Waiting for Summer's Return (29 page)

32

S
UMMER STARED AT
her reflection in the oval mirror above the sink. Her hair clung in damp coils around her face, and she smoothed the strands behind her ears. She tipped her head, examining her firm chin, then traced the tiny lines at her eyes with one finger.
Still a young woman,
Peter had said. Well, yes, she was. The sorrow of the past year, which she had felt aged her beyond her years, hardly showed anymore. That was surely one of God’s miracles.

The sorrow still sat heavily on Nadine. Six weeks had passed since Summer’s return to Boston. Summer had tried many times to visit with Nadine about the joy one could possess by trusting God to take the sorrow. Each attempt was met with firm rebuttal. Summer shook her head, smiling sadly at her image in the mirror. She now understood what she had put Peter through with her stubborn refusal to believe a heart could heal. But Peter hadn’t given up on her, and she wouldn’t give up on Nadine. God was faithful—healing would come.

A swirl of steam fogged the lower edge of the mirror. She turned the spigot, stopping the flow of hot water, and turned from the sink. Her gaze drifted from the rolled edge sink basin to the oversized claw-footed porcelain tub, and finally to the door of the water closet.

Nadine had every known convenience available here. If Summer stayed, she would never tote a chamber pot through drifting snow to dump its unpleasant contents down the outhouse portal. She would never have to draw water from a well, heat it on the stove, and fill an iron washtub to take a bath. Life was much simpler under Nadine’s roof, enjoying the many conveniences.

So why did Summer long for Gaeddert? Moving down the hallway toward the lavish bedroom that was now hers, Summer reflected on her longing for Gaeddert. It wasn’t the town. It was the people—Peter, Thomas, and Lena; Katherine Kraft and Bertha Harms; even red-headed Rupert Penner. She missed them.

A wave of homesickness washed over her, and she hurried to the dresser. She paused for a moment to touch the framed page from Rodney’s Bible that bore the names of her children. She smiled, touching each name in turn, her children’s faces appearing in her memory. She looked at the letter that rested next to the frame. It lay open, as if in invitation. Although she nearly had it memorized from repeated readings, she picked it up and read it again.

Dear Summer,

Pa and me sure miss you. We talk about you all the time. Grandmother misses you to. I know becuz she doesn’t talk about you but she looks at your chair and her eyes are sad. I bet you miss your chair.

Patches is getting bigger. Pa and me are going to bild him his own house. I can help because I bilt that pikit pickit fence and did all right. I got a 100 on my math test. Mrs. Kraft had her baby, a girl named Hannah. Toby thinks she’s better than Patches but I don’t think so.

I miss you Summer. Do you miss me and pa? I hope you write to me again. Pa said to tell you hello and he hopes you are happy in Boston. I hope you are happy to but I still wish you were here. I got to go. I love you Summer.

Sincerely, Thomas.

Summer held the letter to her chest for a moment, closing her eyes and picturing the little boy with his tousled hair and broad grin. She could imagine him at the table, inkpot in front of him, forehead creased in concentration as he penned his letter. She looked at the letter again, and a chuckle vibrated through her.

How he jumped from topic to topic! He also could make use of the dictionary she’d purchased for him, but she treasured the letter despite its errors. She placed it back on the dresser, still open, so she could look at the lines of writing while she twisted her hair into its familiar knot.

She wondered if Thomas kept the letters she had sent him in a place of honor. Or did Peter have them? Of course, Peter couldn’t read them since they were written in English. She wished she could receive a letter from him. She wished she could send a letter that would only be read by his eyes. Sending messages through Thomas was ineffectual at least and frustrating at most. How could she pour out her heart to Peter knowing his ten-year-old son would be reading it aloud? Color filled her cheeks at the thought. No, it wouldn’t do. Communicating with Thomas—and hoping Peter was able to read between the lines of her simple messages—would have to be enough.

Her eyes drifted to Thomas’s words
“Pa … hopes you are happy in Boston.”
She understood the question behind his message. She could almost hear Peter’s rumbling voice asking, “Have you learned the lesson of Paul, to be content in whatever state you are?” She smiled. Yes, she had learned that lesson. Despite the ache in her heart, which spoke of a longing for Peter, she was not discontented. God’s joy remained with her. Her smile faded. If only she could help Nadine capture that joy.

A light knock sounded on her door, ending her reverie. She stabbed the last hairpin into place and crossed to the door.

Nadine’s maid, Mildred, stood in the hallway. “Miss Summer, Missus Nadine is ready to go. She asks are you ready?”

Summer picked up her Bible and reticule from the table beside the door. “Yes, Mildred. I’m ready.” Before Summer passed through the doorway, Mildred put out her hand.

“Missus Nadine,” Mildred whispered, her brow creased tightly, “she’s in a sour mood this morning. Step careful, you hear?”

Summer patted the older woman’s hand, giving her a smile. “I’ll step careful, Mildred. Thank you.”

Mildred’s words proved to be accurate. Nadine grumbled all the way to church, first about the lack of sugar in her morning oatmeal, then about the bumps in the road that Clarence
chose
not to avoid, and finally about Summer’s simple mourning dress.

“Now, Nadine, I won’t be wearing mourning attire forever,” Summer said kindly, smoothing the skirt of one of the dresses she had sewn in Gaeddert. She couldn’t stop the smile of remembrance of that day, of finding a basket of notions waiting for her and sewing the curtains to surprise Peter.

“Why are you smiling?” Nadine snapped. “You sit there in your ugly black dress which tells the world you’ve suffered the death of someone dear, and yet you smile! What is wrong with you, Summer Steadman? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

The carriage rolled to a halt. Summer opened her mouth to answer Nadine, but Clarence interrupted.

“Mind your footing, Missus,” he said, reaching to take Nadine’s arm. “The rain last night left the road slippery.”

Nadine slapped his hand away. “I’m not a doddering old woman who requires your assistance. Step back.”

The servant obeyed as he shot Summer a look of worry. She offered a reassuring smile as she stepped out of the carriage.

“Be back here sharply at noon,” Nadine instructed in a strident tone. “And tell Mildred I expect a decent dinner after that deplorable breakfast. Come along, Summer.” Nadine swept toward the church in her elegant black gown.

Summer followed Nadine’s swirling skirts. What had the woman in such a dither this morning? While she had never been one to demonstrate great warmth, the extent of her irritation today seemed out of character. Something was bothering her—but what? Not until Summer was standing, adding her voice to the hymn “Come, Christian, Let Us Sing,” did she remember the significance of today’s date. Her heart sank to her stomach, her hands fumbled the hymnal, and she fought the need to embrace Nadine right in church in the middle of singing.

Today Rodney would have turned thirty-one years old. And no one had remembered. Except Nadine.

The congregation sat, and Summer peeked sideways. Nadine’s chin quivered, her lips pursed into a grimace. Should Summer touch her? Whisper something? She prayed inwardly for guidance. Nadine must be in excruciating pain, remembering the day of her son’s birth.

Even as Summer sought a means to comfort her mother-in-law, the minister stepped behind the polished lectern and said, “Please turn in your Bibles to the first chapter of Ruth.”

Summer’s breath caught. It was reading from this chapter in church that had convinced her she must return to Nadine. She followed along in her Bible as the minister read straight through the first chapter. Summer felt Nadine stiffen on the seat next to her. Summer’s heart turned over in her chest. How difficult these words, of a mother’s loss of her sons, must be for Nadine today.

She gave Nadine a small smile, an attempt to offer understanding and comfort. Nadine ignored her, but as the minister read verses twenty and twenty-one—“And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full and the Lord hath brought me home again empty”—Summer heard Nadine gasp.

Without thinking, Summer reached out and took hold of Nadine’s hand. Nadine clung, her icy fingers digging into Summer’s palm. Summer held tight, expressing through physical touch her support for her mother-in-law.

During the remainder of the service, Summer held Nadine’s hand. Though the hand trembled within Summer’s grasp, Nadine made no effort to pull loose. When they rose for the final hymn, Nadine still held on. She did not release her hold even as they left the sanctuary and walked to the carriage, which waited beside the curb as Clarence had been directed.

Summer removed her hand long enough to allow Nadine’s entry into the carriage, but as soon as both women were settled, Nadine reached out again. Although she spoke no words, her fierce hold on Summer’s hand spoke volumes. Summer prayed silently all the way to the house that she would find words to ease Nadine’s pain.

They sat at opposite ends of the dining room table and ate their roast beef, boiled potatoes and carrots, and crusty rolls in silence. Although Summer longed to talk, she sensed Nadine was deep in thought. Remembering the times Peter had allowed her to reflect in silence, she allowed Nadine that freedom now, waiting until she showed signs of readiness to discuss whatever was on her heart.

Finally, as Mildred cleared away the dishes and presented a dessert of cherry tarts, Nadine let Summer know she was ready.

“Today is my son’s birthday.” The words were uttered in a low tone, almost a groan.

Summer nodded.

“Never have I been away from him on his birthday. Do you remember, Summer? Do you remember how you and Rodney would come here for dinner and cake? Even after the children arrived, always you came here for dinner and cake.”

Again, Summer nodded. The pain in Nadine’s voice made her heart ache.

Nadine lowered her gaze. “How I miss him….”

Summer rose and went around the table to kneel beside Nadine’s chair. She took Nadine’s limp hand. It was as cold as it had been in the church. “I know you miss him. I do, too.”

Nadine searched Summer’s eyes. “Do you? I’ve wondered. I’ve watched you. You don’t seem lonely. You don’t seem sad.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back. “How do you bear it? I feel very much like the woman in the Bible. Naomi, who said the Lord had dealt bitterly with her. Taking Horace … and Rodney … and the children. I … I fear I cannot bear it, Summer.” Tears rolled down Nadine’s cheeks.

“Shh, Mother.” Summer rested her cheek against Nadine’s shoulder. “You don’t have to bear it alone. I am here. And God is here, too.”

Nadine opened her eyes. “Why did you return to me? Horace and I—we never treated you like family. I admit that. We gave you no reason to care about us. It can’t be love that brought you here. I do not see loneliness in your bearing. Surely you don’t need me as desperately as I need you. So why are you here?”

Summer cupped Nadine’s cheek. “I am here because you asked me. You needed me.” She swallowed, lowering her hand. “After Rodney and the children were gone, I felt just as you said—as if God had dealt bitterly with me. I didn’t feel as if I could return to Boston, to my brother’s house. I didn’t feel as if I could come here to you and Horace. I felt so very lost and alone. But someone needed me—Peter Ollenburger’s son, Thomas.”

Just saying Peter’s and Thomas’s names brought a new rush of longing through Summer’s chest. She paused, envisioning their dear faces, before continuing. “Giving of myself to Thomas kept my heart from becoming hard with bitterness. Loving softens the heart. A soft heart is open to new love. And I found it.” She felt tears gather in her eyes. “I found it with Thomas and Peter and Lena. I found it with the God who is so very real to Peter. Having God with me has brought me joy despite the pain.”

“Joy despite the pain?” Nadine released a huff of disbelief. “The two are opposites, Summer. Both cannot reside simultaneously within the same breast.”

“Ah, but they can, Nadine.” Summer rose. “You wait here. I will get my Bible. May I show you what I’ve discovered?”

Nadine stared at Summer with narrowed eyes for long seconds, her lips pursed tight into a scowl of indecision.

Summer held her breath, waiting, praying, hoping.

At last Nadine sighed. She raised her hand in a tired gesture, as if it weighed more than she could comfortably lift. “Yes, Summer. You may show me.”

Summer deposited a kiss on Nadine’s soft cheek and then ran upstairs to retrieve the Bible Peter had given her.

God, give me the words to turn Nadine’s sorrow into joy
.

33

T
HOMAS HELD TINY
Hannah Kraft and beamed up at his father. As soon as the
faspa
meal had been consumed, Thomas had begged to hold the baby. “Look, Pa. She’s smiling. I think she likes me.”

Peter looked into the baby’s face. A smile curved the infant’s lips, and she waved a tiny fist. “
Ja,
she does like you.”

Thomas bounced Hannah as he made silly nonsense noises. The baby let out a squawk, and Thomas’s eyebrows flew upward.

Katherine Kraft clucked and removed the baby from Thomas’s arms. She smiled at the boy’s crestfallen expression. “It is not that Hannah dislikes you, Thomas. She likes to be held like this.” She cradled the baby against her shoulder. “Would you like to try again?”

The boy backed away. “No. You keep her. I’ll go play with Toby. I
know
what Toby likes.” He trotted toward Toby’s bedroom, but before moving through the doorway he called back, “Bet Summer would sure like her.”

At Summer’s name, Peter’s heart lifted. He turned to find Katherine Kraft fixing him with a look of interest. The back of his neck heated up. He forced a casual tone. “
Ja,
the boy is right. Summer would like Hannah very much. Have you sent letter to tell her your baby is here?”

“We had Toby send a postcard,” Katherine replied. “You know I do not write in the English.” She carried the infant to a cradle in the corner of the kitchen and gently laid her in it. “Have you sent letters to Summer?”

“I … I do not write in the English either, Katherine.”

Katherine patted the baby as she spoke. “Has Thomas sent her letters then, with words from you inside?”

Seated at the table, Tobias cleared his throat. “Woman, maybe Peter wishes to talk of something else.”

Katherine shook her head. “When the name Summer was said, his face changed. He wishes to speak of Summer. He wishes to speak of little else.” She turned back to Peter. “Am I right, Peter?”

The heat crept from Peter’s neck to his ears. Katherine was right. He wished to speak of little else. Often he and the boy spoke of Summer, but with the boy, he felt limited in what he could say. Thomas missed her so much. His own words of longing would only add to the boy’s loneliness for his friend.

He hung his head. “You are right, Katherine, that I wish to speak of the woman. I wish to do more than speak of her. I wish to speak
to
her. But I cannot do that. So it is best not to speak at all. It makes it easier on my heart, for sure.”

Katherine carried the coffeepot to the table and poured fresh cups. After putting the pot back on the stove, she seated herself between the men and sighed. “
Ach,
Peter, I do not try to make things uncomfortable for you. But in Summer I found a friend, and I miss her, too. I wonder how she is doing. I am sorry if sad I have made you by speaking of her today.”

Peter raised his head. “You have not made me sad. It is good that others remember her and miss her. It makes me feel not so alone.”

Tobias asked, “Have any people given interest in the house we built for her?”

Peter scratched his beard. “
Nein
. Not yet. I see to it—and to the graves. I am sure, when time is right, God will send a person to live in the house.”

“Maybe,” Katherine said in a bright tone, “it will be Summer who comes back to live in the house.”

“I do not know,” Peter said. “Her last letter to us said her mother-in-law liked having her near.” He remembered the message Thomas had read to him from Summer’s last letter—
Tell your father I have joy where I am
. Peter felt he understood her meaning. Her happiness was found in caring for the mother-in-law, just as Ruth had done for Naomi. “I think she will stay there.”

Katherine nodded, her eyes sad.

“So why was
Frau
Suderman not at
Kleine Gemeinde
this morning?” Tobias picked up his cup and slurped his coffee.

Peter’s brows pinched. “Our
grossmutter
has been under the weather. When she chooses to miss a Sunday service, I know she is feeling poorly.”

Katherine patted his arm. “I will take her some soup this week. She is probably working too hard now that Summer is gone. Are you letting her to do the household chores?”

“It is not that I let her. She does what she will do. The boy is at school; I am away working. I come home to find her very tired. So,
ja,
she is working too hard. But how do you tell her to stop? It makes her feel … useless. Useless is not something I wish on anyone.”

“She has earned a rest.” Katherine’s staunch words made Peter smile. “Many years she has taken care of others—first her own child, then her granddaughter, and now you and your son. You tell her she is not useless, but she deserves a rest.”

Despite the worry he felt when he thought of how much
Grossmutter
had slowed down in the past weeks, how silent she had become again, he could not stop the chuckle that came from his chest. “She is a stubborn woman. I do not think she would take kindly to my telling her to rest. Her eyes, they snap at me when I say she does too much.”

“Well, we are your closest neighbor,” Katherine said. “I will try to come by once or twice a week with Hannah and let her hold the baby while I do some of the chores.”

Peter’s heart warmed at Katherine’s concern. “That is kind of you. I know she would enjoy the chance to hold a baby again.”

“I will do it, then.” Katherine leaned back; her expression turned speculative. “Did
Frau
Suderman allow Summer to do the chores in your house?”

“Ja-a-a.”
Peter drew out the word. Had they not decided to let talk of Summer end?

“So
Frau
Suderman would not resent another woman living in your house …”

Tobias frowned at his wife. “Woman, what are you leading to now?”

Katherine offered a sly smile. “
Ach,
I am not leading to anything, husband. I am just thinking. Peter could benefit from someone who would give his grandmother help during the day. And in our community are two widows who would be able to help. Maybe he should—”

Peter held up his hand. “What you are thinking I already know.” He shook his head, his ears hot. “A widow in my house I do not need. Ideas it would give her.”

“Ja,”
Katherine agreed, “and ideas it might give you.”

“Katherine!” Tobias’s tone held reproach. “Too bold you are being.”

“Boldness is not a bad thing,” the woman insisted. “To mend a broken heart sometimes takes turning attention to someone else.”

Peter knew Katherine meant well, so he answered her kindly. “I thank you for your concern. But I tell you my heart has no desire to look to someone else. It is fine just the way it is.”

Katherine nodded slowly. “Fine it might be, but do not let it grow closed, Peter. Let it stay open. It may be that God brought Summer to open you to the idea of taking a wife again.”

Tobias slurped his coffee noisily. His wife shot him an impatient look. “Men! You cannot allow a serious conversation to happen.” She turned back to Peter and touched his forearm. “I keep her in my prayers, for God’s will to be done in her life. And yours, too, Peter.”

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.
God’s will is best,
he told himself.
I pray I can accept it if it means never seeing my Summer again
.

Peter stood in the doorway to
Grossmutter
’s room, peering in as the doctor leaned over the bed. He could hear each labored breath the old woman made, and his heart constricted in worry and fear. Was she dying? He knew if her life slipped away, her soul would be winged to a better place, yet the selfish part of him longed for her to remain here with him and the boy. How they would miss her steadfast presence should she leave them.

As if sensing his father’s thoughts, Thomas tugged at Peter’s sleeve. “Grandmother isn’t going to … die … is she, Pa?” The question came out in a harsh whisper.

Peter put his arm around the boy and pulled him hard against his side. “Sick she is, son, and old and tired. It may be God is ready to let her come home to Him, where she will be healthy and whole once more.”

The boy’s eyes flooded with tears. “But I don’t want her to go.”

“Nor do I, for sure,” Peter agreed, “but we must think what is best for our dear
Grossmutter, ja
?”

The boy nodded, his chin low. Then he looked up. “Pa, do I have to go to school today? I want to stay here with you and Grandmother.”

Peter could not refuse his son when the boy begged so with his eyes. He gave Thomas a pat. “You read to her,
ja
? She likes that. She will enjoy having you near.”

“I’ll read Summer’s letters to her again,” Thomas said. “She always smiles when I tell her what Summer says in her letters.”

The boy scampered to his room as Dr. Wiebe moved toward the doorway. Peter stepped out of his way, and the doctor closed
Grossmutter
’s door before addressing Peter.

“She has some congestion in her chest,” the man said, rubbing his chin, “but I do not think it is serious. I think she is just worn out. Too old she is to be working herself so hard. She needs much rest.”

“
Ja,
rest. I will see she gets it.”

“You cannot sit beside her all day and watch her,” the doctor said. “As soon as you leave, she will be up and doing. She told me as much. The housework must be done, she says.”

“Katherine Kraft said she will come once or twice a week.”

“Once or twice a week is not enough. If you want
Frau
Suderman to recover, she must not work so hard ever again.” Dr. Wiebe fixed his eyes firmly on Peter. “Peter, have you considered—”

“I got them, Pa!” Thomas bounced beside the men, a cluster of pages in his hand. “I’ll go read to Grandmother now.”

The doctor put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You go in, Thomas, but do not keep her awake if she tries to sleep. Sleep is good medicine.”

The boy nodded, his expression serious. “I won’t. But I know these letters will be good medicine, too. She likes hearing from Summer.” He closed the bedroom door behind him.

Dr. Wiebe looked at the door for long moments, his forehead creased in thought. Finally he turned back to Peter. “While
Frau
Steadman was here,
Frau
Suderman need not work so hard. She did better then,
ja
?”

Peter thought about how
Grossmutter
had spoken more, been more lively, when Summer was with them. “
Ja,
she did better then.”

The doctor touched Peter’s arm. “Another woman in the house to do the work every day would be good for your grandmother.”

Peter’s neck grew hot with the doctor’s insinuation. Was everyone going to push him to marry again?

The doctor gave his arm another pat, then turned away. “You think about it, Peter. God did not intend for man to be alone. Maybe you have been alone long enough now. Another wife would be good for you, good for the boy, good for
Frau
Suderman. It could solve many problems.”

Peter saw the doctor to the door and thanked him for coming. Then he crossed to the stove and poured himself a cup of strong coffee.

What had Katherine said? That God had brought Summer to open his heart to the idea of loving again. Even the doctor, a very wise man, thought taking a wife would be good. Peter shook his head. He did not want to think of this now. A wife was not to be taken to be a housekeeper. A wife must be a helpmate—a partner in life and in love.

The sound of Thomas’s voice drifted out to him, Summer’s name in the midst of what the boy said. Peter lowered his head and closed his eyes. When he thought
wife,
he thought
Summer
. Until the word
wife
did not bring to mind a slender woman with dark hair and eyes, he would not think of it. But he did not find it so easy to set aside.