Waiting for Summer's Return (26 page)

“I left room for myself, of course. It seemed appropriate, considering I didn’t really want to live.” She squatted down, running her hand over the row of rocks by her feet.

Peter hunkered next to her, his forearms on his bent knees. “You wished to die?”

She plucked at a blade of brown grass caught between stones. “I could see no reason for living. My children were gone, Rodney was gone, I knew neither my brother nor Rodney’s parents would welcome me and so …” She raised her shoulders in a brief shrug. “So death seemed the best choice.”

“Is that why you would not eat?”

She considered his question. Though it hadn’t been a conscious thought, perhaps unconsciously she had hoped the lack of food would lead to her death. “Yes.” She felt a small smile tug at her lips. “But you manipulated me.”

He raised his chin and laughed. “
Nein,
I prayed for way to get you to eat. God manipulated you.”

She shook her head. “No, He simply reached out to me in the form of a big tender-hearted man and a dear little boy who offered me a reason to live.” She touched his arm with her gloved hand. “Thank you, Peter.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in a big swallow. “To be the bringer of God’s love to a person is a humbling thing. Thank you for telling me this.”

“You’re welcome.”

He added, “You have done much for us, too. I say thank you.”

She took in a deep breath through her nose as her gaze swung across the grounds that would be her new home. “And I can’t believe how much God has done for me.” She patted a rock and stood up, brushing off her skirt. “But now we’d better head back so we’re there when Thomas returns home.”

Peter rose, and they walked toward the wagon. She asked, “Will we be able to bring him back out and let him see where the house will be?”

Peter shook his head, regret in his eyes. “The days are still too short. Evening will be upon us. But on Saturday, when school he does not have, we will bring him.
Herr
Kraft said he would be available that day to help dig. Much must be dug—a well, a pit for the outhouse, a cellar. I do not much care for digging.”

Summer laughed at the face he made. “I’ll help as much as I can.”

His eyes twinkled. “A little colt like you could not break the soil. Even for me, who is used to heavy labor, it is hard.” He helped her into the wagon. “The ground is still hard from the cold. We set fires to soften the ground first, then dig.”

At the mention of fires, Summer’s stomach quivered. Although no evidence of the ash pile that was once her wagon and belongings still existed, the memories were still in her mind. It was difficult for her to walk past that spot without experiencing a pang of loss.

Peter heaved himself into the wagon. He looked at her, and his brow furrowed. “You are troubled again.”

She tried to relax her expression. “No, I was just thinking of …”

Understanding dawned across his face. “Fires.”

She nodded, biting down on her lip. “I’m sure that seems child—”

“Not childish.” His firm tone cut her off. “Maybe it would be better if you did not come for the burning.”

“No. Right now only bad memories are associated with the idea of a fire. But the fire you’re planning is to build something, to put something together.” She stopped as an idea entered her mind. “Oh, Peter. Ashes …” She touched her lips with her fingers. “Ashes can’t be put back together again, remember?”

“
Ja,
I remember.”

“But these ashes—these ashes will be
building
ashes.” Peace flooded through her at the realization. “They are needed to build the home of my new beginning.”

He smiled at her, unspeaking, but she sensed he understood her jumbled thoughts.

She pressed her hands together, pushing them between her knees as he started the oxen in motion. “As soon as the house is finished, the very first thing I will hang on the wall is the frame you gave me, with the page from Rodney’s Bible inside. It will be my reminder that with God, ashes
can
be put back together again. Not in the same form they were before the fire, but refined.”

29

S
UMMER WAITED OUTSIDE
the church, her coat pulled tight across her chest. Inside, the congregation voted. If the majority voted yes, Summer would become an official member of the Gaeddert
Kleine Gemeinde
. If the majority voted no, she could attend services but not be an active participant. How she wanted to belong! Her heart ached with the desire for the vote to be yes.

The door squeaked, and she spun. Tobias Kraft stood in the doorway. Her heart pounded. He offered a smile and nod. The vote had gone in her favor. She was a member! With light steps she returned to the sanctuary, where Mr. Kraft escorted her to the front of the church. It was easier to face the congregation now than it had been earlier, when she’d shared her conversion and her reasons for desiring membership.

Reverend Enns shook her hand, welcoming her into the fold. He turned to the members. “
Frau
Summer Steadman, a member of our flock.”

How the words warmed her. She allowed herself to search each face. A few still held frowns—those of the Schmidt and Penner families—but most smiled as she made eye contact, offering support. She looked at Peter and Thomas, and she couldn’t stop the smile that rounded her cheeks at the glowing expressions on those two dear faces.

As they left the church, Peter and Thomas on one side and Lena on the other, Summer laughed. “Well, Mr. Ollenburger, I am now a member of a church whose language I do not speak.” She shrugged within the confines of her coat. “But I trust I can still depend on you to share the Bible references from the sermons with me. I’ll continue to study on my own.”

“That will not be necessary,
Frau
Steadman.” The deep voice came from behind them. Peter and Summer turned to find the minister on their heels. “In addition to the vote we took for your membership, other business we did, too. We voted to give sermons in English so you could understand what is spoken. The congregation held long talk on this, but they agree your growth is more important than hearing the words in German.”

Summer’s heart turned over in gratefulness. The fact that these people were willing to make this change for her spoke deeply of their loosening of fears. She thought of Lena, who did not understand English. Had she voted to use English so Summer would understand?

She took the old woman’s bony hand. Lena smiled, squeezing her hand in response. Summer turned back to the minister. “Thank you so much, Reverend Enns. I appreciate your kindness.”

The man’s eyes twinkled. “Still we will sing our hymns in German and read the Bible verses in German. But I will give reference in English so you can follow the reading.”

“A perfect compromise.”

Thomas tugged her sleeve. “Summer, the Krafts want to know if we’ll come for
faspa
.” He pointed across the yard. Katherine and Tobias waited with expectant faces. She gave a nod. “If it’s all right with your father, I would be delighted.”

“Is it okay, Pa?”

“
Ja
. It is fine.”

Thomas scampered off.

The warmth of acceptance carried Summer through the remainder of the week. Peter took her to the building site every afternoon so she could watch the progress of her house. It delighted her to walk across the sturdy planked floor, giggling as she slipped between the studs that would support the lath-and-plaster walls rather than using openings that would eventually be doorways.

On Wednesday she insisted on taking cookies and tea to the structure. She, Peter, and Thomas sat on the porch and enjoyed an after-school snack. Peter teased her about using a porch that was only a floor, but she merely laughed.

“It won’t always be only a floor, and I want to remember each moment of this home’s creation. It’s my very first, you know.”

Thomas gave her a puzzled look. “You’ve had houses before.”

“Yes,” she agreed, tweaking his nose. “But this is the first that’s been truly mine. Every other house has belonged to someone else—my parents, my brother, my husband, you and your father.” She threw her arms out and drew in a breath, reveling in the smell of new wood, musty earth, and clean air. “This one is really, truly mine in every sense.”

As Saturday neared, Summer vacillated between two desires. Although she wanted to be at the house when her cellar and outhouse were dug, she had an errand to tend—a secret she hoped would be well received. But it would require time away from the Ollenburgers. She knew it wouldn’t be troublesome for Peter to drop her at the Kraft farm when he headed to her land Saturday morning, yet she feared he would worry she was still troubled by seeing fire.

She tossed the ideas back and forth in her mind all day Friday, finding herself biting down on her lower lip in consternation so many times she created a sore spot. Finally, after supper, she gathered her courage and brought up the subject as she and Thomas cleared the table.

“Peter, it has been a week since I’ve visited with Katherine Kraft. Do you suppose I could spend Saturday with her rather than going to the house?”

Peter raised his head, his face showing surprise. “You do not wish to see the digging?”

Summer lowered a stack of plates into the dishpan. “I suppose I prefer to see the finished product this time.” She glanced at him, her tongue finding the sore spot on her lip. “Will that be all right?”

He gave a slow nod. “
Ja,
I think fine that will be.”

Summer nearly wilted with relief. He seemed puzzled but not concerned. And he’d agreed so readily.
Well,
she thought as she dipped hot water from the reservoir,
I guess it was meant to be
.

Peter hollered, “Giddap! Haw,” directing the oxen toward the road. He gave one last wave to the woman, who stood on the Krafts’ porch, as the wagon lumbered away. A grin climbed his cheeks, and he did nothing to hold it back. He could scarce believe his good fortune.

He had needed a day without the woman at the house-building site, but he had not known how to keep her away. When she had expressed the desire to not go on this Saturday, he had found himself wanting to shout with glee. How difficult it had been to keep a sober expression and simply agree. Now, though, his heart pounded hard in his chest. One day—only one day he would have to prepare his surprise for her.

Thomas sat on the wagon seat beside him, squinting up at the sun. Peter felt his smile growing broader. How much the boy had grown in the past months. And since his ribs had healed, he could work again. This was a blessing. With the boy’s help, surely they would finish the job.

He gave Thomas a light nudge with his elbow. “How would you like to pound nails today instead of carry dirt?”

Thomas brought up a hand to shield his eyes. “You gonna have me build the outhouse or something?”

“
Nein,
not the outhouse. Something else. Something special. You can help me?”

“Sure, Pa!”

The boy’s eagerness matched Peter’s. He coaxed the oxen, willing them to move faster than their normal sedate pace. A day only had so many hours.

“Pa, that looks real pretty.” Thomas’s words came out in a breathy sigh.

Peter clamped a hand around the back of Thomas’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “I could not have done it without you, boy. A good team we make,
ja
?”

The boy nodded as the two beamed at the crisp white picket fence that proudly guarded the graves of Summer’s family members. It had been a good day’s work, and it had felt good to work side-by-side with the boy, their bare heads receiving the heat of the sun, their muscles flexing with the swing of a hammer or the push of a saw, their brows furrowing as they sought to keep each picket in alignment with the last.

Many times Peter had fought a desire to reach out and hug the boy against his chest, so good the feeling had been. A day only had so many hours, and a boy’s childhood only so many years. Then he would be a man—a man who would find his own way. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and gave Thomas’s neck another slight squeeze before dropping his hand.

“A fine fence it is, boy. A fence of which to be proud.”

“Summer’s gonna love it. Won’t she be surprised?”

“
Ja,
surprised for sure. She was expecting an outhouse and cellar today. And she gets an outhouse, a cellar,
and
a white picket fence.”

Thomas stretched a finger toward one of the pickets, but Peter admonished, “That paint is not yet dry, son. You will leave a smudge.”

Thomas stuck the offending hand into his jacket pocket and shrugged. “Can we go get her now and show it to her?”

Peter shook his head. “I think we wait till tomorrow.” He leaned forward and finished in a whisper. “More fun it will be to let her discover it herself. Let us stay silent, and tomorrow, as we pass by to go to church, she will see it then.
Ja
?”

Thomas grinned. “I won’t say anything.”

Peter and the boy strode to the other men who were loading their tools in the back of
Herr
Jost’s wagon. They complimented one another on the accomplishment of their tasks and agreed to meet again each afternoon of the next week to finish the roof and put in the windows.

“Surely the windowpanes are in at Brunk’s General Merchandise by now,” Peter said. “I will go and see before I come here on Monday.”

“Fine, Peter,” Tobias Kraft agreed. “And with one more week of working, the house will be ready for the woman.” He stroked his chin. “Peter, I wonder if she would accept used furniture?”

Peter offered a shrug. “I do not see that she would reject used furniture. Why do you ask?”

“My Katherine is concerned for her. Would it not be good if, when the woman moved in, she had some things in place?” He looked at the other men. “A table we have that is not being used. Maybe a trunk, too. Do you think others in town might offer some household furnishings?”

Thomas tugged at Peter’s jacket. “Pa, you could give her a housewarming.”

Herr
Kraft slapped Thomas’s shoulder. “That is a fine idea, boy! A housewarming. My Katherine can organize it. Will your wives help?”

The men all nodded or spoke their agreement. Peter felt his chest tighten. Summer had been truly accepted. How good for her to finally belong. And how good for the town to finally reach out. God had worked a miracle here.

Everyone went in his separate direction, calling back good-byes and plans for Sunday’s
faspa
. Peter and Thomas were the last to leave. They stood long moments, admiring their picket fence. The woman would be pleased, for sure. Peter sighed and wrapped an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.

“Come on, boy. Chores wait at home. Let us fetch your Summer, and then home we go.”

Thomas scampered to the wagon and climbed aboard. Peter sat beside Thomas and picked up the whip. Then, with a smirk, he put the whip in his son’s hand. “Well, boy, let us see if you are as good a driver as you are a fence builder,
ja
?”

“Really, Pa?” Thomas raised the whip.

Peter put his hand over the boy’s. “Really. But only your calls are needed to direct them.”

Thomas relaxed his hold.

“Now, you know how to start them.” Thomas took in a great breath. “Giddap!”

With a jerk, the oxen moved forward. When they reached the bend in the road, the boy yelped, “Haw! Haw!”

“Only once, son, or too sharp they will turn,” Peter warned.

“Okay, Pa.” The boy held his shoulders straight and angled his chin upward, his expression serious.

Peter hid his smile. “You are doing fine.” The boy seemed to puff with pride. Peter scooted down in the seat and propped his boots on the footboard. “A little nap I think I take. Wake me when to Krafts’ we are.”

“B-but,” Thomas protested, “how’ll I turn onto their road?”

“A gentle call to gee, and the oxen will turn. They know what to do.” He gave Thomas a little nudge with his elbow. “Relax and let the beasts do their work.” He pulled his hat over his eyes and leaned back. “Stay on the road, boy.”

Peter drowsed with the crunch of wagon wheels against dirt and Thomas’s breathing competing for attention in his ears. It seemed little time passed before the boy’s voice quavered, “Gee!” Obediently, the oxen turned into the Krafts’ lane. Peter sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Thomas beamed at him. “I did it, Pa!”

“
Ja,
you did it, boy. A teamster we will make of you yet, for sure.”

When they reached the yard, the door to the house opened and Summer stepped onto the porch. Thomas called in a deep voice, “Who-o-o-oa.” The oxen drew to a halt. Thomas raised his hand to wave at Summer, but she didn’t wave back. She cradled something in her arms.

Peter squinted, trying to identify the fuzzy lump. A rug? Or a bundle of rags? Then the lump shifted, one part rising up, with two floppy ears perking on either side of a furry face, and Peter knew what she had.

Thomas must have recognized it at the same time, because he stiffened on the seat. “S-Summer?” The one-word query came out in a whisper.

Summer walked to the side of the wagon, her smile on Thomas. “Look here, Thomas.” She held the furry bundle up to him. The puppy hung from her hands, his ears flopping and front paws drooping. “The Krafts’ dog had a litter—eight in all—but this one is the runt, and no one has claimed him. So I decided to give him a home. Do you want to hold him?”

Thomas drew back, leaning against Peter’s chest. “No, you go ahead.”

Summer pulled the puppy against her own chest and stroked its head, her eyes down. Peter sensed her disappointment. But when she spoke, he heard no rancor. “Well, he’ll need a name, and I’m afraid I’m not very good at naming things.” She peered up again, her expression hopeful. “Will you help me choose one?”

Thomas still leaned against his father, examining the pup with narrowed eyes. “He’s got that brown around his eye, kind of like a pirate’s patch, and another brown spot on his side. Maybe you could call him Patches?”

Summer released a light laugh, causing Peter to smile, too. “Patches.” She spoke the name to the puppy, and the little thing wagged its tail and licked her chin. She laughed again. “Yes, I think he likes it. Patches it is.” She held the pup toward Thomas. “Take him now, so I can climb in.”