Cover

Title Page

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by Ellen Baker

Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-1-58836-629-0

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Baker, Ellen.
Keeping the house: a novel / Ellen Baker.

p. cm.
1. Marriage—Fiction. 2. Wisconsin—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.A5863K44 2007
813′.6—dc22 2007008236

v3.0_r1

Prologue

Pine Rapids, Wisconsin
August 1896

“Well, this is it, love,” John told Wilma as he helped her out of the coach and onto the wooden platform at the Pine Rapids depot.

It was the underside of hell, she thought. Blackberry bushes and spindly hemlocks rustled in the scorching sun, interspersed with the remains of cut pines, stumps large enough to nap on. There was not a good shade tree or a lawn in sight. A grizzled, bearded man, missing an arm, spit on the platform. Another lumberjack, dressed all in dirty wools despite the heat, leered at her, missing teeth. The day itself felt parched, and the air smelled thick, bursting with the climax of blooms. She had to squint against the sun. The music that typically ran through her mind had gone silent. The train behind them belched steam.

That she had abandoned college, her piano, for this!

She drew in her breath at the sight of a man like a Norse prince approaching. His boot heels clomped on the boards. His dark suit was well cut, expensive. He doffed his hat, revealing thick gold curls, and grinned. “John,” he called.

So this was John’s brother, who, like his father, had been kept from the wedding by business concerns. Wilma’s mouth was dry. Her fingers tingled in the heat.

“Gust,” said John, when the man stopped before them. “This is Wilma.”

“Wilma,” said Gust, taking her hand and bowing to her. When he straightened, their eyes met. His were the color of a deep lake on a bright summer day.

“More beautiful than John told us,” he said.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found she could make no sound.

“Take us home,” John said. “We’re hungry.”

Once arrangements had been made for the newlyweds’ trunks, Gust led John and Wilma around the depot to a lacquered black carriage. A matched set of impatient bays snorted and stomped as though they would be off of their own accord if Gust and his party didn’t hurry. Gust climbed up first; Wilma looked away. When she looked back, he had turned, and held out his hand. She hesitated, glancing back at John, then reached up to Gust.