Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Where

  the

  Heart

  Leads

  Books by

  Kim Vogel Sawyer

  FROM BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  Waiting for Summer’s Return

  Where Willows Grow

  My Heart Remembers

  Where the Heart Leads

  A Promise for Spring

  Fields of Grace

  A Hopeful Heart

  In Every Heartbeat

  Where

  the

  Heart

  Leads

  Kim Vogel

  A Novel by

  Sawyer

  Where the Heart Leads

  Copyright © 2008

  Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Cover design by Brand Navigation

  Cover photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sawyer, Kim Vogel.

  Where the heart leads / Kim Vogel Sawyer.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-7642-0263-6 (pbk.)

  1. Mennonites—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.A97 W45 2008

  813'.6—dc22

  2008028000

  For my nephews DAVID and NATHAN.

  All too soon you’ll be men,

  setting out on your God-designed pathways.

  Stay focused on Him

  and your steps will be sure.

  ONLY TAKE HEED TO THYSELF,

  AND KEEP THY SOUL DILIGENTLY,

  LEST THOU FORGET THE THINGS

  WHICH THINE EYES HAVE SEEN,

  AND LEST THEY DEPART FROM THY HEART

  ALL THE DAYS OF THY LIFE:

  BUT TEACH THEM THY SONS,

  AND THY SONS’ SONS.

  Deuteronomy 4:9

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Late May, 1904

  ASHARP ELBOW JABBED Thomas Ollenburger’s ribs, his foster grandmother’s all-too-familiar signal that he was doing something wrong. He stopped fiddling with the ribbon tie beneath his chin and lowered his arm to his side, but she jabbed him again, this time catching his forearm instead. He looked at her.

  Although Nadine Steadman wore a smile, her eyes flashed disapproval. “Smile, Thomas. Make your guests feel welcome.”

  Thomas swallowed a grunt. He hadn’t wanted these guests. Sure, he admitted feeling a sense of accomplishment in earning a college degree—something unique to his Mennonite upbringing— but the teachings of his sect discouraged self-pride. A party seemed too much like boasting. Nadine and he had argued when he’d stated he would rather avoid the fanfare and not attend the graduation ceremony at Boston Tech. He’d won that debate, but Nadine had insisted on throwing a celebratory party in honor of his educational achievement. So he had fanfare anyway.

  Some devilishness made him whisper, “Ach fal me no ows mein yasacht dowt no shtien.”

  Nadine’s smile quickly faded. “Thomas Ollenburger, you know I don’t understand a word of that foreign speech.” Her dark eyes dared him to leave her wondering what he’d said.

  Leaning sideways to bring his head next to hers, he translated, “My face feels as if it’s turned to stone.” He contorted his mouth. “I’ve been smiling so much, my muscles are stiff.”

  She laughed softly and patted his arm with her gloved hand. “Thomas, you are a scamp.”

  Although the words could be construed as an insult, by her tone he knew he’d been forgiven. Nadine’s approach was often crusty, but Thomas had learned she harbored a tender heart. Her willingness to take him in six years ago as he began high school, pay for his college education, and treat him as her own—even though he was only the stepson of her daughter-in-law rather than any blood kin—proved her generosity. He just wished she hadn’t chosen a party as a way of expressing her pleasure in his accomplishment.

  Dozens of guests milled through the parlor of the stately Stead-man home—students, professors, church members, and neighbors. Many had entered the ornately carved oak doors as first-time visitors. But none looked as uncomfortable as Thomas had felt during his first weeks in Nadine’s home.

  Her three-story townhouse on prestigious Beacon Street, overlooking the Common, was so different from his simple clapboard home in Gaeddert, Kansas. His entire childhood home had less space than the parlor of Nadine’s ridiculously large residence. Even now, after six years of living beneath her tiled roof, he sometimes still experienced a sense of displacement. He wished he could set the odd feeling aside, relax, and be as at ease as his friend Harry Severt seemed to be. Right now, beside the punch bowl on the opposite side of the room, Harry conversed with two young ladies. His posture and gestures conveyed a state of complete self-assurance.

  Nadine caught Thomas’s elbow and gave it a little squeeze. “I believe the last of the guests have arrived. You may now leave the welcoming post and mingle. Be certain to speak to each person in attendance—preferential treatment to one guest is considered impolite. Be certain to avoid any semblance of preferential treatment.”

  Thomas resisted growling in frustration. He’d received these instructions at least half a dozen times already—and he knew the reason. Nadine didn’t want him spending all his time with Daphne Severt, Harry’s younger sister who had accompanied Harry on several visits to Nadine’s home. Nadine didn’t seem to care for Daphne, and Thomas wasn’t sure why. He admitted that when he’d first met Daphne, she’d seemed to be as pesky as his own little sisters. But lately . . . well, she’d grown into the loveliest creature he’d ever seen.

  “Go ahead now,” Nadine prompted. Catching her skirt between thumb and fingers, she glided across the carpeted floor with her shoulders back and chin held high, nodding and smiling as she filled the role of the perfect hostess.

  Thomas cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and edged his way around the periphery of the room. Although he did his best to appear as poised as Nadine desired him to be, his large size coupled with the crowded room made graceful movements impossible. He’d inherited his pa’s height and breadth—and he never felt more monstrous than when standing beside the diminutive Daphne Severt.

  Although Nadine often bemoaned the difficulty in locating suits to accommodate Thomas’s frame, Daphne had once said his size made her feel protected. He scanned the room, seeking the young woman.
He couldn’t spend a lot of time talking to her— not with Nadine’s eagle eyes observing his every move—but just a glance would satisfy him for the moment.

  Daphne had arrived with Harry a half hour ago, looking beautiful in a shiny dress the same color as the ripe sand plums that grew wild on the prairie surrounding his Kansas home. Her long black hair had been pulled up into a ponytail as thick as his horse’s tail, but instead of being straight, it hung in long coils that bounced when she walked. He looked for that bouncing tail of hair, and his heart jolted when he spotted it. As usual, she was the focus of attentive male gazes.

  A stab of jealousy propelled him forward. “Excuse me,” he muttered, weaving between clusters of guests. “Excuse me, please.” He reached the group and stepped directly into Daphne’s line of vision. Her face lifted to his, and her rosy lips curved into a smile of welcome. His heart began such a raucous pounding in his chest that it threatened to dislodge the buttons of his shirt. Maybe a party hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  “Mr. Ollenburger.” She stretched a hand toward him.

  Placing his palm beneath hers, he bowed over the white-gloved knuckles and delivered a light kiss on the middle one. Straightening, he caught her flutter of lashes, and despite his stiff cheeks, he felt the first genuine smile of the day form on his face. “Miss Severt.”

  Daphne glanced at the group around her. “Please excuse me. I must speak with the guest of honor.” Slipping her hand through the bend of his elbow, she turned her heart-shaped face upward. “I find myself quite parched, Mr. Ollenburger. Might you escort me to the refreshments table?”

  Thomas couldn’t argue with that idea. As they moved through the room together, he sensed people’s gazes following them. The feeling of discomfiture grew, and he wished he could shrink at least three sizes to make himself less visible. By the time they reached the table bearing the bounty of food items, his hands were trembling, and when he tried to pour a glass of punch, he sloshed pale pink liquid over the edge of the glass’s rim and spattered the linen tablecloth.

  Heat burned the back of his neck, and he hunched his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

  Daphne moved closer, angling her head to meet his eyes. “Please don’t apologize. And please don’t let the stares of the other guests perturb you. I know what each of them is thinking.”

  Thomas risked a quick sideways glance, confirming a number of attentive faces aimed in their direction. “I know, too. ‘What is that big clod doing with that beautiful girl?’ ”

  She curled her fingers over his forearm. “Quite the contrary. They’re thinking, ‘How did that young lady manage to catch the most handsome man in the room?’ ”

  He raised one eyebrow, silently communicating his doubt.

  Her midnight eyes sparkled. “Or perhaps, ‘What a perfect couple.’ ”

  Thomas gulped. Heat crept from the back of his neck to the top of his head. He snatched up another glass, filled it with punch, and downed the cool, sweet liquid, grateful for the distraction. But unfortunately, the diversion lasted only a few seconds. When he looked once more into her face, the heat returned with an intensity that made his knees weak.

  “Daphne Severt,” he growled, “what you do to a man . . .”

  She batted her thick eyelashes. “Do tell.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh no. You have enough confidence already. I won’t add to it.”

  Her flirtatious expression invited him to shower her with all the praises filling his heart and mind, but his father hadn’t raised a foolish man. He wouldn’t give voice to the feelings until he knew he could follow them with action. He’d be leaving soon, returning to Kansas. Now that his studies were completed, his family expected him. It felt good to be going home, but the thought of leaving Daphne filled him with regret.

  Daphne lifted her cup to her lips and sipped daintily, her wide-eyed gaze never drifting from his face.

  Deep regret.

  When Thomas’s neck blotched with color, Daphne knew she’d accomplished her goal: Thomas was smitten with her.

  The first time Harry had brought Thomas to their home, she’d been intrigued. She’d been only thirteen years old then, but she’d been mature enough to recognize the differences between this man and the boys who generally spent time with Harry. Just standing next to him had brought a rush of pleasure. Outside, in the sunshine, his shadow completely swallowed hers. He made her feel small and feminine and safe.

  A servant passed by, carrying a carved wood tray. She put her half-empty glass on the tray and caught Thomas’s elbow once more. “This room is so crowded. Could we step onto the veranda for a moment?”

  Thomas sucked in his lips, seeming to give her question deep consideration. He frowned, and she feared a refusal would be forthcoming. She leaned forward slightly, pressing her arm against his. “Please, Thomas? I need some fresh air.”

  Although his expression didn’t clear, he nodded. They moved side by side through the double French doors leading to the narrow veranda that faced out over the grassy Common. Thomas tempered his wide stride to match hers, and she smiled. Such a gentleman lurked beneath his burly frame.

  Thomas crossed to the iron railing and curled both of his hands over the scrolled top. Daphne retained her hold on his elbow as she took a deep breath of the spring air. “Ahh. This is much better.”

  Thomas chuckled. “There’s no fan out here to stir the air. It isn’t any less stuffy.”

  “Oh, but out here we’re alone.” She peered up at him, offering her biggest smile. “Do you not agree that’s much better?”

  The blotching in his neck returned immediately.

  “Thomas, must you truly return to Kansas?” She sighed dramatically.

  He frowned down at her. “My family is expecting me.”

  “But Kansas is so far from Boston.”

  Thomas shifted his gaze across the Common, his expression pensive. “Yes. I know.”

  Determined to draw him back, she released her hold on his arm and slipped away a few feet, peering at him over her shoulder. “Will you miss me?” “Will you miss me?”

  That wasn’t the response she’d anticipated. She jerked her gaze forward, folded her arms over her chest, and refused to answer. Besotted or not, she wouldn’t allow him to control her. Suddenly large hands cupped her shoulders and turned her around. She had to tip her head back to look into his serious face.

  “Don’t play games with me, Daphne.” Thomas’s deep, throaty voice sounded tense. “If you’ll miss me, just say so.”

  Daphne placed her palms against the front of Thomas’s jacket. It was a brazen gesture, but he didn’t shrink away. “I shall miss you dreadfully.” She whispered the words, waiting for him to respond in kind.

  “I’ll leave you my address. You can write to me.”

  Had he made a request or a demand? Daphne scowled, pursing her lips into the pout she often practiced in front of the mirror in her private sleeping chamber. “It isn’t the same.”

  “But it will have to do,” he pointed out in a calm tone that stirred her ire.

  She grasped the lapels of his coat. “You are coming back, aren’t you, Thomas? Harry depends on your assistance in the presidential election. He said you promised to help. You are a man of your word, aren’t you?”

  The blotching rose from his neck to his smooth-shaven cheeks, but this time Daphne suspected it had less to do with discomfort than with anger. How would this big man express his temper?

  Explode like Father, or withdraw like Harry?

  Thomas drew in a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then let it out in little bursts through his nose. With each burst, the color in his face diminished. When he spoke, it was with an even, unflustered tone. “I gave my word. I’ll be back.”

  She leaned closer.

  “To assist in the campaign.”

  She released his lapels and pranced away, presenting her back. “Thomas Ollenburger, I—”

  She didn’t have the opportunit
y to finish, because someone threw open the French doors. Daphne spun, expecting Harry, but Mrs. Steadman stood in the opening.

  “Thomas, a few of your guests are preparing to leave.” The woman shot Daphne a disapproving frown before looking back at Thomas. “You should be there to tell them a proper good-bye and thank-you.”

  “Of course, Nadine. We were just returning. Weren’t we, Miss Severt?”

  Daphne nodded and forced a pleasant expression. She glided past Thomas, giving him a brief glance. “Thank you for showing me the veranda, Mr. Ollenburger. Have a safe journey to Kansas.”

  She returned to the parlor and sought Harry. She would fake a headache and ask him to escort her home. If Thomas were to regret the lost opportunity for a lengthy good-bye, then she couldn’t tarry.

  Harry was in the midst of some intense discussion with three other young men, but she captured his arm and tugged him away from the group. His fierce glower would have silenced most people, but Daphne was used to dealing with her brother. “Harry, my head is pounding. I wish to go home.”

  “But I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Tom.”

  She made a great pretense of wilting, carrying one trembling hand to her forehead. “I fear I shall simply collapse if I’m not able to rest immediately.”

  Harry blew out a breath of frustration. “Oh, very well.” He turned to the others. “I need to leave, fellows. But—”

  One of the others—a student Daphne had seen before but to whom she’d never been formally introduced—stepped forward. “Harry, why don’t you stay? You know Tom better than I do, anyway. I’ll escort your sister home in my landau.”

  Harry clapped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Wilfred. I appreciate that.”

  Daphne gaped at Harry. Would he truly pass her off to some skinny, pock-faced stranger?

  Harry put his hand on Daphne’s spine. “Daphne, you’ll be in safe company with Wilfred Taylor.” He pressed her forward, ignoring her angry glare. “I’ll check in on you when I return.”

  Wilfred licked his lips and stuck out his bony elbow in invitation. “Come along, Miss Severt.”