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“A leather shop?” The man sounded disbelieving.
“Yes.” She stopped herself from saying more in case Mr. Lang thought that she was disparaging their president. The wagon rocked over a ridge in the road. Why couldn’t it move more quickly?
“This land is different. In Germany, no tradesman would be general or president.”
Ellen couldn’t miss the deep emotion with which Mr. Lang spoke these few words. She tilted her face so she could see him around the brim of her hat, then regretted it. The man had expressive eyebrows and thick brown lashes, another resemblance to Holton. Unhappy thoughts of home bombarded her.
As another conversational lull blossomed, crows filled the silence, squawking as if irritated by the human intrusion. She felt the same discontent. She wanted only to be with dear Ophelia, and she wasn’t sure she could stand much more time alone with this disturbing stranger.
She sought another way to put distance between them. “I am going to be the schoolteacher here. Do you have children?” Ellen hoped he’d say that he and his wife had none, and hence she would not come in contact with this man much in the future.
“I am not married. But I have two...students.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Ellen said, clutching the side of the wagon as they drove over another rough patch, her stomach lurching.
“My brother, Gunther, and my nephew, Johann. They will come to school.”
This man had responsibilities she hadn’t guessed. Yet his tone had been grim, as if his charges were a sore subject.
“How old are they?” Do they speak English? she wanted to ask. She sincerely hoped so.
“Gunther is sixteen and Johann is seven.” Then he answered her unspoken question. “We speak English some at home. But is hard for them.”
She nodded out of politeness but she couldn’t help voicing an immediate concern. “Isn’t your brother a bit old to attend school? Most students only go to the eighth grade—I mean, until about thirteen years old.”
“Gunther needs to learn much about this country. He will go to school.”
The man’s tone brooked no dispute. So she offered none, straightening her back and wishing the horse would go faster.
Yes, your brother will attend, but will he try to learn? And in consequence, will he make my job harder?
The oppressive silence surged back again and Ellen began to imagine all sorts of dreadful reasons for her cousin not meeting her on the appointed day. Ellen searched her mind for some topic of conversation. She did not want to dwell on her own worry and misery. “Are you homesteading?”
“Ja. Yes. I claim land.” His voice changed then, his harsh tone disappearing. “Only in America is land free. Land just...free.”
In spite of herself, the wonder in his voice made her proud to be an American. “Well, we have a lot of land and not many people,” she said after a pause. If she felt more comfortable at being alone with him, she would have asked him to tell her about Europe, a place she wished to see but probably never would.
“Still, government could make money from selling land, yes?”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
More unwelcome silence. She stole another glance at him. The man appeared in deep thought.
“Oh,” he said, his face lifting. “Not look gift horse...to see if healthy.”
“Exactly,” she said. She hadn’t thought about the phrase as being an idiom. How difficult it must be to live away from home, where you don’t even know the everyday expressions. Homesickness stabbed her suddenly. Her heart clenched. Perhaps they did have something in common. “It must have been hard to leave home and travel so far.”
He seemed to close in on himself. Then he shrugged slightly. “War will come soon to Germany. I need to keep safe, to raise Johann.”
“You might have been drafted?” she asked more sharply than she’d planned. During the Civil War, many men had bought their way out of the draft. Not something she approved of.
“Ja—yes—but war in Germany is to win land for princes, not for people. No democracy in Germany.”
“That’s unfortunate.” No doubt not having any say in what the government did would make being drafted feel different. Ellen fell silent, exhausted from the effort of making conversation with this man who reminded her so much of Holton. She knotted her hands together in her lap, as if that would contain her composure. Would this ride never end?
“We—the men—we build the school...more on Saturday,” he said haltingly.
This pleased her. She wanted to get her life here started, get busy so she could put the past in the past. “How much longer do you think it will take?”
“Depends. Some men harvest corn. If rain comes...” He shrugged again, seeming unable to express the uncertainty.
“I see. Well, I’ll just have faith that it will all come together in the next few weeks. Besides, the delay gives me more time to prepare lessons.”
At that moment, Mr. Lang turned the wagon down a track and ahead lay the Steward cabin. Ellen’s heart leaped when she saw her cousin, carrying her baby, hurry out to greet her.
“Ophelia!” she called.
Mr. Lang drew up his team. “Wait,” he insisted. “Please, I help.” He secured the brake.
But Ellen couldn’t wait. She jumped down and ran to Ophelia, the emotions she’d been working so hard to keep at bay finally overtaking her. She buried her face in Ophelia’s shoulder and burst into tears. Her feelings strangled her voice.
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.
