He slumped a little on his stool, shaking his head. “Anyway, that’s what your old man needs you to do. But we were talking about Marta and the future of this family, weren’t we?”

“Right,” Kennet said, more than a little bewildered.

“If I lose one of you boys… If I lose one, two or all of you, I still have to do right by Little and Trudy. And Kirsten, too, because Charlie Lund isn’t coming back. His heart, mind and soul all left this earth when his wife died. His body has gone to war simply to finish the job. So Kirsten’s one of the family, as far as I’m concerned. She and Trudy are becoming young women, but they need a mother. A woman’s influence. Marta loves them like they were her own girls. She knows how to handle the house and the hotel. She knows I need a way to get through this war. The both of us are scared rotten and sick at heart for you and Minor and Nalle. We may as well be scared and sick together.”

Now Kennet burst out laughing. “Look at you dancing around the subject, giving every explanation except the obvious.”

“What?”

“She loves you.”

Emil blew out a short, sheepish breath. “So she says.”

“Do you love her?”

“For the life of me I don’t know why she’d throw her lot in with a man old enough to be—”

“Oh, bullshit on white toast. Marta never settled for anything in her life. She doesn’t own a lot, but what she owns is the best. And I’ve never known you to celebrate mediocrity, so I know you’re not just marrying her because it’s convenient, or because it’s best for Little and the girls. Cripes, I hope you love her. She’s my friend and one of my favorite people, so I may just insist that you love her. Otherwise go be sick and scared with Major.”

“I do love her,” Emil said quietly. “It’s a little embarrassing how much.”

Kennet crossed his arms and affected a stern expression. “I am less than pleased with her unadorned fingers, Mr. Fiskare. Did you control your embarrassing emotions long enough to get her a ring?”

Emil laughed. “I did, sir. Well. Major helped. He insisted.”

Their eyes screwed up as all the lights in the bar suddenly flicked on.

“Has the party started?” Minor called. “Are we late?”

“Yes,” Kennet said. “And you’re ruining the ambience. Kill the light.”

“Minor mine,” Emil called. “Make us a round?”

“Aye, skipper.” Minor slid behind the bar and began setting up glasses with the swift, economical movements of the experienced bartender. “Old Fashioned for you, Paps? Kennet, what sourpuss soda are you drowning in?”

“Gin rickey. Two limes.”

“What about you, Nalle-Bear?”

Nalle elbowed in between Emil and Kennet. “Surprise me.”

“One Shirley Temple, coming up.”