Although community members rode out on horses each day to search for Malinda, she still hadn’t been found. Belinda’s worry magnified with each passing day, yet she tried to do what Peter suggested and leave Malinda in God’s hands.
“He knows where she is. When the time is right, He will lead her back again.” Peter’s faith, which matched his size, gave Belinda the courage to trust, too.
As the days slipped by, Belinda found herself looking ahead. While her constant prayer was for the safe return of her sister, she caught herself wondering what she would do if Malinda was never found. She had given up her job at the mercantile after Mama’s death so she could stay close to Malinda, earning money by taking in more ironing and sewing for neighbors.
Even though the Ollenburgers didn’t ask her to contribute to the family income, she felt an obligation to help out. Returning to work seemed best. Even when Malinda returned, if they stayed with the Ollenburgers, her sister would have company all day and she could be away to work. Belinda decided she needed to discuss the situation with Summer.
Friday morning, Belinda stood by the door while Summer gave Abby and Gussie each a good-bye kiss and sent them off to school. She held Lena’s hand, keeping the three-year-old from dashing after her sisters, as she was prone to do.
“Tell your sisters good-bye,” Belinda encouraged the little girl.
Lena, swinging Belinda’s hand, called, “Bye-bye, sissies!”
Abby and Gussie waved and scurried down the sidewalk.
When Summer closed the door, Belinda scooped Lena into her arms and followed Summer to the kitchen, where she began clearing the table of dirty breakfast dishes. Belinda set Lena on the kitchen floor with a pile of well-worn wooden blocks before joining Summer.
While Summer washed and Belinda dried, Belinda broached the subject of finding a job. Summer sent her a sidelong glance, her lips tweaked into a teasing grin. “Am I not keeping you busy enough?”
Belinda laughed. “My days here have been pleasantly full, even though you expect much less of me than if I were keeping my own house.” She shook her head and admitted, “I’m downright lazy compared to how much I worked taking care of Mama and Malinda.”
“You’ve earned a break.” Summer handed Belinda the last plate and began scrubbing silverware.
“But eventually Malinda will come back, and I’ll need to take care of our needs.” Belinda carefully stacked the clean plates on their shelf. The beautiful plates from Mama’s cabinet were packed away in a box under Thomas’s bed. Belinda was grateful she had been able to save the plates, although the glass in Mama’s bow-front cupboard had been shattered.
“We can worry about that when the time comes,” Summer said. She dropped the silverware into the rinse pan with a clatter. Drying her hands on a towel, she faced Belinda. “May I ask a nosy question?”
Belinda turned from the shelf and nodded.
Summer pursed her lips for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. Then she spoke in a hesitant voice. “Your father was a . . . well-to-do businessman. Yet your mother and sister depended on you to provide for them. Did your father not leave any means of provision for your mother?”
Belinda crossed to the dry sink. “I have wondered about that myself.” She lifted silverware from the pan one piece at a time, rubbing each piece dry before handing it to Summer. “I once asked Mama about Papa’s money, but she snapped at me that finances were private and shouldn’t be discussed. Yet, she insisted I work in order to bring in money to pay our rent and for our food, constantly reminding me that without my support, we would starve or be homeless.”
“Well,” Summer replied, placing the silverware in one of the kitchen’s built-in drawers, “perhaps the money was lost when your father’s business closed in Gaeddert. Sometimes that happens. When Peter closed the mill and we faced the expenses of moving into Hillsboro, we had very little money left on which to live.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Belinda chewed her lower lip, her brow puckered thoughtfully. “But I still found it strange that he hadn’t put something aside. Papa’s business did well, and he didn’t squander money—even though Mama begged for new things every year.” She chuckled softly. “Of course, she did wear him down more often than he probably would have liked. Mama could be very persuasive.” Her laugh ended in a sigh, chasing away the brief moment of light-heartedness. “I appreciate you and
Herr
Ollen-burger letting me stay here and being willing to welcome Malinda when we find her. But she and I will need to find our own place eventually. I’ll need money to pay for our house and the furnishings to fill it, since so many of our things were ruined in the fire. So . . . I do need to look for a job.”
Summer leaned against the cupboard and watched Lena build a block tower for a few moments before turning back to Belinda. “Eventually, yes, you’ll want to look for a job. But let’s not rush into it, shall we? Why don’t we wait until we find Malinda and get her settled into her new routine here. She’ll want you close by for a few days at least, I’m sure. You don’t have any expenses right now, so there’s no need to hurry into job-hunting, is there?”
Belinda considered Summer’s suggestion. She knew a change in routine would be difficult for her sister, and having Belinda nearby would help ease the transition. A part of her balked at continuing to live on the generosity of her neighbors, yet she knew Summer had spoken wisely. Finally she nodded. “All right. I’ll wait until we find Malinda.”
Summer beamed her approval. “Good.”
“But standing around waiting for her to show up is driving me mad.” Belinda forced a light laugh to cover her underlying worry. “Do you suppose Thomas would mind if I took Daisy for a ride to Gaeddert? It’s the only place I can think of that Malinda would go.”
“The men have searched your old house and your father’s business in Gaeddert several times,” Summer reminded her.
Belinda raised one eyebrow. “But I know Malinda better than anyone else. Maybe she’ll come out of hiding for me. It would also give me a chance to visit Mama’s and Papa’s graves.”
Summer touched Belinda’s cheek. “Very well. The livery owner knows you, so he won’t question you borrowing the horse. Will you be back by lunchtime?”
“I don’t know,” Belinda answered honestly. “Don’t plan anything for me, just in case.”
For a moment, she thought Summer would argue, but then the woman simply nodded. “Very well. I’ll say a prayer for you to find her. And would you mind stopping at the gravesite where Thomas’s great-grandmother is buried while you’re out? It has been quite a while since we could go. I just want to assure myself things are all right there.”
“I’d be glad to.” Belinda stepped forward and gave Summer an impulsive hug. After kissing the top of Lena’s glossy head of curls, she walked quickly to the stable, asked the liveryman to saddle Daisy, and set out. Riding with her knee hooked over the saddle horn, she held Daisy to a canter to avoid being bounced out of her seat.
“Lord,” she prayed aloud to the accompaniment of Daisy’s rhythmic, clopping hooves, “let me find Malinda. Let her be well, and let her be willing to come back with me.”
As difficult as it was to care for her sister, the desire to find her nearly overwhelmed Belinda. Malinda was her only family. She loved her and truly wanted her back, safe and sound. Choking back a sob, she finished her prayer on one trembling word: “Please?”
B
ELINDA
LOOKED IN THE WINDOW
of every empty building in Gaeddert, hoping for a glimpse of her sister. The few residents remaining in town chatted willingly with Belinda, but no one had seen Malinda. They all indicated they were watching for her, and each promised to send word immediately if she was spotted.
Abandoning her search, Belinda led Daisy to the
Kleine Gemeinde
. For a few moments she stood, staring at the white clapboard church building, her heart aching. Even though it had only been a few months since services were cancelled due to the lack of a minister, the church already showed signs of neglect. Two cracked windows, a sagging porch rail, and paint peeling along the foundation gave mute evidence of the lack of care.
Belinda turned away from the church and looked down the street at the sad row of abandoned businesses, the windows of several boarded over. The empty boardwalks and wagonless street painted a dismal, heartbreaking picture of abandonment. Had this really been a thriving town only a few short years ago? How quickly things could change.
Belinda’s vision blurred. With a sigh, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Crying wouldn’t bring back the town or its people. She might as well complete her errands and move on.
She left Daisy at the edge of the boardwalk and walked behind the church to its adjoining cemetery. Stepping carefully between headstones, she made her way toward her parents’ side-by-side graves in the back corner of the cemetery. Dry leaves in browns, yellows, and russets crunched beneath her feet, and the wind tapped emptying tree branches together. The sounds created a mournful melody, and Belinda folded her arms across her chest to ward off a sudden chill.
When she reached the twelve-inch-high iron fence surrounding the Schmidt plot, she lifted her skirts to avoid catching the hem and stepped over the fence. She rounded Papa’s tall stone and came to an abrupt halt, drawing in a startled breath. Clusters of dried wildflowers, their stems meticulously braided together, lay at the base of each stone. Belinda dashed forward and snatched up one bouquet. She looked around wildly. Malinda had been here!
With reverence, she placed the bouquet back where she’d found it, then lifted her skirts and raced to Daisy’s side. Using a split rail fence as a ladder, she climbed onto Daisy’s back and gave the horse a little nudge in the ribs. “Come, girl, we’ll go check the grave plot for Summer and then hurry back. Peter needs to know what I found!”
Daisy eagerly trotted down the road out of town. The house Summer had built before marrying Peter stood midway between Gaeddert and Hillsboro, flanked by the slow-moving Cottonwood River and the road. If she hadn’t made that promise to Summer, she would have bypassed the house completely, but Summer had done so much for her—the least she could do was check the graves and tidy things, if need be.
When Daisy reached the lane that led to the house, Belinda didn’t even have to coax the horse to turn. The horse trotted directly to the shade beside the house and nodded her great head, giving a snort as if to express pleasure at the opportunity to visit the bungalow.
Belinda grabbed the porch railing and swung herself down. She rubbed Daisy’s nose and instructed, “Just stay right here. I won’t be long.” Then she scurried to the small grave plot. The little wooden gate was off its hinges, resting against the homemade picket fence. Belinda frowned. If the gate had come loose on its own, it would have fallen into the grass. Someone had to have placed it there against the fence.
She stared at the gate, wondering if Peter or Thomas would have done that. Surely either of them would have fixed it rather than set it aside. A funny tingle went down her spine, and her heart picked up tempo. Slowly she turned from the grave plot to look toward the house. A slight movement at the far corner of the house—more a shadow than anything of substance—caught her attention.
Squinting against the early afternoon sun, Belinda strained to make sense of the brief glimpse. Then, while she watched, someone peeked around the house. Even though her face was filthy and her hair flew in wild disarray, Belinda recognized her at once. With a cry of joy, she dashed forward. “Malinda!”
Thomas rose from the floor and sat on the edge of his bed. Hunching forward, he rubbed his knees. While he’d been in prayer, he hadn’t noticed any discomfort, but now that his weight was off of his knees, they ached like a bad tooth. Still, he smiled. Pa had once told him the apostle Paul was called Camel Knees because he spent so much time in prayer. Thomas had a long way to go to earn that title, but it felt good to be back in daily communion with his heavenly Father.
He had prayed especially hard the past few days, seeking God’s will about the job opportunity Mr. Severt had offered. He needed to let his boss know on Monday whether he would take the reporting position, and he still didn’t know what to do. If he were to follow his impulses, he would pack his bags and return to Kansas immediately. In Kansas, it would be easy to push aside memories of Boston, the presidential campaign . . . and Daphne Severt.
A streak of pain stabbed him at the thought of her name. He’d also prayed for God to remove his affection for Daphne from his heart, but that prayer, too, had gone unanswered. Even though he hadn’t seen her once in the past week, she still filled his thoughts and intruded in his dreams. He tortured himself repeatedly by replaying their last conversation in an attempt to make her distasteful, but the effort failed. The images that tormented his mind were far from unpleasant. He missed her.
Pushing off from the bed, he entered the parlor and picked up a book from the table beside the sofa. It was a children’s book, but Nadine had recommended it because it featured a little girl named Dorothy from Kansas. If he liked it, he would probably send a copy to his sisters. He sank into the center of the sofa and tried for the third time to read, but the fanciful elements failed to hold his attention.
With a huff of disgust, he slapped the book onto the table and crossed to the window. Dusk had fallen, shrouding his yard in deep shadows. Hands in his pockets, he peered across the dark landscape and allowed his thoughts to drift past the residential area to the campaign headquarters, where no doubt frenetic activity took place as Election Day loomed near. In a little more than two weeks the United States would name a new president. He prayed it wasn’t Thomas Watson.
Guilt weaseled its way through his middle. He’d broken his promise to aid in the campaign. But knowing what the man advocated, he could no longer support Watson. Going against his conscience was worse than breaking a promise, and he knew he’d done the right thing by withdrawing. Still, an element of unease remained. A man was only as
goot
as his word, Pa always said.