Waiting for Summer's Return (20 page)

A youngster charged into the store. “There is trouble!” His cheeks and ears were red with cold, his eyes watery.

Nick rounded the counter. “What is it?”

The boy leaned forward, taking great heaving breaths. “
Herr
Schmidt—that fancy buggy of his—it slid off the road and is caught in a snowbank. His horse cannot free it. The animal—we fear it will harm itself trying.”

Peter’s heart turned over as he considered the plight of the poor horse. He tugged his hat more securely over his ears, then took the boy by the arm. “You show me where the buggy is. My oxen can pull it free.”

The boy looked at him in surprise. “You will help
Herr
Schmidt? After all he has—”

“Show me.” Peter shook the boy’s arm. “I will not allow the animal to work itself to death.”

The boy nodded and led Peter out the door.

23

T
HE WIND SCREAMED
like a wild animal and made the house tremble. The walls seemed to groan against the pressure of the wind until Summer was certain they would collapse like the walls of the
shariah
. She shivered even near the cookstove, although she knew it wasn’t the cold that caused her to shake. It was fear.

Where was he? More than enough time had passed for Mr. Ollenburger to make it to town and back. What if he’d lost his way in that violently blowing snow? She’d heard of such things happening. After having been in the raging storm herself only long enough to go to the henhouse and secure the door, she understood how it could happen. What relief had washed over her when she’d stumbled into the back corner of the house. Another few feet to the left and … She shuddered. She didn’t want to consider what might have happened.

If the storm claimed him, what would happen to Thomas?
Grossmutter
couldn’t care for him alone. Another shudder shook her, and she hugged herself. She turned her attention to Thomas, who stood by the window, his nose pressed to the frosty pane. He had shoved the curtains aside and scratched a tiny peephole in the frost.

Summer crossed the floor, boards squeaking beneath her feet, and stopped behind him. She gave his shoulders—surprisingly solid for one so young—a firm squeeze and smiled down at him. “Don’t worry. Your father is a strong, intelligent man. He knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be in soon, hungry as a bear. Which reminds me … shouldn’t we start supper?”

The boy kept staring out the window. Summer looked, too, but she could see nothing beyond the swirl of white frost.

“Come, Thomas. The smell of supper will surely entice your father to come in.”

From her chair,
Grossmutter
murmured something, holding her hand toward Thomas. The boy sighed and went to her, taking her hand. He looked at Summer. “What will we make?” His voice held little interest.

Somehow she had to get Thomas focused on something besides his father. She remembered a game she’d played with Vincent and Rose. “I know what we can do. We can make a surprise supper.”

The boy tipped his head. “What’s that?”

“Go down in the cellar and stand in front of the shelves. Close your eyes, then reach out until you touch two jars. Whatever your fingers find, bring up. Then we’ll use it to make a surprise supper.”

If she thought this game would bring a smile to Thomas’s face, she was wrong.

“All right, Summer.” He pulled his hand from
Grossmutter
’s grasp and spoke in German to her. She nodded, and the boy moved to the trapdoor that led to the cellar.

Summer took hold of the metal pull ring and, with a grunt, heaved the door open. Thomas headed down the steep stairs. “Remember,” she warned, “no peeking!”

From the depths of the cellar, she heard his reply. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

Summer moved to the window, scratched away a larger area with her fingernail, and peeked through the glass. The light was fading as evening approached, but the brightness of the blowing snow hid the late hour.
Oh, Peter, where are you?

“You’re worried, too, aren’t you?”

Summer spun to find Thomas beside the cellar door, two quart jars in his hands. Had she spoken the words aloud? She forced a smile and rushed toward him, hands outstretched. “Let me see what you found. Oh! Carrots and tomatoes. Why, that’s the start of a wonderful soup, Thomas. Can you go back down once more and bring me some potatoes and an onion? The bin up here is empty. I’ll stoke the fire.”

Thomas nodded and disappeared into the cellar again. Summer pulled three more logs from the woodbox and laid them atop the snapping blaze. She was glad Mr. Ollenburger had filled the box before leaving for town. There was enough wood to last through tomorrow and into the next day, if necessary. How long could a Kansas blizzard last? She retrieved a kettle from the shelf above the stove and dipped water from the bucket. Another thought struck—the water bucket was nearly empty. What would they do when it was gone? There wasn’t time to dwell on it, for Thomas reappeared, struggling up the cellar steps with his burden.

He cradled several potatoes and one onion, its long tail of greens now brown and dry. He dropped the vegetables on the table and brushed off the front of his overalls.

Summer closed the cellar door. “Thank you, Thomas. Let’s rub these potatoes well with a rag”—she dared not waste water washing them—“and get them boiling with the onion. We’ll have a fine surprise soup for supper!”

The boy’s eyes appeared much older than his not-quite-ten years. “You’re not fooling me, Summer. I know you’re thinking Pa’s stuck out in that storm, too.” Tears filled his eyes and spilled over, trailing down his round cheeks in two thin rivulets. “Will you pray for Pa? I’m really scared.”

Summer pointed inanely at the potatoes. “Why-why don’t you and your grandmother pray while I get the soup started?”

The boy shook his head, a thick shock of hair falling across his forehead. It made him look even more like his father. “I can’t eat anything. My stomach feels funny—like there’s rocks inside it. I won’t be able to eat until I feel better.” He took a step toward her, the tears still wet on his cheeks. “Please, Summer?”

An ache filled Summer’s chest. So far all her prayers had been met with a resounding no. Only the one for God to enter her heart had been answered with a yes. What if she prayed and God said no this time, too? Could she bear the hurt this child would feel if her prayers were as useless as those she’d uttered for her own family? Still, looking into Thomas’s pleading face, she couldn’t deny his request.

She guided him to Grandmother’s corner, where they knelt together on the braided rug, facing each other.
Grossmutter
held out her hands from her seat in her chair, and they formed a circle by joining hands.

Though her stomach churned, Summer closed her eyes and began. “Dear God …” Her voice trembled. She clung to Thomas and
Grossmutter
. Their grips tightened, encouraging her. “Dear God, we come to you today because … because we are worried. Mr. Ollenburger—Peter—is somewhere in the storm. We don’t know where. But … but you do.” A feeling of peace crept through her heart as she realized what she’d just said.
“God is a God who knows.”

Squeezing Thomas’s cold hand, she heard her voice gain strength. “Wherever he is, please keep him safe and warm. Let no harm come to him. And let him find his way to the house again. In your name we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” the grandmother echoed.

Summer opened her eyes. Thomas’s eyes still glittered with tears. He used the backs of his wrists to remove the moisture.

“Thank you, Summer.”

“You’re welcome. We’ve done all we can. Now, let’s get that soup started.”

She and the boy worked in silence as they scrubbed potatoes with clean rags and cut them into bite-sized pieces. Soon the boiling water steamed the kitchen, leaving a fine mist of moisture hanging in the air. Still the wind blew, causing the house to creak and moan in protest. Summer found herself silently praying the walls would hold. Even as she prayed, her heart begged,
Don’t say no! Please, God, don’t say no!

While the potatoes boiled, Thomas roamed from window to window. Summer finally decided something must be done to distract the boy.

“Thomas, what games do you have in your bedroom?”

“Games?” He turned a quizzical look in her direction. “I have blocks, and an iron horse and wagon, two puzzles, and books.”

“No jacks? Or a checkerboard?”

He shook his head.

Summer had ordered the card game Authors, a tiddledywinks set, and a new shirt in addition to a fine dictionary for Thomas for Christmas. These items were with Mr. Ollenburger right now, wherever he was.

“Do you have colored chalk crayons?”

The boy nodded.

“Get your paper tablet and chalks. We’ll make a checkerboard. A boy your age should know how to play checkers.”

“Did your son know how to play checkers?”

Summer’s heart constricted, but she smiled, remembering sitting on the opposite side of the wooden checkerboard in their parlor in Boston with Vincent. “Yes, my son was a champion checkers player.”

“Then I reckon I can do it, too.” His voice finally held a hint of interest.

It took the better part of an hour to create a paper checkerboard, colored with squares of brown and red, and cut out enough circles to play the game. They used the crayons to make a red
R
or brown
B
on the front of the circles to denote the difference between the two, then put a red or brown
K
on the backs in case the checker made it all the way across and became kinged.

Grandmother seemed especially interested in the process, leaning forward and asking questions of Thomas, which he in turn asked Summer. When she replied, he translated the answer into German. It made for a lengthy conversation, but Summer didn’t mind. It cheered her to have the old woman pay so much attention and speak more frequently than she had since Summer’s arrival.

Although the homemade game was simple, it worked. She and Thomas played checkers until the soup was finished. She dished up steaming bowls for the three of them, and they ate in companionable conversation, continuing the question-translate-answer-translate pattern. When they were finished eating, Summer washed the few dishes, and then she and the boy played checkers again.

Thomas picked up the strategies quickly, as Summer had expected he would, and he beat her as many times as he lost. She feigned great disgust when he won, vowing to get him next time. To her relief, the boy laughed and teased, apparently forgetting the worry about his father.

Grossmutter
laughed, too, smiling in pleasure from her chair. Her smiles gradually faded to wide yawns, and at last she rose, releasing a sigh. Thomas gave her a good-night hug, and the two engaged in a whispered conversation before the woman kissed his cheek and headed to her bedroom.

Thomas set up the checkerboard again, grinning across the table. “I’m gonna get at least three kings this time!” But when the hour of bedtime slipped past and still Mr. Ollenburger hadn’t returned, not even winning checkers could ease the boy’s fears. He shifted from his chair across the table and sat down next to her. “Summer, do you
really
think Pa is safe?”

Summer gave a wayward lock of his hair a gentle tug. “I believe your father will come tramping through that door any minute, his beard covered with icicles and his nose as red as a ripe cherry. He’ll demand a bowl of soup and a big chunk of bread, and he’ll scold us all for worrying even one minute about him.” Her heart pounded. She hoped the words had sounded more certain than she felt.

“You like my pa, don’t you?” A tentative smile appeared on the corners of Thomas’s lips.

Summer gave his hair a brief tousle before curling her hand into her lap. “He’s a fine man. You should be proud of him.”

“I am.” The boy scooted closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder. “If … if Pa doesn’t make it home, will you stay and take care of me, Summer?”

She shrugged her shoulder, dislodging the boy. “You listen to me, Thomas Ollenburger. Don’t you give up on your father. Didn’t we pray for God to keep him safe? Don’t you think your father is praying the same thing? I don’t want you to even ask questions like that. They aren’t needed.” Her surety surprised her. When had she stopped worrying God might answer this prayer with a no?

The boy looked at her with wide, hurt eyes.

“Besides,” she finished in a kinder tone, “I promised your pa I would see to you. You have nothing to worry about. You’ll be cared for.”

He nodded solemnly and then rose. “There’s a chamber pot under my bed. Don’t reckon we’ll be going to the outhouse tonight.”

Summer listened to the wind, which continued to howl like a hundred hungry wolves. “No, we won’t. I’m glad you’re resourceful enough to have a chamber pot available.”

“
Grossmutter
has one, too.”

“Good. We’ll be taken care of, then.” It amazed her she could carry on a conversation about chamber pots without blushing in shame. Her sister-in-law would be appalled, but it made Summer want to giggle.

Thomas disappeared into his room. When he emerged several minutes later, he was in his nightshirt. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. “
Schlop die gesunt,
Summer.”

She hugged him back, even delivering a kiss above his ear. “You, too. Have good dreams. No worrying, all right?”

He nodded, yawned, and padded back to the bedroom. Before going in, he paused. “May I leave the door open? That way I’ll hear Pa when he comes back.”

Summer sent him a smile. He was thinking positively now. “That’s a fine idea. You’ll also be warmer.”

Thomas gave a little wave and stepped into his room. Summer heard his bed squeak as he settled himself, and then there was silence inside the house. She poured a cup of coffee. By now it had steeped for several hours and was strong enough to make her tongue tingle, but it would keep her awake. She didn’t intend to sleep until Mr. Ollenburger was safely home.

She retrieved the woven blanket from her bed and draped it around her shoulders. Turning her chair to face the door, she seated herself and lifted the cup of coffee to her lips. She blew on the thick brew before taking a sip. Grimacing, she lowered the cup to her lap. The warmth from the mug felt good against her hands.

She kept her gaze on the window, which was completely coated with frost, as she listened to the complaints of the wind and let her thoughts drift to Mr. Ollenburger. While worry still pinched her heart, she knew if anyone could survive this storm, he could. Besides, who was to say he wasn’t still in Gaeddert, snug and warm at someone’s house, worrying about her, Grandmother, and Thomas? She smiled, imagining him pacing back and forth, his thundering voice repeating, “I must to get home. My son will be worryful.”

She let her eyes slide closed, and she whispered to the empty room. “Dear God, I’m new at praying. I’m probably not very good at it, either. But Mr. Ollenburger has convinced me you hear my every prayer. For Thomas’s sake, let his father come home again. Losing those you love hurts so much….” Her throat tightened. “So please, God, if at all possible, spare Thomas that pain. I trust you to do what’s best. Thank you. Amen.”