks on the floor near her feet, when Lance tapped on the back door, then entered the kitchen.

“Morning, Karola. Jakob back from fishing yet?”

“Nein.”

“Fish must be bitin’ good to keep him out this long.” He took a mug from the shelf. “Coffee?”

“
Ja,
there is plenty still.”

He went to the stove and filled his mug from the coffeepot.

Karola turned her back to the sink and leaned against it while drying her hands on a towel. “I did not think you would be here today.”

“I’m not supposed to be. I’ve been repairing a plow this morning, but I don’t have the tools I need. I came to borrow some, if Jakob doesn’t mind.”

Bored with her blocks, Aislinn rose and toddled over to Lance and raised her arms above her head. “Up! Up!”

Lance chuckled, set his mug aside, then lifted the little girl into his arms. “You’re growin’ like a weed, Aislinn.” He smiled at Karola. “Isn’t she? Just since you got here she’s changed.”

“
Ja.
It is true.”

Karola felt a tiny catch in her heart. How terrible it would be when she was forced to leave this place, when she would no longer see Aislinn’s adorable face each morning or hear her squeals of laughter as she played with her brother and sister.

How will I bear it? I love them. I love their father. I should
have married Jakob when he wanted me for a wife. Now he no
longer wants me for anything but tending his children, washing
his clothes, preparing his meals. I am only here to pay back a
debt. Oh, God, why do I always do the wrong thing? Why do I
always make the wrong choices?

With tears stinging her eyes, she turned to the sink and began to dry the dishes.

Lance came to stand nearby. “While I’ve got the chance, Karola, I want to say thanks for helpin’ me out with Charlotte.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely shrugged.

“Did you see her at church on Sunday? She was fit to be tied. I don’t think she paid any notice to Jakob at all.”

What if Jakob
wants
Charlotte? What if helping Lance means
that Jakob will not have the woman he could love?

But Charlotte would be all wrong for Jakob. Surely he could see that for himself.

Am I an expert on what men want? They do not want me.
Even Lance is only pretending.

The lump in her throat grew bigger, and she was completely blinded now by her tears.

“Karola?”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong?”

She choked back a sob.

The next thing she knew, Lance had put Aislinn on the floor and gathered Karola into a comforting embrace. She gripped his shirt in her hands, pressed her forehead against his chest, and wept as he patted her back.

“What’s wrong, Karola? You can tell me. What’re friends for? Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to help. You can count on that. Hey, come on. Dry those eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying and tell me what’s wrong.”

She couldn’t stop. Her tears had become a torrent. Her throat ached. Her chest hurt. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be a woman of strong, unshakable faith, like her mother. She wanted to trust God with her future, like her father. But she wasn’t and she didn’t. At the moment, she had given into despair and the returning belief that she was unlovable, unwanted, unattractive.

In the midst of her misery, Karola barely heard Aislinn’s cry of
Da-Da.

But she heard Lance quite clearly when he said, “Looks like it’s fish for supper.”

Karola took a step backward and turned to see Jakob standing in the kitchen doorway, a string of trout held in his right hand, his younger daughter now cradled on his left hip.

“What’s happened?” His words were as fierce as his scowl.

Karola dashed the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. “It is nothing.”

“Lance?”

“I don’t know. She just started cryin’ for no reason. Don’t know what came over her.”

Jakob crossed the kitchen and dropped the fish into the sink. “What are you doing here? Haying’s done. You should be tending your own crops.” His gaze flicked between Lance and Karola.

“Needed to borrow some tools,” Lance answered. “My plow’s broke.”

“Well, let’s get them for you. I’m sure you’re in a hurry to get that plow repaired.” He passed Aislinn to Karola without a word to her, then headed for the back door.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Lance said softly before following Jakob out the door.

Jakob was propelled across the barnyard by his own fury. He yanked open the door to the toolshed, stepped inside, then waited for Lance to catch up.

Once the younger man arrived, Jakob said, “Take what you need and bring it back when you’re done.” He would have left but Lance blocked the doorway.

“You got a burr under your saddle, Jakob?”

“No.”

Lance bumped his hat back on his forehead. “No? Who you tryin’ to fool? Karola’s in the house drippin’ like a broken faucet, and you’re as grumpy as an old bear who’s woke too early from hibernatin’, and neither one of you knows why. Don’t you think you should figure it out?”

“What
I’d
like to figure out,” Jakob snapped, his voice rising, “is what gives everybody in this valley the right to stick their noses into my business?”

“Who’s everybody? All I did was ask a simple question.”

Jakob swept Lance to one side of the doorway with the back of his hand, then strode out of the shed. “That isn’t all you did.”

“Don’t you think you should figure it out?”

What was there to figure out? He’d seen them with his own eyes. Plain as the nose on his face.

Lance and Karola. Well, why was he surprised? Tulley had been talking about the two of them not more than two, maybe three hours ago. In fact, it seemed the whole town was talking about their budding romance.