Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Daphne had no choice but to place her hand in the curve of his arm. It felt like kindling compared to Thomas’s broad limbs. But as she and Wilfred made their departure, she observed Thomas’s clenched jaw and narrowed gaze, and satisfaction welled upward. Perhaps she possessed the victory after all.

  2

  Hillsboro, Kansas

  Early June, 1904

  THE CLOSER THE RATTLING passenger car carried Thomas to Hillsboro, the more he shifted on the wooden seat. Sweat drenched his back, making him want to remove his suit coat and roll up the sleeves of his linen shirt. But remembering Nadine’s admonition when he’d boarded in Boston—“You’re a college graduate now, Thomas. You must look the part”—he felt certain she would ask his stepmother how he’d been dressed when he arrived in Hillsboro. He’d tangled with Nadine before; he had no desire to do it again.

  The fabric of the custom-tailored black worsted suit bore wrinkles and sweat stains, and he wondered how he could look more like a college graduate in bedraggled attire than in a pair of trousers and a chambray shirt from his bag. But respect for Nadine kept him in the suit, regardless of how much he wanted to change.

  The suit wasn’t the only thing making him uncomfortable. Scattered emotions—eagerness to see his family, regret at not being able to say a proper farewell to Daphne, and uncertainty about what to do with the degree he’d spent three years earning—combined to make fresh perspiration moisten his forehead. Ach, how much longer to Hillsboro?

  He snatched off his hat and dragged a wilted handkerchief over his face. The hot wind streaming through the open window peppered him with grit and coal dust. Instead of replacing his hat, he dropped it onto the seat beside him and looked out at the passing countryside.

  Kansas, his boyhood home. Pasture land of gently rolling hills dotted with yucca bearing fat buds that would soon blossom. Occasional splashes of color from wildflowers. Wheat fields, the golden tips waving in the sun. Stands of wind-pruned trees, their branches full and green. It was all so familiar . . . and yet also foreign after his long time away.

  Scowling, he turned from the window. He bent forward, rested his elbows on his widespread knees, and lowered his head. Dia Gottenn de Himmel—just like his father and his father’s father before him, he lapsed into German when he prayed—I do not know where I belong now. Pa wants me home in Kansas, and a part of me wants that, too, but I have been gone for so long . . . Where am I meant to call “home”? Help me know, Lord.

  For long moments he remained in his bent-low position, his head bobbing with the motion of the train, waiting for an answer. But when the screeching of the brakes signaled the train’s approach to Hillsboro, he’d received no more answers than the last time he’d prayed. Maybe when he was home, in his familiar bedroom with the sounds of the prairie soothing his troubled soul, things would become clear.

  Putting one arm forward, he braced himself on the back of the seat in front of him and gritted his teeth against the vibration coming through the floorboards. He held his breath until the rapid, screeching deceleration turned into a slow chug-chug-chug, and then let it out in one big whew of relief that accompanied the train’s release of steam. He glanced out the window. A small cluster of people waited on the boardwalk for the few passengers who would disembark, and his heart leaped when he recognized his father’s shaggy, wheat-colored hair—his head always inches above anyone else in a crowd.

  Pa! To his surprise, tears pooled in Thomas’s eyes. He plopped his hat over his own wheat-colored mop, grabbed up his bag, and raced to the door at the end of the car. He didn’t bother with the metal stairs, but took a single leap that brought him flat-footed on hard-packed earth. The shock of the landing gave him momentary pause, but then he stumbled forward on tingling feet. “Pa! Pa! And Summer!”

  Although Summer had been his stepmother for nine years— nearly half of his life—he still hesitated at calling her Ma. Back when she’d married Pa, he hadn’t wanted to be a replacement for her deceased sons, Vincent and Tod. But now, as he called her given name, he experienced a pang of regret.

  His family separated from the crowd and rushed forward, with his sisters outpacing Pa and Summer. The littlest one, three-year-old Lena, tripped and fell face first in the dirt and began to wail. Pa paused to scoop her into his arms, and stairsteps Abby and Gussie— so similar in size and appearance they could pass for twins—barreled into Thomas. He laughed at their enthusiastic welcome. They’d only been two and one years of age when he’d first left for high school and college in the East, and his visits home had been few and brief, yet each time he came home, they swarmed him like bees on a honeysuckle vine.

  He lifted them off the ground simultaneously, one in each arm, and swung in a circle that made their matching yellow braids stick straight out. They clung to his shoulders and squealed, their childish voices loud in his ears. He set them down and reached for Summer. Wrapping his arms around her slender frame, he was transported back to the first time he’d dared hug her. He’d had to lift his arms to her then. This time she reached up to capture his face with her hands and give him a bold kiss on the cheek.

  “Oh, Thomas, it’s so good to have you home again.”

  The word home reverberated right through Thomas’s heart. He swallowed hard, his arms tightening around her back. “It’s good to be here.”

  When Thomas released Summer, Pa stepped forward with little Lena balanced on his arm. Plump tears quivered on the child’s thick eyelashes, and she sucked the two middle fingers of her left hand. Thomas held out his arms to Lena, but she buried her face against Pa’s neck. Her action made it impossible for him to give either her or his father a hug.

  Thomas cupped the back of his sister’s head of dark, tangled curls with one hand and clamped the other over his father’s shoulder. A huge lump filled his throat. All of his life, he’d wanted to please this man. How would Pa feel if Thomas left Kansas for good? Forcing his voice past the lump of emotion, he managed a one-word salutation. “Pa.”

  Pa nodded, seeming to understand the great meaning behind the simple greeting. He responded in kind: “Son.” For long moments they stood silently under the sun, with Summer, Abby, and Gussie looking on, until suddenly Lena released her father’s neck and flung herself at Thomas.

  “Oomph!” Thomas took a step backward when her weight hit him. The child’s moist fingers dug into the back of his neck. He crossed his arms over her narrow back, holding her in place. Lena pressed her face against his collar. He heard her whisper, “You my bruvver, Thomaff.”

  Both Abby and Gussie beamed, clapping their hands. Obviously they’d been coaching Lena in preparation for his homecoming. Lena’s valiant attempt at speaking his name brought a smile to his face and he said, “That’s right.” He bounced her a couple of times on his arm, making her giggle. Her fingers slid back into her rosy little mouth, and she reached for Pa. Thomas experienced a sense of loss as he relinquished her. But then Gussie and Abby danced forward, each taking one of his hands.

  Pa, with Lena in one arm, picked up Thomas’s bag and heaved his great shoulders in a slow shrug. “Well, now that our Thomas is here, we can go home.”

  Thomas fell into step between Pa and Summer, and the two little girls skipped along in front of him, getting in his way. He watched his step as he spoke. “I’m eager to get to the homestead—to say hello to Daisy and maybe take a ride before it gets dark. Are the strawflowers blooming? I’d like to take a bouquet to Grossmutter’s grave tomorrow—if that’s all right.”

  A wave of sorrow accompanied his last comment. Although his dear great-grandmother had been gone more than three years now—passing away peacefully in her sleep midway through Summer’s last pregnancy—Thomas still missed her with a fierce ache. He hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral, caught in studies halfway across the United States. But during every summer trip to Kansas, he’d spent considerable time at the tiny gravesite where Grossmutter rested near Summer’s first husband and their four children, all o
f whom had died of typhoid fever as they traveled through Kansas.

  Although the baby boy Summer had borne during the first year she was Thomas’s new mother was also buried there, Thomas rarely sat at that grave. The infant hadn’t lived more than a few minutes and hadn’t even been given a name. Baby Boy Ollenburger, as his tombstone read, didn’t seem real to Thomas somehow.

  “Ja, if you want to visit Grossmutter’s grave, we can make that work.” Pa’s solemn tone reflected Thomas’s thoughts.

  “Thank you, Pa.”

  They reached the end of the boardwalk, where two wagons waited, both with horses lazing within the confines of their leather rigging. Pairs of plodding, dependable oxen had pulled his father’s wagon for as long as Thomas could remember. He looked around in confusion. “Where are Arndt and Bruno?”

  Summer and Pa exchanged a look that made Thomas’s stomach pinch.

  “Son,” Pa said, his head low, “some changes we have made since last time you were home.”

  Why would Pa get rid of the oxen? He needed the beasts to turn the gristmill’s large paddles to face the wind; horses weren’t strong enough. The twinge in Thomas’s middle increased. “Changes?”

  He looked from one parent to the other while Gussie and Abby blinked up at him.

  “Ja.” Pa took a deep breath, as if preparing to share something of importance, but Summer touched his sleeve.

  “Let’s wait until we’re at the house to visit with Thomas, shall we? It’s warm here in the sun, and Little Lena is ready for her afternoon nap.”

  Pa let out his breath in a way that indicated great relief. His gaze flicked between Thomas and Summer, and he nodded his head, gently patting Lena’s back as she drowsed on his shoulder. “That is sound thinking. Come.”

  But instead of leading Thomas to a wagon, Pa headed straight through town. Pa’s brown boots thudded against the raised walkway, matching the thumping of Thomas’s heart. They made two turns to reach a residential area. There, he followed Pa into a small two-story house. When he saw the familiar furnishings from the homestead— Grossmutter’s and Summer’s chairs, Pa’s homemade bench draped with the worn patchwork quilt, and the handmade table and chairs where he had eaten many meals with his father, great-grandmother, and Summer—he couldn’t remain silent. “You live in Hillsboro? Why didn’t you tell me you left the homestead?”

  Pa shook his head, frowning when Lena stirred on his shoulder. Instead of addressing Thomas, he turned to Gussie and Abby. “Girls, up to your room and play for a little bit. Stay quiet, though, while your sister sleeps. When she wakes, your mother will fix a snack for you.”

  Abby caught Gussie’s hand, and the pair scampered up an enclosed staircase that divided the little house in two. Pa started after them, but he paused at the base of the stairs, peering back at Thomas with sad eyes. “Summer will show you where you sleep. I will put Lena in her bed, and then we will talk.”

  Thomas clamped his jaw against all the questions that burned on his tongue. He picked up the bag Pa had left lying inside the front door, and trailed Summer through the kitchen to a lean-to at the back of the house. The ceiling sloped downward at a sharp pitch, forcing Thomas to duck to keep from hitting his head on the rafters. His old rope bed filled almost half of the room, the head and foot fitting snugly between opposite walls. Next to the head of the bed stood his chest of drawers, with a shelf above it holding many of his boyhood belongings.

  For a moment, a picture of the spacious room he had occupied in Nadine’s home flashed through his mind, and he grimaced. But then he noticed the neatly made bed, the colorful quilt stretched smoothly over the mattress, and the arrangement of his favorite books and childish toys on the shelf. Someone had tried to make this little room welcoming. He kept silent the disparaging thoughts. Dropping his bag, he sat heavily on the quilt. The groan of the ropes echoed the groan of his heart.

  Summer linked her fingers together and stood quietly in the doorway of the lean-to. The same sadness he’d seen in Pa’s eyes lingered in Summer’s dark-eyed gaze.

  Thomas clamped his hands over his knees. “Summer, why are you living in Hillsboro? What happened to the homestead? Who’s manning the mill?”

  Summer’s lips trembled for a moment. “The gristmill is closed.”

  “Closed!” Thomas jolted to his feet, remembering too late the low height of the ceiling. His head collided with an overhead rafter, and he plunked back down. Summer rushed to him and ran searching fingers over his scalp. He gently pushed her hands aside.

  “I’m fine.” Truthfully, his head throbbed, but that pain was minimal compared to the ache in his chest. “Why didn’t Pa tell me?”

  Summer sank down beside him. “He didn’t want to worry you.

  He feared that if you knew, you would rush home before you’d finished your education.”

  Yes, that would be like Pa—thinking of Thomas instead of himself. But Thomas could have helped . . . somehow. “But it was operating when I was here last summer.”

  Summer looked to the side. “He did what he could the last two harvests, for those who brought him their wheat.”

  Thomas thought back, recalling how the grinding seemed to take much less time last summer than in prior years. Pa had joked that they were getting efficient, finishing early, but now he realized fewer people must have come to Pa. He drew a hand down his face. “So he sold the homestead and mill?”

  Summer’s expression turned sad. “No. So many people from Gaeddert have moved to nearby towns, no one was interested in purchasing the homestead. It sits empty.” She paused, her throat convulsing. “It makes your father very sad.”

  Tears stung behind Thomas’s nose as he considered how difficult it must have been for Pa to leave the house and buildings he’d constructed with his own hands. So many dreams were poured into that land, dreams carried from across the ocean and planted with high hopes. Now those dreams had been swept away like dust in a Kansas windstorm.

  Summer put a hand on Thomas’s knee. “Your father has a job at the steam-powered mill here in town.”

  Pa, who expressed pride in the three-generations-long line of self-supporting Ollenburger millers, now spent his days toiling for someone else instead of earning his way with his own mill? Thomas’s chin quivered. “It’s not right, Summer.”

  “Right or wrong,” Summer said, “many of Gaeddert’s residents are starting over in other communities. The town was so small, Thomas. With no more wagon trains coming through, and the difficulty in raising crops over the past few years, Gaeddert couldn’t support itself any longer. Had the people allowed the railroad to come through the town, it might have survived, but . . . there was no opportunity for growth.”

  A shadow fell across the room, and Thomas looked up to find Pa filling the doorway. His eyes—lined at the edges, topped by thick yellow brows now streaked with gray—met Thomas’s. It looked like his father had deliberately relaxed his face into an expression of complacency.

  “Change is not always for bad.” Pa spoke as though he’d been a part of the entire conversation, and Thomas wondered how long he’d been listening. “And here in Hillsboro, we have many familiar faces to make us feel not so lonely for our town, Gaeddert.”

  Summer patted Thomas’s knee, sitting up straight with a smile lighting her face. “Why, yes, and one in particular will be pleased to know you’re home. She asks about you often.”

  Thomas waited in silence.

  Pa nodded. “Belinda will know soon enough you are here. The Schmidt widow and her daughters reside right there across the alley.”

  Thomas’s mouth went dry. Belinda . . .

  3

  SITTING DOWN TO DINNER reminded Thomas of how things used to be, before he left Gaeddert to attend high school and college in Boston. The smells were the same—cabbage, sausage, fried potatoes, onions, vinegar, and Summer’s good homemade bread. He sat at the same worn table in a chair crafted by his father, with a familiar speckled blue plate in front of him. Holding hands
around the table while Pa’s rumbling voice offered grace in German brought the same feeling of belonging and contentment that had carried him through childhood. Pa’s strong Mennonite faith had been a constant all his life.

  With his eyes closed, Pa’s voice in his ears and Summer’s hand in his, Thomas momentarily forgot that he sat in a kitchen in a strange house in Hillsboro instead of his boyhood home outside of Gaeddert. But the moment Pa said amen, Lena squealed, “I want ’tatoes!” and yanked him back to the present.

  He opened his eyes to the strange kitchen, his little sisters crowded side by side on a bench across from him, and neighboring houses blocking the view from the window. Although he hadn’t eaten since early that morning, hunger fled. Only the knowledge of how much it would bother his parents to have him leave the table kept him in his seat.

  “So, Thomas,” Pa said while scooping potatoes onto Lena’s plate, “did you bring home a diploma?”

  Thomas stabbed a piece of sausage. “Yes, sir. It’s in my bag.”

  “I will build a frame for it, and you can hang it on the wall of your room.”

  Thomas stuck a bite of sausage in his mouth to keep from saying anything belittling about the room Pa had called his. He swallowed and forced a light tone. “I’ll show you the diploma after dinner.”

  Pa beamed, nodding at Abby and Gussie. “You see? It is as I told you. Thomas went to school, he studied hard, and now he has a paper that says he is a graduate of higher learning. You can be proud of your big brother.”

  The little girls hunched their shoulders and peeked at Thomas with wide blue eyes. He waggled his eyebrows at them and enjoyed the giggles his silliness encouraged.

  Summer put a serving of cabbage on each of the girls’ plates before handing the bowl to Thomas. “Now that you have your degree, Thomas, what are your plans?”

  Thomas stifled a groan. He knew the question would be raised, but he’d hoped they would give him a few days before asking about his future plans. He opened his mouth, ready with the pat answer he’d been giving to everyone else—“I’m waiting to see what doors God opens”—but Pa cut him off.