Lyn Cote (6 page)

She smiled then and walked toward the cart. “Yes, I want to discuss that matter with you.”

They said their farewells to the Stewards, and soon Ellen sat beside him on the seat of the small cart, holding the baby whose eyelids kept drooping only to pop open again, evidently fighting sleep. Kurt turned the pony and they began the trip to town, heading toward the golden and pink sunset. Crickets sang, filling his ears. Beside him, Miss Ellen Thurston held herself up as a lady should. Only last night had he seen her usual refined composure slip. Finding the infant had shaken her. Did it have something to do with the little brother she’d mentioned?

Kurt chewed his lower lip, trying to figure out how to begin the conversation about his brother. “I still don’t agree with what you have said about Gunther,” he grumbled at last.

“But yet you are here, talking to me” was all she replied.

A sound of frustration escaped his lips. “Gunther...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say, or could say. He would never speak about the real cause of Gunther’s rebelliousness. He would never want Miss Thurston to know the extent of his family’s shame. His father’s gambling had been enough to wound them all. What had driven him even further to such a disgraceful end?

Kurt struggled with himself, with what to do about his brother. Gunther needed to face life and go on, despite what had happened. Would his giving in weaken his brother more?

“Your brother is at a difficult age—not a boy, not fully a man,” she said.

If that were the only problem, Kurt would count himself fortunate. So much more had wounded his brother, and at a tender age. A woodpecker pounded a hollow tree nearby, an empty, lonely sound.

“Gunther and Johann are all I have left.” He hadn’t planned to say that, and shame shuddered deep inside his chest.

“I know how you feel.”

No, she didn’t, but he wouldn’t correct her. “Do you still think to teach Gunther in the evenings?”

“Yes. As you know, you can send him to school, but you cannot make him learn if he’s shut his mind to it. Private lessons would be best.”

Kurt chewed on this bitter pill and then swallowed it. “He will have the lessons, then.”

“Will you be able to help him with his studies on the evenings when I am not working with him?”

“I will.”

“Then bring him after supper on Tuesday.” Miss Thurston looked down at the child in her arms and smiled so sweetly—Kurt could tell just from her expression that she had a tender heart. Something about her smile affected him deeply and he had to look away.

She glanced up at him and asked, “Have you told Gunther about this?”

“I tell him soon,” he said.

“Good.” She sounded relieved.

He, however, was anything but relieved. His fears for Gunther clamored within. They had come to this new country for a new start. He wanted Gunther to make the most of this, not end up like their father had.

They reached the downward stretch onto the flat of the riverside. He directed the pony cart onto the trail to the school. Again, he was bringing her home in Martin’s cart and again someone was waiting on her doorstep. This time a woman rose to greet them. What now?

Kurt helped Miss Thurston down. She moved so gracefully as a shaft of sunset shone through the trees, gilding her hair. He forced himself not to stop and enjoy the sight. Instead, he accompanied her to greet the woman.

“Good evening,” Miss Thurston said, cradling the sleeping baby in her arms.

The other woman replied, “I am Mrs. Brawley. My husband and I are homesteading just north of town.”

“Yes?” Miss Thurston encouraged the woman.

“I have one child and I heard the preacher say this morning that you needed someone to care for the baby.” The woman gazed at the child, sleeping in the lady’s arms.

“I take it that you may be interested in doing that?” the schoolteacher asked.

“Yes, miss. I could take care of two as well as one.”

“May I visit your home tomorrow after supper and discuss it then?”

“Yes, yes, please come.” The woman gave directions to her homestead, which lay about a mile and a half north of town. They bid her good-night and she hurried away in the lowering light of day.

“Well, I hope this will solve the problem of William’s care during the schooldays.”

Her single-mindedness scraped Kurt’s calm veneer. “You think still they will let you keep the child?”

She had mounted the step and now turned toward him. “Perhaps you are one of those who think a woman who does not wish to marry cannot love a child, and is unnatural. That is the common
wisdom.
”

Her cold words, especially the final ones, startled him. “No. That is foolish.”

Her face softened. “Thank you, Mr. Lang.”

He tried to figure out why anybody would think that. Then her words played again in his head. “You do not wish to marry?”

“No, I don’t wish to marry.”

Her attitude left him dumbfounded. “I thought every woman wished to marry.”

She shook her head, one corner of her mouth lifting. “No, not every woman. Good night, Mr. Lang. I’ll see you Tuesday evening.”

“Guten nacht,”
he said, lapsing into German without meaning to. He turned the pony cart around and headed toward the Stewards’ to return it. Thoughts about Miss Thurston and William chased each other around in his mind. Very simply, he hated the thought of seeing her disappointed. What if she became more deeply attached to William and the town forced her to give the child away in the end?

Why wouldn’t she face the fact that the town would not let her keep William? He wouldn’t press her about this, but in fact, the town
shouldn’t
let her keep him. The question wasn’t whether Miss Thurston was capable of rearing the child. But didn’t he know that raising a child alone was difficult, lonely, worrying? Didn’t he know it better than anyone here?

Chapter Six

O
n Monday morning, Ellen inhaled deeply, preparing to face teaching school with William in the room. With any luck, tomorrow he would be with Mrs. Brawley. But until then, she’d have to make do.

She entered the still-empty schoolroom and set William in his basket on her desk. She gazed down at him as he slept, his little fists clutching the blanket. Every time she looked at him or held him, the feelings she had for him deepened, coiling tighter around her heart.

She walked outside into the air that still held no fall crispness, and rang the bell. The children stopped playing and ran toward her, jostling for their spots in the line. They filed in, taking their seats row by row. When all were seated, she shut the door with satisfaction at their orderliness and returned to stand by her desk.

“You still have the baby,” Amanda said and then colored. “I’m sorry, Miss Thurston. I didn’t mean to talk out of turn.”

Ellen nodded her forgiveness. “It is an unusual situation but until his mother returns—” Ellen’s heart clamped tight “—or I find someone to care for William, he will have to come to school. Now, I will begin with our youngest grade. Slates out, please. The rest of you, please take out your readers and begin reading silently where we left off on Friday.”

All went well till in the midst of listening to the fifth graders recite their times tables, William woke with a whimper and then a full-scale cry. The sound raced up her spine. But she reminded herself that she already had a plan for this situation.

Every child stopped and turned their attention to the basket on her desk.

Johann popped up. “Miss Thurston, the baby is crying.”

The other students laughed, and Johann looked abashed and sat down with a plump.

Ellen smiled at him. “I think you may be right, Johann.” She lifted the child and checked his diaper. “Amanda, would you be kind enough to take William to my room and change his diaper? I left everything on the table for you. And mix him another bottle of Horlick’s. That’s all laid out, too.”

Amanda beamed and hurried forward to carry William’s basket through the door behind Ellen. Ellen motioned for the fifth grader, who had been interrupted, to begin his times tables again. She listened to the boy with one ear and to the sounds of Amanda crooning to William in the next room with the other.

Ellen could make this work—she knew she could. All she had to do now was prove it to everyone else.

* * *

After supper, Ellen left the Ashfords and began walking to the Brawley’s claim with William in her arms. As she walked, an unread letter from home clamored to be taken out of her pocket. Mr. Ashford, the postmaster, had given it to her before supper.

But she didn’t have the strength to face it yet. She would never admit it to anyone, but rising to feed William at least twice each night had exhausted her, flattened her somehow. And she was not sure she could handle what the letter might hold. She would have to prepare herself for the ordeal of reading it.

Walking steadily, she had no trouble finding the newly built log cabin and she called out the familiar frontier greeting, “Hello, the house!”

Mrs. Brawley came outside to welcome her. “You came!” The petite dark-haired woman, who looked barely twenty, sounded relieved.

Ellen noted that she wore a fresh apron and held her own child, who looked to be a few months older than William. Behind her loomed the young man of the house. He did not seem very happy to see Ellen. Nevertheless, she stepped inside and greeted him, offering her hand.

He shook it, all the while grimacing as if he had a toothache. “I want to make it clear—my wife does not need to work for anybody. I’m able to provide for my family.”

Mrs. Brawley blushed and lowered her eyes.

Ellen realized she should have anticipated this. “I understand that, Mr. Brawley. I thought it kind of your wife to help me out in this unusual situation.”

He looked somewhat mollified. “I just don’t want anybody getting the wrong idea.”

“If your good wife and I come to an agreement, I’ll make certain everyone knows she is doing it out of the goodness of her heart, and that I’m beholden to her kindness.” Ellen scanned the room and found what she’d hoped for—a clean, orderly house.

“Okay, then,” he said gruffly, offering what passed for a placatory grin. “I got animals to see to. I’ll leave you womenfolk to thrash this out.” Pulling on his hat from a peg by the door, he left them.

“Won’t you sit down, miss?” The woman motioned toward one of the chairs at the table.

Drawing in a deep breath, Ellen agreed. “Where are you and your husband from?” Ellen asked, thinking how touchy the man’s pride had been.

“We grew up west of Chicago, but my husband wanted his own farm so we headed north.” The woman sounded as if she’d rather not have come to the frontier.

Ellen had chosen to come to Pepin for her own reasons, not a husband’s. “I’m from Galena myself,” Ellen said, keeping the conversation going, and soon they were chatting about leaving one’s family. The letter in Ellen’s pocket reminded her of her own.

“Now, you don’t mind taking care of an orphan?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, no, it’s not the child’s fault,” Mrs. Brawley replied quickly. “And I’ll treat him just like my own.” As they talked more, Ellen noted the woman’s ease with William and the excellent attention she gave her own child. When Ellen was satisfied Mrs. Brawley had no prejudice against a foundling, they agreed upon both wage and plan. Mrs. Brawley would pick the child up each morning before school and Ellen would come fetch William each day after school. They shook hands and Ellen left, feeling as if everything were neatly taken care of.

Except for the unread letter from her sister sitting like a hot potato in her pocket.

The letter presented another fiery trial Ellen must endure. Could she bear to read about Cissy and her new husband? After she’d put William down later that night, Ellen finally faced her trepidation. With sure fingers, she opened the letter and began reading.

August 23, 1870

Dear Ellen, dearest sister,

Why did you leave before we returned from our honeymoon? Randolph said something about your wanting to spend a long visit with Ophelia before the school year started. I didn’t realize that you’d made the decision to take the teaching position in Pepin definite. Was I so involved in my own affairs that I ignored this?

I know that we’ve been through a difficult time, losing Mother and Father. But then Holton came into my life and I thought it would make a happy new beginning for all of us...

Ellen could read no further, her heart squeezing so tight she felt strangled. She folded the letter and slid it into her music box’s secret door. Her fingers trembled and she forced back tears. She gazed around at her one room with its few familiar possessions—the music box, the quilt her grandmother had sewn for her, a sampler her great-grandmother had stitched as a girl in Massachusetts. She clung to these as Holton’s betrayal wounded her afresh with every memory of home.

I’ll read more tomorrow when I can handle it.
She could no longer hold back the tears, and they ran down her cheeks.
I’m glad you’re happy, Cissy.

* * *

On Monday evening, Kurt waited till Johann had gone to bed early as usual. Then he found his brother sitting outside on the bench by the door, gazing at the surrounding forest, the last of the sun’s bronzed rays sifting through the trees and branches. Kurt sat down beside him and Gunther made room for him.

Kurt understood Gunther’s fascination with the forest. At home in Germany very few forests had been preserved. Had Germany looked like this once—a vast forest with little villages, overshadowed by the brooding evergreen trees and tall maples? But the beautiful surroundings didn’t distract him from his purpose. He’d argued with himself over whether the schoolteacher was right till he was ragged inside. Now he must speak. Tomorrow Miss Thurston would be expecting Gunther for his first private lesson.

“I know you have not been going to school,” Kurt said flatly and without preamble.

Gunther started and swung to face him, instantly fired up. “I am too old—”

“Ja, you are too old.”

This halted Gunther’s words. He stared at Kurt.

Kurt inhaled deeply. “But there is still much you need to learn.”

Gunther looked unhappy but didn’t reply.

“How will you learn about this country without school?”

Kurt asked to force Gunther to deal with the problem as an adult. If he wished to be treated as an adult, he’d have to start acting like one.

There was a pause; cricket song filled their silence and then Gunther suggested, “I could read books.”

“Is your English good enough to understand those books?”

“My English is better all the time,” Gunther said, some of the edge seeping back into his tone.

Kurt stared at his boots. This still felt like giving in, like letting Gunther get his own way, making him weak.

“Miss Thurston has offered private lessons two evenings a week, starting tomorrow. Do you want them?”

Gunther sent him a look laden with suspicion and folded his arms. “Private lessons? Can we afford that?”

“She says she is the teacher for Pepin and will teach anybody who wants to learn whenever they can come. Do you want to learn, Gunther?”

Gunther eyed him as if he didn’t trust him.

“You did not set Johann a very good example,” Kurt scolded, frowning, and felt the frown lowering his own mood.

“I couldn’t get you to listen to me,” Gunther objected.

Kurt bent forward and folded his hands. Their relationship was not the usual between brothers. It never had been. Their father had never “fathered” Gunther.

Gunther rose. “So I go to school tomorrow after supper?”

“We’ll go with you,” Kurt said. “Maybe I can learn, too.”

This thought obviously startled Gunther. Then the lad grinned. “We go to school together—you and me?”

Kurt shook his head, standing. “Go to bed.”

Gunther chuckled and went inside.

Kurt stared at the last of the sunset and thought of Miss Thurston, so pretty and so caring. But she was going to be hurt over this baby and there was nothing he could do to help her.

* * *

On Tuesday evening, Ellen stood in the doorway of the school, waiting for Gunther to arrive. Would he? Or would he skip evening school, too?

As she waited, she tried not to think of the contents of her sister’s letter, which she’d finished reading before she went to retrieve William from the Brawley’s. The letter’s contents still upset her stomach and played through her mind. She’d thought she’d left matters in the best way she could, but evidently that had changed for the worse.

She sighed. The autumn days still lingered in a long twilight. Then she saw a trio of shadows approaching. Apparently Gunther was not arriving on his own.

Holding Johann’s hand, Gunther walked beside Mr. Lang, who marched toward her as if someone behind him had a rifle aimed at his back. The man, whose good looks still caused her some unease, had very definite ideas. Gunther’s head was lowered in obvious uncertainty. She hoped this solution would work for the boy.

Even as she tried to focus on the important task at hand, her unruly mind kept drifting back to phrases from her sister’s letter.

I know you couldn’t possibly live with our brother and his wife. It seems to me that Alice brings out all the worst in Randolph. Shouldn’t love bring out the best in a person?

A very good question, Ellen thought. Was this evidence that her sister was maturing?

“Good evening, Miss Thurston.” Mr. Lang greeted her as always, with that distinctive European style, making his respect for her plain. She noted that his blond hair waved around his ears, and he needed a haircut.

She forced a smile, reminding herself that Gunther needed her to make this work. “I see you’ve brought Johann, too.”

“Yes.” Mr. Lang looked stressed. “I thought he could help me watch the child while Gunther takes his lessons.”

This surprised Ellen, but it shouldn’t have. She recalled how Mr. Lang had pitched in and taken care of William that night they’d found him. Because of that, she had expected Mr. Lang to side with her about keeping William. But he hadn’t. Now, here he was offering her help, not lecturing her about her campaign to keep William.

An unusual and complicated man.

“A good idea,” she replied.

As she looked at Mr. Lang and was reminded yet again of Holton, more of Cissy’s words played in her mind.
I must say that I’ve been surprised by some of our oldest friends. They don’t seem to welcome Holton as they should. Holton dismisses it as just small-town clannishness, but it hurts me all the same.

Ellen hoped no one would tell Cissy the plain truth. Initially, when others noticed Holton switching his attentions from her to Cissy, she’d crafted excuses. She’d done it foremost to save face but then to protect her sister.

But maybe I shouldn’t have. Perhaps I should have told Cissy the truth. But would she have believed me? Or put it down as jealousy?

Ellen forced herself back to the present. “Gunther, I thought we’d do our lessons in my quarters. Come in.”

Soon she sat at the table with Gunther, and Mr. Lang settled in the rocking chair holding William. Johann played with a carved wooden horse, tapping its hooves on the half-log floor. Accustomed to being here alone every evening, Ellen noticed a difference. The room felt as if it was happy to be filled with more than just her and William.
Foolishness,
she chided herself.

“Gunther, I am not going to be teaching you as a child, but as an adult student.” She had given this a lot of thought and had rehearsed this speech in her mind. She looked directly into the young man’s blue eyes, so like his handsome brother’s. No wonder he’d gained Amanda’s attention.

“Gunther,” she began, “you have much to learn about English and American history and government if you are to be a knowledgeable American citizen. But I’m only going to teach you if you are interested in bettering yourself, preparing yourself to vote intelligently in the future. Do you want to learn?”