Waiting for Summer's Return (14 page)

15

P
ETER JOLTED AWAKE
. He rolled out of the bed, shivering as his feet touched the icy floor, and hurried to the main room.

Grossmutter
stood in her doorway, rubbing her eyes in confusion. She spoke to him, and Peter nodded. A sound had awakened him, too.

Thomas appeared in his doorway, his eyes wide with fright. “Pa, I heard a crash.”

The whistle of wind told Peter the storm still raged. Had it been the voice of the wind that had awakened them? Peter pressed his memory, trying to determine what had roused him from a sound sleep.

Another strong gust slammed against the house. The window panes rattled. “Did you hear the wind, do you think, son?”

“It wasn’t wind. It was a crash. Like something broke.”

These strong winds could do much damage. Peter did not like the idea of having to go out in a storm, yet he must find out what his son had heard. He returned to his bedroom and pulled on his shirt and pants over his long johns. As he tugged on his boots, Thomas appeared in his doorway with
Grossmutter
behind him.

“Pa, should I get dressed, too?”

“
Nein,
you and
Grossmutter
stay here in the warmth. I will go find out if something broke.” He moved through the doorway and went to the woodbox. “Do not worry. Go get back under your covers.”

Both Thomas and
Grossmutter
returned to their rooms. Peter made sure the fire was well stoked and then lit a lantern. He put on his coat, gloves, and hat before lifting the lantern and heading outside.

The wind slapped Peter hard, stealing his breath. It had even put out the stars, he noted—the night was very black. He shrugged deeper into his coat as he held the lantern well in front of him and moved across the yard, the clump of his boots against the hard ground matching the thump of his heartbeat.

“
Ach,
Lord, unpleasant it is out here.” The wind blew the lantern back and forth, creating shadows that turned trees and bushes into wild things that leaped and danced in the feeble moonlight. He wished to return to the warmth and security of the house.

A sweep of the grounds closest to the house told Peter the barn and chicken coop were unharmed, the animals restless but safe. He started toward the mill, but something turned his feet in the opposite direction.

He squinted, his eyes burning from the force of the wind, as he moved toward the little spot of ground where the
shariah
stood. The meager lantern glow only allowed Peter to see a few feet in front of him, so when his foot encountered the crumbled roof, he gasped in surprise.

He stared, disbelieving, at the spot of ground where a wooden A-frame had once stood. Now it lay on the ground, folded like a great ragged wooden sheet, covering the pit. His heart pounded in his ears, louder even than the blowing wind, and he lurched forward. Thrusting the lantern over the flattened roof, he searched for an opening. At the north end, he noticed a narrow slice, not more than twelve inches wide, where the pit was exposed.

He stumbled to the opening and knelt, peering into the black cavity. “
Frau
Steadman!
Frau
Steadman!
Wo sind sie
?” He shook his head, forcing his tongue to form English words. “Where are you,
Frau
Steadman?”

He strained, his heart in his throat, listening for the reply. Finally, nearly masked by the wailing wind, he heard a weak voice.

“I’m trapped. Under the bed.”

“You are hurt?”

It seemed a long time before her answer came. “No. But I’m afraid the roof might fall in. And I don’t want to bump the stove.”

The stove! Peter’s limbs quivered with fear. If the roof had collapsed on top of the stove, a fire could start. He must get her out—there was no time to waste.

“You stay still,
Frau
Steadman! I will get you. Do not worry.” Still on his knees next to the tumbled building, he prayed aloud, “
Lieber
Lord, help me!” He considered ways to remove the roof. Miraculously, it seemed to lie on top of the pit. Should he yoke Gaert and Roth and use them to slide the roof from the pit?

The wind tore the hat from his head. He let it roll away into the darkness, his thoughts fixed on freeing
Frau
Steadman. Sliding the roof could knock the stove sideways. His chest constricted. No, he would not use the oxen to slide it. Somehow he must lift the roof without making it fall into the pit. He prayed for enough strength to do the task alone.

He pushed his face next to the opening. “
Frau
Steadman, I must go to get wood and a stump for a lever. You will be all right for little longer?”

Gusts of wind tried to cover her voice, but he heard her reply. “Yes … hurry, please. It’s hard to breathe.”

The cough that followed her words spurred Peter into action.

Summer kept her eyes tightly closed. The wind whipped through an opening somewhere and drove more dust into the pit. Fear made her want to take gasping breaths, but she forced herself to remain calm. Swallowing more dust wouldn’t benefit her. Mr. Ollenburger was coming. He had said he would free her, and he was a man who kept his word.

It seemed as though hours had passed since she’d heard his voice, yet it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. The Bible pressed against her chest. What had possessed her to grab it before seeking refuge beneath the bed? She had done it without conscious thought, but now, cradling it in her arms, she felt a comfort from its presence.

She shivered. Her dress had shifted up around her thighs, exposing her lower legs. Her stockings didn’t provide much protection from the biting cold. Could she pull a blanket from the bed? She considered trying, but fear of accidentally bumping the stove kept her from reaching for it. If the roof caught fire, it would mean certain death. She swallowed the panic that rose from her belly. Surely Mr. Ollenburger would return soon. She could hold on.

“
Frau
Steadman?”

The voice came as if from a great distance. She opened her eyes, blinking against the sting of dust. She could see nothing.

“
Frau
Steadman, you can hear me?”

She took a great gulp of air, battling not to cough against the grit that filled her throat. “Yes!”

“You listen to me now careful.” He pronounced the words slowly, precisely, the sound of his voice competing with the furious howl of the wind. “I will lift the roof. When you hear me say it is safe, you must come out to the north end. Come quickly—I do not know how long I can hold up the roof.”

Hold up the roof? He was planning to lift it on his own? Her heart pounded. Even a strong man like Peter Ollenburger would be incapable of such a feat.

“You hear me,
Frau
Steadman?”

“I hear you!” she choked out.

“Stay under the bed until I say it is safe!” The stern tone made her coil into a tighter ball. “If the roof drops …” He didn’t finish the sentence.

The wail of wind, the sound of splintering wood, the groans of her benefactor—all blended into a nightmare of fearsome sound. Fresh air whooshed into the pit—cold and clean. Summer gulped the air. It stung her lungs, but she didn’t care.

“Now,
Frau
Steadman!”

Mr. Ollenburger’s voice sounded strained. Summer rolled from beneath the bed and blinked rapidly, clearing her vision. A pale band of yellow beckoned her. She held the Bible to her chest with one arm and crawled awkwardly toward the source of light. The crack and moan of the roof made her wish to hurry, but her trembling limbs and tangled skirt refused to cooperate. The journey might have been miles in length for the time it took for her to struggle across the short expanse of floor on knees and elbows. Finally she reached the edge of the pit.

Mr. Ollenburger had created an opening nearly two feet high. She scrambled up the side of the pit to freedom, falling face first onto the ground. The moment she was free, a mighty crash sounded behind her. She released a shudder with the fall of the roof. Then Mr. Ollenburger knelt beside her on the dried grass, his hands touching her head, her shoulder, her back.

“You are unhurt,
Frau
Steadman?”

The genuine concern in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “I’m unhurt. Thank you, Mr. Ollenburger.” A sob of relief broke the last word in half.

“You get up now.” In the dim glow of a single lantern, she watched him remove his coat. He wrapped it around her as he helped her to her feet. “We get you to the house.”

“Your
shariah
… The chair, my teacup …” She muttered nonsensically as he guided her across the ground. Her teeth chattered despite the comforting warmth of his coat and his heavy arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have no need for sorry.” His calm voice was incongruous to the storm that continued to rage. Snowflakes danced on the wind, stinging her cheeks. “You are safe now. That is all that matters.”

They reached the house, and he guided her over the stoop. The wind slammed the door into its frame, the sound bringing
Grossmutter
and Thomas from their bedrooms.

Thomas, his eyes wide, crossed to his father. “Pa, what—?”

Mr. Ollenburger’s large hand cupped the boy’s head. “You did hear something break, son. The
shariah
no longer stands.”

The child’s wild eyes spun to Summer. “You’re all right?”

Blinking back tears, she took his hand. “I’m fine, Thomas. Please, you go on back to bed. It’s late—you need your sleep.”

“Ja.”
Mr. Ollenburger gave his son a pat. “We talk more in the morning. To bed with you.”

Thomas hesitated, but at his father’s firm nod, he returned to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

The grandmother clucked at Summer, her gnarled hands reaching to pluck bits of grit and dried grass from Summer’s hair.

Mr. Ollenburger murmured something to the old woman in German, and she scuttled to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. Mr. Ollenburger pressed Summer into a chair, leaving his coat wrapped around her shoulders. “You sit,
Frau
Steadman. An ordeal you have been through.”

The grandmother held the cup of steaming brew out to Summer, and she took it, gulping eagerly. She felt the warmth fill her middle, and she sighed. Here, in the cozy house, with the big man and his grandmother seeing to her needs, the last frightening hour seemed to fade into the distance. It took on a dreamlike quality. If she pinched herself, would she awaken to find herself lying on the rope bed in the shack?

“I’m so grateful for the sturdy bed you built,” she told Mr. Ollenburger. “And your strength in raising that roof.”

“
Ach,
with a well-placed lever and fulcrum much is possible.”

She shook her head, amazement at his abilities making her gape at him in wonder. “Is there nothing you can’t do?”

The man sank into a kitchen chair, his shaggy head drooping. “A flimsy
shariah
I built, for it to fall in the wind.” The windows rattled against another mighty blast, and he cringed. “I should have bolstered it before allowing you to live there. Many years it has stood, many winds it has faced. It became weakened with time, I am sure. I am sorry for the fear you experienced this night.”

The grandmother made soothing noises and stroked his shoulder. He took her hand, offering her a weak smile. His face looked pale, drawn. Exhaustion sagged his features.

Concern for him welled in her breast. “I’m fine, but you’ve had a rough night. Please, get your rest. I’ll … I’ll curl up …” Suddenly she didn’t know where to go or what to do.

Mr. Ollenburger drew himself up in the chair, releasing a big sigh. “You will curl up in my bed.”

“W-what?” The room spun.

His face flooded with color.
“Ach! Nein. Sie verstehen mich nicht!”

The grandmother reared back as Summer stared at Mr. Ollenburger in mute horror.

He shook his head, growling as he repeated his words in English. “You do not understand my meaning.” He gestured wildly as he spoke. “I will go sleep in the barn tonight. Then, tomorrow, I build you another bed, which we will put in
Grossmutter
’s room.” He turned to the old woman and spoke in rapid German.

“I appreciate your kindness,” Summer argued, “but I don’t wish to inconvenience you any further than my presence already has. I can go to the barn.”

Another gust of wind shook the entire house. “
Nein,
I cannot leave you to the barn. It is too cold.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he spoke again, his expression stern. “Woman, you cannot go to the barn. You will freeze, and then what use will you be to the boy?”

He called her
woman
in a tone that spoke of deep familiarity. She wished to run outside into the biting wind to cool the heat that filled her face. Before he could say anything that would embarrass her further, she stammered, “All-all right, Mr. Ollenburger. I-I will sleep in your bed tonight.”

He nodded in satisfaction and removed his coat from her shoulders. “Clean sheets are in the
schrank
in the corner. Morning will be here soon, so do not tarry. You sleep well.” He shrugged into his coat and disappeared into his room, returning a few moments later with a blanket draped over his arm. Kissing the grandmother’s wrinkled cheek, he murmured something in German. She nodded, then toddled back to her room.

Summer watched Mr. Ollenburger head to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he looked at her and repeated, “You sleep well.”

Although she nodded, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. Not with her head on the pillow that normally cradled his head. She went to his room, pulled quilts and a feather pillow from the large cupboard in the corner, and made a pallet on the floor. Sleep claimed her the moment her head touched the pillow.

16

P
A! PA, COME QUICK!
”

Summer awakened with a start. She jerked to a seated position, a cramp catching in her lower back. Pressing a hand to the offending spot, she struggled to her feet and staggered to the bedroom door. Thomas stood in the kitchen with the front door open, allowing in a stream of sunshine and a large portion of the cold morning air.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

At her voice he spun to face her. “What’re you doing in there? Where’s Pa?”

“Your father slept in the barn last night.” She crossed to the door. The wind, at last, had blown itself away, but the cold remained. Chilly air swirled around her, and she shivered. “Close the door, please. It’s cold.”

“But look!” The boy pointed. “It snowed last night!”

Summer squinted into the bright morning sunshine. Thomas was right—the flurry of snow had left behind a light dusting of powdery flakes.

“First snow of the year!” Thomas beamed. “Not enough to play in, but it’s a start. Whoopee!”

Summer didn’t echo Thomas’s joy at this harbinger of winter. She shivered again. “Yes, it’s snow. Now please close the door. You’re sending all our warmth outside.”

He heaved a great sigh as he closed the door. “Why’d Pa stay in the barn?”

She opened the door of the stove. “He was concerned about it being too cold out there for me.” Using the poker, she turned over the glowing coals. “We need to get the fire going again.” She chose two logs from the woodbox and placed them on top of the coals.

Thomas stood close, watching as she blew into the coals, encouraging a flame. “Can’t be much colder in the barn than it is in here.”

Summer released a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure that’s because you left the door standing wide open for so long, gawking at the snow!”

The boy shrugged, grinning. “Guess so.”

“Once the fire is roaring, we’ll get breakfast started, hmm?” She realized she had enjoyed waking to the sound of the boy’s voice. It was certainly preferable to the lonely silence of the
shariah
.

The far door opened, revealing the grandmother, who stood with a shawl draped over her nightgown. Her long gray hair lay in tangled strands on top of the woven shawl. She blinked at Summer, as if puzzled, then her expression cleared. Her focus bounced to the stove, where a cheery blaze crackled, then returned to Summer. A smile surfaced in her eyes.

“Thomas, will you tell your grandmother I will prepare breakfast?” She listened to Thomas’s German words, watching the old woman’s face for her reaction. To her relief, the woman merely nodded, giving her approval, and then went back into her bedroom. Summer said, “If I allow you to bundle up and visit the henhouse, do you promise to walk slowly and not hurt yourself?”

The boy’s face lit up. “I promise!” He donned his hat, coat, and gloves, then stepped out into the snow-covered morning with a basket on his arm. Summer watched through the frosty window as he took slow steps across the yard; every once in a while he turned back to look at the imprint of his boots in the sparse snow.

She turned from the window, a smile tugging at her lips. How could one remain gloomy with Thomas nearby? The boy’s excitement and bright eyes lit the room, his cheerful nature so much like her own little Tod’s. Her heart clutched with remembrance, but she deliberately pushed aside the sorrow, focusing instead on the living, breathing boy who required her attention.

By the time Thomas returned, Summer had her bedding put away and the table set for breakfast. The grandmother came out, fully clothed, her hair twisted into its familiar bun, and ambled to her chair. Thomas handed the basket to Summer.

She peered into it, her eyebrows rising. “What? Only three eggs?”

He shrugged. “Must be too cold to lay. That’s all there was.”

“Well, that will hardly make enough eggs to feed your father.” She huffed. “What’s wrong with those hens? Don’t they know a growing boy also lives in this house?”

Thomas giggled, responding to her teasing tone. “Should I go tell them what you said? Maybe they’ll lay some more.”

Summer smiled at his red cheeks and nose. “I think one excursion into the snow is enough for this morning. Unbundle and we’ll think of something else to do with these three lonely eggs.”

Less than half an hour later, Mr. Ollenburger stomped through the door. His nose and ears glowed red from the cold, and a huge smile brightened his face.
“Die windschläge und wir haben schnee!”
As
Grossmutter
chuckled, he turned to Summer and said, “The wind, she does blow, and we shall have snow!”

Summer felt another grin tug her cheeks. How ruddy he looked with his cold-reddened features and beard bristling in all directions. Even the recent haircut and trim couldn’t completely tame his bearlike appearance. The morning breeze had teased his wheat-colored hair, causing it to stick out in uncontrolled tufts over his sparkling blue eyes. “You look no older than Thomas, standing there with your mussed hair, red nose, and snowy feet.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. How could she have spoken to him so casually? But then he opened his mouth and laughed, his eyes crinkling with delight.

“Ah,
Frau
Steadman, a bit of the Old Nick you are feeling. The first snow will do that to a person.” He reached up with a broad hand to smooth his hair. “I have been choring, so mussed I probably am. And hungry as a spring-wakened bear. Is that
pankuake
I smell?”

“What?”

“
Pankuake
—what you call pancake.”

The smell of scorched batter reached Summer’s nose. She spun back to the stove, lifting the iron skillet from the burner. “I was going to make scrambled eggs, but Thomas said the hens were too cold to lay, so there were only three, and that wasn’t even enough to feed
you,
so—”

She was prattling. What on earth was wrong with her this morning? Obviously she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. Her cheeks burned, and she considered running outside to thrust her face into the snow and stay there until the spring thaw. But Mr. Ollenburger’s laughter rang again.

“Well known you have become with my appetite.” He removed his outerwear. “Pancakes are good choice to make the eggs stretch. Many times as a boy, my family had
pankuake
for an evening meal. They will surely fill this bear’s stomach.

“Thomas, have you fetched the molasses jar? No? Then get it, boy. Ready I am to eat a mountain of pancakes.”

Breakfast passed with cheerful camaraderie that calmed Summer’s unsettled nerves. It was difficult to stay on edge around the Ollenburgers. Their easy acceptance of her and their loving relationship with each other made her heart patter with the desire to be more than just Thomas’s tutor, to actually be a member of this family. And at the same time, her heart lurched in fear of where her thoughts were leading.

As Summer rose to clear the dishes, the crunch of wagon wheels sounded from the front yard, and a voice called, “Hello in the house! Peter Ollenburger, are you home?”

Mr. Ollenburger rose to open the door. “
Guten morgen, Herr
Penner. Good morning, Rupert. What for do you come out this Saturday morning?”

“Last night’s wind storm has brought down a tree at the Ratzlaffs’. Through the barn roof it fell. We need oxen to move the tree and strong arms to rebuild the barn. Are you able to help?”

Without hesitating, Mr. Ollenburger reached for his coat. “I will come.” He paused, his apologetic gaze resting on Summer. “I will not be able to make a bed for you today.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about my bed. Take care of your neighbor.”

Thomas tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Pa, can Rupert stay here and play? We’ll stay in the house, and I promise not to be rough. Please?”

Mr. Ollenburger turned to the grandmother.
“Mag der junge einen besucher heute haben?”

To Summer’s surprise, the woman lifted a hand to point with a gnarled finger in Summer’s direction.

Mr. Ollenburger nodded and shifted his focus to Summer. “
Frau
Steadman, do you mind if a friend the boy has here today?”

She shook her head. Although she would prefer only Thomas’s company, she knew the boy missed spending time with his classmates. “No. That’s fine.”

“Hurray!” Thomas yelped. He hollered out the open door, “Rupert, can you stay here today while our fathers work at the Ratzlaff place?”

A brief consultation took place between the father and son on the wagon, and then Rupert bounded into the house. His red hair, freckles, and pale amber eyes contrasted with Thomas’s ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes. Thomas was a much more handsome lad, Summer thought with pride, startling herself with her sense of ownership of the boy.

“Good-bye now,
Frau
Steadman.” Mr. Ollenburger spoke from the doorway, pulling her attention from the boys who huddled in the corner, obviously planning their day. “Do not worry about chores—I will tend to the chickens and horses when I return.”

She nodded, and the man turned to his son.

“Thomas?”

“Yes, Pa?”

“Mind
Frau
Steadman, and do not get wild. And Rupert,” he said to the red-haired boy, “remember Thomas cannot get wild or his ribs may be hurt.”

Both boys nodded, but grins split their faces.

The door closed, and Summer offered a trembling smile. “Rupert, have you had breakfast?”

The boy’s grin faded and disapproval shone in his eyes. “
Ja
. My mother fed me.”

“Very well then.” Summer faltered, twisting her hands in the apron that still hung around her waist. Realizing what she was doing, she pulled her hands loose and began clearing dishes. Would she let this little boy intimidate her in her own home? Then her hands froze. Home? This wasn’t her home.

Looking directly at Thomas, she suggested, “Why don’t you boys go to your room and play? I would imagine Rupert enjoys building towers and bridges with blocks as much as you do.”

Thomas turned his eager grin in Rupert’s direction. “Want to?”

The other boy shrugged. “
Ja,
I suppose.”

As the boys walked to the bedroom, Summer could feel Rupert’s narrowed eyes watching her.

Thomas hummed as he grabbed a handful of blocks and dumped them in the middle of the floor. He really wanted to go outside and tramp through the first snow of the season, but having Rupert visit was almost as good. With his friend helping, they could probably build a better tower than he’d ever made by himself. The click of the door latch startled him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Rupert leaning against the closed door. His friend’s face twisted into a scowl.

“How come
she’s
in your house, cooking breakfast for you?”

The question caught Thomas by surprise. A funny feeling crept into his stomach. “Because she’s a better cook than Pa.”

Rupert crossed his arms. “She shouldn’t be cooking for you.”

“Why not?”

Rupert stalked to Thomas and knelt in front of him. “Thomas, you have to be careful.”

Even though Rupert’s face was serious and the whispered words were clearly a warning, Thomas couldn’t stop the giggle that rose from his throat. Rupert had no idea how silly he sounded. “Careful about what?”

Rupert punched Thomas’s shoulder. “Thomas, I’m not making fun. My pa says letting her stay here is just like letting a Russian soldier stay in your house. My pa says every time somebody different comes to stay, problems start. That’s why your pa and my pa had to leave Russia. Because different people came to the village and caused problems.”

Thomas resisted rolling his eyes. “Rupert, we talked about this before. Mrs. Steadman is only one lady. She isn’t going to cause problems. Besides, she’s just teaching me.”

“Teaching you what? That’s what my pa wants to know. Is she teaching you things that aren’t of the church?”

“Of course not!” Indignation rose in Thomas’s chest. “She’s learning
about
our church. She and my pa study every night.”

To Thomas’s amazement, Rupert’s face turned white. His freckles looked like tiny pennies swimming in milk. “He’s telling her about our church?”

Thomas frowned. “Sure he is.”

Rupert shook his head, his eyes wide. “He shouldn’t be doing that.”

“But why?”

“If she knows about our church, then she can
really
cause problems!”

Thomas huffed. Now he wished he hadn’t asked Rupert to stay. “Rupert, you don’t make any sense. You say she can cause problems because she isn’t part of our church. Then you say she can cause problems because she’s learning about our church. And I say you’re full of sauerkraut!” He pushed two blocks toward his friend and crossed his arms.

“And I say
you’re
asking for trouble.” Rupert pushed the blocks back. “You shouldn’t be letting some fancy lady stay in your
shariah
.”

Without thinking, Thomas blurted, “She’s staying in the house.”

Rupert’s eyes grew so wide Thomas was afraid they might pop out of his head. “In the
house
?”

Thomas leaned forward, his heart pounding as he realized his mistake. “Yes, but it’s okay. She stays in Pa’s room, and—”

Rupert leaped to his feet. “In your pa’s room?”

Thomas struggled to his feet and reached out to Rupert. “But it’s okay! Pa’s staying—”

“I don’t wanna hear anything else, Thomas,” Rupert said, putting his hands over his ears.

Thomas grabbed Rupert’s hands and pulled them down. “It’s okay, I told you!” Leaning close, Thomas whispered, “I think she’s gonna be my new ma.” Even though Thomas had never dared to think such a thing, now that he’d said it, it sounded like a good idea. Even though sometimes she got bossy, he knew that’s what ma’s did—told children what to do. But most of the time she was nice, and he really liked Mrs. Steadman. He knew she liked him, too.

Rupert stared at Thomas, bug-eyed. “Your new ma? But … but she can’t!”

“Why can’t she?” He shrugged. “She doesn’t have a husband, and she and my pa get along real good. She can be my new ma if she wants to.”

Rupert shook his head. “My pa’s a deacon, and I know the rules. Your pa can’t marry her because she’s not part of our church.”