Free Waiting for Summer's Return by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

elementary school was not encouraged. The Mennonites stayed together, planted their fields, purchased their goods from one another, and tried to live in peaceful harmony. If their children were sent away for education, they might encounter evil influences or be coaxed into a different type of life.
    Peter wondered about these threats as he pasted gears with tallow. The Bible said to train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it. He and Grossmutter were training Thomas right. Should he worry about what the boy might encounter outside of Gaeddert? But no, this is America, not Germany or Russia. No one will force him to join military. We have freedoms here, including freedom to learn more and more .
    But then his hands stilled, his brow furrowing with worry. If the boy got an education, would he still want to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a miller? Peter’s father and grandfather had been millers—three generations of Ollenburger millers in three different countries. Grossvater in Germany, Vater in Russia, and now Peter in America. Nothing else had Peter ever known. But the boy … In this land of many opportunities, what might await Thomas?
    Peter put aside the can and brush and covered the can with a piece of oilcloth. Then he wrapped burlap sacks around the gears, his heart heavy. Giving his boy the education he deserved might lead him away from Kansas and this mill. Even so, though, Peter would not hold Thomas back.
    He should ask the woman about institutions of learning. A learned woman such as herself would know which places were best. She would also know what kind of cost would be involved. The boy was already nearly ten years old. If, as Frau Steadman said, he would be ahead of his classmates, he might be ready for this higher education earlier than most. Peter must be prepared.
    Whatever was best for Thomas would be done. Elsa would approve, and Peter would have it no other way.

7
    W HEN PETER RETURNED to the house in late afternoon, Grossmutter ’s bedroom door was closed. Perhaps she was taking her afternoon nap. Thomas and Frau Steadman sat at the table, each with tablet paper in front of them. Thomas held a pencil, while Frau Steadman had a pen and inkpot.
    He closed the door with a soft click. The woman glanced up, her gaze meeting his for only a moment before returning to her task. Her hand looked slender and graceful as it dipped the nib into the ink, then guided the pen across the surface of the paper. He shifted his attention to Thomas, who rose from the table and crossed the floor to press himself beneath his father’s arm for a hug.
    Peter savored the hug, holding the boy longer than usual, his hand cupping the back of his son’s head. It saddened him to think of the day the boy would be too old to greet his papa with a hug at the end of a day.
    “Mrs. Steadman is writing a letter. I gave her some of my tablet and your pen.” The boy’s eyes seemed to question whether he had done the right thing.
    The woman paused for a moment, her back stiff.
    “That is fine, son. You know welcome Frau Steadman is to use anything she needs while she helps you.” To his gratification, her shoulders relaxed and her hand began to move again.
    Thomas raised up on tiptoe, quirking a finger for his father to lean down. “Her husband’s parents don’t know her children are gone, Pa. She didn’t have a way to let them know after her wagon was burned. Can you mail her letter for her?”
    Peter straightened with a jerk. Why did he not think of such things? He needed to learn the important questions to ask. He gave Thomas a nod before crossing to the table, his hat in his hands, to stand beside the woman.
    “ Frau Steadman, a good host I have not been to you.”
    Her head came up, her dark eyes settling on him with an expression of puzzlement.
    “Too long it has been only the boy, Grossmutter, and me. I forget what things are needed by others. Sorry I am that I