Marta's Legacy Collection Read online

  “How are you not suited?”

  “A minister’s life belongs to his flock.”

  “Our lives belong to God whether we’re in church or outside it, Herr Waltert, or so my mother taught me.”

  “Some are called to greater sacrifice, and some things I was unwilling to give up.”

  “Such as?”

  “A wife, Fräulein, and children.”

  Her heart raced. “It is a Catholic priest who can’t marry, not a Lutheran minister.”

  “Yes, but the family forfeits for the sake of others.”

  He fell silent. When she met his gaze, she was frightened by the feelings he stirred in her. Is this what Rosie felt when she looked at Arik? or what Lady Daisy felt for her Clive? Marta glanced away, lifted her chin, and looked back at him. “Shall we begin our lessons?”

  “Anytime you wish, Fräulein.”

  Marta found Niclas waiting for her in the parlor every evening after dinner. While the other Canadian bachelors played cards, she taught Niclas English.

  “Mr. Waltert seems quite taken with you,” Carleen said one day while gathering the sheets for washing.

  “He asked me to teach him English.”

  She laughed as she piled the sheets in her arms. “Well, that was a handy excuse.”

  “As soon as Herr Waltert learns enough to carry on a conversation, he’ll be playing cards with the other men.”

  “Not if the way he looks at you tells me anything.”

  “He doesn’t look at me in that way, Carleen.”

  “You’re saying you don’t like him?”

  Embarrassed, Marta gathered the rest of the sheets and stuffed them into a basket. “I like him as well as any of my other boarders.”

  Carleen grinned. “You never blushed when Davy Michaelson looked at you.”

  “I don’t have your gift of languages, Fräulein. I’m not sure I will ever learn.”

  “No German, remember,” Marta insisted. “English only.”

  “English is a difficult language.”

  “Anything worth learning is difficult.”

  “Why can’t we just talk in German for a while?”

  “Because you won’t learn English that way.”

  “I want . . . learn more . . . you,” Niclas said in faltering English.

  Clearly frustrated, he switched to German. “I want to find out if we are suited to one another.”

  He could not have said anything more shocking. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “I can see I’ve surprised you. Let’s dispense with English for now so I can speak clearly. I want to court you.”

  Marta raised her hands to cover her burning cheeks. Davy Michaelson looked toward them while the others spoke in low voices. Quickly regaining her composure, Marta lowered her hands and clenched them in her lap. “Why would a man like you want to court someone like me?”

  Niclas looked astonished. “Why? Because you’re an extraordinary young woman. Because I admire you. Because . . .” His gaze caressed her face and drifted down over the rest of her in a way that made her body go hot all over. “I like everything I see and know about you.”

  Was this what love did to a person? Turned her inside out and upside down? “I’m your landlord.”

  His mouth tipped. “Do I have to move out to court you?”

  “No.” She spoke so quickly she felt the heat flood her face. “I mean . . .” She couldn’t think of anything coherent to say.

  “Will you attend church with me this Sunday, Marta?”

  He had never used her given name before. Flustered, she let out a soft breath. “We’re in church together every week.”

  His expression softened. “I go. You go. We don’t go together. I want you to walk with me. I want you to sit beside me.”

  Feeling entirely too vulnerable, she looked for escape. She knew if she said no, he would never ask again. She would end up like Miss Millicent, living in regret for the rest of her life. Hadn’t she come to Canada on the slim chance she might find a suitable husband? Niclas Waltert was far more than suitable.

  He searched her eyes. “What troubles you?”

  That he would find her unworthy, that after a while he would see she wasn’t suitable at all. She hadn’t even gone to high school—and he was an engineer. He was handsome. She was plain. He was cultured. She was the daughter of a tailor.

  She searched her mind frantically and blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. “I don’t even know how old you are.”

  “Thirty-seven. Not too old for you, I hope.”

  She stared at the pulse beating rapidly in his throat. “No. No, you aren’t too old.” When she raised her eyes, she saw light come into his as he smiled.

  “Then you will come with me this Sunday? Ja?”

  “Yes.” She gave a prim nod. She glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. I think we can dispense with our English lessons.”

  Niclas stood and held out his hand. As she stood, her hand in his, she knew she would go anywhere with him, even a bedouin tent in the middle of the Sahara.

  12

  1913

  Dear Rosie,

  I am married!

  I never thought anyone would want me, and certainly never a man like Niclas Bernhard Waltert. He came to Canada a year before I did and is an engineer for the Baldwin Locomotive Works. He is tall and very handsome.

  We were married on Easter Sunday in the German Lutheran Church. I made a blue skirt to wear with my Sunday-best white shirtwaist. I saw no reason to waste money on a wedding gown I would never wear again. My boarders came, even Davy Michaelson, and some of the neighbors on Union Street and members of the congregation.

  I thought I was happy when I bought my boardinghouse, but I have never been as truly happy as this. It makes me afraid sometimes. We only courted for three months. I know little about Niclas’s life in Germany or what brought him to Canada. But I dare not ask because there are things I have not told him. I haven’t told him I turned a whorehouse into a boardinghouse. I haven’t told him a woman was murdered in the bedroom we now share. Nor will he ever know I had a sister who committed suicide.

  1914

  Niclas never said much about his work, but Marta heard the other four men talk about layoffs and difficult times at the locomotive works. Niclas got up early every morning and went into the parlor to read his Bible. He said grace before everyone ate breakfast. He set his dish on the end of the table when he finished and left for work. When it neared time for him to come home, she would stand in the parlor and watch for him. He looked weary and unhappy when he walked up the street, but always had a bright smile when he found her waiting. After dinner, he would go into the parlor with the other men. While they played cards, he read his Bible. She would pause in the doorway before she went to bed. He always gave her a few minutes to change into her nightgown and slip between the covers before he joined her.

  One night, he didn’t come until almost midnight. She lay awake in a fever of worry. She heard the whisper of his belt. He folded his clothes onto the chair before he came to bed. He slid his arm around her and pulled her back into the curve of his body. “I know you’re not asleep.”

  “I see how unhappy you are.” She didn’t want to cry. “Are you sorry you married me, Niclas?”

  “No.” He rolled her onto her back. “No! You’re the best thing in my life.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “They’re closing the locomotive works.”

  She felt a wave of relief. Combing her fingers through his hair, she drew his head down. “You’ll find another job.”

  “Rumors of war keep coming, Marta. Kaiser Wilhelm keeps ratcheting up the German Imperial Navy to take naval supremacy from Britain. I’m German. That’s enough to rouse hostility right now.”

  “Do you think there will be a war?”

  “It won’t take much to start one, not with an arms race spreading over the continent. And now the political maneuverings of
the Russians are turning the Kingdom of Serbia into a powder keg in Europe.”

  As the days passed, she saw the toll the talk of war took on Niclas as he went out every day looking for work and came home with nothing but bad news.

  She was afraid to tell him hers.

  “You can help me with the boardinghouse.”

  His eyes flashed in anger. “A man is supposed to support his wife! And what is there for me to do here? You have everything working like a finely tuned Swiss watch!”

  Hurt, she pushed her chair back and stood. “Well, I won’t be able to do as much when the baby comes!” Niclas looked so shocked and dismayed, she burst into tears and fled into the kitchen. She pounded her fists on the worktable and turned quickly toward the sink when Niclas came through the swinging door. “Go away.” He caught hold of her and turned her around. He dug his fingers into her hair. “Let go!” He kissed her. She struggled, but he didn’t let go.

  “Es tut mir leid, Marta. I’m sorry.” Niclas wiped her cheeks and kissed her again, gently this time. “Don’t cry.” He held her close. She felt his heart beating heavily against hers. “I’m happy about the baby. Everything will be fine.”

  Marta thought that meant he would help her with the boardinghouse, but Niclas went out the next morning. When he didn’t come back for lunch, she worried. He came in just before dinner, hung up his coat and hat, and came into the dining room. He looked like he had exciting news, but it had to wait as the others came in for the evening meal. He said grace, and plates began to pass from hand to hand. He looked down the table at her, eyes glowing.

  Rather than go into the parlor after dinner, he helped clear the table and followed her into the kitchen. “They’re hiring harvest hands in Manitoba.”

  “Harvest hands? Manitoba? What has that to do with you? You’re an engineer.”

  “An unemployed engineer. There’s no work for me here. If a job opened, I wouldn’t get it. They’d be afraid I was a German spy. I must find another way to make a living.”

  She shut off the water and turned, but he raised his hand. “Don’t say anything. Just listen to me. As long as we remain in this house, you won’t see me as the head of this family.”

  Realization struck her. “You’ve already agreed to go, haven’t you?” He didn’t have to answer. Her body went cold. She thought she would faint and sat heavily on the stool. “What do you know about harvesting?”

  “I’ll learn.”

  “And you expect me to go with you?”

  “Yes. You’re my wife.”

  “And what about the boardinghouse?”

  “Sell it.”

  Marta felt everything she had worked for slipping through her fingers. “I can’t.”

  “What matters to you most, Marta? Me? Or this boardinghouse?”

  “That’s not fair!” She closed her eyes. “You don’t know how I’ve sacrificed.”

  “Do you love me at all?”

  She jumped off the stool, glaring at him. “I could ask you the same question! You didn’t even mention this to me before you went out and started making plans!” She stood, fiercely angry. “Why did you study engineering?”

  “Because my father demanded it. Because I was a dutiful son. The truth is I never liked engineering. It was something I did because it was what I studied, but I never had any pleasure from it.”

  “And you think being a farmhand in Manitoba will make you happy?” Her voice sounded strident in her own ears.

  “I had a garden in Germany. I liked watching things grow.”

  Niclas spoke so calmly and sincerely, Marta could only look back at him. Did she even know this man? She had fallen in love with a complete stranger.

  “You must decide.” He left her alone in the kitchen.

  She sat alone in the parlor after everyone else had gone upstairs. She hoped Niclas would come out and talk to her, but he didn’t. When she finally went to bed, he turned her to him. He kept her awake far into the night. When she lay languid, he stroked her hair back from her temples. “I leave day after tomorrow.”

  Gasping, she jerked out of his arms. Turning away from him, she wept. Niclas didn’t try to draw her close again. The bed shifted as he rolled onto his back. He sighed. “You can stay here and hold on to everything you’ve built for yourself, Marta, or you can risk everything and come with me to Manitoba. I leave it to you.”

  Marta didn’t speak to him the next day.

  Niclas didn’t touch her that night.

  When he rose early the next morning and packed his bags, she stayed in bed, her face turned away from him. “Good-bye, Marta.” Niclas closed the door quietly behind him. Marta sat up then. By the time she threw on her robe and went out into the hallway, he was gone. She went back to her bedroom. Falling to her knees, she sobbed.

  Someone tapped on her door a while later. “Is there a problem, Marta? There’s no breakfast.”

  “Fix it yourself!” Marta pulled the blanket over her head and stayed in bed most of the day crying. When she served dinner that evening, Nally looked perplexed.

  “Where’s Niclas?”

  “Gone.” She went back into the kitchen and didn’t come out again.

  Dearest Rosie,

  Niclas has left me and gone off to work on a wheat farm in Manitoba. He went away three weeks ago and I have not heard from him since. I begin to understand how Elise felt when she walked out into the snow. . . .

  Marta worked feverishly each day, spending most of her time in the kitchen. She no longer sat at the dining room table with the tenants, using the excuse of morning sickness. In truth, she was afraid she would burst into tears if anyone asked whether she had heard anything from Niclas yet. He had told everyone of his plans the evening before he left, so they knew he had gone off to Manitoba without her. They didn’t need to know she didn’t think he would come back.

  Rev. Rudiger came to visit her. She served him tea and cake in the parlor, then sat tensely waiting for the purpose of his visit, afraid of what he would have to say to her.

  “Niclas wrote to me, Marta.”

  Hurt welled up inside her. “Did he?” She pressed her back against the wingback chair, feeling trapped. “He doesn’t write to me. Did you come here today to tell me I have to go to Manitoba? Are you going to tell me I’m a disobedient wife and I should submit to Niclas and comply with his wishes?”

  His face filled with sorrow. He set his teacup and saucer aside. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands in front of him and looked into her face. “I came because I know how difficult this separation must be on both of you. I came to tell you God loves you, and He did not give you a heart of fear.”

  “God loves me.” She heard the sarcasm in her tone and looked away, unable to hold her pastor’s gentle gaze.

  “Yes, Marta. God loves you. He has a plan for you.”

  “My mother used to tell me the same thing. I know He has a plan for me.” She glared at him. “And a plan for Niclas.”

  “A plan for both of you together. God would not tear apart what He has put together.”

  Marta couldn’t speak past the lump growing in her throat. Rev. Rudiger didn’t ask questions or tell her what to do. When he stood, she walked him to the door. He put on his coat and hat. Marta stepped out onto the porch. “Please forgive me, Rev. Rudiger.” As the words poured from her lips, she remembered Elise lying in the snow.

  Rev. Rudiger turned. Marta saw no condemnation in his gentle expression. “My wife and I are praying for you. We love you very much. If you need anything, you’ve only to ask.”

  She blinked back tears. “Pray Niclas changes his mind and comes home.”

  “We will all pray God has His way with each of us.”

  Marta dreamed of Mama that night. “Fly, Marta.” She sat on the log in the middle of the Alpine meadow, a little cross marking the place where Elise lay. “Fly!”

  Marta rocked back and forth, weeping. “I did fly, Mama. I did!” The wind blew, whipping through the trees. “I built m
y nest.”

  Mama disappeared and Marta found herself standing in a desert. Her feet sank into the sand. Frightened and alone, she struggled, but couldn’t pull herself out. Sobbing, she thrashed, but that only made her sink faster.

  “Marta.”

  Heart leaping at the sound of Niclas’s tender voice, she looked up. He wore a seamless robe like Jesus. When he held his hands out to her, she grasped hold. The sand swirled away with the wind, and she found herself standing on solid ground. He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. When he let go of her, she cried. He held out his hand again. “Come, Marta.” A bedouin tent stood before her.

  A letter arrived the next afternoon.

  Dear Marta,

  Robert Madson has given me forty acres to cultivate. He has also promised me seed, six workhorses, a cow, and a few chickens. A house and wagon come with the job. I will share profits with him at the end of each harvest.

  If you come, I must know a few days before you are to arrive. You can reach me at this address . . .

  Please come. I miss holding you in my arms.

  Crying, she read the letter over and over, torn by longing, but paralyzed by fear and responsibility. It was easy for him to say come. He owned nothing. She couldn’t just walk away and leave everything.

  Could she live in the plains of Manitoba with winters forty below zero and summers of melting heat? Could she live out in the middle of nowhere, the closest neighbor a mile away and half a day’s ride for supplies in some small farm town?

  And how could a man who had gone to the university in Berlin be satisfied plowing fields? How could he give up building locomotives or bridges to become a sharecropper? Surely he would change his mind. And then what would happen?

  She knew what Mama would tell her. “Go, Marta!” But Mama’s life had been one of drudgery and pain, sorrow and affliction. She thought of Daisy Stockhard, sitting in her wheelchair in the middle of Kew Gardens saying she would have lived anywhere with her husband.

  It all came down to one question: could she be happy without Niclas?

  When Marta read the newspaper, she felt her blood go cold. Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria had been assassinated by a Serbian national. Niclas had been correct. That gave the Austrians the excuse they’d been looking for to declare war on Serbia. Soon every country on the Continent would be pulled into the mess.