Where the Heart Leads (6 page)

^“
Harry!”

“Daphne.” Mother’s scolding voice carried from her dressing room. “Must you insist on that unladylike bellowing?”

Daphne released a huff of displeasure. “Mother, how else am I to locate Harry in this cavern of a house?” The three-story brick country home with its attached conservatory provided any number of corners in which Harry could conceal himself. Yesterday she had searched for nearly an hour before locating him in the window seat of the library, snoozing with a book in his lap. Bellowing would have saved a tremendous amount of time.

The prestige of the country estate outside of Boston wasn’t lost on Daphne. She adored the fact that Father was wealthy enough to afford this gabled home with multiple verandas. Her sleeping chamber, decorated in shades of ecru, mossy green, and wild plum, with its own private balcony, was so scrumptious it saddened her to think of marrying and leaving it. Yet the house had its drawbacks, the main one being the difficulty in locating someone who didn’t want to be located. Like her ridiculous brother.

On slippered feet, she padded to the highest of the three stairway landings. Leaning well over the railing, she peered to the marble tiled foyer below and bawled, “Ha
aaaa
ry!”

The sound of pounding feet let her know he’d heard her. She hastened down the stairs and met him at the bottom, matching his scowl with one of her own. “Where have you been?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair—his familiar gesture of irritation. “What do you need, Daph? I’m about to drive down to the campaign headquarters.”

Daphne experienced a rush of excitement at her brother’s words. Although she had no interest in politics, unlike many of her friends who marched in parades and waved signs to demand the right to vote, going to
campaign headquarters
sounded important and exhilarating. “For what purpose?”

He shifted his weight to one leg, pushing back his jacket to prop his hand on his hip. “Whatever the captain needs.” His clipped tone spoke clearly of his impatience to get going.

Daphne wanted to ask to go along. If the campaign headquarters proved boring, she could spend some time in one of the many dress shops or perhaps visit a friend. But she knew her brother well enough to know he would refuse her in his present state of ill humor. So she returned to the reason for summoning him. “I wondered if you’d heard from Thomas.”

“He’s only been gone a week and a half. I don’t expect to hear from Tom so soon.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Why do you insist on using the shortened version of his name?” A man of Thomas’s proportions needed a name to match. “
Tom
is simply not apropos.”

Harry shrugged. “He’s Tom to me and nearly all of the fellows from school. It doesn’t bother him, so I don’t know why it should bother you.” Straightening the lapels of his jacket, he said, “If that’s all you needed, then—”

“Are
you
planning to write to
him
?”

Harry blew out a mighty breath of aggravation. “Daphne, I have no reason to correspond with Tom right now. He’s spending a few weeks with his family, and then he’ll be back to help with the campaign. Now, please. I need to get going.”

Daphne stomped her foot as Harry turned and headed for the back of the house. Brothers could be so annoying! She charged after him. “Can you not wait one more minute?”

He came to a stop, but he let his head drop back and kept his gaze aimed upward. Hands on his hips, he barked, “What?”

She had intended to ask him to delay his drive into town for the length of time it would take her to write a quick message and address an envelope. But his impatient reaction fired her own temper. With another stomp of her foot against the polished floor, she tossed her head and clenched her fists. “Never mind. Go ahead and take care of your oh-so-important business!”

If she’d thought her behavior would soften him, she was wrong. Without a word, he hurried out the back door.

“Oh!” Daphne glared at his disappearing back. Then she spun and stomped back up the stairs to her room. Once there, she gave the door a slam that she hoped echoed all the way to the carriage house. Flouncing onto the bed, she folded her arms across her chest and stewed.

The strong need to communicate with Thomas took her by surprise. She’d never been so smitten with a man before. But her fascination with Thomas, which had only grown as she matured from child to woman, was firmly imbedded. She wouldn’t call what she felt for Thomas Ollenburger love. Not yet. But she could see it developing into that overwhelmingly beautiful emotion, given time and togetherness.

How many times had she and her friends swooned in silliness over some boy who wandered by? In hushed tones, they had discussed the intimacies of courtship, giggling like the schoolgirls they were as they contemplated the wonderment of
being in love
. Daphne even imagined herself besotted a time or two, just for the sake of experimentation. But her infatuation with Thomas Ollenburger was . . . different. Deeper. Real.

She threw herself backward onto the mattress. Catching a pillow, she hugged it to her chest and stared at the lace canopy of her four-poster bed. Why was it so difficult this time to be apart from Thomas? Even when he had lived in Boston, many days would slip by without her seeing him; he’d spent weeks of every summer back in Kansas with his family, and she’d never before fretted about the time apart. So why the intense desire for his presence now?

Tossing the pillow aside, she rose from the bed and crossed to her balcony. She curled her fingers around the warm iron railing and closed her eyes. The day of Thomas’s party, when she’d stood on the balcony of Nadine Steadman’s home with him, came back to her. A sense of urgency had filled her then, and now she realized a fear girded the urgency.

Thomas now had his degree. His schooling was complete. He truly had no reason to return to Boston, save the presidential campaign with which he had promised to help—and that would all be over in November. Her heart lurched. Then she might never see him again.

He needed something—someone—to hold him in Boston permanently. Or at least until which time she was certain of her feelings for him. She popped her eyes open, nibbling her lower lip as her thoughts churned. Long-term commitments involved . . . what? Relationships, naturally. And jobs.

Jobs! Of course, a job—a job better than anything he could possibly locate in that little town in Kansas—would be motivation enough to keep him here. She raced through her room, down the hallway, and pounded on her mother’s dressing-room door. “Mother, I must take the barouche to the city to see Father.”

“See here,
Herr
Barkman
.
Here is my son, Thomas, just as I promised.”

Pa pressed Thomas forward to shake the man’s hand, making Thomas feel like a ten-year-old again.

“A strong, dependable worker he will be for you.”

Herr
Barkman and Thomas exchanged a firm handshake while Pa went on, making Thomas’s ears burn. “A job he needs, but not for forever. My Thomas has . . .” Pa took in a deep breath. His next words came out humbly. “A college degree, so his own business he will start one day soon. But it takes money to do this. So that is why he needs the job.”

“
Ja
, Peter, you have told me this already.”
Herr
Barkman winked and poked Thomas on the shoulder. “I think your father is bigheaded over your accomplishment, but we cannot blame him, can we?” He stroked his beard, squinting against the bright morning sun. “Your father says you will not need a job long, but I could use you for a little while. I have a roof that needs replacement. Leaks real bad. The last man I hired quit after only one day. He was afraid of high places. Do high places frighten you?”

“No, sir.”

“You are familiar with repairing roofs?”

Thomas was no expert, but he knew he could fix a roof. From the time he was big enough to wield a hammer, he’d worked side by side with Pa on everything from putting up walls to hammering down shingles. He nodded. “I’m familiar with most carpentry jobs.”

Herr
Barkman looked satisfied. “So I can count on you to see it through?”

Thomas held his breath. He’d sent his letter to Harry already, and he hated to disappoint his friend. But looking at Pa’s face, he knew he couldn’t disappoint his father, either. How long could it take to repair a roof ? Maybe a week? Surely, he could wait that long. “You can count on me.”

“
Goot. Goot
.” The man gave Thomas a hearty clap on the back. “Well, then, let us get you working. There is a wagon waiting behind my house with cut shingles in the bed, as well as a ladder, tools, and nail keg—everything you need. You know where is the Schmidt house?”

Aware of Pa’s watchful gaze, Thomas carefully guarded his expression. “Yes, sir.”

“You will see the pocks from last spring’s hailstorm. Replace all the damaged shingles.” The man twisted his lips. “It will be most all of them.”

Most all of them equated to a good-sized job—more than a week, for sure. Thomas set his jaw and smacked his hat onto his head. “Then I better get started. Bye, Pa. See you at lunch.”

Working right across the alley from his folks’ house had its advantages, Thomas discovered. While he tore loose damaged shingles and tossed them into a pile on the ground, his little sisters provided entertainment with their enthusiastic chasing game. As a youngster, he had often played
Eene, meene, Maun
on the playground. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned as Gussie snatched Abby around the middle and crowed, “
Eene, meene, Maun! Botta enna Paun! Kjees enne Kiep! Du best jriep!
”

Standing, Thomas waved his hat and called, “Good job, Gussie!”

The girls giggled, waved at him, and then took off again for another round. Thomas turned back to his task, whistling a merry tune. He had no idea what tagging someone had to do with butter in a skillet or cheese in a basket, but it was obvious his sisters enjoyed the game as much as he had as a child. The sound of their laughter carried him through the first hour of removing shingles.

Midmorning, Summer crossed the alley with a jug of ginger water and a plate of oatmeal cookies. He eagerly climbed down the ladder to enjoy a few minutes in the shade. Summer handed him the jug and asked, “How is the job going?”

Thomas swallowed, backhanded his moist lips, and grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s going slow. Most of the shingles need to be replaced, but at least the hailstones didn’t damage much of the sheeting.” At her puzzled look, he added, “The boards underneath the shingles.”

“Ah.” She nodded, holding out the plate of cookies. “Well, I know you’ll do a good job. The Schmidts should appreciate it.”

At that moment the back door of the Schmidt house opened. Malinda Schmidt stood in the doorway. “Have you finished for the day?”

Thomas nearly laughed. “Finished? Oh, no. There’s still much to do.”

Her frown caused deep furrows around her mouth. “The sounds of whistling, scraping, and thudding are giving Mama a horrible headache.”

Thomas had no idea how he would repair their roof without making noise. He looked helplessly at Summer.

Summer offered Malinda a kind smile. “The roof must be repaired, Malinda.”

“Can you not come down off the roof to place the shingles on the pile? The steady crack of shingles hitting the ground is
en Fe’druss
.”

Thomas stared at the woman in disbelief. They found the sounds of his working annoying? Surely it was less annoying than a leaking roof. He opened his mouth to inform Miss Schmidt of the ridiculousness of her request, but Summer interrupted.

“Perhaps
Frau
Schmidt could put some cotton in her ears to block the sounds. Or you are welcome to come sit in my parlor while Thomas works.”

Malinda huffed and slammed herself inside the house.

Summer sighed and put her hand on Thomas’s arm. “Don’t take offense.”

Thomas forced a light laugh and brushed his hands together, ridding himself of the remaining cookie crumbs. “I learned a long time ago not to pay attention to anything a Schmidt says. Her words are water off a duck’s back.”

Summer returned to her house, and Thomas climbed back onto the roof. He made no effort to tiptoe, and he continued to toss the shingles rather than climb down the ladder and place them quietly in a pile, as Malinda Schmidt had suggested, but he did stop whistling. Every now and then Malinda appeared in the yard, her face turned upward with a hand shielding her eyes, a sour expression on her face. Each time, he gave a wave and returned to work.

By the time the sun was straight overhead, Thomas had cleared a third of the old shingles on the back half of the house. He stood, hands on hips, surveying the stripped area. If a rain came, the Schmidts would have a mess with the sheeting unprotected. Should he spend the afternoon shingling the area he’d just cleared? He shifted his gaze to the sky. The cloudless expanse of endless blue gave no threat of rain, but he knew wind could stir up a storm quickly on the plains of Kansas.

“Boy!”

Thomas jerked then flailed to keep his balance on the steeply pitched roof. His balance restored, he turned slowly to find his father and Belinda Schmidt in the middle of the Schmidts’ backyard, looking upward. At the horrified look on Belinda’s face, he released a little laugh. He inched his way to the roof ’s edge and crouched, elbows on knees. “You thought I was going to fall, didn’t you?”

“A mountain goat you are not,” Pa said, shaking his head. “It is time to see what Summer has fixed for our lunch.”

Thomas wouldn’t argue about eating. Accustomed to sitting in a classroom during the day, a morning’s hard labor had built his appetite. He climbed down the ladder to the security of even ground. Walking toward Pa, he slapped at his dust-coated trousers.

He heard a small sneeze from somewhere beside him. Belinda held her fingers beneath her nose, obviously fighting off another sneeze.

“
Gesundheit
,” Pa said.

Belinda sniffled. “Thank you,
Herr
Ollenburger. I must have caught a cold. I’ve been sneezing a lot lately.”