Where the Heart Leads (5 page)
Pa’s face lit. He leaned his elbows on the table. “What business will you start?”
Looking into his father’s hopeful face, Thomas didn’t have the heart to admit he had no desire to start a business in Hillsboro. Hillsboro already had everything it needed to meet the needs of the residents. If Gaeddert wasn’t dying, then maybe . . . He chose words he knew his father would accept. “I’m not sure yet, Pa.”
Pa nodded, his face serious. “Well, you pray about it. For sure, that is best thing to do. Summer and me, we pray for you, too. You must follow the path God wants for you—that is always best.”
Thomas came close to asking whose idea college had been— God’s or Pa’s? Thomas didn’t resent his education—he knew he’d been given a tremendous advantage—but the years away had been far from idyllic. Homesickness had given him stomachaches; his difficulty in adjusting to city life had aged him beyond his years. And now he was an educated man, expected to do wonderful things—and he didn’t know what things he wanted to do.
Pa rose and stretched his arms straight out, balling his hands into fists. He yawned, his gray-streaked beard bristling. “
Ach
, to my room I better go before I fall asleep here. Why am I so tired when no work I do today?”
Thomas stood and rounded the table. “Good night, Pa.” Nostalgia tugged at his heart. “
Schlop die gesunt
.”
Pa snorted with laughter. “You sound like my
kjleen Jung
again with those words.
Ja
, I will sleep well, for sure, with you under my roof.” His deep chuckle rumbled. “I say
Schlop die gesunt
to your sisters when tucking them in each night. Abby and Gussie say it back to me, just as you always did, but Little Lena, she has some trouble with the words. She says ‘slop in the zoont.’ ”
Thomas laughed. “She’ll learn, in time.” For a moment he wished his father had left the nighttime wish to sleep well a tradition between only the two of them, but then he realized that would be selfish. His sisters would enjoy the tradition of
Schlop die gesunt
as much as he did.
“
Schlop die gesunt
, boy.” Pa opened his arms, and Thomas stepped into the embrace, giving his father as many thumps on the back as Pa gave him. As a little boy, Thomas had wanted to grow up to be just like his pa. Now, watching his father’s broad back go around the corner toward his bedroom, he wondered how he could be like Pa—thinking of his family first—and still honor his word to Harry Severt and the Populist Party members.
Thomas spent the following morning with his sisters, giving them piggyback rides, letting them beat him at checkers, and reading them a dozen Bible stories from a big picture book. But after lunch, when Summer put Lena down for a nap and instructed Abby and Gussie to sit at the table and practice writing their letters on well-used slates, he headed downtown.
He deliberately skirted the mill, unwilling to witness his father working under someone else’s leadership. Guilt stabbed at his avoidance, yet he knew Pa would want to introduce him to everyone, and he wasn’t in the mood to smile and be polite. He needed some time alone.
Summer had indicated that Daisy was boarded at the livery. He had no trouble locating the stable. He entered the huge building and scanned the stalls. Daisy spotted him first, nodding her head and whickering. Hurrying to her stall, he laughed out loud when she pawed the ground and continued bobbing her head in excitement.
“Hey, girl! It’s good to see you, too.”
The livery owner wandered over, and Thomas introduced himself. “I’m going to take Daisy for the afternoon.”
“That’s fine. Need a saddle?”
“Yes, sir, if you have one I could borrow. Otherwise, I can ride bareback.”
The man dragged a worn saddle and blanket from the back of a stall and, after looking Thomas up and down, said, “I figure you can saddle her yourself.”
In a few minutes, Thomas swung himself onto Daisy’s back and aimed her north out of town. The afternoon sun beat down on his uncovered head, and sweat soaked through his cotton shirt, but he didn’t mind. The farther he got from town, the more he relaxed, reveling in the open space and endless blue sky. But he felt his stomach clench when the homestead came into view. Daisy picked up her pace, eager to be back in her familiar territory.
“Whoa, girl.” Thomas gave a gentle tug that brought Daisy to a halt. The horse nickered, expressing her displeasure at the delay. But Thomas discovered he didn’t want to go to his childhood home. Not when he couldn’t stay. Not when nothing waited for him except memories. He turned Daisy’s head and clicked his tongue. “C’mon. Let’s go visit
Grossmutter
instead.”
The gravesite, surrounded by a time-washed picket fence, waited just off the road that led to Gaeddert. Thomas ground-tied Daisy and left her munching prairie grass while he stepped inside the fence and crossed straight to Lena’s headstone. Crouching down, he touched the wooden cross Pa had carved with
Grossmutter
’s name and the dates of her birth and death.
The information seemed incomplete, but how would a person encapsulate all of the living and loving that took place between the two dates? No headstone was large enough to hold all that would need recording. He traced his finger over the tiny dash between
January 3, 1817,
and
March 17, 1901,
as he thought about how much the old woman had meant to him. Before Summer came into their lives, she had been the only mother he’d known. All of his little-boy memories included his gentle, steadfast great-grandmother.
His gaze drifted to the house sitting silently several hundred yards away. His family had teasingly called the house “Nadine’s vacation cottage.” Although it had been built for Summer, she had lived in it only a few months before marrying Pa. After that, Nadine had used it during her twice-a-year visits until the time Thomas moved in with her in Boston. Even though the house sat empty most of the time, today it seemed dismal without occupants.
Thomas turned back to
Grossmutter
’s cross, wondering again why she had chosen to be buried in this little plot with Summer’s first husband instead of the cemetery near the
Kleine Gemeinde
—the little church in Gaeddert where she had attended worship services with Pa, Summer, and himself. Maybe, he surmised, it was her way of letting Summer know she had fully accepted her as part of the family, even though Summer was not Mennonite.
Still on his knees, he spent time tidying the little graveyard— plucking weeds, smoothing the ground where a rabbit or some other small animal had tried to dig a burrow in the hard earth. When the graves were clean, he searched for flowers. Beside the slow-moving Cottonwood River, he located several clusters of wild violets, their velvety petals as deeply hued as a cloudless sky at dusk. He picked a handful to place at the base of
Grossmutter
’s cross.
His task complete, he gathered Daisy’s reins and pulled himself into the saddle. “Well, c’mon, Daisy. Let’s head back.”
When he reached Hillsboro, he slowed Daisy to a measured
clip-clop
and surveyed the town in the late afternoon sunlight. As a boy, he had come with Pa to Hillsboro when they needed to make use of the train station, whether picking up goods or retrieving visitors. Of course, he had also been delivered to Hillsboro on a railcar when he’d come home for summer visits between school years. But those times were few, so his memories of the town were fuzzy. Yet it seemed to him that the town had grown even since his last time here.
For sure it’s grown—half of Gaeddert is here now.
He scanned the front windows of each place of business, looking for HELP WANTED placards. As he passed a general merchandise store, a woman with a broom in hand stepped out onto the board- walk. She swished the straw bristles against the walkway, stirring up a cloud of dust, and she released a mighty sneeze.
Automatically, Thomas called, “
Gesundheit
.”
The woman’s face angled upward in search of the voice, and Thomas realized the woman was his childhood classmate, Belinda Schmidt. Why had he bothered to bless her? Recollections of her snooty faces and snide comments rushed through his mind, and he clicked his tongue to hurry Daisy along.
But she rushed to the edge of the boardwalk. “Thomas Ollen-burger!”
His father hadn’t raised him to be impolite. With a sigh, he gave Daisy’s reins a tug that wheeled the horse to face Belinda. “Hello. How are you, Belinda?”
She ran her hand over her hair, smoothing back a few stray wisps that had slipped loose of the simple bun. “I’m fine, thank you. I had heard you were back.”
He wondered why she didn’t mention seeing him through a window of her house last night. Then again, maybe that hadn’t been her face in the window, after all. He remembered Summer mentioning Belinda often asked about him, and an odd discomfort held him tongue-tied.
She didn’t seem to notice. “I hear you finished college and have a degree now.”
In Gaeddert, everyone had known everyone else’s business. Hillsboro was bigger, but apparently, as Pa would say, hens still clucked. Belinda’s mother,
Frau
Schmidt, had been the noisiest clucker of all. He managed a nod.
“
Ekj graute’learen jie
.”
He hadn’t expected congratulations from Belinda. He forced his lips into a tight smile of thanks.
Her smile beamed bright enough for both of them. “You must feel proud of yourself. It is quite an accomplishment to hold a college degree.”
He waited for a spiteful comment to follow about him being too big for his britches or being too smart for his own good—her favorite barbs as a child. But to his surprise, she simply stood, squinting into the sun as she waited for his reply. He cleared his throat. “
Dank
.” Glancing at the white apron that covered her simple dark blue calico dress, he motioned toward the store. “Do you work here?”
For a moment she ducked her head, bringing into view the straight part in her honey-colored hair. Working as a clerk would be a comedown for a Schmidt, he would think, and her pose seemed to reflect his thoughts.
Then she met his gaze again, giving a slight nod. “
Ja
. After Papa died, we moved into Hillsboro. I’ve been working here ever since to help care for Mama and Malinda.”
Thomas remembered Malinda Schmidt, too, even though she was several years older than he and Belinda. She was as mean-faced as her parents. Pa had always excused Belinda’s bad behavior by saying she didn’t know how to be kind because no one in her house showed her how. Thomas always thought she could look to others in the community for good examples, if she’d wanted to. Maybe she’d finally done so. Today she seemed pleasant enough.
“Well, I need to get Daisy to the livery. It’s good to see you, Belinda.” He stretched the truth on that statement.
“You, too.” She sounded sincere. She raised her hand in a wave, then returned to sweeping, but he sensed her gaze on his back as he rode on.
In the livery, he returned the saddle and blanket to the stall where they belonged. Then he gave Daisy fresh water and hay and spent some time grooming her with a brush he found on a shelf. It didn’t appear that the livery owner had taken the time to use a curry brush on the horse lately. Perhaps he’d take that up with Pa later.
He entered the house through the back door, expecting to see Summer in the kitchen or the girls at the table enjoying an afternoon snack. But the house was quiet. He looked around, scowling, and spotted a piece of paper tacked to the doorframe of his room. He pulled it loose and read the short note. Summer had taken the girls to meet Pa and walk home with him.
So he was alone. He took advantage of the solitude to retrieve paper and a pen from the little desk in his parents’ bedroom, feeling like an interloper as he entered the room. But he knew if they were here, they’d allow him access.
Items in hand, he sat at the kitchen table—he didn’t feel comfortable using the desk in their room—and quickly penned a letter to Harry. He considered writing to Daphne, letting her know how to reach him since he hadn’t realized he would be living in Hillsboro rather than in Gaeddert. But he knew Harry would tell her. Besides, it was probably best if Thomas didn’t encourage her by writing too much. Daphne was a girl who saw what she wanted and went after it.
He knew she wanted him.
The thought made his hand still. An image of Daphne filled his mind. She was so beautiful. When she looked at him with her big, brown eyes, something inside of him melted. She fascinated him more than any girl he’d ever met. Did that mean he wanted her, too?
With a grumble of irritation, he returned his attention to the letter, writing:
There are very few job opportunities here, which will pave the way for me to return to Boston. I need to spend at least a couple of weeks with my family, but then I will look into coming back.
A lump filled his throat when he thought about leaving so soon.
Yet he knew the longer he stayed, the harder it would be for his father to let him go again. A short visit was best for all of them, and not finding a job would provide a good excuse for returning to Boston, one his parents would understand.
After reading the letter again, he considered adding
Greet Daphne for me
but decided against it. Instead, he signed his name and blotted the ink. Just as he put the pen and inkpot back in the desk, he heard the front door open.
“Thomas?” Pa’s voice boomed.
“I’m here, Pa.” He stepped from the bedroom into the front room.
Pa caught his arm and gave it a squeeze. “
Goot
news, son. I talk to
Herr
Barkman—owner of this house and the one rented by the Schmidts—and he tells me he can make use of you as a roofer. You go see him first thing Monday. You can earn a wage that will give you money to start your own business. This is very
goot
news,
ja
?”
Thomas slipped the folded letter into his pocket and forced a tight smile. “Sure, Pa. Good news.”
D
APHNE
STOOD AT THE TOP
of the winding staircase, her hand draped over the carved rail, and listened for a reply. When she didn’t receive one, she called again,