The Baby Bequest

“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.