Читать книгу Follow Your Heart - Rosanne Bittner - Страница 13

Ingrid stopped midrow and set down her gunny sack of corn kernels. She put a hand to the small of her back, stretching backward, then rolled her head forward and to the side, stretching her neck. Every fiber of her being screamed for rest, but planting time did not allow it. The only thing that mattered was temperature and weather, and the ideal time to plant.

Such was the life of a Nebraska farmer, along with a lot of praying that this year the grasshoppers would feast someplace else. But there was a positive side to both planting and harvesting. For both events, area farmers got together and helped one another, and for the past three days Carl and Stanley Unger had been on her farm with plows and horses. After making furrows, Ingrid, Johnny and Ingrid’s father followed, dropping kernels into the long trenches. Now, Carl and Stanley followed the planters with hoes, covering the kernels. The only thing left was to pray for just the right amount of rain and sunshine so that the harvest would be plentiful, with enough corn to store for their own use and plenty more to sell to buyers in Plum Creek.

She breathed deeply of the fresh, cool air. Since the downpours earlier in the month had ended, the weather had remained accommodating. She watched Carl and Stanley, again thinking what a fool she probably was for not committing herself to the strong and faithful Carl. He was not extremely handsome, but certainly decent looking, plain but stalwart.

“When will we be done?” Johnny asked with a pout, his face sunburned.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago,” Ingrid answered, shaking her head. “Just keep planting. The time will go faster than you think.”

Johnny frowned with impatience and rather reluctantly continued dropping corn into the furrows. Ingrid dipped her hand into her gunny sack, then noticed a carriage approaching along the narrow dirt road that led from Plum Creek to the farm. From what she could tell, the rig appeared to be fancier than any local visitor would use.

“Who on earth would bother us during planting time?” she muttered, irritated. Stopping now would upset the rhythm of plowing, sowing and covering the rows. She shouted to her father that someone was coming.

“This is no time for visiting!” her father yelled in reply, obviously annoyed. “Go see vat they vant, Ingrid. Then you might as vell quit and start supper.”

Ingrid shaded her eyes to see the buggy fast approaching, and she felt suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. Their visitor was indeed most likely a buyer, which meant it was a man of some importance from the city, and here she was a mess, her hands dirty from earth and kernel dust, her homespun dress stained, her hair falling from its bun.

She untied her slat bonnet as she hastily made her way between two furrows, hurrying as best she could in the loose dirt, feeling a little upset that a buyer, someone who should know better, had the audacity to come here during planting. More of her hair fell loose during the nearly ten minutes it took her to make her way back to the house. On the way she could see that their visitor had indeed arrived in a very handsome rig, pulled by a magnificently groomed black gelding wearing blinders. The rig was driven by a rather burly man wearing a plain brown tweed jacket and a brown felt hat. Beside him sat…

“Oh, my goodness,” Ingrid muttered. It was the railroad man, Jude Kingman. Her heart sank as she guessed the purpose of his visit.

The driver pulled at the reins to halt the handsome horse, and Jude Kingman climbed down. A gold watch chain hung from the pocket of his pale blue-and-black patterned vest, over which the strikingly handsome man wore a well-tailored, deep gray topcoat with black velvet lapels and black pipe trim.

Ingrid slowed her approach, feeling apprehensive, angry, yet slightly taken aback by her visitor’s dashing appearance. She hadn’t forgotten his stunning looks since seeing him two weeks ago at the train depot. He came closer and removed his hat, bowing slightly, then smiled…and oh, what a smile! His teeth were straight and amazingly white. His brown eyes were outlined with dark brows, and his straight nose was centered above a neatly trimmed mustache, full lips and a square-cut jawline. Thick, dark hair showed from the sides of his hat.

For some reason her visitor seemed somewhat surprised at the sight of her, and also pleased. He briefly adjusted a string tie at the neck of his white ruffled shirt before speaking.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely woman I saw at the train depot! What a pleasant surprise. You must be Miss Ingrid Svensson. My records tell me that’s who lives here.” He looked past her at the men working in the field as though he didn’t quite trust them.

More conscious than ever of her appearance, Ingrid pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I am Ingrid.” She stood there feeling plain and embarrassed. “Please excuse my appearance, but we are planting today.”

Kingman looked her over as though she were not a mess at all, but rather something quite agreeable to the eye. “No excuses necessary,” he answered. “Your beauty overcomes the situation.”

Rogue! He was a smooth talker, this one. “I remember you, Mr. Kingman, also from that day at the depot. And I assure you, flattery will not help your cause.” Still, his smile seemed so genuine.

“Ma’am, my compliment was just a statement of fact, not a ruse to win your favor.” He looked around. “You have a nice farm here—well kept.”

“Thank you, but you have picked a poor time to talk about the farm. We do not stop planting to visit or to talk business, especially when the weather is as perfect as it has been lately. And now I have supper to fix. If you are here to discuss business, I suggest that you leave and come back in ten days or so. Better yet, do not come back at all, as we have nothing to talk about.”

Kingman’s eyebrows shot up in apparent dismay at her stance. “Ma’am, I admire your directness.”

Ingrid put her hands on her hips. “As you said a moment ago, Mr. Kingman, it’s just a statement of fact. I do apologize for the rude treatment you received at the railroad depot, but if you do not leave this minute, it could happen again. You are obviously not a welcome sight to farmers.” She glanced back at her father and Carl. “Please, do go now. I want no trouble on my land, and there will be trouble if my father and Mr. Unger realize who is here.”

Kingman seemed unfazed. “I do apologize for coming at such a busy time,” he told her, “but I truly am here just to look around. In the business world we, too, have schedules to keep. I’m just doing my job the same as you and your family and friends are doing, Miss Svensson.”

“Oh? And just what is that job, Mr. Kingman? To kick us out? I see you brought a gunman with you.”

He glanced at his man still in the buggy. “Benjamin is just a bodyguard. After that somewhat doubtful reception at Plum Creek, I thought it wise to have a little backup along when I visit you farmers.” He looked toward the fields again. “But then your father should be present when we talk, and apparently he’s not about to come in from the fields. I can certainly understand why on such a busy day.”

“If you knew anything about farming and hard work, Mr. Kingman, you would not have picked this time to come here in the first place.”

Kingman frowned. “I can assure you, ma’am, that I do understand hard work. I express my deepest apologies for disturbing you at this time. I am just out taking a look at the various farms on railroad property, getting to know the owners and getting an idea of the situation as a whole.”

Ingrid folded her arms. “The situation? What situation is that, Mr. Kingman? Would it be whether or not we should be ordered off of our own land? Would it be wondering if some farmers will fight you? I can assure you, they will, and I do not look forward to the strife your presence will cause for Plum Creek.”

Kingman put his hands to his waist. “I thought you were too busy to talk about these things.”

Ingrid closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “If talking about them is inevitable, then you may come back in two weeks, but be assured that if you are coming to tell us this is not our land, it is a fruitless trip on your part. This land is ours by right, for the simple fact that we have worked it for nine years now, longer than the transcontinental railroad has even existed, on land promised us by the railroad so that more people would settle out here and in turn use that railroad. So since you are such a busy man, Mr. Kingman, do not waste your time on small farmers like us.”

Ingrid turned to leave, and it was then she noticed Carl walking toward them. “Oh, dear!” she muttered. She turned back to her visitor. “Please, go now!” she told him. “The man walking toward us has a temper, let alone the fact that he is tired and will be very irritated to know it’s you who has interrupted this very important work. If you expect any kind of decent conversation with any of us, come back at a better time! I am telling you for your own good.”

Something about the way Mr. Kingman looked at her then seemed to open a window to the inner man, an odd spark of sympathy and understanding, something she would not have expected from a man of his wealth and power, a man she’d guessed had no concern at all for people “beneath” him. He tipped his hat again. “As you wish. I only came to meet you and look the place over, nothing more.”

“Hey! Who are you? Vat do you vant? Ve are busy here!”

Kingman looked Ingrid over again. “You know, ma’am, in spite of the condition you are in right now, I feel compelled to tell you that you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever set eyes on.”

Leaving Ingrid rather stunned by the remark, he turned and headed back to the carriage. His bodyguard started to climb down when he saw Carl approaching, but Kingman ordered him to take it easy. “I want no trouble,” Ingrid heard him say.

“Vait up there!” Carl yelled. “You that man from the railroad? Vait there and I vill show you vat ve think of people who cheat others and rob from them!”

Ingrid turned. “Carl!” She reached out and grabbed his arm just as he got close enough. By then Jude Kingman was in the carriage seat. His bodyguard snapped the reins, urging the beautiful black horse into a modest trot.

“That vas that fancy railroad man, ya?” Carl demanded of Ingrid.

Ingrid stared after the carriage as she answered. “Ya.”

“Did he say vat he vanted?”

She finally turned and faced Carl, struck by the stark contrast between him and Jude Kingman. “You already know what he wanted. He said he was here to look over farms that are on railroad land and to meet the owners. I told him he’d come at a very poor time and that he should wait a couple of weeks before coming back.”

“Ya, vell he had better not come back at all! If he shows up at my place, he might not leave standing up!”

“Carl Unger, you stop that kind of talk! Nothing is worth committing violence against another man!”

“Nothing? I am not so sure.” Carl turned and walked off to finish his share of the planting. Ingrid turned and watched the buggy disappear over a low rise, heading toward Plum Creek. She put a hand to her heart, feeling guilty that although she was upset over the likely reason for Jude Kingman’s visit, he’d left quite an impression.

Shame on you, Ingrid Svensson! she told herself. The man is after your farm of all things! She marched into the house to prepare supper, hoping against hope that “that railroad man” would not come back at all.