Waiting for Summer's Return

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Heavenly Father, touch the heart of Frau Steadman and help it beat again. Take away her sorrow and give her joy,” Peter prayed aloud into the quiet room. “Let her grow strong, and let her find her way home.” His prayer was interrupted by the sound of feet on the hall floor. He went to the door and peered out, his chest filling with relief when he spotted the doctor on Bernard’s heels.

  “She has not yet wakened.” Peter watched from the doorway as Dr. Wiebe opened his black bag and withdrew a small vial. The doctor popped the cork on the vial and swept it back and forth below the woman’s nose. At the second sweep, the woman suddenly coughed and twisted her face away, struggling to sit up. The doctor corked the vial and dropped it back into his bag then placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “There now, Frau Steadman. Lie still for a little while yet.” The doctor’s calm voice soothed Peter, but from the woman’s stiff pose he did not believe she was soothed. The doctor glanced briefly at Bernard. “Bernard, could you bring Frau Steadman a glass of water, please?” Bernard rushed out once more, and Dr. Wiebe turned back to Frau Steadman.

  “W-what happened?” The woman’s voice sounded hoarse.

  Peter stepped forward. “I am sorry if I frightened you.” He peered over the doctor’s black-suited shoulder at her white face. Her brown eyes appeared almost black against the alarming pallor of her skin. “I am a bear of a man, for sure.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

  “Peter Ollenburger. I—”

  The doctor held up his hand, stopping any more words. “Frau Steadman, I want you to rest. After you have had some water”—Bernard entered, as if on cue, and handed the glass of water to the doctor—“I want you to eat some bread and broth. I will bring it myself.”

  The woman shifted on the bed until her back rested against the headboard. She took the glass with both hands, but at the mention of broth and bread, she grimaced. “Please … I am not hungry.”

  “There is no choice being offered.” The doctor’s tone turned stern. “Whether you are hungry or not, you must eat. Your strength must be kept up.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Her bitter words seemed to take Bernard and the doctor by surprise, but Peter understood. He answered, “Zeit fürs weinen und zeit fürs lachen …”

  The woman stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted purple ears and a tail. He thumped his head with his hand. “Ach, my foolish mouth. I choose words from the Good Book—Ecclesiastes, the third chapter. There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” He stepped closer. “You must eat to gain strength for the day when your heart will once more laugh and dance.”

  “I’ve no reason to laugh or dance.”

  Peter understood this, too. Just east of town were her reasons buried.

  The doctor rose. “I will be back soon with soup and bread. You must eat.” His tone let the woman know he wouldn’t accept a refusal.

  She closed her eyes and rolled to her side, facing away from them. Dr. Wiebe motioned to Peter and Bernard to step into the hall. Peter retrieved his hat from the threshold and closed the door behind him. Once in the hallway, the doctor spoke earnestly. “I am concerned. She appears very weak. Although she has no fever, which tells me she has not contracted the typhoid fever that killed her family, she has no one here. I am going to speak to Reverend Enns. Perhaps he can find a family that will take her in and see to her needs. If she does not begin eating, she will end up buried with the rest of her family.”

  Bernard’s eyes became huge behind his spectacles. “Typhoid fever? That is what took her family?”

  The doctor nodded, then pointed his finger at Bernard. “You say nothing. I have taken every precaution. Before I brought her to the hotel, I insisted she bathe while I boiled all of her clothing. Her family is buried, along with their clothing. After I settled her here, I sent some men out to burn her belongings. There is no threat of danger from this woman—I would not have brought her here otherwise. But some would not believe it. If people are fearful, no one will take her in.”

  Bernard looked at Peter. “Peter, tell the doctor what you were thinking.”

  Peter felt heat climbing the back of his neck again. The doctor looked up at him, his expression expectant. Peter cleared his throat. “Well, you see, my boy needs help in his studies. I thought to ask the woman if she would help the boy in exchange for a room and food.” The heat spread to his ears. “The room would be in my shariah. Bernard thought of that.”

  Bernard nodded, as if pleased to be included.

  “I was thinking of a place with a family—with a woman who would cook the meals and see that she ate.” The doctor sucked in his lips for a moment. “But it might be good for her to be with someone who relies on her a little more than she relies on them.”

  Peter gave an eager nod. “Ja. Both Thomas and Grossmutter could benefit from this woman’s presence.”

  Dr. Wiebe smiled. “I think it is a good idea, Peter. What did she say?”

  He shrugged. “When I started to ask, down she went—floomp!—right on the floor.” He shook his head. “I thought at first I frightened her. But maybe it was only her empty belly.”

  The doctor opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak the doorknob turned and the door opened. The woman stood framed in the doorway. She held on to the wooden door as if for support. Her gaze swept past the doctor and Bernard to settle on Peter.

  “Mr. Ollenburger, I would like to speak with you, please.”

  Summer focused on the big man who stood between the doctor and the clerk. He had called himself a “bear of a man,” and the description was apt. Peter Ollenburger dwarfed the other two in both height and breadth. His full beard and shaggy hair added to his bearlike appearance, but as she remembered his gentle blue eyes peering down at her from over the doctor’s shoulder, she instinctively knew she need not fear him.

  He swallowed, twisting his hat in his massive hands. “Ja, we can talk, for sure. But would you sit back down? You do not look wachlig.” Then he grimaced and corrected himself. “Steady. You do not look steady.”

  Summer squared her shoulders, pushing herself to her full height. “I assure you I am fine.” Her knees felt weak. Bracing herself on the doorjamb, she continued. “When I first opened the door to you, you said something … something about … your home?” She despised the quaver that had crept into her voice. “Are you in need of a maid or a cook?”

  Mr. Ollenburger’s heavy brows came down. “Frau Steadman, you are making me feel nervous. Bitte, you sit on the bed there, and we can talk.”

  The doctor took her elbow. “Ja, that is a good idea.” He guided her back into the room, seating her on the edge of the bed in a gentlemanly manner.

  Summer had to admit she felt more secure sitting down, yet resentment welled in her chest at their concern. Where were these concerned people when her family was dying one by one and she was forced to stand helplessly by and watch them slip away? With determination, she pushed the thought aside and raised her gaze to Mr. Ollenburger.

  “All right. I’m sitting. Mr. Ollenburger, would you please tell me why you came?”

  The man nodded, a thick shock of wheat-colored hair falling across his forehead. He pushed back the strands with his large fingers. “Ja. I thought to ask if you would help me.” His huge boot lifted and he stepped forward, narrowing the gap between them.

  Summer had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. She noticed his ears appeared pink, which further convinced her of his harmlessness.

  “My boy—he is named Thomas—he had an accident and broke ribs. He has been home healing and has missed much of school. The doctor says he must not ride a horse for many weeks yet, so no school for Thomas until January or February. Yet his lessons he needs. I cannot help him. But Reverend Enns thought …” He paused, turning the hat into a wad of plaid fabric. “You … you are a learned woman?”

  Summer nearly burst out laughing. Lear
ned? Her education was the best Boston could offer a woman. She swallowed hard. It wouldn’t do to laugh. He wouldn’t understand her amusement. Giving a nod, she responded, “Yes, Mr. Ollenburger, I am a learned woman.”

  “Then you are able to help my Thomas with his schooling?” Hope was evident in his tone.

  She nodded.

  A smile broke across his face. “Ja, this is good. Danke schoen, Frau Steadman.”

  “Wait, Mr. Ollenburger. I didn’t say I would do it, simply that I am capable of doing it.”

  His brow crinkled. “Does this mean you will not help my boy?”

  Summer sighed and looked at the other two men, who stood stupidly to the side and listened without offering assistance. Turning back to Peter Ollenburger, she tried to explain. “Mr. Ollenburger, before I make a commitment such as you’ve requested, I need to know what salary you are offering.”

  Mr. Ollenburger turned his shaggy head to look at the others. The desk clerk raised his hand and rubbed his thumb against the tips of his fingers. Light dawned across Mr. Ollenburger’s face.

  “Ach, of course, I need to tell you about … salary.” He squared his shoulders. “I am not a man of wealth, Frau Steadman. Money I cannot offer. But I offer you a place to stay—your own shariah—and meals while you work with my boy.” He looked so gallant as he gave his meager proposal that Summer didn’t have the heart to immediately refuse.

  She lowered her focus, considering this proposition. She needed money more than meals and a roof. Although, she realized, if she had meals and a roof she would not have to spend any of her remaining cash. So if she wasn’t adding to her cash supply, at least she wouldn’t be depleting it. Tutoring his son was certainly preferable to cooking or cleaning. Her own shariah, he had said. She assumed this was a word for “house” in his language. She realized all three men were waiting for her to reply.

  “Is your wife unable to assist your son in his studies?”

  Sadness appeared in the big man’s eyes. “My wife—my Elsa—she has been gone now for six years.”

  Summer felt a brief stab of pain for his loss. The passing of years had apparently not removed all of the sorrow from his heart. But at least he had his boy. Grief welled up and she quickly squelched it. She forced her brain to think … think…. If he was a widower, there were rules of decorum that must be considered. Looking at this big, simple man, she was certain he wouldn’t comprehend those rules.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Ollenburger, but your position as a widower gives a new slant to this situation.” She took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. “You offered a … shariah. No one would question the propriety of my living there?”

  Again, the man sought the opinion of his friends with a look of helplessness.

  The desk clerk answered. “This shariah is on the edge of Peter’s property. A good walk separates it from his place.”

  The doctor also contributed. “At his home also lives Frau Suderman, who is Thomas’s great-grandmother. A chaperone she can provide.” He glanced at Peter before adding, “This is a small town, so there will be some talk, but Peter has a good reputation here. The talk will not last long.”

  Summer nodded to acknowledge the men’s words before turning back to Mr. Ollenburger. “And when your son is caught up with studies, will I be forced to leave this—this shariah?”

  Mr. Ollenburger gave an emphatic shake of his head. “You would be welcome to stay for as long as you need to. But if you change your mind and want to come back to the hotel, I will bring you.”

  “Thank you. Will you allow me a few minutes to consider your offer?”

  The big man ushered the other two out of the room and closed the door behind them. She heard the muffled sounds of their voices as they visited in the hallway, but she was unable to make out their words because they spoke in another language. German, she assumed. But she suspected they were discussing her, just as they must have been doing before she opened the door. It made her uneasy to be the topic of discussion, and she especially disliked not understanding what was being said.

  Mr. Ollenburger needed a teacher for his son. It would be a way to fill these endlessly empty days. Her days, before leaving Boston, had been so full. Caring for the children, keeping house, preparing meals—she had insisted on doing these things herself rather than relying on servants to care for her most precious possessions. Even on the trail, as the wagon had made its plodding progress through unfamiliar cities and across varying landscapes, her time had been filled with incessant tasks. But here, in this room, there was nothing to do except remember what used to be.

  She allowed her gaze to drift around the room—the bare walls, the absence of personal effects, the lifelessness of the room. Did she want to remain here, even if she could afford it? She had no idea what waited in the shariah, but whatever it was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than the hollow, aching emptiness of this room. She sighed. There really was no other choice.

  Summer pushed herself to her feet and crossed to the door, opening it once more. All three men turned toward her, their conversation halting. Mr. Ollenburger’s fist tightened around the ridiculous little hat.

  “Mr. Ollenburger, I will accompany you to your home, but first I would appreciate being taken to my wagon to collect the remainder of my belongings.”

  3

  I WILL READY YOUR BILL.” The hotel clerk scurried down the hallway. The other two men exchanged quick nervous glances.

  Summer’s heart skipped a beat. “Is something wrong?” The doctor cleared his throat. “It is evening…. The ride to Peter’s is long….”

  Something was amiss, but suddenly she had no desire to explore it. “That’s fine, then. I’ll return later. I’ll gather my things.” Summer stepped back behind the door. It only took a few moments to prepare to leave, and she joined the men at the clerk’s desk without delay. She placed the necessary bills and coins in the clerk’s hand, tightened the pull string on her reticule, and turned to Mr. Ollenburger. “I’m ready.”

  He took her bag and gestured toward the door. Less than five minutes later she sat on a wooden buckboard bench next to her benefactor, looking down on the rumps of a pair of enormous beasts with massive chests and short horns.

  Mr. Ollenburger called, “Giddap!” The animals heaved into lumbering motion.

  She pointed at the pair. “Oxen?”

  He nodded. “They are named Gaert and Roth.” The oxen snorted, tossing their heads, and the man chuckled. “Ja, ja, I speak of you.” He looked briefly in her direction. “Roth means red-haired, so the red and white one is Roth. Gaert, then, is the brown and white one. Gaert means strong. They are both sturdy, reliable beasts. We have a horse—Thomas’s Daisy—but she is more pet than working animal.”

  “And what is your work, Mr. Ollenburger?”

  The man’s chest seemed to expand. “I am a miller. I grind the grain into flour. Broot schleit den hunga doot.” He chuckled. “I say, ‘Bread kills hunger.’ What is a meal without bread, ja?”

  Summer peeked sideways at the man’s profile. His voice rumbled like distant thunder and carried a heavy accent. Somehow its timbre was soothing. “Tell me about your son, please.”

  A smile broke across his wide face, crinkling his eyes. “Ah, my Thomas, my son … Of course he is a bright and handsome lad. Sturdy like the oxen. Dependable, too. A wonderful boy. You will see.”

  The man obviously idolized the boy. She must remember this—should there come a time when reprimands were necessary, she would tread with care. “He has a horse for a pet. What else interests him?”

  “Interests him? You must explain this.”

  Did she sense shame in his question? “Interests … things he likes.”

  Mr. Ollenburger pursed his lips as he twisted a whip in his hand. “Interests of Thomas … Well, he likes to read. It was the reading that got him hurt.”

  “Oh?” Summer raised her brows.

  A chuckle sounded from the other side of the bench. “Oh, ja. He was up
in a tree, book in one hand and apple in the other. He went to turn a page and down he came. He hit hard on a branch before falling to the ground. The branch broke his ribs.”

  “My goodness!” Summer placed her hand against her bodice, imagining how the fall must have hurt.

  Mr. Ollenburger sent a knowing look in her direction. “He is lucky boy that the rib did not poke his lung. He has been slow moving for many weeks.” He shook his head. “Ja, the good Lord was watching him for sure that day.”

  Summer set her jaw to hold back the bitter words that pressed against her tongue. Where was this “good Lord” the days her children died? Why hadn’t he saved her children? She forced the thoughts away and looked at Mr. Ollenburger’s profile. “How old is Thomas?”

  The man’s lips tipped into a warm smile. “He will be ten in January.”

  Summer jerked her eyes forward. Ten in January. The same age as her Vincent. Would this Thomas and Vincent have been friends if given the opportunity to meet? It didn’t matter now, yet she wondered…. “A fine age.”

  “Ja. Still a boy, but now and then I glimpse of the man to come.” Summer had seen glimpses of the man to come in her Vincent, too. He had been so brave, standing beside his father’s new grave, his chin thrust out, hands clasped behind his back. After the minister and gravediggers had gone, the youngster had taken her hand and promised, “I’ll help take care of you and the children, Mama. Don’t worry.” Oh, Vincent, my dear son, what a good man you would have become.

  Summer held tight to the seat, blinking back tears, as the uneven road caused the wagon to jolt. She asked no more questions, and Mr. Ollenburger remained silent, too, encouraging the oxen with lowtoned commands and flicks of the whip over their broad backs.

  Dusk had fallen by the time the wagon finally rolled to a stop in front of a simple wood-framed house. Gray smoke lifted from the chimney, and soft yellow light shone behind two-over-two pane windows. Mr. Ollenburger hopped over the side of the seat, then looked up at her.