Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watched Frau Steadman with Frau Kraft as he talked shipping prices with Herr Kraft. He had always thought Katherine Kraft a kind woman, and his heart swelled in gratefulness as he saw the stirrings of friendship develop between the two very different women.
Where Frau Steadman was dark in hair and eyes, Frau Kraft was nearly white haired with pale green eyes. Frau Steadman, although heavier than when she had arrived, still seemed very thin when compared to Frau Kraft’s sturdy frame. But it became clear they had found common ground as the two visited and laughed as if known to one another for many years. It was good to see this happen. If Frau Steadman were to stay, she would need friends to help her feel at ease.
Although Peter would not have minded visiting longer, after an hour of talk Herr Kraft rose. “Come, wife. Long enough we have stayed here. We must get you home now for some rest.”
Frau Steadman looked up sharply, concern in her eyes. “Rest? Are you ill?”
Frau Kraft shook her head, a smile lighting her features. “Nein, Summer—not ill. Another child I expect in the spring. Many I have lost. We are being very careful.”
Peter was surprised that Katherine Kraft would share something so personal with someone she had just met. How would Frau Steadman respond to this news? Having lost her own children, would this send her to despair? He watched Frau Steadman’s reaction, his chest constricting.
“Oh, Katherine, a baby is happy news. I will be praying for you.” Peter nearly reeled. Although no happy light shone in her eyes, her words were soft, empathetic. He knew she meant them. This woman surely had changed!
Frau Kraft rose, reaching to take Frau Steadman’s hands. “I have enjoyed my time with you, Summer.” Her gaze swept to include Peter. “You come for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.”
The invitation was issued as if for a family. Peter felt heat on the back of his neck. Frau Steadman looked to him, and he stammered an answer. “Y-you are very kind, Frau Kraft. I had forgotten Thanksgiving was so near.” He swallowed. Should he accept the invitation or would it be best to refuse? What was proper? He saw longing in Frau Steadman’s eyes, and his answer came without thought. “We will come. I bring you some dried apple pies, ja?”
Frau Kraft gave a happy nod and released Frau Steadman’s hands. “Good. Summer, I will see you very soon, hmm? Take care.”
Peter followed the Krafts to the door, where Herr Kraft bellowed for Toby. The boy came running. Thomas followed more slowly. By their smiles, it seemed the boys had enjoyed their time together.
Thomas pressed himself beneath Peter’s arm, lifting his hand to wave at his friend as the Krafts’ wagon neared the road. Peter smiled down at the boy, and then he froze. Very near his elbow stood the woman, watching the wagon, her expression serene. His heart took up a mighty thumping. He suddenly felt very much as if they were a family—child, father … and mother.
As if sensing his scrutiny, the woman looked up. A soft smile tipped up the corners of her lips. “They are nice people.”
He nodded silently. His breathing felt irregular. He was not sure he would find words if he tried to speak. Finally he managed to croak, “Ja. Fine people, for sure.”
“I’d be glad to make those pies for you. I’ve never baked with dried apples, but I can’t imagine it would be much different than fresh apple pie.”
So easily she accepted the invitation to attend the Thanksgiving meal. So comfortable she seemed about going visiting with him and his family.
“Ja. Not much different it is. My crusts, sometimes they do not hold together so good.”
Thomas laughed, peering up at his father. “Your pie crusts are better than your bread.”
The woman laughed, too. Her eyes crinkled into a smile as she looked at Thomas—the way a mother might look with fondness at her own child.
Peter swallowed hard. “If you want to make pies, Frau Steadman, you are welcome to make pies.” He gave Thomas a little push toward the house. “Go in now, boy, and rest. Look at a book if you like, but rest your ribs.”
Thomas sighed but obeyed.
The woman stepped back into the house and Peter followed, closing the door behind them. Suddenly he felt uneasy in the house with her. Being invited to attend a holiday meal together, standing together on the porch waving good-bye to guests … All had felt too much like they belonged together.
What should he say to her now? He was not sure what she expected from him. He wanted to go to the barn and sort out these odd feelings, but before he could voice that thought, the woman spoke.
“Mr. Ollenburger, will you please sit down? I’d like to speak with you.”
Stars glimmered in a sky of deep gray. The moon hung heavy and full, the shadows of craters clearly discernible. The air was so cold and crisp that Summer’s eyes felt as if they froze between blinks, but she kept them open as long as possible to absorb the beautiful November night. She sighed skyward. “What a perfect end to the day.”
Mr. Ollenburger’s head turned in her direction. Though the shadows hid his expression, she suspected a smile lingered on his face. “Ja, it has been good day. Good food, good company, good time.”
From the back of the wagon, Thomas inserted, “My belly hurts. I ate too much pie.”
Summer and Mr. Ollenburger shared a soft laugh. Summer was amazed at how easily she had fit in at the Kraft house today. Two other families had also attended, both headed by widows, so the house had been quite full. When Summer had walked in and seen the number of people, she had wanted to get in the wagon and go back to the Ollenburger place. All those children running around had nearly turned her heart inside out with desire for Vincent, Rose, Tod, and Tillie.
But Mr. Ollenburger’s warm hand on her back had assured her all would be fine, and it had been. She’d had a wonderful time visiting again with Katherine Kraft. How she prayed this new baby would arrive healthy and strong! She also enjoyed getting to know Bertha Klein and Martha Jost. While at first Mrs. Klein and Mrs. Jost had been reticent, by the middle of the day they had relaxed, treating her with friendliness. She still felt the warmth of their kindness even in the cold night air.
“Did you have an opportunity to visit with Mr. Kraft?” Summer asked.
Mr. Ollenburger cleared his throat. “Ja, I visit plenty with Herr Kraft since we were only two men there.”
Summer scowled in his direction, even though she knew he couldn’t read her expression. “Stop teasing me, Mr. Ollenburger. I meant about what we had discussed earlier.” She glanced over her shoulder at Thomas, then lowered her voice. “About the land?”
His head nodded twice.
“And what did he say?”
“He say …” His voice sound tight, and Summer’s heart picked up its tempo. “The Gaeddert boys will probably ask council’s advice before agreeing to sell land to someone not of our sect. But he did not say right off he thought they would refuse you.”
It wasn’t the answer she hoped for. She had been on tenterhooks since Sunday, when she had asked Mr. Ollenburger to inquire about the land she wished to purchase. She had hoped having him ask would eliminate an immediate negative response. “Did he have any idea when the council might meet?”
Mr. Ollenburger’s broad shoulders raised in a shrug. “He did not say. First the Gaedderts must be talked to. Herr Kraft says he will do this for you.”
Summer’s eyebrows shot upward. “He will?”
“Ja. Tobias Kraft is fair man. He does not wish for you to be mistreated.”
Summer wondered if Mr. Ollenburger’s prayers for the town to accept her were already at work. The day truly had been a pleasant one. If these few people had decided not to fear her, surely others would soon follow suit. She became even more determined to purchase that piece of land and remain in Gaeddert. And if that were possible, it would become a day of thanksgiving for her in the truest sense.
A light snore sounded from the wagon bed, and Summer glanced back. Thomas lay stretched out in the hay be
side Grossmutter’s hip, his arm curled beneath his head. She smiled, remembering how Tod had often slept that way, using his elbow as a pillow. It surprised and pleased her that pain did not stab with the memory. There was only a coil of remembrance coupled with a sense of regret that those days were over. She was healing, she realized, thanks to God’s intervention.
The wagon rumbled into the yard, and Thomas sat up, yawning. Mr. Ollenburger lifted out Thomas and the grandmother before helping Summer down. “Since late it is, I will put away the oxen and stay in the barn. Thomas, you can tuck yourself in tonight?”
“Sure, Pa. If I need something, Grossmutter and Summer will be here.”
Summer put her arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I’ve learned to say schlop die gesunt. I’ll see that he’s properly tucked in.”
Mr. Ollenburger gave a nod, then urged the oxen into moving. Summer opened the door and followed Thomas and his great-grandmother inside. The boy yawned as he took off his coat and hung it up.
“I’m sure you’re ready for sleep,” Summer said.
“Yes, but I had fun today. Did you?” Thomas’s hair stood on end with bits of straw stuck in the thick strands.
Summer plucked the straw out as she answered. “I had a very enjoyable day.”
“Felt good,” the boy said, his gaze never wavering from Summer’s face, “to have you there with Pa and Grossmutter and me. I … I like you a lot, Summer.”
For the first time Summer opened her arms and embraced the boy. His arms wrapped around her waist as if he’d never let go. She felt tears prick her eyes as she breathed in the dusty little-boy smell. How good it felt to hold the child.
“I like you, too, Thomas.” She swallowed against tears that threatened to burst forth. With effort, she removed herself from his hug. Smiling down at him, she added, “It was a special Thanksgiving for me. Thank you for including me.”
“Our first Thanksgiving together …” Thomas tipped his head, peering at her with bright eyes. “Do you figure we’ll always remember it?”
Summer considered the question. It was her first Thanksgiving without her children, her first Thanksgiving away from Boston, her first Thanksgiving as one of God’s children. Her first Thanksgiving with Peter and Thomas Ollenburger. “Yes.” Her lips trembled as she formed a smile. “I will always remember it.”
“Good.” Thomas gave her another impulsive hug, then he headed toward his bedroom. He paused at the door to call back, “Schlop die gesunt, Summer.”
“Schlop die gesunt, Thomas.”
He said good-night to his grandmother and then closed the door.
Summer turned to find Grossmutter behind her. She had forgotten the other woman was in the room, she’d been so caught up with Thomas. The old woman’s gaze seemed to penetrate to Summer’s very soul. Summer held her breath. Would the grandmother be angry with her for hugging the boy?
The grandmother stepped closer, cupped Summer’s cheek with her hand, and spoke soft German words. The gentle wrinkled fingers patted Summer’s face before she removed her hand, clasped it to her shawl, and hobbled into her bedroom.
Summer stared at the woman’s retreating back, replaying the words in her mind. The grandmother was pleased, she realized. The thought brought a rush of gratefulness.
Summer stood in the kitchen for long minutes while images of the day swept over her. Although she would carry many pleasant memories of this day, none could compare with the remembrance of the hug from Thomas at day’s end, followed by the old woman’s open acceptance.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Although she had repeated Thomas’s words—had said, “I like you, Thomas”—she knew her feelings were deeper. She loved the boy. Somehow, in these past weeks, her heart had opened to loving Thomas Ollenburger.
Her breath caught. When she purchased her land and moved into her own little house, she would no longer have this daily contact with Thomas. She knew she didn’t want to leave the boy. But she couldn’t have the boy without the father.
Slowly she removed her coat and hung it up. She stoked the stove, listened briefly at Thomas’s door, smiling when she heard his snore, then entered the room she shared with the grandmother. She slipped into her nightclothes, then climbed between the sheets, her thoughts drifting once more to the father.
She had found her comfort in being in the father’s home. Was she meant to belong in the father’s heart, as well?
Peter lay on the blanket-covered mound of straw, his hands beneath his head, staring at the dark ceiling. A few dancing shadows entertained his tired eyes as his thoughts drifted back over the day.
He could still see Tobias Kraft’s eyebrows rise in surprise when Peter asked whether he thought the Gaedderts would sell Frau Steadman some land on which to build a house. Tobias’s response had caused Peter’s eyebrows to shoot downward: “Her own house she is building? But we thought you intended to have her be with you.”
With him. Married to him, he knew Tobias meant. His face burned with the memory. He had watched the woman all day, staying close in case she needed a friend. She had fit in well with the women—they had seemed to accept her. Was their willingness to do so because they thought she would soon be Mrs. Peter Ollenburger?
He struggled again with figuring out people’s thoughts. At first all were opposed to the woman being at his home. “She is an outsider.” “She is not of our faith.” “She should go back to her own people.” Their comments rang in his head. What had made the change? Had they recognized, as he had, the light of God’s presence shining on her face? Had the visits from the deacons—visits that usually came after the supper hour when he, Grossmutter, the woman, and the boy were all together in the house—finally proven that nothing unseemly occurred beneath his roof? Or were they opening themselves to her out of consideration for him, believing he would make her his wife?
How he wished to be wise enough to understand all things, to be able to say, “Ah, that is so,” and know things.
Summer Steadman was a good woman, that much he did know. She had proven herself a good mother in her kindness toward Thomas. She had proven herself a good wife in her assuming of household duties. But his wife? Did he want her to be his wife?
Images of Elsa played through his mind. So many there were to remember. Elsa the child, with impish grin and dimpled cheeks, flowers in the braids that fell sweetly across her shoulders. Elsa the teenager, peeking at him with fluttering lashes, letting him know she found him pleasing despite his big size and clumsy hands. Elsa the young wife, smiling from the stove or across the table—always smiling. Elsa the new mother, cradling a sleeping Thomas, an expression of tenderness on her face.
How he had loved his Elsa. Even now his heart beat with the memory of the love they had shared. Could he even consider taking another wife? Could he ever love another woman the way he had loved his Elsa?
“Lieber Lord, for sure it would solve problems if we were to wed. Summer Steadman would have a home. Thomas would have a mother. The people in town who point fingers and accuse would have no more grounds to suspect wrongdoing. But I do not know what is your will.” He brought down his hands, thumping the covers in disgust. “And I am too tired to think on it tonight. I give it to you, Lord. You work things out according to what is best for the boy, for the woman, and for me. I sleep.”
Still, it was many hours before Peter was able to sleep. In his mind, images of his dear Elsa kept playing, along with those of Summer Steadman.
22
ON A MORNING IN mid-December, Summer stood at the window and peered out between delicate whorls of hoarfrost. Fresh snowfalls had coated the ground with meringue. The frosty scene made her shiver, and she cupped her hands around the steaming cup of coffee. She whispered a prayer, thanking God for the sturdy roof over her head and the warmth of the Ollenburgers’ stove.
Mr. Ollenburger must have been cold in the barn. Yet what else could they do? The shariah had been turned into kindling, and he couldn’t live in the house while she was in
it. Although he’d never shared what had taken place in the church the Sunday Herr Schmidt had summoned him, she suspected the evening visits from various townsmen were a result of that meeting. Often she prayed that whatever the men were seeking when they tapped on the door and spent a few minutes surveying the room and carrying on stilted conversations with Mr. Ollenburger, the finding would please them.
Releasing a sigh that steamed the windowpane, she turned and seated herself at the table. She traced her finger along the pattern in the table’s wood grain and imagined the house she hoped to build. Would the Gaeddert brothers allow her to buy the land? Her house needed to be started as soon as possible.
Thomas was doing well. If the weather were less frigid, he could make the trek to school each day. School would close down for a lengthy Christmas break soon, but once the break was over in late January, Mr. Ollenburger would surely allow Thomas to go back. What would she do then? Mr. Ollenburger had promised she could stay at his place as long as she needed to, yet she felt bad about displacing him to the barn. The man should be able to reside in his own home.
As if thoughts of him could make him appear, the door swung open and he entered, allowing in a gust of cold air teased with snowflakes. She leaped from the table and rushed to close the door as he stomped snow from his boots.
“Brr!” He shook his head, sending more snowflakes into the room. “It is cold this morning! And the sky looks very gray and threatening in the east. More snow is coming, I predict.”
“Well, we don’t need any more than we’ve got now on this floor.” She grabbed a rag and stooped to clean up the mess. “I just scrubbed the floor yesterday. Couldn’t you stomp off outside?”
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