Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Daphne flipped her wrists outward. “Perfect!”

  Father pointed a finger at her, his thick brows forming a sharp V. “But if this Ollenburger proves inept, Daphne, his pay will be taken from your monthly allowance until it is repaid in full.”

  Daphne had expected this. Father always presented a consequence to exercise his control. She blinked in innocence. “Why, certainly I’ll be responsible should Thomas fail to meet your expectations. But”—she angled her chin high—“I have no fear of losing one penny of my allowance. Thomas will so impress you, he’ll soon be one of the most trusted members of your staff.”

  Father slapped his knee. “Well, I suppose we shall see.” He rose and left her to her piano playing. However, once he departed from the parlor, instead of resuming the song he’d interrupted, she pushed her feet against the carpet to give the stool a spin as she released a squeal of delight.

  Thomas is coming!

  Slamming the soles of her slippers against the floor, she brought the whirling ride to an end and dashed up to her room. Behind her closed door, she hugged herself and spun another happy circle. Dizzy from her wild dance and uncontrolled excitement, she flung herself across the bed and laughed out loud for joy.

  When Thomas hadn’t replied to her letter, she’d suffered so many moments of worry. He was so different from Harry’s other friends. Maybe her letter wouldn’t have the intended effect. A simpering look and flutter of eyelashes sent most males bowing at her feet, ready to do her bidding. But not Thomas.

  She shivered as she considered his physical attributes—the breadth of his shoulders, his great height, and his hands that could easily span her waist if ever he found the nerve to try.

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her face into her pillow and allowed her imagination to carry her to sweet dreams.

  Two days after sending the telegram to the owner and chief editor of the Boston Beacon—little more than a month after his return to Hillsboro—Thomas packed his bags and prepared for another train ride.

  While he packed, his little sisters sat in a sorrowful row on his bed, watching him. Their silence, so unlike the unending jabber to which he’d become accustomed, pierced his heart. But they cheered somewhat when he took three prized books from the shelf above his bureau and gave them each a good-bye gift. He knew it would be a few years before they would be old enough to read and enjoy such stories as The Prince and the Pauper, Arabian Nights, and Tattered Tom, yet seeing their faces brighten made him feel better.

  His carpetbags stuffed and ready, he said, “You girls go get your breakfast now. When it’s time to go, you can help me carry my things to the station.”

  They trailed out in a row, and Thomas followed. Before he could sit at the table, several light taps sounded on the back door. Summer started toward it, but he held up his hand. “Feed the girls. I’ll get it.”

  Belinda Schmidt stood on the grassless spot of ground right outside the door, holding a small wicker basket that she offered to him with a trembling smile. “I heard you were leaving. So I—I baked you some honigkuchen to take along.”

  He remembered her response when Pa suggested Summer could bake honey cookies for Belinda’s mother—she had said they were too much trouble. The thought of her taking the time to make him these cookies brought a lump to his throat. Accepting the basket, he managed a nod. “Thank you.”

  She peeked past him to the breakfast table, where his family sat. Her face flooded with pink. “I’m sorry—I interrupted.” She turned to dash away, but Thomas stepped outside and let the door slam behind him.

  “Belinda, wait!”

  Hesitantly, she turned back, her eyes wide and glimmering. Was she going to cry?

  “I . . . I’m glad I had the chance to tell you good-bye. I’ve enjoyed our times of visiting.”

  She sucked in her lower lip, blinking rapidly. “I have, too. I . . . I’ll miss . . .” One tear rolled down her cheek. “I’ll pray for you, Thomas, that things will go well for you . . . wherever your heart leads.”

  Thomas drew in a deep breath. He hated the thought of her solemn life filled with days meeting everyone else’s needs except her own. Suddenly it became very important that she continue reaching out to people, the way she had done with him.

  “Belinda, remember there are many neighbors close by. You can talk to any of them, if you’ll just do it. Don’t shut yourself away, all right?”

  “I’ll try.” But her tone didn’t indicate much enthusiasm.

  He stepped closer to her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “And would you do a favor for me?”

  She tilted her head to the side, her expression curious.

  “Would you write to me now and then? Summer will give you the address for Mrs. Steadman—that’s where I’ll be staying. Tell me how my sisters and Summer and Pa are doing. I know my leaving is hard on Pa. I want to make sure . . .”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that.”

  Suddenly embarrassed, but not sure why, he rushed on. “Summer writes to me, of course, but I suspect she tells me what she thinks I want to hear, not what’s really happening, so—”

  “Thomas.” Belinda’s tone held a hint of humor. “I’ll write, and I’ll be honest.”

  He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath.

  “But don’t worry. Your parents are strong people with a lot of faith. They’ll be all right.”

  Thomas nodded. He thought about her family, and how much they leaned on her. “And you? Will you be all right?” Embarrassment seared his face as he heard his own question. Would she assume he thought she wouldn’t survive without his presence?

  She bowed her head for a moment, chewing again on her lip, but when she lifted her face and looked at him he saw only calm acceptance in her eyes. “I’m strong and have a lot of faith, too. It isn’t easy right now with Mama so deeply mournful, but mourning passes. One day, she’ll throw off her melancholy. Things will be fine.”

  Thomas didn’t know what to say then. Good-bye was appropriate, yet he held the word inside.

  She said it for him. “Good-bye, Thomas. Have a safe journey, and God be with you.” Then she turned and hurried away, leaving him standing alone on the dew-kissed grass with a little basket of honigkuchen in his hands.

  12

  NADINE AND HER TRUSTED, longtime servant, Clarence, were waiting at the train station when Thomas arrived in Boston. Even though Thomas had anticipated his foster grandmother retrieving him from the station, he still experienced a brief stab of disappointment. Harry and Daphne knew he was coming. Couldn’t they have met him, too?

  Nadine gave him a quick, impersonal hug while Clarence smiled from behind her shoulder, his chocolate-colored face reflecting his pleasure at having Thomas with them again. As soon as Nadine released Thomas, Clarence took the bags. Nadine slipped her hand through Thomas’s elbow, and they weaved between disembarking passengers and their welcoming throngs to Nadine’s familiar carriage.

  “Your room is exactly as you left it,” Nadine said once they were settled in the leather seats and the horses carried them over Boston’s cobblestone streets. “I suspected you would return.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “As much as I enjoy my visits to your parents and their little prairie home, I couldn’t imagine residing there permanently. And now, after tasting all the city has to offer, you’ve discovered that truth for yourself, hmm?”

  Thomas shrugged. “For now.” Remembering how withholding his plans from Pa had created heartache, he added, “I don’t know if I’ll stay permanently, but I’ll be here at least through the presidential election.”

  Nadine caught the window ledge of the carriage as the vehicle rounded a corner. “Oh, you’ll choose to remain. Opportunities are abundant here, nonexistent there,” she said with assurance. “You may as well begin calling yourself a Bostonian, Thomas.”

  After the carriage rolled to a stop, Thomas allowed Clarence to carry his bags to the house, but he took over when they
reached the stairs. Being much younger and stronger, he couldn’t allow the elderly servant to carry two heavy bags up the curving staircase.

  When he put his foot on the first riser, Nadine said, “Unpack, and then I’ll have Mildred draw you a bath. Dinner will be ready promptly at seven, as always.”

  Thomas swallowed a chuckle. Nadine wouldn’t come right out and tell him she didn’t want his smelly, travel-rumpled presence at the table, but her suggestion managed to communicate the message anyway. He nodded his agreement and headed up the stairs.

  In his room, he plunked both bags on the brocade bedcover and unbuttoned the flap of the largest bag. He began transferring shirts and pants to the drawers of the tall bachelor’s chest. When he picked up a stack of shirts neatly folded by Summer, something pricked his hand. Puzzled, he put the stack on the bed and withdrew the source of the prick—a piece of tablet paper, folded into a lumpy square.

  He unfolded it, and something flitted to the floor. Dropping to one knee, he scanned the patterned carpet and located a dried four-leaf clover. His heart seized. A gift from Gussie. On the paper was a childish scrawl:

  Dear Thomas, here is my 4 leef clover so you will hav good luck in boston. I love you Thomas. Your sister Agatha (Gussie)

  Still on one knee, he closed his eyes and relived the moments on the boardwalk outside the station in Hillsboro before he’d boarded the train four days ago. He and his family had created a little circle with each departure for another year of schooling, but this time it had felt different. This time Thomas wasn’t sure when—or if—he’d be back.

  He pictured each face, from little Lena’s to Pa’s. They’d all done their best to smile when bidding him farewell, but they’d failed dismally. As had he.

  He fingered the dried clover, Gussie’s gift, and homesickness slammed into him as hard as it had his first year in Boston. With a sigh, he folded Gussie’s note back around the clover, pushed to his feet, and put the paper and gift in the top drawer of the chest.

  “Well, Gussie, let’s see if it brings me luck in Boston,” he said aloud. Then he set his jaw against the quiver in his chin and finished unpacking.

  The next morning Thomas put on his best double-breasted pinstripe suit with its matching vest and trousers. He grunted as he leaned forward to fasten his shoes—the fashionable skinny fit of the trouser legs didn’t match well with his muscular thighs and calves. The crisp, new celluloid collar poked the underside of his clean-shaven chin, providing another element of discomfort. But he determined to show the owner of the Boston Beacon that he could be as much a gentleman as any other Bostonian.

  Nadine beamed her approval when he entered the dining room for breakfast. “You look like a true newspaperman, Thomas.” She lifted her tea cup, smoothing down the thick ruffles of her morning gown before taking a sip. She gestured to the chair across the table. “Sit down. Everything is still hot.”

  He slid into his seat, tossed a napkin across his lap, and filled his waiting plate with fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and muffins loaded with raisins and nutmeats, all of which had been kept warm in silver footed trays with heavy lids—so different from the mismatched crockery bowls at home. He pushed away the thoughts of Hillsboro, offered a quick prayer, and began to eat.

  He ate as quickly as possible, aware of the ticking pendulum clock and the clink of his fork against the china plate—their intrusions loud in the otherwise silent room. Unlike Pa and Summer, Nadine wasn’t given to conversation over a meal.

  When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and rose. “I probably won’t be here for the noon meal. And I may make arrangements for dinner with some friends, too, so don’t hold anything for me.”

  Nadine clinked her tea cup into its saucer. “But, Thomas, you’ve only just returned! Mildred has planned a coming-home dinner with all of her specialties.”

  Thomas withheld a groan. He’d grown to love the rotund housekeeper who spent half of her day in the kitchen, but Mildred’s “specialties” always left him feeling as bloated as a calf that had eaten wet alfalfa. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Let’s make a compromise.” Nadine stood, fixing Thomas with a firm look. “Invite your friends to come here for dinner. Mildred and I will set a table for—how many? Six? Eight?”

  Thomas drew in a deep breath, prepared to argue, but one of Pa’s admonitions played through his head: “Boy, respect your elders.” He released the breath and said through clenched teeth, “No more than six.”

  Nadine clapped her palms together twice. “Very well. A party of six. I’ll look forward to it. We so rarely hosted events for your circle of acquaintanceship when you were in school. It seemed you always had studying to do. But now it’s time for your friends to see my home as your home, and a party is just the event to make that clear.”

  Unwilling to squelch her excitement, Thomas held back a second argument that rose in his throat.

  Nadine bustled around the table, catching his elbow and propelling him toward the front door. “Hurry on, now. You mustn’t keep your new supervisor waiting.” She straightened his silk tie, gave him a quick pat on his cheek, and pushed him through the door. Even with the solid door closed behind him, he heard her shrill cry: “Mildred! We must prepare for a party!”

  Thomas hailed a cab, wondering where he would find four people to join him for Nadine’s dinner party.

  After a long discussion of his duties at the newspaper office, Harrison Severt, Sr., walked Thomas to a noisy, dismal office next to the large typesetting room on the lowest level of the four-story building. It wasn’t what Thomas had envisioned when he received Daphne’s letter, but he hoped he managed to hide his disillusionment as his new boss escorted him to an empty desk jammed against the ends of two face-to-face occupied desks in the center of the cracked concrete floor.

  “Here is where you will work,” Mr. Severt said, raising his voice above a rhythmic whiz-bump. “You will share duties with Wallace Todd and Clark Phillips.” He slapped the scarred desktop with his open palm, and the desk vibrated with the blow.

  Thomas cringed, wondering if the desk would topple. When it didn’t, he nodded a silent hello to the young men who sat in silence at the nearby desks. Scattered pages nearly hid the butted wooden surface of their desktops.

  “Have a seat,” Severt ordered, pointing to the empty wooden chair.

  The chair’s legs screeched against the floor as Thomas eased it away from the desk. The wooden back bumped against the wall, leaving a sixteen-inch gap into which Thomas squeezed himself. Without conscious thought, he hunched his shoulders forward in an attempt to fit better in the small space.

  “Break at noon.” Severt gave a brusque nod and stalked out of the room.

  Without a word, Clark lifted a pile of pages from the corner of his desk and handed them to Thomas. Thomas picked up a pencil and leaned over the papers. His job was to read each advertisement carefully in a search for print errors. With Severt gone, Clark and Wallace joked with each other as they worked. They tried to pull Thomas into their conversations a few times, but he resisted, focusing on the task at hand. Oabeide fer späle—work before play—he’d always been taught, and avoid play completely when drawing a wage.

  A few minutes before the noontime break, Harry and Daphne arrived to welcome Thomas back to Boston and invite him to a little street-side café for lunch. Since Wallace and Clark overheard the invitation, Harry asked if they’d like to come, too. On the way to the café, Thomas realized he now had enough people to fill the chairs for Nadine’s dinner party, so he asked if they would like to attend. To his relief, all four accepted.

  Even though the luncheon was meant to be a celebration for Thomas, the other three men did most of the talking, which suited Thomas fine. He ate little, for there was something else on which to feast his eyes. Daphne looked wonderful in a shiny dress of softest pink, with a matching bonnet bearing rows of ruffled lace. He admired the contrast of the pale pink against her black hair. The wide satin ribbon tied int
o a bow beneath her chin called attention to her heart-shaped face and bright eyes.

  Daphne seemed to be content to simply sit and stare into his eyes. She hardly touched the salmon patties and iced asparagus spears arranged artfully on her plate. Occasionally her gaze flitted to one of the other three men as she offered a quick smile or soft giggle in response to something one of them said, but each time her attention returned quickly to Thomas.

  All too soon, he needed to return to the office. Harry paid for everyone’s meals, and then he captured Thomas’s arm, earning a scowl from Daphne. “So, Tom, on the way back, let’s talk politics, shall we?”

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder to see Wallace and Clark fall into step on either side of Daphne. He gave her what he hoped was an apologetic grimace. Her pursed lips communicated her own displeasure at this formation. But Thomas knew he and Harry had a lot of catching up to do concerning the campaign, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to do it over dinner that evening. Nadine frowned at discussing politics or religion during social events.

  Thomas nodded at Harry. “Catch me up on what’s been happening at campaign headquarters.”

  By the time they reached the newspaper office again, Thomas had agreed to accompany Harry to the headquarters following their evening meal to help prepare flyers for distribution. At the front doors, Wallace and Clark offered thanks to Harry for the lunch, wished Daphne a pleasant afternoon, and sauntered inside.

  Harry looked at Daphne. “Have a cab driver take you home, Daph. I need to talk to Father, and then I’ll spend the afternoon at headquarters.” He disappeared inside without waiting for her to reply.

  Thomas, knowing he was due back at his desk, started to follow, but a gentle grasp on his arm delayed him.

  “When might I have a moment of time alone with you, Thomas?”

  Did she know how beguiling she was? Actually, he suspected she knew full well . . . “One day soon.” Although he had given a noncommittal response, a part of him wanted to promise her the moon.