Harry paused in the doorway. “You could speak to him Sunday, when you come to the estate for brunch. Daphne will expect you.”
Thomas held his breath for a moment, wavering. But he shook his head. “I can’t come out Sunday. I . . . I’ll be accompanying Nadine to service.” Saying the words out loud brought a rush of peace that had been too long absent from his heart.
Harry’s eyebrows shot high. “But Daphne—”
“Daphne will have to understand.”
“You’ll disappoint her. She loves you, you know.”
Thomas met Harry’s steady gaze. “I know. And—” he swal-lowed—“ I love her, too. But there’s someone else I answer to first.” A lump filled his throat as he thought about the number of times an elusive emotion had tried to tug his heart elsewhere. He recognized that tug now, and he would not continue to ignore it. “There’s a relationship I’ve neglected for far too long, and I can’t allow myself to let anyone, including Daphne, interfere with it again.”
Harry shook his head as if clearing cotton from his ears. “You make no sense.”
“I’ll explain later, after I’ve spoken to your father. Now, please, Harry, I need some time alone.”
Harry shot Thomas one more frustrated look before releasing a grunt of displeasure. “Fine. I’ll go. But think long and hard about what you’re giving up.”
Thomas nodded. He’d thought of little else since that morning. “I will. Good-bye, Harry.” He closed the door behind his friend and then leaned against it with his eyes closed and his heart pounding. He stood to lose several important relationships if he continued as his conscience dictated, yet there was also something comforting about his decision.
Thank you, Lord, for awakening me in time. Help me make the right choices from now on.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze settled on the doorway of the small second bedroom—the bedroom where he had imagined his children residing. With determination, he pushed aside the thought and reminded himself that his letter awaited completion. He crossed to the desk, sat down, and picked up where he’d left off.
So, considering everything that has happened, Pa and Summer, I’ve decided . . .
“Daphne, stop moping or leave the breakfast table.”
Father’s stern reprimand forced Daphne’s head up. She stopped dragging her fork through the small serving of eggs on her plate and forced a startled look. “Moping?”
Father muttered a mild oath and shook his head. “Yes, moping! Having to look at your pouting face makes me dyspeptic.” He popped a sausage in his mouth and chewed violently.
Daphne considered telling him his disposition had been unbearably bad-tempered since Friday evening, but she managed to squelch the comment before it left her lips. Still, she hinted at the true cause of her father’s ill-humor with a whispered admission. “I miss him.”
Harry met her gaze from across the table with a sympathetic smile that eased a bit of the ache in her heart. But Father’s derisive harrumph quickly chased the comfort away. Unable to abide the worry that had kept her up much of the night, she blurted, “Father, do you intend to release Thomas from his duties at the
Beacon
?”
Father paused with a piece of sausage suspended on the fork’s tines beneath his chin. His brows formed a sharp V. “Daphne, that is hardly your concern.” He jammed the sausage into his open mouth.
“On the contrary, it is very much my concern.” Her quivering fingers lost their hold on the fork. It clattered against her plate. She clutched her hands in her lap and continued in an impassioned tone. “If he has no employment, he will be unable to remain in Boston. If he returns to Kansas, I will surely—”
Father smacked his fork onto the table. “Wither up and die?”
Despite his contemptuous expression, Daphne drew herself up in the chair and pressed one hand to her beating heart. “It feels as though I could!”
“Bah!” Father planted his elbows on the table and leaned closer to Daphne. The grease along the bottom edge of his mustache glistened in the morning sun that streamed through the breakfast room’s bay window. “Boston teems with eligible men—most of whom possess much stronger pedigrees than this Thomas Ollen-burger.” With a wave of his hand, Father turned his attention back to his plate.
As he picked up his fork, Daphne grabbed his wrist. “So you
do
intend to dismiss him.”
Father jerked his arm free, sending the fork flying to the floor. “Stanton!” He bellowed the servant’s name. When the man appeared in the doorway, Father barked, “Fork.” The servant scuttled away and Father turned his glowering gaze on his daughter. “My intentions are not your affair, Daphne. Leave business to those who know how to conduct it. No more of this topic.”
Daphne leaped from her chair, nearly colliding with Stanton, who returned with a fork held on a linen napkin. The servant took a backward step as she slung her napkin onto her plate. “I have no appetite, so I shall leave the table. But know this, Father—if you send Thomas away, I shall never forgive you. I love him, I know he loves me, and his
pedigree
matters not one whit! If I cannot marry Thomas, I shall die an old maid!”
She fled, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing Father’s snide comment. “Females . . . overly dramatic.”
Harry said something in reply, but Daphne didn’t pause to discover whether he defended or disparaged her. She raced up the stairs and past her parents’ room, ignoring her mother’s query as to the reason for her unladylike dash down the hallway. After slamming the door, she turned the key in the lock. She had no expectation of anyone coming after her, but it gave her a measure of control to turn that key and block out the world.
Throwing herself across the bed, she gave vent to the tears she had kept dammed all through the long night when she lay awake, hoping Thomas would change his mind and come to brunch as he’d done for so many weeks. She’d held the tears at bay to avoid greeting him with red eyes and a blotchy face should he come. But with his absence, her reason to avoid the emotional torrent no longer existed, so she reveled in the release of a long, heaving, soggy cry.
When her tears dried up, she mopped her face clean with the hem of her dressing gown then dropped the garment in a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed. Stepping out onto her balcony in her nightclothes, she stood and looked across the lawn. The open expanse made her feel small and alone—which was just as she had felt in the breakfast room with only Father, Harry, and the servants for company. The loss of Thomas’s company had cast a pall on the room, and if she found one breakfast without him so melancholy, how would she survive years without him?
A
t the preacher’s closing amen, worshipers left their seats to file down the aisles and spill out into the churchyard to visit. The weather remained dry and warm, even though September neared its end, providing a pleasant atmosphere for conversation.
Belinda rose slowly, wishing she didn’t have to leave the chapel. It had been so satisfying to be in the house of the Lord, lifting her voice in song and listening to the Bible taught with heartfelt conviction. She had no desire to return to Malinda’s taciturn company.
God, I’ve been praying for Malinda to change for so long. When are You going to answer?
Small arms captured her from the side, and she looked down into the smiling face of Abby Ollenburger. She turned in the aisle to see
Frau
Ollenburger, with Lena in her arms. “The girls love the aprons you sewed for them,”
Frau
Ollenburger said.
Abby scampered to Gussie’s side. Resembling mirror images, the little girls held out the embroidered skirts of their new aprons and offered giggling curtsies.
Belinda laughed and leaned forward to give them each a hug. “You look like little angels. It was a joy to use that snowy white organdy at long last. Mama’s had it for years—she purchased it to embroider fancy dresser scarves for Malinda’s hope chest, but . . .” Her voice drifted away, her enjoyment at seeing the little girls in their Sunday aprons tarnished by unpleasant memories.
Frau
Ollenburger touched her arm. “It was thoughtful of you to use it for the girls. Please thank Malinda for allowing it.”
Belinda nodded, but she knew she wouldn’t say anything to Malinda. Her sister would be furious to know Belinda had touched anything from the trunk in the attic. Malinda would rather moths ate the items in that trunk than see them put to good use.
Though they remained obediently silent, Abby and Gussie danced in place, eager to race outside with the other youngsters.
Frau
Ollenburger gave them a stern look. “You may go, but mind your manners. Keep your aprons nice.”
“Yes, Mama!” they chorused, and the pair scampered off, their blond curls bouncing.
Lena cupped her mother’s face with both pudgy hands. “I go pway?”
Frau
Ollenburger chuckled and lowered the little girl to the floor. “Go ahead, but stay close to your sisters.” She waited until Lena exited the wide doorway before turning back to Belinda.
She winked. “You said they look like angels, but they are typical children. Always wanting to play.”
“Let them play.” Belinda stared wistfully after them. “They’ll be grown up soon enough, with no time for play.” A touch of bitterness colored her tone, and heat built in her cheeks when
Frau
Ollenburger gave her a puzzled look. Before her friend could ask questions, Belinda added, “And speaking of no time for play . . . I must go home and put a meal on the table. Malinda will expect me.”
Frau
Ollenburger opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut her off.
“Summer?”
Herr
Ollenburger stood in the doorway. He held Lena, and Abby and Gussie stood at his side. “Come now. We must hurry home.” He tipped his head to include Belinda. “You come, too, Belinda.”
Curious, Belinda hurried after
Frau
Ollenburger. Excited chatter from the yard greeted them as they stepped outside.
Frau
Ollen-burger looked up at her husband. “Peter? What is it?”
“A fire.”
Herr
Ollenburger’s tight voice matched his concerned face.
Belinda sniffed the air. The acrid odor tickling her nose proved her neighbor’s words true.
“Men have run already for the fire wagon.”
Belinda’s heart began to pound. The last rains had been in late June. As dry as it was, a fire could spread rapidly. She clutched her hands together against her rib cage. “Do you know where it is?”
“No. But from the smell, in town, for sure,”
Herr
Ollenburger replied. Still holding Lena in one arm, he put his free arm around his wife’s waist and guided her toward the sidewalk. Glancing back at Belinda, he added, “Come. We must go home and ready tubs with water, just in case.”
Belinda caught hold of Abby’s and Gussie’s hands and trotted down the sidewalk behind her neighbors. Silently, she prayed protection for anyone in the path of the fire. The smell of smoke seemed to grow stronger as they walked, and when the little girls started coughing, she knew it wasn’t her imagination that the smoke was getting thicker.
They rounded the final corner to the Ollenburgers’ block. A cloud of smoke hung heavy in the still air. The fire was very near! Clanging bells from the fire wagon sounded from behind them, and they scurried into a yard to watch the horse-drawn wagon roll by. It wheeled around the far corner, heading toward the street on which Belinda lived.
“Oh, Peter!”
Frau
Ollenburger came to a stop and pointed.
Belinda followed the woman’s pointing finger and gasped.
Flames licked along the roofline of her home! Her heart vaulted into her throat. “Malinda!” Shaking off the little girls’ icy hands, she started running. But strong arms caught her and pulled her back.
She fought against the restraining arms, but they held tight.
“Belinda! You must not try to go in there!”
Herr
Ollenburger commanded sternly.
Belinda pushed hard on his chest, groaning with the effort to break free. “But I have to get Malinda!” She threw back her head and screamed her sister’s name.
Herr
Ollenburger shook her and spoke in rapid
Plautdietsch
. “The men will know she is in there! Never does she leave—all of the town knows this! You stay with Summer.” He pushed her into
Frau
Ollenburger’s arms. Touching his wife’s cheek briefly, he said, “I will go see to Malinda. You throw water on the back side of our house. If flames come through the alley, you run for safety.” He ran between houses, disappearing from sight.
The three little girls stared at their mother in mute horror.
Frau
Ollenburger crouched before them, gathering them near. “Girls, I want you to stay right here. Don’t leave this yard. You are safe from the fire here. Abby, keep hold of Lena. Gussie, you help. Keep Lena right here until either your papa or I come for you. Do you understand?”
Wide-eyed, the girls nodded and chorused, “We understand.” Little Lena began to cry, and Abby pulled her into an embrace. The three sat together in the dusty yard, unmindful of soiling their new white aprons.
“Come, Belinda.”
Frau
Ollenburger looped arms with Belinda, and they ran to the back of the Ollenburgers’ home. They filled bucket after bucket with water, splashing it as high as they could throw on the back side of the house. That task complete, they watered the dry yard.
Aware of the activity across the alley yet strangely separated from it, Belinda kept her focus on the task at hand: fill a bucket, carry it several feet, throw the water; repeat the process. Over and over, with eyes burning and lungs aching, she worked to protect the Ollenburgers’ house from the fire. Finally,
Frau
Ollenburger caught her arm.
“The wagon is leaving,” she said in a quiet, hoarse voice.
Belinda looked at her house. No more yellow and orange tongues danced at windows or roofline. Puffs of smoke rose from the charred wood, but although the smell was still strong, the danger seemed to be over. She stood with
Frau
Ollenburger, waiting until
Herr
Ollenburger plodded slowly around the damaged house.