Eva

Hearts of South Dakota

Parker J. Cole

Copyright © 2020 Parker J. Cole

Cover Art by Black Widow Books

All rights reserved.

First Edition: May 2020

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Writing about a culture different from your own can be a daunting task. (Wait, I’ve said this before in other books...hmmm) but it’s always great to have people who are willing to give you the time of day to help you in your research. There are a few people I want to acknowledge for their help in this series:

Nethanja Koenen – you may recognize her name as the rather unscrupulous matchmaker from A Bride for Sterling and this series, Hearts of South Dakota. She allowed me the opportunity to use her name and her character bloomed into what it is. As a Dutch woman who lives in the Netherlands, she helped me to understand certain words and translations, came up with the names for all the Van der Heiden siblings, and encouraged me.

Elizabeth Dallman – you may recognize her last name as being prominent in both An Agent for Brielle, and An Agent for Danielle. She had won a contest and let me use her name. As with Nethanja, her character grew and became what it was. Living in West Michigan, she gave me resources, tips, and general tidbits about the Dutch in that part of the state.

Joy Mansion – Every morning, Joy sends me a Bible verse to my social media outlet. Often, they are a balm for my day. When I presented this idea in a group we shared, she gave me permission to use her ancestor’s Dutch name as the base for our family.

Travis Perry – The most logical man I know. He helped me with certain logistics about the background of the story in order to keep it as historically relevant as possible but still allowing some free rein for creative license. Also, his study of languages aided in this book.

Goijaart van Dijk – His thoughtful and introspective insights into the Dutch culture are interwoven through this book as well as language usage. His help was invaluable when it came to certain aspects of this story, and in my other book, A Bride for Sterling. Have you ever met people that are interesting to know? Yeah, that’s him. He’s always willing to help, a Dutch trait that both he and Nethanja share.

I am certain I made mistakes. I can guarantee it. Every single one of them are mine alone.

Mijnheer—Mister

Moeder – Mother

Vader – Father

Tante—Aunt

Mevrouw – Mrs.

Goedenmiddag – Good afternoon

Juffrouw – Miss

Ja - Yes

Lieveling– darling

mijn liefde – my love

zuster—sister

Nee – No

Geweldig – splendid

Goedenmorgen – Good morning

Dank u wel – Thank you very much

mijn nicht – my niece

mijn zoon – my son

Zitten – sit

liefje – sweetheart

Wittebroodsweken (white bread weeks) –The name refers to the idea that in the first weeks the marriage has a festive appearance and that only white bread, once a luxury item, would be eaten. 

doodshemd –a gown made by the bride for the day of her wedding. After her wedding night, it’s washed and put away. Upon her death, she is buried in it.

oudere zus – big sister; Elder sister

Ik hou van je – I love you

miijn vrouw – my wife

Waar is moeder – Where is Mother

Goedenavond – Good evening

Welterusten – Good night!

mijn hart – my heart

Kalm aan – be quiet

Je bent een idioot – You’re an idiot

Het spijt mij – An apology of the sincere kind.

mijn koningin – my queen

bruidstoet – a bridal parade. The bride and groom, flower girls, witnesses, and parents all line up and parade down to the church for the wedding. This isn’t done as much as it used to be.

––––––––

Holland, Michigan

July 1858

“I don’t see him, Moeder.” Eva Van der Heiden spun away from the rain splattered window and rushed back to her mother’s bedside. She thrust aside the curtains that were affixed to the posts of the stained-oak bed frame. Her hazel eyes darted over the bloated figure of the slight woman looking tiny and frail within the giant bed.

Restless, Mother's tousled blonde curls bounced as she rocked her head back and forth. A sheen of sweat coated her pallid face. “Dear God, please bring my husband to me.” Her trembling fingers clawed at the thin white sheets.

Eva clenched the side of her lower lip between her teeth. “I’ll go find Vader.”

“Nee, Eva.” Mother’s sky-blue eyes bulged, the whites glistening like wet stones. Her fingers untangled from the bedsheets and latched onto Eva’s wrist. “You are the eldest. The others, your sisters, they cannot come. I don’t want them to see me in this way. You must stay here with me in case the babe—ah!”

Mother’s grip tightened on her wrist as she panted. Her noisy breaths scratched the still air of the room. For endless seconds, Mother’s body resembled a statue chiseled in the struggle of childbirth. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared, limbs stiff as she bore lashings of unfathomable pain.

Something dark, terrifying, and nameless came over Eva. It smothered her with the oppressive weight of a sodden blanket. Bile pooled at the back of her throat. What did she know about bringing a babe into the world? It was an impossible thing Mother asked of her.

Father, where are you? Why aren’t you here? Why aren’t you ever here?

A moment later, Mother’s hold loosened as she slumped against the headboard. If possible, she’d gone paler than before.

“You must stay by my side. There is no one else.”

Eva’s hands quivered. There must be someone she could reach out to for help.

Father disappeared that morning and no one had an inkling when he would return. Aunt Nethanja had stormed out of the house two hours ago. She and Mother had a fierce row that ended with Aunt Nethanja’s declaration she’d never step foot in the house again. Their closest neighbors had gone visiting family in another Dutch settlement. The midwife was attending to another birth in town.

Eva swallowed. Was there truly no one else?

Mother cried out again. Eva grabbed her clammy hand. The resultant, nearly bone-crushing grip made her wince. She bit back her own cries until the moment passed.

“Something is wrong.” Her mother sagged against the pillows. “The babe is too early, but I’ve never felt pain like this before. Oh, how I wish your vader were here.”

Eva’s mouth thinned. Father should be here. He would be here. They’ll just have to find him. “Moeder, I am going to see if I can find him.”

Her mother’s overly bright blue eyes pleaded with her. “Nee, you mustn’t leave me.”

Where was the strong, capable woman Eva had known all her life? In the past few months that woman had gradually disappeared, replaced by this anxious doppelganger.

Eva smoothed the damp curls away from her lined forehead. “I am not leaving you, Moeder,” she whispered, using the same soothing tone she employed when calming her younger sisters’ fears. “But we must have help. I cannot do this alone.” She bent and kissed the delicate skin of her mother’s hairline. “I will be back as quick as I can. I promise.”

Eva left the door ajar and raced down the unlit hall toward the firelight's glow emanating from downstairs. With each stride the same thought echoed in her mind like the refrain of a song. Father has to come. Mother needs him.

Her bare feet slapped down the stairs. The homey aroma of beeswax polish wafted to her nose. Its tang presented a welcome respite from the cloying scent of illness in her mother’s room. Her toe caught the hem of her too-long nightgown, and her foot went out from under her. She flailed, gripped the banister to keep from falling forward, but her foot skidded against the step's unfinished wood.

“Ow!” she yelped, holding her foot, hopping on one leg. Twisting and bending the leg at its knee, she lifted her foot, gaping at the sight of the two-inch long splinter that pierced its center. She hobbled on her injured foot as four of her sisters ran toward her, dressed in the same white nightgown as she.

They called out questions like volleys of arrows from bows.

“Eva, is Moeder all right? Are you all right?”

“What’s happening?”

“Is the baby here?”

“Shh!” She waved them to silence. “I don’t have time to explain. I need your help.”

“What do you mean?” Debora’s blonde brows lowered over her ice blue eyes. “What’s happening? Is it Moeder? Will she let us come see her?”

“Nee!” Eva held her hands up as if to ward off an evil spell. She couldn’t allow her sisters to see the things she’d seen. Not the soiled bed nor her mother’s misery because of their father’s absence. Instead she clasped Debora’s shoulder. “You must go find Vader at once!”

Debora’s head jerked back. “Vader?”

Eva’s foot throbbed. She needed to get the splinter out. “Ja. The babe is coming and Moeder needs him.”

“Vader will not come.” Debora folded her arms across her chest. “He said to send for him only if—”

“I do not care. You must bring him home.”

“He will not come.” Debora’s jaw set and a tightness entered her eyes. “Not for you. Not for me, or any of his witch daughters.”

Eva yanked her sister’s arms down and gave her a slight shake. She gritted each word through clenched teeth. “Bring. Him. Home.”

They stared at each other for a long moment until Eva sighed. Her hands loosened their grip on Debora’s arms and hung limply at her sides. “There is no one else who can.”

Debora’s eyebrow twitched but she nodded. Her mouth firmed into a hard line. “I will drag him back by his ear.”

The image Debora’s words evoked brought forth a burst of unexpected laughter mixed with an underlying sob. Eva hugged her sister. “Do that,” she whispered in her ear.

Debora ran past her and up the stairs as Eva pointed to her other sister. “Dorkas, you go to Tante Nethanja and ask her to come now.”

Though she told Debora to bring their father back at any cost, she had to prepare for the fact that he may not come. She had to get someone else to attend to her mother.

Her ten-year-old sister’s cider brown eyes widened. “But Moeder told Tante she never wanted to see her again.”

“Do as I say, Dorkas,” Eva snapped. “Tell her Moeder said the baby is too early.”

“But—”

“Go! We do not have time to argue about this. I must get back to Moeder.”

Dorkas glared at her as she raced up the stairs. Eva gave no heed to it. Time galloped away from them on a swift horse. She had no patience to bear with Dorkas’s habitual stubbornness.

She turned and met the tinsel-hued regard of her nine-year-old twin sisters.  “Hadassa. Hanna.”

They stepped forward as one. “What do you want us to do?” Hanna, the younger of the two by seven minutes, asked.

Eva nodded toward the two little girls who sat drowsily before the fire in the living room behind them. “Take Mirjam and Rebekka to the playroom. Keep them there until I call for you.”

Hanna grabbed Hadassa’s hand, but it was the latter who spoke. “Will Moeder be all right?”

What could she tell them? Eva didn’t have the answer herself. All she had were her hopes and prayers. They would have to be enough. She squared her shoulders. They were enough! Looking both sisters in the eyes, she said, “Pray that she will be.”

Hanna’s lips trembled and she twisted away. Hadassa held Eva’s gaze as if trying to read her innermost thoughts. Then she tore her gaze away in an abrupt manner and called out behind her, “All right, I’m coming, Hanna.”

It wasn’t the first time Eva observed this invisible connection the twins had. She long suspected Hadassa and Hanna communicated in a way unique to themselves. She accepted their close relationship as something she’d never understand.

Hanna encouraged Rebekka up from in front of the hearth. The six-year-old stuffed her thumb in her mouth and hid her face among the folds of Hanna’s nightgown. Seven-year-old Mirjam yawned as Hadassa propelled her forward toward the stairs and the playroom.

Knowing her sisters were about the assigned tasks she gave them, Eva hurried to the kitchen and sat on the bench at the long wooden table. She had to get back to Mother, but she couldn’t let the splinter stay in there.

Steadying her foot on her knee, she used the tip of her fingernails to grab the end of the fragment that hadn’t been embedded into her flesh. Carefully, hissing through her teeth, she pulled out the sliver of wood. A bead of blood was all that was left of its entry. Opening the door to the large cast iron stove that loomed in the corner, she tossed it into its belly.

There was a tinge of pain along the arch of her foot, but Eva ignored it as she darted out of the kitchen, past the living room with its giant hearth aglow with fire, and up the stairs. Her sisters, by the grace of God, would be able to bring Father and Aunt Nethanja.

Climbing up the stairs two at a time, she stopped at the landing. More light illuminated the hall now than when she had gone to seek her sisters. It cast a dim glow on the bare walls. That was strange. Peering down the length of the corridor, she saw where the source of the extra light came from.

Mother’s room.

Her brow furrowed. That couldn’t be. She was sure she hadn’t left it ajar. Unless...

A shiver arced down her spine. “Oh nee!”

Her feet pounded on the creaky floor as she dashed down the hallway, her lungs bursting as she hoped against hope that her mother’s nightmare hadn’t come true. As she neared, the door was indeed open. She came to a stop and pressed her fist to her mouth.

Her sisters had entered the room and surrounded the canopy bed. The one thing her mother did not wish to happen.

“What are you all doing here?” Agony made the words a harsh sound. “You should be about your tasks. Debora. Dorkas. You must go get Vader and Tante. Hadassa and Hanna, take the—”

“Even in her dreams, she calls for him.” Debora interrupted, her quiet voice shuddering.

Mother whispered into the still air, “Pieter.” Her head shook from side to side as her mouth quivered. Her golden lashes fluttered against her pale high cheekbones as she dozed in a fitful sleep.

Debora advanced to the side of the bed. With a tentative hand, she stroked her mother’s cheek, her eyes downcast. When her lashes lifted her blue eyes glinted like shards of glass.

“I hate him.”

Dorkas grabbed Debora’s arms while Hadassa and Hanna covered the ears of the little ones. “You mustn’t say that, zuster.” Dorkas’s stricken look marred her facial features as she shook the sleeve of Debora’s nightgown. “You mustn’t ever say that.”

“I will say what I please.” Debora spat out with a venomous tone. “I have been quiet long enough. Moeder is suffering and Vader is not here. He is never here.”

Gulping, Eva came forward and loosened Dorkas’s grip away from Debora. “Dorkas, go. Find Tante. Now,” she ordered when her sister opened her mouth to protest.

Dorkas looked back and forth between them. With a small sob, she pivoted away and dashed out the door. Eva nodded toward Hadassa and Hanna who both took one last look at their mother before leading the younger two away.

Once everyone had left, Eva took Debora by the arms. “None of that matters now, Debora. Moeder needs Vader. We will deliver him.” She paused and lifted her eyebrow. “Won’t we?”

“Ja, zuster.” Debora’s fingers curled into a fist. It shook as she stared at their mother. “We will.”

Eva nodded and let her sister go. Her feet dragged as she stepped up to the head of the bed. “Moeder never wanted any of you to see her this way. When you go to the others, tell them so.”

Debora tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I will.”

She left the room after that, and Eva was left alone. Alone to stare at her mother’s restless form. Alone to hear her mother’s wispy cries for Father. Alone to pray, that for Mother’s sake, her father would come.

Albany, New York

March 1870

Luc de Jeu slammed his fist onto the polished oak desk, rattling the objects on its surface.

“You can’t mean that, sir.”

Mr. Fitzgerald stroked his long white beard. “I’m afraid that is the case. Your father made the change to his will three years ago. He was of sound mind and competent.”

“This is intolerable.” Luc leapt up from the chair. It teetered on both back legs for a moment before it righted itself. “I cannot believe this is happening. If he were alive right now, I’d kill him.”

“You don’t mean that, Luc.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Ties.” He turned his back on Ties Roelof, the one who had reproached him, and the other five men who sat before Walter Fitzgerald. “I don’t mean that.”

He wandered over to the single window of the office. The bright sunshine warmed his face. Would it be able to melt the sudden coldness lying in the center of his chest?

How could Father do this?

Luc peered down at the scene below. The sidewalk teemed with dark suited men going about their business. Women and house servants strolled along. The streetcar rumbled down the middle of the street while horse-drawn carriages carted their occupants to their destinations.

How could the world go on when his entire existence had shattered?

From behind, Mr. Fitzgerald cleared his throat. “I know this is distressing for you, Mr. de Jeu.”

“Calamitous would be the more appropriate term, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Luc,” Sybrand Hoekstra replied with a slight slur in his voice. “I can think of worse things.”

“Of course, you can,” Luc retorted. “But I can’t!”

His darkest nightmare had come true.

A thin layer of moisture covered his forehead as if he’d arrived at his own level of hell as depicted in Dante’s Inferno. To demand marriage of all things!

Luc’s jaw clenched. “How long do I have before—”

“Nine months.”

He whirled away his mouth gaped open. “You must be joking, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve only informed me of this today.”

Mr. Fitzgerald leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands under his chin. “Mr. de Jeu, I did warn you many weeks ago that it was urgent for you to come to my office in a post haste fashion. I know you were abroad at the time. I believed you would return within a month or so after receiving my message of your father’s untimely death.” His boot button eyes swept over the other group of men. “All of you.”

The palpable tension in the room threatened to expand like a hot air balloon. Luc’s father wasn’t the only one that died that day three months ago. All their fathers had perished at the same time.

“You chose not to come back until last week. Much longer than I had anticipated. The stipulations of the will still stand.”

“We were in very strenuous and sensitive negotiations in the East Indies, Mr. Fitzgerald. The Javanese delegation—”

“No need to explain, Mr. de Jeu. The fact remains you must find a bride and produce an heir in nine months, or you will forfeit control of the company.”

Mr. Fitzgerald then eyed the other men sitting before him. “Without breaking confidence, the rest of you had certain caveats placed by each of your fathers, in their wills, that have a direct impact on your continued participation in the Hive.”

Luc gave a short derisive laugh. His entire life in one form or another had been spent in service of the Hive. In his youth he’d known more about tallying up balance sheets than he did about bouncing a ball.

“The Hive must always come first,” his father had told him repeatedly throughout the years.

“What will happen if I do procure this—” His words trailed off and a deep scowl dominated his face. This was ridiculous. “If I do procure this ‘good Dutch girl’ and she is unable to conceive. What then?”

“I asked your father the same question. I felt it was unreasonable when it is speculative if children can come from a union. Your father was certain that would not be the case.” The attorney straightened and then became brisk. “Now,” he opened the heavy folder before him. “There are a few more things to discuss, regarding the assets...”

The rest of the meeting went on with a semblance of normalcy although Luc felt the varying tensions of his associates as they dealt with business. To call these men ‘friends’ would be an overstatement. They never had that kind of sentiment among them, even in their boyhood.

All the same he couldn’t envision a life without them.

An hour later they left the small, stuffy office and tramped down the stairs, out the glass doors and onto the busy streets in the heart of Albany. As they stood there, Luc felt the burden of his predicament crush his shoulders.

“Where am I going to find a bride?”

It was an open question—directed at God, perhaps? Yet Joppe Mulder responded, “Tell me, is there a juffrouw which has captured your interest?”

“Nee.” Luc slashed the air with his hand. “When have I had time to dally with women?”

The man traced the long scar on the right side of his face. “A good point, Luc.”

“You should always make time for that.” Sybrand grinned in a vacuous sort of way. “Women make the world go around and around and around.” He twirled his finger in a circle.

“Rather it’s the drink that makes your head spin around.” Gerrit Brouwer mocked as he rubbed the side of his nose.

“What should I do?”

“Find a wife,” Guus, Gerritt’s identical twin brother answered in a pointed way.

“Ja, but how? I’ve no time to court and woo a woman. We have to travel to the Dakota territory to ascertain the state of this...this...” He snapped his fingers to try to recall the name of the company the Hive had bought several months ago.

“Perry Fur Company,” Thymen Claessen supplied. “I do not understand why the Hive included this among the holdings.”

“We’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?” Luc rubbed at his forehead. A headache started to pound at his temples. “I don’t have time to find a wife.”

“Goedenmiddag, my fine Dutchmen!”

Luc turned around to see the familiar form of a large Irishman, with whom the Hive occasionally did business, heading their way. “Mr. Wellington, how are you?”

The Irishman stopped, resting heavily on a cane. His light green eyes twinkled from a somewhat craggy face with ginger hair and beard. “I’ve told you before to call me Griffin. Now, what brings you back to this side of the world? Last I’d heard, you were in the East Indies.” Then Griffin froze, a chagrined expression replacing his smile. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. My condolences on the passing of your father.” His green eyes lifted to encompass the group. “All of you.”

Appropriate murmurs followed as polite society dictated, but Luc had far more pressing things to concern himself with. Where was he to find this ‘good Dutch girl’ his father insisted on?

“Have you recovered from your illness?” Thymen asked.

Luc jolted out of his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten that Griffin had been ill for a time. Almost to the point of death.

“Yes, yes.” The man’s shoulders relaxed as they changed the topic of the conversation from his social blunder. “Almost back to my old self. It won’t stop me from running for the county seat next year. Why, I was telling my wife Lotte today—”

“Your wife?” Luc interrupted, honing in on the word “Tell me, how did you meet your wife?”

Griffin grinned. “Through a matchmaker.”

Luc felt the burning regard of six pairs of eyes land on his person. “Did you request the services of a matchmaker?”

The Irishman scratched at his beard. “Well, let’s say my wife was looking for a match. And for some reason, she thought I’d fit the bill.”

Griffin guffawed and slapped Sybrand’s back, who stood the closest. Already teetering, Sybrand would have fallen over if Joppe hadn’t grabbed him.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Griffin looked at his hand as if the appendage was responsible for independent movement. “Don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

“Tell me, does this matchmaker still perform these services?”

“Far as I know.”

Luc’s heart thudded against his chest. Here lay a solution!

“Do you have her name and place of business? I’d like to see her post-haste.”

“Well, well, it’s like that, huh? Lotte would like to hear that.”

“I’m sure.” Luc’s mouth tightened into something he hoped resembled a smile. “Her name?”

“Oh, let me think.” The Irishman rocked back on his heels. “She’s a Dutch woman like my wife. I know that much.”

Ties’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “That does narrow it down some, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Griffin replied in a grave tone. Ties slapped his forehead.

Luc bit back a groan.  

After a seemingly long minute, Griffin shrugged. “You know, I can’t remember her name. My wife knows her name on account of them being fellow countrywomen and all. From what I can remember, she lives in a Dutch town in the western part of Michigan.”

Luc cursed under his breath in Dutch. Michigan! He didn’t have time to travel there!

“The matchmaker comes to town every few months and visits my wife. Lotte likes to make these hats for her. Matter of fact, she’s in town today and is coming to dinner this evening.”

The curse changed to a fractured blessing. “If you will permit me, I’d like to join you for dinner.”

“Well, you must be anxious to gain a bride.” Griffin laughed. “Careful, or you’ll feel the rope before you know it.”

He listened as Griffin gave instructions. What the Irishman didn’t know was that he already had a noose around his neck.

***

Holland, Michigan

“Floris Van der Heiden, what have you done with yourself?” Eva squatted down to stare at the swollen right eye on her little brother’s face.

“Nothing happened, oudere zus.” Floris stuck out his lower lip in mutiny, wincing when a small trickle of blood trailed down from the split.

“Nothing, eh?” She clucked her tongue. “Well, nothing sure took a wallop at you.” She shook her head. “Did you get into another fight with the Van der Berg boys again?”

“What if I did?” His blue eyes, so much like their father’s, burned with challenge.

She reached out and smoothed his cheeks. “I’ve told you to not let the Van der Berg brothers bother you.”

“You’re not a witch!” His fist balled. “You’re not cursed. None of you are.”

“I know that.” She rubbed his upper arms in a soothing manner. “You don’t have to keep defending us from words.”

Floris trembled with the force of his upset. Eva drew him into her arms and kissed his cheek. He tried to pull away, but she held on until he relaxed to her gentleness.

“I don’t like it when people talk about my sisters and say mean things.”

“I know,” she cooed. “But you can’t keep getting into fights every time someone does.”

“You’re pretty, not ugly.”

She gave a sad smile, knowing how untrue it was. “Dank u wel, Floris.”

“All my sisters are,” he went on.

Eva stared at the woodgrain of the wall. How to tell her brother she knew the truth? He fought those boys because he hoped by fighting, he’d convince them his sisters weren’t ugly.

Nothing could do that. They were marked and there was nothing they could do about it.

“Floris, you must stop fighting. You know how it distresses Moeder and Vader when you do, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Almost without her consent, her lips formed the words, “I’m not always going to be here, Floris. As the eldest brother, you must take care. Moeder and Vader need you to become a man.”

“What do you mean, you won’t be here?” He pulled away to gaze into her eyes. “You’re always here.”

Eva gulped. Where had those words come from? It surprised her to say them as much as it surprised Floris to hear them. She had no intention of changing her life. She’d no wish to marry; nor, did any man wish to marry the eldest of the ugly Van der Heiden sisters.

So, what exactly made her say those words?

“I know. But...oh! I don’t know what I mean, Floris.” A shaky laugh tumbled from her lips. “Yet, remember anything can happen and you must be prepared for that.”

“Why?”

“Because men are prepared for both the good times and the bad. For want or plenty.”

“But—”

“No arguing. Remember that the next time you get angry, lieveling.”

He dug his face into her neck.  Though muffled, she heard him say, “Ik hou van je.”

“I love you, too.” With a deep sigh, she released him and stood. “Go change your clothes. I’ll come up with some witch hazel in a few moments. I want to get the laundry from outside before dinner.” She stepped aside. “Go on.”

He started to run. “And don’t run!”

Floris ran anyway and she shook her head at his antics. What was she going to do about him?

Eva picked up the large laundry basket and pushed open the bottom half of the Dutch door. It was a rare day in March where the sun decided to bathe the earth in its warmth. The snow had melted a few days ago, giving way to the budding green blades of grass.

Taking down the first of the clothes, one of Floris’s shirts, Eva folded it. She loved all her siblings deeply, but she’d admit, if only to herself, Floris was her favorite. The night he’d been born had changed everything for the family.

She paused. What made her say she wouldn’t be here always? Why had she said it?

“Don’t worry about it, Eva,” she said out loud. “A mere slip of the tongue.”

Was it? Or was it something more – a wish, a desire?

Shaking her head, she yanked off the next item of laundry rather forcibly. Unable to quiet her thoughts, she returned her focus back to her brother.

As Floris began his ascent from boy to man, his volatile temper caused concern for herself, Mother and Father. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into a scuff with the Van der Berg boys. He’d been in several and all had been over his ‘cursed’ sisters.

“Eva!”

She glanced over her shoulder see Debora coming toward her. “What is it?”

“Tante is here to see you.”

Her mouth curve downward. What did she want? “Why?”

Debora shrugged. Her ice blue eyes focused on the basket of laundry on the ground. “She didn’t tell me but she and Moeder were arguing for a while before they sent me out here to you.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Does it ever?” Debora started to unpin the clothes. “I’ll finish this up, Eva.”

“Nee. Whatever Tante has to say can wait until I’ve finished this.” With that, she yanked down another one of her brother’s pants. “She can’t keep coming here, thinking we should stop everything we’re doing and curry to her.”

For a few moments, they worked in silence. Usually, Eva would have had several baskets, one for each member of the family. Today, the extra work kept her mind occupied to dampen that other, unwanted feeling.

A growing sensation of restlessness had ballooned over the past several months. Where it stemmed from, she’d no idea. She’d led a contented life, one filled with constant days of activity as she helped her mother and father care for the family.

“Why does she always have to come and ruin something for us?” Eva muttered under her breath as she unhooked the clothespin from a pair of socks.

“It’s her nature to upset things, Eva. You know this.” Debora shook out their father’s pants. “I can’t wait until I leave here someday.”

“You and your dreams of ‘something more.’” Eva smiled to take any sting out of her words.

“Don’t you have them, zuster?” Debora pushed back a lock of brilliant golden hair. “Don’t you ever look at your life and think, ‘There’s more to it than this?’”

“Nee.” Her throat constricted around the word.

“I do.” Debora placed her hand on her hip. “I can’t stay at home forever.”

“No one here thinks you should, Debora.”

“I know.” Debora sighed and then took the shirt from Eva’s fingers. “Stop trying to avoid Tante. The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can go back to your life.”

Eva rolled her shoulders. “You’re right, of course. Floris is upstairs changing his clothes. He got into another fight with the Van der Berg boys again. I was going to wash and put witch hazel on his cuts.”

“I’ll take care of it if Rebekka hasn’t.”

Knowing her brother was in someone’s good hands, she headed back toward the house. For each step she took, a sense of something hot and tingly accompanied it. What was this feeling? Why should it be here now, this minute? It was as if something inside of her knew today would be different. Twelve years ago, their lives had changed when Floris was born. Now, eleven years and ten months later, their lives were going to change again.

Eva tried to suppress the nonsense, the ridiculousness of it, but the thought persisted. Finally, she succumbed to the tantalizing idea. After today, for whatever reason, her life would never be the same.

Entering the house, she wiped her shoes off on the rug at the door. The pulse at the base of her throat thudded like a pair of running feet. Moisture slicked her hands. She’d never be able to make it if she kept this up.

She closed her eyes and sent a quick prayer heavenward, asking for strength to handle whatever it was that clamored at her insides. In an instant, a mantle of calm settled over her. It warmed her from the inside out and stilled her hurried breath. Whatever it was that Aunt Nethanja had to tell her, it would be okay.

Opening her eyes, Eva thrust her shoulders back, and marched through the house, from the back porch and the kitchen, to the hall that led to the living room.

Aunt Nethanja sat in a chair near the fireplace. Impeccably dressed in dark, but elegant clothes, with a ramrod stiff back and bland expression, she presented a lovely, albeit unapproachable picture. Her brown hair tidily caught up in a bun rested beneath a lovely hat perched at the edge of her hairline.

“Well, you took long enough, mijn nicht.”

“I wanted to finish up the laundry, Tante Nethanja.” Eva’s gaze drifted around the room. “Waar is Moeder?”

“I convinced Wilhelmina to let me speak to you alone. Believe me, that took some doing. Come and give me a kiss.”

Dutifully, Eva went over to where her aunt sat and kissed her smooth cheek. “Why do you and Moeder always argue?”

Her aunt smirked. “Because I am always right. That frustrates my sister to no end.”

“Right about what?”

“Many things. In fact,” Aunt Nethanja flourished her hand in an expansive manner. “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about. Zitten.” She indicated the rocking chair her mother used. “There is much to discuss.”

Eva sat as ordered and folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. “Such as what?”

Her aunt leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. Her shrewd gray eyes sparkled like gems. “Quite simply, mijn nicht, I have a marriage proposal for you.”

Evansgrove, Dakota Territory (Present day South Dakota)

April 1870

Two weeks stay in this little hovel had yet to impart any sense of importance to Luc.

Perhaps thirty years ago, it would have been an asset to the Hive’s holdings. Today, it was simply a mystery as to why anyone would want to live here. Luc and his associates had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to discover why the Hive had procured the failing Perry Fur Company. When they had arrived by steamboat, they had stepped onto the muddy banks of the river’s edge and looked around in collective horror.

Cuddled on the western bank of the river, the sun’s harsh light had revealed a town on the brink of folding up. Scattered buildings made of crudely hewn timber showed signs of neglect. Mongrels trotted to and fro along the ragged, dusty streets. The mercantile carried little inventory and the saloon had been boarded up.

In the past, the place had been well fortified as a fort. Such defense was long gone. The walls that surrounded Evansgrove had fallen down in places, allowing would-be intruders unencumbered entrance into the town.

Intruders would be welcomed in this sad place.

During the tour of the trading post conducted by a mountain of a man called Friar Jack, they discovered an empty building at the far end of the business district. It housed several empty rooms, and they were each able to claim one. Luc’s space carried the faint, but odious scent of dead animal. Looking at the walls, seeing dark stains on the surface and patches of fur, straw, and other debris, he guessed this room had once been the place where fur trappers came to trade.

Luc dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets as he sat in his ‘office’.  In the short amount of time he’d been here, he found himself becoming more frayed at the edges. He snapped at most people, was short-tempered, and found his underlings in New York completely incompetent.

Now, in three days, the wife-to-be that Mevrouw ter Bane had selected would arrive in Evansgrove to join him in holy matrimony.

“Ridiculous.” He pushed away from the wobbly table. The narrow window let in meager light, showing tiny particles of dust floating in the air. Across from the stained wall where fur pelts once lay, some colorful Indian circlet steeped in some sort of mysticism rested there. He’d no idea what it was and for the moment, he didn’t care.

How could a man bring a woman to this place?

He had to. Luc and the rest of his associates had no choice.

Could things get any worse?

Someone banged on the door and he groaned. The last thing he wanted was company.

Sucking in a breath, he let it out slowly and then lifted his voice. “Come in.”

The door opened and Sybrand poked his head around it. “You got a moment to talk?”

Luc eyed the stack of papers on the desk, representing the haphazard record keeping of the previous owner. The sight of disarray had him shaking his head. Father would have rapped his knuckles for such atrocity. “Nee, come in.”

Sybrand lurched inside and collapsed into one of the two rickety chairs. Luc brought his own chair back to the table. “What do you need?”

That was a preview of Eva: Hearts of South Dakota. To read the rest purchase the book.

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