The Baby Bequest. Lyn Cote

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.

      Then, in spite of the sorrow that never quite eased, Kurt began teasing Johann about how much peppermint he thought he could eat at one time.

      Things would get better. They had to.

      * * *

      Riding on the wagon bench, Ellen dreaded being put on display for all of Pepin today, nearly a week after arriving. But the men had decided to hold a community-wide workday on the school and attached living quarters, and she must attend and show a cheerful face to all. In light of the wound she carried and concealed day by day, it would be one long, precarious ordeal. She had to portray confidence above all.

      When the Stewards’ wagon broke free of the forest into the open river flat, she welcomed the broad view of the blue, rippling Mississippi ahead. She took a deep breath. The normally empty town now appeared crowded and her heart sank another notch—until an impertinent question popped up: Would Mr. Lang come today? Ellen willed this thought away.

      Ophelia touched her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to know everyone in no time and then this will feel more like home.”

      Ellen fashioned a smile for Ophelia. If only shyness were her worry. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      “You met my friends Sunny and Nan last year. They are eager to make you welcome.”

      Ellen tried to take comfort from her cousin’s words.

      Ellen and Ophelia joined the ladies who were storing the cold lunch in the spring house behind the store. Then they gathered in the shade of the trees with a good view of the unfinished log schoolhouse and claimed places on a rectangle of benches. Small children rolled or crawled in the grass in the midst of the benches, while older children played tag nearby.

      Though scolding herself silently, Ellen scanned the men, seeking Kurt Lang. He had made an impression on her and she couldn’t deny it. She also couldn’t deny that she resented it.

      “Miss Thurston,” Mrs. Ashford called. “This is my daughter Amanda.” Mrs. Ashford motioned for a girl in a navy blue plaid dress, who appeared to be around fourteen, to come to her. “Make your curtsy to the schoolteacher, Amanda.”

      The thin, dark-haired girl obeyed, blushing. With a start, Ellen recognized her as the girl she’d seen slipping downstairs to meet a boy on the day Ellen had arrived.

      Ellen took pity on the girl, obviously enduring that awkward stage between girlhood and womanhood, and offered her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Amanda. Your dress is very pretty.”

      Mrs. Ashford preened. “Amanda cut and sewed it all by herself. She is the age where she should be finishing up her learning of the household arts. But Ned and I decided that we’d let her go to school one more year, though she’s had enough schooling for a girl.”

      Ellen swallowed her response to this common sentiment, quelling the irritation it sparked. Enough schooling for a girl. Her older brother’s wife, Alice, had the gall to tell her once that the reason Ellen had never “snared” a man was she had had too much schooling for a woman. I couldn’t stand my sister-in-law’s sly rudeness and innuendo a day longer. What would this storekeeper’s wife say if she announced that she intended to earn a bachelor’s degree and perhaps teach at a preparatory school someday?

      Ellen limited herself to saying, “I will be happy to have Amanda in my class.”

      The men began shouting words of instruction and encouragement, drawing the women’s attention to the schoolhouse. They were coordinating the positioning of four ladders against the log walls, two on each side. With a start, Ellen spotted Kurt Lang as he nimbly mounted a ladder and climbed toward the peak of the joists.

      Ellen felt a little dizzy as she watched Mr. Lang so high up in the air, leaning perilously away from the ladder. An imposing figure, he appeared intent on what he was doing, evidently not the kind to shy away from hard work.

      As she watched, a barefoot boy with black hair and a tanned face ran up, startling her. “You are teacher?” he asked with an accent. “The girls say you are teacher.”

      “Yes, I am going to be the teacher. Will you be one of my students?” Was this Mr. Lang’s nephew?

      He nodded vigorously. “I want school. I like to read.”

      “Good. What’s your name?”

      “Johann Mueller.” He pointed toward the school. “My onkel Kurt.” Then he pointed to a teenager standing by the ladders. “My onkel Gunther.” The boy said the name so it sounded like “Goon-ter.”

      Ellen noted that Gunther, working with the men on the ground, wasn’t paying attention to the work going on around him. He was staring across at Amanda. She then recognized him as the young man Amanda had slipped out to see that first day she’d come to town.

      Over the hammering, she heard Mr. Lang’s voice rise, speaking in German, sounding as if he were scolding someone. She caught the name, “Gunther.”

      She saw Gunther glare up at Mr. Lang, then grudgingly begin to work again.

      Ellen felt sympathy for the younger brother. Why was Mr. Lang so hard on him? He was just a boy, really.

      Johann bowed. “I go. Goodbye!” He pulled on his cap, gave her a grin and ran toward the children.

      Mrs. Ashford pursed her lips, looking peevish. “I hope you don’t have trouble with those Dutch boys.” She nodded toward the unhappy Gunther. “That one’s too old for school and Mr. Ashford told Mr. Lang so.”

      Ellen agreed. A sixteen-year-old could stir up all kinds of trouble at school, not only for the other students, but for her. Mr. Lang, of course, probably hadn’t thought of this. She drew in a breath. “I’m sure he thinks it best for his brother.”

      “Well.” Mrs. Ashford sniffed. “I think the homesteading law should have specified that land was only for Americans, not for foreigners.”

      Ellen bit her tongue. The homesteading law had been designed specifically to attract people from other countries to populate the vast open area east of the Rocky Mountains. There simply weren’t enough American-born families to fill up those vacant acres.

      Ellen recalled Mr. Ashford’s whisper that Kurt was respectable even if a foreigner. It must be difficult for Mr. Lang to face this prejudice against immigrants day after day. Even though she didn’t agree with Mr. Lang’s treatment of his brother, she felt a keen sympathy for him—he and his charges had a difficult path ahead of them in so many ways.

      This very feeling of sympathy led Ellen to resolve