Where the Heart Leads (29 page)
And yet there was the other side, the tender side . . . God’s protection, God’s provision, God’s endless mercy toward people who, quite often, seemed bent on neglecting Him. God required much of His people, but He also gave much to His people. Was that why Thomas put God first? Because he didn’t want to emulate the foolish Israelites who consistently tried the patience of God and reaped His judgment? Could it be fear of judgment that motivated him?
The Bible was divided into two disproportionate halves—the Old Testament and the New Testament. A quick peek revealed she was close to halfway through the Old Testament. By the end of the week—if people left her alone and let her read—she hoped to be through the Old Testament and would be able to start fresh with the New Testament next week.
An odd rush of excitement swept over her. She pondered its source but could find no reason why accomplishing the entire read-through of this book was so exciting. Yet she couldn’t deny the eagerness to proceed. At least, she concluded, reading took her mind off of her aching heart. She shifted to get more comfortable against the mound of pillows behind her back, crossed her ankles, and resumed reading.
“Practice time, Tom.” Dean Pardue plopped a stack of nearly illegible notes onto Thomas’s desk. “Pick ’em apart, organize ’em, then write me four comprehensive, fact-filled paragraphs.” He pointed a wiry finger at Thomas. “No opinions in there. This isn’t a place to insert your viewpoint. Just
facts
.” The man strode out of the office.
Thomas set to work without comment. Over the past few days, he had learned Dean Pardue was a tougher taskmaster than Mr. Severt had been. Pardue could nitpick and chide and criticize until Thomas was ready to throw the pages in the man’s face and exclaim he didn’t want to be a reporter after all. But one thing kept him silent and working—the desire to do that which would accomplish the most good.
If he could prove to Severt and Pardue that he had what it took to be a respected reporter, they might let him write one article about the presidential race prior to Election Day. With that opportunity, he would lay out the facts he had been collecting on his own concerning Thomas Watson of the Populist Party.
Politics often involved a game of one-upmanship, the goal being to make one’s own candidate appear better than all others. For some candidates, the strategy included slinging dirt at the opponent. Thomas knew from experience an eyeful of dust hindered vision. So slinging dirt, he concluded, kept constituents from seeing the slinger’s faults. He didn’t much care for the practice, having been taught to be truthful in all circumstances.
“As for me,” he mumbled as he drew an arrow from one scribbled note to another, indicating the placement of the information in his final draft, “if given the chance, I’ll not fling dirt, but I’ll certainly muddy the waters for some who think they know it all.”
He considered the personal testimonies he’d gathered concerning Watson’s treatment of specific groups of people. Watson had little tolerance for anyone whose religious denomination or skin color differed from his own. A person with such a limited circle of acceptance had no business pursuing leadership for a country whose population included a rainbow of skin tones and which proclaimed religious freedom. If Watson became the United States’ next president, it could be detrimental to the unity of the country.
Although Thomas still approved the stance of the Populist Party concerning the Grange and its support of the farming community, he could not approve the party’s chosen candidate. He could not stand quietly by and allow wrong to have its way.
He was breaking with Mennonite tradition by involving himself in political issues, and his father would frown if he knew what Thomas was doing. He might be an adult, but displeasing Pa still gave him pause. Even so, he needed to follow his own conscience this time, and his conscience clearly directed him to speak the truth about Watson before voters entered the booths on November 8. Less than two weeks away . . .
Suddenly his heart skittered to thoughts of Daphne, and the plans he had made to ask for her hand at the close of the campaign. The deep ache of missing her hadn’t departed, although he had an element of peace—he knew he’d done the right thing by withdrawing from his relationship with an unbeliever.
Pa had wisely waited for Summer to recognize her need of a Savior before declaring his love for her. Thomas, as his father modeled, would follow the biblical admonition to avoid being unequally yoked. But his desire to shed the light of truth concerning God’s love for Daphne, as well as God’s instruction for her to love her neighbor as herself, hadn’t dimmed. When the campaign ended, he wouldn’t ask for her hand, but he would sit down and share his heart with her.
Lord, soften her heart in preparation to receive the truth.
But first, the campaign. He had to prove his abilities, and quickly, in order to be allowed to write his own article prior to Election Day. Writing the article he planned could very well get him fired from his reporting position before it even got started, but he would face the risk for the sake of truth.
Knowing time was of the essence, he set aside thoughts of Daphne and focused on Pardue’s notes concerning the efforts to bolster the West Boston Bridge. He’d write a fact-based article that would bring words of praise from Pardue’s lips, or expire trying.
As Belinda and Summer washed and dried the dinner dishes, Malinda sat with Abby and Gussie and showed them how to add and subtract by using a homemade beaded abacus. Earlier in the day she had used the same device to teach little Lena to count to ten.
Belinda’s delight in observing the activity was twofold. Mal-inda’s willingness to leave her room and interact with the Ollen-burgers indicated a lifting of her deep depression. And listening to her sister’s soft, patient voice as she directed the little girls let Belinda know her sister possessed kindness.
Summer stepped away from the dry sink to stack clean dishes on the shelf. On her return, she gave Malinda’s shoulder a squeeze and said, “You would make a wonderful teacher, Malinda.”
Malinda glanced up. “Oh, I don’t know . . .” Then she tipped her head, her expression pensive. “At one time I considered getting a certificate for teaching, but my beau discouraged it. Then I got sick and . . .” She broke off and lowered her head.
Belinda’s heart turned over at her sister’s admission. Might Malinda’s bitterness be the result of squashed hopes and dreams? The thought made Belinda all the more determined to keep bitterness from taking root. Her life was far from what she wanted right now—living under a neighbor’s roof rather than caring for her own home, having to accept Thomas’s decision to remain in Boston, taking care of Malinda instead of caring for a husband and children—but if she allowed regret to harden her heart, she might never gain her dreams. Who wanted to be around a bitter, unhappy person?
Summer’s eyes expressed sympathy, but when she spoke her voice sounded more matter-of-fact than sad. “You could still become a teacher. There is always a need.”
Malinda shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t have the patience for a roomful of rowdy children.” A slight smile lifted the corners of her lips. “It’s easy here because your girls are so well-behaved.”
At that moment Gussie, who had leaned over for Abby to whisper in her ear, suddenly lunged and pinched her sister on the arm. Abby screeched a protest and reached to retaliate.
Summer dove between the pair. “Girls, I’m ashamed of you! Gussie, you know better than to deliberately hurt someone. Why did you pinch Abby?”
Gussie’s lower lip poked out. “She said Malinda likes her better ’cause she can add higher than me!”
Belinda’s cheeks twitched. How did Summer manage to remain stern in the face of such amusing naughtiness? And who would imagine children squabbling over who Malinda liked best?
“That’s not an excuse, Gussie.” Summer put her hands on her hips. “You must apologize to your sister.”
Gussie hunched her shoulders, reminding Belinda of a turtle trying to shrink into its shell. “I’m sorry.”
Belinda wouldn’t have called the child’s words a heartfelt apology, but Summer apparently decided it would do. She turned to Abby. “And, Abby, you need to apologize, too.” Abby gawked openmouthed at her mother. “I didn’t pinch!”
“No, but you did provoke your sister with an unnecessary, untrue comment.”
Abby turned to Malinda. “You
do
like me best, don’t you, Malinda?”
“I . . . I . . .” Malinda looked helplessly from Summer to Belinda.
Belinda came to her rescue. “Malinda loves you all the same, Abby. It wouldn’t be fair to love someone more based on what they can do, now would it? That would mean Malinda loves your mother more than you because your mama knows how to cook and sew and iron and—”
“But I’m too little for all of that!” Abby protested. Plump tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
Belinda melted. She moved behind Abby, wrapped her arms around the little girl, and rested her cheek against Abby’s tousled blond curls. “Of course you are. And that’s why we don’t base love for each other on achievement. We love you just because you’re you, the same way we love Gussie for just being Gussie and Lena for just being Lena. Right, Malinda?”
Malinda nodded slowly, her face serious.
Gussie scooted out of her chair and raced around the table to Malinda’s side. Throwing her arms around Malinda’s neck, she said, “And we love you just for being you, Malinda, even if you don’t smile very much.”
Belinda gasped and reached mutely for Summer. How would Malinda react to Gussie’s innocent yet bold statement? The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Malinda’s response. And when it came, it brought an air of relieved celebration.
Still within the circle of Gussie’s thin arms, Malinda burst into laughter. She wrapped her arms around the little girl and scooped her into her lap. Rocking the child back and forth, she continued to laugh against Gussie’s hair.
Belinda couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her sister laugh. For a few startled moments, she and Summer stared at each other, and then in unison they joined Malinda in hoots of amusement. Abby and Gussie added their giggles, and even Peter came from the parlor to investigate. Although no one could stop laughing long enough to explain the reason behind their outburst, he threw back his head and laughed, too.
But then, as suddenly as it had begun, Malinda’s laughter transitioned to wracking sobs. Gussie pulled away, her little forehead lined in confusion. Malinda covered her face with her hands, but tears slipped between her fingers.
Gussie slipped from Malinda’s lap as Summer knelt beside the chair and put her arm across Malinda’s heaving shoulders. “Malinda, dear, what is it? What’s wrong?”
A moan came from behind Malinda’s hands. Her distress frightened the little girls, and they cowered at their father’s side. He herded them into the parlor, giving Summer, Belinda, and Malinda privacy.
Belinda sat in the chair next to her sister and pried Malinda’s hands down. “Malinda, please tell us what’s wrong. Why are you crying?”
Malinda gaped at Belinda, her tear-filled eyes wide. “D-do you . . . love me, Belinda?”
Belinda stared back. How could Malinda question for even one moment that Belinda loved her? Hadn’t she cared for her, worked to provide for her, given up her own wants and desires to make sure Malinda’s needs were met?
Then she realized she had never told her sister how she felt. . . .
“Oh, Malinda . . .” Belinda reached out and drew her sister’s head to her shoulder. Growing up, how often had she wished Mama or Papa would tell her she was loved by them? More times than she could accurately recall. The Bible advised to treat others as you wanted to be treated. She would no longer withhold the words from her sister. Stroking Malinda’s hair, Belinda whispered, “You’re my sister. I love you, Malinda. Very much.”
A shudder shook Malinda’s frame, but she didn’t pull away. For long moments they sat, the younger cradling the older, with two hearts beating in rhythm. At long last Malinda sat up. She lifted her skirt to mop the tears from her cheeks, and then she cupped Belinda’s face between her hands.
“I love you, too, Belinda.” She pressed her palms to the table and struggled to her feet. Then, with short, hesitant steps, she made her way out of the kitchen and around the corner. The soft thud of her feet against the stair treads let Belinda know she headed to the bedroom. When the click of a door signaled Malinda’s return to her room, Belinda looked at Summer.
The amazement in the older woman’s eyes surely mirrored Belinda’s. Summer took Belinda’s hand. “I believe we need to offer a prayer of thanks. We’ve just witnessed a wonderful breakthrough.”
Belinda willingly bowed her head and poured out her gratitude for the time of sweet bonding with her sister. When she headed to her small room, she felt certain things would be different with Malinda from now on—better, sweeter.
But in the morning, when Belinda went upstairs to get Lena from her crib and wake Malinda for breakfast, Malinda’s bed was empty. Her sister was gone. Again.
I
KNOW WHERE SHE IS
.” Belinda slipped her arms into a knitted sweater and headed for the back door. “If I can borrow Daisy again, I’ll go get her.” Peter stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Better to go in the wagon. Wait—I will take you.”
Belinda considered his offer. Malinda was her responsibility, and Peter would have to miss most of a morning’s work to transport her to the little house the men of Gaeddert had built for Summer a decade ago. Yet she saw the sense of his suggestion—both she and Malinda on Daisy the last time she had retrieved her sister had made for an uncomfortable ride. Giving a nod of agreement, she said, “Thank you.”
She and Peter rode without speaking. Her eyes remained on the rumps of the plodding oxen, but Peter seemed fascinated by the raucous geese making their journey across the cloudless sky. She was relieved that Peter found contentment in silence. Conversation would have been difficult.
Why, after their time of bonding last evening, had Malinda run away again? If someone needed escape, surely that person was Belinda. Her life had been one upheaval after another since Papa’s death. Yet, despite being cared for and assured that she was loved, Malinda had chosen to run off. Varying emotions tumbled through Belinda—anger, frustration, bewilderment, sympathy. When she found Malinda, she would insist her sister explain herself.