It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Realms (May 7, 2013)
***Special thanks to Althea Thompson for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Emily Sundberg has her life all laid out. She has a respectable job as a teacher and an idea of whom she should marry. But does God have a better plan?Emily Sundberg considers herself a proper young lady of the twentieth century. But a decade ago she behaved more like a tomboy. So when the neighbor’s grandson came to visit one summer when she was thirteen, they became fast friends. Emily even got her first kiss—quite by accident.
Unfortunately Jake Edgerton told all the boys something else. Rumors circulated, and Emily caved from embarrassment and guilt. Meanwhile Jake returned home to Fallon, Montana and she never saw or heard from him again.
Over the years Emily has worked hard to prove to her peers and the people of Manitowoc, Wisconsin that, despite past mistakes, she is an upstanding young woman, one worthy of being a schoolteacher—and possibly Andy Anderson's wife. But even with the passing of time, Emily has never forgotten Jake and how he nearly ruined her life…
And now he's a US deputy marshal and he’s back in town!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:
Researching My Own Backyard ~ by author
Andrea Boeshaar
April 22, 2013
everythingwriterly.blogspot.com/2013/04/researching-my-own-backyard.html
One of the main characters, Emily
Sundberg, is well known in the community as she's a school teacher.
Her father (Captain Daniel Sundberg from Book 2) owns a shipping
business and, as I researched the city, it was interesting to learn
that in the 19th and early 20th centuries Manitowoc was commonly
referred to as "Clipper City" because of all the
shipbuilding going on -- Manitowoc was known for building those
graceful lake clippers.
I toured the Wisconsin Maritime
Museum and got a glimpse of what the city might look like in the time
period of my story. It helped the characters to come alive in my
mind.
As my character's aunt and mother
(Julianna from Book 2 in the series) work in a shop in Manitowoc
called Sundberg Creations -- a shop that offers hand-spun items -- I
took a knitting class at Cream City Yarn Shop. I felt it was
important to get the feel of different fibers and textures. I imagine
that the Sundberg ladies' shop would look similar to Cream City Yarn.
It's a quaint shop in Brookfield constructed in vintage Cream City
Brick.
Incidentally, I knitted scarves for
all the grandkids and my daughter-in-law for Christmas (talk about
getting inspired!).
I enjoyed researching the fashion in
1902, but still can't imagine wearing all those under-garments
(especially in summertime!). And, as a portion of my story takes
place in Fallon, Montana too, I enjoyed researching that area. It'd
be fun to ride the train out west.
Threads of Love is book 3 in my Fabric of Time series and all three novels in the series are set in Wisconsin. So fun to research my own backyard!
MY REVIEW:
I love seeing Cream City brick and
standing the fabric of time. So neat and trim, it stands out among
the framed houses of those large families so reminiscent of days gone
by. Red clay and forests, the provision of our Lord and the ingenuity
of constructing them. Beyond there not being "us" had our
ancestors not come across the ocean to the Americas, think of the
skills and trades they brought with them to this land.
Attorney Oliver Stout's home is like this
in Cream City brick. Jake Edgerton has returned to Manitowoc,
Wisconsin, from his home in Montana to attend the funeral of his
uncle Oliver; Mr. Ollie to the community. His parents are deceased
and his granddad was an important part of his youthful life.
Emily Sundberg is a school teacher
wanting to stay in town for a summer position until school starts
again. Walking by on the sidewalk, glass goes flying and Emily is
plummeted to the ground. A picture window has exploded on impact as
Deputy Marshall Edgerton is in the line of duty while making an
arrest. What a way to meet again after a summer years ago that left
others buzzing about Emily through the years. Now will her father
send her home for the summer months? Jake is just back for awhile.
As Jake is given a copy of his
granddad's will, he may have to stay a little longer to settle
things. He has the opportunity to respond to Emily and he was not the
one who caused the rumors to fly. I suspect a close relative of
Emily, perhaps?
I liked this story setting 111 years
ago ~ the ease and flow of the story is perfect. Emily is delightful
and Jake, solid in the Lord. Such a good story. Emily and another
school teacher, Iris, live at a boardinghouse. Iris decides to
interview Jake for the Chronicle, the local newspaper, "to get
to know him better" while writing about his Deputy Marshall
role. Emily has her eye on a local guy who has no eye for her. Jake
talks to Emily's father about the incident of Emily unfortunately
being in the way of harm during making his arrest. He is told about
what Emily has gone through during his absence. I liked the openness
of communication and forgiveness given. Friends.
And my favorite transportation!
Product Details:
List Price: $11.28
Publisher Realms (May 7, 2013)
Language English
ISBN-10 1621362396
ISBN-13 978-1621362395
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
May 1902
Manitowoc, Wisconsin
An explosion of shattering glass sounded from directly behind Emily Sundberg, and a thunderous weight crashed into her. The world spun, and then she fell hard and facedown on the dirty Franklin Street plank walk.
Breathe! Breathe! She struggled to inhale.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” A male voice spoke close to her ear. “I’m terribly sorry about knocking you over.”
He helped her sit, and a moment later a rush of sweet, springtime air filled Emily’s lungs. She let out a breath of relief.
“Are you hurt?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Emily spit dirt from her mouth. Her left cheek began to throb. Her vision swam.
He steadied her, his arm around her shoulders. “Easy there.”
She took several deep breaths.
“Allow me to help you up and over to the bench. Like I said, I’m sorry ’bout knocking you over the way I did.”
Emily wiggled her toes inside her ivory-colored boots. Nothing broken. She moved her jaw. Despite the pain around her cheekbone, she seemed all right. Her hand moved to the back of her head. Her fat braid had come out of its pinning and her hat—her hat!
She pointed to the paved street seconds before a set of buggy wheels rolled over it, grinding the lovely creation into the paved road. Not once. But twice!
Emily moaned.
“Careful, now.” The man helped her to stand. “There’re shards of glass everywhere.”
Emily thanked God she hadn’t slammed her head into the nearby hitching post.
“Hooligans!” A woman’s voice rang out amidst the strangely silent street. It sounded like Mrs. Hopper’s. “Hooligans, ever’ one of ’em!”
Definitely Mrs. Hopper’s.
The man held Emily securely by her upper arms, and Emily’s gaze fell on his walnut-colored waistcoat. “You sure you’re not hurt?
“I–I don’t think so.”
“Well, I hope you can forgive me, ma’am.”
Emily’s gaze finally reached the man’s tanned and goldenwhiskered face. Shaggy blond hair framed his face and blood stained the corner of his mouth. In his canvas duster and matching trousers, the stranger looked out of place for Manitowoc, Wisconsin. But odd costumes weren’t totally uncommon, given the city’s lively port.
And yet, he seemed a bit familiar too . . .
“Unhand that girl, you hooligan!” Mrs. Hopper rushed forward and whacked the man on the shoulder with her cane.
He winced and released Emily. “I meant her no harm.” As Emily staggered backward slightly, the man caught her elbow. His velvety-brown gaze bore into hers as if to ask yet again if she’d been injured.
Funny how she guessed at his thoughts.
“I’m just shaken.” Emily glimpsed the remorse in his eyes before he bent and picked up the dark blue capelet that her grandmother, Bestamor, had knit for her. He gave it a shake before handing it over.
“And what about my hat?” Sadly she pointed again to the street.
The man collected its colorful but irreparably flattened remains.
“A travesty!” Mrs. Hopper’s age-lined face contorted in rage. “A travesty, I say!”
Travesty indeed! It had taken months for Emily to save for that fine bit of millinery with its silk ribbons, Chantilly lace, and pink roses on a velvet bandeau. Now Andy Anderson would never see it. She took the mangled remnants from the stranger’s hand. “I certainly hope you plan to reimburse me for this. I paid one dollar and fifty cents for it.”
“A dollar and a half? For a hat? I could buy a shoulder holster, cartridge belt, and ammunition for that sum.”
Unimpressed, Emily extended one hand of her torn netted glove. Another casualty.
Resignation softened his gaze before the man reached into his inside pocket and then placed two dollar bills into Emily’s outstretched palm. “This should more than cover it. Again, I apologize.”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled. “Apology accepted.” She folded the money and put it in her reticule, still attached to her wrist.
Mrs. Sylvia Hopper sniffed indignantly, but Emily caught the approving light in the older woman’s eyes. She’d known the elderly woman for a long while, as she had been Bestamor’s best friend back in Norway. She’d come to America just before Poppa was born, and now her granddaughter, Iris, was Emily’s best friend.
A small crowd pressed in on the boardwalk to gawk. Emily’s gaze moved to the man who lay sprawled out and unmoving several feet away.
She quickly turned away. “Is he dead?”
“Probably not.” The stranger bent and grabbed his hat that lay nearby and gave it a whack against his thigh. “My compliments. You took that tumble a far sight better than he did.”
“Who is he?”
“Name’s Wilcox. He’s wanted in five counties.”
Emily glanced at the motionless figure again. He didn’t look familiar.
“It’s actually amazing that you’re not out cold yourself. For a moment I feared I’d killed you.”
“And you could have killed her, you low-life hooligan!”
“Please, Mrs. Hopper . . . ” She glanced around, hating to be the subject of such a scene. “I’m fine. No need to worry.”
Muttering, the elderly woman walked to where several women stood a ways down on the boardwalk, holding parasols and whispering behind gloved fingers.
Emily felt suddenly unnerved. “I guess I’m sturdy for a woman. Even so, I haven’t taken a hit like that since my brothers jumped me and I fell off my horse. Those rascals pretended they were US marshals and I was one of the James Gang.” Emily moistened her lips, her gaze fixed on the handsome stranger. “They flung themselves at me from a tree limb. It’s a miracle we didn’t all break our necks. ”
A moment passed, and Emily wondered why this moment seemed sealed in time.
The man narrowed his gaze.
“Forgive my prattling.” She hadn’t meant to go on like that. “The fall must have shaken my tongue loose.”
Despite the injury to his mouth he grinned, and Emily could swear she’d seen that smile before.
“Both you fellas are paying for this damage to my front window!” Mr. Fransmuller stomped out of his restaurant and saloon. Emily knew him and his family, as young Hans had been in her class just the year before. “Look at what your brawl has done!”
Emily took note of the gaping hole where the two men had crashed through the window.
Mrs. Hopper limped over to the tavern owner. “There ought to be a law against such barbaric behavior in our town. Someone’s going to get killed. Why, Mr. Fransmuller, you should be ashamed, serving strong drink on a Thursday afternoon. Women aren’t safe to do their shopping in broad daylight anymore!”
“Just for the record, I wasn’t drinking,” said the familiar stranger. “Just playing cards is all.”
“And gambling, most likely.” Mrs. Hopper hurled another angry glare at him. “Gambling is a dirty sin.”
Fransmuller frowned and wiped his beefy hands on the black apron tied around his rounded belly. “Now, Mrs. Hopper, don’t start in on one of your holier-than-thou rants.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Hopper brought herself up to her full height of four feet nine inches. “How dare you speak to me in such a way, Mr. Fransmuller!”
“I’ve got a business to run, and I pay my taxes.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “But just look at my front window!” He gave a wag of his nearly bald head. “And you should see the saloon! One big mess!” Mr. Fransmuller marched up and stood toe to toe with the man beside Emily. “Who are you? I want your name. You’re paying for half the damages to my business!”
“Yes, sir.”
Emily watched as the stranger moved his duster to one side. She glimpsed the gun, discreetly haltered across his chest, before he produced his billfold and a silver badge. “Deputy Marshal John Alexander Kirk Edgerton at your service.” After a courteous dip forward, he counted out several large-sum bills. “Will this cover my portion of the damages?”
Emily gasped. Jake? Could it be?
Mr. Fransmuller stared at the money. “Yes. This will do.” He gave a nod of appeasement before walking away.
Mrs. Hopper moved down the boardwalk and continued her conversation with the other ladies.
“Jake?” Emily eked out his nickname, scarcely believing it was him. He was several inches taller, filled out some, and had grown whiskers since she last saw him ten years ago. “Jake Edgerton?”
His gaze slid to her and he smiled. “Well, well . . . Emily Sundberg.” He didn’t look surprised. Obviously he’d recognized her before she’d figured out his identity. “Look at you, all grown up—you even turned out pretty.”
“Hmph! Well, I see you haven’t changed!”
“It was a compliment.”
She bristled. It didn’t sound like a compliment. What’s more, she suddenly recalled that Jake was part of that US marshal stunt her brothers pulled.
Jake Edgerton was trouble. Trouble from the time they were thirteen and fifteen.
“So what are you doing in Manitowoc?”
“Attending my granddad’s funeral.”
Emily felt a sting of rebuke. “Oh, I–I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d passed. I mean, I knew Mr. Ollie had been ill for a long while, but . . . ”
“Happened just last night.” Jake eyed her speculatively.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” He glanced away for a moment. “So what about you?” His gaze returned. “Married? Working at your family’s shipping business?”
“Neither. I’m a schoolteacher here in town. I only get home on Sundays.”
“A schoolteacher, eh?”
She nodded as the realization of Mr. Ollie’s death sunk in. A sweeping sadness prevailed. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was a good neighbor to our family.” She eyed the rugged man standing before her. Mr. Ollie spoke of him often, and Jake had been especially close to the old man. Oliver Stout, fondly called Mr. Ollie by Emily and her brothers, had been a respected attorney, one who’d boasted many times over the years that his only grandson would one day take over his law practice.
But it didn’t look that way. Not if Jake was a deputy marshal.
“I appreciate the condolences, Em.”
Such familiarity galled her. “So you’re a gambler as well as a lawman?” Emily could only imagine Mr. Ollie, weeping in heaven.
“I partake in a game of cards on occasion.”
“Family funerals being one of them?” She couldn’t squelch the quip.
Jake inhaled, but then seemed to think better of a reply. Instead, he guided her the rest of the way to the bench.
Emily tugged her capelet around her shoulders and sat. She eyed the crowd, praying no one would recognize her as Maple Street School’s third grade teacher or Agnes Sundberg’s niece or Jacob Dunbar’s cousin . . . or Captain Daniel Sundberg’s daughter. With so much family surrounding her in this town, Emily knew the odds were against her anonymity.
“Once again, I am terribly sorry you got in the middle of this whole mess.”
He couldn’t be sorrier than she!
Mr. Fransmuller began sweeping up glass and shooing people away from the scene when shrieks from across the street pierced the air.
Iris. She turned in time to see her best friend making an unladylike sprint from the department store.
“Emily! Emily Sundberg!”
Standing, she cringed. So much for hiding her identity.
Emily lifted a hand in a tiny wave. Iris spotted her and crossed the street. She held her hat in place on her head with one of her slender hands. In the other she clutched her wrapped purchases.
“What’s happened? Oh, my stars!” A pale blue dress hugged Iris’s wispy frame as she hurried toward Emily, while her wire-rim glasses slipped down her long nose. “I heard there was some barroom fight and you got trampled half to death. What would I do if I’d lost my very best frie—”
Iris’s gaze lit on Jake, and she slowed her steps. Giving him a timid smile, she let go of her hat and pushed up her glasses.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Iris leaned toward Emily. “Is he the one who ran you over?”
“That about sums it up. But I’m fine, so let’s finish our shopping, shall we?”
Iris didn’t budge. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” She nudged Emily, who felt a new soreness in her rib cage.
Jake spoke up before she could. “US Deputy Marshal Jake Edgerton, ma’am.”
“Deputy marshal? How impressive.” Iris’s smile grew. “I’m Miss Iris Hopper and Emily’s best friend, going on eight years now. Right, Em?”
“Right.”
“My parents were killed in a horrible mud slide in South America where we were missionaries. I’ve lived with my grandmother ever since.” She pointed to where Mrs. Hopper still stood, recounting the event to an accumulating cluster of women.
“Sorry to hear of your loss.” Jake’s gaze, the color of the brandy he denied drinking, shifted to Emily. “As for Em and me, we go way back too.” A slow grin spread across his mouth. “Ain’t that right? And I must admit it’s been a pleasure, um, running into you today.”
Shut up, Jake. She looked down the block, wondering if he had any idea how much heartache he’d caused her over the years. Because of him and his big mouth, she’d spent half her life repairing her blemished reputation in this town. Worse, Jake never wrote back to her when she’d attempted to apologize for her part in the wrongdoing.
“How’re your brothers?” He gave a nostalgic wag of his head. “That summer I visited Granddad and met all of you Sundbergs was the best in all my life.”
“Eden and Zeb are fine. Just fine.” She couldn’t get herself to say any more. “We’re all fine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Emily’s never mentioned you.” Iris’s pointed features soured with her deep frown. She leaned closer to Emily. “I thought we told each other everything.”
“No? You never mentioned me, Em?” Jake’s dark eyes glinted with mischief.
Tried half my life to forget you! She clenched her jaw to keep back the retort and realized that it hurt too.
His expression changed. “Maybe you ought to see a doctor, Emily.”
She wished he hadn’t picked up on her wince. “No, I’m fine.”
“She always says that,” Iris tattled. “She’s always ‘fine.’”
“How far’s the doctor’s office from here?”
“I don’t need a doctor, Jake. But thanks, anyway.”
“Well, goodness, Em, you certainly did take the worst of it.” Iris brushed off the back of Emily’s capelet. “And, oh, my stars! Just look at your hat. It’s ruined.”
“Yes, I know. But Jake reimbursed me.”
“How thoughtful.” After a smile his way, Iris examined Emily’s face like she was one of her fourth graders. “I’m not mistaken a bruise is already forming on your left cheek.” Iris clucked her tongue. “You’ll be a sight at the Memorial Day Dance tomorrow night. But if you need to stay home now, I will too.”
“No. We’re still going.” Emily knew her friend looked forward to this community event that honored war veterans as much as she did. In addition, Andy Anderson would be there. Maybe if he saw her in the new dress Momma and Bestamor had sewn especially for the occasion, he’d finally notice her, and not just as Eden’s sister either.
“Andy won’t give you the time of day if you’re all banged up. You might as well stay home.”
Iris had spoken her thoughts. Sadness descended like a fog rolling in from off Lake Michigan. Emily fingered her sore cheek. She’d decided months ago that Andy would make a perfectly suitable husband. Would this ruin her chances of finally catching his eye?
“Might help if you go home and put a cold compress on it,” Jake suggested. “I’ll bet no one will be the wiser by tomorrow night.”
“Sure, that’s right,” Iris’s gaze softened. “Perhaps Andy won’t see any bruising. And we can cake on some of Granny’s concealing cream wherever necessary.”
Glimpsing Jake’s amused grin, Emily blushed. How could Iris speak about such personal things in front of him?
“Excuse me, but are you speaking of Andy Anderson by any chance?” Jake hiked his hat farther back on his head.
“Yes.” Again, Iris seemed happy to provide all the information.
However, the last thing Emily wanted was Jake Edgerton to get involved in her life. “We should be on our way, Iris. Let’s catch up with your granny.”
“Well, I’ll be . . . ” Jake leaned against a hitching post. “Andy Anderson . . . what’s that rascal doing these days?”
“Andy works over at the aluminum factory.” Iris pointed just beyond Jake’s left shoulder and toward where the large, thriving business was located. “He’s quite the lady’s man, but Em hopes to change all that.”
“Iris, really!” Emily gave her friend a stern look.
“Interesting.” Jake gazed off into the distance, his lips pursed as he kneaded his jaw. He seemed to mull over the information before looking back at Emily. “I wondered if I’d see Andy while I was in town.” His gaze focused on Iris. “Andy and I go way back too.”
Every muscle in Emily’s body tensed. If only Mr. Ollie could have waited just a week longer to pass from this world to the next. Her hopes ran high for the Memorial Day Dance tomorrow night, and it vexed her that Jake might have the power to destroy her welllaid plans.
“Emily is counting on Andy to ask her for a dance tomorrow night, but—”
“Iris!” Aghast, she gave her friend’s arm a jerk. “I’m sure Deputy Edgerton doesn’t care about such things.”
“Sure I do.” He straightened, still grinning. “And I’ll tell you what, Em, if Andy doesn’t dance with you, I’d be happy to.”
“Thank you, but I can’t possibly accept.” She tamped down the urge to scowl.
“It’s the least I can do.” After another charming smirk, he arched a brow. “What time’s the grand affair?”
“Aren’t you in mourning?” He just couldn’t show up.
“Of course I am.” Jake rolled one of his broad shoulders. “But I know Granddad fought in the Civil War, and I think he’d want me to attend.”
Iris happily divulged the details, and Emily wanted to scream.
“I’ll be there,” Jake said.
“How grand!” Iris adjusted her colorfully decorative hat. “Then, of course, you must save a dance for me.”
“Iris!” How could her friend be so bold?
Jake didn’t seem offended. “It’d be my honor, ma’am.” He smiled rather sheepishly.
Enough! Emily turned on her heel and strode down the walk, passing Mrs. Hopper and the other women. Her heels clicked hard on the weathered planks. While she walked faster than a lady should, if she didn’t hurry, she’d lose her composure here and now— and right in front of the man who’d nearly ruined her life!
Manitowoc, Wisconsin
An explosion of shattering glass sounded from directly behind Emily Sundberg, and a thunderous weight crashed into her. The world spun, and then she fell hard and facedown on the dirty Franklin Street plank walk.
Breathe! Breathe! She struggled to inhale.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” A male voice spoke close to her ear. “I’m terribly sorry about knocking you over.”
He helped her sit, and a moment later a rush of sweet, springtime air filled Emily’s lungs. She let out a breath of relief.
“Are you hurt?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Emily spit dirt from her mouth. Her left cheek began to throb. Her vision swam.
He steadied her, his arm around her shoulders. “Easy there.”
She took several deep breaths.
“Allow me to help you up and over to the bench. Like I said, I’m sorry ’bout knocking you over the way I did.”
Emily wiggled her toes inside her ivory-colored boots. Nothing broken. She moved her jaw. Despite the pain around her cheekbone, she seemed all right. Her hand moved to the back of her head. Her fat braid had come out of its pinning and her hat—her hat!
She pointed to the paved street seconds before a set of buggy wheels rolled over it, grinding the lovely creation into the paved road. Not once. But twice!
Emily moaned.
“Careful, now.” The man helped her to stand. “There’re shards of glass everywhere.”
Emily thanked God she hadn’t slammed her head into the nearby hitching post.
“Hooligans!” A woman’s voice rang out amidst the strangely silent street. It sounded like Mrs. Hopper’s. “Hooligans, ever’ one of ’em!”
Definitely Mrs. Hopper’s.
The man held Emily securely by her upper arms, and Emily’s gaze fell on his walnut-colored waistcoat. “You sure you’re not hurt?
“I–I don’t think so.”
“Well, I hope you can forgive me, ma’am.”
Emily’s gaze finally reached the man’s tanned and goldenwhiskered face. Shaggy blond hair framed his face and blood stained the corner of his mouth. In his canvas duster and matching trousers, the stranger looked out of place for Manitowoc, Wisconsin. But odd costumes weren’t totally uncommon, given the city’s lively port.
And yet, he seemed a bit familiar too . . .
“Unhand that girl, you hooligan!” Mrs. Hopper rushed forward and whacked the man on the shoulder with her cane.
He winced and released Emily. “I meant her no harm.” As Emily staggered backward slightly, the man caught her elbow. His velvety-brown gaze bore into hers as if to ask yet again if she’d been injured.
Funny how she guessed at his thoughts.
“I’m just shaken.” Emily glimpsed the remorse in his eyes before he bent and picked up the dark blue capelet that her grandmother, Bestamor, had knit for her. He gave it a shake before handing it over.
“And what about my hat?” Sadly she pointed again to the street.
The man collected its colorful but irreparably flattened remains.
“A travesty!” Mrs. Hopper’s age-lined face contorted in rage. “A travesty, I say!”
Travesty indeed! It had taken months for Emily to save for that fine bit of millinery with its silk ribbons, Chantilly lace, and pink roses on a velvet bandeau. Now Andy Anderson would never see it. She took the mangled remnants from the stranger’s hand. “I certainly hope you plan to reimburse me for this. I paid one dollar and fifty cents for it.”
“A dollar and a half? For a hat? I could buy a shoulder holster, cartridge belt, and ammunition for that sum.”
Unimpressed, Emily extended one hand of her torn netted glove. Another casualty.
Resignation softened his gaze before the man reached into his inside pocket and then placed two dollar bills into Emily’s outstretched palm. “This should more than cover it. Again, I apologize.”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled. “Apology accepted.” She folded the money and put it in her reticule, still attached to her wrist.
Mrs. Sylvia Hopper sniffed indignantly, but Emily caught the approving light in the older woman’s eyes. She’d known the elderly woman for a long while, as she had been Bestamor’s best friend back in Norway. She’d come to America just before Poppa was born, and now her granddaughter, Iris, was Emily’s best friend.
A small crowd pressed in on the boardwalk to gawk. Emily’s gaze moved to the man who lay sprawled out and unmoving several feet away.
She quickly turned away. “Is he dead?”
“Probably not.” The stranger bent and grabbed his hat that lay nearby and gave it a whack against his thigh. “My compliments. You took that tumble a far sight better than he did.”
“Who is he?”
“Name’s Wilcox. He’s wanted in five counties.”
Emily glanced at the motionless figure again. He didn’t look familiar.
“It’s actually amazing that you’re not out cold yourself. For a moment I feared I’d killed you.”
“And you could have killed her, you low-life hooligan!”
“Please, Mrs. Hopper . . . ” She glanced around, hating to be the subject of such a scene. “I’m fine. No need to worry.”
Muttering, the elderly woman walked to where several women stood a ways down on the boardwalk, holding parasols and whispering behind gloved fingers.
Emily felt suddenly unnerved. “I guess I’m sturdy for a woman. Even so, I haven’t taken a hit like that since my brothers jumped me and I fell off my horse. Those rascals pretended they were US marshals and I was one of the James Gang.” Emily moistened her lips, her gaze fixed on the handsome stranger. “They flung themselves at me from a tree limb. It’s a miracle we didn’t all break our necks. ”
A moment passed, and Emily wondered why this moment seemed sealed in time.
The man narrowed his gaze.
“Forgive my prattling.” She hadn’t meant to go on like that. “The fall must have shaken my tongue loose.”
Despite the injury to his mouth he grinned, and Emily could swear she’d seen that smile before.
“Both you fellas are paying for this damage to my front window!” Mr. Fransmuller stomped out of his restaurant and saloon. Emily knew him and his family, as young Hans had been in her class just the year before. “Look at what your brawl has done!”
Emily took note of the gaping hole where the two men had crashed through the window.
Mrs. Hopper limped over to the tavern owner. “There ought to be a law against such barbaric behavior in our town. Someone’s going to get killed. Why, Mr. Fransmuller, you should be ashamed, serving strong drink on a Thursday afternoon. Women aren’t safe to do their shopping in broad daylight anymore!”
“Just for the record, I wasn’t drinking,” said the familiar stranger. “Just playing cards is all.”
“And gambling, most likely.” Mrs. Hopper hurled another angry glare at him. “Gambling is a dirty sin.”
Fransmuller frowned and wiped his beefy hands on the black apron tied around his rounded belly. “Now, Mrs. Hopper, don’t start in on one of your holier-than-thou rants.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Hopper brought herself up to her full height of four feet nine inches. “How dare you speak to me in such a way, Mr. Fransmuller!”
“I’ve got a business to run, and I pay my taxes.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “But just look at my front window!” He gave a wag of his nearly bald head. “And you should see the saloon! One big mess!” Mr. Fransmuller marched up and stood toe to toe with the man beside Emily. “Who are you? I want your name. You’re paying for half the damages to my business!”
“Yes, sir.”
Emily watched as the stranger moved his duster to one side. She glimpsed the gun, discreetly haltered across his chest, before he produced his billfold and a silver badge. “Deputy Marshal John Alexander Kirk Edgerton at your service.” After a courteous dip forward, he counted out several large-sum bills. “Will this cover my portion of the damages?”
Emily gasped. Jake? Could it be?
Mr. Fransmuller stared at the money. “Yes. This will do.” He gave a nod of appeasement before walking away.
Mrs. Hopper moved down the boardwalk and continued her conversation with the other ladies.
“Jake?” Emily eked out his nickname, scarcely believing it was him. He was several inches taller, filled out some, and had grown whiskers since she last saw him ten years ago. “Jake Edgerton?”
His gaze slid to her and he smiled. “Well, well . . . Emily Sundberg.” He didn’t look surprised. Obviously he’d recognized her before she’d figured out his identity. “Look at you, all grown up—you even turned out pretty.”
“Hmph! Well, I see you haven’t changed!”
“It was a compliment.”
She bristled. It didn’t sound like a compliment. What’s more, she suddenly recalled that Jake was part of that US marshal stunt her brothers pulled.
Jake Edgerton was trouble. Trouble from the time they were thirteen and fifteen.
“So what are you doing in Manitowoc?”
“Attending my granddad’s funeral.”
Emily felt a sting of rebuke. “Oh, I–I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d passed. I mean, I knew Mr. Ollie had been ill for a long while, but . . . ”
“Happened just last night.” Jake eyed her speculatively.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” He glanced away for a moment. “So what about you?” His gaze returned. “Married? Working at your family’s shipping business?”
“Neither. I’m a schoolteacher here in town. I only get home on Sundays.”
“A schoolteacher, eh?”
She nodded as the realization of Mr. Ollie’s death sunk in. A sweeping sadness prevailed. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was a good neighbor to our family.” She eyed the rugged man standing before her. Mr. Ollie spoke of him often, and Jake had been especially close to the old man. Oliver Stout, fondly called Mr. Ollie by Emily and her brothers, had been a respected attorney, one who’d boasted many times over the years that his only grandson would one day take over his law practice.
But it didn’t look that way. Not if Jake was a deputy marshal.
“I appreciate the condolences, Em.”
Such familiarity galled her. “So you’re a gambler as well as a lawman?” Emily could only imagine Mr. Ollie, weeping in heaven.
“I partake in a game of cards on occasion.”
“Family funerals being one of them?” She couldn’t squelch the quip.
Jake inhaled, but then seemed to think better of a reply. Instead, he guided her the rest of the way to the bench.
Emily tugged her capelet around her shoulders and sat. She eyed the crowd, praying no one would recognize her as Maple Street School’s third grade teacher or Agnes Sundberg’s niece or Jacob Dunbar’s cousin . . . or Captain Daniel Sundberg’s daughter. With so much family surrounding her in this town, Emily knew the odds were against her anonymity.
“Once again, I am terribly sorry you got in the middle of this whole mess.”
He couldn’t be sorrier than she!
Mr. Fransmuller began sweeping up glass and shooing people away from the scene when shrieks from across the street pierced the air.
Iris. She turned in time to see her best friend making an unladylike sprint from the department store.
“Emily! Emily Sundberg!”
Standing, she cringed. So much for hiding her identity.
Emily lifted a hand in a tiny wave. Iris spotted her and crossed the street. She held her hat in place on her head with one of her slender hands. In the other she clutched her wrapped purchases.
“What’s happened? Oh, my stars!” A pale blue dress hugged Iris’s wispy frame as she hurried toward Emily, while her wire-rim glasses slipped down her long nose. “I heard there was some barroom fight and you got trampled half to death. What would I do if I’d lost my very best frie—”
Iris’s gaze lit on Jake, and she slowed her steps. Giving him a timid smile, she let go of her hat and pushed up her glasses.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Iris leaned toward Emily. “Is he the one who ran you over?”
“That about sums it up. But I’m fine, so let’s finish our shopping, shall we?”
Iris didn’t budge. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” She nudged Emily, who felt a new soreness in her rib cage.
Jake spoke up before she could. “US Deputy Marshal Jake Edgerton, ma’am.”
“Deputy marshal? How impressive.” Iris’s smile grew. “I’m Miss Iris Hopper and Emily’s best friend, going on eight years now. Right, Em?”
“Right.”
“My parents were killed in a horrible mud slide in South America where we were missionaries. I’ve lived with my grandmother ever since.” She pointed to where Mrs. Hopper still stood, recounting the event to an accumulating cluster of women.
“Sorry to hear of your loss.” Jake’s gaze, the color of the brandy he denied drinking, shifted to Emily. “As for Em and me, we go way back too.” A slow grin spread across his mouth. “Ain’t that right? And I must admit it’s been a pleasure, um, running into you today.”
Shut up, Jake. She looked down the block, wondering if he had any idea how much heartache he’d caused her over the years. Because of him and his big mouth, she’d spent half her life repairing her blemished reputation in this town. Worse, Jake never wrote back to her when she’d attempted to apologize for her part in the wrongdoing.
“How’re your brothers?” He gave a nostalgic wag of his head. “That summer I visited Granddad and met all of you Sundbergs was the best in all my life.”
“Eden and Zeb are fine. Just fine.” She couldn’t get herself to say any more. “We’re all fine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Emily’s never mentioned you.” Iris’s pointed features soured with her deep frown. She leaned closer to Emily. “I thought we told each other everything.”
“No? You never mentioned me, Em?” Jake’s dark eyes glinted with mischief.
Tried half my life to forget you! She clenched her jaw to keep back the retort and realized that it hurt too.
His expression changed. “Maybe you ought to see a doctor, Emily.”
She wished he hadn’t picked up on her wince. “No, I’m fine.”
“She always says that,” Iris tattled. “She’s always ‘fine.’”
“How far’s the doctor’s office from here?”
“I don’t need a doctor, Jake. But thanks, anyway.”
“Well, goodness, Em, you certainly did take the worst of it.” Iris brushed off the back of Emily’s capelet. “And, oh, my stars! Just look at your hat. It’s ruined.”
“Yes, I know. But Jake reimbursed me.”
“How thoughtful.” After a smile his way, Iris examined Emily’s face like she was one of her fourth graders. “I’m not mistaken a bruise is already forming on your left cheek.” Iris clucked her tongue. “You’ll be a sight at the Memorial Day Dance tomorrow night. But if you need to stay home now, I will too.”
“No. We’re still going.” Emily knew her friend looked forward to this community event that honored war veterans as much as she did. In addition, Andy Anderson would be there. Maybe if he saw her in the new dress Momma and Bestamor had sewn especially for the occasion, he’d finally notice her, and not just as Eden’s sister either.
“Andy won’t give you the time of day if you’re all banged up. You might as well stay home.”
Iris had spoken her thoughts. Sadness descended like a fog rolling in from off Lake Michigan. Emily fingered her sore cheek. She’d decided months ago that Andy would make a perfectly suitable husband. Would this ruin her chances of finally catching his eye?
“Might help if you go home and put a cold compress on it,” Jake suggested. “I’ll bet no one will be the wiser by tomorrow night.”
“Sure, that’s right,” Iris’s gaze softened. “Perhaps Andy won’t see any bruising. And we can cake on some of Granny’s concealing cream wherever necessary.”
Glimpsing Jake’s amused grin, Emily blushed. How could Iris speak about such personal things in front of him?
“Excuse me, but are you speaking of Andy Anderson by any chance?” Jake hiked his hat farther back on his head.
“Yes.” Again, Iris seemed happy to provide all the information.
However, the last thing Emily wanted was Jake Edgerton to get involved in her life. “We should be on our way, Iris. Let’s catch up with your granny.”
“Well, I’ll be . . . ” Jake leaned against a hitching post. “Andy Anderson . . . what’s that rascal doing these days?”
“Andy works over at the aluminum factory.” Iris pointed just beyond Jake’s left shoulder and toward where the large, thriving business was located. “He’s quite the lady’s man, but Em hopes to change all that.”
“Iris, really!” Emily gave her friend a stern look.
“Interesting.” Jake gazed off into the distance, his lips pursed as he kneaded his jaw. He seemed to mull over the information before looking back at Emily. “I wondered if I’d see Andy while I was in town.” His gaze focused on Iris. “Andy and I go way back too.”
Every muscle in Emily’s body tensed. If only Mr. Ollie could have waited just a week longer to pass from this world to the next. Her hopes ran high for the Memorial Day Dance tomorrow night, and it vexed her that Jake might have the power to destroy her welllaid plans.
“Emily is counting on Andy to ask her for a dance tomorrow night, but—”
“Iris!” Aghast, she gave her friend’s arm a jerk. “I’m sure Deputy Edgerton doesn’t care about such things.”
“Sure I do.” He straightened, still grinning. “And I’ll tell you what, Em, if Andy doesn’t dance with you, I’d be happy to.”
“Thank you, but I can’t possibly accept.” She tamped down the urge to scowl.
“It’s the least I can do.” After another charming smirk, he arched a brow. “What time’s the grand affair?”
“Aren’t you in mourning?” He just couldn’t show up.
“Of course I am.” Jake rolled one of his broad shoulders. “But I know Granddad fought in the Civil War, and I think he’d want me to attend.”
Iris happily divulged the details, and Emily wanted to scream.
“I’ll be there,” Jake said.
“How grand!” Iris adjusted her colorfully decorative hat. “Then, of course, you must save a dance for me.”
“Iris!” How could her friend be so bold?
Jake didn’t seem offended. “It’d be my honor, ma’am.” He smiled rather sheepishly.
Enough! Emily turned on her heel and strode down the walk, passing Mrs. Hopper and the other women. Her heels clicked hard on the weathered planks. While she walked faster than a lady should, if she didn’t hurry, she’d lose her composure here and now— and right in front of the man who’d nearly ruined her life!
Thank you for the review!
ReplyDeleteI have reviewed the trilogy in a row here ~ thank you for your fluid writing ~ they feel like family! Kathleen
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