Summer tipped her head in that way she did when she was ready to listen. “Were you all caught up or do we have some extra homework tonight?”
The rock shrank when he heard the word we. She was still willing to help him. Just like a ma would be. “I am all caught up, and Mr. Funk said I am near the sixth grade level in arithmetic. He said I made good use of my time at home, and he is proud of me.” Thomas didn’t tell them Rupert had called him “teacher’s pet.”
“That’s wonderful, Thomas.” Summer smiled at him with her eyes all crinkly. “I’m proud of you, too.”
Thomas finally allowed himself to feel proud. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, you put that animal in the corral and let her run. She needs to stretch her legs after being tethered all day,” Pa instructed. “Then come inside. Gruznikje are on the table.”
Ammonia cookies! His favorite. Thomas’s mouth watered at the thought of biting into one of the big soft peppermint-flavored cookies. “Yes, sir!”
He stayed still long enough to watch his father turn to Summer and gesture toward the kitchen. Summer smiled up at Pa, and Pa touched her back as he followed her into the house.
Thomas’s heart pounded hard in his chest. They had looked just like Toby’s parents there on the stoop side-by-side and then going into the house together. He’d keep praying. Didn’t his Bible say the prayers of a righteous man availeth much? Maybe he wasn’t a man yet, but Pa had always told him God looked on a person’s heart. Thomas was righteous. His prayers would avail much, too.
“Let’s go, Daisy.” Thomas clicked his tongue and turned Daisy toward the corral. As long as Summer was here, there was still hope.
“Today, Peter? Really?”
Summer could hardly believe what she’d just heard. Her house could be started!
“Ja, today. Enough rock has been collected. Herr Kraft, Herr Ratzlaff, and Herr Hett have all said today they will help. So the foundation will be laid. You come so you show how you want the house to sit on the land.”
Summer dashed across the room to retrieve her coat. “It will face west so I can sit on the porch in the evening and watch the sunset. Kansas has the most beautiful sunsets.” Fastening her buttons, she turned to him eagerly. “Will we be ready to start building it tomorrow, then?”
Peter laughed, his eyes sparkling. “The wood is yet to be cut. This takes time. But in two weeks or so, by end of February? Ja, I think building will start. So ready you are to be out of my house?”
“I must sound like an impatient child.” She hugged herself. “Oh, I can hardly believe—my own house!” She removed his coat from its hook and pushed it at him. “Put this on and let’s go!” She dashed out the door with Peter behind her.
On the way to her land, she examined the house plan again. It was a small house, she acknowledged—nothing like the two-story Queen Anne in Boston—but it had a nice floor plan. If it faced west, as she desired, the south half would have the sitting room, dining room, and kitchen all arranged shotgun style from front to back. The north half would have two bedrooms with a small bathing room between them.
Summer had insisted on two things when choosing a plan—a dining room and a wraparound porch. Since the plan had three larger rooms on one side and three smaller rooms on the other, she would have her wraparound porch in front and also a small stoop leading to the kitchen at the rear of the house. The cellar would be outside the kitchen door. It was a good arrangement. Summer was pleased with her choice.
When the wagon rolled to a stop near the gravesites, the other men were waiting. Peter jumped down and then reached for her. The moment her feet touched the ground, she hurried to the others and beamed at each in turn. “Thank you so much for helping.”
Tobias Kraft removed his hat when speaking to her. “Helping neighbors is an easy thing. My Katherine sent a basket lunch for us, and she said to tell you the jar of pickled beets is to go home for your supper.”
Summer smiled her thanks as Peter came up behind her. He held several wooden stakes and a roll of twine in his large hands.
“Frau Steadman”—he always used her proper name when with people from town—“you show us now how far from the graves you want the house. Then we will begin digging to set the rocks.”
Summer scurried around, pointing to her choice of location. She listened to the men discuss why it should be shifted six feet to the north, nodded in agreement, then stood to the side with her hands clasped beneath her chin as the real work began. The men measured for the foundation using Herr Kraft’s measuring rule. They set the stakes and twine to show where the foundation must go, then Herr Ratzlaff and Herr Hett dug a gully in which Peter and Herr Kraft could set the rocks.
Summer trotted alongside Peter as he carried a large rock from a pile near the road. “Where did all these rocks come from?”
“Fields,” he huffed. “When farmers plow, they find them. Every farm has a rock pile. Then, when one is preparing to build, the rocks are collected for foundation. Works well.”
She nodded, turning with him back toward the rock pile. But he put his hand on her coat sleeve.
“Frau Steadman, I do not wish for you to be injured. Please sit off to the side for your watching.”
Although disappointed, she understood the sense of his direction. She sat near the graves and watched. Slowly, rock by rock, they laid the foundation for the house and porch. As the morning progressed, despite the chill air, the men shed their coats and worked in shirtsleeves beneath the azure sky. When the sun shone straight overhead, she brought out the basket lunch from the Kraft wagon and served the men. They ate quickly and returned to work.
By the time school was letting out, they were finished. The sweaty men loaded up the tools they had brought and donned their coats. Summer thanked them all again and told them their families would be welcome to visit anytime. After good-byes were exchanged, Peter and Summer were left alone.
Summer walked around the periphery of the foundation, imagining the inside rooms and the porches. With the rocks outlining the house, it was all so much more real than it had been on paper. She hugged herself, smiling.
“Summer, may I ask you a question?” Peter stood behind her right shoulder.
She squinted against the sun and gave a slight nod.
“That big space”—he pointed toward the graves—“between your husband’s grave and the grave of your oldest girl. Why is it there?”
“I left room for myself, of course. It seemed appropriate, considering I didn’t really want to live.” She squatted down, running her hand over the row of rocks by her feet.
Peter hunkered next to her, his forearms on his bent knees. “You wished to die?”
She plucked at a blade of brown grass caught between stones. “I could see no reason for living. My children were gone, Rodney was gone, I knew neither my brother nor Rodney’s parents would welcome me and so …” She raised her shoulders in a brief shrug. “So death seemed the best choice.”
“Is that why you would not eat?”
She considered his question. Though it hadn’t been a conscious thought, perhaps unconsciously she had hoped the lack of food would lead to her death. “Yes.” She felt a small smile tug at her lips. “But you manipulated me.”
He raised his chin and laughed. “Nein, I prayed for way to get you to eat. God manipulated you.”
She shook her head. “No, He simply reached out to me in the form of a big tender-hearted man and a dear little boy who offered me a reason to live.” She touched his arm with her gloved hand. “Thank you, Peter.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in a big swallow. “To be the bringer of God’s love to a person is a humbling thing. Thank you for telling me this.”
“You’re welcome.”
He added, “You have done much for us, too. I say thank you.”
She took in a deep breath through her nose as her gaze swung across the grounds that would be her new home. “And I can’t believe how much God has done for me.” Sh
e patted a rock and stood up, brushing off her skirt. “But now we’d better head back so we’re there when Thomas returns home.”
Peter rose, and they walked toward the wagon. She asked, “Will we be able to bring him back out and let him see where the house will be?”
Peter shook his head, regret in his eyes. “The days are still too short. Evening will be upon us. But on Saturday, when school he does not have, we will bring him. Herr Kraft said he would be available that day to help dig. Much must be dug—a well, a pit for the outhouse, a cellar. I do not much care for digging.”
Summer laughed at the face he made. “I’ll help as much as I can.”
His eyes twinkled. “A little colt like you could not break the soil. Even for me, who is used to heavy labor, it is hard.” He helped her into the wagon. “The ground is still hard from the cold. We set fires to soften the ground first, then dig.”
At the mention of fires, Summer’s stomach quivered. Although no evidence of the ash pile that was once her wagon and belongings still existed, the memories were still in her mind. It was difficult for her to walk past that spot without experiencing a pang of loss.
Peter heaved himself into the wagon. He looked at her, and his brow furrowed. “You are troubled again.”
She tried to relax her expression. “No, I was just thinking of …”
Understanding dawned across his face. “Fires.”
She nodded, biting down on her lip. “I’m sure that seems child—”
“Not childish.” His firm tone cut her off. “Maybe it would be better if you did not come for the burning.”
“No. Right now only bad memories are associated with the idea of a fire. But the fire you’re planning is to build something, to put something together.” She stopped as an idea entered her mind. “Oh, Peter. Ashes …” She touched her lips with her fingers. “Ashes can’t be put back together again, remember?”
“Ja, I remember.”
“But these ashes—these ashes will be building ashes.” Peace flooded through her at the realization. “They are needed to build the home of my new beginning.”
He smiled at her, unspeaking, but she sensed he understood her jumbled thoughts.
She pressed her hands together, pushing them between her knees as he started the oxen in motion. “As soon as the house is finished, the very first thing I will hang on the wall is the frame you gave me, with the page from Rodney’s Bible inside. It will be my reminder that with God, ashes can be put back together again. Not in the same form they were before the fire, but refined.”
29
SUMMER WAITED OUTSIDE the church, her coat pulled tight across her chest. Inside, the congregation voted. If the majority voted yes, Summer would become an official member of the Gaeddert Kleine Gemeinde. If the majority voted no, she could attend services but not be an active participant. How she wanted to belong! Her heart ached with the desire for the vote to be yes.
The door squeaked, and she spun. Tobias Kraft stood in the doorway. Her heart pounded. He offered a smile and nod. The vote had gone in her favor. She was a member! With light steps she returned to the sanctuary, where Mr. Kraft escorted her to the front of the church. It was easier to face the congregation now than it had been earlier, when she’d shared her conversion and her reasons for desiring membership.
Reverend Enns shook her hand, welcoming her into the fold. He turned to the members. “Frau Summer Steadman, a member of our flock.”
How the words warmed her. She allowed herself to search each face. A few still held frowns—those of the Schmidt and Penner families—but most smiled as she made eye contact, offering support. She looked at Peter and Thomas, and she couldn’t stop the smile that rounded her cheeks at the glowing expressions on those two dear faces.
As they left the church, Peter and Thomas on one side and Lena on the other, Summer laughed. “Well, Mr. Ollenburger, I am now a member of a church whose language I do not speak.” She shrugged within the confines of her coat. “But I trust I can still depend on you to share the Bible references from the sermons with me. I’ll continue to study on my own.”
“That will not be necessary, Frau Steadman.” The deep voice came from behind them. Peter and Summer turned to find the minister on their heels. “In addition to the vote we took for your membership, other business we did, too. We voted to give sermons in English so you could understand what is spoken. The congregation held long talk on this, but they agree your growth is more important than hearing the words in German.”
Summer’s heart turned over in gratefulness. The fact that these people were willing to make this change for her spoke deeply of their loosening of fears. She thought of Lena, who did not understand English. Had she voted to use English so Summer would understand?
She took the old woman’s bony hand. Lena smiled, squeezing her hand in response. Summer turned back to the minister. “Thank you so much, Reverend Enns. I appreciate your kindness.”
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Still we will sing our hymns in German and read the Bible verses in German. But I will give reference in English so you can follow the reading.”
“A perfect compromise.”
Thomas tugged her sleeve. “Summer, the Krafts want to know if we’ll come for faspa.” He pointed across the yard. Katherine and Tobias waited with expectant faces. She gave a nod. “If it’s all right with your father, I would be delighted.”
“Is it okay, Pa?”
“Ja. It is fine.”
Thomas scampered off.
The warmth of acceptance carried Summer through the remainder of the week. Peter took her to the building site every afternoon so she could watch the progress of her house. It delighted her to walk across the sturdy planked floor, giggling as she slipped between the studs that would support the lath-and-plaster walls rather than using openings that would eventually be doorways.
On Wednesday she insisted on taking cookies and tea to the structure. She, Peter, and Thomas sat on the porch and enjoyed an after-school snack. Peter teased her about using a porch that was only a floor, but she merely laughed.
“It won’t always be only a floor, and I want to remember each moment of this home’s creation. It’s my very first, you know.”
Thomas gave her a puzzled look. “You’ve had houses before.”
“Yes,” she agreed, tweaking his nose. “But this is the first that’s been truly mine. Every other house has belonged to someone else—my parents, my brother, my husband, you and your father.” She threw her arms out and drew in a breath, reveling in the smell of new wood, musty earth, and clean air. “This one is really, truly mine in every sense.”
As Saturday neared, Summer vacillated between two desires. Although she wanted to be at the house when her cellar and outhouse were dug, she had an errand to tend—a secret she hoped would be well received. But it would require time away from the Ollenburgers. She knew it wouldn’t be troublesome for Peter to drop her at the Kraft farm when he headed to her land Saturday morning, yet she feared he would worry she was still troubled by seeing fire.
She tossed the ideas back and forth in her mind all day Friday, finding herself biting down on her lower lip in consternation so many times she created a sore spot. Finally, after supper, she gathered her courage and brought up the subject as she and Thomas cleared the table.
“Peter, it has been a week since I’ve visited with Katherine Kraft. Do you suppose I could spend Saturday with her rather than going to the house?”
Peter raised his head, his face showing surprise. “You do not wish to see the digging?”
Summer lowered a stack of plates into the dishpan. “I suppose I prefer to see the finished product this time.” She glanced at him, her tongue finding the sore spot on her lip. “Will that be all right?”
He gave a slow nod. “Ja, I think fine that will be.”
Summer nearly wilted with relief. He seemed puzzled but not concerned. And he’d agreed so readily. Well, she thought as she dipped hot water from the res
ervoir, I guess it was meant to be.
Peter hollered, “Giddap! Haw,” directing the oxen toward the road. He gave one last wave to the woman, who stood on the Krafts’ porch, as the wagon lumbered away. A grin climbed his cheeks, and he did nothing to hold it back. He could scarce believe his good fortune.
He had needed a day without the woman at the house-building site, but he had not known how to keep her away. When she had expressed the desire to not go on this Saturday, he had found himself wanting to shout with glee. How difficult it had been to keep a sober expression and simply agree. Now, though, his heart pounded hard in his chest. One day—only one day he would have to prepare his surprise for her.
Thomas sat on the wagon seat beside him, squinting up at the sun. Peter felt his smile growing broader. How much the boy had grown in the past months. And since his ribs had healed, he could work again. This was a blessing. With the boy’s help, surely they would finish the job.
He gave Thomas a light nudge with his elbow. “How would you like to pound nails today instead of carry dirt?”
Thomas brought up a hand to shield his eyes. “You gonna have me build the outhouse or something?”
“Nein, not the outhouse. Something else. Something special. You can help me?”
“Sure, Pa!”
The boy’s eagerness matched Peter’s. He coaxed the oxen, willing them to move faster than their normal sedate pace. A day only had so many hours.
“Pa, that looks real pretty.” Thomas’s words came out in a breathy sigh.
Peter clamped a hand around the back of Thomas’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “I could not have done it without you, boy. A good team we make, ja?”
The boy nodded as the two beamed at the crisp white picket fence that proudly guarded the graves of Summer’s family members. It had been a good day’s work, and it had felt good to work side-by-side with the boy, their bare heads receiving the heat of the sun, their muscles flexing with the swing of a hammer or the push of a saw, their brows furrowing as they sought to keep each picket in alignment with the last.
Waiting for Summer's Return Page 24
