Serendipity by Cathy Marie Hake Page A

maiden who made her home with many little men. Dwarfs.”
    “Snow White.” A winsome smile tilted her full lips. “By the Brothers Grimm. It’s Jerlund’s favorite.”
    After putting away oil, he cleaned up the mess. “When you said there’s not another woman here, you weren’t joking, were you?”
    A plethora of emotions flickered across her face. “I wish I had been. Cholera stole Aunt Maude, the granny woman who taught me her healing ways, and three other women. I lost them and the last five children all in one wave. Most of the men were off installing the altar, pulpit, and pews in a new church, so they escaped it. I tell myself to be grateful, because had they been here, I would have lost some of them, too.”
    “It’s been hard on you.”
    “Aye. But I have learned to open my heart wide so I hold no regrets of what was – only of what might have been. And then, I’m second-guessing God. So I enjoy those God gives me.” Turning, she began to mash the potatoes.
    Todd took the funny implement from her hand. “I’m no cook, but this I can do.” She added milk, butter, and a bit of salt, and he massacred the boiled potatoes. “So this is how they are made.”
    “Mashed potatoes drowning in gravy would make a rib-sticking meal for your ma.”
    Ma. For a few moments, he’d let the predicament slide from being his primary focus. With Miss Rose on hand, he could set aside his worries . . . and with all these men depending on her, there wasn’t a hope he’d pry her away. Or could he? “Ma’s in a bad way.”
    “Forsooth, she is – now. Time will reveal her true condition. If God granted requests based on the number of prayers dedicated to an issue, sure as snow’s a-fallin, your ma will be skipping all the way back to the train station.”
    Another prayer got added to the count at suppertime. Tender roast, carrots, mashed potatoes – every bite tasted ten times better than the one before it. Afterward, the men set out what they’d been working on so the others could “take a gander.”
    Miss Rose lifted a small box from the midst of the work and carried it to her pie safe. “We have some cameos this time.”
    “They’re her favorites. She wears one every day,” Jerlund said in a loud whisper. “I like the birds best.”
    “Everything is special in its own way if you pay attention.” Miss Rose lifted a cameo and held it before the kerosene lamp. “This only takes a glance, and the graceful profile proclaims it as a thing of beauty.”
    Todd studied the woman instead. The lamplight cast a glow about her. Graceful and beautiful – those words fit her far better than a thin piece of shell. Ordinary conversation filled the room – weather, animals, memories of happy times. Todd would much rather talk with Miss Rose.
    Time to see if his plan stood a chance. Elbowing in, Todd planted himself by her side. They’d stood close while mashing the potatoes, but this was closer still. Her response to his touch would reflect either instinctive withdrawal or acceptance. “By the time that cameo gets to me, I’m not going to know who made it.” His fingers slid beneath her hand, and he pulled it just a little to the right so he could see, too. For an instant, her hand shook. Did she feel the same jolt he did upon contact? He wasn’t disappointed in the least when her hand relaxed trustingly in his, but her voice trembled as she answered Jethro’s question about her parents.
    Todd wondered aloud, “Do you take after your mother or father?”
    “Both. Mama liked to bake and grow roses; Daddy loved books and folktales.” She passed the cameo to the nearest old gent. “How about you, Mr. Valmer?”
    She’d ignored appearance. Interesting. And telling, too. “My love of the land comes from my father; to my great regret, I have none of my mother’s cooking ability.”
    “An affliction common to men.” She kept a straight face. “Daddy couldn’t fix anything in the kitchen unless he used a hammer