Thomas crossed to the crock that served as a cookie jar and removed the lid. “I would have been back sooner, but I ran into Belinda Schmidt”—he grinned, realizing his words were literal rather than figurative—“and helped her deliver a wagonful of ironing.” He fished two fat ammonia cookies from the crock and replaced the lid with a soft
clank
.
Summer shook her head and dropped a shirt into the tub closest to her knees. “Ironing yet . . . That girl is going to work herself to death.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “I’ve not been able to determine why Belinda is working at all. Her family seemed well-to-do when her father was alive, but since his death, it’s as though they’re impoverished.” Then she raised her shoulders and added, “But I suppose that isn’t my business. I do admire Belinda for being willing to support her mother and sister. I only wish her sister would help by at least taking over the housework. And I worry about her. I’m afraid she’ll spend her whole life tending to
Frau
Schmidt and Malinda.”
Thomas finished the first cookie and brushed crumbs from his shirtfront. “I invited her family to our picnic on the Fourth. Is that all right?”
Summer separated Pa’s pants from the girls’ dresses. “I discussed the picnic with her mother over a week ago and encouraged her to come with Belinda and Malinda.”
Thomas scowled. “Belinda knew nothing about it.”
With a soft huff of displeasure, Summer shook her head. “I should have known to mention it to Belinda. I’m glad you said something.”
“I feel sorry for her.” Thomas examined the remaining cookie in his hand but saw only Belinda’s sad eyes. He glanced up to find Summer fixing him with a speculative look. “What’s the matter?”
She just smiled. “Nothing.” She returned to sorting, placing each item into its appropriate tub to soak. “I hope they’ll come. They could all benefit from taking a break from mourning.” Then she put her hands on her hips and assumed a stern air. “But right now, young man, I need your dirty clothes. I didn’t want to invade your privacy by going into your room and seeking them out myself. So would you please retrieve whatever items need to be washed?” With an arched brow, she let her gaze rove from his head to his toes and back. “Which includes the pants and shirt you’re wearing.”
Thomas popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” And while they were alone, perhaps they could discuss Boston.
He quickly changed into his nightshirt and robe, then gathered up all of his dirty clothes. Heat filled his face as he stepped back into the kitchen with his hairy legs and bare feet sticking out from beneath the hem of the nightshirt. His stepmother had seen him in his nightclothes many times when he was a boy, yet he felt somehow exposed standing before her now in such informal attire.
But she simply took the items from his hands and said, “Thank you. Now
schlop die gesunt
, son.”
That was his cue to go to bed.
Maybe that was best.
Summer looked tired.
Thomas awakened to the sound of his father whistling. He cocked his head, straining to determine whether anyone else was up with Pa. He detected no other voices.
Throwing back the light cover, he shimmied into a pair of pants, tugged on a shirt, and headed to the kitchen. He spotted Pa leaning over one of the tubs of water, preparing to lift it. Thomas dashed forward. “Here, Pa. Let me help.”
“
Dank
.” Pa stepped to one side of the tub and took hold of the handle. “The load is easier with two backs instead of one.”
He and Thomas carried all three tubs to the backyard, where Summer would do her scrubbing later in the morning. Thomas brushed his hands together, looking at the contents of the tubs. He shook his head. “What a task to wash all this!”
Pa chuckled. “
Ja
, and it is more with you here. We both are so big—our clothes are bigger, so a third tub she uses now.”
Thomas glanced into the tub holding his father’s shirts and pants. He glimpsed his own clothes tangled up with Pa’s, and his heart gave a leap. He slapped his shirt where the breast pocket would be and sucked in a sharp breath.
Pa stared at him in concern. “Son?”
Thomas plunged his hands into the tub, digging out the shirt he’d worn yesterday. He grimaced when he located the letter from Daphne, still folded in the pocket, but now soggy from its overnight soak in the tub. Would it dry out and still be readable? He tried to unfold it but only managed to tear the paper.
Pa stepped forward, his fingers pinching his beard. “This is something important?”
Thomas nodded, but he didn’t elaborate. He pressed the square against his leg, absorbing some of the moisture with the fabric of his pants.
Pa held out his hand, and Thomas plopped the paper onto his father’s palm. They both stood, staring at the crumpled wad. “Maybe . . .” Pa worked his jaw back and forth, squinting. “Maybe when it is dry, you can unfold it.”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “Unfolding it won’t fix it. Look at it—it’s all stained and blotchy. The ink ran.” He looked into the tub again. “I hope the ink didn’t transfer to your clothes. If it did, I’ll replace everything.”
“That is not needed,” Pa said, rotating his palm slightly to turn the paper to receive the sun’s rays. “Work clothes have stains—a few more will not matter.”
“I suppose.”
“So what is this important paper I hold?” Pa searched Thomas’s face.
At last—his chance. Taking a deep breath of fortification, Thomas readied his thoughts.
“Oh, good!” Summer’s cheerful voice cut in before Thomas could form a word. She stepped through the back door into the yard, her gaze drifting across the waiting tubs. “Thank you for getting those out of the way so I can fix breakfast.” She slipped beneath Pa’s arm and smiled up at him. “
Panküake
this morning?”
“Ach, what is better than pancakes for Saturday breakfast?” Pa asked.
Summer looked between Pa and Thomas. “Have you told him about the mill?”
Pa slapped his forehead. “
Nä!
I almost forget. I go see my boss last night, and he says he can use you until all harvest grains are ground. It is only a short job, but still a job.” Pa bounced the ruined letter on his open palm, his grin broad.
A wave of frustration filled Thomas’s chest. He took the letter from Pa and opened his mouth, ready to share about the job opportunity offered on the page.
“Mama, Papa!” Gussie burst through the back door, her nightgown flapping. Her wide blue eyes matched her excited voice. “Little Lena tried to climb out of her crib and she fell!
Komm flucks!
”
Both Summer and Pa dashed after Gussie, and Thomas followed. Even though Lena’s injury was minor—a bruise on her forehead and scuffed skin on one palm—the fright from her tumble required a great deal of comfort. By the time the little girl had been calmed, Thomas’s sodden letter was forgotten, and he didn’t have the heart to bring it up again.
By the morning of the Fourth of July, Thomas nearly fumed with frustration, and he didn’t feel much like celebrating freedom. He felt trapped by circumstances, and he wasn’t sure how to fix the situation. Was this God’s way of telling him to remain in Hillsboro? Would he be stuck in this small town forever?
The morning passed quickly as Thomas helped Pa prepare the backyard to receive guests. With Abby, Gussie, and Lena darting between them and slowing their progress, he and Pa laid boards across borrowed sawbucks to use as tables. Summer covered them with lengths of red-and-white-checked cloth, giving the yard a festive appearance. Pa pounded iron stakes into the ground so the men could play horseshoes, and Thomas set a washtub in the shade and filled it with water so the kids could bob for last fall’s wrinkled apples. Quilts dotted the ground, providing more places to sit, and the smells that carried from Summer’s kitchen made Thomas’s mouth water and his stomach churn with desire for the evening to arrive so they could indulge in all the special dishes.
Midafternoon, to Summer’s obvious joy and Thomas’s surprise, all three of the Schmidt women paraded across the alley to join the Ollenburgers. Belinda carried a fresh-baked apple-raisin pie, and Malinda presented a basket of cherry
plauts
that brought a cheer from Abby and Gussie. Although not allowed to drink coffee, the little girls both loved the fruit-laden miniature cakes baked to accompany a cup of the strong brew.
Summer placed both sweets on the table designated to hold the food and gave hugs to all three women, although neither Malinda nor
Frau
Schmidt reciprocated. Summer made a show of admiring the pie and
plauts
. “You didn’t need to bring anything, but these look delicious.”
“Thank you.” Malinda spoke with stiff lips, as though forming the words was painful. She looped her hand through her mother’s elbow and led her to the side of the house, where makeshift benches of boards laid over barrels provided shaded seating. The pair remained there, perched like two birds on a wire, until all of the guests had arrived.
Frau
Schmidt and Malinda kept to themselves, but Belinda appeared to enjoy mingling. Thomas observed her sitting down on a quilt with two or three other ladies. It gave his heart a lift to see her smile and hear her soft laugh. The invitation might have been offered on a whim, but he was glad he’d followed the impulse.
He didn’t do a great deal of visiting, however. For the most part, he hovered on the fringes of the groups, playing with his little sisters when they begged and answering questions if someone addressed him directly, but he kept himself detached as much as possible. He couldn’t explain why he needed his distance; he only sensed that if he involved himself too much, it would create a new complication when it was time to return to Boston.
As the sun neared the horizon and the activities slowed down, Malinda and
Frau
Schmidt finally left their spots on the bench and approached Belinda. “Mama is tired,” Malinda said in a strident tone. “We need to take her home now.”
Belinda’s face fell. “But we haven’t seen
Herr
Ollenburger fire off the Roman candles yet.” She gestured to the tables scattered with dirty plates, empty serving dishes, and crumpled napkins. “And I thought I would help
Frau
Ollenburger clean up.”
From his spot where he leaned against a tree, Thomas read Malinda’s aggravation in the pursing of her lips. “She wants to go home
now
.”
Frau
Schmidt didn’t add a word but clutched her bony hands at her waist.
Belinda sighed. “Well, let me get our things, then, and—”
“Belinda.” Thomas pushed off from the tree and approached the women. Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he assumed a relaxed air he hoped would put
Frau
Schmidt at ease. Once plump and outspoken, the older woman’s skin now hung from a thin frame and she appeared ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. “We won’t be able to fire the Roman candles until it’s full dark. Go ahead and walk your mother home and get her settled for the evening, and then you can come back.” He shifted his gaze to Malinda, who stared at him with mistrustful eyes. “You, too, Malinda. I’m sure you’d enjoy the fireworks.”
Belinda looked at her mother. The hopefulness in her face tugged at Thomas’s heart. “Would that be all right, Mama? I’ll help you ready yourself for bed, and then I’ll come back?”
Frau
Schmidt didn’t reply, but she did give a quick nod.
Belinda lifted her beaming face to Thomas. “I’ll return shortly.
Thank you, Thomas.”
Thomas, Abby, and Gussie helped Summer carry the dishes to the kitchen; then he and Pa took down the tables. They left the quilts on the ground, and people settled in little groups, waiting for the sun’s glow to disappear over the rooftops so the fireworks could begin. Thomas looked frequently toward the Schmidts’ house. Would Belinda return, or would her sister insist she remain with her mother? She would probably be able to see the fireworks from a window, but it wouldn’t be the same as enjoying the show with her neighbors.
Pa was ready to begin when the Schmidts’ back door burst open and Belinda emerged. She trotted to Thomas’s side. “Did I miss it?”
“Not yet. Pa’s just getting started.”
“Oh, good!” Her voice held pure joy.
They stood side by side beneath the swaying branches of the oak tree and watched Pa press a thick paper tube into a mound of sand. Thomas held his breath. Pa lit a match, held it to the wick until a sizzle indicated it caught, then backed up quickly. At the first explosive
pop!
followed by a burst of color about twenty feet in the air, Thomas let out his air in an exultant cry. “Woo-hoo!”
Similar exclamations sounded across the yard. Pa had purchased six candles, and each candle contained six blasts of shimmering light. All too soon, the last burst faded against the night sky, and it was time for everyone to go home.
Pa rounded up the little girls, who were tired and cranky, and took them inside. Summer began folding quilts, and Belinda helped her. Thomas took the quilts in turn and made a neat stack beside the back door. Each time he took a quilt from Belinda’s hands, she flashed him a smile as bright as the stars that shot from the Roman-candle tubes.
When the last quilt was folded, Summer sighed. “That was fun, but I’m exhausted.” A screech sounded from the house, and Summer frowned. “It sounds as if Little Lena is having trouble settling down. Excuse me.” She hurried into the house, leaving Belinda and Thomas alone under the moonlight.
Thomas stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well—”
“Thank you for the invitation, Thomas. I had a wonderful time.”
“I know.”
She tilted her head in silent query. In the shadows, he could barely make out her features.
Leaning against the house, he said, “I watched you visiting with the other ladies. I could tell you enjoyed yourself. I . . .” He paused, wondering if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you had fun.” She needed it.
For a moment she sucked in her lips. Then she said, “I watched you, too. It didn’t appear you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.”