Lyn Cote Read online

  “I tried to head him off,” Martin said, sounding apologetic, “but he wouldn’t take my word for it. He has this idea that you and his sister are…” Martin shrugged in an embarrassed way.

  “Do not worry, Martin. He didn’t say anything I didn’t know already.” Kurt turned then and suddenly she and Kurt were facing each other. A new awareness of him shimmered over her.

  The ladies bid her good-day and she stepped toward him, but he turned and headed for the door.

  What had Martin been talking about with Kurt? A sense of urgency pushed her to follow him outside. “Kurt,” she said, “Wait.”

  He didn’t pause.

  Then she did something she had never done—she pursued a man. She hurried after him into the nearly empty clearing. Very few people had come outside, as most wanted to finish their social time in the warm schoolroom.

  Kurt finally halted by his wagon.

  “Why didn’t you stop?” she asked, holding her shawl tightly around her.

  Kurt looked irritated. “You will catch cold—”

  “Randolph visited you this morning and was rude to you, wasn’t he?”

  Kurt looked her in the eye. “It doesn’t matter, Miss Thurston.”

  She could tell that whatever her brother had said had hurt Kurt, and she fumed. “I wish my family would learn to mind its own business.”

  Kurt said nothing, but Ellen could see the pain on his face and it nearly broke her heart.

  “If you saw whom my brother married, you would see how silly it is for him to object to…” Suddenly she realized where her tongue was taking her, and she halted, swallowing words that should not now or perhaps ever be spoken aloud.

  “Miss Thurston,” Johann said, appearing at her elbow, “what kind of program will we be having? And what is Thanksgiving about?”

  She drew her gaze from Kurt to the child. “I will tell you all about it in the morning.”

  “Let us go, Johann,” Kurt said abruptly. “Say farewell to Miss Thurston. You will see her tomorrow.”

  Ellen watched as Kurt led his nephew away. It was not lost on her that he had not said farewell to her himself, nor was it lost on her that she had almost said, If you saw whom my brother married, you would see how silly it is for him to object to my wanting to marry you.

  Shock tingled through all her nerves. She had almost told Kurt Lang that she wanted to marry him! But based on the interaction they’d just had, she got the impression that her brother had upset what had been growing between her and Kurt. She didn’t know whether to do or say something. What could she say?

  *

  On Wednesday afternoon, Ellen stood at the front of the packed schoolroom, hopeful that this program would bring back the community’s spirit of unity. The women and smaller children filled the benches while the men lined the walls. The standing-room-only attendance pleased her. Nonetheless, she glanced again at the door, wanting to see one particular face.

  Mrs. Ashford sat in the front row, holding William and doting on him. Every parent and most everyone else in town had come to see the program. Except for Kurt. Why hadn’t he come to see Johann recite his piece?

  From what she’d overheard between Martin and Kurt on Sunday, her brother must have asked Kurt to keep his distance from her. Would Kurt have agreed to such a request, such interference? Yet as a man of honor, he would never do anything that he thought might harm her reputation and Randolph might well have suggested this. The very thought of Randolph’s interfering in her life made her want to growl. He had no room to be giving her advice.

  Rising above her irritation, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, and at her signal, Noah Whitmore stood at the front. “We will open with prayer.”

  Ellen listened to Noah’s calm voice, his words setting the tone with a message of love and community. The tightness around her lungs loosened a notch. But she couldn’t ignore her disappointment at Kurt’s absence.

  Then Noah was sitting down and she walked to center stage. “Welcome to the First Annual Thanksgiving Program at Pepin Community School.”

  Polite applause and some whistling followed her greeting.

  “The students have worked very hard and I am proud of their efforts,” Ellen said.

  The back door opened and Ellen saw Kurt and Gunther slip inside and edge in beside the men who were leaning against the back wall. Joy surged through her, followed by trepidation. She cleared her throat. “We will begin by singing, ‘We Gather Together.’”

  The children filed out from her quarters and formed ranks, the oldest in the rear and the youngest in front. A few of the children forgot themselves and waved to their families.

  Lavina came forward and led the hymn. Soon the schoolroom was filled with the heartfelt song, full of thanks for the bounty of the harvest, and praise for the Lord.

  When the hymn ended, a pleasant sense of expectation expanded around Ellen.

  The younger children sat down on the floor in a semicircle at the front, and Amanda stepped forward and began to read.

  “‘One hundred and two pilgrims left Plymouth, England, in 1620 and sailed to the new world.’” As she read, three fourth graders donned paper hats in the style of the seventeenth century. “‘They settled near Cape Cod. There they met Squanto, an Indian of the Wampanoag or Massasoit tribe.’”

  A fifth-grade boy with feathers in a band around his head walked over to the fourth graders and raised his hand in greeting. “‘Squanto had been kidnapped as a young boy by a sea captain and taken to Europe. He could speak English. He taught the pilgrims how to grow maize, beans and squash.’”

  As the program continued, the door at the rear opened and a woman—a stranger—stepped in, scanning the room as if searching for someone. Ellen wondered who she was.

  Amanda handed the book to another eighth grader who began reading, but the boy’s voice trailed off as heads turned to watch the stranger. The woman was walking slowly up the center aisle, rudely studying the people in each row. People glared at her for disturbing the program. Ellen prompted the lad to start reading again.

  “There he is!” the strange woman exclaimed and ran to Mrs. Ashford. The woman snatched William from Mrs. Ashford’s arms, igniting an instant uproar. Ellen leaped forward and tried to wrest William from the woman’s arms. “Take your hands off my son!”

  With angry voices, people surged to their feet and converged on the woman and Ellen.

  Kurt reached her first and wrenched William from the stranger. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded. “This child belongs to Miss Thurston!”

  The woman burst into loud tears. There was something false about her—Ellen did not think for a moment the weeping was real. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I am the poor woman who was forced to leave my baby on your doorstep,” the woman wailed.

  Everyone quieted, watchful.

  “Forced?” Noah pushed to the front. “Who forced you to abandon your child?”

  The woman buried her face in a handkerchief and wept louder, as if she couldn’t bear to tell her tale.

  Ellen examined the woman from head to toe. She looked to be a few years older than Ellen, dressed in worn and not too clean clothing. A torn cuff caught Ellen’s eye.

  “Fate has been cruel to me,” the woman said. “I’m a poor widow who lost her husband before my child was born. And then he was born disfigured so.” She wept copiously.

  Ellen gritted her teeth, holding back her words, letting the woman tell her story. She tried to remain calm, for nothing so far had registered in her mind to give any credence to the woman’s claim.

  “I found a man who would marry me, but I didn’t think he’d want my baby, too, so I left him here.”

  More wailing and tears followed.

  Ellen reached the end of her short rope. Seething, she scanned the faces crowding around. Did they believe this woman?

  Those who hadn’t wanted this disfigured foundling in their town in the first place were nodd
ing as if they did believe her. Ellen held her tongue, knowing anything she would say would be discounted.

  But how could she put a stop to this?

  “So,” Noah Whitmore said, “you say that your husband died before your child was born, and since you wanted to find a new husband right away—before a proper year of mourning—you abandoned your child on Miss Thurston’s doorstep?”

  Ellen took heart. When the pastor put the situation in plain terms without all the weeping and histrionics, anybody could see that the story proved to be as thin as broth and did the woman no credit.

  But the woman nodded, silently agreeing to these dreadful facts, her face still buried in her handkerchief.

  “Do you have any proof?” Noah asked.

  “Proof?” the woman replied with surprise, looking up. “What proof could I give?”

  “Ja, a very good question,” Kurt spoke at last.

  “You don’t sound like an American,” the woman snapped. “What do you know about anything?”

  Ellen swallowed a sharp retort, trusting Noah to handle this. Kurt merely gazed at the woman, holding William securely in his arms.

  “Before we could give you this child, we’d have to have something more to go on,” Noah pronounced. “We know that Miss Thurston is giving the child good care, but we don’t know you.”

  “Well!” the woman declared. “You can’t prove that I’m not the baby’s mother.”

  “Ma’am,” Noah said, “the burden of proof lies with you. Bring someone or something to back you up and—”

  The woman sent a scathing glance at Kurt and Ellen and then pushed through the crowd. When she reached the door, she turned dramatically and called, “I’ll be back! You haven’t heard the last of me. That’s my child and I won’t be denied!” With that, she swept out and slammed the door behind her.

  “She didn’t even say what her name was,” Mrs. Ashford said in the quiet after the storm.

  “Nor did she tell us where she’s from, for instance, and how she got here to leave William in the first place…if she did,” Noah added.

  “The dustup about the foundling with a birthmark left on the Pepin schoolteacher’s doorstep has become common knowledge up and down the river,” Mrs. Ashford said. “People would come in and ask Ned and me whether it was true or not.”

  Old Saul cleared his throat. “Noah, I have grave doubts about this woman’s story—grave doubts. But time will tell. I will pray for clarity in this. I hope everyone will. Not every person is to be trusted.”

  Ellen heartily agreed with this but decided it best not to say anything. The truth will out, Shakespeare had said, and Ellen did not doubt him.

  “Everyone,” Ellen said finally in her best teacher voice, “the children haven’t finished their program. Please be seated so all their hard work won’t go for naught.”

  The crowd returned to their places, but the good feeling of the community coming together to give thanks had been spoiled, broken. At the end the children all bowed together and everyone applauded, but the zest had left the room.

  Afterward, people milled around in groups, talking in low tones about the woman, not beaming and bragging over the children’s program as Ellen had hoped. She roiled with frustration. Her plan to bring the community together again had been demolished by a woman she didn’t believe for a moment.

  The only bright spot came when she remembered that Kurt has wrested William from the woman and had defended her. But the way he would not look at her before he departed left her feeling even worse. Was this because of her brother’s meddling?

  Chapter Twenty

  Wearing her best day dress of figured amber silk in honor of Thanksgiving at Martin and Ophelia’s, Ellen wished she could get into the holiday spirit. She sat at the Steward’s table watching Nathan and William, unable to tear her thoughts from yesterday’s unexpected interruption at the school play.

  The one person she wanted to talk to was Kurt. Also invited for the holiday, he and the boys were due to arrive at any moment. However, yesterday after the school program, he had made it clear that he did not want to speak to her. In some ways, she understood—it would have fueled the gossip about them even more.

  Her only hope was that Kurt would drive her home from the Stewards’. Perhaps then, when they were alone, she’d have an opportunity to talk to him about William, and also find out what was bothering him.

  Ophelia glanced at a list she had on the mantel and checked one more item off with her pencil. “Everything is done.” She exhaled with satisfaction and untied her spattered apron.

  Ellen smiled, but only with her lips; her heart remained weighed down. Would she be forced to take William away from here in order to keep him? Would she have to leave this place that had become home? Would she have to leave Kurt?

  A knock sounded. Martin called out, “Come in!”

  Kurt, Gunther and Johann entered, letting in the late November cold. The next few moments were taken up with exchanging greetings and hanging up coats and scarves. Ellen made a point to send Kurt a special smile. He merely nodded and then looked away.

  Her spirits plummeted lower.

  “It’s getting cold. Maybe we get snow soon,” red-cheeked Johann announced happily and then made a beeline to William, who was napping in his cradle.

  Soon the seven of them sat around a table laden with bowls, one each of potatoes with a pool of melted butter, corn, dressing and a basket of yeast rolls. And a platter of wild turkey, Kurt’s contribution to the feast.

  Though the meal was wonderful, Ellen’s appetite eluded her. She tried to keep all her anxiety inside. Tried but failed.

  “Ellen, I know you’re worried about William,” Ophelia said finally.

  Ellen felt ashamed for casting a shadow over the holiday meal Ophelia had worked so hard to prepare. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Martin said. “If that woman is William’s mother, I’ll eat my hat—and Kurt’s, too.”

  “Why would she say he’s her son if it isn’t true?” Gunther asked, his face twisted with puzzlement.

  Ellen had tried to come up with reasons but couldn’t. She also tried to gauge Kurt’s reaction but his expression had become shuttered as if he’d put up a wall between them. Why? And why did she feel empty, frail because of it?

  “I don’t know why that woman would claim William was hers,” Martin said. “But it’s just too fishy. Her husband dies and she immediately starts looking for another one? What kind of wife does that?”

  “A wife who’s left destitute,” Ellen said. “Sometimes women don’t have a choice.”

  They all looked to Ellen in surprise.

  “But give up her own blood?” Gunther interposed. “That’s not right.”

  Ellen listened to the arguments, all of which had already streamed through her mind over and over. Still, Kurt was silent.

  “What will you do, Ellen?” Ophelia asked.

  Ellen paused for a moment, and then said, “Maybe I should just go home to Galena. I have family and friends there who will support me,” she said.

  Kurt swallowed a sound of surprise.

  At this, silence fell. Martin and Ophelia stepped into the breach and began talking about their plans for a quick visit home before the Mississippi froze. “We haven’t been home since we came north,” Ophelia said. “Mother wants to see her first grandchild again.”

  “When do you leave?” Ellen asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Martin said.

  This news surprised Ellen. “So soon? You didn’t say anything.”

  “Mr. Ashford told us the river captains expect the icing over within the next month,” Martin said. “It might come sooner, and we don’t want to get stuck in Galena. A trip home by land in the cold isn’t what I want for my wife and child.”

  Ellen got his point. Travel over land in the cold could endanger little Nathan. And with the threat of the imminent freezing of the Mississippi, the visit would be a short one, which they
preferred.

  “I will take care of your stock,” Kurt offered.

  “Thanks. I was hoping you would,” Martin said, sounding distinctly relieved.

  “Then we’ll leave you the leftovers,” Ophelia said. “I don’t want the food to go to waste.”

  “I think I should come and stay here,” Gunther suggested. “An empty cabin is not good.”

  “You’re right,” Martin said, giving Gunther a friendly slap on the shoulder. “We would be better off with someone staying here. Not just in case of a thief, but with all the hibernating animals foraging, a bear might break in easily and rip everything apart.”

  Kurt nodded, looking grateful. “You are thinking, Gunther.”

  Recognizing Kurt’s pride in his brother, Ellen felt a pang. She missed talking to him about Gunther, about Johann. I’ll feel better after we talk on the way home. Her ragged spirit yearned to be near him and she looked forward to sitting beside him on the journey home. She could bring up Randolph and somehow take the sting from his words. Or she could try.

  But it did not turn out the way she’d hoped.

  When the meal was finished and the dishes begun, the men went out to get wood. When they came back in, letting in a cold draft, Martin shed his coat and gloves but Kurt kept his on.

  “Mrs. Steward, thank you for the wonderful meal. I must go home now. One of my cows is not well and I want to keep close watch on her.”

  His announcement hit Ellen right between her eyes.

  Obviously startled, Gunther looked up from washing the large roasting pan.

  “Yes, of course,” Martin said, looking back and forth between Kurt and Ellen, and making it obvious that he, too, had expected Kurt to drive her home.

  A few awkward moments passed. Ellen endured them, feeling discarded.

  “I’ll drive Miss Thurston home,” Gunther offered, drying the last pan and setting it upside down on the table. “Johann can ride along with William in the rear. He’ll enjoy it.”

  Kurt bid everyone goodbye without any special word or even a glance toward Ellen, and then shut the door hard behind him.

  Soon, in the darkening afternoon, Ellen and William were bundled up for their chilly ride home. Johann carried the baby and Gunther got up on the cart bench first.