Summer’s mind raced. Who would have said these things? Thomas stepped into the doorway of his bedroom, his bare feet sticking out below the hem of his nightshirt. The boy looked frightened. Grossmutter pushed herself from her chair and went to stand with an arm around his shoulders.
Mr. Ollenburger spoke. “Ja, this is true. But I think you misunderstand. The shariah was toppled in the same storm that destroyed Herr Ratzlaff’s barn roof. So she stays here, and I stay in my barn.”
Summer was proud of the way he stood up to the men with kind yet firm responses.
Thomas shivered, and Grossmutter leaned down to whisper in his ear. The boy shook his head, defiance sparking in his eyes. He pulled away, crossing to stand beside his father. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
Peter looked down at him. “Boy, return to your bed.”
“No, Pa.” Thomas glared at the two men.
Summer took hold of Thomas’s shoulders to turn him back to the bedroom, but the boy jerked free, his back stiff. “Summer—Mrs. Steadman is our friend. She’s helping me with my studies. And she studies the Bible with Pa. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Junge, return to your bed!”
Summer had never heard Mr. Ollenburger use that tone of voice. It startled her, and it was clear it startled Thomas, too. He looked up with wide eyes, then tears flooded. Without a word he turned and walked on stiff legs back to his bedroom. He slammed the door. Grossmutter opened the door, slipped inside, then closed it again much more softly than Thomas had.
Mr. Ollenburger turned to the men. “Herr Schmidt, Herr Penner, say what you came to say.” The man’s deep voice held no animosity.
Mr. Schmidt lifted his chin and glared at Mr. Ollenburger with narrowed eyes. “The church council asks you to send this woman from your home. If you do not follow this direction, there will be a meeting to discuss your removal from membership.”
Summer gasped. She stepped forward, holding out her hands in entreaty. “Please, gentlemen, I don’t wish to create problems for Mr. Ollenburger. I-I’ll stay in the barn.”
The two men nodded in satisfaction, but Mr. Ollenburger raised one of his hands. “Wait. Does the Bible not instruct us to love our neighbors as ourselves? How am I showing Christian love by sending this woman to a cold barn? Is it not more neighborly to give her my room, the warmth of my fire?”
“You cause your brother to stumble!” Schmidt’s eyes blazed.
“This I will consider,” Mr. Ollenburger countered. “But the needs of this woman were placed on my heart by the God I serve. I must follow His guidance, not the counsel of men.”
Mr. Penner released a snort. “You are a foolish man, Peter Ollenburger. Will you allow this woman to ruin your standing in our community?”
Mr. Ollenburger shook his head, and Summer read sadness in his expression. “More concerned I am with my standing with my Maker, Herr Penner. Now I ask you to leave. My boy is not feeling well, and your visit has upset him.” He reached out with his large hand. “I thank you for your concern, and I will pray for God’s guidance.”
Neither Schmidt nor Penner reached to shake Mr. Ollenburger’s hand. Instead, they slapped their hats back onto their heads and left without another word.
The moment the door closed behind them, Thomas’s door flew open and the boy cried, “I hate them, Pa! I hate them both!”
Peter’s heart felt heavy in his chest. Regret, sadness, and frustration mingled, all fighting for release. He felt the woman’s gaze follow him as he moved to the woodbox and chose two thick logs to add to the fire. When the task was done, he took a deep breath, which calmed him. Then he sat down at the table and gestured to the other chairs.
“Come here, boy. You, too, Frau Steadman. A talk we must have.” Grossmutter stood in Thomas’s bedroom doorway. With a smile, he invited her to come, too.
All three approached the table and seated themselves, Grossmutter between the boy and the woman. The old woman’s gnarled hands crept out, palms up, and both Thomas and Frau Steadman placed their hands in hers. It gave Peter a good feeling to see the three of them united in such a way. Thomas thrust his chin out in a stubborn gesture, but the woman looked more sad than angry. Peter sighed. He hoped these words would help ease the aching hearts around this table.
“Thomas, you tell me—why do we not have a dog on the property like so many others?”
The boy exchanged his sullen look for one of surprise. “Pa, you know why. I—” He glanced at the woman, then dropped his chin—“I’m scared of dogs.”
“Why?”
Pink appeared in Thomas’s cheeks. “Because one bit me when I was little.”
“Ja, you carry the marks on your leg where you were bit. How many dogs have bit you, boy?”
Thomas lowered his brows. “Only one.”
Peter turned the woman. “Frau Steadman, when you find Thomas sick in bed, why do you run to me with fear in your eyes?”
The woman looked as confused as Thomas. “Because … because I—” She closed her jaw and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.
Peter offered gently, “Because when you looked at the boy, you did not see a sore throat, you saw typhoid?”
Silently, the woman nodded.
Peter nodded, too. “Things from before make a difference in the now. Thomas, your scar reminds you dogs can bite. Frau Steadman, your memory reminds you fevers can bring death. You forget that not all dogs bite and not all sickness results in death. You know this here”—he tapped his forehead—“but in your heart, when faced with a dog or a fever, you forget.”
He prayed inwardly for guidance. “It is the same way with people in town. They are not bad people, only frightened people who carry scars. Is good for Thomas to know these things as well as you, Frau Steadman. So please, both listen to me.”
His heart twisted as he looked into Grossmutter’s faded eyes and forced himself to recall unpleasant bits of his past. “For many years, our people—the Mennonites—suffer much persecution. We are peaceful people. We do not want to fight in wars. But in Germany, the rule is if you are man, you do military duty. Our people say no, God does not wish us to take up a gun and point it at another human being. The government say if you live here, you must. And it makes things hard for us.”
He shrugged. “So we go from our country. We go to Russia, where the leader says we can live and grow our wheat and not fight in their wars. For many years, this is allowed, but then things change. The Mennonites do too good with their farming, and the government becomes jealous. Soldiers come into our villages. They burn and they steal and they …” He swallowed hard, shaking his head to dispel the memories. “They make things very hard. And we know we can no longer stay.”
Peter laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table edge. A glance at his audience found attentive serious faces on both the boy and the woman. Even Grossmutter seemed to absorb his words, although he knew she understood little of what he said. He went on. “By God’s grace, we are able to make it to this country—to America, land of many freedoms. Here we can worship as we please. Here we are not forced to be part of military. We make our village—our town Gaeddert—and no one comes to burn things or take things from us. We have peace. But—”
“But you can’t forget,” the woman’s quiet voice interrupted.
Peter nodded. “We cannot forget what has been before. What we have lived has left its mark as surely as the dog’s teeth left its mark on Thomas’s leg.”
Thomas tipped his head, his brow furrowed. “So the people in town aren’t really mad at Summer. They’re just scared?”
Peter cupped his son’s head with his hand. “That is right, son. They are scared of what she reminds them, and this makes them act as if angry.”
Thomas chewed his lower lip. He released a sigh. “I don’t really hate them. I was just mad at Rupert for telling his pa things he shouldn’t have and at his pa for coming here and making me feel like I was bad.”
Peter
tousled the boy’s hair. “Ach, I know this, boy. Your heart is too pure to allow hatred to grow there. You are good boy. And you must stay that way. Hatred hardens a heart. A hard heart is a bitter thing. We must to feel sorrow for these people, for the pain they have borne, rather than hate them. Can you do this?”
Thomas’s chin quivered. “But they’re going to make Summer go away.”
“Would that be best, Mr. Ollenburger?” Frau Steadman spoke in a low tone.
Peter shook his head. “We cannot allow hatred and fear to have its way. You will help to show that we need not mistrust all people who are not of our heritage. God sent you here to teach us this lesson. Of that I am sure.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. Her face glowed with some emotion Peter could not recognize, but he knew she felt pleased by his words.
“Thank you.” Her words quavered.
“And since that is settled, my stomach rumbles. I will slice bread. Frau Steadman, you dish soup. We will eat, ja? Together. Just like always.” In his heart, Peter knew it was right. For now, it would be the four of them.
19
THOMAS’S FEVER AND sore throat were much better by Monday morning, but Summer decided to allow him another day of rest. She wanted to take no chances with his full recovery. A fear still quivered in her chest regarding any type of illness. Mr. Ollenburger’s words about the “before” impacting the “now” helped her understand her own fears and those of the people in town. They weren’t bad people, only cautious. She would try to reflect on that if she had another less-than-pleasant encounter with one of them.
Grossmutter observed the mixing of pancake batter. She nodded her approval and murmured words Summer didn’t understand. Even with the language barrier, it was nice to have the woman nearby. Summer chuckled to herself as she remembered her first impression of the grandmother and her worry at whether the old woman would resent her intrusion. The light of God that lit Mr. Ollenburger’s heart also existed within the soul of Grossmutter. Although it had taken a few weeks for the old woman to trust her, Summer felt she had a friend in Thomas’s great-grandmother.
Mr. Ollenburger came in for breakfast, his cheeks rosy with cold and blue eyes bright beneath his bushy brows. He smiled when he saw the stack of pancakes waiting. “Frau Steadman, I must tell you danke schoen for the cooking you do. I did not expect you to do this when I say come and teach my boy, but how nice it is to not be cooking all the time.”
Summer felt a rush of pleasure at his words. “You’re very welcome. I enjoy the cooking, so please don’t consider it an inconvenience.”
The man nodded, then turned away to hang up his coat. When he faced her again, his brow was furrowed. “Many days it has been since the graves you visited. When winter comes full force, visiting will be hard. Would you like to go today? It is cold, but the sun shines bright and the wind is not so strong.”
“Yes, please,” she said eagerly.
After breakfast, Mr. Ollenburger helped Summer into the wagon, and they headed toward the gravesites. The yellow sun did shine brightly, as the man had said, although it didn’t produce much warmth.
The graves came into view, a stark row of gray stones against a backdrop of leafless growth. Small mounds of snow remained at the base of each headstone, with brown stalks of grass sticking through in careless clumps. Summer immediately knelt beside Tillie’s grave and tugged at the tough grass. Mr. Ollenburger crouched nearby and helped. She sent him a grateful smile.
When the area was clear again, he got up. His tall form blocked the sun as he looked down at her. “I will go walk by the river for a while. You visit as long as you like.” He turned and strode away, leaving her alone with her memories.
Summer shifted her attention to the headstones. One by one, she stroked the rough top of each stone, from little Tillie’s up to Rodney’s. When she reached his, she sat down on the ground and released a heavy sigh.
“Sometimes I envy you, Rodney.” She stretched out her hand to touch the carved letters that formed his name on the cold sandstone. “Here you are, the children close by, while I’m far away from all of you. At first I wanted to die, too, so I could be with you. I had the same thought when I feared I might be buried in the shack.” She swallowed hard and dared to admit, “Now I’m glad I’m not dead, although I do wish we were still all together.”
She shifted her position, pulling her coat more snugly around her chin to better block the cool air. “Winter’s coming, Rodney, and I don’t know how many more times I’ll be able to visit, so there is much I want to say to you today. First, I want to apologize. You and I didn’t really have a loving marriage, did we? Oh, we got along well—we never fought or were unkind to each other. But since I’ve lived with Mr. Ollenburger and his family, I’ve become aware of what we lacked.”
Closing her eyes, she remembered Mr. Ollenburger’s face as he spoke of his Elsa. Tears stung her eyes. “It’s too late for us to share an abiding love—a love that comes from the very depth of one’s heart and fills the person with warmth and joy. If what Mr. Ollenburger says is true and you are in heaven, you must be feeling that kind of love there. Heaven must overflow with that kind of love.”
Summer glanced over her shoulder toward the river. Mr. Ollenburger was nowhere in sight. She turned back to Rodney’s headstone. “Mr. Ollenburger speaks of God as if they share a friendship. You often spoke of God, and I’m sure you believed in His presence, but somehow it was … different.”
She scowled as she tried to sort out her thoughts. “Even when we attended church, God always seemed distant to me—out of reach. When you and the children fell ill and I prayed to God to save you, it seemed He stayed away. Mr. Ollenburger assures me God was listening and cared, but He answered no. Mr. Ollenburger seems to find peace even when the answer he gets from God is no, but I …”
Biting on her lip, she paused. So many different emotions jumbled her mind. “Since I’ve been with the Ollenburgers, I’ve witnessed God close enough to touch. I want to know Him on a personal level—not in my head, like I did in Boston, but in my heart. I want to know without any doubt that He is here, that He cares, that He listens when I speak to Him.”
Leaning forward, her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “I want to experience joy, Rodney. Real joy. I’m sorry I didn’t allow myself to find it with you. I’m sorry if by holding myself from you I kept you from finding it. Maybe we would have found it in Oklahoma, there on our own with no one but the Lord and each other to rely on. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to find out. And I hope you’ll forgive me if … if I find joy now, on my own, without you.”
Her gaze drifted across the headstones carved with her children’s names. Guilt washed over her as she realized what she had just said. She covered her face, releasing a groan. Oh, how she wanted the joy she had seen shining in the eyes of her benefactor! But did she deserve to feel joy if her children and husband were no longer here?
The crunch of feet on dry grass startled her, and she looked back to see Mr. Ollenburger slowly approach. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched as if afraid to intrude. He offered a half smile and lifted one shoulder in a shy shrug. “I do not mean to rush you. Just checking on you I am, to see if you are ready to go back to a fire’s warmth.”
Summer rose and brushed off her skirts. She wasn’t quite ready to go, but she could see the sense of returning to the house. Mr. Ollenburger had work to catch up on since he had spent Saturday at the Ratzlaffs’ place. She gave one last lingering look at the headstones before allowing herself to take in the expanse of landscape that surrounded them. “They look so lonely here.”
Mr. Ollenburger nodded. “Ja. With so much nothing all around, lonely they do seem.”
Summer’s heart rate increased with a sudden thought. “Mr. Ollenburger, do you know who owns the land in this area?”
He stepped closer. “Why you ask this?”
“I was thinking—you said it would be good for the people of Gaedd
ert to learn they need not fear all non-Mennonites. And I want to be near my … my family. If I were to purchase this little plot of ground, build a house here and live in it instead of your home, then your problems with the town would be solved.”
“You wish to stay in Gaeddert for good? Not return to Boston?” He seemed surprised.
She hugged herself. “I need a fresh start, and Gaeddert is as good a place as any.” She felt a small smile tug at her lips. “At least I have friends here—Thomas, your grandmother … and you.”
The big man nodded, his expression serious. “Ja, your friends we are.” He scratched his chin and his brow furrowed in thought. “This land, so close to the town, is owned by Herr Gaeddert’s sons Heinrich and Bernard.”
Summer looked again toward the graves. How easily she could envision a white-washed cottage. It would have green shutters, a wraparound porch, and a picket fence to surround the yard. She would build it to the right of the headstones, tucked between the two largest cottonwoods, where she could walk down the rise and visit the stones easily. If she planted some flowers in front of the porch, and perhaps a lilac bush under the windows, it would be a cheery place to live. Yes, she could be happy here.
“Herr Gaeddert. Is that the person who founded the town?”
“Ja, he bought all land from what you call land developer. Then he sold pieces to people to settle in town. Very wealthy businessman he was in Russia. Only two years in America and he dies, but his sons carry on in his name.”
Summer considered this information. Surely the sons would be interested in selling the land. Keeping it gained them nothing. Would they sell to an outsider? She licked her dry lips as fear tumbled through her chest. What would she do if they refused?
Mr. Ollenburger touched her shoulder, bringing her attention back around. “Frau Steadman, you must pray. You must find out if this is what God would choose for you. If Gaeddert is in your plan, then a way will be made for your purchase of land. But prayer must to come first.”
Waiting for Summer's Return Page 16
