She guided him to Grandmother’s corner, where they knelt together on the braided rug, facing each other. Grossmutter held out her hands from her seat in her chair, and they formed a circle by joining hands.
Though her stomach churned, Summer closed her eyes and began. “Dear God …” Her voice trembled. She clung to Thomas and Grossmutter. Their grips tightened, encouraging her. “Dear God, we come to you today because … because we are worried. Mr. Ollenburger—Peter—is somewhere in the storm. We don’t know where. But … but you do.” A feeling of peace crept through her heart as she realized what she’d just said. “God is a God who knows.”
Squeezing Thomas’s cold hand, she heard her voice gain strength. “Wherever he is, please keep him safe and warm. Let no harm come to him. And let him find his way to the house again. In your name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” the grandmother echoed.
Summer opened her eyes. Thomas’s eyes still glittered with tears. He used the backs of his wrists to remove the moisture.
“Thank you, Summer.”
“You’re welcome. We’ve done all we can. Now, let’s get that soup started.”
She and the boy worked in silence as they scrubbed potatoes with clean rags and cut them into bite-sized pieces. Soon the boiling water steamed the kitchen, leaving a fine mist of moisture hanging in the air. Still the wind blew, causing the house to creak and moan in protest. Summer found herself silently praying the walls would hold. Even as she prayed, her heart begged, Don’t say no! Please, God, don’t say no!
While the potatoes boiled, Thomas roamed from window to window. Summer finally decided something must be done to distract the boy.
“Thomas, what games do you have in your bedroom?”
“Games?” He turned a quizzical look in her direction. “I have blocks, and an iron horse and wagon, two puzzles, and books.”
“No jacks? Or a checkerboard?”
He shook his head.
Summer had ordered the card game Authors, a tiddledywinks set, and a new shirt in addition to a fine dictionary for Thomas for Christmas. These items were with Mr. Ollenburger right now, wherever he was.
“Do you have colored chalk crayons?”
The boy nodded.
“Get your paper tablet and chalks. We’ll make a checkerboard. A boy your age should know how to play checkers.”
“Did your son know how to play checkers?”
Summer’s heart constricted, but she smiled, remembering sitting on the opposite side of the wooden checkerboard in their parlor in Boston with Vincent. “Yes, my son was a champion checkers player.”
“Then I reckon I can do it, too.” His voice finally held a hint of interest.
It took the better part of an hour to create a paper checkerboard, colored with squares of brown and red, and cut out enough circles to play the game. They used the crayons to make a red R or brown B on the front of the circles to denote the difference between the two, then put a red or brown K on the backs in case the checker made it all the way across and became kinged.
Grandmother seemed especially interested in the process, leaning forward and asking questions of Thomas, which he in turn asked Summer. When she replied, he translated the answer into German. It made for a lengthy conversation, but Summer didn’t mind. It cheered her to have the old woman pay so much attention and speak more frequently than she had since Summer’s arrival.
Although the homemade game was simple, it worked. She and Thomas played checkers until the soup was finished. She dished up steaming bowls for the three of them, and they ate in companionable conversation, continuing the question-translate-answer-translate pattern. When they were finished eating, Summer washed the few dishes, and then she and the boy played checkers again.
Thomas picked up the strategies quickly, as Summer had expected he would, and he beat her as many times as he lost. She feigned great disgust when he won, vowing to get him next time. To her relief, the boy laughed and teased, apparently forgetting the worry about his father.
Grossmutter laughed, too, smiling in pleasure from her chair. Her smiles gradually faded to wide yawns, and at last she rose, releasing a sigh. Thomas gave her a good-night hug, and the two engaged in a whispered conversation before the woman kissed his cheek and headed to her bedroom.
Thomas set up the checkerboard again, grinning across the table. “I’m gonna get at least three kings this time!” But when the hour of bedtime slipped past and still Mr. Ollenburger hadn’t returned, not even winning checkers could ease the boy’s fears. He shifted from his chair across the table and sat down next to her. “Summer, do you really think Pa is safe?”
Summer gave a wayward lock of his hair a gentle tug. “I believe your father will come tramping through that door any minute, his beard covered with icicles and his nose as red as a ripe cherry. He’ll demand a bowl of soup and a big chunk of bread, and he’ll scold us all for worrying even one minute about him.” Her heart pounded. She hoped the words had sounded more certain than she felt.
“You like my pa, don’t you?” A tentative smile appeared on the corners of Thomas’s lips.
Summer gave his hair a brief tousle before curling her hand into her lap. “He’s a fine man. You should be proud of him.”
“I am.” The boy scooted closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder. “If … if Pa doesn’t make it home, will you stay and take care of me, Summer?”
She shrugged her shoulder, dislodging the boy. “You listen to me, Thomas Ollenburger. Don’t you give up on your father. Didn’t we pray for God to keep him safe? Don’t you think your father is praying the same thing? I don’t want you to even ask questions like that. They aren’t needed.” Her surety surprised her. When had she stopped worrying God might answer this prayer with a no?
The boy looked at her with wide, hurt eyes.
“Besides,” she finished in a kinder tone, “I promised your pa I would see to you. You have nothing to worry about. You’ll be cared for.”
He nodded solemnly and then rose. “There’s a chamber pot under my bed. Don’t reckon we’ll be going to the outhouse tonight.”
Summer listened to the wind, which continued to howl like a hundred hungry wolves. “No, we won’t. I’m glad you’re resourceful enough to have a chamber pot available.”
“Grossmutter has one, too.”
“Good. We’ll be taken care of, then.” It amazed her she could carry on a conversation about chamber pots without blushing in shame. Her sister-in-law would be appalled, but it made Summer want to giggle.
Thomas disappeared into his room. When he emerged several minutes later, he was in his nightshirt. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Schlop die gesunt, Summer.”
She hugged him back, even delivering a kiss above his ear. “You, too. Have good dreams. No worrying, all right?”
He nodded, yawned, and padded back to the bedroom. Before going in, he paused. “May I leave the door open? That way I’ll hear Pa when he comes back.”
Summer sent him a smile. He was thinking positively now. “That’s a fine idea. You’ll also be warmer.”
Thomas gave a little wave and stepped into his room. Summer heard his bed squeak as he settled himself, and then there was silence inside the house. She poured a cup of coffee. By now it had steeped for several hours and was strong enough to make her tongue tingle, but it would keep her awake. She didn’t intend to sleep until Mr. Ollenburger was safely home.
She retrieved the woven blanket from her bed and draped it around her shoulders. Turning her chair to face the door, she seated herself and lifted the cup of coffee to her lips. She blew on the thick brew before taking a sip. Grimacing, she lowered the cup to her lap. The warmth from the mug felt good against her hands.
She kept her gaze on the window, which was completely coated with frost, as she listened to the complaints of the wind and let her thoughts drift to Mr. Ollenburger. While worry still pinched her heart, she knew if anyone could survive this storm, he c
ould. Besides, who was to say he wasn’t still in Gaeddert, snug and warm at someone’s house, worrying about her, Grandmother, and Thomas? She smiled, imagining him pacing back and forth, his thundering voice repeating, “I must to get home. My son will be worryful.”
She let her eyes slide closed, and she whispered to the empty room. “Dear God, I’m new at praying. I’m probably not very good at it, either. But Mr. Ollenburger has convinced me you hear my every prayer. For Thomas’s sake, let his father come home again. Losing those you love hurts so much….” Her throat tightened. “So please, God, if at all possible, spare Thomas that pain. I trust you to do what’s best. Thank you. Amen.”
It felt good to give it to God—to trust Him to meet her needs. She rested her head against the padded back of the chair and closed her eyes. A soft snore came from Thomas’s bedroom, and she smiled. “Schlop die gesunt, Thomas,” she whispered. “And schlop die gesunt, Mr. Ollenburger, wherever you are.”
24
SUMMER WOKE WITH a jerk. The half-empty mug in her lap tipped, spilling the remainder of the coffee across her dress and the blanket. She grabbed the cup and sucked in her breath as the cold liquid soaked through to her skin. Morning sunlight backlit the thick swirling feathers of frost on the window, the bright white stabbing her eyes. A dull pain throbbed in the back of her skull. She released a light moan as she struggled out of the chair and deposited the cup on the table.
Squinting against the light, one hand pressed to her temple and the other holding her wet skirt away from her thighs, she approached the window. Thomas’s peephole was completely sealed over, the frost layer there less thick than elsewhere on the window. She scraped that area clean again and peered outside.
The bright sun made her grimace as the throbbing in her temples increased in intensity. The snowfall had stopped, but the fiercely blowing wind whipped snow into little cyclones of white crystals. Steep drifts that resembled raging ocean waves slanted against the sides of buildings and appeared to climb tree trunks. Although it hurt to look out into the overwhelming brightness of sun on snow, she forced herself to search for some evidence of life.
But there was no wagon, no oxen. No big bear of a man.
She sighed, turning from the window, and rubbed both temples.
Thomas appeared in his doorway, hugging himself, hunched forward. “Morning, Summer.” His voice sounded raspy from sleep. “Has the snow stopped?”
“It’s stopped coming down,” she answered, “but it’s still blowing. I’ve never seen so much snow. Take a look.”
Thomas tiptoed across the cold floor and peeked out the hole. He spun, turning to her with excited eyes. “I bet it’s higher than my head in some places! Pa and me could build a really good snow cave.” Then his expression clouded over. “Except Pa’s not here, is he?”
Summer squeezed his shoulder. “Not yet. But since the snow has stopped falling, he should be able to come home now.”
“How?” Thomas pointed out the window. “Look at all that! Roth and Gaert can’t pull the wagon through it. Wherever he is, he’s stuck, for sure.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to pray for the snow to melt so he can come home,” she said firmly. “Should we do that before or after we get dressed for the day and start breakfast?”
“Let’s pray first.” He clasped his hands beneath his chin, closed his eyes, and dove directly into a prayer. “Dear God, Pa’s stuck away from us, and we miss him. I don’t see how he can get through that snow. There’s sure a lot of it. Would you please make enough of it go away for Pa to get home? Thanks, God. Amen.”
The innocence of children, Summer thought. “That was a perfect prayer, Thomas. Now, put on your warmest pants and shirt. Then we’ll see what we can scrounge up for breakfast. Cornmeal mush, probably, since I won’t have to go to the henhouse for eggs to make it.”
“And some fried potatoes?” The boy looked hopeful. “Pa likes fried potatoes and onions for breakfast. We should have it ready for him.”
Summer nodded, even though she was afraid it would be well past breakfast before the man arrived. Cold fried potatoes and onions didn’t seem appealing, but if it would make Thomas feel better, she would fry a panful. “Of course. Now get dressed.”
He padded back to his bedroom as the grandmother entered the kitchen, her shawl held around her shoulders. She pointed at Summer’s coffee-stained clothes, her eyebrows raised high in question. Summer nodded, acknowledging she knew she should change her dress. First, though, she took time to stoke the fire.
When Summer returned to the kitchen after changing her clothes, Grossmutter was picking potatoes from the bin in the corner. Summer gave the old woman a smile as she took the potatoes and began scrubbing them for frying. As she worked, her thoughts drifted outside. How had the hens fared against last night’s storm? And Thomas’s poor Daisy. She would need to be fed and watered. Thomas couldn’t see to those chores—the last time he’d gotten chilled, he’d become ill. Mr. Ollenburger would probably not be back until late. The only person left to see to the animals was her.
Well, she told herself firmly as she thumped the scrubbed potatoes into a bowl, if I’m going to live on this prairie from now on, I’ve got to learn to take care of things for myself. Now is as good a time to learn as any.
What had she heard about precautions for snowstorms? Rope … Rope leading from the house to outbuildings.
“Thomas! Might there be a length of rope in this cellar of yours?”
“Herr Gaeddert, to home I must go. My boy, he will be very much worried about me.”
By the time Peter’s oxen had managed to pull the Schmidts’ horse and buggy from the snowbank, the storm Frau Nickels’s knee had predicted had struck with force, preventing Peter from going home. He appreciated Heinrich Gaeddert’s kindness in putting him up for the night, but he did not wish to remain any longer than necessary. He paced across the sitting room of Herr Gaeddert’s home, his hands deep in his pockets for lack of something better to do with them. Always his hands were busy—they were working hands—and idleness was not easy to bear.
“Now, Peter, I understand you do not want to worry your boy, but you said yourself the boy’s great-grandmother and the Steadman woman are with him. He is cared for. Going out in that snow would be foolhardy at best.”
Herr Gaeddert’s calm voice did nothing to alleviate Peter’s worry. It was not only the boy that concerned him, although Thomas was first on his list. There were the animals, the woodbox, the water bucket. So many things he saw to each day.
“Sit down here, Peter, and let us look at this map of Gaeddert land holdings.” Heinrich held up a roll of parchment as he gestured to the sofa. “If the Steadman woman plans to purchase a plot, I need to make sure I understand which plot.”
Peter blew out his breath. He reminded himself this was an errand he needed to complete. If he could not make it home right away, at least he could do this for the woman. “All right, Herr Gaeddert. I show you where the graves are found.” Peter traced the Cottonwood River to the location of the Steadman gravesites. The two men drew a box on the map that would include the graves and one more plot, giving the woman enough space for a house, a garden, and a henhouse, as well as a small barn. Peter was glad the plot was near the river. Water would not be difficult to find, and perhaps it could even be pumped to the house to make things easier for her. A woman faring alone would need as many conveniences as possible.
“Now, this I must ask you,” Heinrich said when the land decisions had been made, “does the woman intend to become a member of Kleine Gemeinde?”
Peter nodded solemnly. “She has prayed the prayer of accepting salvation. I have seen evidence of it. She will be baptized and ask to be admitted as member.”
Heinrich leaned back and stroked his graying beard. “This is good. It was important to my father that Gaeddert be a haven for our people. He would not welcome outsiders with new ideas. If she is willing to accept our values and our doctrine, then I do not see that
my brother Bernard would argue against it.”
“Then you will sell the woman this land?” Peter wanted a clear answer.
“Ja, I think we will.” Heinrich rolled the map and put it on the desk that stood in the corner of the room. “How will she care for herself there? There is not enough land to farm. Does she have other skills?”
“A good teacher she is,” Peter said, “and she sews. We are praying she will find the means to support herself. She is strong woman—stronger than she looks. God will make a way for her, for sure.” He rose and went back to the window. He slid his hands back into his pockets. “And I must trust God to make a way home for me. Very soon.”
Summer’s ears had stung so much for the first half hour she thought she might cry out. But now they were numb, like her hands, which made it hard to finish her tasks. She set her jaw, prayed for strength, and continued. Daisy had plenty of fresh water and hay, the chickens were fed and watered, and she had even laid out hay in the oxen’s stalls to save Mr. Ollenburger the trouble when he finally returned.
The rope Thomas had retrieved from the cellar proved to be too short to reach clear to the barn, but she found a full bale of rope in the barn and rolled it out to meet the shorter piece, tying the ends together in a clumsy knot she prayed would hold. She looped the rope behind the henhouse so a person could follow it to both outbuildings. She smiled with pride at her ingenuity.
After caring for the animals, she carried in the essentials. Her fingers, layered in Thomas’s gloves under her mittens, were uncooperative, and it took much longer than she wanted, but it had to be done. Thomas had found two extra buckets in the cellar, and she filled them with water from the well. Then she hauled in firewood—three to four pieces at a time—until the woodbox heaped once more. Only one thing left to do.
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