Waiting for Summer's Return

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Cranky you are this morning, Frau Steadman.”

  At his calmly given statement, warmth flooded her cheeks. Had she really scolded him for mucking up his own floor? If she was being territorial, it was definitely time to move into her own place. She shot to her feet and turned her back on him.

  “I-I apologize for snapping at you. It was foolish of me.”

  He chuckled—a deep, soothing sound. “Ach, nothing foolish about wishing to keep floors clean. Scrubbing is not pleasant. Grateful I am that you do it. I will stomp off outside next time.”

  She peeked at him. He grinned, his eyes sparkling, his nose brighter red than his cheeks. His beard bore tiny droplets of melting ice. He looked very appealing. She managed to squeak, “Thank you.”

  “The wind bites this morning.” He hung his coat, and she scurried to the stove to pour him a cup of coffee. “To town I must go to—” He looked toward Thomas’s door and lowered his voice. “Where is the boy?”

  Summer handed him the cup. “He’s still asleep. He stayed up late last night reading, so I let him sleep in this morning.”

  “And Grossmutter?”

  “I haven’t heard a sound from her, either. The cold seems to bother her in the morning. Perhaps she’s decided to stay beneath the warmth of her covers a bit longer.”

  “That is fine.” He took a noisy slurp of coffee. “I must go to town to pick up packages from Nickels’. Will you see to the boy while I am gone?”

  “Of course I will.” It was no chore to see to Thomas.

  “I pick up the things I order for Christmas.” A grin spread across his face, crinkling his eyes. “Not much longer till Christmas is here.”

  “I was hoping you were going to town today,” she said. “Will you see if my order has come in at Nickels’?” He nodded, and she reached into Elsa Ollenburger’s apron pocket to withdraw an envelope and two pennies. “And would you mail this for me?”

  He took it, looking at the address with his brow furrowed.

  “It’s to my parents-in-law,” she explained. “I want them to know I’m still in Gaeddert should they choose to contact me.”

  “You write, but they do not write back.” Mr. Ollenburger’s face reflected his concern.

  She shrugged, feeling a pang of loneliness. “I didn’t expect them to. Things were strained between Rodney and his parents even before we left. His father made it clear that Rodney was no longer considered a part of his family when we announced our decision to leave. They never cared for me, although I know they loved the children. So I feel obligated to keep in touch with them.”

  “What about your brother? Why do you not write to him, too?” Mr. Ollenburger slid her letter into one of the big front pockets of his coat.

  On the stove, the lid of a pot began to jiggle. Summer returned to the stove and scooped cornmeal into the boiling water. “My brother and his wife took me in after my parents died, but with great reluctance. William was fourteen when I was born, and he married young. We really didn’t know each other. He and his wife had two children by the time my parents died. At first his wife thought I would be helpful with the children, but apparently I didn’t meet her expectations, because I was with them less than a year before they sent me to boarding school. I stayed there until I was sixteen.”

  Mr. Ollenburger leaned against the wall and held his hands out to the stove. “What is this—boarding school?”

  “A school where you live. You don’t just go to class and come home, you stay there.”

  “And this is a good thing?”

  Summer released a brief huff of humorless laughter. “It was better than living with my brother’s wife. But I think it’s a sad thing for children to be away from their families.” Just as it’s a sad thing for parents to be away from their children, her thoughts continued. Were Rodney’s parents finding comfort while missing their son? She wished she knew. Perhaps the contents of her letter—the lesson she had learned by putting her faith in God and giving Him her heartache—would help them.

  She swallowed and went on. “I did receive a very good education, and I’m thankful for that. Education is an important thing.”

  “As important as family?”

  “Nothing is more important than family.” Summer was surprised by the vehemence in her voice.

  “Ja.” Mr. Ollenburger stroked his beard as he peered at her with a thoughtful expression. “How alone you must have felt, away from your parents and brother at that school.”

  Summer stirred the pot. She felt tears pricking at his kind understanding, but she held them at bay. “Less alone than I felt after Rodney and the children died.”

  He touched her arm. “Frau Steadman, how old are you?”

  “I am twenty-nine.” She looked up at him, puzzled by the question. “Why?”

  He removed his hand and slid it into his trouser pocket. “You were a young bride, then.”

  She tipped her head. “Yes, I suppose I was. No one seemed to think I was too young, however. My sister-in-law was very eager to see me wed. She could be rid of me then, you see.” She offered a weak smile.

  “You are still a young woman. Do you—” his ears turned bright red—“do you ever wish to have another family?”

  Immediately she turned her attention to the pot of bubbling cornmeal mush. “I don’t know.” Why was he asking this?

  He moved to the table and sat down, drawing his hand down his beard. “If the Gaeddert boys do not choose to sell you the land, what will you do?”

  The question had plagued her for days, but she hadn’t come up with an answer. She answered the same as she had his previous question. “I don’t know.”

  “Ja, well, not many options are available in Gaeddert, for sure. Let us hope for the best.”

  Summer scooped servings of the mush into bowls and carried them to the table. Mr. Ollenburger offered a brief prayer of thanks, and they picked up spoons and ate in silence. Summer replayed the conversation they had shared. It was more personal than any other. How far their friendship had developed.

  Halfway through breakfast, Mr. Ollenburger said, “I will go see the Gaedderts when in town I am today. Spring will be here before long, and plans you need to be making.”

  A rock settled in her stomach at his words. His questions about her age and her future plans suddenly painted an unpleasant picture. They seemed to indicate an eagerness to see her off on her own. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. The townspeople had certainly put pressure on him to send her from his property. To be truthful, she hadn’t met many people who desired to keep her close. Yet it hurt more, coming from this man who’d always been so kind. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing a silent prayer for God to remind her she was wanted by Him.

  Peter lowered the flaps on his new cap to cover his ears, then hunched his shoulders to bring the jacket up around his neck. The wind still managed to sneak beneath the fabric and send chills down his body. Inside his gloves, his fingers felt stiff, and he could hardly wait to reach Gaeddert and Nickels’ Dry Goods, where he could stand beside the fire and thaw out.

  All the woman had shared with him this morning burdened his heart. His childhood had not always been easy—people taunted his big size and clumsiness, and often unkindness touched his family because their beliefs were different. Nevertheless, he had been loved and wanted. First by his parents, then by his Elsa, and now by his dear son and community. And of course he had known always of God’s love for him, which touched him deep below the skin.

  This woman, though …

  “Why, dear Lord, did you take her husband and children when so little she had to love her?” he wondered aloud. His breath created a steamy cloud of moisture that clung to his beard and froze, making his face feel stiff. “Was it the only way you had to reach her? I do not understand your ways, Lord, but I trust you have plan in mind for her. She is special woman.”

  His heart tripped at his own words. So often he found himself admiring her. He clenched his fist arou
nd the whip. “But do I love her?” His breath came faster, stinging his nose as he sucked in frigid air. “I do not even know my own heart, God. You must help me.”

  In town, he stopped the team in front of Nickels’ and pushed himself from the seat. Stiff from the cold, he moved slower than usual as he entered the store. The warmth enveloped him, and he drew a grateful breath to be out of the weather. Nick was helping another customer, so Peter went to the stove to warm his hands and wait his turn. The heat sent needles of pain through his fingers, and he rubbed his palms together, clenching his teeth against the discomfort. By the time Nick joined him, his hands had adjusted and no longer prickled.

  “Guten morgen, Peter,” Nick greeted. “You have come for your Christmas packages?”

  “Ja. The bicycle, it has come?”

  Nick crooked a finger. “Come see.” He guided Peter to the storeroom.

  Peter admired the shiny metal of the bicycle. Jet black and sleek, with nickel-plated handlebars and a soft leather seat, it was sized for a boy. Peter could not stop the smile from building as he imagined Thomas’s joy on Christmas morning. He patted the seat, nodding. “Ja, this is fine one.”

  “I ordered some rubber tires in the size to fit the bicycle, in case the pneumatic tires do not hold up to our rough roads,” Nick said. “They are here if you need them.”

  “That is kind of you. Danke.” Peter rolled the bicycle to the counter and put down the little kickstand to hold it in place. “The other things, they are all here?”

  Nick nodded. He hefted a package from behind the counter, thumping it onto the countertop. He disappeared again, then emerged with a second bundle. “This is Frau Steadman’s order. You will take it, as well?”

  “Ja, I will do that.” He patted the brown-paper-wrapped bundle. What was inside? Things for the boy, probably. “I thank you for your help in making it a happy Christmas for my boy.” Peter paused, biting the inside of his lip. He wished it to be a happy Christmas for the woman, too. If the Gaedderts said yes on the land, knowing she would have a place of her own would be gift enough. But if they said no …

  “I want to see picture frames,” Peter said.

  Nick strode to a shelf at the front of the store. “Standing or hanging?”

  “I think … hanging,” Peter decided, looking at the selection. “But size I do not know.” It had been too long since he’d held that scrap of paper that had blown down by the river, but he knew the woman kept it between the pages of the Bible he had given her. He wished he had sneaked a look at it before coming to town.

  He examined the variety of frames and finally eliminated some as too small and others as too large. Finally he picked up one made of stained oak with roses carved into the corners. It reminded him of the design on her chair. And it was oak—a good, solid choice.

  He held it up to Nick. “If this is not right size, can I bring it back and choose another?”

  “Of course.” Nick took it from him. “Do you want me to wrap it?”

  “Ja. Do you have pretty paper? Something red or with flowers?”

  Nick rummaged beneath the counter and emerged with a piece of pale green paper bearing red roses. “How is this?”

  Peter beamed. “That is perfect.” He watched as Nick flattened the paper on the countertop and laid the frame on it. “I have errand to run.” He would visit Heinrich Gaeddert and see if a decision had been made. “I will pick these things up before I leave town. That will be all right?”

  “Of course. I’ll have it all by the door, ready to go. I would not dally, though, Peter. Frau Nickels’ knee tells her a storm is brewing, and she has never been wrong.”

  “I will not dally. Danke.” Buttoning his coat and putting on his hat and gloves, he prayed silently that this next errand would be as successful as the first one. He wanted the woman’s future to be better than her past. As he reached for the door, it suddenly swung inward, knocking Peter’s hand aside.

  A youngster charged into the store. “There is trouble!” His cheeks and ears were red with cold, his eyes watery.

  Nick rounded the counter. “What is it?”

  The boy leaned forward, taking great heaving breaths. “Herr Schmidt—that fancy buggy of his—it slid off the road and is caught in a snowbank. His horse cannot free it. The animal—we fear it will harm itself trying.”

  Peter’s heart turned over as he considered the plight of the poor horse. He tugged his hat more securely over his ears, then took the boy by the arm. “You show me where the buggy is. My oxen can pull it free.”

  The boy looked at him in surprise. “You will help Herr Schmidt? After all he has—”

  “Show me.” Peter shook the boy’s arm. “I will not allow the animal to work itself to death.”

  The boy nodded and led Peter out the door.

  23

  THE WIND SCREAMED like a wild animal and made the house tremble. The walls seemed to groan against the pressure of the wind until Summer was certain they would collapse like the walls of the shariah. She shivered even near the cookstove, although she knew it wasn’t the cold that caused her to shake. It was fear.

  Where was he? More than enough time had passed for Mr. Ollenburger to make it to town and back. What if he’d lost his way in that violently blowing snow? She’d heard of such things happening. After having been in the raging storm herself only long enough to go to the henhouse and secure the door, she understood how it could happen. What relief had washed over her when she’d stumbled into the back corner of the house. Another few feet to the left and … She shuddered. She didn’t want to consider what might have happened.

  If the storm claimed him, what would happen to Thomas? Grossmutter couldn’t care for him alone. Another shudder shook her, and she hugged herself. She turned her attention to Thomas, who stood by the window, his nose pressed to the frosty pane. He had shoved the curtains aside and scratched a tiny peephole in the frost.

  Summer crossed the floor, boards squeaking beneath her feet, and stopped behind him. She gave his shoulders—surprisingly solid for one so young—a firm squeeze and smiled down at him. “Don’t worry. Your father is a strong, intelligent man. He knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be in soon, hungry as a bear. Which reminds me … shouldn’t we start supper?”

  The boy kept staring out the window. Summer looked, too, but she could see nothing beyond the swirl of white frost.

  “Come, Thomas. The smell of supper will surely entice your father to come in.”

  From her chair, Grossmutter murmured something, holding her hand toward Thomas. The boy sighed and went to her, taking her hand. He looked at Summer. “What will we make?” His voice held little interest.

  Somehow she had to get Thomas focused on something besides his father. She remembered a game she’d played with Vincent and Rose. “I know what we can do. We can make a surprise supper.”

  The boy tipped his head. “What’s that?”

  “Go down in the cellar and stand in front of the shelves. Close your eyes, then reach out until you touch two jars. Whatever your fingers find, bring up. Then we’ll use it to make a surprise supper.”

  If she thought this game would bring a smile to Thomas’s face, she was wrong.

  “All right, Summer.” He pulled his hand from Grossmutter’s grasp and spoke in German to her. She nodded, and the boy moved to the trapdoor that led to the cellar.

  Summer took hold of the metal pull ring and, with a grunt, heaved the door open. Thomas headed down the steep stairs. “Remember,” she warned, “no peeking!”

  From the depths of the cellar, she heard his reply. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

  Summer moved to the window, scratched away a larger area with her fingernail, and peeked through the glass. The light was fading as evening approached, but the brightness of the blowing snow hid the late hour. Oh, Peter, where are you?

  “You’re worried, too, aren’t you?”

  Summer spun to find Thomas beside the cellar doo
r, two quart jars in his hands. Had she spoken the words aloud? She forced a smile and rushed toward him, hands outstretched. “Let me see what you found. Oh! Carrots and tomatoes. Why, that’s the start of a wonderful soup, Thomas. Can you go back down once more and bring me some potatoes and an onion? The bin up here is empty. I’ll stoke the fire.”

  Thomas nodded and disappeared into the cellar again. Summer pulled three more logs from the woodbox and laid them atop the snapping blaze. She was glad Mr. Ollenburger had filled the box before leaving for town. There was enough wood to last through tomorrow and into the next day, if necessary. How long could a Kansas blizzard last? She retrieved a kettle from the shelf above the stove and dipped water from the bucket. Another thought struck—the water bucket was nearly empty. What would they do when it was gone? There wasn’t time to dwell on it, for Thomas reappeared, struggling up the cellar steps with his burden.

  He cradled several potatoes and one onion, its long tail of greens now brown and dry. He dropped the vegetables on the table and brushed off the front of his overalls.

  Summer closed the cellar door. “Thank you, Thomas. Let’s rub these potatoes well with a rag”—she dared not waste water washing them—“and get them boiling with the onion. We’ll have a fine surprise soup for supper!”

  The boy’s eyes appeared much older than his not-quite-ten years. “You’re not fooling me, Summer. I know you’re thinking Pa’s stuck out in that storm, too.” Tears filled his eyes and spilled over, trailing down his round cheeks in two thin rivulets. “Will you pray for Pa? I’m really scared.”

  Summer pointed inanely at the potatoes. “Why-why don’t you and your grandmother pray while I get the soup started?”

  The boy shook his head, a thick shock of hair falling across his forehead. It made him look even more like his father. “I can’t eat anything. My stomach feels funny—like there’s rocks inside it. I won’t be able to eat until I feel better.” He took a step toward her, the tears still wet on his cheeks. “Please, Summer?”

  An ache filled Summer’s chest. So far all her prayers had been met with a resounding no. Only the one for God to enter her heart had been answered with a yes. What if she prayed and God said no this time, too? Could she bear the hurt this child would feel if her prayers were as useless as those she’d uttered for her own family? Still, looking into Thomas’s pleading face, she couldn’t deny his request.