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.
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
