Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Miss Daphne,” Clarence said, setting his mug on the seat of Daphne’s chair, “I need to be leavin’, too. So I can carry you over to the headquarters if you like. Save you the fare of a cab.”

  Daphne shot him a startled look. For a moment, Thomas thought she would decline his offer the way she had refused the tea. But she said, “Thank you. I would be most grateful.”

  Thomas said his farewells and watched Clarence escort Daphne across the grass to Nadine’s carriage. When they reached the carriage, she looked back, an expression of longing in her face. Thomas’s heart caught. He took one step forward, his hand rising toward her of its own volition. But then she grasped Clarence’s hand and climbed into the vehicle.

  30

  DAPHNE ALLOWED CLARENCE to assist her from the back of the carriage. Although she was still disappointed she hadn’t been able to voice her questions to Thomas—she couldn’t possibly open her heart to Thomas where this old black man might overhear—she offered the servant a thank-you for the ride.

  He touched his forehead with his fingers, offering a shy nod. “You is welcome, Miss Daphne. Take care now.”

  She looped her reticule over her wrist as she made her way toward the double doors of Watson’s campaign headquarters. The muffled sound of voices and an occasional burst of laughter carried from inside the building. It sounded as though the campaigners were having a grand time. Apparently Harry’s evening had been more satisfying than hers.

  Just as her fingers closed around the brass knob, a pair of hands grabbed her from behind and spun her around. A squawk of surprise found its way from her throat before a soft, moist hand clamped over her mouth, stilling any other protest.

  A second person—a man in a fashionable suit with a brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes—caught hold of her reticule and yanked. “Let it go!” The man’s voice was refined yet somehow evil. “You won’t be giving your donation to Watson—I’ll have it instead.”

  Trapped by the person behind her, Daphne folded her arms across her middle and held tight, keeping the thief from taking her reticule. The strings from the small purse cut into her wrist. Pain and fear gave her strength she didn’t know she possessed. With a vicious twist of her head, she managed to dislodge the hand from her mouth. She took advantage of the opportunity to yell for help at the top of her lungs.

  “Stop hollering,” the man yanking on her reticule growled. His breath carried the sickly sweet odor of liquor. “Stay quiet or I shall be forced to silence you with the back of my hand.”

  Daphne released one high-pitched, “Help me!”

  Immediately, the man followed through on his threat, striking her on the side of her head hard enough to make stars explode behind her eyes. Bile rose in her throat and her knees threatened to buckle, but she refused to be laid low by these thieves. Hunkering forward, she hugged herself and protected her purse.

  Fingers bruised Daphne’s shoulders. Blood seeped from a slice on the side of her wrist. The foul breath of the man who continued to tug at the velvet bag assaulted her nostrils. But still Daphne fought. While struggling, she managed a hoarse shout. “Help! Someone, help me! Help!”

  And finally rapid footsteps approached. Daphne screeched, fearful that yet another thief would attack, but instead a familiar voice demanded, “What are you fellows doin’? You let Miss Daphne be!” Daphne’s head shot up. Clarence!

  Mrs. Steadman’s servant took hold of the would-be purse-snatcher and threw him aside. The man stumbled two steps and fell onto the bricked walkway. Clarence reached for her. “Miss Daphne, is you—”

  The man behind her shoved her hard, sending her flying forward into Clarence’s chest. Clarence caught her, but suddenly he was jerked away, and she lost her footing, falling hard against the foundation of the building. On scuffed hands and knees, she watched in mute horror as the man who had tried to steal her reticule caught Clarence from behind, looping his arms through the servant’s elbows and holding him upright like a shield.

  “Thrash him good, Melvin! Teach him not to put his filthy hands on me!”

  The man called Melvin seemed to take great pleasure in pummeling the helpless Clarence. Daphne’s ears rang from the blow she’d received, but the awful sound of a fist connecting with flesh still penetrated her haze. Half-walking, half-crawling, Daphne managed to clamber to the headquarters’ doors. She flung one door wide and staggered into the room, shouting at the top of her lungs.

  Immediately all banter ceased and several people, including Harry, raced to her side. She fell into her brother’s arms.

  “Daph, what—”

  “Outside!” She pointed wildly. “They’re killing him!”

  “Who?”

  “Clarence . . . Mrs. Steadman’s—” Her voice broke on a sob. “Hurry, Harry!”

  Crushing her to his chest, he ordered over his shoulder, “Get out there! Help the man!”

  Several men raced out the door. Daphne clung to Harry’s shirtfront, soaking it with her tears, while he patted her back and whispered words of consolation. After a few minutes, she gained control and rasped, “Take me outside, Harry. I must . . . I must see Clarence. I must thank him.”

  Harry kept his arm around her waist and escorted her to the sidewalk. Streetlamps illuminated the ugly scene—a half circle of men, staring downward at a crumpled and bloody heap. Daphne gasped and pulled free of Harry’s grasp. She dropped to her knees beside Clarence. His battered face was nearly unrecognizable.

  “Oh, Clarence, I’m so sorry . . .” She touched his cheek, surprised when he flinched. “He’s alive!” She snapped her head up.

  “Quickly—his employer’s carriage is over at the curb. We must get him to a hospital!”

  One of the observers murmured, “I’m not going into any hospital that will take—”

  “Harry, please!” Tears flooded her eyes, distorting her vision. Daphne lifted a hand to her brother, beseeching him with her eyes.

  Harry crouched next to her. “Daph, I don’t know what we can do.”

  “We can’t just leave him here to die, Harry. He . . . he rescued me from some men who accosted me and tried to rob me. He wouldn’t be hurt at all were it not for me.” She met the gazes of each of the men standing silently around the fallen victim. “We have to help him!”

  Harry jumped to his feet. “We’ll take him to Mrs. Steadman’s.

  She can summon a doctor to care for him.” He pointed at one of the men. “Jerome, you drive his carriage and I’ll follow you with Daphne.” Turning to two others, he ordered, “Help me lift him, but be careful. He’s probably got broken ribs, the poor bloke.”

  Daphne trailed along beside the men, sandwiching one of Clarence’s hands between hers. She heard the mumbled protests behind her, but she ignored them. Clarence was her hero. Harry and his two helpers draped Clarence across the backseat, and Daphne climbed in to kneel on the floor.

  “Daphne, you come with me.” Harry’s stern tone demanded obedience.

  Daphne shook her head, placing her arms tenderly across Clarence’s still body. “No. I shall stay with him until we reach Mrs. Steadman’s.” She glared at Jerome, who stood stupidly outside the carriage. “What are you waiting for? Get into the driver’s seat and drive! There’s no time to spare!”

  Belinda placed the last of her sister’s belongings in the bureau drawer and squeaked it shut. “Well, that’s that.” Though she forced brightness into her voice, underneath her heart ached. This small room in the Home for the Friendless held four cots and the single bureau. Malinda would call one drawer and one cot her own. What a change this was from the private bedroom and full wardrobe in the home they’d shared with their parents in Gaeddert.

  Yet Malinda voiced no word of complaint. She sat on the creaky cot, which she had covered with a colorful quilt salvaged from their fire-damaged home. “Don’t be sad.”

  Apparently Belinda’s tone of voice hadn’t fooled her sister. “Why do you think I’m sad?”

  “Because I know you
. Come here.” Malinda patted the cot, and Belinda sank down beside her. Malinda put her arm around Belinda’s shoulders and drew her close. For the first time she could remember, Belinda assumed the role of cosseted younger sister. It felt amazingly good.

  Malinda spoke softly while stroking Belinda’s upper arm. “This is the right thing for me to do. Here, I can be useful, and you will be free to live your own life instead of worrying about me.”

  Belinda rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “But I don’t mind worrying about you.”

  A soft chuckle bounced Malinda’s shoulder. “I know you don’t, but I mind.” She sighed. “As much as I knew I couldn’t make it on my own, I hated being dependent on you. It made me harsh and resentful. I don’t want to be that way anymore.”

  Belinda sat up. “Will you stay here forever?”

  Malinda shrugged. “I don’t know. But for now, it’s best for both of us.” Then she asked a tremulous question. “You w-will come see me, though, w-won’t you?”

  Belinda threw her arms around her sister. “As often as I can borrow a wagon. I promise!”

  Belinda hugged her sister long and hard. Just when she feared she would erupt into noisy sobs, a voice interrupted.

  “Um, excuse me.”

  They pulled loose. A tall, sandy-haired man stood in the hallway, just outside the open door. Dressed in brown, striped trousers, a white shirt and collar, and a brown string tie, he presented a formal appearance despite the absence of a suit coat. The sheepish expression in his brown eyes made Belinda wonder if their emotional scene embarrassed him. He stepped just over the threshold, keeping a respectful distance, and looked directly at Belinda.

  “Miss Schmidt, I’m Gerhard Wiens. I was told you would be helping with the school-age children.”

  Malinda rose. “I am the Miss Schmidt who will be assisting.”

  The man’s face flooded with pink. He looked rapidly from one sister to the other. “Oh, please excuse me. The director, Mr. Goertzen, just said a young woman. I . . . I didn’t—”

  “It’s all right. I am Malinda Schmidt, and I will be staying.”

  Mr. Wiens cleared his throat as his face returned to its normal color. “Miss Schmidt.”

  Malinda gestured for Belinda to stand. “This is my sister, Belinda. She drove me here and helped me with my belongings.”

  If he wondered why only one sister chose to reside under the home’s roof, he kept his curiosity to himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Schmidt.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Wiens.” For a moment, they stared at one another, uncertain how to proceed.

  Finally Mr. Wiens turned to Malinda. “Miss Schmidt, I would be happy to escort you to the schoolroom and familiarize you with our assortment of textbooks.” He shuffled his feet self-consciously. “Many of our books are well used, but all of them are still intact.”

  Belinda thought he had a pleasantly modulated tone—not too deep nor unnaturally high.

  Malinda glanced at Belinda. “Mr. Wiens, I am rather tired and would prefer to wait until tomorrow morning to become familiar with my surroundings. Would you allow me an evening to rest?”

  “Oh, of course. You can tour the schoolroom tomorrow, while the children have their Saturday break. No doubt it will be quieter. Then you can begin with teaching chores on Monday, if you feel ready.”

  “That would be perfect.” Malinda gave Belinda a little shove that startled her forward a few inches. “Mr. Wiens, would you kindly escort my sister downstairs? She’s leaving now.”

  Belinda stared at Malinda in surprise. Her sister’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Blatant matchmaking! Who would have suspected it from her serious sister? Belinda’s lips twitched with the effort of keeping her amusement to herself. She said, “Yes, I should be going. Peter’s oxen have been standing outside long enough. I need to take the wagon back.”

  “Well, then, I’d be happy to escort you.”

  Mr. Wiens sounded pleased, and when Belinda stepped closer to him, she observed that his deep brown eyes and sooty lashes contrasted nicely with his light-colored hair. For a moment, Belinda was held captive by the unusual combination. Then he cleared his throat again. “Miss Schmidt, are you ready?”

  Belinda snapped to attention. “Oh! Yes. Thank you.” She gave Malinda one more hug and picked up her shawl from the end of the cot. “Rest, Malinda. I’ll come out Sunday.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  Belinda followed Mr. Wiens out of the room and waited until he secured the door. Then they walked side by side down the long hallway to the staircase. In gentlemanly fashion, he gestured for her to precede him down the stairs. Awareness of him close on her heels made her clip down a little faster than normal. Not until they stood on the wide, covered porch did the man speak again.

  “I apologize for the confusion when I came up to your sister’s room. I hope I didn’t offend her.”

  “Not at all.” Belinda tossed her shawl around her shoulders and tied the ends into a firm knot. “How were you to know which of us was the Miss Schmidt you were seeking?”

  His penetrating gaze, which seemed to communicate he was pleased to have located her, sent a teasing tickle down her spine. She turned her gaze forward. “I-I’m grateful she’s able to be of service here. It means a great deal to her.”

  Mr. Wiens slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, reminding her of Thomas’s habit when something made him nervous. “We can always use teachers,” he replied.

  Mr. Wiens’s height, too, was similar to Thomas’s.

  Stop making comparisons!

  “Since we don’t have the funds to pay for a regular schoolteacher, we have to rely on those who will educate the children in exchange for room and board. Believe me, your sister is a godsend.”

  Belinda’s heart turned over at the sincere statement. “I’m so glad.”

  Tugging one hand free of his pocket, he held it toward the wagon in a silent query. She nodded, and he walked beside her. She noticed that their strides matched perfectly. When he offered his hand to assist her, fire filled her face, but she placed her hand in his.

  Once on the seat, she smoothed her skirts over her knees and picked up the reins. “Well . . .”

  He stood looking up at her, squinting against the afternoon sun. “Well . . .”

  Belinda hunched her shoulders as a chilly breeze whisked around the school and ruffled the edges of her shawl. With regret, she said, “Well, I’d better be going.”

  “Yes.” He took a step backward, lifting his hand in a wave. “Drive safely, and we’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Yes. Sunday.”

  All the way back to Hillsboro, Belinda thought, Did I just flirt with that man? She felt certain he assumed she was returning on Sunday to see him as much as her sister. Then she wondered if he was right.

  She left the wagon and oxen at the livery and walked to the Ollenburgers’, eager to be out of the wind, have some hot coffee, and enjoy a few calm moments before dinner. But when she stepped through the door, those hopes were dashed. The sound of weeping carried from the kitchen. Abby and Gussie sat together on the sofa, their little faces sad.

  Belinda dropped to her knees in front of the little girls. “What’s happened?”

  Abby’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Papa came home with a telegram. He made us come in here. Then Mama started crying.”

  Gussie’s lower lip quivered. “I’m a-scared, Belinda.”

  Belinda took time to hug and comfort both girls, her own heart pounding in trepidation, before she cautiously peeked through the kitchen doorway. Summer and Peter sat at the table. Peter held Summer to his chest, and sobs shook her slender body. A floorboard squeaked, announcing Belinda’s presence, and Peter looked up.

  “Oh, Belinda. You got Malinda delivered to the orphans’ home all right?”

  Of course he would ask about Malinda. Belinda stepped closer. “Yes, she’s fine. But . . . Abby and Gussie said you received some bad news.” Did something happen to Th
omas? Her fleeting attraction toward Gerhard Wiens now made her feel traitorous.

  Peter patted Summer’s back and she sat up, wiping her eyes with an apron. She sent Belinda an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to fall apart like this. But . . . but he means a great deal to me.” Pressing her fist to her lips, she jumped up from the table and rushed around the corner, closing herself in her bedroom.

  Belinda looked at Peter, fear holding her silent.

  Peter lowered his head. He fingered a folded square of paper. “We get a telegram from Thomas. A good friend of his— Clarence—was hurt. Summer takes it very hard. Clarence and Mildred helped care for her when she lived with her mother-in-law. She has known Clarence and Mildred for many years.”

  “Was he in an accident?” Belinda sat at the table, and Peter pushed the telegram across the surface to her.

  “See for yourself. Not an accident. He was beaten.” Peter shook his head, clicking his tongue. “A man older than me. Too old to be fighting, for sure.”

  “Beaten?” Belinda couldn’t imagine something so horrendous. The Mennonites were firm believers in nonviolence. She read the brief telegram, noting the statement about Clarence and the plea for prayer. Then she read the final lines, and her heart leaped. Her chin shot upward and she gaped at Peter. “But . . . but Thomas is . . . ?”

  Peter’s mustache twitched, and his eyes suddenly brightened. “Ja, you see the other part he tells us.”

  “When Clarence is well, I am returning to Kansas. Tell Belinda I need to speak with her.”

  Peter nodded. “Goot news, ja?”

  31

  THOMAS ADDED ANOTHER LOG to the fireplace in the corner of Nadine’s best guestroom. He crouched in front of the flickering flame, staring at the reflection in the molded brass cheek. Although the image was distorted, he could still make out Daphne’s slender form leaning forward to place a cool rag over Clarence’s swollen forehead.

  His hands trembled at the sight of self-important Daphne Severt ministering to a humble, black servant. Pressing his palms to his knees, he pushed to his feet and turned just as Daphne turned from the bed. Their gazes collided. Although her face was pale, her lips unsmiling, and her eyes sad, her beauty still made his breath catch.