Читать книгу The Baby Bequest - Lyn Cote, Lyn Cote - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“Why weren’t you at the river to meet me?”

Ellen grasped her cousin’s hand desperately as Mr. Lang drove down the track away from them. She had managed to pull herself together enough to bid Mr. Lang goodbye and thank him for the ride, but she was glad to see him leave—his presence had pushed her over the edge emotionally. The man had only been kind to her, but being alone with him had nearly been more than she could bear.

“Why weren’t you at the river to meet me?” Ellen repeated.

Ophelia pulled a well-worn letter from her pocket. “You said your boat would dock tomorrow. ‘I will arrive on the sixteenth of August,’” she read.

“But that’s today.”

“No, dear, that’s tomorrow. It’s easy to lose track of days when traveling. I know I did.”

Ellen thought her own mental state must be the explanation. As Ophelia guided her to a chair just outside the log cabin and disappeared inside, Ellen tried to appear merely homesick and travel-weary, not heartsick. She must master herself or this thing would defeat her. She stiffened her spine.

Soon Ophelia bustled into the daylight again and offered her a cup of tea. “This will help. I know when I arrived I...” Her cousin paused, frowning. “I cried a lot. It’s a shock leaving family, leaving home.” She sat down beside Ellen and began nursing her little boy.

Ophelia had thoughtfully offered her an excuse for her tears and she would not contradict her. Yet the invisible band around her heart squeezed tighter. Ellen took a sip of the tea, which tasted like peppermint. “I’ll adjust.”

“Of course you will. You’ve done right coming here. Pepin has the nicest people, and those with children are so happy to have a teacher. They can’t wait to meet you.”

A weight like a stone pressed down on Ellen’s lungs. She’d never taught before. Would she be good at it? “I’m glad to hear that.”

“The schoolhouse with your quarters isn’t finished yet, but Martin and I will love having you spend a few weeks with us.”

That long? How could she keep her misery hidden that long, and from Ophelia, who knew her so well? “I’m sorry for arriving early and putting you out—”

“You’re not putting me out,” Ophelia said emphatically. “Having family here—” the young mother paused as if fighting tears “—means a great deal to me.”

Touched, Ellen reached out and pressed her hand to Ophelia’s shoulder. “I’m glad to have family here, too.” Family that loves me, she thought.

Her cousin rested her cheek on Ellen’s hand for a moment. “I’m sorry I missed Cissy’s wedding.”

The image of Holton kissing her sister, Cissy, in their parlor, sealing their life vows, was a knife piercing Ellen’s heart. What had happened had not been her naive younger sister’s fault, she reminded herself. “Cissy was a beautiful bride,” she said bravely.

“Oh, I wish I could have been there, but we couldn’t justify the expense of the riverboat fare and the time away from our crops. It seems every varmint in Wisconsin wants to eat our garden and corn.” Ophelia sounded indignant. “You’d think our farm was surrounded by a desolate desert without a green shoot, the way everything tries to gobble up our food.”

Ellen couldn’t help herself; a chuckle escaped her. Oh, it felt good to laugh again.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know, but you are. Oh, Ophelia, I’ve missed you.”

And it was the truth. Ophelia had been a friend from childhood, slipping through the back fence to Ellen’s house, escaping her own overbearing, scene-making mother.

“I miss your parents. They were always so good to me,” Ophelia said in a voice rich with emotion, rich with love and sympathy.

The cousins linked hands in a silent moment of remembrance.

“They were good to me, too,” Ellen murmured. Strengthened, she released Ophelia’s hand. “But they are with God and I am here with you. To start a new life, just like you have.”

“Ellen, about Holton.” Her cousin paused, biting her lower lip.

Ellen froze, her cup in midair. What about Holton? What could Ophelia possibly know? And how?

“I wondered... My mother wrote me that when he first came to town, he was making up to you...”

Ellen suffered the words as a blow. She should have foreseen this. Ophelia’s mother, Prudence, completely misnamed, was also one of the worst gossips in Galena. Of course Aunt Prudence would have told Ophelia how, when he first came to town, Holton had buzzed around Ellen, only to switch his attentions when her prettier, younger and easier-to-manage sister came home from boarding school in Chicago.

Ellen tried to keep breathing through the pain of remembering.

At that moment, Ophelia’s husband, Martin, walked out of the woods, a hoe over his shoulder and a dog at his side, saving her from having to speak about Holton and his deception of her. She had gotten through mention of the awful day of Cissy’s wedding without revealing anything. No doubt it would come up again, but perhaps every day that passed would distance the pain.

This move would work out. It had to.

As she thought of her future in Pepin, the handsome but troubled face of Kurt Lang popped into her mind. What was wrong with her? Did she have no defense at all against a handsome face? A handsome face belonging to a man that might mislead and lie just as Holton did?

She vowed she would never again make the mistake she’d made with Holton. Never.

* * *

Kurt found Gunther sitting beside the creek, fishing. The lanky boy was too thin and his blond hair needed cutting. A pang of sympathy swept through Kurt. His brother was so young to carry their family shame.

Gunther looked up, already spoiling for an argument. “I did my chores and Johann did his.”

And just like that, Kurt’s sympathy turned to frustration. He knew why Gunther simmered all the time, ready to boil over. But the lad was old enough to learn to carry what had happened to them like a man.

Upstream, Johann, who had been wading in the cooling water, looked up at the sound of Gunther’s voice. He waved. “Hello, Onkel Kurt!” The barefoot boy splashed over the rocks and ran up the grassy bank to Kurt.

Kurt pulled down the brim of the boy’s hat, teasing. Johann favored his late father’s coloring with black hair and brown eyes. “You keep cool in the water?” Kurt asked in careful English.

Johann pushed up the brim, grinning. “Yes, I did.” Then the boy looked uncomfortable and glanced toward Gunther.

In return, Gunther sent their nephew a pointed, forbidding look.

Kurt’s instincts went on alert. What were these two hiding?

His guess was that Gunther had done something he knew Kurt wouldn’t like and had sworn Johann to secrecy. Kurt let out a breath. Another argument wouldn’t help. He’d just wait. Everything came out in the wash, his grandmother used to say and was said here, too.

“You bring me candy? Please?” Johann asked, eyeing Kurt’s pockets.

“Candy? Why should I bring you candy?” If he wasn’t careful, he’d spoil this one.

“I did my chores this week.”

After feigning deep thought for a few moments, Kurt drew out a small brown bag. “You did do your chores well, Johann.” Kurt lapsed into German as he tossed the boy a chunk of peppermint. Then he offered another chunk to his brother.

Gunther glared at him. “I’m almost a man.”

Irritation sparked in Kurt’s stomach. “Then act like one.”

Gunther turned his back to Kurt, hunching up one shoulder.

Kurt regretted his brusque tone, but he couldn’t baby Gunther. Everyone said that had been the root cause of their father’s downfall. Their father had been a very spoiled only child who had never grown up. Kurt would not let Gunther follow in their father’s disastrous footsteps.

“Your schoolteacher arrived today.”

Kurt stopped there, realizing that the unexpected meeting had upset him. Miss Ellen Thurston was a striking woman with a great deal of countenance, but so emotional. He’d heard all the gossip in town about her. She was a well-educated woman and a wealthy man’s daughter, and her family was even in government in Illinois. Far above his touch. His brow furrowed; he recalled the scene at the Stewards’, her brown eyes overflowing with tears. Why had she burst into tears like that? He shook his head again. Women were so emotional, not like men.

But wondering about the new schoolteacher was just wasting time. His life now was raising Johann and guiding Gunther. Brigitte’s betrayal tried to intrude on his thoughts, but he shook it off—he did not want to spare one more thought for his former fiancée.

“I’m not going to school,” Gunther insisted.

Kurt stiffened.

“Nicht wahr?” Johann asked and went on in German. “I think it will be fun. At least we will get to meet some others here. I want to make friends. Don’t you want to make friends, Gunther?”

A fish took Gunther’s bait, saving them from another angry retort.

The deep pool of Kurt’s own sorrow and shame bubbled up. He inhaled deeply, forcing it down. Would the weight he carried never lift? Kurt watched his brother deftly play and then pull in a nice bass. Kurt tried encouragement. “A fine fish for supper. Well done.”

Gunther refused the compliment with a toss of his head.

Kurt’s patience began slipping. Better to leave before he traded more barbed words with the lad. He relaxed and spoke in German, “Catch a few more if you can. Johann, help me put away what I bought at the store. Then we will look over the garden to see what needs picking.”

Johann fell into step with him. Kurt rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Again he thought of the schoolteacher, so stylish and with soft brown curls around her aristocratic face. He’d anticipated a plain woman, much older, with hair sprouting from her chin. What was Miss Ellen Thurston doing here, teaching school? It was a mystery.

Then, in spite of the sorrow that never quite eased, Kurt began teasing Johann about how much peppermint he thought he could eat at one time.

Things would get better. They had to.

* * *

Riding on the wagon bench, Ellen dreaded being put on display for all of Pepin today, nearly a week after arriving. But the men had decided to hold a community-wide workday on the school and attached living quarters, and she must attend and show a cheerful face to all. In light of the wound she carried and concealed day by day, it would be one long, precarious ordeal. She had to portray confidence above all.

When the Stewards’ wagon broke free of the forest into the open river flat, she welcomed the broad view of the blue, rippling Mississippi ahead. She took a deep breath. The normally empty town now appeared crowded and her heart sank another notch—until an impertinent question popped up: Would Mr. Lang come today? Ellen willed this thought away.

Ophelia touched her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to know everyone in no time and then this will feel more like home.”

Ellen fashioned a smile for Ophelia. If only shyness were her worry. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“You met my friends Sunny and Nan last year. They are eager to make you welcome.”

Ellen tried to take comfort from her cousin’s words.

Ellen and Ophelia joined the ladies who were storing the cold lunch in the spring house behind the store. Then they gathered in the shade of the trees with a good view of the unfinished log schoolhouse and claimed places on a rectangle of benches. Small children rolled or crawled in the grass in the midst of the benches, while older children played tag nearby.

Though scolding herself silently, Ellen scanned the men, seeking Kurt Lang. He had made an impression on her and she couldn’t deny it. She also couldn’t deny that she resented it.

“Miss Thurston,” Mrs. Ashford called. “This is my daughter Amanda.” Mrs. Ashford motioned for a girl in a navy blue plaid dress, who appeared to be around fourteen, to come to her. “Make your curtsy to the schoolteacher, Amanda.”

The thin, dark-haired girl obeyed, blushing. With a start, Ellen recognized her as the girl she’d seen slipping downstairs to meet a boy on the day Ellen had arrived.

Ellen took pity on the girl, obviously enduring that awkward stage between girlhood and womanhood, and offered her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Amanda. Your dress is very pretty.”

Mrs. Ashford preened. “Amanda cut and sewed it all by herself. She is the age where she should be finishing up her learning of the household arts. But Ned and I decided that we’d let her go to school one more year, though she’s had enough schooling for a girl.”

Ellen swallowed her response to this common sentiment, quelling the irritation it sparked. Enough schooling for a girl. Her older brother’s wife, Alice, had the gall to tell her once that the reason Ellen had never “snared” a man was she had had too much schooling for a woman. I couldn’t stand my sister-in-law’s sly rudeness and innuendo a day longer. What would this storekeeper’s wife say if she announced that she intended to earn a bachelor’s degree and perhaps teach at a preparatory school someday?

Ellen limited herself to saying, “I will be happy to have Amanda in my class.”

The men began shouting words of instruction and encouragement, drawing the women’s attention to the schoolhouse. They were coordinating the positioning of four ladders against the log walls, two on each side. With a start, Ellen spotted Kurt Lang as he nimbly mounted a ladder and climbed toward the peak of the joists.

Ellen felt a little dizzy as she watched Mr. Lang so high up in the air, leaning perilously away from the ladder. An imposing figure, he appeared intent on what he was doing, evidently not the kind to shy away from hard work.

As she watched, a barefoot boy with black hair and a tanned face ran up, startling her. “You are teacher?” he asked with an accent. “The girls say you are teacher.”

“Yes, I am going to be the teacher. Will you be one of my students?” Was this Mr. Lang’s nephew?

He nodded vigorously. “I want school. I like to read.”

“Good. What’s your name?”

“Johann Mueller.” He pointed toward the school. “My onkel Kurt.” Then he pointed to a teenager standing by the ladders. “My onkel Gunther.” The boy said the name so it sounded like “Goon-ter.”

Ellen noted that Gunther, working with the men on the ground, wasn’t paying attention to the work going on around him. He was staring across at Amanda. She then recognized him as the young man Amanda had slipped out to see that first day she’d come to town.

Over the hammering, she heard Mr. Lang’s voice rise, speaking in German, sounding as if he were scolding someone. She caught the name, “Gunther.”

She saw Gunther glare up at Mr. Lang, then grudgingly begin to work again.

Ellen felt sympathy for the younger brother. Why was Mr. Lang so hard on him? He was just a boy, really.

Johann bowed. “I go. Goodbye!” He pulled on his cap, gave her a grin and ran toward the children.

Mrs. Ashford pursed her lips, looking peevish. “I hope you don’t have trouble with those Dutch boys.” She nodded toward the unhappy Gunther. “That one’s too old for school and Mr. Ashford told Mr. Lang so.”

Ellen agreed. A sixteen-year-old could stir up all kinds of trouble at school, not only for the other students, but for her. Mr. Lang, of course, probably hadn’t thought of this. She drew in a breath. “I’m sure he thinks it best for his brother.”

“Well.” Mrs. Ashford sniffed. “I think the homesteading law should have specified that land was only for Americans, not for foreigners.”

Ellen bit her tongue. The homesteading law had been designed specifically to attract people from other countries to populate the vast open area east of the Rocky Mountains. There simply weren’t enough American-born families to fill up those vacant acres.

Ellen recalled Mr. Ashford’s whisper that Kurt was respectable even if a foreigner. It must be difficult for Mr. Lang to face this prejudice against immigrants day after day. Even though she didn’t agree with Mr. Lang’s treatment of his brother, she felt a keen sympathy for him—he and his charges had a difficult path ahead of them in so many ways.

This very feeling of sympathy led Ellen to resolve to keep her distance from Mr. Lang as best she could.

* * *

Hours later, the lunch bell rang. The men washed their hands at the school pump and gathered around the tables. While the women served the meal, the older children were permitted to sit by their fathers and listen to the men discuss the progress of the school building.

Despite her decision to keep her distance, Ellen tracked Mr. Lang’s whereabouts and listened to catch his words.

For distraction, she insisted on donning an apron and whisking away empty bowls to replenish them. As she approached Mr. Lang’s table, she heard him laugh—his laughter was deep and rich. Just as she reached him with a heaping bowl of green salad, he turned and nearly swept the bowl from her arms.

“Tut mir leid! I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, reaching out and steadying her hold on the bowl with his hands over hers.

The unexpected contact made her smother a gasp.

“No harm done.” She set the bowl on the table and stepped back, slightly breathless. Perspiration dotted his hairline and his thick, tawny hair had curled in the humidity. She nearly brushed back a curl that had strayed onto his forehead. The very thought of it made her turn away as quickly as possible to get back to work.

As she made her way to the next table, she noticed Mrs. Ashford’s daughter pause before slipping into the trees. The girl looked over her shoulder in a furtive move that announced she was up to no good.

Ellen recalled how Gunther had earlier been staring at this girl. A kind of inevitable presentiment draped over Ellen’s mind. She glanced around. Gunther was nowhere to be seen.

What to do? After listening to Mrs. Ashford’s opinion of foreigners, Ellen didn’t want to think of the repercussions in this small town if someone found the two young people together. And she didn’t want people gossiping about Amanda—she knew how that stung.

She excused herself and followed Amanda into the cover of the trees, threading her way through the thick pines and oaks. She hoped the young couple hadn’t gone too far.

She also hoped she wouldn’t find them kissing.

When she glimpsed Amanda’s navy blue plaid dress through the trees, the young girl was testing the flexed muscle of Gunther’s upper arm. A timeless scene—a young man showing off his strength to a young, admiring girl. Innocent and somewhat sweet. However, that wouldn’t be how the Ashfords would view it.

At that moment, she heard footsteps behind her. She swung around to find Kurt Lang facing her. She jerked backward in surprise.

Before she could say anything, Mr. Lang glimpsed the couple over her shoulder. His face darkened. He opened his mouth.

Impetuously, without thinking about her actions, Ellen shocked herself by reaching up and gently pressing a hand to Mr. Kurt Lang’s lips.

* * *

The lady’s featherlike touch threw Kurt off balance. He grappled with the cascade of sensations sparked by her fingers against his lips.

“Please, you’ll embarrass them,” she whispered, quickly removing her hand as her face flushed.

She was so close, her light fragrance filled his head, making him think of spring. He fought free of it. “They need to be embarrassed,” he replied emphatically. “I see you follow the girl Gunther likes. Then I see Gunther is not at table. He is not to flirt with this girl. He is too young.”

“But do you want everyone to hear, to know?” she cautioned.

Kurt thought about the wagging tongues, and realized she was right. “No. But I must discipline him. He must do what he is supposed to.”

The lady bit her lower lip as if she wanted to say more but then she fell back.

“Gunther.” He snapped his brother’s name as a reprimand.

In an instant, Amanda dropped her hand, blushing. Gunther jerked back and glared.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Amanda said in a rush.

The schoolteacher preceded him toward the couple. “No, you aren’t,” she said evenly, “but slipping away like this would not please your parents, Amanda. Why don’t you go back before you’re missed?”

Kurt admired her aplomb. She was definitely a lady of unusual quality.

“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda snuck a last look at Gunther and then hurried away.

The lady schoolteacher sent him an apologetic look filled with an appeal for the young couple. Why did women want to coddle children?

When the two females had moved out of earshot, Kurt told his brother what he thought of such a meeting. The boy flushed bright red and began to answer back.

Kurt cut him off. “You embarrass me in front of your teacher.”

Instead of apologizing, his brother made a rude sound and stalked away. Kurt proceeded back to the tables.

The other men were finished eating. With the hot sun blazing down, they lingered at the shaded tables, talking and teasing one another about minor mishaps during the morning’s work. Kurt envied their easygoing good humor, wishing he could participate, but inside, he churned like the Atlantic he’d crossed only months before.

He could not afford to lose his brother as he’d lost his father.

An older man sitting in the shade away from the tables in a rough-hewn wheelchair with his feet propped up motioned for Kurt to come to him.

Kurt obeyed the summons. “Sir?”

The older man reached out his hand. “You are Mr. Kurt Lang from Germany. I’ve seen you come to worship and I’ve been wanting to meet you, but my days of calling on folk are over. I’m Old Saul.”

“I hear you were pastor before Noah Whitmore.” Kurt shook the man’s hand and sat on a stool beside his chair. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Just call me Old Saul.”

Kurt digested this. People here thought differently about social status. Few wanted titles of respect beyond Mr. and Mrs. or Miss. It puzzled him. But he was never left in doubt of their low opinion of him, an immigrant.

Old Saul nodded toward the lady schoolteacher. “I didn’t think I’d still be here to greet Miss Thurston, but God hasn’t decided to call me home just yet.” Then he looked directly into Kurt’s eyes. “You carry a heavy load. I see it. You’re strong but some burdens need God’s strength.”

The old man looked frail but his voice sounded surprisingly strong. Kurt didn’t know what to make of what he’d said, yet for the first time in many days, Kurt relaxed, feeling the man’s acceptance deep within his spirit.

“It’s hard starting out in a new place,” Old Saul continued, “but you’ll do fine. Just ask God to help you when you need it. God’s strength is stronger than any human’s and God is a very present help in times of trouble, Mr. Kurt Lang. Yes, He is.” Then the older man’s gaze followed the lady teacher.

Kurt could think of nothing to say so he watched the schoolteacher, too. Even though she was dressed simply, she had that flair that lent her a more fashionable look. He thought of her following the Ashford girl and his brother, trying to protect them from gossip. She must have a caring heart.

Miss Ellen Thurston, the lady schoolteacher.

Kurt drew in a breath and before anyone caught him staring at her, he turned his attention back to Old Saul. She is far above me, a poor farmer who speaks bad English.