Waiting for Summer's Return

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The sorrow still sat heavily on Nadine. Six weeks had passed since Summer’s return to Boston. Summer had tried many times to visit with Nadine about the joy one could possess by trusting God to take the sorrow. Each attempt was met with firm rebuttal. Summer shook her head, smiling sadly at her image in the mirror. She now understood what she had put Peter through with her stubborn refusal to believe a heart could heal. But Peter hadn’t given up on her, and she wouldn’t give up on Nadine. God was faithful—healing would come.

  A swirl of steam fogged the lower edge of the mirror. She turned the spigot, stopping the flow of hot water, and turned from the sink. Her gaze drifted from the rolled edge sink basin to the oversized claw-footed porcelain tub, and finally to the door of the water closet.

  Nadine had every known convenience available here. If Summer stayed, she would never tote a chamber pot through drifting snow to dump its unpleasant contents down the outhouse portal. She would never have to draw water from a well, heat it on the stove, and fill an iron washtub to take a bath. Life was much simpler under Nadine’s roof, enjoying the many conveniences.

  So why did Summer long for Gaeddert? Moving down the hallway toward the lavish bedroom that was now hers, Summer reflected on her longing for Gaeddert. It wasn’t the town. It was the people—Peter, Thomas, and Lena; Katherine Kraft and Bertha Harms; even red-headed Rupert Penner. She missed them.

  A wave of homesickness washed over her, and she hurried to the dresser. She paused for a moment to touch the framed page from Rodney’s Bible that bore the names of her children. She smiled, touching each name in turn, her children’s faces appearing in her memory. She looked at the letter that rested next to the frame. It lay open, as if in invitation. Although she nearly had it memorized from repeated readings, she picked it up and read it again.

  Dear Summer,

  Pa and me sure miss you. We talk about you all the time. Grandmother misses you to. I know becuz she doesn’t talk about you but she looks at your chair and her eyes are sad. I bet you miss your chair.

  Patches is getting bigger. Pa and me are going to bild him his own house. I can help because I bilt that pikit pickit fence and did all right. I got a 100 on my math test. Mrs. Kraft had her baby, a girl named Hannah. Toby thinks she’s better than Patches but I don’t think so.

  I miss you Summer. Do you miss me and pa? I hope you write to me again. Pa said to tell you hello and he hopes you are happy in Boston. I hope you are happy to but I still wish you were here. I got to go. I love you Summer.

  Sincerely, Thomas.

  Summer held the letter to her chest for a moment, closing her eyes and picturing the little boy with his tousled hair and broad grin. She could imagine him at the table, inkpot in front of him, forehead creased in concentration as he penned his letter. She looked at the letter again, and a chuckle vibrated through her.

  How he jumped from topic to topic! He also could make use of the dictionary she’d purchased for him, but she treasured the letter despite its errors. She placed it back on the dresser, still open, so she could look at the lines of writing while she twisted her hair into its familiar knot.

  She wondered if Thomas kept the letters she had sent him in a place of honor. Or did Peter have them? Of course, Peter couldn’t read them since they were written in English. She wished she could receive a letter from him. She wished she could send a letter that would only be read by his eyes. Sending messages through Thomas was ineffectual at least and frustrating at most. How could she pour out her heart to Peter knowing his ten-year-old son would be reading it aloud? Color filled her cheeks at the thought. No, it wouldn’t do. Communicating with Thomas—and hoping Peter was able to read between the lines of her simple messages—would have to be enough.

  Her eyes drifted to Thomas’s words “Pa … hopes you are happy in Boston.” She understood the question behind his message. She could almost hear Peter’s rumbling voice asking, “Have you learned the lesson of Paul, to be content in whatever state you are?” She smiled. Yes, she had learned that lesson. Despite the ache in her heart, which spoke of a longing for Peter, she was not discontented. God’s joy remained with her. Her smile faded. If only she could help Nadine capture that joy.

  A light knock sounded on her door, ending her reverie. She stabbed the last hairpin into place and crossed to the door.

  Nadine’s maid, Mildred, stood in the hallway. “Miss Summer, Missus Nadine is ready to go. She asks are you ready?”

  Summer picked up her Bible and reticule from the table beside the door. “Yes, Mildred. I’m ready.” Before Summer passed through the doorway, Mildred put out her hand.

  “Missus Nadine,” Mildred whispered, her brow creased tightly, “she’s in a sour mood this morning. Step careful, you hear?”

  Summer patted the older woman’s hand, giving her a smile. “I’ll step careful, Mildred. Thank you.”

  Mildred’s words proved to be accurate. Nadine grumbled all the way to church, first about the lack of sugar in her morning oatmeal, then about the bumps in the road that Clarence chose not to avoid, and finally about Summer’s simple mourning dress.

  “Now, Nadine, I won’t be wearing mourning attire forever,” Summer said kindly, smoothing the skirt of one of the dresses she had sewn in Gaeddert. She couldn’t stop the smile of remembrance of that day, of finding a basket of notions waiting for her and sewing the curtains to surprise Peter.

  “Why are you smiling?” Nadine snapped. “You sit there in your ugly black dress which tells the world you’ve suffered the death of someone dear, and yet you smile! What is wrong with you, Summer Steadman? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The carriage rolled to a halt. Summer opened her mouth to answer Nadine, but Clarence interrupted.

  “Mind your footing, Missus,” he said, reaching to take Nadine’s arm. “The rain last night left the road slippery.”

  Nadine slapped his hand away. “I’m not a doddering old woman who requires your assistance. Step back.”

  The servant obeyed as he shot Summer a look of worry. She offered a reassuring smile as she stepped out of the carriage.

  “Be back here sharply at noon,” Nadine instructed in a strident tone. “And tell Mildred I expect a decent dinner after that deplorable breakfast. Come along, Summer.” Nadine swept toward the church in her elegant black gown.

  Summer followed Nadine’s swirling skirts. What had the woman in such a dither this morning? While she had never been one to demonstrate great warmth, the extent of her irritation today seemed out of character. Something was bothering her—but what? Not until Summer was standing, adding her voice to the hymn “Come, Christian, Let Us Sing,” did she remember the significance of today’s date. Her heart sank to her stomach, her hands fumbled the hymnal, and she fought the need to embrace Nadine right in church in the middle of singing.

  Today Rodney would have turned thirty-one years old. And no one had remembered. Except Nadine.

  The congregation sat, and Summer peeked sideways. Nadine’s chin quivered, her lips pursed into a grimace. Should Summer touch her? Whisper something? She prayed inwardly for guidance. Nadine must be in excruciating pain, remembering the day of her son’s birth.

  Even as Summer sought a means to comfort her mother-in-law, the minister stepped behind the polished lectern and said, “Please turn in your Bibles to the first chapter of Ruth.”

  Summer’s breath caught. It was reading from this chapter in church that had convinced her she must return to Nadine. She followed along in her Bible as the minister read straight through the first chapter. Summer felt Nadine stiffen on the seat next to her. Summer’s heart turned over in her chest. How difficult these words, of a mother’s loss of her sons, must be for Nadine today.

  She gave Nadine a small smile, an attempt to offer understanding and comfort. Nadine ignored her, but as the minister read verses twenty and twenty-one—“And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full a
nd the Lord hath brought me home again empty”—Summer heard Nadine gasp.

  Without thinking, Summer reached out and took hold of Nadine’s hand. Nadine clung, her icy fingers digging into Summer’s palm. Summer held tight, expressing through physical touch her support for her mother-in-law.

  During the remainder of the service, Summer held Nadine’s hand. Though the hand trembled within Summer’s grasp, Nadine made no effort to pull loose. When they rose for the final hymn, Nadine still held on. She did not release her hold even as they left the sanctuary and walked to the carriage, which waited beside the curb as Clarence had been directed.

  Summer removed her hand long enough to allow Nadine’s entry into the carriage, but as soon as both women were settled, Nadine reached out again. Although she spoke no words, her fierce hold on Summer’s hand spoke volumes. Summer prayed silently all the way to the house that she would find words to ease Nadine’s pain.

  They sat at opposite ends of the dining room table and ate their roast beef, boiled potatoes and carrots, and crusty rolls in silence. Although Summer longed to talk, she sensed Nadine was deep in thought. Remembering the times Peter had allowed her to reflect in silence, she allowed Nadine that freedom now, waiting until she showed signs of readiness to discuss whatever was on her heart.

  Finally, as Mildred cleared away the dishes and presented a dessert of cherry tarts, Nadine let Summer know she was ready.

  “Today is my son’s birthday.” The words were uttered in a low tone, almost a groan.

  Summer nodded.

  “Never have I been away from him on his birthday. Do you remember, Summer? Do you remember how you and Rodney would come here for dinner and cake? Even after the children arrived, always you came here for dinner and cake.”

  Again, Summer nodded. The pain in Nadine’s voice made her heart ache.

  Nadine lowered her gaze. “How I miss him….”

  Summer rose and went around the table to kneel beside Nadine’s chair. She took Nadine’s limp hand. It was as cold as it had been in the church. “I know you miss him. I do, too.”

  Nadine searched Summer’s eyes. “Do you? I’ve wondered. I’ve watched you. You don’t seem lonely. You don’t seem sad.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back. “How do you bear it? I feel very much like the woman in the Bible. Naomi, who said the Lord had dealt bitterly with her. Taking Horace … and Rodney … and the children. I … I fear I cannot bear it, Summer.” Tears rolled down Nadine’s cheeks.

  “Shh, Mother.” Summer rested her cheek against Nadine’s shoulder. “You don’t have to bear it alone. I am here. And God is here, too.”

  Nadine opened her eyes. “Why did you return to me? Horace and I—we never treated you like family. I admit that. We gave you no reason to care about us. It can’t be love that brought you here. I do not see loneliness in your bearing. Surely you don’t need me as desperately as I need you. So why are you here?”

  Summer cupped Nadine’s cheek. “I am here because you asked me. You needed me.” She swallowed, lowering her hand. “After Rodney and the children were gone, I felt just as you said—as if God had dealt bitterly with me. I didn’t feel as if I could return to Boston, to my brother’s house. I didn’t feel as if I could come here to you and Horace. I felt so very lost and alone. But someone needed me—Peter Ollenburger’s son, Thomas.”

  Just saying Peter’s and Thomas’s names brought a new rush of longing through Summer’s chest. She paused, envisioning their dear faces, before continuing. “Giving of myself to Thomas kept my heart from becoming hard with bitterness. Loving softens the heart. A soft heart is open to new love. And I found it.” She felt tears gather in her eyes. “I found it with Thomas and Peter and Lena. I found it with the God who is so very real to Peter. Having God with me has brought me joy despite the pain.”

  “Joy despite the pain?” Nadine released a huff of disbelief. “The two are opposites, Summer. Both cannot reside simultaneously within the same breast.”

  “Ah, but they can, Nadine.” Summer rose. “You wait here. I will get my Bible. May I show you what I’ve discovered?”

  Nadine stared at Summer with narrowed eyes for long seconds, her lips pursed tight into a scowl of indecision.

  Summer held her breath, waiting, praying, hoping.

  At last Nadine sighed. She raised her hand in a tired gesture, as if it weighed more than she could comfortably lift. “Yes, Summer. You may show me.”

  Summer deposited a kiss on Nadine’s soft cheek and then ran upstairs to retrieve the Bible Peter had given her.

  God, give me the words to turn Nadine’s sorrow into joy.

  33

  THOMAS HELD TINY Hannah Kraft and beamed up at his father. As soon as the faspa meal had been consumed, Thomas had begged to hold the baby. “Look, Pa. She’s smiling. I think she likes me.”

  Peter looked into the baby’s face. A smile curved the infant’s lips, and she waved a tiny fist. “Ja, she does like you.”

  Thomas bounced Hannah as he made silly nonsense noises. The baby let out a squawk, and Thomas’s eyebrows flew upward.

  Katherine Kraft clucked and removed the baby from Thomas’s arms. She smiled at the boy’s crestfallen expression. “It is not that Hannah dislikes you, Thomas. She likes to be held like this.” She cradled the baby against her shoulder. “Would you like to try again?”

  The boy backed away. “No. You keep her. I’ll go play with Toby. I know what Toby likes.” He trotted toward Toby’s bedroom, but before moving through the doorway he called back, “Bet Summer would sure like her.”

  At Summer’s name, Peter’s heart lifted. He turned to find Katherine Kraft fixing him with a look of interest. The back of his neck heated up. He forced a casual tone. “Ja, the boy is right. Summer would like Hannah very much. Have you sent letter to tell her your baby is here?”

  “We had Toby send a postcard,” Katherine replied. “You know I do not write in the English.” She carried the infant to a cradle in the corner of the kitchen and gently laid her in it. “Have you sent letters to Summer?”

  “I … I do not write in the English either, Katherine.”

  Katherine patted the baby as she spoke. “Has Thomas sent her letters then, with words from you inside?”

  Seated at the table, Tobias cleared his throat. “Woman, maybe Peter wishes to talk of something else.”

  Katherine shook her head. “When the name Summer was said, his face changed. He wishes to speak of Summer. He wishes to speak of little else.” She turned back to Peter. “Am I right, Peter?”

  The heat crept from Peter’s neck to his ears. Katherine was right. He wished to speak of little else. Often he and the boy spoke of Summer, but with the boy, he felt limited in what he could say. Thomas missed her so much. His own words of longing would only add to the boy’s loneliness for his friend.

  He hung his head. “You are right, Katherine, that I wish to speak of the woman. I wish to do more than speak of her. I wish to speak to her. But I cannot do that. So it is best not to speak at all. It makes it easier on my heart, for sure.”

  Katherine carried the coffeepot to the table and poured fresh cups. After putting the pot back on the stove, she seated herself between the men and sighed. “Ach, Peter, I do not try to make things uncomfortable for you. But in Summer I found a friend, and I miss her, too. I wonder how she is doing. I am sorry if sad I have made you by speaking of her today.”

  Peter raised his head. “You have not made me sad. It is good that others remember her and miss her. It makes me feel not so alone.”

  Tobias asked, “Have any people given interest in the house we built for her?”

  Peter scratched his beard. “Nein. Not yet. I see to it—and to the graves. I am sure, when time is right, God will send a person to live in the house.”

  “Maybe,” Katherine said in a bright tone, “it will be Summer who comes back to live in the house.”

  “I do not know,” Peter said. “Her last letter to us said her mother-in-law
liked having her near.” He remembered the message Thomas had read to him from Summer’s last letter—Tell your father I have joy where I am. Peter felt he understood her meaning. Her happiness was found in caring for the mother-in-law, just as Ruth had done for Naomi. “I think she will stay there.”

  Katherine nodded, her eyes sad.

  “So why was Frau Suderman not at Kleine Gemeinde this morning?” Tobias picked up his cup and slurped his coffee.

  Peter’s brows pinched. “Our grossmutter has been under the weather. When she chooses to miss a Sunday service, I know she is feeling poorly.”

  Katherine patted his arm. “I will take her some soup this week. She is probably working too hard now that Summer is gone. Are you letting her to do the household chores?”

  “It is not that I let her. She does what she will do. The boy is at school; I am away working. I come home to find her very tired. So, ja, she is working too hard. But how do you tell her to stop? It makes her feel … useless. Useless is not something I wish on anyone.”

  “She has earned a rest.” Katherine’s staunch words made Peter smile. “Many years she has taken care of others—first her own child, then her granddaughter, and now you and your son. You tell her she is not useless, but she deserves a rest.”

  Despite the worry he felt when he thought of how much Grossmutter had slowed down in the past weeks, how silent she had become again, he could not stop the chuckle that came from his chest. “She is a stubborn woman. I do not think she would take kindly to my telling her to rest. Her eyes, they snap at me when I say she does too much.”

  “Well, we are your closest neighbor,” Katherine said. “I will try to come by once or twice a week with Hannah and let her hold the baby while I do some of the chores.”

  Peter’s heart warmed at Katherine’s concern. “That is kind of you. I know she would enjoy the chance to hold a baby again.”

  “I will do it, then.” Katherine leaned back; her expression turned speculative. “Did Frau Suderman allow Summer to do the chores in your house?”