The Baby Bequest. Lyn Cote
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Four
Standing outside the Stewards’ cabin after Saturday supper, Kurt tried to figure out exactly what he was doing there. He’d been surprised when the Stewards had invited him and his family to eat with them and Miss Thurston. The meal had been tasty, and he’d enjoyed talking about farming and the fall hunting with Martin, who was about his age. Unfortunately, Gunther had eaten in sullen silence, in contrast to Johann’s lively chatter.
As the sun had disappeared behind the trees, a sudden awkwardness Kurt couldn’t understand sprang up.
“Mr. Lang,” Mrs. Steward said in a voice that didn’t sound quite genuine, “I wonder if you would save Martin a trip and drive my cousin back to the schoolhouse?”
The question startled him. And it also startled Miss Thurston. He saw her glance at her cousin.
In Germany, this request would have caused Kurt to suspect matchmaking. Here, however, he could not think that he’d been invited for this reason. So why?
Miss Thurston’s face turned pink, revealing her embarrassment.
“Yes,” Martin spoke up, sounding as if he’d been rehearsed about what to say, “I have my wife’s pony hooked up to my cart. It only carries two adults, so perhaps your brother and nephew can just walk home?”
Now Miss Thurston’s face burned bright rose-red.
“I am happy to,” Mr. Lang replied, mystified. What else could he say?
Gunther favored both of them with an odd look but gestured to Johann to come with him, and the two headed down the track in the fading light of day.
Kurt took the reins of the two-wheeled cart as Martin helped Miss Thurston up onto the seat beside him. She clung to the side of the bench as Mr. Lang flicked the reins and they started down the track to town. He noticed that she sat as far from him as she could. He hoped she didn’t think he’d engineered this so that he could be alone with her.
Kurt couldn’t think of anything to say to her. When they were out of sight of the Steward cabin, she finally broke the silence.
“Since we’ve been given this opportunity to talk, just the two of us, there is something that I have wanted to discuss with you, Mr. Lang.” Her voice quavered a bit on the last few words, as if she were nervous.
“Oh?” he said, hoping for enlightenment.
“After the fight at school, you kept Gunther home only one day, right? Have you been sending Gunther to school the rest of this week?”
He stiffened. “Yes, I send him. What do you mean?”
“I thought as much. He has been playing hooky.”
“Hooky?” Mr. Lang turned his gaze to her.
“Sorry. Playing hooky means not coming to school.”
Kurt wanted to explode; instead he chewed the inside of his mouth. But he tried to stay calm for Miss Thurston’s sake. “Why does he not obey me?”
“Sometimes it’s not a matter of obedience,” she replied, sounding hesitant.
“Then what is it about?” he asked, his cheeks burning.
“Isn’t this really about whether Gunther learns more English and more about this country?” she replied in a gentle voice. “Our history and our laws? Isn’t that what you want, more than his obedience?”
Her question caught him off guard. He stared at her, noticing the wind playing with the light brown curls around her face. Startled by both her question and his sudden awareness of her, his mouth opened, and then closed tightly.
Night was overtaking them. Fortunately the half-moon had risen so he could see to drive. He glanced at its silver half circle above the treetops. Then, after many quiet moments, he asked, “What am I to do with him?” He didn’t try to hide his anxiety.
“Making him sit with little children won’t work,” she stated.
“But he must learn. And I cannot teach him.” His words rung with deep feeling he couldn’t conceal.
“I think private lessons would be best,” she said. “I asked my cousin to invite you tonight so we could discuss this without calling attention to Gunther. If I came alone to your place...” Her voice faded.
“Private lessons?” he echoed.
“Yes. Why don’t you bring him two evenings a week? I will help him improve his English, and learn American history and government. You can make sure he studies at home on the other evenings.”
“That will make more work for you. I cannot pay.”
She touched his forearm. “I’m the teacher here in Pepin. Whether I teach in the daytime or evening, I’m being paid.” Then, seeming embarrassed, she removed her hand from his sleeve and looked away.
He wished she hadn’t taken her hand away so quickly. Her long, elegant hands, covered in fine kid gloves, were beautiful. “You are good. But still, I think Gunther must not be given good for bad behavior.”
“Very few sons of farmers attend school beyond eighth grade. Don’t you see? It isn’t normal for Gunther or good for him.”
The school came into view through the opening in the forest. Kurt tried to come to grips with what Miss Thurston had suggested.
Then an unusual sound cut through the constant peeping of tree frogs. Kurt jerked the reins back, halting the pony. He peered ahead through the dark shadows.
Miss Thurston did the same. The sound came again.
A baby crying.
They looked at each other in amazement.
“It’s coming from the rear of the school, near my quarters,” she said, stark disbelief in her voice.
Mr. Lang slapped the reins and jolted them over the uneven schoolyard to her door. A shaft of moonlight illuminated a wooden box. The crying was coming from inside.
Without waiting for his help, Miss Thurston leaped over the side of the cart and ran to her door. She stooped down and leaned over the box.
The wailing increased in volume and urgency.
Kurt scanned the shadows around the schoolhouse as Miss Thurston called out, “Hello? Please don’t leave your child! I’ll help you find a home for the baby! Hello?”
No answer came. Only the crickets chirped and toads croaked in the darkness. Then he thought he glimpsed motion in the shadows. He jumped down and hurried forward a few steps but the cloaking night crowded around him. The woods were dark and thick. Perhaps he’d imagined movement.
The baby wailed as he walked toward the teacher’s quarters. He joined Miss Thurston on the step, waves of cool disbelief washing through him. “Eines kind? A baby?”
“It seems so.”
She looked as if she were drowning in confusion, staring down at the baby, a strange, faraway expression on her face. She made no move toward the child. Why didn’t she pick up the child? In fact, Miss Thurston appeared unable to make any move at all.
* * *
Ellen read his expression. How to explain her reluctance? She hadn’t held a child for nearly a decade, not since little William. Her baby brother.
“How does the child come to be here?” he asked, searching the surrounding darkness once more.
“I don’t know.” The insistent wailing finally became impossible for her to avoid. She stooped and lifted the baby, and waves of sadness and regret rolled over her.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
She fought clear of her memories and entered her quarters, Mr. Lang at her heels. She laid the baby gently on her bed and tried to think.
“Does