The Baby Bequest. Lyn Cote
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William. Ellen was nearing the end of her frayed rope.
Then Martin came to her rescue. “Cousin Ellen, you’re coming home with us for Sunday dinner as planned.” He smiled at everyone as he piloted her toward their wagon. When Martin helped her up onto the bench, she noted Mr. Lang and his family, who had ridden to church with the Stewards, sat in the wagon bed at the rear. This man had predicted how the community would react all too accurately. But he didn’t look triumphant in the slightest, and for that, she was grateful. He nodded to her and gave her a slight smile that seemed to have some message she couldn’t quite read.
As the wagon rocked along the track into the shelter of the forest, Ellen breathed out a long, pent-up sigh. She glanced at her cousin sitting beside her. “Ophelia...” She fell silent; she simply didn’t have the words to go on.
Ophelia leaned against Ellen’s shoulder as if in comfort. “I can’t believe this happened.”
Ellen rested her head against the top of Ophelia’s white bonnet, murmuring, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“The Whitmores are coming over after dinner so we can discuss this,” Martin said. “We need to decide what to do with this child.”
Ellen snapped up straight. “It has already been decided. William will stay with me.”
“You can’t mean you really want to keep this baby?” Ophelia said, sounding shocked. “I don’t know how I’d take care of our little one alone.”
Her cousin’s stunned tone wounded Ellen, stopping her from responding.
“Ja—yes, she does,” Mr. Lang said as the wagon navigated a deep rut. “I told her last night that they will not let her.”
Mr. Lang’s words wounded more than all the rest. He’d been there last night, he’d experienced discovering this child with her. Why wouldn’t he take her side in this matter?
She brushed the opposition aside. It didn’t matter why he wouldn’t support her—it didn’t matter why any of them wouldn’t support her. She wasn’t like other women. She had goals, and now she’d added one more. If she were a weak woman, she wouldn’t be here to begin with—she would be living at home under her sister-in-law’s snide thumb. But she had struck out to make a life of her own, and that was exactly what she planned to do.
Those who opposed her would not win. All she had to do was come up with a convincing argument to keep this child—and her job. And frankly, she reminded herself, Mr. Kurt Lang’s opinion in this matter—in all matters—was irrelevant to her.
* * *
Later, in the early dusk, Kurt walked into the Steward’s clearing for the second time that day. Ever since the Stewards had dropped them off after church, he’d been worrying—about William, about Gunther, about Miss Thurston.
“Kurt, what brings you here?” called Martin, who was hitching the pony to his two-wheeled cart.
“Is Miss Thurston here still?” The fact he couldn’t easily pronounce the “Th” at the beginning of her name caused him to flush with embarrassment. He tried to cast his feelings aside. He had come to talk with Miss Thurston face-to-face over Gunther’s schooling. Altogether, the issue had left a sour taste in his mouth. But a decision must be made—Gunther’s playing hooky had forced his hand.
“She’s about done feeding the baby and then I’m taking her home,” Martin said as he finished the hitching.
“I have come to offer to escort the lady home.”
Martin turned to Kurt. “Oh?”
The embarrassment he’d just pushed away returned. Kurt tried to ignore his burning face. Did Martin think he was interested in Miss Thurston? “I wish to speak to her about my brother, Gunther, before school starts again tomorrow.”
At that moment, the lady herself stepped out of the cabin with William in her arms. She noticed him and stopped. “Mr. Lang.”
Sweeping off his hat, Kurt felt that by now his flaming face must be as red as a beetroot. “I come to take you home, Miss Thurston. And perhaps we talk about Gunther?”
She smiled then and walked toward the cart. “Yes, I want to discuss that matter with you.”
They said their farewells to the Stewards, and soon Ellen sat beside him on the seat of the small cart, holding the baby whose eyelids kept drooping only to pop open again, evidently fighting sleep. Kurt turned the pony and they began the trip to town, heading toward the golden and pink sunset. Crickets sang, filling his ears. Beside him, Miss Ellen Thurston held herself up as a lady should. Only last night had he seen her usual refined composure slip. Finding the infant had shaken her. Did it have something to do with the little brother she’d mentioned?
Kurt chewed his lower lip, trying to figure out how to begin the conversation about his brother. “I still don’t agree with what you have said about Gunther,” he grumbled at last.
“But yet you are here, talking to me” was all she replied.
A sound of frustration escaped his lips. “Gunther...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say, or could say. He would never speak about the real cause of Gunther’s rebelliousness. He would never want Miss Thurston to know the extent of his family’s shame. His father’s gambling had been enough to wound them all. What had driven him even further to such a disgraceful end?
Kurt struggled with himself, with what to do about his brother. Gunther needed to face life and go on, despite what had happened. Would his giving in weaken his brother more?
“Your brother is at a difficult age—not a boy, not fully a man,” she said.
If that were the only problem, Kurt would count himself fortunate. So much more had wounded his brother, and at a tender age. A woodpecker pounded a hollow tree nearby, an empty, lonely sound.
“Gunther and Johann are all I have left.” He hadn’t planned to say that, and shame shuddered deep inside his chest.
“I know how you feel.”
No, she didn’t, but he wouldn’t correct her. “Do you still think to teach Gunther in the evenings?”
“Yes. As you know, you can send him to school, but you cannot make him learn if he’s shut his mind to it. Private lessons would be best.”
Kurt chewed on this bitter pill and then swallowed it. “He will have the lessons, then.”
“Will you be able to help him with his studies on the evenings when I am not working with him?”
“I will.”
“Then bring him after supper on Tuesday.” Miss Thurston looked down at the child in her arms and smiled so sweetly—Kurt could tell just from her expression that she had a tender heart. Something about her smile affected him deeply and he had to look away.
She glanced up at him and asked, “Have you told Gunther about this?”
“I tell him soon,” he said.
“Good.” She sounded relieved.
He, however, was anything but relieved. His fears for Gunther clamored within. They had come to this new country for a new start. He wanted Gunther to make the most of this, not end up like their father had.
They reached the downward stretch onto the flat of the riverside. He directed the pony cart onto the trail to the school. Again, he was bringing her home in Martin’s cart and again someone was waiting on her doorstep. This time a woman rose to greet them. What now?
Kurt helped Miss Thurston down. She moved so gracefully as a shaft of sunset shone through the trees, gilding her hair. He forced himself not to stop and enjoy the sight. Instead, he accompanied her to greet the woman.
“Good evening,” Miss Thurston said, cradling the sleeping baby in her arms.
The other woman