33

The Kuhn Homestead

Walter

Walter pounded the post into the ground, the vibration of each blow from his hammer sending a shock through his arm. He paused and wiped sweat from his forehead. Only an hour or so past breakfast and already the day was hot and humid. Summer was rapidly approaching. Was his new wife also coming soon?

He smacked the hammer one more time, sending the idle thought away, then hopped off the crate he’d used to make himself tall enough to get a good swing on his hammer. He surveyed what he’d accomplished so far. Two more posts to go, and then he would be able to string the chicken wire. He turned and reached for one of the stripped saplings lying in the grass. Tiny fingers gripped his pant leg and tugged.

He shifted his focus and smiled down at Annaliese. “What do you have now?” She’d brought him several treasures already, and he’d acknowledged each with due attention.

She opened her grubby hand. Three empty snail shells rested in her palm.

He crouched and touched them by turn. “Oh, you found some shells. Can you say ‘shells,’ Annaliese?”

She lifted the shells higher, grunting.

He chuckled. “Snails lived inside of these, but they must have crawled out.” Actually, the chickens probably had something to do with the shells being empty, but he shouldn’t say such a thing to his little Liébling. “The shells are pretty, yes? Pretty?”

“Pih-ee,” she said.

“Yes. Pretty.” He stroked her sweat-damp curls. “Annaliese is pretty, too. Nee’s bonny hen. Mein hübsches Mädchen.” His heart swelled.

She poked the shells with her fingertip, babbling. Then abruptly she dropped them, brushed her hands together, and headed to another spot. She crouched, her bottom hovering an inch or two above the grass, and picked at some seed heads.

Walter watched her for a few moments, smiling with contentment. When he’d seen Fanny heating irons over the fire at breakfast that morning, he’d volunteered to watch Annaliese. The hot irons were dangerous. Besides, the scare they’d received yesterday when his little girl had disappeared reinforced how precious she was to him. He couldn’t always take her with him. Some of his chores were too dangerous, and others took him too far from the house. But he vowed to keep her with him when he could.

He picked up a post and the crate, took two long strides, and set the crate down. He climbed up, positioned the post, and started driving it into the ground. Between blows, he glanced at his daughter. She’d shifted to her hands and knees, her face nearly touching the tips of the grass blades, examining something. A beetle? A pebble? Another snail shell, or maybe a chicken feather? Or maybe she was seeking a tiny elf. How many hours had he spent searching when he was very young, hoping to discover one of the mythical beings? When had he last had such a fanciful thought? Not since before Grete died, for sure.

His heart caught, his hand stilling midswing. The childhood memory and the lightness in his chest were proof of changes happening inside him. He knew what had brought them—prayer. Hugh, Josephine, and Reverend Lee had often told him they were asking God to heal his great sorrow. Vater and Mutter surely were, too. He had to give credit to their prayers, and to God for choosing to touch him with His hand of mercy and healing. But he also credited Fanny. Her presence, mostly cheerful despite the pain she’d suffered before coming here, inspired him to look beyond his sad past to a hopeful future.

A lump formed in his throat. He gave the post several more whacks, driving it deep enough to support the fence, then stepped off the crate. He crossed to Annaliese and sat cross-legged in the grass beside her.

She pushed to her feet, aimed her little behind at him, and settled in his lap. While she toyed with the tips of grass blades, he wrapped one of her golden curls around his finger and divulged the truths she wouldn’t be able to repeat.

“I could not imagine loving someone besides your mama. Even when I agreed to send for a new wife, even though Hugh and Josephine promised to pray for my heart to open to loving someone else, I didn’t think I would be able to grow to love another. Now I know my heart is able to love again. Because I love your Nee.”

“Nee,” she repeated, tilting her face and giving him a crinkling smile.

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, Nee. You love her, too, don’t you?”

Annaliese babbled her baby talk, rolled from his lap, and stood. She played with his beard, chattering her nonsense words, occasionally inserting the clearly recognizable “Nee.”

Walter cupped his hand around her pudgy waist and sighed. “Yes, you and I both love her. This should encourage me. It tells me I’ll be able to grow to love the wife your Großmutter und Großvater are sending. But…” He looked toward the cabin, envisioning Fanny at the ironing board, no doubt humming as she pressed the wrinkles from his shirts and trousers. “To tell you the truth, Liébling, I’d rather keep loving Fanny. But it’s too late.” Would word finally be in his mail slot tomorrow? Even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter. He’d asked for a new wife. Eventually Vater and Mutter would send one.

He sighed and gathered his little girl in his arms. He whispered against her hair, “It’s too late.”

Fanny

As she’d done two weeks ago for the trip to Gideon, Fanny readied a basket. But this time, in addition to fresh napkins and a shopping list, she put the balls of butter she’d saved. The butter had stayed cool in the cellar. Now, protected by a towel soaked in cold well water, the nicely molded balls would travel to Gideon and be traded for dress goods at the mercantile.

Fanny didn’t need another dress. She had the blue-checked one from the kind woman who’d given Ransom, Enoch’s family, and her shelter, plus the one Josephine had helped her stitch. But little Annaliese was outgrowing her frocks. Walter had suggested cutting up one of Grete’s dresses, but Fanny couldn’t bring herself to do it. Trading for fabric seemed a good alternative.

Josephine arrived shortly after seven thirty, and Fanny was ready and waiting with Annaliese already secured to Fanny’s front with the length of muslin. Fanny hooked the basket over her arm and trotted out to meet the wagon.

Walter came out of the barn at the same time. Her heart fluttered. He’d probably come to help her into the wagon. Always such a gentleman. My, she would miss him when she left this place.

Her throat went tight. Since he’d held her while she cried on Tuesday, she’d had a hard time meeting his gaze. If she looked at his beard, she remembered how it had tickled her cheek. The sight of his arms inspired a longing to again be sheltered in his embrace. It was safer not to look at him at all, but it was hard. She intended to talk to Josephine about these feelings and ask her help in overcoming them. In the meantime, she needed help climbing aboard.

Walter strode up close, and she swallowed before offering him a shy smile. “I can use a hand to get up onto the seat.”

He put the basket in the back, then guided her foot to the little step. Heat filled her face. A glance at him revealed he, too, was blushing. She lifted her gaze to Josephine instead. Walter took hold of Fanny’s elbow and gave a boost. She stepped into the box and settled on the seat. She turned to thank him, but he was already striding to the back. To her surprise, he climbed into the bed.

Josephine angled herself in the seat and sent him a puzzled frown. “You’re comin’, too?”

He sat and leaned against the wagon’s high side, crossing his ankles, as casual a pose as a man could give. But his glowing pink cheeks ruined his attempt at nonchalance. “If you don’t mind. I used twine to tie the chicken wire to the fence posts, but I need good strong wire if it’s to hold. I also need wood planks to build a decent gate, and more chicken wire for a cover over the whole area. It’ll prevent hawks and raccoons from getting in. I figure it’s easier for me to pick out those things myself than try to explain what I want, so”—he shifted his hat forward, its brim creating a slash of shade across his face—“I’m coming, too.”

Josephine looked at Fanny, her expression bland, and then she shrugged. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

Fanny couldn’t talk to Josephine about Walter with him only a few feet behind her. So instead they chatted about their gardens, the sheet music Josephine had seen in the latest issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and how much fabric was required to make three Annaliese-sized dresses. As Fanny asked Josephine’s advice about fabric, she hoped she would be in Indiana long enough to finish the dresses. She wanted so much to leave something behind for Annaliese.

When they reached Gideon, Walter rose and perched on the edge of the wagon box. Josephine drew the horses to a stop, and Walter hopped over the edge, walked to Josephine’s side, and squinted up at her.

“I’ll meet you ladies at the mercantile. Don’t worry about visiting the post office. I’ll…go by there. I can get your mail, too, Josephine, if you’d like.”

Josephine nodded. “That’d be fine, Walter. We’ll see you when you’re done.” She snapped the reins, and the horse pulled them forward.

Fanny resisted peeking over her shoulder to see if Walter watched them. A sigh found its way from her mouth.

Josephine shot her a sharp look. “Did you an’ Walter have some kind of squabble?”

Fanny raised her eyebrows. “A squabble? We haven’t squabbled. Why do you ask?”

Josephine shrugged, her gaze forward. “Dunno, exactly. Just seemed like he was awful quiet, even for Walter. An’ you seem to be tryin’ to act happier’n you really feel.”

Josephine had grown to know her pretty well in the past few weeks. Fanny sighed again. “I think we’re both wondering what mail might be waiting. And what it will mean for us.”

Josephine pulled the reins and called, “Whoa.” She set the wagon’s brake in the middle of the street and turned sideways on the seat, fully facing Fanny. “If there’s a letter from Walter’s folks, you know what it means. His wife’s on her way. An’ you’ll be on your way.” Her fine dark eyebrows formed a V. “Ain’t that what you want?”

Tears filled Fanny’s eyes. She blinked several times and cleared her vision. She rubbed Annaliese’s back, seeking comfort from the gesture. “Of course it is. I…I miss Da and Ma and my sisters so much. But I…” She gulped. “Josephine, how can I want to go and want to stay at the same time? I don’t understand myself.”

Josephine’s jaw went slack. She leaned close and stared directly into Fanny’s eyes. “Why do you wanna stay? ’Cause of Annaliese, or ’cause of”—she lowered her voice—“Annaliese’s papa?”

Fanny’s chin quivered. She gritted her teeth and made the tremor stop. “Both.”

Understanding bloomed on Josephine’s freckled face, followed by sympathy. “Aw, Fanny, if only you’d come sooner. Then there wouldn’t be some other wife comin’. Walter…he’s honorable.”

Reverend Lee had said the same thing.

“He won’t break an agreement his folks made with a new bride.” Josephine shook her head. “But you probably wouldn’t have stayed anyway. Not after so many years away from your folks.” She took hold of Fanny’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry you’re feelin’ so confused. I know how much this little one has come to mean to you.” Her tender smile landed on Annaliese, then lifted to Fanny again. “But you’ve traveled this far. Do you really not wanna go all the way to New York City an’ be with your mama an’ papa again?”

Equal portions of longing and regret twined in Fanny’s middle. She didn’t know what she wanted. She pointed ahead. “We’d better get out of the street and see to our shopping”—she forced a weak smile—“before my butter melts.”

Josephine stared at her for a few silent seconds, her face pinched with uncertainty, and then she nodded. “You’re right. We ain’t gonna change anything by sittin’ here.” She whisked a glance at Fanny. “But just as soon as we have a few minutes alone, you an’ me are gonna hash out everything you’re feelin’, all right?”

Making sense of her confusing emotions was exactly what she needed. “All right.”