“Oh, don’t you cry, Belle, it will all be better now. I’m here, and we can proceed as planned.” Only we could not, because he had not taken his money in cash as I had asked him to. Instead of sewing it into his clothes, he had entrusted the bank with it, causing much delay and trouble. He had agreed to pay off my mortgage, and thus become a partner in the farm, but his money had not arrived yet. We had already been to the bank to inquire.
I could hear Lamphere out in the kitchen, snooping around. He had made big eyes the first morning when he came in to tend the fire and found Andrew in the house. He did not like it at all, Mr. Lamphere. He had been like a sullen child ever since. He could not keep away but kept circling my guest, looking at him with a hooded gaze. I had already told him many times to stay away and not bother Mr. Helgelien, but I was not sure if my warnings had any effect.
“Your man is loud today,” Andrew remarked when Lamphere in the kitchen let slip a curse.
“At least he doesn’t curse in front of the children.” I sighed.
“You may not need him when I have settled in.”
“That would be a relief; hired hands are expensive.”
“I can work for two.” Andrew laughed, folded the heart-shaped waffle in his hand, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Waffles means yes,” he said when he was quite done chewing. “Where I come from, if a man likes a woman and she serves him waffles, it means yes. If a man likes a woman but she says no, she serves him gruel instead.”
“Of course it’s a yes, my dear. It always was a yes.” I patted his hand with my fingers. “As soon as we get our affairs in order, we will be happy as can be.”
“Oh, I already am.” He smiled at me with berry pits wedged between his teeth.
“I’m sorry I got so angry in the bank. I just don’t want anything to stand in the way of our happiness.”
“Not to worry, I know you want some assurance—”
“I’ve been so strict with myself and told myself I will not marry before our affairs are in order. But then I’m so eager to get on with it, I sometimes lose my temper.”
“Your caution is very understandable, and no one regrets this delay more than me.”
“I do trust you, and wish that I just could give in to my heart, but I swore to heed my mind this time.”
“I’m just glad I can rouse such passion in you.”
Lamphere in the kitchen had gone quiet; he was listening in, no doubt. “You rouse all sorts of passion in me.” I gave another smile. “I’m sure everything will work itself out.”
“It will.” He fished another waffle from the tray. “And then we will be happy as can be.”
* * *
—
A few days later, Sheriff Smutzer was in my yard. I had not expected him and got a little anxious. Andrew had gone into town for supplies. The girls were in school and Philip was playing out back.
“Sheriff.” I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and stepped outside. My mind reeled off plausible causes for the interruption. I wondered if someone had asked questions about any of my former houseguests.
Smutzer looked immaculate with a clean shirt and shiny boots; he had arrived in his brand-new Ford, red and glossy like an apple. “Good morning, Mrs. Gunness, I hope you’re all doing fine.”
“Of course.” I wished he would get to the point. I was already spinning explanations, stories about horse theft and fraud.
“I’m sorry to intrude on you like this. I just wanted to let you know that your man, Lamphere, has been telling stories.”
“Oh? What kind of stories?” My heart started hammering in my chest.
The sheriff looked away and squinted against the sun. “About your friend Mr. Andrew Helgelien . . . Ray came in the other week and told me you harbored a fugitive. He said that Mr. Helgelien was wanted in South Dakota.” His face turned hostile when he mentioned Ray.
“No?” I was taken aback for once; I had not seen that coming. “Well, is he?”
“No.” Smutzer gave me a tiny smile. “It turned out to be a lie. Mr. Helgelien isn’t wanted for anything.”
“That’s what I thought. He seems a decent man.”
“Do you know why Ray would accuse him of something like that?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, but I will certainly ask him about it. Ray hasn’t been himself of late. He thinks a little too much of himself, perhaps, and doesn’t like my new friend staying at the farm.”
“So it would appear.” The sheriff gave another tiny smile. To him, Ray was nothing but a troublemaker, someone who made his job needlessly hard. Which was likely why he thought it worth his while to drive out and report the transgression to me, the hand that currently fed him. “Well, now you know.” Smutzer turned and made to leave.
“Thank you,” I told his back.
“My pleasure, Mrs. Gunness.” He turned his motor vehicle around and disappeared down the driveway.
When I confronted Lamphere with it, he denied the whole thing. He said he had never gone to see Smutzer about Andrew.
“The sheriff has it in for me. He wants you to turn me out.” He was sitting on his cot in the barn, looking as miserable as ever.
“Why would he want that?”
“He doesn’t like me.” Ray shrugged.
“Well, be as that might, you can’t go telling stories about Andrew. I can’t have the sheriff showing up in my yard.”
“Why?” Something sly had come into his eyes. “Does Mrs. Gunness have something to hide?”
“Whatever would that be?” I snorted. “Nothing unseemly happens here.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Lamphere started to roll a cigarette.
“You probably heard us talk about him being in prison, but that was many years ago—”
“How would I know when it was?”
“You shouldn’t tell the sheriff either way. You work for me and I expect you to keep quiet no matter what you hear or see.”
“You want me to keep quiet about us too, then? Not to tell anyone what a minx you are.”
I could not help but laugh. “That’s right, Ray, not a word about that.”
“Or how we almost married?”
“Especially that, Ray. Keep quiet about that.” My mood instantly plummeted.
“I don’t like him.” He spat on the floor. “He wants to take my place on the farm.”
“You shouldn’t be jealous of Andrew, Ray. You’re far luckier than him.”
“How come?”
“Just trust me on that and let it be . . . and no more talking to the sheriff.”
* * *
—
Andrew’s money came through at last, and we celebrated appropriately. I made a large, glazed roast and served Andrew a plate of sugared oranges in the parlor.
“Don’t you want any?” he asked me.
“I love oranges, but they give me a rash.”
“Too bad. They are sweet and nice, just as you are, Belle.”
“You deserve everything sweet and nice.” I leaned over and patted his hand.
I did not have to wait long before he clutched his stomach and croaked from the sofa, “I don’t feel so good, Belle. Maybe some water—”