Dandelions on the Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I met him here, after I arrived in America.” She drew in a deep breath. “When PaPa died, we all did our best, but my little brother was sick and we couldn’t keep the farm. Orvie Christensen heard about our fate and sent me a letter. He was ready to marry, and he sent money for my passage.”
    Maren climbed the steps to the porch and paused outside the kitchen door.
    He glanced down at her empty ring finger. “You married him?”
    She slowly shook her head. “I was a mail-order bride who arrived with postage due. My blindness worsened in the trip and when I told Orvie, he couldn’t—”
    “See past his own nose?”
    She nodded and covered her mouth, but a giggle still escaped.
    Orvie Christensen had never done her chores. Nor had he ever made her laugh. Woolly was a good man, who belonged in the house with his family.
    “I worked as a nanny for a family in Saint Peters until they gave up on trying to subsist in battle-torn Missouri during the war and returned to Philadelphia. That’s when Johann Heinrich at the dry goods store talked to Mrs. Brantenberg, and she took me in to help with Gabi and the farm.”
    “She’d already lost the Ransoms?”
    “Yes. The month before.”
    “She’s a good woman.”
    “Yes.” Like a mother, at times.
    Smiling, Woolly held the kitchen door open for her.
    Mrs. Brantenberg slid a ham butt into the oven, then turned as they entered the kitchen. “I see you found him.”
    “Yes, uh—”
    “I was in the corral, brushing the plow horse.”
    “He had fed the animals and collected the eggs.”
    “Oh?” Mrs. Brantenberg’s voice carried surprise … or was it satisfaction?
    As she and Woolly set the basket and bucket on the worktable under the window, he leaned toward her, mere inches from her ear. “Orvie’s loss. The man is a fool.”
    At a loss for words, she moistened her lips. Woolly Rutherford was quite likable. She turned toward the table and silently counted the place settings. Four.
    He was staying, at least through breakfast.

Five
    B reathing in the rich aroma of fresh baked milchbrötchen , Emilie Heinrich pulled her favorite teapot from the kitchen shelf in the upstairs apartment over their dry goods and grocery store. The sausage was cooked and on the table. Another two minutes and the breakfast rolls would be ready as well. Just in time for PaPa’s timely morning appearance. She poured steaming water over imported Earl Grey. In Saint Charles’s German community, a tea drinker was a rarity. Among Germans anywhere, actually, but Emilie preferred the soothing taste of tea to the stout coffee boiling on the stove.
    Emilie was sliding the pan of bread from the oven when she heard the door click open on PaPa’s bedchamber. At six feet tall, he was in the habit of ducking his balding head on his way under the door frame, even though here he had several inches of clearance. “Güt morgen, tochter!”
    “Güt morgen, PaPa. It is a good morning.” Thursday—Mrs. Brantenberg’s quilting circle day. Emilie filled his favorite mug with coffee, then carried it and the bread rolls to the table.
    PaPa took the mug from her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead before seating himself.
    She draped a small cheesecloth square over her cup and poured tea through it, then carried her cup to the table and slid onto the chair opposite him. Wearing his white tucked blouse under a red dragon vest, Johann Hermann Heinrich was one of the most dapper men on Main Street, and one with a reputation for kindness and fairness. Yet he remained alone, with only her to care for him. Not that she minded. She loved him and had a full life caring for their household and working in the store. She’d never understand why her mother left him, and for a steamboat captain, no less. At least that’s what she’d heard. She was only two when it happened.
    PaPa sniffed the fragrant air, pulling her thoughts back into the present. “Hunger ist der beste koch.”
    Hunger is the best clock