As the sun climbed higher in the eastern sky, Amelia took rags soaked in a vinegar solution to the windows, angling her head to peer sideways, checking for streaks. She wanted to give Olga and Winnie nothing to criticize.
The sounds of wagons arriving to the melody of birdsong, children’s laughter, and folks calling out greetings to each other began filling the air. Amelia hurried to finish her preparations. Her final chore was filling the woodbox. She picked up as much stove wood as she could hold, but as she turned to carry it into the house, the breeze blew the door shut.
She stamped her foot. “Drat!”
“Here, allow me.”
Amelia jerked her head around. Hank stepped onto the small stoop and reached for the load in her arms.
“When I saw what you were doing, I came to help.”
“Oh, th–thank you, Mr. Zimmermann.”
“Hank.”
“Mr.—Hank. I didn’t realize you were … your house looked empty.”
He cocked one eyebrow and his silent query caused flustered embarrassment to twine up her throat—she’d just told him that she’d been looking for him. She put her composure back in place.
“You don’t have to do this.”
He shrugged and grinned. “I’m setting a good example for my young cousins.”
She allowed Hank to relieve her of the load of wood and she propped the door open.
He tipped his head toward the wood piled in his arms. “Toss me a few more pieces.”
She obliged, and he carried the firewood inside and emptied his arms into the box beside the stove, filling it to the brim.
“Thank you, Mr.—Hank.”
“My pleasure.” He dusted off his hands as he exited, then paused on the stoop. “It’s a beautiful day.”
She murmured her agreement with his observation.
“Perfect morning for a stroll. If you aren’t too busy—”
“Oh, but I am.” A sliver of guilt over the fib poked her. She ignored it and continued. “The Richters will be here any time, and I still have things to do before they arrive. Thank you for your help. It was very kind of you. Good day.” She pasted a polite smile on her face and closed the door on his disappointed expression.
Filling the woodbox was her last chore of the morning, but Hank’s warm brown eyes sent strange ripples through her. The inclination to explore the feeling teased, but she purposefully shoved it into submission.
Reverend Hoffman stood at the door of the church and shook hands with the parishioners as they filed out. Amelia fell into line behind the Richters and expressed her appreciation to the pastor for a fine, inspiring sermon.
“I hope my students were listening as you spoke about compassion. It’s a virtue I hope to instill in all the children.” She didn’t add that she hoped Thornton Zimmermann was listening as well. She’d seen the man, three rows ahead of her, thump Micah’s head when the five-year-old squirmed.
“Thank you, young lady.” Pastor Hoffman grinned broadly. “My daughter loves going to school since you began teaching. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
The preacher’s praise sent warmth scurrying into her cheeks. “Your Gretchen is a fine student. It’s a pleasure having her in my class.”
They bid each other good afternoon and Amelia stepped out into the early spring sunshine.
“Miss Bachman!” A joyful chorus of childish voices greeted her. The Delaney children ran to her with smiles. How good it was to see them happy, even if it was for only a few moments.
Elsie, usually the serious one, tugged at Amelia’s sleeve. “I learned a Bible verse today.”
“Why, that’s wonderful, Elsie. I’d love to hear it.”
The little girl twisted one braid around her finger and dipped her fair brows in concentration. “For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. Psalm ninety-one, verse eleven.” A grin filled her face as she finished.
“Excellent, Elsie. I’m very proud of you.”
“You are?” The child’s eyes widened with wonder.
“I am.” Amelia bent and slipped her arm around Elsie’s shoulder. “Do you know what the verse means?”
“I think so.” The little girl cocked her head. “It means God tells His angels to take care of us wherever we go.” She leaned close to Amelia and whispered, “Even if we have to go to the orphanage.”
Amelia’s throat tightened at the child’s courageous spirit. “We’re still going to pray that doesn’t happen, but if it does, yes, God will take care of you wherever you are.”
Elsie fingered the lace edging on the sleeve of Amelia’s green, flowered dress. “I ain’t never seen such a pretty dress.” She tipped her face up. “Green was my mama’s favorite color. She woulda looked beautiful in a dress like this.”
Amelia pressed her lips together and forced the corners upward, blinking hard. She didn’t dare try to speak.
“Good morning.”
Amelia looked up to find Hank Zimmermann’s deep brown eyes fixed on her. Had he heard Elsie’s heart-wrenching appraisal? She gulped.
“Elsie was just reciting her scripture verse for me.” She took Elsie’s golden braid between her thumb and forefinger.
“Oh?” Hank bent down, his hands on his knees. “Will you recite it for me, too?”
Elsie leaned to one side and peeked around Hank to where Mr. Zimmermann stood talking with another man. “All right, but just you.”
A smile stretched across Hank’s face, but an ache invaded Amelia’s heart. Elsie and her siblings had only been living with the Zimmermanns’ for less than a month and already the child knew whom she could and could not trust.
Hank slid the last of the newly finished pieces of furniture through the yawning double doors of the general store and turned to face the proprietor, Horst Braun. The man grinned and slapped Hank’s shoulder. “This is good work, ja. You will have many customers when they see this beautiful craftsmanship.” Horst ran his hand along the intricate design at the top of the cabinet Hank had labored over for two weeks.
Hank swiped his sleeve over his forehead. “I hope you’re right, Horst.” He didn’t add that if he didn’t get orders for more pieces, he’d find himself back on the farm doing what his father wanted. Doubt swirled in his stomach and he besought God again for direction. A silent prayer ascended from his heart.
Lord God, I want to be certain this is Your will. Why else would You have put the skill in my hands and the desire in my heart if You did not intend for me to use it? Please make peace between Vater and me, Lord. Can I not honor him and still be a carpenter?
Horst positioned the smaller piece, a pie safe with punched tin door inserts and gingerbread trim, near the entrance of the store. “There.” Horst turned to Hank and beamed. “The customers can’t miss it when they come in.”
“Are you sure you have room for the cabinet?”
“Ja, we just move a few things over.” Horst’s gap-toothed grin stretched the man’s beard into a crescent. “You push der pickle barrel there, and I move dies display of boots.”
The two men shoved and maneuvered items here and there, opening up a space into which they slid the cabinet. Hank stepped back to survey the position of the piece at the same moment the front door opened and hit him in the backside.
“Oh, pardon me. I’m so sorry.”
Hank turned to see Amelia’s contrite expression turn to one of mortification. Her eyes widened and color stole into her cheeks and for the briefest of moments, Hank thought she was prettier than the sunrise he’d admired that morning.
Amelia clasped her hand over her bodice. “Oh dear, I should watch where I’m going. Do forgive me.”
A grin tweaked his face. “No harm done.” His pulse quickened. “I didn’t realize it was time for school to be out. Are the youngsters at the Sunday house?”
She shook her head and looked out the window. “They were headed out of town on their old farm horse. I believe they call him Fritz.” When she t
urned back around, she’d regained her composure. A polite smile curved her lips.
“Ja, Fritz is too old to pull the plow, but he doesn’t mind the kids riding him.” Hank shuffled his boot against the rough-hewn floor, trying to find the words to ask Amelia to join him for a stroll. “Vater must have told them to come straight home.” Perhaps she’d agree to walk down by the creek with him before going back to …
“The children are—”
“Would you have time to accompany—”
Nervous laughter bubbled from Amelia, and Hank gestured with his hand. “You first.”
The rosy glow crept into her cheeks again. “I was just going to say the children are doing well with their studies. Joy loves learning to read, and Elsie excels in spelling and vocabulary. Micah needs a bit more help with his letters and numbers, but he’s a bright little boy. He’ll learn quickly.”
Hank shrugged. “They sure seem to like school and I thank you for that, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll be here. My father is waiting for letters from the orphanages at Abilene and Dallas.” He scowled and studied the toes of his boots. “I’m afraid he won’t even try to keep the kids together.”
“But the children must stay together.” Her voice broke. “They’ve already been through so much. If they are sent away—all they have is each other.”
Her plea carried with it a thread of challenge and Hank gritted his teeth. He would take all three children in a minute if he could, but he’d already told her he didn’t have the means to support them.
Distress over the children’s future pressed her lips together and tiny lines appeared across her forehead, but she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly. “You were about to ask me something.”
Hank swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat. “Would you consent to walk with me to Baron’s Creek? It’s not far from the Sunday house and we’d be in plain view for propriety’s sake.”
Amelia’s eyes widened and she blinked twice. Her lips parted but she hesitated to speak, and the same flustered expression he saw when she hit him with the door returned to her face.
“It’s very kind of you to ask, Mr. Zimm—I mean, Hank. But I’ve come to Fredericksburg to teach, and I don’t wish to give any other impression. Good afternoon.”
She hastened down the steps, apparently forgetting whatever it was she came to purchase.
Chapter 6
Almost a week after Amelia’s conversation with Hank in the general store, the words she’d spoken to him still haunted her. She hadn’t lied to him—not exactly. Teaching school had brought her to Fredericksburg, but there was no denying the underlying motive. Becoming a schoolteacher afforded her a perfectly reasonable excuse for refusing invitations from would-be suitors, including the prosperous rancher with whom her father had attempted to marry her off.
As evening fell she crossed the small kitchen area to prepare her simple supper. A light winked from the window of the Sunday house next door, testifying to Hank’s presence. She fixed her gaze at her neighbor’s window and felt a whisper of defiance ripple through her.
“I came to Fredericksburg to teach.”
A twinge of foolishness poked her since there was nobody to hear her repeat the declaration she’d already delivered to Hank. If she were honest, she’d admit her decision had as much to do with her desire to control her own destiny as it did with molding the minds and character of children. In the five weeks she’d been in Fredericksburg, she’d thrilled to see her students learn and grow, but Fredericksburg was also a refuge. She was safe here.
She released a soft snort. “Safe from what? Marriage? Or just life in general?”
She lit the oil lamp on the table and cut a thick slice of the dark bread she’d purchased at the German bakery and slathered it with peach preserves. A chunk of cheese and small piece of cold sausage rounded out her supper. She set the kettle on the stove for her tea.
An image tiptoed into her mind. What would it be like to put supper on the table for a husband and children? The silent suppers she’d endured all her life, with her father at one end of the table and her mother at the other, faded from her memory as a fascinating scene unfolded and drew her. Blond-headed children with smiles of anticipation welcomed the culinary offerings she placed before them, and the man at the head of the table beamed at his family and bowed his head to pray. When he said amen and lifted his head—it was Hank Zimmermann’s face.
Amelia startled and covered her warming cheeks with both hands. “Mercy!” Such nonsense. But the more she tried to push the thought away, the more strongly it insisted on manifesting.
Amelia heaved a sigh. A distraction. That’s what she needed. Her canvas satchel sat gaping open on one of the chairs. She dug deep past the books and folders, and felt around the bottom of the bag. Her fingers found the small cloth pouch and she pulled it out. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she untied the strings that held the pouch tightly closed and shook an assortment of seeds into her open palm. A dozen different kinds of wildflower seeds given to her by one of her professors when she graduated—to commemorate her new beginning and opportunity to blossom.
As she rolled the seeds around in her hand, a plan began to form. Why not use the seeds as a science lesson, coupled with an outing for her students before the end of the school year? She glanced at the calendar on the wall. First week of April. Plenty of time to plan. She smiled and slid the seeds back into the pouch, pulling the strings snug. Her thoughts were back where they belonged.
Steam rose from the kettle’s spout in lazy wisps that fogged the window. Amelia wiped the condensation away and the lamplight from Hank’s window became visible again.
Amelia stepped out the door of the post office clutching two envelopes. The first one bore her mother’s distinctive flowing script. The arrival of the letter—the first she’d received from either parent for more than six months—sent hope surging through her. But anticipation over the contents of the letter sparred with dread in her heart. The last conversation she’d had with her mother was not a happy one. She tucked the letter into her satchel along with her books, lesson plans, and papers to be corrected. The privacy of the Sunday house was the place to read the letter, in case her parents’ opinion of her career choice had not changed.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the second letter, and the return address was smudged. Pausing on the boardwalk, she broke the seal on the envelope and extracted the single sheet of paper, scanning downward to the signature.
“Uncle Will?” The corners of her mouth lifted. Her father’s brother, widowed a year ago, was her favorite relative. He and his wife had worked together in his medical practice in McAlester, Oklahoma. She read his scrawled words.
I hope this letter finds my favorite niece happy and well.
It’s been difficult for me to continue living and working here in McAlester since your aunt’s passing. I can’t walk down the street without her presence accompanying me. Everything I see reminds me of her, and while I desire to cling to her memory, I seem to be bogged down in grief.
I need a fresh start. After corresponding with a few colleagues, I’ve made the decision to close my practice here and move to Fredericksburg.
“Uncle Will’s coming here?” Happy anticipation lifted her heart. She read the last line of his missive.
It may take some time to finalize everything, but I hope to be there perhaps by late May. Fondly, Uncle Will.
While she’d been sad for Uncle Will at the passing of her aunt, joy tickled her stomach at the prospect of him coming to Fredericksburg. She slid Uncle Will’s letter into her satchel with the one from her mother and hurried toward the general store.
A brisk spring breeze flapped the brim of Amelia’s bonnet as she stepped through the bright blue door. Two ladies stood admiring the pie safe near the entrance of the store while Horst Braun walked over to them, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Das ist verkauft—that one is sold, ladies, but I�
�m sure if you speak with the craftsman, he will be happy to build another for you.”
One of the ladies examined the gingerbread trim. “Wer ist es? Who does this fine work?”
Horst grinned. “Hank Zimmermann. He is very skilled, ja?”
A swell of pride for Hank danced through Amelia as the ladies exclaimed over the piece of furniture. The instant she recognized the emotion for what it was, heat filled her face. She ducked her head and pretended to examine a bolt of dress goods.
Foolishness.
Certainly Hank would be pleased to know people praised his work, especially in light of the argument she’d overheard between him and his father. She’d caught glimpses of him working hard at his craft, but to experience prideful flutters in her belly over the compliments from Horst and the women was just plain silly. So why did an absurd smile insist on stretching across her face? She shook her head.
“What can I get for you today, Miss Bachman?” Horst’s voice boomed directly behind her. Amelia jumped as if he’d read her thoughts and knew why she was smiling.
“Oh, uh …” Why did she come into the store? She gawked at Horst for a moment. “Thread.”
His indulgent smile was punctuated by a slight arch of his thick eyebrows, and he remained in place. The ends of his mustache wiggled and he pointed to the shelf a foot away from her right elbow. She jerked her head around.
“Oh.” Her face burned and she could have sworn it was the middle of summer. “Oh my. I admonish my students about daydreaming and here I am, guilty of the same pastime. Forgive me, Mr. Braun.”
The burly man tilted his head back and belly-laughed. “Es ist gut—it is good, ja, to daydream sometimes. My little Freda, she likes to watch the clouds. Her mutter grows impatient with her when she imagines stories drifting across the sky instead of doing her chores.” A wide grin elongated his mustache.
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 53