Follow Your Heart

Chapter Six

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.

Chapter Seven

Mid-June

Still irritated at the intrusion on his time and work, Jude disembarked his private Pullman after it pulled into the Omaha train yard. He had no trouble spotting his mother’s extravagantly decorated private cars attached to a nearby train. Gold trim accented her “home on wheels,” a sleeper car, dining car and also a lounge car for receiving visitors. Along the edge of the rounded rooftops was the name Union Pacific in small letters. The words, Kingman Enterprises, however, were written in much bigger and fancier gold letters on the sides of the cars.

A young woman whom Jude recognized as one of his mother’s personal servants gingerly made her way across several tracks that lay between the two trains. She spotted Jude and then yelled above the roar of a burst of steam from a nearby engine.

“Mrs. Kingman is in her private car just over there,” she said, pointing. “She’s been waiting for you, sir.”

Yes, let’s not keep Her Highness waiting, Jude thought. He climbed down from his own Pullman, wondering what on earth was so important that his mother had come clear down here from Chicago to talk to him. Far be it from her to conveniently meet him in Plum Creek or at his railroad office here in Omaha. Mrs. Jefferson Kingman wouldn’t be caught dead setting foot in a town she considered inferior to her standards, let alone get dust on the hem of one of her expensive dresses.

Jude dreaded one-on-one visits with Corinne, which was how he thought of her most of the time, a woman named Corinne, not his mother. It irked him that she could still stir emotions in him only a younger child should have—the hurt of feeling unworthy, unloved and unwanted. He steeled himself against her hard, dark eyes before he even climbed up the platform to her car.

The door opened before he could knock, and there stood the woman he seldom saw. They both led such busy lives in different ways, and there was no closeness between them to warrant going out of their way to see each other, which made this visit all the more odd. Even when they were all home at the sprawling Kingman mansion, they seldom ran into each other or dined together.

And, of course, there was that look—not a “glad to see you, son” look, but more like “it’s about time you got here.” Corinne was accustomed to snapping her fingers or ringing a bell and receiving almost instant gratification.

“Come in quickly,” she said curtly. “The train yard here smells of cattle, and I’m trying to keep the odor out of this car.”

Jude walked inside the richly carpeted train car. Heavy velvet curtains at the windows kept it so dark that light had to be provided with small gaslights on the walls. “It’s hot in here,” he complained. “I’d rather smell cattle than sweat to death.”

“I will open the windows when I leave, which will be soon,” his mother answered, turning to walk to a satin-covered chair. “Your father doesn’t even know I am here,” she said, sitting down. “I told him I was going to see my sister in St. Louis.”

Jude folded his arms. “Well, I’m glad to see you, too, Mother. May I sit down?”

“Of course, Jude. Don’t be silly.” She suddenly softened somewhat, but Jude knew the woman well. Her moods could change in an instant, and usually were designed to get whatever she wanted. “I’m sorry to take you from your work,” she added.

He didn’t believe that. He sat down in a chair across from her, removing his hat and taking a handkerchief from a vest pocket to dab at perspiration on his forehead. “You should be sorry. I had to take a train all the way back here from Plum Creek, and on a Sunday, which is the best day to be in town to talk to settlers. A lot of them come into town on Sundays for church and to buy supplies.”

Corinne, too, dabbed at perspiration with a lace handkerchief. “I can’t imagine having to stay in that horrible little town. There isn’t even a decent hotel here in Omaha, let alone a little farm town like Plum Creek.” She sniffed. “What a quaint name.”

Jude noticed that in spite of the heat, her form-fitting dress was tidy and unwrinkled. Every one of her graying hairs was in place, a jeweled comb perfectly positioned in sausage curls on top of her head. His mother was still beautiful and slender—too thin, actually. She was like a piece of china that might break if touched the wrong way.

“Plum Creek isn’t that bad,” he answered. “Besides, I stay in my Pullman, just like you do in such places, although I am establishing an office there.” Jude leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here? You’d never come to Omaha just to visit. And what’s wrong with Dad knowing about this?”

Corinne fussed with the lace trim on her dress. “Because he doesn’t like it when I come between him and his decisions, especially when it involves you and Mark.”

Jude understood immediately. His mother would never come here just to see him, but she’d probably go to Plum Creek herself and dig in the dirt with the farmers if it meant doing something to help Mark. “I should have known this had something to do with my brother, although I can’t imagine what it is.”

Corinne stiffened and raised her chin. “Jude, dear…” She hesitated.

Jude almost laughed. Dear? The woman must be ready to beg!

“I know about the job your father has given you. However…”

Her hesitation made Jude wary. “However what?” He felt his anger building, imagining how nice it would have been if she’d really come here just to see him—as any normal mother would do. He saw her put on her authoritative demeanor then.

“Mark came to me about this—this assignment, or whatever you want to call it. He’s very upset that your father gave you this job. Mark feels it should have gone to him, in spite of how much he’d hate going to a place like Plum Creek. You’ve been here a month already, and hardly anything has been accomplished, according to Mark. He wants the chance to prove to his father that he can do better in a situation like this. I came to ask—well—I just wish you’d go back to Chicago and tell your father you’ve decided you can’t do this and that Mark is the better one for the job.”

For a moment Jude just stared at her, dumbfounded. Then he shook his head. “You know, Mother, I’ve always known you favored Mark and that he could get anything he wanted out of you, but to go crying to you at his age about this—it’s like a little kid begging his mother to let him have a certain toy instead of his brother.”

“Don’t insult him! He doesn’t even know I am here. He simply complained to me about it, that’s all.”

Jude snickered. “Do you know how ridiculous your request is? I’m not going back to Chicago like some whining child and ask Daddy dear to please not make me do this. Besides, Dad knows what Mark can do. Personally I don’t think he is the right one for the job, because he would use tactics that would only enrage the farmers and cause possible riots and damage to the railroad and who knows what else? I have some ideas I am trying to utilize to make this all happen peacefully and without making the Kingman name look bad. That’s why it’s taking some time. So you can go back to Chicago and tell Mark to get to work on the things he’s supposed to be doing!” He rose. “I’ve really enjoyed our visit, Mother. I hate to cut things short, but I have to get back to Plum Creek.”

“Jude, just think about it, will you? Mark is anxious to come down here and take care of this.”

Jude studied her eyes. “You know, Mother, I’d really like to know what I’ve ever done to make you so prejudiced toward Mark. I graduated with top honors from Yale, far better grades, I might add, than Mark ever got. On top of that, I’m your firstborn son.”

There it was, that way she had of looking away slightly when he talked about being her son. Then she stiffened again as she rose. “That’s just it. You outdo poor Mark in everything. You’re bigger and far more handsome and young women beg for your hand, while Mark…” She peered at him intently. “The reason your father doesn’t give you the important jobs is because Mark needs to feel important. He needs the confidence it gives him to know he can handle anything Kingman Enterprises might expect of him, and your father recognizes that Mark has that slight ruthlessness that it takes to run a business as big as your father’s.” She seemed to plead with him again. “Why can’t you just marry into one of the wealthy families of Chicago and settle down and quietly do what’s expected of you and let Mark have more of the limelight?”

Jude walked past her. “I haven’t found one woman among our family’s snobby friends worth marrying. And I am doing what is expected of me. I’m the one Dad sent down here, remember?” He walked toward the door again. “I have to say, Mother, that if I’d known Mark wanted this glorious assignment, I’d have gladly given it to him. But until Dad tells me differently, I’ll do it myself and I’ll do it my way. Now, why don’t you have the engineer find out how soon you can get going on down to St. Louis to see dear Aunt Flo?” He opened the door, studying her pleading eyes for a moment, wondering if she’d ever once in her life been so terribly concerned about him instead of Mark, and then he walked out.

He picked his way over railroad tracks and to the engineer of the train that had brought him here. “Get me back to Plum Creek as soon as possible!” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Jude stormed inside his own Pullman, not even glancing back at his mother’s car. The woman was losing her mind. And her talk of marriage…Did she really think that would solve anything? How could he marry when he might end up with someone like his own mother? What a great life that would be! It would serve her right if he married some farm girl from Plum Creek. That would certainly wilt the feathers in her hat!