Pardue whistled through his teeth. “Sounds like a mighty big undertaking.”
Thomas shrugged and returned to packing. “I suppose.”
“Well, boy”—Pardue thumped the paperweight into Thomas’s box and stuck out his bony hand—“I wish you well. It’s been an honor getting to know you. You’ve got the talent and drive to make this paper of yours a success. Send me a copy now and then, but make sure you blow the chicken feathers off beforehand. Feathers make me sneeze.” He chuckled, pumping Thomas’s hand up and down.
Thomas wondered briefly if Pardue would share the paper with Mr. Severt, but he didn’t ask. “Thanks, Mr. Pardue. I appreciate everything you’ve taught me. I’ll put it to good use.”
“Oh, I know you will, boy.” Pardue backed up two steps. “Good luck to you.” With a wave, the man headed out the door.
Thomas reflected for a moment on all he’d learned from the lanky reporter. Mr. Severt had told him he’d learn more from Pardue than from most college professors, and the man’s statement had proved true. Thanks to Pardue’s tutelage, Thomas felt ready to take on the responsibility of his own small-town newspaper.
There was already one newspaper in operation in Hillsboro, but he planned a different kind of paper—one that focused solely on politics and events that could affect the simple lifestyle of his people. He’d start small by necessity, maybe one page, but as his readership increased, the coverage could increase. He had contacted the editor of the Hillsboro paper and asked permission to use his printing press until he had enough money to purchase his own. It would be inconvenient—for both of them, he was sure—yet it was his best option for the moment.
As he emptied the last drawer, he wondered if Belinda Schmidt would accept his offer of working for him. Based on her letters, he knew she possessed the ability to communicate well in written form. And from Summer’s letters, he knew Belinda wanted a job. He wouldn’t be able to pay much at first, but maybe eventually . . .
Suddenly, he felt very eager to get home, to get started, to make a success of this plan.
B
ELINDA
AWOKE WITH A START
. She blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the hour. The room was dark— not even a sliver of light beneath her closed door from the kitchen’s lantern, which told her it was too early to rise. She lay on Thomas’s rope bed, peering into the murky darkness. What had brought her from sleep to full wakefulness? Likely it was the same question that had plagued her daytime hours ever since Thomas’s telegram about Clarence’s injury arrived:
What did Thomas want to speak with her about?
In a recent letter, he had shared his realization that he must sever his relationship with Daphne due to her unbelief. He had asked her to join him in prayer for the strength to wait and the discernment to recognize his God-chosen mate. Could he have decided to turn his attention to her? Considering the possibility now sent her heart into wild fluttering.
She flopped her arms outside of the covers, pinning the rough blanket across her chest in an attempt to calm her racing pulse. It didn’t help. Why did Thomas’s comment bring worry instead of elation? When, she wondered, had her infatuation with Thomas waned?
She couldn’t identify a time, but she knew it had changed. Her reaction to his message coupled with her response to Gerhard Wiens’s attention offered the evidence. If she were truly in love with Thomas, no man would intrigue her for even a moment of time. Yet, regardless of the fleeting minutes they’d shared, Gerhard had captured her heart and mind. Had she received Thomas’s telegram prior to meeting Gerhard, would it have conjured excitement rather than apprehension?
“I would still be apprehensive,” she whispered, allowing herself to acknowledge the truth. Receiving the message had forced her to examine her feelings for Thomas, and she had reached an uncomfortable conclusion.
Although she cared for Thomas as a friend and brother in Christ, she didn’t want him as much as she wanted the family he possessed. Peter and Summer Ollenburger were everything her own parents were not—open, loving, accepting. Living with them had given her a taste of being a member of their family, and it had filled the long-held need for unconditional love and acceptance. Having received their care, she no longer had the need to be with Thomas. She already had his family.
“Lord, if Thomas proposes marriage, I must say no,” she rasped to the shadowed rafters, “yet how can I hurt him when I care so deeply for him as a friend?”
A soft clank, followed by the pale band of lantern light beneath the door, told her Summer was starting the day. Immediately Belinda slipped from the bed, pawed the dresser top to find the box of matches, and quickly lit one. The flare allowed her to locate her own lantern, and in moments the room was illuminated enough for her to dress and open the door to join Summer in the kitchen.
To her surprise, rather than finding Summer starting breakfast, she saw Peter Ollenburger stoking the woodstove. He finished placing kindling on top of the tightly woven corn husks that fed the stove, dropped a match in the middle of the tiny bits, then turned. He gave a start when he spotted Belinda.
“Belinda, you are awake.”
Only then did she realize he still wore his sleeping clothes. He crossed the flaps of his plaid flannel robe across his belly and tied the belt with a sharp yank. His hair stood up in wild waves on his head, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. Belinda had never seen the man in such a state of dishevelment, and embarrassment made her entire body feel hot. She surmised by his red face, he was as uncomfortable as she.
“I-I’m so sorry. I thought Summer—” Belinda backed toward her room. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, no.” Peter waved his hand. “I could not sleep, so I thought to make some coffee. I am sorry to have wakened you.”
Belinda’s backside collided with the closed door, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “It’s all right. I was having trouble sleeping, too.”
Concern etched his brow. “If you are not sleeping, there is a reason. Would you like to tell me about it?”
Appreciation for this man’s fatherly attention to her needs once more bathed Belinda in gratitude. But something else occurred to her. “You must be worried about something, or you would be able to sleep.”
At that moment, Summer rounded the corner, rubbing her eyes. “I heard voices. Is something wrong?”
Peter opened his arms, and Summer stepped into his embrace. He smoothed his large hand over Summer’s tumbling hair and kissed the top of her head. “I could not sleep, so I thought to make some coffee. I woke Belinda with my banging around.”
Summer chuckled softly, then pulled loose. “Yes, my great big mouse, you woke me, too.” She balled her fists and stretched, yawning. “As long as we’re all up, we might as well all have coffee.” Giving Peter a gentle push toward the table, she said, “Sit down. I’ll get the coffee started. Belinda, why don’t you put some of yesterday’s
zwieback
in the oven to warm?”
Soon the scents of fresh coffee and toasted bread filled the room. Peter broke a
zwieback
into two halves and dunked one half in his coffee. “Belinda, what worry keeps you awake?”
Belinda bit down on her lower lip, unwilling to risk hurting this tender man by confessing she had been trying to find a way to refuse his son’s proposal. She couldn’t find appropriate words, so she formed a question of her own. “I’d rather know why you’re awake at this hour.” She gestured to the kitchen window, where the moon seemed to rest within the branches of the backyard tree. “It’s far too early to be up.”
Summer put her hand over Peter’s. “Were you thinking again of the chickens?”
Peter chewed a bite of bread, his beard bobbing with the movement. “Always I seem to be thinking of chickens.” His expression turned dreamy. “So many things go right for me to start the chicken farm. We have land to build a chicken house, and land to plant grains to feed the chickens. My mill could grind those grains, so we would not need to spend money for feed. Then the eggs and grown chickens we could sell and have a good income.” He raised one brow and shook a piece of toasted bread at his wife. “The Plymouth Rocks, they are popular roasting hens.”
Summer grinned. “I know. You’ve shown me the brochure. Several times.” She winked at Belinda.
Belinda smiled in response, but then a selfish thought hit her—if the Ollenburgers moved back to their homestead outside of Gaeddert, she would be alone. She’d already lost a set of parents, and she wasn’t prepared to give up the surrogate ones who had come to mean so much to her. She sputtered out the realization. “You’re really leaving Hillsboro?”
“Yes, I believe we are,” Summer replied. Then, seeming to sense Belinda’s melancholy, she added softly, “But we wouldn’t make any changes until the spring.”
Belinda lowered her head, fingering the handle on the coffee cup. “Spring . . .”
“
Ja
.” Peter nodded. “Time it will take to make a house for the chickens and ready the land for seeds. I must have feed first, then chickens. So while the grains grow, I will build
en Heenastaul
—my chicken barn. And when the barn is ready, then the chicks can come on the train.” He sighed, his lips curved upward in satisfaction. “
Goot
it will be to be on my own land again, to put my mill to good use.”
He had everything worked out. Belinda wondered how she could have been so oblivious to their plans to return to the Gaeddert homestead.
Summer gathered their empty cups and carried them to the sink. “Well, there will be time for us to discuss all of this. After all, spring is a few months away!” She dropped the cups in the dishpan and turned to face the table. “But, Belinda, if we return to Gaeddert, that will leave this house open for someone’s use. If you are interested in renting it, we should mention that to the owner.”
“Yes . . .” Belinda would need a place to stay. Summer’s suggestion was worthy of exploration. “But for now . . .” She yawned widely. “I think I might try to get a little more sleep before the sun rises. Excuse me.”
Back in her little room, Belinda curled on the bed. More changes. . . . Hadn’t her life been one change after another for the past year? She longed for life to settle into a routine that would provide security and stability.
Once more her thoughts drifted to the telegram and Thomas’s message to her. Thomas, she knew, was a stable man. Life with him would offer the security she sought. If he did propose marriage, would it be wrong to accept him to avoid losing her newly adopted family? That question kept Belinda from drifting off to sleep.
Daphne set the Bible aside. The peace she’d sought in the pages of the book had been delivered in an unusual way. Reading in Matthew, she had come upon Jesus’ bold statement that He did not enter the world to bring peace, but a sword.
“For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother . . .”
Odd words to deliver a sense of peace, yet the recognition that her very belief in Jesus would create a division as clearly defined as a sword’s swath helped her accept her parents’ continued refusal to allow her to speak of her new relationship with Christ. They weren’t rejecting her; they were rejecting her Savior. The condemnation still hurt, yet she could separate herself from it knowing it was a price she paid for the privilege of being God’s child.
God’s child
. . . She smiled, absorbing the words. As much as she loved Father, her relationship with him had never been the close, loving one she desired. But with her Father God, she felt loved, accepted, valued. Even if Father and Mother cast her out, she would always have a home waiting in heaven, and she found complete contentment in the thought.
Dear God, keep knocking at the door to my parents’ and brother’s hearts until they allow your entrance.
Although Harry hadn’t openly scorned her, he kept his distance. Actually, he had little choice. Daphne had been ordered by Father to stay in her room until she came to her senses, and Harry was hustled to the office each day, so their paths didn’t cross.
Since the election had ended with Thomas Watson bringing in less than one percent of the popular vote, Father kept Harry busy editing his scathing editorials containing his view of the winning candidate, Theodore Roosevelt. Daphne sensed Harry’s views on racial issues had been altered somewhat by Clarence’s heroic efforts on her behalf, yet he wouldn’t go against Father’s wishes. She understood and didn’t hold any ill will toward her brother. He was being groomed to take over the newspaper.
Being alone had one advantage: undisturbed time. She used it to read her Bible and study and pray. And think. In some ways, asking Jesus into her heart had been the easy part. Now she wanted to discern how His presence should affect her daily life.
She slipped from the pillowy nest she’d created and crossed to her large window. The grounds were brown and dismal now in November, and the sky dull as an old nickel, yet a sliver of silver outlined the edges of the heavy, dark clouds, letting her know the brightness of the sun still existed. Just as her joy existed despite the censure of her family.
Still at the window, she allowed her thoughts to drift past her parents and Harry to the other person who held a portion of her heart. How she longed to see Thomas one more time, to thank him again for opening the door to God’s love to her. Who would have thought that by sending her away, he would have sent her straight into the arms of God? But that is what had happened, and although Thomas’s dismissal of their relationship had brought incredible pain, the end result brought joy.
“God’s ways are not man’s ways.” She spoke the words aloud. Mrs. Steadman had made the comment when Daphne had shared how her view of colored people was altered by Clarence coming to her rescue. Nadine had suggested perhaps God allowed the situation as a means of changing Daphne’s heart. Daphne disliked the means of the change—Clarence had paid a mighty price for her heart-change—but again, she celebrated the end result.
She sighed. How she wished she could tell Thomas she no longer believed in one man’s superiority based on race or wealth. Rather, it was the heart of a man that mattered most.