Where the Heart Leads (4 page)

“Medicine to cure what?” Thomas’s sharp tone made Summer’s gaze jerk to meet his. A blush crept into her cheeks. “What’s wrong with Pa? I know something’s bothering him. What is it?”

Summer bowed her head, the slump of her shoulders reminding Thomas of his father’s posture as he’d left the table. She glanced toward the door before she finally answered him. “I’m hoping your visit will bring peace to your father’s heart. This move to Hillsboro has been so hard for him. He feels as though he’s let us all down.”

“Pa’s never let anyone down in his whole life.” The defense came naturally.

Summer’s sad smile let him know she understood. “Of course not, in our eyes. But in his? When he had to close his mill . . .” Tears appeared in Summer’s eyes. “I’ve never seen him so despondent, Thomas. He left a portion of his heart at the homestead with the mill, and I’m at a loss as to how to help him recover it.”

Several different fears dashed through Thomas at once, and he voiced one. “Are you doing all right financially?”

“Oh, yes.” Summer nodded emphatically. “Your father would never leave us wanting for anything. Even though we have additional expenses here in town—rent for the house and at the livery where the oxen and your Daisy are boarded—our needs are met. That isn’t the issue.”

“It’s because he has to work for someone else—isn’t it.” Thomas forced the words past a knot in his throat. Even though Pa wasn’t a boastful man, he took pride in being a business owner in his beloved country of America. Surely it pierced his heart to serve under someone else’s leadership.

“That isn’t it, either.” Summer’s expression turned thoughtful. “No, it’s deeper, Thomas. I believe he feels as though he’s lost a part of himself. He wanted so much to leave the mill to his children—he considered it his legacy. And now, here we are in Hillsboro, and the mill stands idle. It hurts him.”

Thomas nodded slowly. He considered the difficulties faced by farmers, and he remembered the promises made by Thomas Watson, the Populist candidate for the presidency, to ensure the future success of farmers in the Midwest. Although many from the college believed Theodore Roosevelt would win, Thomas supported Watson. Surely by helping put Watson into office, he’d be making a stride toward improving the lot of area farmers and, in so doing, improve things for his own father.

Knowing how the Mennonites felt about political involvement, he couldn’t voice his intention to assist in the campaign to Pa, but Summer would understand. He opened his mouth to share his plans with her, but Pa’s booming voice carried into the kitchen.

“No mail in the box.”

Gussie and Abby scampered in, their faces sweaty but smiling. Pa followed more slowly, Lena still clinging to his hand. “But a
goot
walk we had, for sure, and Gussie found a four-leaf clover.

Show your mama.”

Gussie thrust out her dirty fist and opened it to reveal a wilted scrap of green. “Papa says they bring good luck. I’m gonna put it in my storybook and keep it forever.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Summer smoothed wisps of Gussie’s bedraggled blond hair away from her face. “Go put it away now, and then you girls can have some pie, hmm?”

Gussie dashed from the room, and the others returned to their seats at the table. Thomas watched Pa for a few moments, his body relaxing a little when he saw his father’s tranquil countenance. Pa picked up his fork and resumed eating as if no interruption had transpired.

As soon as Gussie clattered back into the room, Summer rose and carried the pie to the table. She looked at Thomas, her lips tipping into a teasing grin. “How large should I cut your slice?”

But Thomas put his palms against the table edge and pushed himself back. “I think I’d rather wait and have pie later, if you don’t mind. The long train ride, and all the sitting, has me eager to stretch my legs. I’d like to take a walk around the area, get acquainted with . . . the town.”

Pa paused midbite. “Do you want some company for your walk?”

“No, Pa.” Eagerness to be alone made his words come out too clipped. He softened the statement with a smile. “You had your walk already. Now it’s my turn.” He took a moment to tweak his little sisters’ curls, place a kiss on Summer’s cheek, and squeeze Pa’s shoulder before stepping out the back door.

In the yard, he let his head drop back, and he sighed. The early evening sky was light, but the shadows were long, letting Thomas know he had about an hour of daylight left. He looked right and left, taking in the clusters of houses. Everything close together. Like Boston, he thought, even though most Bostonians would scoff at the comparison.

He had anticipated the open space around the homestead—the prairie stretching in all directions. The feeling of confinement that often plagued him in the big city now struck again, tempting him to find the livery, saddle Daisy, and head straight out of town. But a ride could wait until tomorrow. For now a walk would do.

Belinda Schmidt hummed as she stacked the clean, dry plates one on top of the other. The melody skipped a note when she ran her thumb over the tiny nick at the edge of one china plate—the result of careless stacking on a previous day. Mama took such pride in the dishes her own mother had brought from Russia, and it saddened Belinda to see the nick. To avoid scratching the delicate rose design hand-painted in the center of each plate, she placed a square of soft flannel between each layer before transferring the stack to the glass-front cabinet in the dining room.

She passed Malinda, who hunched over the table polishing the silverware. Belinda cringed at the wheezing breaths her sister expelled with every scrub of the soft cloth over the silver finish.

Malinda’s contorted face spoke clearly of the difficulty of the task, and Belinda considered volunteering to take over. But unwillingness to receive a tongue-lashing for treating Malinda like a helpless child kept her silent. Even when the spoon fell from Malinda’s hand to clack against the tabletop and Malinda exploded in a shout of displeasure, Belinda hummed and pretended not to notice.

Belinda had learned early to step carefully around Malinda. Her sister had always been mercurial, her emotions bouncing up and down like a rubber ball. But the fever that had struck in her early twenties, leaving her with a damaged heart, nearly constant pain, and the bitter sting of abandonment from a fiancé who couldn’t accept her weakened physical state had brought out a resentful spirit that robbed her of the upward bounce. Belinda couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister smile, and trying to cheer her only angered her.

With nine years separating the girls in age, they had never been close, but Belinda had harbored hope they might develop a loving relationship after Papa passed away last winter. Instead, Malinda had pulled further into bitterness. She rarely spoke kindly even to Mama these days.

Belinda turned the little brass key, securing the cabinet door, and returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. A creak overhead let her know Mama was in the small attic. Again. Belinda grasped the lip of the sink, lowered her head, and closed her eyes.
Lord, bring healing to Mama’s heart. She misses Papa so, but it’s not healthy for her to sit beside the trunk of his clothes and relive past days. She needs to move forward.

A dog barked outside, and Belinda looked out the window. A dark figure moved through the alley—a man, tall and wide-shouldered, his head down and hands thrust deep in his pockets. She recognized him by his size.
Herr
Ollenburger. No other man in town carried such proportions.

His posture exuded sadness, and Belinda’s heart caught in sympathy. So many of Gaeddert’s former residents seemed to have lost their sparkle. She leaned closer to the open window, watching as he turned into the backyard of the house across the alley. If he glanced her way, she would reward him with a cheery expression.

To her delight, his chin angled in her direction. She called a greeting. “Good evening! Did you enjoy—” She drew back in embarrassment when she realized the man wasn’t
Herr
Ollenburger after all. He was as big-boned and square-jawed as her neighbor, but this man was younger and had no beard. And now she noticed he wore a suit—matching pants and jacket—instead of the clothes of a working man.

Recognition dawned, and Belinda gasped. She hadn’t seen him more than half a dozen times in the past six years, but her heart set up a patter she feared Malinda would hear in the next room. Pressing her hand to her throat, she whispered, “Thomas.”

Although he couldn’t have heard her raspy voice, he remained still, seeming to look right at her. She stared, her pulse pounding beneath her trembling fingers. Then the rumors were true—he was back. Back for good? His previous visits had been short, only a few weeks during summers to help his father grind the farmers’ bounty, a bounty that had diminished with the scarcity of rain and the abundance of insects. Belinda vacillated between remorse for the farmers’ loss and joy for the opportunity to feast her eyes once more on Thomas Ollenburger.

“Hmmph.”

At the scornful snort, Belinda jumped. Her sister stood behind her, Malinda’s rounded shoulders giving her the appearance of an elderly woman even though she’d only turned thirty a few months ago. “If it isn’t Mr. College Man himself.” Her tone was caustic.

Belinda gave her sister a frown. “Malinda, you shouldn’t be unkind.”

“Look at him.” Malinda continued as if Belinda hadn’t spoken.

“Wearing a suit to take a walk, as if he were someone of great importance. Has he no idea how ridiculous a big ox like him looks in city clothes?”

Belinda bit back a sharp retort. Defending Thomas would only lead to further criticism. She took a calming breath and offered a benign rejoinder. “I’m sure his parents are very happy to have him home.”

Malinda turned from the window to look at Belinda. A knowing smirk climbed her face. “His parents aren’t the only ones, are they, Belinda?”

Fire filled Belinda’s cheeks, but she couldn’t turn away.

Malinda’s lips curled in contempt. “Oh yes, Mama and I are fully aware of your infatuation with Thomas Ollenburger. Papa knew, too, and disapproved, I can tell you that. A miller’s son . . . and you know the grief that particular miller caused Papa with his self-righteous attitude. Never would Papa bless a union between you and Ollenburger’s son.”

Belinda bit the inside of her lip, though she wanted to rise to
Herr
Ollenburger’s defense. Although Papa had often railed about Ollenburger’s supposed self-righteousness, Belinda had never witnessed anything but a godly attitude from the gentle man. She’d never understood why Papa had held such animosity toward
Herr
Ollenburger.

Malinda grasped Belinda’s upper arm with a trembling grip. “But even with Papa’s blessing, it would be pointless. Even if Thomas were to return your feelings of affection, he’s a city man now. He’ll never stay here. And you wouldn’t leave Mama and me, would you, Belinda?”

The desperation on Malinda’s face made Belinda want to recoil, but a sudden move could send her sister toppling. Malinda glanced out the window, and her hold relaxed, allowing Belinda to slip away.

“He’s gone,” Malinda said matter-of-factly.

Belinda spun toward the window. The yard was empty. To her chagrin, tears pricked her eyes.

“It’s better this way.” Her sister spoke in the kindest tone Belinda had heard in months. “Let him go.” She hobbled out of the kitchen, her steps plodding.

Belinda closed her eyes, envisioning Thomas as she’d viewed him through the window: his familiar farm-boy frame attired in a big-city suit. He’d always been more handsome than any other boy in their small school, and the suit only emphasized his masculinity.

Her sister’s voice echoed in her mind:
“Let him go.”
She sighed.
How can I let him go when he has never been mine to hold?

4

T
HOMAS
RESISTED THE URGE
to knock before stepping through the back door of the house where his family now lived. All was quiet, the kitchen as tidy as Summer had always kept their little house outside of Gaeddert. In the center of the table, a blue-checked cloth covered a lump of something. Curious, he crossed to it and lifted an edge to find a wedge of pie, obviously left for him.

Built-in cabinets stood along one wall. He found a fork in the second drawer he opened. Just as he pushed the drawer shut, Pa stepped into the kitchen doorway.

“You are home.”

The word
home
echoed through Thomas’s mind, creating a rush of rebellion. This house was not his home! But he wouldn’t hurt Pa by voicing the thought. He put the fork on the table, then removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. Tossing the checkered cloth aside, he looked at his father. “I walked farther than I’d planned, but I found my way back again.”

Pa chuckled. “You probably followed your nose,
ja
? You smelled the cinnamon in the pie?”

Thomas took a bite. Flavor exploded on his tongue, and he eagerly forked up another mouthful. Pa sat across from him, watching him eat. Not until Thomas had finished the pie and pressed the back of the fork’s tines against the plate to get every crumb did Pa speak.

“
Prautsijch
I am of you, son.”

Yes, Pa, I know you are proud of me.

“An educated man you are, just as your mother wanted. She would be so happy.”

It pleased Thomas that Pa would speak of his mother. Even though she had died before Thomas could truly know her, and even though he had a stepmother he loved, Pa still spoke of Thomas’s mother, keeping her alive for him.

“And Summer, too. All of us—you have made us proud.”

Thomas swallowed. How proud would Pa be if he returned to Boston?

“I wait up because I need to tell you I will not be here all day tomorrow. Today I meet the train, but tomorrow I must work.”

Summer had indicated Pa had more expenses in town than he’d had at the homestead. Although he would have liked a couple of uninterrupted days with his father, Thomas understood. “That’s all right. I’ll probably spend the day getting reacquainted with my sisters and visiting
Grossmutter
’s grave. Then, after the weekend, I’ll think about a job.”