Belinda waited until Herr Ollenburger blessed the simple meal before speaking again. “But home to what? If I’m not there, she won’t stay.”
“We have neighbors watching,” Frau Ollenburger said.
“But unless I am there—”
“Belinda, I must insist you do not go into your house alone.” Herr Ollenburger’s stern voice reminded Belinda of her own father. “The house is unsafe, and another tragedy we do not need. Summer and I have discussed it while you sleep, and we want you to stay here, with us.”
Swallowing a protest, Belinda offered a compromise. “Then I will pay you rent for the privilege of staying here until I can find someplace for Malinda and me.”
“No. No rent.” Herr Ollenburger shook his head. “You stay as a friend in need. And when Malinda comes back, she stays here, too.”
Belinda’s heart leaped at their kindness. Tears stung her eyes as she whispered, “It’s too kind.”
“Nonsense,” Frau Ollenburger inserted. Her familiar, playful grin lifted Belinda’s spirit. “Besides, you can be of help to me.”
Belinda gave an eager nod. “Of course! I can—”
“You can talk about Plymouth Rock chickens with Peter.”
Herr Ollenburger burst out laughing, and Belinda couldn’t help but join in. The release felt wonderful. The girls, apparently beckoned by the happy sound, pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dressed in flannel nightgowns with their hair tied in little pin curls, they looked adorable. All three ran directly to Belinda.
“Are you staying? Huh, Belinda? Will you sleep in Thomas’s bed and be here every day?” The questions tumbled on top of one other.
Still laughing, Belinda held out her arms and tugged all three into an awkward embrace. Looking over the tops of their heads to their smiling parents, Belinda gave a nod. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
“Goody! Goody!” Breaking loose of Belinda’s hold, the three hopped around in a happy dance.
Frau Ollenburger stood and rounded up the girls as efficiently as a mother hen gathers her chicks. “All right, now, you need to go back to your beds. Come.”
When the kitchen was quiet again, Belinda voiced a practical question. “What about my things? I can stay here, but I’ll need my clothing, at least. Was everything ruined?”
Herr Ollenburger took a bite of stew, his expression thoughtful. “Some things we could probably . . .” He looked at his wife. “How you say it? Savage?”
She smiled. “Salvage.”
He nodded, facing Belinda again. “Some things we salvage. The smell of smoke all will hold, but we can scrub and let things sit in the sun. That will help.” He frowned, his eyes narrow. “Since it began in the attic, the ceiling came down over the hallway. A big trunk came with it. The trunk is probably ruined. But other furniture? Maybe some we can—” he grinned—“salvage.”
The big trunk held Mama’s and Papa’s clothes. Remembering something else that was in the attic, she asked, “Did you see a small trunk, about this size”—she held out her hands to indicate a foot and a half distance—“come down, too?”
“Nä, only the big one.”
“Maybe it’s still up there,” Belinda mused aloud.
“In the attic?” Herr Ollenburger shook his head. “Nä. Two men go into the attic to spray water around. They only find emptiness.”
Belinda’s heart skipped a beat. Malinda must have taken it with her when she escaped. The trunk was obviously important to her sister. What, she wondered again, could be in that little trunk?
23
WHEN THOMAS ARRIVED AT the newspaper building Monday morning, he stopped briefly by the mailroom to drop off his letter for posting and then headed to his office. A gunnysack, crumpled into a wad, created a bulge in his jacket pocket. If Mr. Severt burst in and sent him packing, as he’d done to the office’s previous occupant, Thomas would have something in which to transport his personal belongings.
He’d felt sorry for Perkins the day Severt tossed him out the door, but he doubted anyone would sympathize with him. From the silent stares of his co-workers when he’d walked through the lobby, he guessed they all knew what he’d done and counted him foolish for blatantly going against their boss.
Well, he reasoned as he dropped his jacket over the high back of his chair, there was a Bible verse about the world’s wisdom being foolish in the sight of God. He hadn’t broken any biblical mandates by writing out his opinion of social hierarchy, so he’d just have to trust that, somehow, things would work out for the best for him—whether in Boston or Kansas.
The mail would go out midmorning, and his letter should arrive in Hillsboro by the end of the week. He’d shared his various options with his parents, and by the time the letter reached them, final decisions would be made. He wished he could communicate with Pa more quickly, to ask him to pray. But then he reminded himself Pa would be praying for him every day anyway, as would Summer. And Belinda.
He slid into his seat at his desk, only to spot a note tacked directly to the desktop: SEE ME.
No signature was required. Thomas knew by whom he’d been summoned.
For a moment, apprehension fluttered through his middle. But then he closed his eyes, said a silent prayer for strength to face the consequence of his actions, and pushed away from the desk.
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, removed the gunnysack from his pocket and dropped it on the desk, and then he headed for his boss’s office.
He found Mr. Severt waiting in the opening of the double doors of his top-floor office. Arms folded, scowling, collar firmly buttoned beneath his chin, the man presented a formidable appearance that sent the elevator operator scuttling right back into his cubby.
Severt waved one hand and barked, “I’ve been waiting. Let’s go.” He turned and stomped into his office.
Thomas glanced at the errand boy, who stared with wide eyes. He paused long enough to wink at the lad before he trotted through the yawning doors. Once Thomas was inside the office, Severt commanded, “Close ’em.”
Thomas followed his directions. He crossed to the opposite side of the man’s massive desk and waited until Severt pointed to a chair. The moment Thomas’s backside touched the seat, Severt launched into a lengthy and scathing tirade about company loyalty, following directions, and personal integrity. Thomas sat in silence, nodding occasionally, his gaze never wavering from Severt’s red face.
Finally the man ran out of words. He leaned back, linked his hands over his stomach, and said, “So, do you understand what I expect of my employees?”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas stood. His boss tipped his head to maintain eye contact. “I appreciate the opportunity to work here. I’ve learned a great deal, and my pa always says experience is never wasted. So thank you.” He stretched out his hand, waiting for Severt’s return shake.
But Severt pushed Thomas’s hand away. “What are you doing? Quitting?”
Thomas drew back in confusion. “Aren’t you releasing me?”
A snort blasted from the man, and he pointed to Thomas’s chair. “Sit.”
Thomas lowered himself slowly onto the chair’s edge.
“I probably should take you by the back of the jacket and toss you onto the street after the hullabaloo you’ve caused.”
Thomas squirmed.
“But I’m not going to.”
He sat bolt upright. “Sir?”
“No.” Severt leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk edge. “I’m not at all pleased you chose to add an unsolicited addendum to my editorial. I found the text slanderous, narrow-minded, and highly prejudicial—the very thing you accused me of being. And yet . . .” He stroked his mustache, his piercing gaze pinning Thomas in place. “It was also very well-written.”
Thomas held his breath.
Severt slashed his hand through the air. “Now, I don’t swallow an ounce of the equality nonsense you spouted, but I do admire the way you put words together. Filled with emotion. Stirring. Thought-pr
ovoking.”
Thomas stared at his boss, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Your abilities are being wasted simply editing my words, young man. I didn’t realize you had taken writing courses at the university.”
“I . . . I didn’t. I took business classes.”
“Then where did you learn to write?”
Thomas lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. “I guess all the reading I did as a boy helped. . . .”
Severt gave a brusque nod. “I suppose. Given your knack, you should be doing your own writing. Reporting. Does that interest you?”
“A . . . a journalist?” Thomas’s mind whirled at this unexpected turn.
“Facts only,” Severt said. “None of this self-serving drivel you poured onto the page for my benefit. You wouldn’t be writing editorials but fact-based articles.” He rocked in his chair, the rhythmic squeak keeping time with Thomas’s racing heart. “No pay increase . . . yet. Not until I see what you can do.”
Thomas wanted to joyfully accept, but he’d learned his lesson.
A decision of such magnitude required a great deal of thought and prayer. “I . . . I can’t agree right away, sir. I need time to think about this.”
Severt frowned. “How much time do you need?”
Thomas licked his dry lips. “I-I’m not sure. Maybe . . . a week?”
For long moments, Severt glared at him. Thomas waited, expecting the man to act on his earlier threat to catch the back of his jacket and send him out the door. But finally his boss shook his head, leaned back, and threw his arms outward. “Fine. A week. But no more! And while you’re thinking, edit these.” He thrust a handful of pages into Thomas’s hands.
“Yes, sir.” Thomas started to leave.
“Ollenburger!”
Thomas turned back.
“Remember what I said about loyalty.” The man’s dark eyes sparked. “I’m giving you a second chance—something I rarely offer. I never offer third chances.”
Thomas understood. “Sir, if I decide to remain in your employ, a third chance won’t be necessary.” Severt’s writings in hand, Thomas left the office.
After only three days of living under the Ollenburgers’ roof, Belinda felt as though she’d been a lifelong member of the family. Peter and Summer, as they insisted she call them, treated her like one of their own, allowing her to perform household duties and including her in family discussions.
The little girls clamored for her attention, and she delighted in cutting dresses and bonnets from scraps of wrapping paper for Abby and Gussie’s paper dolls or reading Lena stories before tucking her in for her afternoon nap. Watching the girls interact created a bittersweet ache in her chest. She wished she and Malinda had enjoyed similar times together while growing up, yet being a part of the Ollenburger sisters’ circle of acceptance brought her great joy.
Although community members rode out on horses each day to search for Malinda, she still hadn’t been found. Belinda’s worry magnified with each passing day, yet she tried to do what Peter suggested and leave Malinda in God’s hands.
“He knows where she is. When the time is right, He will lead her back again.” Peter’s faith, which matched his size, gave Belinda the courage to trust, too.
As the days slipped by, Belinda found herself looking ahead. While her constant prayer was for the safe return of her sister, she caught herself wondering what she would do if Malinda was never found. She had given up her job at the mercantile after Mama’s death so she could stay close to Malinda, earning money by taking in more ironing and sewing for neighbors.
Even though the Ollenburgers didn’t ask her to contribute to the family income, she felt an obligation to help out. Returning to work seemed best. Even when Malinda returned, if they stayed with the Ollenburgers, her sister would have company all day and she could be away to work. Belinda decided she needed to discuss the situation with Summer.
Friday morning, Belinda stood by the door while Summer gave Abby and Gussie each a good-bye kiss and sent them off to school. She held Lena’s hand, keeping the three-year-old from dashing after her sisters, as she was prone to do.
“Tell your sisters good-bye,” Belinda encouraged the little girl.
Lena, swinging Belinda’s hand, called, “Bye-bye, sissies!”
Abby and Gussie waved and scurried down the sidewalk.
When Summer closed the door, Belinda scooped Lena into her arms and followed Summer to the kitchen, where she began clearing the table of dirty breakfast dishes. Belinda set Lena on the kitchen floor with a pile of well-worn wooden blocks before joining Summer.
While Summer washed and Belinda dried, Belinda broached the subject of finding a job. Summer sent her a sidelong glance, her lips tweaked into a teasing grin. “Am I not keeping you busy enough?”
Belinda laughed. “My days here have been pleasantly full, even though you expect much less of me than if I were keeping my own house.” She shook her head and admitted, “I’m downright lazy compared to how much I worked taking care of Mama and Malinda.”
“You’ve earned a break.” Summer handed Belinda the last plate and began scrubbing silverware.
“But eventually Malinda will come back, and I’ll need to take care of our needs.” Belinda carefully stacked the clean plates on their shelf. The beautiful plates from Mama’s cabinet were packed away in a box under Thomas’s bed. Belinda was grateful she had been able to save the plates, although the glass in Mama’s bow-front cupboard had been shattered.
“We can worry about that when the time comes,” Summer said. She dropped the silverware into the rinse pan with a clatter. Drying her hands on a towel, she faced Belinda. “May I ask a nosy question?”
Belinda turned from the shelf and nodded.
Summer pursed her lips for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. Then she spoke in a hesitant voice. “Your father was a . . . well-to-do businessman. Yet your mother and sister depended on you to provide for them. Did your father not leave any means of provision for your mother?”
Belinda crossed to the dry sink. “I have wondered about that myself.” She lifted silverware from the pan one piece at a time, rubbing each piece dry before handing it to Summer. “I once asked Mama about Papa’s money, but she snapped at me that finances were private and shouldn’t be discussed. Yet, she insisted I work in order to bring in money to pay our rent and for our food, constantly reminding me that without my support, we would starve or be homeless.”
“Well,” Summer replied, placing the silverware in one of the kitchen’s built-in drawers, “perhaps the money was lost when your father’s business closed in Gaeddert. Sometimes that happens. When Peter closed the mill and we faced the expenses of moving into Hillsboro, we had very little money left on which to live.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Belinda chewed her lower lip, her brow puckered thoughtfully. “But I still found it strange that he hadn’t put something aside. Papa’s business did well, and he didn’t squander money—even though Mama begged for new things every year.” She chuckled softly. “Of course, she did wear him down more often than he probably would have liked. Mama could be very persuasive.” Her laugh ended in a sigh, chasing away the brief moment of light-heartedness. “I appreciate you and Herr Ollen-burger letting me stay here and being willing to welcome Malinda when we find her. But she and I will need to find our own place eventually. I’ll need money to pay for our house and the furnishings to fill it, since so many of our things were ruined in the fire. So . . . I do need to look for a job.”
Summer leaned against the cupboard and watched Lena build a block tower for a few moments before turning back to Belinda. “Eventually, yes, you’ll want to look for a job. But let’s not rush into it, shall we? Why don’t we wait until we find Malinda and get her settled into her new routine here. She’ll want you close by for a few days at least, I’m sure. You don’t have any expenses right now, so there’s no need to hurry into job-hunting, is there?”
Belinda considere
d Summer’s suggestion. She knew a change in routine would be difficult for her sister, and having Belinda nearby would help ease the transition. A part of her balked at continuing to live on the generosity of her neighbors, yet she knew Summer had spoken wisely. Finally she nodded. “All right. I’ll wait until we find Malinda.”
Summer beamed her approval. “Good.”
“But standing around waiting for her to show up is driving me mad.” Belinda forced a light laugh to cover her underlying worry. “Do you suppose Thomas would mind if I took Daisy for a ride to Gaeddert? It’s the only place I can think of that Malinda would go.”
“The men have searched your old house and your father’s business in Gaeddert several times,” Summer reminded her.
Belinda raised one eyebrow. “But I know Malinda better than anyone else. Maybe she’ll come out of hiding for me. It would also give me a chance to visit Mama’s and Papa’s graves.”
Summer touched Belinda’s cheek. “Very well. The livery owner knows you, so he won’t question you borrowing the horse. Will you be back by lunchtime?”
“I don’t know,” Belinda answered honestly. “Don’t plan anything for me, just in case.”
For a moment, she thought Summer would argue, but then the woman simply nodded. “Very well. I’ll say a prayer for you to find her. And would you mind stopping at the gravesite where Thomas’s great-grandmother is buried while you’re out? It has been quite a while since we could go. I just want to assure myself things are all right there.”
“I’d be glad to.” Belinda stepped forward and gave Summer an impulsive hug. After kissing the top of Lena’s glossy head of curls, she walked quickly to the stable, asked the liveryman to saddle Daisy, and set out. Riding with her knee hooked over the saddle horn, she held Daisy to a canter to avoid being bounced out of her seat.
“Lord,” she prayed aloud to the accompaniment of Daisy’s rhythmic, clopping hooves, “let me find Malinda. Let her be well, and let her be willing to come back with me.”
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