Thomas sucked in his lips, seeming to give her question deep consideration. He frowned, and she feared a refusal would be forthcoming. She leaned forward slightly, pressing her arm against his. “Please, Thomas? I need some fresh air.”
Although his expression didn’t clear, he nodded. They moved side by side through the double French doors leading to the narrow veranda that faced out over the grassy Common. Thomas tempered his wide stride to match hers, and she smiled. Such a gentleman lurked beneath his burly frame.
Thomas crossed to the iron railing and curled both of his hands over the scrolled top. Daphne retained her hold on his elbow as she took a deep breath of the spring air. “Ahh. This is much better.”
Thomas chuckled. “There’s no fan out here to stir the air. It isn’t any less stuffy.”
“Oh, but out here we’re alone.” She peered up at him, offering her biggest smile. “Do you not agree that’s much better?”
The blotching in his neck returned immediately.
“Thomas, must you truly return to Kansas?” She sighed dramatically.
He frowned down at her. “My family is expecting me.”
“But Kansas is so far from Boston.”
Thomas shifted his gaze across the Common, his expression pensive. “Yes. I know.”
Determined to draw him back, she released her hold on his arm and slipped away a few feet, peering at him over her shoulder. “Will you miss me?” “Will
you
miss
me
?”
That wasn’t the response she’d anticipated. She jerked her gaze forward, folded her arms over her chest, and refused to answer. Besotted or not, she wouldn’t allow him to control her. Suddenly large hands cupped her shoulders and turned her around. She had to tip her head back to look into his serious face.
“Don’t play games with me, Daphne.” Thomas’s deep, throaty voice sounded tense. “If you’ll miss me, just say so.”
Daphne placed her palms against the front of Thomas’s jacket. It was a brazen gesture, but he didn’t shrink away. “I shall miss you dreadfully.” She whispered the words, waiting for him to respond in kind.
“I’ll leave you my address. You can write to me.”
Had he made a request or a demand? Daphne scowled, pursing her lips into the pout she often practiced in front of the mirror in her private sleeping chamber. “It isn’t the same.”
“But it will have to do,” he pointed out in a calm tone that stirred her ire.
She grasped the lapels of his coat. “You are coming back, aren’t you, Thomas? Harry depends on your assistance in the presidential election. He said you promised to help. You are a man of your word, aren’t you?”
The blotching rose from his neck to his smooth-shaven cheeks, but this time Daphne suspected it had less to do with discomfort than with anger. How would this big man express his temper?
Explode like Father, or withdraw like Harry?
Thomas drew in a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then let it out in little bursts through his nose. With each burst, the color in his face diminished. When he spoke, it was with an even, unflustered tone. “I gave my word. I’ll be back.”
She leaned closer.
“To assist in the campaign.”
She released his lapels and pranced away, presenting her back. “Thomas Ollenburger, I—”
She didn’t have the opportunity to finish, because someone threw open the French doors. Daphne spun, expecting Harry, but Mrs. Steadman stood in the opening.
“Thomas, a few of your guests are preparing to leave.” The woman shot Daphne a disapproving frown before looking back at Thomas. “You should be there to tell them a proper good-bye and thank-you.”
“Of course, Nadine. We were just returning. Weren’t we, Miss Severt?”
Daphne nodded and forced a pleasant expression. She glided past Thomas, giving him a brief glance. “Thank you for showing me the veranda, Mr. Ollenburger. Have a safe journey to Kansas.”
She returned to the parlor and sought Harry. She would fake a headache and ask him to escort her home. If Thomas were to regret the lost opportunity for a lengthy good-bye, then she couldn’t tarry.
Harry was in the midst of some intense discussion with three other young men, but she captured his arm and tugged him away from the group. His fierce glower would have silenced most people, but Daphne was used to dealing with her brother. “Harry, my head is pounding. I wish to go home.”
“But I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Tom.”
She made a great pretense of wilting, carrying one trembling hand to her forehead. “I fear I shall simply collapse if I’m not able to rest immediately.”
Harry blew out a breath of frustration. “Oh, very well.” He turned to the others. “I need to leave, fellows. But—”
One of the others—a student Daphne had seen before but to whom she’d never been formally introduced—stepped forward. “Harry, why don’t you stay? You know Tom better than I do, anyway. I’ll escort your sister home in my landau.”
Harry clapped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Wilfred. I appreciate that.”
Daphne gaped at Harry. Would he truly pass her off to some skinny, pock-faced stranger?
Harry put his hand on Daphne’s spine. “Daphne, you’ll be in safe company with Wilfred Taylor.” He pressed her forward, ignoring her angry glare. “I’ll check in on you when I return.”
Wilfred licked his lips and stuck out his bony elbow in invitation. “Come along, Miss Severt.”
Daphne had no choice but to place her hand in the curve of his arm. It felt like kindling compared to Thomas’s broad limbs. But as she and Wilfred made their departure, she observed Thomas’s clenched jaw and narrowed gaze, and satisfaction welled upward. Perhaps she possessed the victory after all.
Hillsboro, Kansas
Early June, 1904
T
HE CLOSER THE RATTLING
passenger car carried Thomas to Hillsboro, the more he shifted on the wooden seat. Sweat drenched his back, making him want to remove his suit coat and roll up the sleeves of his linen shirt. But remembering Nadine’s admonition when he’d boarded in Boston—
“You’re a college graduate now, Thomas. You must look the part”
—he felt certain she would ask his stepmother how he’d been dressed when he arrived in Hillsboro. He’d tangled with Nadine before; he had no desire to do it again.
The fabric of the custom-tailored black worsted suit bore wrinkles and sweat stains, and he wondered how he could look more like a college graduate in bedraggled attire than in a pair of trousers and a chambray shirt from his bag. But respect for Nadine kept him in the suit, regardless of how much he wanted to change.
The suit wasn’t the only thing making him uncomfortable. Scattered emotions—eagerness to see his family, regret at not being able to say a proper farewell to Daphne, and uncertainty about what to do with the degree he’d spent three years earning—combined to make fresh perspiration moisten his forehead.
Ach, how much longer to Hillsboro?
He snatched off his hat and dragged a wilted handkerchief over his face. The hot wind streaming through the open window peppered him with grit and coal dust. Instead of replacing his hat, he dropped it onto the seat beside him and looked out at the passing countryside.
Kansas, his boyhood home. Pasture land of gently rolling hills dotted with yucca bearing fat buds that would soon blossom. Occasional splashes of color from wildflowers. Wheat fields, the golden tips waving in the sun. Stands of wind-pruned trees, their branches full and green. It was all so familiar . . . and yet also foreign after his long time away.
Scowling, he turned from the window. He bent forward, rested his elbows on his widespread knees, and lowered his head.
Dia Gottenn de Himmel—
just like his father and his father’s father before him, he lapsed into German when he prayed—
I do not know where I belong now. Pa wants me home in Kansas, and a part of me wants that, too, but I have been gone for so long . . . Where am I meant to call “home”? Help me know, Lord.
For long moments he remained in his bent-low position, his head bobbing with the motion of the train, waiting for an answer. But when the screeching of the brakes signaled the train’s approach to Hillsboro, he’d received no more answers than the last time he’d prayed. Maybe when he was home, in his familiar bedroom with the sounds of the prairie soothing his troubled soul, things would become clear.
Putting one arm forward, he braced himself on the back of the seat in front of him and gritted his teeth against the vibration coming through the floorboards. He held his breath until the rapid, screeching deceleration turned into a slow
chug-chug-chug
, and then let it out in one big
whew
of relief that accompanied the train’s release of steam. He glanced out the window. A small cluster of people waited on the boardwalk for the few passengers who would disembark, and his heart leaped when he recognized his father’s shaggy, wheat-colored hair—his head always inches above anyone else in a crowd.
Pa!
To his surprise, tears pooled in Thomas’s eyes. He plopped his hat over his own wheat-colored mop, grabbed up his bag, and raced to the door at the end of the car. He didn’t bother with the metal stairs, but took a single leap that brought him flat-footed on hard-packed earth. The shock of the landing gave him momentary pause, but then he stumbled forward on tingling feet. “Pa! Pa! And Summer!”
Although Summer had been his stepmother for nine years— nearly half of his life—he still hesitated at calling her Ma. Back when she’d married Pa, he hadn’t wanted to be a replacement for her deceased sons, Vincent and Tod. But now, as he called her given name, he experienced a pang of regret.
His family separated from the crowd and rushed forward, with his sisters outpacing Pa and Summer. The littlest one, three-year-old Lena, tripped and fell face first in the dirt and began to wail. Pa paused to scoop her into his arms, and stairsteps Abby and Gussie— so similar in size and appearance they could pass for twins—barreled into Thomas. He laughed at their enthusiastic welcome. They’d only been two and one years of age when he’d first left for high school and college in the East, and his visits home had been few and brief, yet each time he came home, they swarmed him like bees on a honeysuckle vine.
He lifted them off the ground simultaneously, one in each arm, and swung in a circle that made their matching yellow braids stick straight out. They clung to his shoulders and squealed, their childish voices loud in his ears. He set them down and reached for Summer. Wrapping his arms around her slender frame, he was transported back to the first time he’d dared hug her. He’d had to lift his arms to her then. This time she reached up to capture his face with her hands and give him a bold kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, Thomas, it’s so good to have you home again.”
The word
home
reverberated right through Thomas’s heart. He swallowed hard, his arms tightening around her back. “It’s good to be here.”
When Thomas released Summer, Pa stepped forward with little Lena balanced on his arm. Plump tears quivered on the child’s thick eyelashes, and she sucked the two middle fingers of her left hand. Thomas held out his arms to Lena, but she buried her face against Pa’s neck. Her action made it impossible for him to give either her or his father a hug.
Thomas cupped the back of his sister’s head of dark, tangled curls with one hand and clamped the other over his father’s shoulder. A huge lump filled his throat. All of his life, he’d wanted to please this man. How would Pa feel if Thomas left Kansas for good? Forcing his voice past the lump of emotion, he managed a one-word salutation. “Pa.”
Pa nodded, seeming to understand the great meaning behind the simple greeting. He responded in kind: “Son.” For long moments they stood silently under the sun, with Summer, Abby, and Gussie looking on, until suddenly Lena released her father’s neck and flung herself at Thomas.
“Oomph!” Thomas took a step backward when her weight hit him. The child’s moist fingers dug into the back of his neck. He crossed his arms over her narrow back, holding her in place. Lena pressed her face against his collar. He heard her whisper, “You my bruvver, Thomaff.”
Both Abby and Gussie beamed, clapping their hands. Obviously they’d been coaching Lena in preparation for his homecoming. Lena’s valiant attempt at speaking his name brought a smile to his face and he said, “That’s right.” He bounced her a couple of times on his arm, making her giggle. Her fingers slid back into her rosy little mouth, and she reached for Pa. Thomas experienced a sense of loss as he relinquished her. But then Gussie and Abby danced forward, each taking one of his hands.
Pa, with Lena in one arm, picked up Thomas’s bag and heaved his great shoulders in a slow shrug. “Well, now that our Thomas is here, we can go home.”
Thomas fell into step between Pa and Summer, and the two little girls skipped along in front of him, getting in his way. He watched his step as he spoke. “I’m eager to get to the homestead—to say hello to Daisy and maybe take a ride before it gets dark. Are the strawflowers blooming? I’d like to take a bouquet to
Grossmutter
’s grave tomorrow—if that’s all right.”
A wave of sorrow accompanied his last comment. Although his dear great-grandmother had been gone more than three years now—passing away peacefully in her sleep midway through Summer’s last pregnancy—Thomas still missed her with a fierce ache. He hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral, caught in studies halfway across the United States. But during every summer trip to Kansas, he’d spent considerable time at the tiny gravesite where
Grossmutter
rested near Summer’s first husband and their four children, all of whom had died of typhoid fever as they traveled through Kansas.
Although the baby boy Summer had borne during the first year she was Thomas’s new mother was also buried there, Thomas rarely sat at that grave. The infant hadn’t lived more than a few minutes and hadn’t even been given a name. Baby Boy Ollenburger, as his tombstone read, didn’t seem real to Thomas somehow.
“
Ja
, if you want to visit
Grossmutter
’s grave, we can make that work.” Pa’s solemn tone reflected Thomas’s thoughts.