Where the Heart Leads
Where
the
Heart
Leads
Books by
Kim Vogel Sawyer
FROM BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS
Waiting for Summer’s Return
Where Willows Grow
My Heart Remembers
Where the Heart Leads
A Promise for Spring
Fields of Grace
A Hopeful Heart
In Every Heartbeat
Where
the
Heart
Leads
Kim Vogel
A Novel by
Sawyer
Where the Heart Leads
Copyright © 2008
Kim Vogel Sawyer
Cover design by Brand Navigation
Cover photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sawyer, Kim Vogel.
Where the heart leads / Kim Vogel Sawyer.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7642-0263-6 (pbk.)
1. Mennonites—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.A97 W45 2008
813'.6—dc22
2008028000
For my nephews DAVID and NATHAN.
All too soon you’ll be men,
setting out on your God-designed pathways.
Stay focused on Him
and your steps will be sure.
O
NLY TAKE HEED TO THYSELF
,
AND KEEP THY SOUL DILIGENTLY,
LEST THOU FORGET THE THINGS
WHICH THINE EYES HAVE SEEN,
AND LEST THEY DEPART FROM THY HEART
ALL THE DAYS OF THY LIFE:
BUT TEACH THEM THY SONS,
AND THY SONS’ SONS.
Deuteronomy 4:9
Table of Contents
Boston, Massachusetts
Late May, 1904
A
SHARP ELBOW JABBED
Thomas Ollenburger’s ribs, his foster grandmother’s all-too-familiar signal that he was doing something wrong. He stopped fiddling with the ribbon tie beneath his chin and lowered his arm to his side, but she jabbed him again, this time catching his forearm instead. He looked at her.
Although Nadine Steadman wore a smile, her eyes flashed disapproval. “Smile, Thomas. Make your guests feel welcome.”
Thomas swallowed a grunt. He hadn’t wanted these guests. Sure, he admitted feeling a sense of accomplishment in earning a college degree—something unique to his Mennonite upbringing— but the teachings of his sect discouraged self-pride. A party seemed too much like boasting. Nadine and he had argued when he’d stated he would rather avoid the fanfare and not attend the graduation ceremony at Boston Tech. He’d won that debate, but Nadine had insisted on throwing a celebratory party in honor of his educational achievement. So he had fanfare anyway.
Some devilishness made him whisper, “
Ach fal me no ows mein yasacht dowt no shtien
.”
Nadine’s smile quickly faded. “Thomas Ollenburger, you know I don’t understand a word of that foreign speech.” Her dark eyes dared him to leave her wondering what he’d said.
Leaning sideways to bring his head next to hers, he translated, “My face feels as if it’s turned to stone.” He contorted his mouth. “I’ve been smiling so much, my muscles are stiff.”
She laughed softly and patted his arm with her gloved hand. “Thomas, you are a scamp.”
Although the words could be construed as an insult, by her tone he knew he’d been forgiven. Nadine’s approach was often crusty, but Thomas had learned she harbored a tender heart. Her willingness to take him in six years ago as he began high school, pay for his college education, and treat him as her own—even though he was only the stepson of her daughter-in-law rather than any blood kin—proved her generosity. He just wished she hadn’t chosen a party as a way of expressing her pleasure in his accomplishment.
Dozens of guests milled through the parlor of the stately Stead-man home—students, professors, church members, and neighbors. Many had entered the ornately carved oak doors as first-time visitors. But none looked as uncomfortable as Thomas had felt during his first weeks in Nadine’s home.
Her three-story townhouse on prestigious Beacon Street, overlooking the Common, was so different from his simple clapboard home in Gaeddert, Kansas. His entire childhood home had less space than the parlor of Nadine’s ridiculously large residence. Even now, after six years of living beneath her tiled roof, he sometimes still experienced a sense of displacement. He wished he could set the odd feeling aside, relax, and be as at ease as his friend Harry Severt seemed to be. Right now, beside the punch bowl on the opposite side of the room, Harry conversed with two young ladies. His posture and gestures conveyed a state of complete self-assurance.
Nadine caught Thomas’s elbow and gave it a little squeeze. “I believe the last of the guests have arrived. You may now leave the welcoming post and mingle. Be certain to speak to each person in attendance—preferential treatment to one guest is considered impolite. Be certain to avoid any semblance of preferential treatment.”
Thomas resisted growling in frustration. He’d received these instructions at least half a dozen times already—and he knew the reason. Nadine didn’t want him spending all his time with Daphne Severt, Harry’s younger sister who had accompanied Harry on several visits to Nadine’s home. Nadine didn’t seem to care for Daphne, and Thomas wasn’t sure why. He admitted that when he’d first met Daphne, she’d seemed to be as pesky as his own little sisters. But lately . . . well, she’d grown into the loveliest creature he’d ever seen.
“Go ahead now,” Nadine prompted. Catching her skirt between thumb and fingers, she glided across the carpeted floor with her shoulders back and chin held high, nodding and smiling as she filled the role of the perfect hostess.
Thomas cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and edged his way around the periphery of the room. Although he did his best to appear as poised as Nadine desired him to be, his large size coupled with the crowded room made graceful movements impossible. He’d inherited his pa’s height and breadth—and he never felt more monstrous than when standing beside the diminutive Daphne Severt.
Although Nadine often bemoaned the difficulty in locating suits to accommodate Thomas’s frame, Daphne had once said his size made her feel protected. He scanned the room, seeking the young woman. He couldn’t spend a lot of time talking to her— not with Nadine’s eagle eyes observing his every move—but just a glance would satisfy him for the moment.
Daphne had arrived with Harry a half hour ago, looking beautiful in a shiny dress the same color as the ripe sand plums that grew wild on the prairie surrounding his Kansas home. Her long black hair had been pulled up into a ponytail as thick as his horse’s tail, but instead of being straight, it hung in long coils that bounced when she walked. He looked for that bouncing tail of hair, and his heart jolted when he spotted it. As usual, she was the focus of attentive male gazes.
A stab of jealousy propelled him forward. “Excuse me,” he muttered, weaving between clusters of guests. “Excuse me, please.” He reached the group and stepped directly into Daphne’s line of vision. Her face lifted to his, and her rosy lips curved into a smile of welcome. His heart began such a raucous pounding in his chest that it threatened to dislodge the buttons of his shirt. Maybe a party hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
“Mr. Ollenburger.” She stretched a hand toward him.
Placing his palm beneath hers, he bowed over the white-gloved knuckles and delivered a light kiss on the middle one. Straightening, he caught her flutter of lashes, and despite his stiff cheeks, he felt the first genuine smile of the day form on his face. “Miss Severt.”
Daphne glanced at the group around her. “Please excuse me. I must speak with the guest of honor.” Slipping her hand through the bend of his elbow, she turned her heart-shaped face upward. “I find myself quite parched, Mr. Ollenburger. Might you escort me to the refreshments table?”
Thomas couldn’t argue with that idea. As they moved through the room together, he sensed people’s gazes following them. The feeling of discomfiture grew, and he wished he could shrink at least three sizes to make himself less visible. By the time they reached the table bearing the bounty of food items, his hands were trembling, and when he tried to pour a glass of punch, he sloshed pale pink liquid over the edge of the glass’s rim and spattered the linen tablecloth.
Heat burned the back of his neck, and he hunched his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
Daphne moved closer, angling her head to meet his eyes. “Please don’t apologize. And please don’t let the stares of the other guests perturb you. I know what each of them is thinking.”
Thomas risked a quick sideways glance, confirming a number of attentive faces aimed in their direction. “I know, too. ‘What is that big clod doing with that beautiful girl?’ ”
She curled her fingers over his forearm. “Quite the contrary. They’re thinking, ‘How did that young lady manage to catch the most handsome man in the room?’ ”
He raised one eyebrow, silently communicating his doubt.
Her midnight eyes sparkled. “Or perhaps, ‘What a perfect couple.’ ”
Thomas gulped. Heat crept from the back of his neck to the top of his head. He snatched up another glass, filled it with punch, and downed the cool, sweet liquid, grateful for the distraction. But unfortunately, the diversion lasted only a few seconds. When he looked once more into her face, the heat returned with an intensity that made his knees weak.
“Daphne Severt,” he growled, “what you do to a man . . .”
She batted her thick eyelashes. “Do tell.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh no. You have enough confidence already. I won’t add to it.”
Her flirtatious expression invited him to shower her with all the praises filling his heart and mind, but his father hadn’t raised a foolish man. He wouldn’t give voice to the feelings until he knew he could follow them with action. He’d be leaving soon, returning to Kansas. Now that his studies were completed, his family expected him. It felt good to be going home, but the thought of leaving Daphne filled him with regret.
Daphne lifted her cup to her lips and sipped daintily, her wide-eyed gaze never drifting from his face.
Deep regret.
When Thomas’s neck blotched with color, Daphne knew she’d accomplished her goal: Thomas was smitten with her.
The first time Harry had brought Thomas to their home, she’d been intrigued. She’d been only thirteen years old then, but she’d been mature enough to recognize the differences between this man and the boys who generally spent time with Harry. Just standing next to him had brought a rush of pleasure. Outside, in the sunshine, his shadow completely swallowed hers. He made her feel small and feminine and safe.
A servant passed by, carrying a carved wood tray. She put her half-empty glass on the tray and caught Thomas’s elbow once more. “This room is so crowded. Could we step onto the veranda for a moment?”
