Follow Your Heart. Rosanne Bittner

It sounds like just a rumor right now.”

      Some of the anger left his eyes. “Perhaps. But…” He hesitated, softening even more, his face taking on a red glow. “Surely you know my feelings for you, Ingrid. My plan is someday to make you my beloved and raise our children on that farm.”

      Ingrid felt like crying from guilt. Why couldn’t she love Carl? Was she a fool to keep turning him down? “Carl, I dearly appreciate your feelings and dreams, and I promise to think about them. But for now I have to think about Papa and Johnny. Apparently we need to wait and see if there will be trouble with the railroad. We all must pray and hope and go ahead with spring planting as always, as soon as weather permits. Promise me you will be patient and wise about your decisions if there is trouble. Do not do something foolish. This land has laws, and we must follow them.”

      Carl’s normally bright eyes darkened again. “Ve shall see.” He turned to Albert, who nodded in agreement.

      “Ya. Maybe ve make our own laws.”

      Carl nodded.

      “I will listen to no such talk, especially not in front of Johnny,” Ingrid demanded.

      Carl sighed, shaking his head. “I go now.” He rose. “Ingrid, you think about what I told you. I am getting no younger, nor are you. A marriage could strengthen our cause against the railroad if that becomes necessary. Putting out a single man is one thing. Putting out a family is quite another, and ve could lay title to both farms if ve married.”

      What about love? Is that of only secondary importance? Ingrid wanted to ask. She turned away, pretending to check the Concord’s ash pan. “Be careful going home in this rain, Carl.” She heard him say his goodbyes to Albert and Johnny, heard the door open and close, then felt relieved he’d left.

      She put her head in her hands. Relieved at his absence was not how a woman was supposed to feel about the man she might marry.

      Chapter Five

      Mid-May

      Jude leaned to look out the window of his comfortable Pullman car as it rumbled into the unspectacular town of Plum Creek. The weather had warmed to seventy degrees, which would normally be comfortable. But he’d learned from other trips to Nebraska that the air here was often humid, as it was today, making the temperature seem warmer than it really was. Because of that, he’d lowered the windows on the railroad car, and the stench from a nearby pen of cattle wafted inside, causing him to choke on the air.

      “Welcome to Plum Creek,” he muttered. “Don’t let the people here see you curling your nose at their town.”

      He leaned his head back for a moment, not relishing his reason for being here. As soon as the humble inhabitants of Plum Creek found out who he was and why he was here, they might forget their Christian background and be anything but welcoming.

      With a sigh he rose and walked over to a huge, gold-framed mirror at one end of his parlor car where he adjusted his small bow tie, ran his hands through his thick hair and donned a black felt hat. It was Sunday. He figured he’d dress appropriately. People should be getting out of church about now, and most of them would be dressed up. It just seemed the thing to do on a Sunday. It had been a long time since he’d set foot in a church himself, but he pretty well knew what people expected on the Sabbath.

      He straightened his shoulders and walked outside, standing on the car’s platform as the behemoth steam engine farther ahead blared its whistle and let off huge bursts of steam, slowing gradually until the train stopped in front of the town’s small depot. A few people wandered about, some probably expecting someone, or perhaps waiting for supplies; others simply curious. Just as he’d figured, many were dressed up, and after a look at the gold watch he pulled from his vest pocket, it became obvious most had indeed just come from church. It was one o’clock.

      A young man pointed toward his Pullman and said something to another man about “Kingman Enterprises.” The second man answered something about the railroad, and both ran off.

      Here goes, Jude thought. Apparently the rumor had already spread that someone from the railroad might be paying the town a visit. Perhaps those who’d run off were going for their guns. He smiled grimly at the thought as he leaned against a support post, watching the usual bustle that ensued when a train pulled into a depot.

      Jude stayed on the platform of his car and simply watched. Plum Creek was not unlike every other small town along the U.P.’s tracks from east to west. There was the proverbial white church with a steeple and a bell. He noticed a good deal of the people approaching had come from there. Usually the farther west a person traveled, the more saloons the towns sported. Since he saw only one in Plum Creek, he gathered this was a very Christian town, although that would indeed be put to the test when things became more heated over the reason he was here.

      He noted a barbershop, a sheriff’s office, a house with a sign that said Doctor, a lumber supply, three or four other supply stores, a livery, a blacksmith, a grocery store—all the usual businesses, plus a few which he could not see from where he stood.

      The engine let off more steam, and children playing nearby screamed and laughed. Children loved steam engines. Fact was, so did grown men. He agreed they were certainly something to see, and he admitted to admiring their beastly qualities, the huge steel wheels, the very mightiness of a locomotive engine. There was something very masculine about a steam engine.

      Well, what’s this? he thought. He’d spotted something quite the opposite of masculine. She was as feminine as could be, and quite a sight for a lonely man’s eyes. A young woman approached, with hair as bright as a hot yellow sun, and eyes as blue as the sky. Although the dress she wore was a far cry from designer-made, it fit her divine figure in ways that were pleasing to the eye. In spite of its plainness, and the fact that the woman obviously wore no special color on her face and no jewelry, she was beautiful. It struck him he’d never seen a woman so plain yet so lovely.

      The three men who accompanied the woman were as burly and rugged as the woman was beautiful and feminine. They were tall, light-haired, blue-eyed brutes who were obviously uncomfortable in their ill-made Sunday suits, men who were probably better suited to coveralls and pitchforks. No one could doubt they were farmers, especially from the way the sun had darkened and toughened their fair skin. Jude actually found himself feeling grateful that the woman with them showed little sign of sun-induced aging. She probably had sense enough to wear a wide-brimmed bonnet when out of doors, although today she wore a simple straw hat decorated with a few blue silk flowers.

      He couldn’t help noticing the four of them, since they marched close to his Pullman, the three men showing obvious scorn at the sight of the car and its passenger. The woman, on the other hand, appeared more curious than angry, and since Jude had grown accustomed to young women fawning over him, he actually felt disappointment that this particular young woman showed no such interest. He gave her his most charming smile, and she immediately took on a look of wariness, accompanied by a bit of an air, her chin rising slightly, determined contempt coming into those amazing blue eyes. Two of the men with her appeared older, more fatherly, but one was younger, and that one stepped closer then, an obvious challenge in his eyes.

      “Who are you, mister? You look like one of them fancy railroad men. Ve don’t vant no railroad men coming here!”

      Jude guessed he was probably the woman’s brother or, heaven forbid, her husband. To think that she might have a husband greatly disturbed Jude, and then he realized how absurd it was to care. Because she wore gloves he couldn’t see her left hand. The younger man stood there with his fists clenched at his side, so Jude couldn’t see his left hand, either. Then again, maybe big, rugged Swedish farmers didn’t wear wedding rings. Deducing that the man was Swedish was quite simple, considering the easily discernible accent in the few short words he’d spoken.

      “It might be nice to have a chance to introduce myself and be welcomed into your town,” Jude told him.

      “Ve don’t velcome thieves in Plum Creek,” the big Swede answered.

      “Yeah!”