Follow Your Heart. Rosanne Bittner

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      Chapter Eight

      Early July

      Ingrid and Johnny walked each row of corn, the eighteen-inch stalks tall enough to begin watching for corn borers. Each time Ingrid spotted a damaging bug or worm, she picked it off. Johnny held out a jar of kerosene and in the bug went, never to fly or eat again.

      “So far it all looks good,” Ingrid commented.

      Johnny grinned. “Far says if we get in a good crop, we might be able to buy our land from the railroad if we have to.”

      Ingrid sobered, irritated that she’d lost many a night’s sleep since Jude Kingman’s visit. He’d not come back yet, which was fine with her, but a few other farmers had already received eviction notices, effective November first. That gave them barely enough time to know what their profits would be from the corn harvest.

      Carl and Stanley Unger were already working hard at establishing a branch of the National Grange at Plum Creek, deciding there was power in numbers. Farmers were gathering together in protest over their treatment by the railroad, unfair pricing and the tyrannical attitude of the Union Pacific. Ingrid could see the deep unrest that was building to anger and very un-Christian behavior.

      So far she’d convinced her father not to join the Grangers. She worried that could bring more trouble than it was worth. She’d heard rumors of destroying railroad property, and a few men, including Carl, talked of using guns to keep railroad men off their land. She hated Johnny hearing such talk.

      Carl was beginning to show a side to his personality that gave her even more doubt about whether she wanted to marry the man. A few days ago he’d visited them to rant and rave about a neighboring German farmer, Vernon Krueger, who’d already given up his farm and was now working for the railroad. He called Vernon a money-hungry, penny-pinching, cowardly traitor, and the sight of Carl’s clenched fists haunted Ingrid.

      To make matters worse, Ingrid felt pressured by both her father’s and Carl’s talk of how a marriage could ensure that at least one of the farms would be saved. Combining their profits this fall might leave them money to hire help, since Ingrid’s father’s back was getting no better. Perhaps they could buy one of the farms and live on it as one family.

      What upset Ingrid the most was Carl’s suggestion she could “cook and clean for his father, too.” There was nothing romantic about his suggestion. It sounded more as though she was being bartered for a railroad deal and would be nothing more than a servant. Marriage to Carl seemed more and more like a business deal than an act of love.

      God, forgive my thoughts. Help me to know what to do. The womanly side of her wanted love and gentleness and sweet words. Her practical side told her Carl was right. Marriage could solve their railroad problem as well as bring her father the relief he needed from hard work, maybe even prolong his life. And there was Johnny to think about.

      “Hey, somebody is coming,” Johnny told her then, interrupting her thoughts. “Looks like that fancy buggy again.”

      Ingrid looked toward the house, and against all that was right, her heartbeat quickened when she recognized the approaching buggy.

      “Stay here, Johnny, and keep picking off worms.” She lamented that, again, she was not presentable for company, especially the likes of Jude Kingman. This time she was not only dirty and wearing a plain, gray, homespun dress, but she also smelled of kerosene. “So be it,” she told herself as she walked toward the house.

      Why should she worry about how she looked to a total stranger who was here to steal her farm? Never once had she worried about how she looked when Carl came calling. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself to go head-to-head with Kingman. By the time she reached her soddy, the debonair man was already standing on the porch waiting for her. She deliberately gave him a look of cool greeting.

      “I would say welcome, Mr. Kingman, if only I thought you were here for a good reason.” She glanced at his carriage. “Where is your gunman?”

      Kingman removed a black felt hat. “Other than my driver, I came alone, ma’am,” he said, bowing.

      Oh, but aren’t you smooth, Mr. Kingman, she thought. Today he looked as elegant as the first time he’d visited. He wore a neat black suit with a silver satin vest under his jacket, and his dashing looks made it difficult for a young woman to be rude.

      “Sit down, Mr. Kingman,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “My father is at Carl Unger’s farm, which is probably just as well. Carl Unger is prepared to shoot you if you show up at his place. We have time to talk. I have as much say in what happens to this farm as he does.” She brushed at her dress. “Forgive my condition, but yet again you have come on a very busy day. That is the life on a farm in summertime.”

      Kingman looked her over. “Miss Svensson, I can’t imagine you being in any condition that could possibly hide your beauty. Never apologize for how you look. If you knew anything about me and some of the people I know, you’d realize that the way you look is absolutely refreshing to me.”

      Ingrid frowned. “Am I amusing you, Mr. Kingman?”

      He lost his smile and looked completely serious. “No, ma’am. I am definitely not laughing at you. I am admiring you.” He glanced at the soddy, curiosity in his eyes. “I’ve never seen a house like this. Can I look inside?”

      A bit confused and wary, Ingrid opened the door. “Be СКАЧАТЬ