Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “I-I’m so sorry. I thought Summer—” Belinda backed toward her room. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “No, no.” Peter waved his hand. “I could not sleep, so I thought to make some coffee. I am sorry to have wakened you.”

  Belinda’s backside collided with the closed door, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “It’s all right. I was having trouble sleeping, too.”

  Concern etched his brow. “If you are not sleeping, there is a reason. Would you like to tell me about it?”

  Appreciation for this man’s fatherly attention to her needs once more bathed Belinda in gratitude. But something else occurred to her. “You must be worried about something, or you would be able to sleep.”

  At that moment, Summer rounded the corner, rubbing her eyes. “I heard voices. Is something wrong?”

  Peter opened his arms, and Summer stepped into his embrace. He smoothed his large hand over Summer’s tumbling hair and kissed the top of her head. “I could not sleep, so I thought to make some coffee. I woke Belinda with my banging around.”

  Summer chuckled softly, then pulled loose. “Yes, my great big mouse, you woke me, too.” She balled her fists and stretched, yawning. “As long as we’re all up, we might as well all have coffee.” Giving Peter a gentle push toward the table, she said, “Sit down. I’ll get the coffee started. Belinda, why don’t you put some of yesterday’s zwieback in the oven to warm?”

  Soon the scents of fresh coffee and toasted bread filled the room. Peter broke a zwieback into two halves and dunked one half in his coffee. “Belinda, what worry keeps you awake?”

  Belinda bit down on her lower lip, unwilling to risk hurting this tender man by confessing she had been trying to find a way to refuse his son’s proposal. She couldn’t find appropriate words, so she formed a question of her own. “I’d rather know why you’re awake at this hour.” She gestured to the kitchen window, where the moon seemed to rest within the branches of the backyard tree. “It’s far too early to be up.”

  Summer put her hand over Peter’s. “Were you thinking again of the chickens?”

  Peter chewed a bite of bread, his beard bobbing with the movement. “Always I seem to be thinking of chickens.” His expression turned dreamy. “So many things go right for me to start the chicken farm. We have land to build a chicken house, and land to plant grains to feed the chickens. My mill could grind those grains, so we would not need to spend money for feed. Then the eggs and grown chickens we could sell and have a good income.” He raised one brow and shook a piece of toasted bread at his wife. “The Plymouth Rocks, they are popular roasting hens.”

  Summer grinned. “I know. You’ve shown me the brochure. Several times.” She winked at Belinda.

  Belinda smiled in response, but then a selfish thought hit her—if the Ollenburgers moved back to their homestead outside of Gaeddert, she would be alone. She’d already lost a set of parents, and she wasn’t prepared to give up the surrogate ones who had come to mean so much to her. She sputtered out the realization. “You’re really leaving Hillsboro?”

  “Yes, I believe we are,” Summer replied. Then, seeming to sense Belinda’s melancholy, she added softly, “But we wouldn’t make any changes until the spring.”

  Belinda lowered her head, fingering the handle on the coffee cup. “Spring . . .”

  “Ja.” Peter nodded. “Time it will take to make a house for the chickens and ready the land for seeds. I must have feed first, then chickens. So while the grains grow, I will build en Heenastaul—my chicken barn. And when the barn is ready, then the chicks can come on the train.” He sighed, his lips curved upward in satisfaction. “Goot it will be to be on my own land again, to put my mill to good use.”

  He had everything worked out. Belinda wondered how she could have been so oblivious to their plans to return to the Gaeddert homestead.

  Summer gathered their empty cups and carried them to the sink. “Well, there will be time for us to discuss all of this. After all, spring is a few months away!” She dropped the cups in the dishpan and turned to face the table. “But, Belinda, if we return to Gaeddert, that will leave this house open for someone’s use. If you are interested in renting it, we should mention that to the owner.”

  “Yes . . .” Belinda would need a place to stay. Summer’s suggestion was worthy of exploration. “But for now . . .” She yawned widely. “I think I might try to get a little more sleep before the sun rises. Excuse me.”

  Back in her little room, Belinda curled on the bed. More changes. . . . Hadn’t her life been one change after another for the past year? She longed for life to settle into a routine that would provide security and stability.

  Once more her thoughts drifted to the telegram and Thomas’s message to her. Thomas, she knew, was a stable man. Life with him would offer the security she sought. If he did propose marriage, would it be wrong to accept him to avoid losing her newly adopted family? That question kept Belinda from drifting off to sleep.

  Daphne set the Bible aside. The peace she’d sought in the pages of the book had been delivered in an unusual way. Reading in Matthew, she had come upon Jesus’ bold statement that He did not enter the world to bring peace, but a sword. “For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother . . .”

  Odd words to deliver a sense of peace, yet the recognition that her very belief in Jesus would create a division as clearly defined as a sword’s swath helped her accept her parents’ continued refusal to allow her to speak of her new relationship with Christ. They weren’t rejecting her; they were rejecting her Savior. The condemnation still hurt, yet she could separate herself from it knowing it was a price she paid for the privilege of being God’s child.

  God’s child . . . She smiled, absorbing the words. As much as she loved Father, her relationship with him had never been the close, loving one she desired. But with her Father God, she felt loved, accepted, valued. Even if Father and Mother cast her out, she would always have a home waiting in heaven, and she found complete contentment in the thought.

  Dear God, keep knocking at the door to my parents’ and brother’s hearts until they allow your entrance. Although Harry hadn’t openly scorned her, he kept his distance. Actually, he had little choice. Daphne had been ordered by Father to stay in her room until she came to her senses, and Harry was hustled to the office each day, so their paths didn’t cross.

  Since the election had ended with Thomas Watson bringing in less than one percent of the popular vote, Father kept Harry busy editing his scathing editorials containing his view of the winning candidate, Theodore Roosevelt. Daphne sensed Harry’s views on racial issues had been altered somewhat by Clarence’s heroic efforts on her behalf, yet he wouldn’t go against Father’s wishes. She understood and didn’t hold any ill will toward her brother. He was being groomed to take over the newspaper.

  Being alone had one advantage: undisturbed time. She used it to read her Bible and study and pray. And think. In some ways, asking Jesus into her heart had been the easy part. Now she wanted to discern how His presence should affect her daily life.

  She slipped from the pillowy nest she’d created and crossed to her large window. The grounds were brown and dismal now in November, and the sky dull as an old nickel, yet a sliver of silver outlined the edges of the heavy, dark clouds, letting her know the brightness of the sun still existed. Just as her joy existed despite the censure of her family.

  Still at the window, she allowed her thoughts to drift past her parents and Harry to the other person who held a portion of her heart. How she longed to see Thomas one more time, to thank him again for opening the door to God’s love to her. Who would have thought that by sending her away, he would have sent her straight into the arms of God? But that is what had happened, and although Thomas’s dismissal of their relationship had brought incredible pain, the end result brought joy.

  “God’s ways are not man’s ways.” She spoke the words aloud. Mrs. Steadman had made the comment when Da
phne had shared how her view of colored people was altered by Clarence coming to her rescue. Nadine had suggested perhaps God allowed the situation as a means of changing Daphne’s heart. Daphne disliked the means of the change—Clarence had paid a mighty price for her heart-change—but again, she celebrated the end result.

  She sighed. How she wished she could tell Thomas she no longer believed in one man’s superiority based on race or wealth. Rather, it was the heart of a man that mattered most.

  She started to turn from the window, but a movement on the road leading to the estate caught her attention. A carriage, she realized, pulled by a sorrel mare that reminded her of Nadine Steadman’s horse. She craned her neck, squinting for a better look, and to her shock she recognized the carriage’s driver.

  With a little cry of excitement, she raced out of her room, down the stairs, and out the front door to meet the carriage as it pulled up next to the house. She held both hands out to the man, exclaiming, “Clarence! How wonderful to see you looking so well!”

  Swelling along the right side of his jaw gave his face a misshapen appearance, but his crooked smile was bright. He climbed down slowly from the driver’s perch but kept his hands clasped to his middle rather than taking hers. “Thank you, Miss Daphne. It’s good to see you, too. Wanted to come out, say thanks to you myself for getting me safe back to my home. And for taking care of me.”

  “Oh, Clarence, what I did was very little in comparison to what you suffered for me.” Daphne linked her hands behind her back and smiled. “I’m just so very grateful you’re well enough to be out of bed!”

  “Prayers do work wonders, Miss Daphne, and I’ve had a-plenty of them, I know.”

  “Yes, you have.” Daphne suddenly realized she felt a kinship with this elderly black man as a result of the prayers she had uttered on his behalf. How different their appearances were—him with his dark, leathered skin and humble shirt and trousers, her with skin as creamy as milk and attired in a day dress of russet satin—yet they were bound by petitions offered to a shared God.

  A longing to embrace him, to publicly acknowledge him as her friend, welled up, but she squelched the desire. His reluctance to even take her hand in greeting communicated their need to remain within social dictates. She wouldn’t make him uncomfortable by stepping outside of those bounds to satisfy her own need.

  Forcing a cheerful tone, she said, “Thank you for taking the time to drive out and see me. It means a great deal to me.” Since Father’s outburst at dinner, she hadn’t had a conversation of any consequence with anyone. Talking, and being spoken to, refreshed her spirits.

  “Well . . .” Clarence scratched his head, assuming a sheepish expression. “I confess, Miss Daphne, I did want to thank you, but there’s another reason I come out today.”

  Daphne tipped her head, waiting for him to explain. Instead of speaking, Clarence turned and walked to the enclosed carriage. He took hold of the doorknob and gave it a tug. Daphne, curious, peeked inside the coach. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, stealing her breath. Thomas!

  33

  THE SPRINGS SQUEAKED as Thomas stepped clear of the carriage.

  “I brought Mister Thomas to see you, Miss Daphne,” Clarence declared with a chuckle.

  “Oh . . .”

  Daphne’s breathy reaction sent a tingle of awareness across Thomas’s scalp. Her deep brown eyes flooded with tears, and she danced forward two steps, stopping short of flinging herself into his arms.

  “Thomas!”

  How she managed to convey everything he was feeling in one simple word, Thomas couldn’t explain. He only knew he heard in that quivering utterance the same mix of joy, despair, and desire that filled his own heart with one look into Daphne’s beautiful face. Her name tumbled from his lips on a husky whisper: “Daphne . . .”

  They stood, looking at each other, while Clarence shuffled from foot to foot, examined his thumbnails, and finally cleared his throat. At the sudden sound, Daphne jumped.

  “I’s gonna go sit under the tree there, Mister Thomas.” He pointed to a bench beneath a towering, leafless maple in the center of the front yard. “You and Miss Daphne, you talk long as you want to.” He chuckled again. “Your train don’t leave ’til tomorrow noon anyways.”

  Thomas bit back his own laugh as Clarence ambled away. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything important? Maybe I should have called first . . .”

  Daphne shook her head, her thick, dark hair bouncing across her shoulders. “There is nothing more important than time with you, Thomas. Except maybe time with God in prayer. And I feel like praying is all I’ve been doing for the past three days! I don’t think God will mind me talking to you now.”

  Thomas couldn’t stop a grin from growing at her bold words. Although very new in her faith, it seemed Daphne had grasped Christianity with both hands. He nodded, then pointed to the little wicker settee nearby. She led the way, and they perched side by side.

  “As Clarence said, my train leaves tomorrow. I’m going back to Kansas.”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded tight, although her smile remained serene. “Father said you had turned in your resignation. What do you intend to do for a living?”

  Thomas took a few moments to share his plans with her. She listened intently, never interrupting, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze pinned to his. When he finished, she reached out and placed her hand over his.

  “I’m so proud of you, Thomas, for being brave enough to follow your heart.”

  He turned his hand to grasp her fingers. Being linked with Daphne sent his heart careening. My heart led me to you, Daphne. The words formed on his tongue but remained unspoken. He loved her—he knew that—but he couldn’t take her away from Boston and everything that was familiar. He’d hurt her once by walking away, and he loved her too much to hurt her again.

  Knowing their time was short, he pushed his own desires aside to focus on doing what was best for Daphne. “Before I go, let me encourage you to find a good, Bible-teaching church. Nadine said she would be glad to have you accompany her to services, if you would like.”

  “How incongruous.” A coy smile curved Daphne’s lips. “Could you have imagined her inviting me to spend time with her?” She laughed softly, shaking her head, but Thomas recognized no malice in the humor. “Tell her I’d be grateful. If Father allows me to leave the house on Sunday, I shall most certainly attend service with Mrs. Steadman.”

  Thomas frowned. “If your father allows you . . . ?”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she turned her head away.

  Gently, Thomas caught her chin between his thumb and finger and brought her face around. “Daphne, has your father been abusive?”

  Tears appeared in her eyes. “He’s angry with me. He thinks me foolish for reading the Bible and praying, and he has banished me to my room until I stop.”

  “Oh, Daphne . . .” Thomas pulled her to his chest, resting his chin on her hair. He should have known, based on the harsh statements thrown at him by his former boss, that the man would react severely to Daphne’s decision to become a Christian. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She pulled out of his embrace. “Some of the people in the Bible faced far worse. I pray continually for Father, for Mother, and for Harry to come to know Jesus as I have.”

  “I’ll join you in prayer,” Thomas vowed. “Every day.”

  Suddenly the tears that welled on her lower lashes spilled down her pale cheeks. “Oh, Thomas . . . I shall miss you dreadfully.”

  Only a few months ago, on the day of his graduation party, she had made the same proclamation. That day, he’d viewed her statement as a manipulative tactic. Today, however, he read a sincerity and anguish that matched his own. “And I . . . I will miss you.” His voice broke as the truth of his statement struck hard. He didn’t want to leave her.

  He drew her close again, breathing in her citrusy scent, memorizing the feel of her slender form in his arms. His eyes slipped closed to hold back his own threat
ening tears. His heart pounded so hard his breath came in spurts, stirring the fine wisps of hair along her temples.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered against his neck.

  “And he ain’t wantin’ to leave you.”

  Thomas jerked back, swinging his gaze over his shoulder. Clarence stood only a few feet away with a crooked grin creasing his face.

  “I’s right, Mister Thomas, ain’t I? You love this girl and don’t want to leave her behind.”

  Thomas nearly groaned. He loved Daphne, but Clarence didn’t understand the sacrifices she would have to make for him.

  Daphne pressed her hand to Thomas’s beating heart. He looked into her hopeful face. “Do you still love me, Thomas?”

  “Yes, I do, but—”

  “But what?” Clarence interrupted again, taking another step closer. The grin faded, his expression becoming serious. “Love’s not something to be taken lightly. If you love her, don’t leave her.”

  Thomas rose, sending Clarence a silencing look. “It’s not that simple, Clarence. I’m going to build my life in Kansas, and Daphne’s family is here.”

  “Please do not speak of me as if I were absent.”

  The tart tone reminded Thomas of the old Daphne. He looked at her. She stood and hooked him sternly with her gaze.

  “You’re right that my family is here, Thomas, but you’re forgetting something important. I now follow the guidance of my heavenly Father. I wish to seek and discover His will.” She moved forward, catching his hand and holding it between both of hers. With her shoulders squared and chin high, she spoke in a confident tone. “I would not presume to force you into a relationship you don’t desire, but it occurs to me that, given my upbringing, I am familiar with the newspaper business. Although my father has openly disdained me due to my gender, I am educated and capable of assisting in such a business.”