Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She had intended to ask him to delay his drive into town for the length of time it would take her to write a quick message and address an envelope. But his impatient reaction fired her own temper. With another stomp of her foot against the polished floor, she tossed her head and clenched her fists. “Never mind. Go ahead and take care of your oh-so-important business!”

  If she’d thought her behavior would soften him, she was wrong. Without a word, he hurried out the back door.

  “Oh!” Daphne glared at his disappearing back. Then she spun and stomped back up the stairs to her room. Once there, she gave the door a slam that she hoped echoed all the way to the carriage house. Flouncing onto the bed, she folded her arms across her chest and stewed.

  The strong need to communicate with Thomas took her by surprise. She’d never been so smitten with a man before. But her fascination with Thomas, which had only grown as she matured from child to woman, was firmly imbedded. She wouldn’t call what she felt for Thomas Ollenburger love. Not yet. But she could see it developing into that overwhelmingly beautiful emotion, given time and togetherness.

  How many times had she and her friends swooned in silliness over some boy who wandered by? In hushed tones, they had discussed the intimacies of courtship, giggling like the schoolgirls they were as they contemplated the wonderment of being in love. Daphne even imagined herself besotted a time or two, just for the sake of experimentation. But her infatuation with Thomas Ollenburger was . . . different. Deeper. Real.

  She threw herself backward onto the mattress. Catching a pillow, she hugged it to her chest and stared at the lace canopy of her four-poster bed. Why was it so difficult this time to be apart from Thomas? Even when he had lived in Boston, many days would slip by without her seeing him; he’d spent weeks of every summer back in Kansas with his family, and she’d never before fretted about the time apart. So why the intense desire for his presence now?

  Tossing the pillow aside, she rose from the bed and crossed to her balcony. She curled her fingers around the warm iron railing and closed her eyes. The day of Thomas’s party, when she’d stood on the balcony of Nadine Steadman’s home with him, came back to her. A sense of urgency had filled her then, and now she realized a fear girded the urgency.

  Thomas now had his degree. His schooling was complete. He truly had no reason to return to Boston, save the presidential campaign with which he had promised to help—and that would all be over in November. Her heart lurched. Then she might never see him again.

  He needed something—someone—to hold him in Boston permanently. Or at least until which time she was certain of her feelings for him. She popped her eyes open, nibbling her lower lip as her thoughts churned. Long-term commitments involved . . . what? Relationships, naturally. And jobs.

  Jobs! Of course, a job—a job better than anything he could possibly locate in that little town in Kansas—would be motivation enough to keep him here. She raced through her room, down the hallway, and pounded on her mother’s dressing-room door. “Mother, I must take the barouche to the city to see Father.”

  “See here, Herr Barkman. Here is my son, Thomas, just as I promised.”

  Pa pressed Thomas forward to shake the man’s hand, making Thomas feel like a ten-year-old again.

  “A strong, dependable worker he will be for you.”

  Herr Barkman and Thomas exchanged a firm handshake while Pa went on, making Thomas’s ears burn. “A job he needs, but not for forever. My Thomas has . . .” Pa took in a deep breath. His next words came out humbly. “A college degree, so his own business he will start one day soon. But it takes money to do this. So that is why he needs the job.”

  “Ja, Peter, you have told me this already.” Herr Barkman winked and poked Thomas on the shoulder. “I think your father is bigheaded over your accomplishment, but we cannot blame him, can we?” He stroked his beard, squinting against the bright morning sun. “Your father says you will not need a job long, but I could use you for a little while. I have a roof that needs replacement. Leaks real bad. The last man I hired quit after only one day. He was afraid of high places. Do high places frighten you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are familiar with repairing roofs?”

  Thomas was no expert, but he knew he could fix a roof. From the time he was big enough to wield a hammer, he’d worked side by side with Pa on everything from putting up walls to hammering down shingles. He nodded. “I’m familiar with most carpentry jobs.”

  Herr Barkman looked satisfied. “So I can count on you to see it through?”

  Thomas held his breath. He’d sent his letter to Harry already, and he hated to disappoint his friend. But looking at Pa’s face, he knew he couldn’t disappoint his father, either. How long could it take to repair a roof ? Maybe a week? Surely, he could wait that long. “You can count on me.”

  “Goot. Goot.” The man gave Thomas a hearty clap on the back. “Well, then, let us get you working. There is a wagon waiting behind my house with cut shingles in the bed, as well as a ladder, tools, and nail keg—everything you need. You know where is the Schmidt house?”

  Aware of Pa’s watchful gaze, Thomas carefully guarded his expression. “Yes, sir.”

  “You will see the pocks from last spring’s hailstorm. Replace all the damaged shingles.” The man twisted his lips. “It will be most all of them.”

  Most all of them equated to a good-sized job—more than a week, for sure. Thomas set his jaw and smacked his hat onto his head. “Then I better get started. Bye, Pa. See you at lunch.”

  Working right across the alley from his folks’ house had its advantages, Thomas discovered. While he tore loose damaged shingles and tossed them into a pile on the ground, his little sisters provided entertainment with their enthusiastic chasing game. As a youngster, he had often played Eene, meene, Maun on the playground. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned as Gussie snatched Abby around the middle and crowed, “Eene, meene, Maun! Botta enna Paun! Kjees enne Kiep! Du best jriep! ”

  Standing, Thomas waved his hat and called, “Good job, Gussie!”

  The girls giggled, waved at him, and then took off again for another round. Thomas turned back to his task, whistling a merry tune. He had no idea what tagging someone had to do with butter in a skillet or cheese in a basket, but it was obvious his sisters enjoyed the game as much as he had as a child. The sound of their laughter carried him through the first hour of removing shingles.

  Midmorning, Summer crossed the alley with a jug of ginger water and a plate of oatmeal cookies. He eagerly climbed down the ladder to enjoy a few minutes in the shade. Summer handed him the jug and asked, “How is the job going?”

  Thomas swallowed, backhanded his moist lips, and grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s going slow. Most of the shingles need to be replaced, but at least the hailstones didn’t damage much of the sheeting.” At her puzzled look, he added, “The boards underneath the shingles.”

  “Ah.” She nodded, holding out the plate of cookies. “Well, I know you’ll do a good job. The Schmidts should appreciate it.”

  At that moment the back door of the Schmidt house opened. Malinda Schmidt stood in the doorway. “Have you finished for the day?”

  Thomas nearly laughed. “Finished? Oh, no. There’s still much to do.”

  Her frown caused deep furrows around her mouth. “The sounds of whistling, scraping, and thudding are giving Mama a horrible headache.”

  Thomas had no idea how he would repair their roof without making noise. He looked helplessly at Summer.

  Summer offered Malinda a kind smile. “The roof must be repaired, Malinda.”

  “Can you not come down off the roof to place the shingles on the pile? The steady crack of shingles hitting the ground is en Fe’druss.”

  Thomas stared at the woman in disbelief. They found the sounds of his working annoying? Surely it was less annoying than a leaking roof. He opened his mouth to inform Miss Schmidt of the ridiculousness of her request, but Summer interrupted.<
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  “Perhaps Frau Schmidt could put some cotton in her ears to block the sounds. Or you are welcome to come sit in my parlor while Thomas works.”

  Malinda huffed and slammed herself inside the house.

  Summer sighed and put her hand on Thomas’s arm. “Don’t take offense.”

  Thomas forced a light laugh and brushed his hands together, ridding himself of the remaining cookie crumbs. “I learned a long time ago not to pay attention to anything a Schmidt says. Her words are water off a duck’s back.”

  Summer returned to her house, and Thomas climbed back onto the roof. He made no effort to tiptoe, and he continued to toss the shingles rather than climb down the ladder and place them quietly in a pile, as Malinda Schmidt had suggested, but he did stop whistling. Every now and then Malinda appeared in the yard, her face turned upward with a hand shielding her eyes, a sour expression on her face. Each time, he gave a wave and returned to work.

  By the time the sun was straight overhead, Thomas had cleared a third of the old shingles on the back half of the house. He stood, hands on hips, surveying the stripped area. If a rain came, the Schmidts would have a mess with the sheeting unprotected. Should he spend the afternoon shingling the area he’d just cleared? He shifted his gaze to the sky. The cloudless expanse of endless blue gave no threat of rain, but he knew wind could stir up a storm quickly on the plains of Kansas.

  “Boy!”

  Thomas jerked then flailed to keep his balance on the steeply pitched roof. His balance restored, he turned slowly to find his father and Belinda Schmidt in the middle of the Schmidts’ backyard, looking upward. At the horrified look on Belinda’s face, he released a little laugh. He inched his way to the roof ’s edge and crouched, elbows on knees. “You thought I was going to fall, didn’t you?”

  “A mountain goat you are not,” Pa said, shaking his head. “It is time to see what Summer has fixed for our lunch.”

  Thomas wouldn’t argue about eating. Accustomed to sitting in a classroom during the day, a morning’s hard labor had built his appetite. He climbed down the ladder to the security of even ground. Walking toward Pa, he slapped at his dust-coated trousers.

  He heard a small sneeze from somewhere beside him. Belinda held her fingers beneath her nose, obviously fighting off another sneeze.

  “Gesundheit,” Pa said.

  Belinda sniffled. “Thank you, Herr Ollenburger. I must have caught a cold. I’ve been sneezing a lot lately.”

  Thomas flicked a surprised glance in her direction. Her sneezing seemed to be related to dust, and he’d just created a cloud of it by slapping at his filthy pants. Yet she hadn’t pointed a finger of blame.

  “Sneezing clears the head,” Pa said, chuckling. “So you will be fine now.”

  Belinda peeked past Pa to Thomas. “I didn’t realize Herr Bark-man had hired you to repair our roof, Thomas.”

  Pa beamed. “Ja, a job Barkman gave him. So now he earns a wage.”

  Long-legged for a woman, Belinda was tall enough that her head reached Thomas’s chin. Perspiration glowed on her forehead and nose, yet she showed no signs of moving into the comfort of shade. “So you’ll be staying in Hillsboro, then, Thomas?”

  Thomas knew whatever he said would be repeated. He chose his words carefully. “I’ve promised to see that your roof is repaired.”

  Belinda’s fine brows came down, the scowl a familiar sight from their childhood. But a moment later, her expression cleared and she gave a nod. “Of course. There aren’t many job opportunities in Hillsboro, and you’ll want to find something more suited to your degree, I’m sure.”

  When Thomas didn’t answer, Belinda shifted her attention to Pa.

  “Herr Ollenburger, I will be going to the mangle house this afternoon. If Frau Ollenburger has sheets or clothes to be mangled, I would be happy to take them for her.”

  Pa threw back his head and hooted. “Ach! One does not often hear the word ‘happy’ when speaking of mangling.”

  Thomas, thinking of the effort it took to push and pull the box of rocks over cloth-wound rollers, agreed with Pa.

  Belinda smiled, tipping her blond head. “It isn’t the task of mangling that gives me pleasure, but I do appreciate the comfort of pressed, softened sheets on my bed. Besides, arbeit macht das Leben süz.”

  “For sure, work sweetens life,” Pa agreed, his grin wide. He scratched his beard, winking in Belinda’s direction. “I tell Summer what you say about the mangle house. But maybe she decides to sweeten her own life with the mangling, hmm?”

  Belinda and Pa laughed softly together, as if sharing a joke. A weight pressed in Thomas’s chest. He felt oddly alone standing under the sun while his pa and Belinda Schmidt enjoyed a shared moment of amusement. He opened his mouth to suggest they head in for lunch, but suddenly Pa’s expression turned serious.

  His arms crossed over his chest, Pa said, “How is your mother doing now, Belinda? I have not seen her in Sunday service for many weeks.”

  Immediately, Belinda lost her sparkle. Her shoulders slumped, and she ducked her head. “Mama is . . . having a hard time, Herr Ollenburger. I’m worried about her.”

  “Well, losing her husband is a hard thing.” Pa’s kind, serious tone brought Belinda’s head up. “We will keep praying for her heart to heal. And I will send Summer over with some honigkuchen. That will be goot, ja?”

  Belinda’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, no! Honey cookies take so much effort, and your wife has three little girls to care for each day.” She swallowed hard. “Besides, Mama wouldn’t eat them. I can hardly get her to eat anything.”

  Pa’s frown expressed concern. “Not eating is normal when one has suffered loss.” He stroked his beard again, his expression solemn. “Well, if no cookies we send, at least we send Summer. She understands your mother’s pain of loss. Maybe she can give words of comfort.”

  Belinda blinked rapidly. “Thank you, Herr Ollenburger. Perhaps a visit from Summer would do Mama good.”

  Pa gave Belinda’s shoulder an awkward pat. “We will be praying. God restores joy.”

  A sad smile appeared on Belinda’s face. “Thank you.” She backed up, waving her hand toward her house. “I’d better go in. I need to put a meal on the table. Good-bye, Herr Ollenburger.”

  Thomas followed Pa across the alley toward the back door of the little house. “Since when are you friends with Belinda Schmidt?”

  Pa gave Thomas a puzzled look. “Have I been her enemy?”

  “No. But friends? With the Schmidts?” Thomas raised one brow. He could never remember Herr or Frau Schmidt making any effort to befriend Pa. Especially after he took Summer as his wife—a woman not raised in the Mennonite faith—the Schmidt family had looked down their noses at the Ollenburgers.

  Pa frowned. “We must not judge, Thomas. Belinda is a fine girl. She cares for her mother and sister, and all without complaint.” He pointed a finger, making Thomas wish he could shrink into the sparse blades of grass. “You do not hold grudges based on her behavior as a little girl. She is no longer that little girl, and the Bible tells us to forgive seventy times seven.”

  Thomas cleared his throat, offering a meek shrug. “Sure, Pa. I don’t hold a grudge.”

  Pa’s expression cleared. He threw his arm around Thomas’s shoulders and herded him through the door. “Then let us eat and return to work. It is goot for man to labor hard, ja?”

  Thomas followed Pa to the kitchen, where his little sisters dashed forward to grab Pa’s legs and beg to be held. Thomas stood to the side, feeling left out again. As he watched his father stoop down to catch all three girls in a hug, he suddenly wondered why Belinda hadn’t wished him good-bye before scampering off into her own house.

  And then he wondered why it bothered him.

  6

  THE AROMA OF DINNER greeted his nose as Thomas stepped through the back door. As he had come to expect over the past several days, his sisters raced across the floor to climb all over him, bantering and giggling in their excitement to have
him home again. He responded by swinging Abby and Gussie in a circle, then tossing Lena in the air and catching her again.

  His littlest sister wrapped her arms around his neck and squealed. Thomas carried her to the table while Abby and Gussie tugged at his sleeves, begging, “Again, Thomas! Swing me again!”

  He sent Summer a helpless look, and she shook her head, laughing. “Come, girls, let your brother be.” She plucked Lena from his arms and slid her into her chair at the table. “He’s worked long and hard today. He deserves a rest and some quiet.”

  On tiptoes, their hands covering their giggling lips, Abby and Gussie crept to their chairs and sat, peering at Thomas with sparkling eyes.

  Summer winked at Thomas. “They enjoy having you here.”

  Thomas smiled, but he wanted to groan. Was it kind to let his sisters get accustomed to his presence when he’d be leaving soon? The Schmidts’ roof was almost complete. One more day of hard labor, and he should be free to return to Boston.

  Rolling up his sleeves as he went, he joined Pa at the washstand near the sink and soaped his arms to the elbow. With he and Pa crowded side by side, it was a tight fit, but they managed to get their hands clean.

  After Pa’s prayer, Summer dished food onto the girls’ plates before handing the bowls to Pa and Thomas. Thomas, observing how his little sisters obediently kept their hands in their laps until everyone had been served, appreciated the training Summer had given them. They were as well-mannered as any high-class Boston child.

  A thought hit him: If Pa and Summer were to move to Boston, the whole family could be together. Pa no longer had his mill, so nothing held him in Kansas. If they all moved to Boston, Thomas wouldn’t need to feel guilty about leaving. The little girls, with their proper behavior, would fit neatly in Nadine’s world. Perhaps he should suggest it.

  Then Pa said, “No pickles? Or kraut?”

  Summer arched a brow. “Isn’t there enough food on the table to fill you?” The center of the table overflowed with platters of fried pork, noodles, potatoes, carrots, and sliced home-baked bread. Jars of jam and a molded pat of butter crowded between platters.