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

did not ask you what things you could use.” He rubbed his dry lips together as she continued to gaze at him silently. “You-you have paper and pen there. You make list of the things you need, and I will see they are gathered.”
    The woman finally nodded, the puzzlement fading. “Thank you. I have considered some things that would be helpful. I’ll make a list.” She raised her small chin in a defiant manner. “I don’t expect you to purchase the items, however.” She paused for a moment, her rebellion faltering. “But-but it will require your wagon for me to get into town.”
    The opportunity to visit with the woman about Thomas’s education suddenly presented itself. Peter nodded, sweeping his hair with his hand. “ Ja, a ride into town. I will take you. When will your list be done?”
    Her narrow shoulders lifted and fell in a silent gesture of uncertainty. “Tomorrow morning, I suppose.”
    Peter nodded again, hoping he did not appear too eager. “Tomorrow will be fine. First thing after breakfast, we will go.” He turned to hang up his hat and coat and paused when another idea struck. “ Frau Steadman, would you like to stop at the graves? To put down some flowers for your family?”
    Tears flooded the woman’s eyes. The fervent gratitude shining there made Peter determined to take her to visit her family’s headstones as often as she needed until her heart healed.
    Thomas returned to the table. “There’s still a whole passel of strawflowers growing behind the outhouse. I can pick some.”
    Peter sucked in his breath. Would the woman find offense in being offered flowers that grew in such a location? But warmth appeared in her eyes.
    “Thank you, Thomas. Perhaps your father will find a jar for water. We’ll put them in the jar so they’ll still be fresh tomorrow.”
    Thomas peered up at his father. “May I go now, Pa? Supper’s not fixed yet.”
    “Go, boy. But walk.”
    Thomas shot his father an impish grin, then walked toward the door as if slogging through cold molasses.
    “Sie sind ein schelmischer junge!”
    Thomas laughed, his arm protecting his ribs, and headed out the door.
    Peter turned to find the woman staring at him in confusion.
    “What did you say?”
    Sympathy he felt for her then. How often he was confused when unfamiliar English words were spoken. He would not leave the woman wondering. “I tell the boy he has too much energy, and then I call him—” He scratched his head, searching for a word to convey his meaning. “What say you when someone is too playful for good sense?”
    The woman’s face puckered in thought. “Ornery? Or mischievous?”
    “ Ach, another m word.” Peter shook his head. “Why are so many hard words starting with m ?”
    A muscle in Frau Steadman’s cheek twitched, and Peter wondered if she was holding back a grin. “Hard words start with m ?”
    “ Ja . You said one yesterday—manipulated. Today at lunch there were more.” He frowned, trying to remember the correct pronunciations. “Medieval and marauding. I do not know these. Now mismismusvis.” He struggled to make his tongue form the tricky word.
    “Mischievous.” Her expression and tone were kind.
    “Mis-chie-vous,” he repeated. “This means to be …?”
    “Ornery or silly. Playful.”
    Peter considered this. “Playful. Ja, that suits my Thomas.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. The woman moved her tablet to give him room on the table. Half of the paper was covered with lines of ink, but he couldn’t read any of it. Leaning his forearms on the table, he focused on the subject of Thomas. “My boy—he has not been … mischievous while with you, has he? I want him to not be silly when he works on studies.”
    “Oh no, he’s very diligent.” She must have read the confusion in his eyes, because she added, “He is serious about his studies. He doesn’t play.”
    Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “This is good. Ja, this is good.”
    “He is particularly talented