Waiting for Summer's Return

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

“Ach, with a well-placed lever and fulcrum much is possible.”

  She shook her head, amazement at his abilities making her gape at him in wonder. “Is there nothing you can’t do?”

  The man sank into a kitchen chair, his shaggy head drooping. “A flimsy shariah I built, for it to fall in the wind.” The windows rattled against another mighty blast, and he cringed. “I should have bolstered it before allowing you to live there. Many years it has stood, many winds it has faced. It became weakened with time, I am sure. I am sorry for the fear you experienced this night.”

  The grandmother made soothing noises and stroked his shoulder. He took her hand, offering her a weak smile. His face looked pale, drawn. Exhaustion sagged his features.

  Concern for him welled in her breast. “I’m fine, but you’ve had a rough night. Please, get your rest. I’ll … I’ll curl up …” Suddenly she didn’t know where to go or what to do.

  Mr. Ollenburger drew himself up in the chair, releasing a big sigh. “You will curl up in my bed.”

  “W-what?” The room spun.

  His face flooded with color. “Ach! Nein. Sie verstehen mich nicht!”

  The grandmother reared back as Summer stared at Mr. Ollenburger in mute horror.

  He shook his head, growling as he repeated his words in English. “You do not understand my meaning.” He gestured wildly as he spoke. “I will go sleep in the barn tonight. Then, tomorrow, I build you another bed, which we will put in Grossmutter’s room.” He turned to the old woman and spoke in rapid German.

  “I appreciate your kindness,” Summer argued, “but I don’t wish to inconvenience you any further than my presence already has. I can go to the barn.”

  Another gust of wind shook the entire house. “Nein, I cannot leave you to the barn. It is too cold.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, and he spoke again, his expression stern. “Woman, you cannot go to the barn. You will freeze, and then what use will you be to the boy?”

  He called her woman in a tone that spoke of deep familiarity. She wished to run outside into the biting wind to cool the heat that filled her face. Before he could say anything that would embarrass her further, she stammered, “All-all right, Mr. Ollenburger. I-I will sleep in your bed tonight.”

  He nodded in satisfaction and removed his coat from her shoulders. “Clean sheets are in the schrank in the corner. Morning will be here soon, so do not tarry. You sleep well.” He shrugged into his coat and disappeared into his room, returning a few moments later with a blanket draped over his arm. Kissing the grandmother’s wrinkled cheek, he murmured something in German. She nodded, then toddled back to her room.

  Summer watched Mr. Ollenburger head to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he looked at her and repeated, “You sleep well.”

  Although she nodded, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. Not with her head on the pillow that normally cradled his head. She went to his room, pulled quilts and a feather pillow from the large cupboard in the corner, and made a pallet on the floor. Sleep claimed her the moment her head touched the pillow.

  16

  PA! PA, COME QUICK!”

  Summer awakened with a start. She jerked to a seated position, a cramp catching in her lower back. Pressing a hand to the offending spot, she struggled to her feet and staggered to the bedroom door. Thomas stood in the kitchen with the front door open, allowing in a stream of sunshine and a large portion of the cold morning air.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  At her voice he spun to face her. “What’re you doing in there? Where’s Pa?”

  “Your father slept in the barn last night.” She crossed to the door. The wind, at last, had blown itself away, but the cold remained. Chilly air swirled around her, and she shivered. “Close the door, please. It’s cold.”

  “But look!” The boy pointed. “It snowed last night!”

  Summer squinted into the bright morning sunshine. Thomas was right—the flurry of snow had left behind a light dusting of powdery flakes.

  “First snow of the year!” Thomas beamed. “Not enough to play in, but it’s a start. Whoopee!”

  Summer didn’t echo Thomas’s joy at this harbinger of winter. She shivered again. “Yes, it’s snow. Now please close the door. You’re sending all our warmth outside.”

  He heaved a great sigh as he closed the door. “Why’d Pa stay in the barn?”

  She opened the door of the stove. “He was concerned about it being too cold out there for me.” Using the poker, she turned over the glowing coals. “We need to get the fire going again.” She chose two logs from the woodbox and placed them on top of the coals.

  Thomas stood close, watching as she blew into the coals, encouraging a flame. “Can’t be much colder in the barn than it is in here.”

  Summer released a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure that’s because you left the door standing wide open for so long, gawking at the snow!”

  The boy shrugged, grinning. “Guess so.”

  “Once the fire is roaring, we’ll get breakfast started, hmm?” She realized she had enjoyed waking to the sound of the boy’s voice. It was certainly preferable to the lonely silence of the shariah.

  The far door opened, revealing the grandmother, who stood with a shawl draped over her nightgown. Her long gray hair lay in tangled strands on top of the woven shawl. She blinked at Summer, as if puzzled, then her expression cleared. Her focus bounced to the stove, where a cheery blaze crackled, then returned to Summer. A smile surfaced in her eyes.

  “Thomas, will you tell your grandmother I will prepare breakfast?” She listened to Thomas’s German words, watching the old woman’s face for her reaction. To her relief, the woman merely nodded, giving her approval, and then went back into her bedroom. Summer said, “If I allow you to bundle up and visit the henhouse, do you promise to walk slowly and not hurt yourself?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “I promise!” He donned his hat, coat, and gloves, then stepped out into the snow-covered morning with a basket on his arm. Summer watched through the frosty window as he took slow steps across the yard; every once in a while he turned back to look at the imprint of his boots in the sparse snow.

  She turned from the window, a smile tugging at her lips. How could one remain gloomy with Thomas nearby? The boy’s excitement and bright eyes lit the room, his cheerful nature so much like her own little Tod’s. Her heart clutched with remembrance, but she deliberately pushed aside the sorrow, focusing instead on the living, breathing boy who required her attention.

  By the time Thomas returned, Summer had her bedding put away and the table set for breakfast. The grandmother came out, fully clothed, her hair twisted into its familiar bun, and ambled to her chair. Thomas handed the basket to Summer.

  She peered into it, her eyebrows rising. “What? Only three eggs?”

  He shrugged. “Must be too cold to lay. That’s all there was.”

  “Well, that will hardly make enough eggs to feed your father.” She huffed. “What’s wrong with those hens? Don’t they know a growing boy also lives in this house?”

  Thomas giggled, responding to her teasing tone. “Should I go tell them what you said? Maybe they’ll lay some more.”

  Summer smiled at his red cheeks and nose. “I think one excursion into the snow is enough for this morning. Unbundle and we’ll think of something else to do with these three lonely eggs.”

  Less than half an hour later, Mr. Ollenburger stomped through the door. His nose and ears glowed red from the cold, and a huge smile brightened his face. “Die windschläge und wir haben schnee!” As Grossmutter chuckled, he turned to Summer and said, “The wind, she does blow, and we shall have snow!”

  Summer felt another grin tug her cheeks. How ruddy he looked with his cold-reddened features and beard bristling in all directions. Even the recent haircut and trim couldn’t completely tame his bearlike appearance. The morning breeze had teased his wheat-colored hair, causing it to stick out in uncontrolled tufts over his sparkling blue eyes. “You look
no older than Thomas, standing there with your mussed hair, red nose, and snowy feet.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. How could she have spoken to him so casually? But then he opened his mouth and laughed, his eyes crinkling with delight.

  “Ah, Frau Steadman, a bit of the Old Nick you are feeling. The first snow will do that to a person.” He reached up with a broad hand to smooth his hair. “I have been choring, so mussed I probably am. And hungry as a spring-wakened bear. Is that pankuake I smell?”

  “What?”

  “Pankuake—what you call pancake.”

  The smell of scorched batter reached Summer’s nose. She spun back to the stove, lifting the iron skillet from the burner. “I was going to make scrambled eggs, but Thomas said the hens were too cold to lay, so there were only three, and that wasn’t even enough to feed you, so—”

  She was prattling. What on earth was wrong with her this morning? Obviously she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. Her cheeks burned, and she considered running outside to thrust her face into the snow and stay there until the spring thaw. But Mr. Ollenburger’s laughter rang again.

  “Well known you have become with my appetite.” He removed his outerwear. “Pancakes are good choice to make the eggs stretch. Many times as a boy, my family had pankuake for an evening meal. They will surely fill this bear’s stomach.

  “Thomas, have you fetched the molasses jar? No? Then get it, boy. Ready I am to eat a mountain of pancakes.”

  Breakfast passed with cheerful camaraderie that calmed Summer’s unsettled nerves. It was difficult to stay on edge around the Ollenburgers. Their easy acceptance of her and their loving relationship with each other made her heart patter with the desire to be more than just Thomas’s tutor, to actually be a member of this family. And at the same time, her heart lurched in fear of where her thoughts were leading.

  As Summer rose to clear the dishes, the crunch of wagon wheels sounded from the front yard, and a voice called, “Hello in the house! Peter Ollenburger, are you home?”

  Mr. Ollenburger rose to open the door. “Guten morgen, Herr Penner. Good morning, Rupert. What for do you come out this Saturday morning?”

  “Last night’s wind storm has brought down a tree at the Ratzlaffs’. Through the barn roof it fell. We need oxen to move the tree and strong arms to rebuild the barn. Are you able to help?”

  Without hesitating, Mr. Ollenburger reached for his coat. “I will come.” He paused, his apologetic gaze resting on Summer. “I will not be able to make a bed for you today.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry about my bed. Take care of your neighbor.”

  Thomas tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Pa, can Rupert stay here and play? We’ll stay in the house, and I promise not to be rough. Please?”

  Mr. Ollenburger turned to the grandmother. “Mag der junge einen besucher heute haben?”

  To Summer’s surprise, the woman lifted a hand to point with a gnarled finger in Summer’s direction.

  Mr. Ollenburger nodded and shifted his focus to Summer. “Frau Steadman, do you mind if a friend the boy has here today?”

  She shook her head. Although she would prefer only Thomas’s company, she knew the boy missed spending time with his classmates. “No. That’s fine.”

  “Hurray!” Thomas yelped. He hollered out the open door, “Rupert, can you stay here today while our fathers work at the Ratzlaff place?”

  A brief consultation took place between the father and son on the wagon, and then Rupert bounded into the house. His red hair, freckles, and pale amber eyes contrasted with Thomas’s ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes. Thomas was a much more handsome lad, Summer thought with pride, startling herself with her sense of ownership of the boy.

  “Good-bye now, Frau Steadman.” Mr. Ollenburger spoke from the doorway, pulling her attention from the boys who huddled in the corner, obviously planning their day. “Do not worry about chores—I will tend to the chickens and horses when I return.”

  She nodded, and the man turned to his son.

  “Thomas?”

  “Yes, Pa?”

  “Mind Frau Steadman, and do not get wild. And Rupert,” he said to the red-haired boy, “remember Thomas cannot get wild or his ribs may be hurt.”

  Both boys nodded, but grins split their faces.

  The door closed, and Summer offered a trembling smile. “Rupert, have you had breakfast?”

  The boy’s grin faded and disapproval shone in his eyes. “Ja. My mother fed me.”

  “Very well then.” Summer faltered, twisting her hands in the apron that still hung around her waist. Realizing what she was doing, she pulled her hands loose and began clearing dishes. Would she let this little boy intimidate her in her own home? Then her hands froze. Home? This wasn’t her home.

  Looking directly at Thomas, she suggested, “Why don’t you boys go to your room and play? I would imagine Rupert enjoys building towers and bridges with blocks as much as you do.”

  Thomas turned his eager grin in Rupert’s direction. “Want to?”

  The other boy shrugged. “Ja, I suppose.”

  As the boys walked to the bedroom, Summer could feel Rupert’s narrowed eyes watching her.

  Thomas hummed as he grabbed a handful of blocks and dumped them in the middle of the floor. He really wanted to go outside and tramp through the first snow of the season, but having Rupert visit was almost as good. With his friend helping, they could probably build a better tower than he’d ever made by himself. The click of the door latch startled him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Rupert leaning against the closed door. His friend’s face twisted into a scowl.

  “How come she’s in your house, cooking breakfast for you?”

  The question caught Thomas by surprise. A funny feeling crept into his stomach. “Because she’s a better cook than Pa.”

  Rupert crossed his arms. “She shouldn’t be cooking for you.”

  “Why not?”

  Rupert stalked to Thomas and knelt in front of him. “Thomas, you have to be careful.”

  Even though Rupert’s face was serious and the whispered words were clearly a warning, Thomas couldn’t stop the giggle that rose from his throat. Rupert had no idea how silly he sounded. “Careful about what?”

  Rupert punched Thomas’s shoulder. “Thomas, I’m not making fun. My pa says letting her stay here is just like letting a Russian soldier stay in your house. My pa says every time somebody different comes to stay, problems start. That’s why your pa and my pa had to leave Russia. Because different people came to the village and caused problems.”

  Thomas resisted rolling his eyes. “Rupert, we talked about this before. Mrs. Steadman is only one lady. She isn’t going to cause problems. Besides, she’s just teaching me.”

  “Teaching you what? That’s what my pa wants to know. Is she teaching you things that aren’t of the church?”

  “Of course not!” Indignation rose in Thomas’s chest. “She’s learning about our church. She and my pa study every night.”

  To Thomas’s amazement, Rupert’s face turned white. His freckles looked like tiny pennies swimming in milk. “He’s telling her about our church?”

  Thomas frowned. “Sure he is.”

  Rupert shook his head, his eyes wide. “He shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “But why?”

  “If she knows about our church, then she can really cause problems!”

  Thomas huffed. Now he wished he hadn’t asked Rupert to stay. “Rupert, you don’t make any sense. You say she can cause problems because she isn’t part of our church. Then you say she can cause problems because she’s learning about our church. And I say you’re full of sauerkraut!” He pushed two blocks toward his friend and crossed his arms.

  “And I say you’re asking for trouble.” Rupert pushed the blocks back. “You shouldn’t be letting some fancy lady stay in your shariah.”

  Without thinking, Thomas blurted, “She’s staying in the hous
e.”

  Rupert’s eyes grew so wide Thomas was afraid they might pop out of his head. “In the house?”

  Thomas leaned forward, his heart pounding as he realized his mistake. “Yes, but it’s okay. She stays in Pa’s room, and—”

  Rupert leaped to his feet. “In your pa’s room?”

  Thomas struggled to his feet and reached out to Rupert. “But it’s okay! Pa’s staying—”

  “I don’t wanna hear anything else, Thomas,” Rupert said, putting his hands over his ears.

  Thomas grabbed Rupert’s hands and pulled them down. “It’s okay, I told you!” Leaning close, Thomas whispered, “I think she’s gonna be my new ma.” Even though Thomas had never dared to think such a thing, now that he’d said it, it sounded like a good idea. Even though sometimes she got bossy, he knew that’s what ma’s did—told children what to do. But most of the time she was nice, and he really liked Mrs. Steadman. He knew she liked him, too.

  Rupert stared at Thomas, bug-eyed. “Your new ma? But … but she can’t!”

  “Why can’t she?” He shrugged. “She doesn’t have a husband, and she and my pa get along real good. She can be my new ma if she wants to.”

  Rupert shook his head. “My pa’s a deacon, and I know the rules. Your pa can’t marry her because she’s not part of our church.”

  “But she’s going to be.” Thomas stuck out his chin. “You’ll see.”

  Rupert shook his head, a gloomy look in his eyes. “If your pa marries her, there’s going to be big trouble, Thomas.”

  “I don’t think so.” Thomas sat beside the pile of blocks. “Now, are we going to build or not?”

  Rupert stood for several long seconds, chewing on his lip and staring at Thomas. Finally, he sighed and sat down, too. “Okay, let’s build.”

  Even though he and Rupert built the best, highest, most elaborate block tower ever, Thomas found no joy in the creation. All the shine of a friend’s visit and the first snow was lost with Rupert’s ominous statement, “There’s going to be big trouble.”

  17