Where the Heart Leads (24 page)
Soot coated his church suit and streaked his cheeks above his beard. His hair, wet with sweat, lay plastered to his head. He might have been a chimney sweep returning home after a hard day’s work. His red-rimmed eyes settled on Belinda, and he slowed for a moment, his spine stiff. Then he came directly to her and cupped her shoulders.
She stared into his dirty, concerned face. “
Herr
Ollenburger? M-my sister?”
His large fingers curled more tightly over her shoulders. She gripped his wrists for support while she awaited a reply. He drew a deep breath, giving his head a slight shake. “I do not know.”
Belinda sent a startled glance at
Frau
Ollenburger, who furrowed her brow in confusion. “I don’t understand. Where is Mal-inda?”
Again, he shook his head. “She must have run away when the fire started. She was not in the house.”
Two simultaneous, conflicting emotions—relief and worry— struck Belinda with vehemence. Clinging to his wrists, she begged, “What do you mean? Where could she be?”
Herr
Ollenburger coughed. “I do not know. Several church members agreed to go looking.”
Frau
Ollenburger interjected, “I’ll bring the girls home now.” She hurried off, leaving Belinda and
Herr
Ollenburger alone.
He cleared his throat several times before speaking again. “Let us go to the house and wait for a report from the men.” He steered her toward his own house.
Belinda dug in her heels. “I’ll go to my house. If she returns, she’ll—”
“You cannot.” Although kind, the man was firm. “Your house is not safe. The fire started in the attic, probably from a candle. All that new tar Thomas put on the roof was like fuel. There was much damage from flames. The ceiling has partly fallen, and more could fall down on you. To our house you will come. Thomas’s room is empty—you will use it. Come, Belinda.”
Belinda wanted to argue more, but she discovered she didn’t have the strength. With a nod, she allowed
Herr
Ollenburger to guide her to his home.
She slept fitfully all afternoon, curled on Thomas’s rope bed. Often the voices of neighbors who had stopped by the Ollenburgers’ home awakened her, but when no one indicated Malinda had been found, Belinda chose to shut out the world for a little longer.
By evening, however, her body refused more sleep, so she plodded into the kitchen.
Herr
Ollenburger sat at the table, and
Frau
Ollenburger stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled wonderful.
Herr
Ollenburger glanced up when Belinda entered the room. He patted the spot at the table next to him. “
Goot
, you are awake. Sit down here and we will talk.”
Belinda sat down, accepting a cup of coffee from
Frau
Ollen-burger. “No word on Malinda yet?”
Herr
Ollenburger’s sad eyes answered without words.
Belinda pushed the coffee aside. “Where can she be? You’re sure she wasn’t in the house? Maybe she . . .”
“She was not in the house. Everything was carefully searched. She must have run away.” He patted Belinda’s clenched fists. “But she will come back when she realizes all is safe again. Do not worry, Belinda. Trust the Lord to watch over her.”
“That’s right.”
Frau
Ollenburger ladled thick soup into bowls and then carried them to the table. “We don’t know where she is right now, but God knows. We’ve been praying all afternoon for Him to guide her safely home.”
Belinda waited until
Herr
Ollenburger blessed the simple meal before speaking again. “But home to what? If I’m not there, she won’t stay.”
“We have neighbors watching,”
Frau
Ollenburger said.
“But unless I am there—”
“Belinda, I must insist you do not go into your house alone.”
Herr
Ollenburger’s stern voice reminded Belinda of her own father. “The house is unsafe, and another tragedy we do not need. Summer and I have discussed it while you sleep, and we want you to stay here, with us.”
Swallowing a protest, Belinda offered a compromise. “Then I will pay you rent for the privilege of staying here until I can find someplace for Malinda and me.”
“No. No rent.” Herr Ollenburger shook his head. “You stay as a friend in need. And when Malinda comes back, she stays here, too.”
Belinda’s heart leaped at their kindness. Tears stung her eyes as she whispered, “It’s too kind.”
“Nonsense,”
Frau
Ollenburger inserted. Her familiar, playful grin lifted Belinda’s spirit. “Besides, you can be of help to me.”
Belinda gave an eager nod. “Of course! I can—”
“You can talk about Plymouth Rock chickens with Peter.”
Herr
Ollenburger burst out laughing, and Belinda couldn’t help but join in. The release felt wonderful. The girls, apparently beckoned by the happy sound, pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dressed in flannel nightgowns with their hair tied in little pin curls, they looked adorable. All three ran directly to Belinda.
“Are you staying? Huh, Belinda? Will you sleep in Thomas’s bed and be here every day?” The questions tumbled on top of one other.
Still laughing, Belinda held out her arms and tugged all three into an awkward embrace. Looking over the tops of their heads to their smiling parents, Belinda gave a nod. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
“Goody! Goody!” Breaking loose of Belinda’s hold, the three hopped around in a happy dance.
Frau
Ollenburger stood and rounded up the girls as efficiently as a mother hen gathers her chicks. “All right, now, you need to go back to your beds. Come.”
When the kitchen was quiet again, Belinda voiced a practical question. “What about my things? I can stay here, but I’ll need my clothing, at least. Was everything ruined?”
Herr
Ollenburger took a bite of stew, his expression thoughtful. “Some things we could probably . . .” He looked at his wife. “How you say it? Savage?”
She smiled. “Salvage.”
He nodded, facing Belinda again. “Some things we salvage. The smell of smoke all will hold, but we can scrub and let things sit in the sun. That will help.” He frowned, his eyes narrow. “Since it began in the attic, the ceiling came down over the hallway. A big trunk came with it. The trunk is probably ruined. But other furniture? Maybe some we can—” he grinned—“salvage.”
The big trunk held Mama’s and Papa’s clothes. Remembering something else that was in the attic, she asked, “Did you see a small trunk, about this size”—she held out her hands to indicate a foot and a half distance—“come down, too?”
“
Nä
, only the big one.”
“Maybe it’s still up there,” Belinda mused aloud.
“In the attic?”
Herr
Ollenburger shook his head. “
Nä
. Two men go into the attic to spray water around. They only find emptiness.”
Belinda’s heart skipped a beat. Malinda must have taken it with her when she escaped. The trunk was obviously important to her sister.
What,
she wondered again,
could be in that little trunk?
W
HEN THOMAS ARRIVED AT
the newspaper building Monday morning, he stopped briefly by the mailroom to drop off his letter for posting and then headed to his office. A gunnysack, crumpled into a wad, created a bulge in his jacket pocket. If Mr. Severt burst in and sent him packing, as he’d done to the office’s previous occupant, Thomas would have something in which to transport his personal belongings.
He’d felt sorry for Perkins the day Severt tossed him out the door, but he doubted anyone would sympathize with him. From the silent stares of his co-workers when he’d walked through the lobby, he guessed they all knew what he’d done and counted him foolish for blatantly going against their boss.
Well, he reasoned as he dropped his jacket over the high back of his chair, there was a Bible verse about the world’s wisdom being foolish in the sight of God. He hadn’t broken any biblical mandates by writing out his opinion of social hierarchy, so he’d just have to trust that, somehow, things would work out for the best for him—whether in Boston or Kansas.
The mail would go out midmorning, and his letter should arrive in Hillsboro by the end of the week. He’d shared his various options with his parents, and by the time the letter reached them, final decisions would be made. He wished he could communicate with Pa more quickly, to ask him to pray. But then he reminded himself Pa would be praying for him every day anyway, as would Summer. And Belinda.
He slid into his seat at his desk, only to spot a note tacked directly to the desktop:
SEE ME.
No signature was required. Thomas knew by whom he’d been summoned.
For a moment, apprehension fluttered through his middle. But then he closed his eyes, said a silent prayer for strength to face the consequence of his actions, and pushed away from the desk.
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, removed the gunnysack from his pocket and dropped it on the desk, and then he headed for his boss’s office.
He found Mr. Severt waiting in the opening of the double doors of his top-floor office. Arms folded, scowling, collar firmly buttoned beneath his chin, the man presented a formidable appearance that sent the elevator operator scuttling right back into his cubby.
Severt waved one hand and barked, “I’ve been waiting. Let’s go.” He turned and stomped into his office.
Thomas glanced at the errand boy, who stared with wide eyes. He paused long enough to wink at the lad before he trotted through the yawning doors. Once Thomas was inside the office, Severt commanded, “Close ’em.”
Thomas followed his directions. He crossed to the opposite side of the man’s massive desk and waited until Severt pointed to a chair. The moment Thomas’s backside touched the seat, Severt launched into a lengthy and scathing tirade about company loyalty, following directions, and personal integrity. Thomas sat in silence, nodding occasionally, his gaze never wavering from Severt’s red face.
Finally the man ran out of words. He leaned back, linked his hands over his stomach, and said, “So, do you understand what I expect of my employees?”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas stood. His boss tipped his head to maintain eye contact. “I appreciate the opportunity to work here. I’ve learned a great deal, and my pa always says experience is never wasted. So thank you.” He stretched out his hand, waiting for Severt’s return shake.
But Severt pushed Thomas’s hand away. “What are you doing? Quitting?”
Thomas drew back in confusion. “Aren’t you releasing me?”
A snort blasted from the man, and he pointed to Thomas’s chair. “Sit.”
Thomas lowered himself slowly onto the chair’s edge.
“I probably should take you by the back of the jacket and toss you onto the street after the hullabaloo you’ve caused.”
Thomas squirmed.
“But I’m not going to.”
He sat bolt upright. “Sir?”
“No.” Severt leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk edge. “I’m not at all pleased you chose to add an unsolicited addendum to my editorial. I found the text slanderous, narrow-minded, and highly prejudicial—the very thing you accused me of being. And yet . . .” He stroked his mustache, his piercing gaze pinning Thomas in place. “It was also very well-written.”
Thomas held his breath.
Severt slashed his hand through the air. “Now, I don’t swallow an ounce of the equality nonsense you spouted, but I do admire the way you put words together. Filled with emotion. Stirring. Thought-provoking.”
Thomas stared at his boss, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Your abilities are being wasted simply editing my words, young man. I didn’t realize you had taken writing courses at the university.”
“I . . . I didn’t. I took business classes.”
“Then where did you learn to write?”
Thomas lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. “I guess all the reading I did as a boy helped. . . .”
Severt gave a brusque nod. “I suppose. Given your knack, you should be doing your own writing. Reporting. Does that interest you?”
“A . . . a journalist?” Thomas’s mind whirled at this unexpected turn.
“Facts only,” Severt said. “None of this self-serving drivel you poured onto the page for my benefit. You wouldn’t be writing editorials but fact-based articles.” He rocked in his chair, the rhythmic squeak keeping time with Thomas’s racing heart. “No pay increase . . . yet. Not until I see what you can do.”
Thomas wanted to joyfully accept, but he’d learned his lesson.
A decision of such magnitude required a great deal of thought and prayer. “I . . . I can’t agree right away, sir. I need time to think about this.”
Severt frowned. “How much time do you need?”
Thomas licked his dry lips. “I-I’m not sure. Maybe . . . a week?”
For long moments, Severt glared at him. Thomas waited, expecting the man to act on his earlier threat to catch the back of his jacket and send him out the door. But finally his boss shook his head, leaned back, and threw his arms outward. “Fine. A week. But no more! And while you’re thinking, edit these.” He thrust a handful of pages into Thomas’s hands.
“Yes, sir.” Thomas started to leave.
“Ollenburger!”
Thomas turned back.
“Remember what I said about loyalty.” The man’s dark eyes sparked. “I’m giving you a second chance—something I rarely offer. I
never
offer third chances.”
Thomas understood. “Sir, if I decide to remain in your employ, a third chance won’t be necessary.” Severt’s writings in hand, Thomas left the office.
After only three days of living under the Ollenburgers’ roof, Belinda felt as though she’d been a lifelong member of the family. Peter and Summer, as they insisted she call them, treated her like one of their own, allowing her to perform household duties and including her in family discussions.
The little girls clamored for her attention, and she delighted in cutting dresses and bonnets from scraps of wrapping paper for Abby and Gussie’s paper dolls or reading Lena stories before tucking her in for her afternoon nap. Watching the girls interact created a bittersweet ache in her chest. She wished she and Malinda had enjoyed similar times together while growing up, yet being a part of the Ollenburger sisters’ circle of acceptance brought her great joy.