Chapter Fourteen
Kate leaned against a dead elm on the side of County Highway O, trying to decide if she should continue on to Shullsburg.
She estimated that she had walked about three miles, and she was already cold and wet and tired.
She had not grabbed a hat or gloves when she stomped out of the farmhouse, nor was she wearing boots, and her fingers and toes were now numb.
At one point, she had debated turning around and seeking refuge in her badger hole, but decided against it, as Christmas Tree Hill would be muddy and horrible this time of year.
Plus, it would be the first place they would look, and she didn’t want to be found by anyone, not even Edmund.
Especially Edmund. She had likewise briefly thought of fleeing to Rosemary and Harriet’s, but this, too, was too obvious.
Plus, Harriet would simply implore her to work it out with the Kerwyns.
Harriet was a good friend, but altogether too forgiving.
And that was the one thing that Kate didn’t want to be right now—forgiving.
She was determined to leave the Kerwyns behind and seek out these Espos.
She had never been to Shullsburg, but it wasn’t all that big, probably the size of Merriweather. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to track them down.
With a heavy sigh, she scrambled up the little bank to get back on the road.
At this rate, she wouldn’t get there until after dark.
Only a few automobiles had thus far passed by, and when they had, she had stood off to the side, waiting for them to rumble by.
But now she wondered if she should try to flag the next one down.
She was loath to ask for help, not to mention having to make small talk with someone all the way to Shullsburg, but she was desperate.
Almost half an hour passed before she heard something approaching behind her. She turned and saw an old truck. This was her chance! With her heart pounding, she stuck her hand awkwardly in the air and waved.
Mercifully, the truck slowed and then rolled to the side of the road, gravel crunching. The man driving cranked the window down.
“That you, Kate?” It was Merle Koenig. “What you doin’ all the way out here? Runnin’ away?” he asked, glancing at her carpetbag before barking out a crusty laugh.
Ugh! Why couldn’t it have been a stranger? “No, I’m . . . um . . . visiting”—she almost said “relatives,” but caught herself in time, as she knew that Merle Koenig most probably knew all the Kerwyn relations—“friends in Shullsburg.”
“Oh, yeah? Who?” Mr. Koenig seemed genuinely intrigued.
Kate wanted to retort that it was none of his business, but she didn’t want to be rude, nor ruin her chances for a ride. “The Espos?” she chanced.
“Never heard of no Espos.” Mr. Koenig shrugged. “Aye, well, get in. Can’t let you out here in this weather. Surprised Gus didn’t drive you himself.”
“He’s . . . he’s under the weather,” Kate fibbed and then walked around to the passenger side. She pulled the handle as best she could with her numb fingers, then stepped on the running board and hoisted herself up.
Mr. Koenig’s truck smelled vaguely of hay, manure, and coffee, which oddly comforted Kate.
It smelled like their barn. She looked out the window, or tried to anyway, but the glass was so dirty that everything appeared as through a thick fog.
She was tempted to wipe it clean with her coat sleeve, but she didn’t want to risk offending Mr. Koenig.
She looked out the windshield instead, which was passably clear.
Mr. Koenig, his fat, sausage-like fingers resting lightly on the gear stick, shifted into a higher gear, and they bounced along.
Mr. Koenig was probably the fattest man she had ever seen, and she marveled that there was enough space between his protruding belly and the steering wheel for him to adequately drive.
He was also the most talkative man she knew, and he chatted away about this and that for the whole of the trip.
Kate only half listened as they passed dreary farm after dreary farm. It had always surprised her that so many people named spring their favorite season when anyone who lived on a farm knew it was not beauteous in any way—it was simply oceans and oceans of mud.
When they passed a signpost that read “SHULLSBURG 2 mi,” she suddenly began to panic a little.
She hadn’t a clue where to start looking for her family.
Should she just start knocking on doors like she had on Magnolia?
What had she been thinking? And what if, by some longshot, she did find them?
Would they know her? Welcome her? Or would they be angry, disappointed?
Perhaps they didn’t want to be found . . .
“Well, here we are,” Mr. Koenig said as they turned onto Water Street. He rolled the truck to the curb and halted it, the engine rumbling loudly. “Where’s these Espos live? I’ll drive you there.”
“Uh, no thanks, Mr. Koenig,” Kate said, trying to quickly open the door.
It stuck, however, so she put her shoulder to it and pushed until it creaked open enough for her to slide out.
“I . . . I’m going to do some shopping first.” She nodded toward the first shop she saw, which happened to be a corner grocer.
“Kirschbaum’s” was written across a red-and-white-striped awning.
“Shopping?” Mr. Koenig said, leaning one elbow out the window he had just cranked down. “Nothing here that you can’t get in Merriweather.”
“Thanks, Mr. Koenig!” she called, trying her best to sound happy and carefree, as if she were about to embark on a fun day out with friends.
“You need a ride home later?”
“No, I’m staying here for a while!” she called and bustled into the shop, the bell above the door ringing briskly.
She paused for a moment, trying to get her bearings. It was similar to the Merc, but smaller.
“Can I help you, Miss?” asked a gaunt older lady behind the counter.
“Uh . . .” Kate hesitated. “I hope so.” She tried to smile. “I’m looking for some . . . some old friends. The Espos? I was told they might live here. In Shullsburg, I mean.”
“Espo?” The woman’s brow creased. “Don’t think so.” She looked Kate up and down, clearly noting her damp, bedraggled appearance and shabby carpetbag. “Roberta!” she called with only a slight turn of her head.
“What is it?” a voice from deeper in the shop answered.
“You know any Espos?”
“Espos?” Another older woman, obviously Roberta, appeared from the depths of the shop. “Don’t ring a bell. Why?” She noticed Kate, then, and peered at her over the top of her spectacles.
Kate sighed, wondering how many fibs she was going to have to tell in one day. “They’re friends of my family. I’m from Merriweather. I’m . . . I’m looking for them.”
The first woman raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Well, you best go on over to St. Pete’s. Mrs. Seitgart would be able to tell you.”
“Ah, yes,” agreed Roberta. “Now that’s an idea, Norma!
Yes, you go on to the rectory over at St. Peter’s—it’s just down the street.
You can’t miss it. Mrs. Seitgart keeps all the town records, you see.
Used to mostly be over at St. Matthew’s, but it burned down, what was it .
. . ten years ago?” She looked at Norma questioningly.
“Ten?” Norma exclaimed. “More than that, Roberta. More like fifteen.”
“Can’t be fifteen. I remember because Sylvia was baptized there, and she just turned ten this year, so that would make sense.”
“Roberta, you’re thinkin’ of the chapel—”
“I think I’d remember where my own child was baptized, Norma!” Roberta said, irritated. “Now, I’d swear on my life that that fire was just ten years ago, and I—”
Kate backed toward the door, hoping to slide out unnoticed, but even her slow, calculated motion caused the shop bell to betray her with a single tinkle.
“Where you going?” Norma asked.
“I’m just going to head over to St. Peter’s. Like you said.” Kate gestured vaguely. “Thanks for your help.”
“You want me to go with you?” asked Roberta. “I don’t mind!”
“You’re not leaving me here to mind the shop on my own!” Norma exclaimed. “You’re a busybody if I ever knew one, Roberta Campbell!”
“How dare you! All I’m trying to do is help this poor girl—”
Kate slipped out, hoping they wouldn’t follow. She could see a church down the street and guessed it to be St. Peter’s. After hurrying for almost half a block with no ladies in pursuit, Kate slowed her pace.
As she neared the church, she grew uneasy.
Though the Kerwyns were paid-up members of St. Mary’s, Kate privately had little use for their pastor, Fr.
Eggert, whose moralizing homilies somehow made her feel worse than when she had gone in.
Did she really want to explain her current predicament to a priest?
The ladies at the shop had mentioned a Mrs. Seitgart, however, whom she guessed must be the housekeeper, but what if the priest himself answered?
When she finally reached the low iron fence that ran around the property, she realized there was an even bigger problem.
Chiseled into the cornerstone was: St. Peter Lutheran Church 1907.
Lutheran! She had assumed it was a Catholic Church.
She was pretty sure that entering a Lutheran church was a sin.
Hadn’t Fr. Eggert said as much, over and over?
She stood in the street, looking at the church and trying to decide.
Well. She had come this far, hadn’t she?
She had already told several lies that would need confessing, so why not add another sin to the pile?
Although, she mused as she pushed open the low gate, she wasn’t actually going in the church, merely the rectory—or whatever the Lutherans called it—which was probably not a sin. After all, it was just a house.
She walked up the few steps of the little stone bungalow, took a deep breath, and lightly knocked.
After only a few seconds, an older woman, in her sixties or maybe seventies, opened the door.