Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He crossed slowly to the bed and stood beside her. “You could use a rest,” he whispered. His fingers itched to smooth the purple smudges beneath her eyes. “You don’t have to stay here.”

  “Yes, I do, Thomas. I can’t leave until he wakes up. I must . . . I must thank him for what he did.”

  Thomas nodded. He looked at Clarence, and the anger he had been trying to hold back cut through him once again. When Nadine had summoned him because Clarence had been injured, Thomas assumed there had been a carriage accident or perhaps a fall in the house. But to discover that two men beat Clarence because he dared to defend Daphne . . . How could men be so cruel to another human being?

  “Thomas?”

  Daphne’s soft, wavering voice captured Thomas’s attention. “Yes?”

  “I have something I need to discuss with you.”

  Thomas gestured to the small settee that faced the fireplace. They sat side by side on opposite ends of the settee, and Daphne fixed him with a serious look.

  “I came to your cottage yesterday evening to talk to you. But with Clarence there . . .” She paused, glancing toward the bed. “I was so foolish to refuse to talk in front of a servant. In front of a colored man. I feel so ashamed, Thomas.” Tears swam in her eyes.

  Thomas resisted taking her hand. “It doesn’t matter what you did then,” he assured her. “What matters is what you’re doing now.”

  She looked at him and nodded. She licked her lips, swallowed, and spoke again. “In the Bible—”

  Thomas’s heart nearly stopped with those words.

  “—a man asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life, and Jesus tells him to give up all he possesses and follow Him. But I know there is more to it than giving up material wealth. I know the heart is somehow involved.” Her words tripped out quickly, almost uncontrolled, like a brook splashing down a mountainside. “The Bible also talks about God sending His Son to save the world.” Drawing back, she clasped her hands beneath her chin and implored him with her dark eyes. “I want to be saved, Thomas. I want to know God like you do. Please, please tell me what I must do so I can do it quickly.”

  Shifting so his knees touched hers, Thomas leaned forward. “All you have to do is believe that Jesus is the Son of God who died to be your Savior and ask Him into your heart.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s all?”

  He grinned. “That’s all.”

  “Then I must do it. Right now. Should I kneel?”

  Although Thomas knew Daphne’s prayer would reach God’s ears regardless of her position, he understood the importance of humbling oneself before God. He nodded and watched her slip unhesitatingly to the floor. He marveled that Daphne—the Daphne who had so recently proclaimed her superiority—would be willing to kneel where Nadine, Mildred, or the doctor could walk in and see her. Her action convinced him of her genuine desire to become a child of God.

  He joined her on the carpet and bowed his head. Tears stung his closed eyelids as he listened to her say the words that would impact her soul for all eternity. When finished, she raised her tear-stained face to Thomas. The light shining in her eyes brought a rush of delight so overwhelming Thomas laughed out loud.

  She laughed, too, the sound light and joy-filled. Pressing both hands to her chest, she said with awe, “He’s in there. I feel Him, Thomas. He’s with me.”

  “And He’ll never leave you or forsake you,” Thomas promised. Taking her hands, he helped her to her feet. She didn’t even brush the wrinkles from her skirt.

  “Thank you. Thank you for helping me.”

  Thomas couldn’t reply. His heart ached with regret for not sharing God with Daphne sooner. Yet at the same time, he celebrated the decision she had made. God had worked His wonder despite Thomas’s failings. Thank You, Father, for your endless mercy.

  Behind them, someone cleared her throat, making both Thomas and Daphne whirl around. Nadine and Mildred stood in the open doorway. Nadine held her arm protectively around Mildred’s sloped shoulders. “How is Clarence? Any change?”

  Daphne shook her head. “Still sleeping.” She took a few stumbling steps toward Mildred. “I’m so sorry.” Mildred puckered her face. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, so you don’t need to say sorry to me.”

  Daphne closed the gap between herself and the older black woman. She enfolded Mildred in her arms. Her cheek pressed to Mildred’s, she whispered, “Thank you for your kindness.” She pulled back. “May I . . . may I stay? Thomas, will you teach me how to pray for Clarence?”

  Nadine gave a start, her eyes widening. Thomas understood her reaction. He would never have expected such unselfishness from Daphne.

  Nadine quickly regained her composure. Taking Daphne’s hand, she said, “We never refuse prayers. Do we, Mildred?” Shifting her gaze to include Thomas, she lifted her chin. “Let’s all combine our hearts in appeal to the heavenly Father for Clarence’s full recovery.”

  “You will not spend another day at the bedside of that servant!”

  At Father’s explosive order, Daphne bit down on the end of her tongue. For the past four days, Harry had transported her to Nadine Steadman’s, where she helped care for Clarence as he recovered from the vicious attack. Not until this evening at dinner had Father casually questioned her whereabouts over the weekend. Her truthfulness had brought about an abrupt change in his demeanor.

  Now a war raged in her soul as she pondered her alternatives. During the hours Clarence slept, she and Mrs. Steadman studied and discussed the Bible. She knew she was expected to honor her parents. She also knew she was to love her neighbor as herself. Which admonition should she follow in this situation?

  Apparently Father read her silence as consent, because he released a satisfied grunt, picked up his knife and fork, and cut another bite of roast. As he lifted the bite of beef to his mouth, Daphne found her compromise.

  “May I just go for this week, Father?” By the end of the week Clarence probably would have recovered enough to have no more need of around-the-clock care. Despite the doctor’s grim prognosis, the prayers of Thomas, Nadine, Mildred, and Daphne were being answered. Clarence showed daily improvement.

  Father threw the fork onto his plate. The piece of meat bounced from the prongs and landed on the linen tablecloth.

  Mother sucked air through her teeth. “Stanton, please pick that up before the gravy stains the cloth.”

  The servant stepped from the serving table to Father’s side while Father grated through clenched teeth, “No daughter of mine will lower herself to care for a mere household servant!”

  Stanton’s face remained emotionless, but Daphne noticed hurt in his eyes as he plucked up the fallen piece of meat with a folded napkin. Daphne gave the man an apologetic look and waited until he left the dining room before softly addressing her father. “Surely you won’t deny me the honor of caring for the man who risked his life to assist me.”

  Father’s lips pinched together, his jaw muscles twitching. His initial outrage upon learning of Daphne’s rough treatment at campaign headquarters had changed to excuse-making when she described her attackers. “Ah,” he had said, “college lads, no doubt, with too much ale in their systems. An unfortunate incident, certainly, but no real harm done.”

  Daphne felt indignation rise once again as she remembered not only her fear that night but the very real harm done to poor Clarence. She took a slow breath, prayed for guidance, and continued in a low, passionate voice. “There is a verse in Matthew in which Jesus instructs His disciples to love your neighbor as yourself. Clarence cared for me by coming to my rescue. I only wish to repay him by—”

  Father roared to life. “You have amply repaid him by transporting him to his home where his mistress could see to his needs!” He pointed at her, his brows forming a stern line. “And I forbid you to speak again of the Bible. We wouldn’t be dealing with that religious nonsense had I curtailed your friendship with Ollen-burger from the beginning.” He settled back in his chair, tossing his napkin
from his lap to his plate. “Ollenburger . . .” He sent a frustrated look across the table to Mother. “At least we needn’t be concerned about him anymore.”

  Father’s gaze swung to Harry, who continued to eat in silence as if oblivious to the battle being waged around the table. “Your chum submitted his resignation this morning, and after all I’ve done for him! He offered to remain for a few weeks until a replacement could be found, and I told him to pack his belongings and get out. I can tell you, I was angry at the time, but now I’m glad to see the boy go. The sooner, the better! Maybe once he’s back in Kansas, things will return to normal.”

  Harry’s nervous glance flitted from Daphne to Father and back to his plate. Without a word, he put another bite of potatoes in his mouth, but Daphne’s appetite fled. Thomas was leaving Boston? Why hadn’t he told her? She had seen him each day when he’d come to visit Clarence, yet he’d never said a word. She swallowed hard to maintain control of her emotions. She would mourn the loss of Thomas, but first she must deal with something else—Father’s mistaken idea that with Thomas’s departure, her “religion” would disappear.

  “Father, as I told you the other evening, I have accepted Jesus Christ into my heart. Thomas did influence me, but the decision was entirely my own. Jesus is now a part of me, and He’s not going away.”

  “Bah!” Father pushed away from the table. His red face glowed with barely controlled fury. “And as I told you the other evening, you’re a foolish, impetuous girl going through a religious phase. It will pass.”

  “Please, Father, I—”

  He rose, leaning toward her. “Remember your place, Daphne. If you cannot do that, you will not be welcome at my table. Harry!”

  Harry sat upright.

  “I’m going to headquarters. Come along.”

  Without a word, Harry followed Father from the room. The slam of the back door signaled their departure.

  Daphne looked toward her mother, but Mother turned away from her. “I will not defend your actions, Daphne. Your father is right—you’ve always been impetuous and selfish.”

  Daphne jumped up from the table and made her way to the library. She crossed the darkening room to the settee—the place where she had first encountered Jesus through the words written in God’s book. Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Lord, why does doing the right thing hurt so much?”

  “So you’re leaving us, hmm?” Pardue leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and watched Thomas pack the contents of his desk.

  “You still here?” Thomas had chosen the late hour to clean out his office because he thought all of the employees had gone home.

  “I’m still here. I’ll be visiting the different campaign headquarters over the evening, interviewing people, getting their thoughts about the election. Always interesting how every group thinks their own candidate will win.”

  The man pushed off from the door and ambled to Thomas’s desk. “So . . . Severt said you’re not only leaving the paper, you’re leaving Boston. That true?” He picked up a glass paperweight and bounced it in his hand.

  A rush of eagerness washed over Thomas. He was going home. Kansas . . . Pa and Summer . . . his sisters. He knew he would miss many aspects of Boston, yet returning to Kansas felt right. He had remained in Boston long enough to learn what he needed, and now he would follow the pathway God had outlined for him.

  “Yes, sir, it’s true. And it’s partly because of you.”

  Pardue stopped tossing the paperweight, his eyebrows shooting high. “Me?”

  “Yes. You told me the way to make sure I could write what I wanted to was to start my own paper. So that’s what I’m going to do. I plan to start a paper in Kansas, aimed toward the Mennonite population.”

  “Kind of a limited readership, isn’t it?” Pardue asked.

  Thomas answered with a light chuckle. “Not where I grew up. And who knows? Maybe it’ll spread to other Mennonite communities, as well. Until it does, I’ll also be working with my father, helping him establish a chicken farm at our old homestead. You see . . .” He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I’ve figured out we Mennonites need to make some changes— increase our awareness of what’s going on in the world. We live in the United States, and that means we’re affected by the decisions made by the leaders of the country, yet we don’t involve ourselves in the process of choosing leaders.” He considered the battle he might face when church leaders realized his intent. Change didn’t always come easily, but sometimes it was needed. “I think we need to be informed. So that’s what I plan to do—publish a newspaper that will provide necessary information while honoring our Mennonite heritage.”

  Pardue whistled through his teeth. “Sounds like a mighty big undertaking.”

  Thomas shrugged and returned to packing. “I suppose.”

  “Well, boy”—Pardue thumped the paperweight into Thomas’s box and stuck out his bony hand—“I wish you well. It’s been an honor getting to know you. You’ve got the talent and drive to make this paper of yours a success. Send me a copy now and then, but make sure you blow the chicken feathers off beforehand. Feathers make me sneeze.” He chuckled, pumping Thomas’s hand up and down.

  Thomas wondered briefly if Pardue would share the paper with Mr. Severt, but he didn’t ask. “Thanks, Mr. Pardue. I appreciate everything you’ve taught me. I’ll put it to good use.”

  “Oh, I know you will, boy.” Pardue backed up two steps. “Good luck to you.” With a wave, the man headed out the door.

  Thomas reflected for a moment on all he’d learned from the lanky reporter. Mr. Severt had told him he’d learn more from Pardue than from most college professors, and the man’s statement had proved true. Thanks to Pardue’s tutelage, Thomas felt ready to take on the responsibility of his own small-town newspaper.

  There was already one newspaper in operation in Hillsboro, but he planned a different kind of paper—one that focused solely on politics and events that could affect the simple lifestyle of his people. He’d start small by necessity, maybe one page, but as his readership increased, the coverage could increase. He had contacted the editor of the Hillsboro paper and asked permission to use his printing press until he had enough money to purchase his own. It would be inconvenient—for both of them, he was sure—yet it was his best option for the moment.

  As he emptied the last drawer, he wondered if Belinda Schmidt would accept his offer of working for him. Based on her letters, he knew she possessed the ability to communicate well in written form. And from Summer’s letters, he knew Belinda wanted a job. He wouldn’t be able to pay much at first, but maybe eventually . . .

  Suddenly, he felt very eager to get home, to get started, to make a success of this plan.

  32

  BELINDA AWOKE WITH A START. She blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the hour. The room was dark— not even a sliver of light beneath her closed door from the kitchen’s lantern, which told her it was too early to rise. She lay on Thomas’s rope bed, peering into the murky darkness. What had brought her from sleep to full wakefulness? Likely it was the same question that had plagued her daytime hours ever since Thomas’s telegram about Clarence’s injury arrived: What did Thomas want to speak with her about?

  In a recent letter, he had shared his realization that he must sever his relationship with Daphne due to her unbelief. He had asked her to join him in prayer for the strength to wait and the discernment to recognize his God-chosen mate. Could he have decided to turn his attention to her? Considering the possibility now sent her heart into wild fluttering.

  She flopped her arms outside of the covers, pinning the rough blanket across her chest in an attempt to calm her racing pulse. It didn’t help. Why did Thomas’s comment bring worry instead of elation? When, she wondered, had her infatuation with Thomas waned?

  She couldn’t identify a time, but she knew it had changed. Her reaction to his message coupled with her response to Gerhard Wiens�
��s attention offered the evidence. If she were truly in love with Thomas, no man would intrigue her for even a moment of time. Yet, regardless of the fleeting minutes they’d shared, Gerhard had captured her heart and mind. Had she received Thomas’s telegram prior to meeting Gerhard, would it have conjured excitement rather than apprehension?

  “I would still be apprehensive,” she whispered, allowing herself to acknowledge the truth. Receiving the message had forced her to examine her feelings for Thomas, and she had reached an uncomfortable conclusion.

  Although she cared for Thomas as a friend and brother in Christ, she didn’t want him as much as she wanted the family he possessed. Peter and Summer Ollenburger were everything her own parents were not—open, loving, accepting. Living with them had given her a taste of being a member of their family, and it had filled the long-held need for unconditional love and acceptance. Having received their care, she no longer had the need to be with Thomas. She already had his family.

  “Lord, if Thomas proposes marriage, I must say no,” she rasped to the shadowed rafters, “yet how can I hurt him when I care so deeply for him as a friend?”

  A soft clank, followed by the pale band of lantern light beneath the door, told her Summer was starting the day. Immediately Belinda slipped from the bed, pawed the dresser top to find the box of matches, and quickly lit one. The flare allowed her to locate her own lantern, and in moments the room was illuminated enough for her to dress and open the door to join Summer in the kitchen.

  To her surprise, rather than finding Summer starting breakfast, she saw Peter Ollenburger stoking the woodstove. He finished placing kindling on top of the tightly woven corn husks that fed the stove, dropped a match in the middle of the tiny bits, then turned. He gave a start when he spotted Belinda.

  “Belinda, you are awake.”

  Only then did she realize he still wore his sleeping clothes. He crossed the flaps of his plaid flannel robe across his belly and tied the belt with a sharp yank. His hair stood up in wild waves on his head, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. Belinda had never seen the man in such a state of dishevelment, and embarrassment made her entire body feel hot. She surmised by his red face, he was as uncomfortable as she.