by Jody Hedlund
Euphemia instructed Sophie on washing the dishes while she took a plate of breakfast to Stuart. When Sophie finished, she tried to tidy the rest of the kitchen and the dining room the best she could while she waited for Euphemia to return and tell her what to do next.
Sophie mostly just stared at the spaciousness of the room with its solid oak table and chairs and matching hutch and sideboard. Although the glass cabinet doors in the hutch were dusty, the display of crocks and pretty plates was unlike anything Sophie had seen before.
The two-room tenement apartments she’d lived in could easily fit into one room of the Duffs’ house. The dining room alone contained more furniture and knickknacks than her family had ever owned—at least that she could remember.
Hearing a shout from the direction of Stuart’s bedroom down the hall from the dining room, Sophie left the dishrag on the table and went to investigate.
The bedroom door was open a crack, and at another bellow, this one distinctly male, Sophie peeked inside. With the curtains still closed, the room was shrouded in darkness. She could only see Euphemia’s broad outline as she stood at the side of the bed and lifted a mug to the lips of a man sitting up against several pillows.
“You need a wee bit more,” Euphemia was saying in a firm tone. “And you know I won’t take your sass for an answer.”
“Just let me be.”
“Open up.”
“No. I told you I don’t want your help.”
“I’m not giving up on you, Stu,” Euphemia said fiercely. “And I don’t want you giving up on yourself.”
The man on the bed turned his head away from Euphemia so that he was glaring at the wall.
Euphemia chased his lips with the mug.
With a curse as foul as any Sophie had heard on the streets, Stu reached up and slapped the cup. It flew out of Euphemia’s hand and banged against the wall, the liquid splashing out in a wet, tangled spider web.
The crash startled Sophie, and she accidentally bumped the door so that it creaked open several more inches. Both Euphemia and Stu swiveled her way. Sophie knew she should jump out of sight, but her curiosity was too strong. What was wrong with Stuart? Why was he in bed? And why was he giving up on himself?
She pushed the door open wider, allowing daylight to pour into the room and fall upon Stu. A thick beard covered much of his face and his hair was overlong, his cheeks gaunt, and his eyes sunken. Underneath the sheet, his limbs were thin, his bones poking up sharply. He was clearly sick and suffering.
The sourness of the room assaulted Sophie, reminding her of the privies, hallways, and stairwells in the tenements that were usually filthy with all manner of waste.
“This is Sophie,” Euphemia said cheerfully. “The young woman I told you about who’s staying with us and helping me.”
For a long moment, Stu seemed to take Sophie in like a hungry beggar who’d stumbled upon a crust of bread. But then a dark cloud descended. His eyebrows scrunched in fury, and anger flew from his eyes and swung at her as fast as fists in an alley brawl. “Get out!” His hand shook as he reached for the plate on his bedside table. “Get out now!”
He punctuated his last word by throwing the plate at the door. With his lack of strength and the unsteadiness of his grip, the plate landed in the middle of the room on the rug. Even so, Sophie quickly backed away and closed the door.
She returned to the dining room, picked up the dishcloth, and resumed washing the table. Chagrin circled around her. She shouldn’t have poked her head into the bedroom. Euphemia obviously had a difficult enough time with her son without Sophie making things worse.
When Euphemia entered the dining room carrying the plate her son had just thrown, Sophie stiffened her spine and waited for the words of censure she deserved. Euphemia paused and pushed in one of the chairs but didn’t say anything.
Sophie peeked at the woman and was surprised to see sadness etched at the corners of her eyes.
“Dinnae mind Stu,” she said softly. “He’s like that with everyone.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Once Sophie’s questions were out, she realized how rude she was to pry.
“Poor lad was born a cripple,” Euphemia whispered, looking out the window as if she were staring into her past. “He’s had a rough time of it, more so these past few years.”
“He’s not able to walk?”
“Not without help.”
“So he stays in bed most of the time?”
Euphemia nodded without shifting her gaze from the window. “He’s only making himself more miserable.”
Sophie wondered how Euphemia was able to care for him day after day when he didn’t appreciate her help and treated her with disdain. She waited for Euphemia to break into tears or to complain about the burden she’d been given to bear with a crippled son.
But Euphemia’s lips lifted into a wistful smile. “Sometimes God allows us to sink down in our own misery until we reach a low place where we’re finally ready to look up and reach out for Him.”
Once again, Sophie was at a loss with knowing what to say. She wasn’t sure if Euphemia was referring to herself or to Stuart. Whatever the case, the woman’s comment sounded like something her mother would have said. Sophie had the feeling Mutti would have liked Euphemia and was perhaps even now smiling down from heaven at the woman’s wise words.
“In the meantime,” Euphemia continued, “I’ll keep on loving that bairn of mine the same way the good Lord loves me. That’s about all I can do.”
Sophie wasn’t sure she’d be able to love Stuart if she were in Euphemia’s position. In fact, she decided she’d do her best to stay away from the young man’s room. If she didn’t have to see him again during her stay at the Duffs’, she wouldn’t mind in the least.
“Now then, lass,” Euphemia said, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s start with churning the butter and gathering eggs. Then we’ll get some bread rising before we preserve the beans.”
Though Sophie hadn’t a clue how to do any of the tasks, for a reason she couldn’t explain she longed to help this woman, who carried a heavy load with not only the responsibilities of the farm but also a bitter, crippled son. The weight would have made even the strongest of people bend, perhaps even fall to their knees. But Euphemia hadn’t let it crush her, and Sophie was curious to know why.
Chapter 9
Jakob jumped from the bench before Reinhold could bring the wagon to a halt in front of the Duffs’ barn. His brother bounded toward Fergus with an eagerness that as usual seemed to point out Reinhold’s glaring inadequacies, namely that the boy needed more companionship than Reinhold could provide. Jakob needed a home like the Duffs had, with a good mother like Euphemia both encouraging and scolding him.
And so did his sisters . . .
The telegram Fergus had delivered yesterday smoldered like a hot coal in Reinhold’s pocket, the telegram from Drew Brady informing him Elise had delivered a fine baby girl and that mother and baby were healthy and well. Drew had mentioned that Silke and Verina were delighted with the baby and doing well too.
Although Drew hadn’t asked when Reinhold wanted the girls to come live with him, Reinhold suspected the question was soon coming. Elise and Thornton would be busy with their new baby. Drew and Marianne had their work with the Children’s Aid Society and were often gone on trips, helping to place orphans in homes. Neither couple would want to take care of his sisters much longer.
Reinhold brought the wagon to a stop near the hitching post. Lyle was already striding toward him and greeting him with a wide grin. He’d recently trimmed his scraggly beard and hair. His shirt was tucked in, and his trousers were clean. Clearly he was trying to impress the orphan girl.
“Had to come see our new lass for yourself, did you?” Lyle asked. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
“I’m only here because I fear your mum’s wrath more than God Almighty’s.” Reinhold returned the grin. “When Fergus told me she planned to march over and drag m
e back here for supper tonight, I decided I better come of my own will.”
Lyle laughed. But in spite of the shared humor, they both knew not to cross Euphemia. She was a woman to be reckoned with. After skipping church, working on the Lord’s Day, and turning down her dinner invitations the past two Sabbaths, Reinhold knew he had to make time for supper or else Euphemia would make it for him.
“So that means you’re not in the least curious about the lass?” Lyle asked as he helped Reinhold unhitch Daisy.
“Not in the least.” And he meant it. When Fergus had delivered the telegram from Drew, the boy had been bursting with news about the orphan Euphemia had brought home.
“She’s a real pretty girl,” Fergus had declared, his eyes already sparkling with infatuation. “Lyle said he’s gonna marry her someday.”
Reinhold clamped a hand on Lyle’s bulky shoulder. His friend was one of the kindest, gentlest souls he’d ever met. “You’re a good man, Lyle. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble winning her heart.”
Lyle cast a sideways glance toward the house, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl. He wore a crooked grin and had a glimmer in his eyes like he did whenever he was vying for the attention of one of the local girls—which happened to be one of Lyle’s favorite pastimes.
Unfortunately, while Lyle enjoyed fishing for attention, he wasn’t accomplished at it, and most of the eligible women ended up getting away. Maybe this time Lyle would finally hook the big one.
“I don’t know, Reinhold,” Lyle said with more uncertainty than Reinhold had ever seen in his friend. “She’s too pretty for a man like me. And I freeze whenever I’m in the room with her.”
Reinhold finished unbuckling Daisy’s traces and rubbed his hand down her withers and across her flank.
“You’re always so calm around the ladies,” Lyle said. “How do you do it? I need some tips.”
Reinhold was tempted to blurt out that his method was to stay detached. While he’d danced with a few of the girls at local barn parties, he didn’t have any aspirations to get married. For a while he’d harbored feelings for Elise. He thought he’d loved her. But when she’d fallen in love with Thornton, he knew his love hadn’t been enough for either of them.
Then last summer he’d almost married Marianne when she came through on her first trip as a placing agent. He’d discovered that she’d always liked him and had wanted to marry him. But then, as it turned out, she’d fallen in love with Drew Brady, her fellow placing agent, and hadn’t wanted to marry him any more than Elise had.
The failed attempts to win the women had worked out for the best. After the fight that had almost killed Higgins, Reinhold decided he never wanted to get married, never wanted to burden any woman with his anger the way his father had burdened his mother. In fact, he loathed the thought of tying any woman to himself, not when the monster inside him was so volatile, and he didn’t know how to control it.
“Tell me,” Lyle persisted as they led Reinhold’s Morgan into the barn. “How do you stay calm around the pretty women?”
Jakob, Alastair, and Fergus were already in the loft and taking turns swinging from the rope attached to the roof. Gavin had joined them as well. They flew in wide circles before finally dropping to the haymow below.
“Maybe if you tell yourself she’s your sister,” Reinhold suggested, “then you won’t be so nervous.”
“My sister? I don’t know if I can do that.” Lyle opened an empty stall and guided the mare inside.
“Then look at her like she’s a friend. If you see her as just a friend, then you’ll be able to talk to her like you do to me and get to know her without the pressure of more.”
“A friend . . .” Lyle rubbed at his beard and seemed to mull over Reinhold’s advice.
“Then again,” Reinhold added as he reached for a brush and ran it along Daisy’s flank, “if she’s as pretty as you say she is, maybe you should get down on your knees and propose to her right away.”
Lyle chuckled. “If I could get my voice working around her, I just might.”
Reinhold soaked in the peace of the barn, the laughter of the boys overhead, the camaraderie of his friend. Why had he stayed away from the Duffs for so long? Their home was a soothing ointment on his aching soul.
When the dinner bell rang a short while later, the other boys rushed ahead of Lyle and Reinhold, who stopped at the bucket next to the well to wash their hands. At the waft of roasted chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes coming from the open kitchen window, Reinhold’s stomach ached for filling as much as his soul did.
“Dinnae step foot into my house without washing your hands” came Euphemia’s stern command to the boys. Her hefty frame filled the doorway, blocking their entrance. She pointed them back to the bucket, and her expression softened at the sight of Reinhold in the process of drying himself.
A moment later, as Reinhold stepped inside, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Though he wasn’t a tall man, Euphemia’s head barely reached his chin. He hugged her in return and at the same time caught sight of the new lass.
The young woman was standing at the worktable, slicing a loaf of bread and placing the pieces on a platter. Her pale blond hair hung in a single braid down her back with loose wisps of hair curling about her neck. Something about the delicate angle of her neck and ear struck him as familiar.
“You know better than to stay away from me this long, Reinhold Weiss,” Euphemia said, squeezing him tighter.
At the mention of his name, the new lass stiffened. Her knife froze halfway through the remainder of the loaf.
“I don’t care how busy you are,” Euphemia continued, “you cannot forget about the people who love you or about the good Lord who loves you more.”
“I’ll try to do better,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the new lass as she slowly pivoted.
At the sight of wide eyes as blue as a cloudless autumn sky, Reinhold fell back a step. For a moment he saw Elise, who had the same stunning eyes. But as he studied the delicately curved chin, the high cheekbones, and the perfectly rounded lips, he realized this woman wasn’t Elise. This woman was shorter, slightly younger, and somehow more beautiful and alluring.
Silence had descended over the room. Euphemia was looking between him and the young woman, her brow creasing. And Lyle was staring at the new lass with unabashed admiration.
The other boys entered the kitchen, shoving and pushing and teasing each other. At the sight of the Duffs’ new orphan girl, Jakob halted and his face lit up. “Sophie?”
“You know our Sophie?” Euphemia asked Jakob.
Jakob nodded and smiled. “She’s Sophie Neumann. We were neighbors in New York.”
Reinhold studied Sophie again, this time seeing a resemblance to the little girl he’d once known. “Sophie?” The name tumbled from Reinhold with a mixture of disbelief and excitement. Was this really Sophie Neumann?
Elise and Marianne had been desperate to find her, had searched for their sister for months, had even paid investigators to hunt her down. And they’d gotten nowhere. Now here Sophie was—standing before him in the Duffs’ kitchen.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, grinning and taking a step forward. “It is you.”
Instead of sharing his thrill, Sophie remained unsmiling, her eyes unwelcoming, and her stance like a doe caught grazing in the garden. She scooted around the worktable, her fingers trembling, then darted out of the kitchen.
Reinhold stared after her in confusion the same way the others did. Why was she afraid? Had she mistaken them for someone else? She couldn’t have. Euphemia had said his full name, and from the way she’d stiffened, she’d recognized it.
That could only mean one thing. She didn’t want to see him or Jakob.
At the distinct echo of the front door slamming shut, Reinhold’s heart plunged within him like an empty bucket down a well. She was leaving, running away. And he couldn’t let her do that, not now that he’d just found her.
“Wh
at’s wrong with Sophie?” Euphemia finally asked. She turned first to Jakob and then to Reinhold, her rounded fists braced on her hips. “What did you boys do to her?”
“Nothing,” Jakob said hurriedly. “I thought she’d be happy to see us.”
“Me too.” Reinhold started across the kitchen. “I’ll go after her and find out what’s bothering her.”
Jakob began to follow him.
Reinhold motioned him and the others back. “Let me go first.”
Jakob hesitated, his expression saying he wanted to chase after the girl, but his fear of Reinhold held him back.
Somewhere in the back of Reinhold’s mind, he resented his brother’s reaction and hated himself for it. Right now, though, he needed to focus on catching up with Sophie. He couldn’t let her get away.
He bolted through the dining room, down the hallway that led past the parlor on one side and Stuart’s bedroom on the other. He shot out the front door and stopped short, frantically scanning the yard. Through the leaves of the enormous maple that shaded the area he caught sight of Sophie. She was racing down the wagon path toward the road, her feet slapping the gravel and her braid bumping furiously against her back.
Not bothering with the stairs, he hopped off the porch and sprinted after her. “Sophie, wait!”
At the sound of his voice, she ran faster.
“Sophie, please!” He wasn’t a particularly fast runner, but the stamina and muscle he’d developed over the past summer held him in good stead, and he caught up to her in no time. He grabbed her arm, giving her no choice but to stop.
She was breathing hard from her exertion, and possibly from fear, because she held herself rigidly and regarded him with frightened eyes. “Let me go.”
He was still amazed at how grown up she was, how much two years had changed her from a girl into a woman. Maybe he’d changed too. “It’s me, Reinhold Weiss,” he said gently. “Don’t you recognize me?”
