Waiting for Summer's Return Read Online Free PDF

mention it again. He did not mind the snoring. The sounds were comforting.
    Elsa always used to say if she heard him snoring, she knew he was near. It felt good to have the boy and the old woman near. His smile faded into a frown. The woman alone in the shariah must be finding it hard to sleep. No snores, no snuffles, no company at all. How long had it been before he’d slept straight through a night after Elsa’s passing? He could not remember now, although he was sure it had been weeks—well after the ship had delivered him and the boy to American soil.
    Peter yawned, stretching. Tomorrow would be a full day. His mind sorted through the tasks awaiting him with the rising of the sun. While the woman worked with Thomas, Peter must chop some saplings to build a rope bed on which the woman could sleep, haul all of the remaining boxes and barrels to the barn and store them in the loft so the woman had room, find a way to bring heat to the shelter so the woman would not freeze when the snows came, fix the steps so she would not fall … and sometime during the day he must take her to where her family had camped and show her she no longer had belongings.
    His chest ached with dread as he considered the last task.
    She had already lost so much. He rested his elbow on the table edge and propped up his chin, searching for words that might comfort her tomorrow when she discovered what had been done to her wagon and the things inside it. For sure, belong ings could be replaced. That was true, yet it seemed unkind to say so when belongings were all one had to call one’s own.
    “Lieber Lord im himmel,” he prayed aloud, slipping into his comfortable German dialect, “I ask that you be with me tomorrow when I must show poor Frau Steadman that all her things are gone. Prepare her heart to accept the loss. Help her understand why the burning was needed. Thank you that my Thomas has a teacher. Let my Thomas also teach her to love again, for only with the opening of one’s heart can joy be restored.” He yawned, his ears popping with the stretching of his jaw.
    “ Ach, Father, I am a tired man. I must sleep now. Let the sleep bring me strength for what awaits me tomorrow. Amen.”

4
    S HE’S AWFUL SKINNY, PA. ”
    Peter looked at his son. “Skinny? What is this?”
    “You know—too thin. Skinny.”
    Peter nodded. “Ja.” He sat at the table, eating his breakfast of cornmeal mush. The early morning breeze slipped through the open front door. He liked the smell of morning in the house, but very soon they would need to keep the door closed to hold out the cold. Grossmutter held a shawl around her shoulders this morning. Maybe he should close the door now.
    “She doesn’t look very strong, either.” Across the table, Thomas scooped another bite and swallowed.
    Peter shrugged. “I do not know that a person must be muscled to have smartness.”
    Thomas gave a light laugh, one arm wrapped protectively across his middle. “No, I reckon not. Mr. Funk is pretty skinny, too, but he’s a good teacher.”
    “There you are.” Peter lowered his brows and pointed his spoon at Thomas. “You will give Frau Steadman the same respect you have always given your Mr. Funk. Just because you study at home is no reason to play.”
    “Oh, sure, Pa. I know.” The boy blinked in innocence.
    Grossmutter reached out with her gnarled hand and tapped Thomas’s wrist. She pointed to his bowl.
    Thomas sent her a smiling nod. “Ich esse, Grossmutter.” He ate two more bites, as he had promised, before turning to Peter. “She looks sad, too.”
    Peter set his spoon aside. He wondered how the woman had slept last night on the hard dirt floor of the shariah all alone. “ Ja, she is sad.” And sadder she would soon be when she discovered she no longer had a wagon and things to call her own. “She has lost much, son. We must be patient while we wait for her to smile, ja ?”
    Thomas looked across the table with a thoughtful expression on his