Where the Heart Leads

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She folded her arms across her chest, her white-gloved fingers tapping against her elbows. “And you haven’t even thanked me for letting you know about the job opportunity here.”

  Heat rose from his neck to his hairline. “Uh, I apologize. I should have responded to your letter, but—”

  She waved one small hand, dismissing his words. “I trust you’ll enjoy being a part of Father’s newspaper?”

  Thomas’s ears still rang from the incessant whiz-bump of the machines in the typesetting area. His shoulders ached from slumping over the desk. But at least he had a job worthy of a college graduate. “Very much,” he said, adding honestly, “although I hope to eventually be able to do something besides check advertisements for accuracy.”

  Daphne’s eyes twinkled. “Father starts all inexperienced new workers in either delivery or advertising. Delivery is the lowest position, and you were spared that. Be thankful.” Her smile seemed to tease him. “But if you work hard and show initiative, you’ll have the opportunity to work your way up.” She touched his arm again, her fingers sending warmth through his sleeve. “I have confidence you will be on the highest level with the managing editors before the year is out.”

  Thomas couldn’t even promise he would be in Boston by the time the year was out. He stepped toward the door, and her hand slipped from his arm. “I thank you for your confidence, but if I’m to earn my way to the highest level, I need to get back to work.” He touched his forehead with his fingers in lieu of tipping a hat. “I will see you at Mrs. Steadman’s at seven o’clock sharp.”

  “That you will, Mr. Ollenburger.” She waggled her fingers at him and whirled, her skirts flaring behind her.

  The image of Daphne’s sashaying skirts interfered with Thomas’s focus the remainder of the day, earning a few ribald remarks from his co-workers. He set his jaw and refused to respond to their goading, but he could hardly wait for seven o’clock when he would have time at the dinner table with Daphne.

  To his delight, Nadine didn’t assign seats when his guests arrived, giving him the opportunity to place people where he wanted them. He graciously gave Nadine the seat at the head of the table, then instructed Harry, Wallace, and Clark to sit on Nadine’s right. He took the seat immediately to Nadine’s left, with Daphne beside him. Just having Daphne so close, where his elbow lightly bumped hers as he cut his beef roast, made his heart thud against his ribs like Daisy’s hooves against the hard-packed prairie when he gave her free rein.

  Although he’d worried Nadine might disapprove of having Daphne in her home, she acted the perfect hostess, engaging each person in conversation that included nothing of a personal nature. Thomas appreciated her taking charge because his tongue felt too thick for his mouth, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence given Daphne’s close proximity.

  They ate and conversed their way through Mildred’s main courses, and then the smiling cook carried in a towering three-level torte that brought a round of politely restrained cheers from Thomas’s guests.

  Nadine beamed at their delight. “This is Mildred’s special recipe and contains a secret ingredient in the cream filling that she has never deigned to share even with me. I trust you will enjoy it.”

  Based on the reactions of the guests, Nadine’s trust was well placed. Wallace even boldly asked for a second helping, but Thomas noticed Daphne picked at her dessert, consuming less than half of the portion on the crystal dessert plate. Then he looked at his own serving and realized he’d left as much uneaten as she. He wondered if the reason for her diminished appetite was similar to his. How could he even think about putting food in his belly when he felt so full of Daphne?

  When all had reached their limit, they pushed away from the table, offering appreciation to Nadine for her hospitality.

  “You are all very welcome, and of course you are invited to visit Thomas anytime. It is so good to have young people in the house.” Nadine’s gaze touched each member of the visiting party, although Thomas noted it skipped past Daphne more quickly than the men. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire to the parlor. Feel free to remain here and visit if you desire.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Steadman,” Harry said, rounding the table to commandeer Thomas away from Daphne. “But we have work to do, and I need to steal Tom.”

  Nadine looked pointedly at the pendulum clock on the wall behind her. “At this hour?”

  Pressure constricted Thomas’s breathing. Her words made him feel like a child.

  “I’m afraid so.” Harry managed to express regret with his tone.

  “You see, we have a presidential election to win, and time is of the essence. We can’t waste a single minute if we plan to see our candidate become the United States’ twenty-seventh president!”

  Nadine asked Thomas, “And whose cause have you championed, my dear?”

  Harry clapped Thomas’s back and answered for him, “The finest candidate, of course—Mr. Thomas Watson!”

  Nadine’s face pinched into an expression of distaste. “Watson?!”

  13

  THOMAS STARED AT HIS foster grandmother. Given her penchant for avoiding conversations involving politics, he had no idea she was even aware of the parties, let alone the candidates. Yet her tone let him know she was not only knowledgeable but held a strong opinion.

  “You are campaigning for Thomas Watson?” Somehow she made the name sound like a curse.

  Thomas sent Harry a startled glance before looking again at Nadine. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She shook her head, her brows low. “Not while you reside under my roof, young man.”

  “But why?” Thomas started to explain the man’s views concerning the protection of farmers, but Nadine thrust her hand outward in a bid for silence.

  “I will not discuss my personal views concerning Mr. Watson”— once again she spat his name—“but I demand you withdraw your support immediately.”

  Thomas took a step back. Aware of their audience, embarrassment made his knees weak, but he maintained an even tone. “I’m sorry if my preference for our next leader is upsetting to you, Nadine, but as you’ve often pointed out, political views are personal. Just as you are entitled to your choice for president, I am entitled to mine.”

  Nadine glowered, her lips pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared. “Very well. I concede that, as an adult, you are entitled to your preference. However, I will not have that man’s name mentioned again in my presence. Do you understand, Thomas?”

  Harry edged to Thomas’s side and took his elbow. “Come on, Tom,” he whispered, his wary gaze pinned to Nadine’s face. “Give her some time to simmer down. You two can talk later.”

  Thomas nodded. With the same respect he’d always used when addressing his foster grandmother, he said, “I will return by eleven o’clock, Nadine, and I will lock the door behind me when I come in.”

  Nadine whirled away, but not before Thomas heard her mutter, “You’ll be fortunate if the door is unlocked for your entry. Thomas Watson, indeed.”

  The moment Nadine left the dining room, Daphne erupted in giggles. Harry glared at her, and she covered her mouth with her hands, bringing an end to the chortling. “I’m so very sorry. It was a nervous reaction. I truly see nothing humorous here.”

  “I would hope not.” Harry gave his sister one more scowl, then turned to Thomas. “Listen, Tom, you might need to consider finding yourself an apartment rather than living here if she’s going to dictate how you spend your time.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll manage to work things out. Nadine can be—” he sought a word both truthful and kind but found only—“baulstiarijch, but—”

  A blast of laughter came from Daphne again. Despite himself, he laughed, too. Why had the Plautdietsch word crept into his sentence? Apparently, a part of him remained in Hillsboro, speaking Low German with the Mennonite members of the community.

  Daphne’s bright eyes danced. “What on earth did you just say?”
>
  Thomas pinched his chin, stifling his smile. “I said she was headstrong.”

  Daphne gave an emphatic nod. “Oh my, yes!” She peered toward the doorway where Nadine had disappeared. “I wholeheartedly agree!”

  Harry flicked Daphne’s shoulder with the backs of his fingers. “And you should know headstrong when you see it.”

  Daphne whirled on her brother. “Harrison Edward Severt, I—”

  Thomas stepped forward. “We’re wasting time. As I said, Nadine and I will work out our differences concerning the campaign. If we’re going to accomplish anything this evening, we need to get going.”

  Belinda tapped lightly on the Ollenburgers’ back door. Although the hour was late, a light still glowed, and a shadowy figure moved back and forth past the window. Someone was awake.

  The door flew wide, and Summer Ollenburger gestured Belinda into the kitchen. The woman offered Belinda a quick hug and her usual welcoming smile. “Good evening! What brings you out? Is everyone all right at your house?”

  The concern in Frau Ollenburger’s tone gave a lift to Belinda’s heart. Sometimes it seemed to her that the Ollenburgers cared more for her mother than even Malinda did. “Everything is fine, Frau Ollenburger. Thank you.” Her statement wasn’t quite true—neither Mama nor Malinda could be considered “fine,” yet she knew Frau Ollenburger would understand. “I hope I’m not intruding, but—”

  “Belinda, you are never an intrusion.” Frau Ollenburger squeezed Belinda’s arm. “Come in, sit at the table and talk to me while I finish my ironing.”

  Belinda sank onto the simple wooden bench beside the roughhewn table. The Ollenburgers’ belongings all seemed so homey— friendly rather than formal. She supposed it matched their open, welcoming hearts. “I could iron for you, if you like. I do it for other people.”

  Frau Ollenburger’s elbow jutted upward as she pressed the iron against the shirt splayed across the ironing board. “You have more than enough to do without adding my ironing to the list. Besides”—she sent a twinkling smile in Belinda’s direction—“the task is pleasant. I like the clean smell that rises when I press the iron to the fabric, and I like seeing the wrinkles replaced with a smooth appearance. It reminds me of how lives contain a sweet essence and are straightened out when we submit to following God’s will.”

  Belinda stared at Frau Ollenburger, her thoughts whirling. How long had it been since she’d sought God’s will for her own life? Her prayers seemed to be begging ones: make Mama better, help Malinda smile, grant strength to get through the days . . . Shamed, she made a silent promise to more actively seek God’s will.

  “I’ll think about that the next time I iron.” Belinda released a rueful chuckle. “Since I iron every evening, I will have lots of chances to think!”

  Frau Ollenburger laughed along with her as she deftly folded the crisply ironed shirt and set it aside, then reached for another one. She gave it a snap that sent it neatly across the waiting board. Iron in hand, she peeked at Belinda. “What can I do for you this evening?”

  “Oh!” Belinda jumped to her feet. “I came to see if you would give me Thomas’s address in Boston.” At her neighbor’s speculative look, Belinda’s stomach fluttered with a rush of self-consciousness. “He said I should write to him—keep him up-to-date on what’s happening here in Hillsboro. I . . . I hope that’s all right.”

  Frau Ollenburger set the iron on the back of the stove. “It’s perfectly all right, Belinda. I’m glad you and Thomas will be corresponding. I think it will do his heart good to hear from one of his schoolmates from Gaeddert.” She slipped around the corner, and her whispered voice was followed by a low-toned mumble. Belinda’s discomfort grew as she realized Herr Ollenburger’s sleep had been disturbed. She tangled her hands in her apron while battling the urge to flee out the back door.

  Frau Ollenburger returned with a folded piece of paper in her hand, which she offered to Belinda. “Here you are. Thomas is staying with my mother-in-law, so just address the envelope to Thomas in care of Mrs. Nadine Steadman.”

  Belinda slipped the paper into her apron pocket. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Frau Ollenburger.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Belinda turned to leave.

  “And Belinda?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?”

  Frau Ollenburger moved forward and touched Belinda’s arm, bringing her all the way around. “When you write, please tell him all is well here.” She glanced toward the doorway that led to the front of the house then lowered her voice. “We miss him dreadfully—his father most of all—but if Thomas knew how much he’s missed it would only worry him. We mustn’t say anything that might pull him away from God’s plan for his life. Guilt has a way of tugging one off course.”

  Did Frau Ollenburger think she would mislead Thomas? Then a second thought came to her—how often had Malinda employed guilt to keep Belinda from leaving her and their mother? Had she allowed her sister to tug her away from God’s plan? The thought froze her in place for a moment.

  “Belinda?” Frau Ollenburger’s brow furrowed. “Are you all right, dear?”

  Belinda gave a start. “Oh! Of course, I’m fine. I just . . . got lost in thought for a moment.” She shook her head a little, bringing herself back to Frau Ollenburger’s comment. “I wouldn’t tell Thomas anything untruthful, but I’ll not persuade him to do something he shouldn’t.”

  She bid Frau Ollenburger good-bye and slipped out the door. Under the stars, she tipped her head back and released a long sigh toward heaven. Her brief visit with her kindly neighbor had given her much to consider. She pressed her hand to her pocket, feeling the crunch of paper. Although she had planned to finish the letter to Thomas before going to bed, she decided to talk to her heavenly Father instead.

  “Oh, Thomas, it has been such a lovely afternoon.” Daphne wrapped both hands around Thomas’s forearm and clung, pressing her cheek briefly to his bicep. “A pity one can’t demand the sun hold its position to delay the night from falling.”

  She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He guided her along the park’s rock-paved pathway, and she knew he was curtailing his long-legged stride to match her much shorter one.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me to learn you made demands of the sun, Daphne. You make demands of other things.”

  The teasing undertone held no offense, but Daphne fluttered her eyelashes at him and offered a slight pout anyway. “Pray tell, what demands have I made of you?”

  Thomas paused, tipping his head to the side. His eyes twinkled merrily. “ ‘I should so enjoy a walk through the botanical garden.’ ” His attempt at a lilting voice failed, but Daphne recognized the words as her own. He tipped his head the opposite way. “ ‘Oh, Thomas, mightn’t we ride in a swan boat?’ ”

  She gave his arm a light slap with her folded Japanese fan and urged him onward. “Now, you know very well those were not demands but mere suggestions. Suggestions, I might add, you heartily endorsed.”

  “You’re right. But—” his voice caught, the timbre deepening— “it doesn’t matter much to me what we do. I just enjoy having time together.”

  Her heart tripped happily at his confession. She snugged her cheek to his arm once more. “Oh, Thomas—me too.”

  They walked in silence along pathways lined with explosions of dahlias, cannas, and pansies. Set against a neatly-clipped carpet of emerald green, the flowers lent an air of festivity, and Daphne could barely contain the desire to twirl in a circle. What could be better than strolling through a flower-laden park on the arm of the man she loved?

  Yes, over the past hours, Daphne had determined she most definitely loved Thomas Ollenburger.

  Since his return to Boston, they hadn’t had much time alone together. Between his daytime hours at the newspaper office and his evenings helping with the campaign, he had little free time available. She had been forced to snatch moments at his noonday break on the days she managed to make her way into t
he city, or to sneak a few sentences of conversation at campaign headquarters when Harry allowed her to accompany him. Those unsatisfactory, rushed, far-too-infrequent minutes had fed her desire for a long, uninterrupted expanse of time with this man who made her heart feel too big to fit comfortably within her chest.

  And after two weeks, she’d finally gotten it—an entire Saturday afternoon with Thomas. His gentlemanly attentiveness combined with his altogether pleasing physical attributes made him the perfect choice for a suitor. Now, as the sun slipped toward the horizon, their time together neared its end, and Daphne wasn’t ready to bid him good-night.

  They reached the ornate iron gate that opened out onto the street, and Daphne pulled back on Thomas’s arm. “Let’s not go just yet. Look . . .” She pointed to a carved wooden bench tucked beneath the trees and surrounded by bright pink heliotrope. “Can we sit for a little while before you take me to meet Harry’s carriage at the headquarters?”

  At the word headquarters, Thomas grimaced, but he led her to the bench and seated himself beside her. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and peered across the grounds where the trees’ shadows created splotches of deeper green on the grassy carpet.

  “I hope Harry won’t be upset about me not working on the campaign today.”

  The worry in his tone rankled her. Did he regret his day with her? Yet she wouldn’t spoil their time by fussing at him. She opened her fan with a flick of her thumb and waved the painted silk panels beneath her chin, giving herself time to calm her temper. She deliberately shifted so her skirts brushed against his trouser leg. “Harry shouldn’t fault you for a day of relaxation. With the exception of the dinner party hosted by Mrs. Steadman the day after your return, you’ve worked all the time.”

  After a quick, lopsided grin, he said, “A man who refuses to labor is considered slothful.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Is that one of your small-town folk-lores?”