8
Early one morning, Katrina had taken the buggy to town to pick up a few things at the drugstore that couldn’t be found at her father’s store: toothpaste, dental floss, and a few other ladies’ unmentionables, which she would have felt mortified to purchase at her father’s store.
She had wandered the aisles for a long time, intrigued. So many of the items she could make herself or live without, but still, she supposed, there was something about store-bought things that made them seem special. And it would be easy to hunger for them, if she let herself. Like those tortoiseshell combs and barrettes, or those dainty gold earrings for pierced ears. Imagine how she would be looked at if she wore earrings to church one day! A Plain woman wasn’t supposed to covet such worldly things, but she did.
She had noticed a sale on peppermint tea and bought it, remembering it was Thelma’s favorite flavor. Then, seeing the time on a wall clock, she hurried to pick up her last few purchases.
When she returned home, nearly noon, she made tea and took a cup to Thelma as she knitted by the window in the living room. “You missed a visit from Freeman,” Thelma said. “He’s showing more nephew-ly interest in me since Elmo’s passing than he did his whole life.”
“Still trying to talk you into selling?”
“Yes. Two weeks ago, the developers raised their bid. Freeman tries to have little persuasive talks with me, but I keep telling him I still won’t budge from here. He’s getting more persistent and I’m getting more impatient with his stiff ways. Today, he said the church needed the proceeds from the sale of the hill and I needed to go live in the Big House with that tribe of his.”
“How did you respond to him?”
“I told him that my moss business was turning a tidy profit—”
A slight exaggeration. But there had been an increase in orders this week.
“—and that I had two employees to consider. That gave him pause.” Her eyes smiled as she sipped her tea. “On a happier note, I saw your brother in church the other day.”
“Yes. Jesse’s back from Ohio. He’s apprenticing with Hank Lapp to learn about buggy repairs.”
Thelma froze, then swallowed her mouthful of tea. “Hank and Jesse? Now that’s a curious combination.” She took another sip of tea. “I always thought Jesse was a boy whose eyes were fixed on the horizon. Elsewhere.”
Katrina looked up. “What makes you say that?”
“He seems to have an unsettled soul.”
Katrina pondered that generous description. Yes, her brother did have an unsettled soul. Frankly, that phrase would describe her, as well. Maybe it was a family trait. But then, her father was a very settled soul. Her mother had been one too. “I’m going down to work in the greenhouse for a while.”
“I haven’t seen much of Andy today. If you see him, would you mind asking him to stop by the house?”
Through the window, Katrina saw Andy drive a horse and wagon toward the barn. “There he is now. I’ll go speak to him.”
She walked down the hill to Andy as he was unbuckling the horse’s harness parts. Keeper spied her, wagging his tail at the sight of her, then galloped toward her. That dog, now he was a settled soul. He’d found the life he wanted.
The tops of the trees stirred with wind and Katrina shivered. Fall had arrived in full force.
He eyed her. “That color blue looks good on you.”
Katrina ran her fingers over the hem of her sleeve. “This is the oldest dress I own.”
“I don’t care. It’s still a good color.” He held her gaze steadily, and in the bright, clear afternoon sun, his eyes were as blue as the sky behind him.
“Thelma wants to talk to you this afternoon.”
“You look a little cold,” he said, removing his coat and draping it about her in a gentlemanly fashion. “Is everything all right with Thelma?”
“Yes. Other than she’s annoyed with her nephew. He wants her to sell and move in with him.”
“Why does her nephew hold such sway?”
“He’s the bishop.”
Andy lifted his head in a nod. The one word, bishop, carried weight. “Ah. And she doesn’t want to?”
“Not at all. She wants to stay put. That’s why she’s excited to build up this moss business.”
Andy lifted a heavy auger onto his shoulder as easily as if it were a bale of feathers and walked toward the barn in long strides. She followed behind him and leaned on the side of the open barn door, watching him set the auger against the wall. He straightened and turned to her, hands on his hips. “Would you like to take a walk tonight?” As he took a step closer to her, first one, then another, all thoughts flew from her mind, like swallows in the rafters.
Something about the direct way he met her eyes, and the slight, charming quirk of his mouth caused a stir at the base of her neck. Suddenly shy, she peeled his coat from her shoulders. “Thanks, but no. I just came down to tell you that Thelma wanted to talk to you this afternoon. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
“Katrina, hold on.”
“I’d better go,” she said. “See you later.” And she left him, almost running.
Later that day, after visiting with Ephraim and Sadie, David was thoroughly spent. Sadie had agreed to Ephraim’s request to be taken off the ventilator but she wanted to give time to allow their entire family—both sides—to travel to Stoney Ridge to say their goodbyes. That was only fair to her, but knowing Ephraim as he did, he was sure he didn’t want to delay this any longer than was necessary. Ephraim had always been a bustling, energetic man, always in motion. Now, his body was wasting away in the ICU. It was a heart-wrenching time for all involved.
David slapped the reins on the horse’s rump to get the mare to pick up her pace. He tried to be home each afternoon as the girls returned from school, but he was running a little behind today.
After rubbing down his horse and giving her a few handfuls of oats, David gave his mare a parting pat, closed the stall door, and retreated from the shadows of the barn into the fall sunshine to stop short. He’d been so absorbed with Ephraim, as well as the disturbing murmurs of a possible church split, that he had never even noticed what a beautiful day it was today.
The temperature couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees. The crisp air held a slight tang of burning leaves. Clouds above covered half of the sky like puffy balls of cotton. Later, he should bring the twins outside to see if they could pick out animals in those clouds. Last time, Lydie spotted an elephant plodding across the sky and Emily was sure she saw a buggy. He smiled. It just occurred to him how those images summed up his daughters perfectly—one so inventive, one so practical.
When he started from the barn to the house, he noticed Birdy Glick standing down by the mailbox, shielding her eyes as she tipped her head back. Each time he saw her, she seemed to have her eyes peeled upward. A timely reminder, he thought, after spending the afternoon in the hospital. Overhead, a gaggle of geese flew in V-formation, two black ribbons in the sky, heading south to Blue Lake Pond. He brushed dirt off his pants and walked down the hill to join her.
“Have you ever wondered why one side of the V is always longer than the other?” she said as he approached.
“I’ve never noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said, “but I have no idea why.”
“I do know that the V-formation conserves energy for the geese, but I don’t know the reason for that.”
“Oh, that I know,” Birdy said. “They face less wind resistance and receive a boost of air waves from those flying in front—almost like being in a wind tunnel. The farther back a goose is in formation, the less energy it needs in the flight. And an added bonus—it’s easy to keep track of every bird in the group. It’s a perfect metaphor for community, I’ve always thought.”
Without realizing it, Birdy had just given him the ideal illustration for why the church should remain together. Thank you, God. He breathed it all in, deeply, and let it go, astonished.
When the geese had flown past, she dropped her hand and looked straight at him. “Is it true? You’re not teaching baptism classes?”
“Did your brothers tell you?”
“No, I heard it from Gertie Zook. She seems to know everything in this town. My brothers don’t reveal much to me about church business.” She looked from his eyes up to the house, then back again. “Did you want to stop teaching the classes? Or did they tell you to stop teaching?”
“Let’s just say, I didn’t agree to teach the way they wanted me to teach the classes.”
“Greatly abbreviated, is my guess.”
“To be honest, yes. I believe that young people should be taught the fullness of God’s words, of church doctrine. Not to pick and choose them. Thomas Jefferson used to take a pair of scissors to Scripture, cutting out the parts he didn’t like.”
“And you think that’s what my brothers are doing.”
She didn’t state it as a question but he took his time answering. “Birdy, it’s no secret that there’s tension between your brothers and me. I don’t want to put you in the middle of it.”
“You’re not. I’m asking for the truth. Is that what you think my brothers are doing? Picking and choosing?”
He didn’t answer.
“So do I. My brothers would never let God interfere with the running of the church.” Her harsh words surprised him, and his expression must have shown so. “Sorry to sound that way,” she met his eyes, “but it’s the plain truth.” She heaved a breath. “David, don’t let up on them.”
“I’m trying to hang in there, but they don’t make it easy.”
Birdy, who to his knowledge did not have a mean bone in her body, patted his sleeve in approval. “Good for you.” She smiled and said in a conspiratorial voice, “Well, it seems to me that our young scholars might benefit from a few lessons about Bible memorization by the minister.”
David grinned, pleased, feeling cheered up. “Well, put that way, how can I refuse?”
Some days are all ups and downs. September was drawing to an end with nice, clear weather, but the wind was practicing for winter. Jesse was not a big fan of winter. Nor was he a fan of his sister’s cooking. Molly, always the hungriest of the hungry, had volunteered to take over kitchen duties in Katrina’s absence and make dinner each night. Tonight was spaghetti noodles, very underdone, tossed with ketchup rather than spaghetti sauce. It was sorely lacking in flavor, virtually inedible, but Jesse’s father ate every bite and made sure he appeared to relish it, pleasing Molly to no end.
Whenever Jesse complained about Molly’s cooking, his dad would defend her attempts and say, “Every good cook begins somewhere. And this is Molly’s somewhere.”
Thankfully, Jesse’s noontime meals at Fern’s made up for Molly’s meals.
“How is school going?” his father asked Lydie.
“Birdy’s terrible hard.”
“So are diamonds,” he said with a fond swipe at the hair perpetually clouding her eyes.
“But one thing is good,” Molly said. “She says she scorns the maxim that children should be seen and not heard.”
“That’s probably because she’s single,” Jesse said.
“And some big bug is attacking Luke Schrock,” Emily said. “Nearly every day, he gets stung.”
“He’s starting to look like he’s covered in polka dots.” Lydie pointed to spots all over her neck. “Maybe it’s a case of chicken pops.”
“Chicken pox.” Jesse looked up. “Just Luke? No one else.” Interesting.
“Ruthie thinks it’s a killer bee,” Molly said.
“Hopes,” Ruthie whispered, eyes on her fork. Jesse heard. So did their father. His gaze went straight to Ruthie, and stayed there, but she was studying a forkful of gray, limp, overcooked string beans.
“Jesse? Jesse, anyone home between your ears?”
Jesse startled, realizing his father was talking to him.
“I asked you how your days were going as a buggy repairman.”
“Sorry, Dad. My thoughts were elsewhere.” Pondering the mystery of Luke Schrock’s personalized bug attacks.
“Just what is it you do all day there with Hank, besides keep him company?”
An apt question, not easily answered.
“This, that, and the other,” he replied to his father honestly enough. He doubted that his father would be in favor of the bill collection aspect of his apprenticeship, thus he had decided it would be wise to avoid mentioning it. He held up his dish and plastered a smile on his face. “Molly, how about another helping?”
Molly beamed.
For the next few days, Jesse made a point to put himself in the general location of the schoolhouse around three o’clock. It took that long to catch Yardstick Yoder. When he finally cut him off in a detour and cornered him against a barn, Yardstick held his hands curled tightly into fists, his knuckles white, as if he needed to be prepared at all times to punch someone.
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Jesse Stoltzfus. I just want to talk to you.”
The boy was skinny as a broom and stood so rigid, he looked as if he might snap in two in a stiff wind. He scooped the floppy brown hair back from his eyes and met Jesse’s gaze with a bleak one. He was even more gaunt-faced than he looked from a distance. “About what?”
Jesse had his answer ready, along with a slight smile. He nudged the boy’s bony shoulder. “How’d you like to run in a race?”
Birdy watched the kinetic energy of the children on the playground, their happy shouts lifting up into the sky. Her eyes went to the bird feeder that was attached to a low point on the schoolhouse roof—safely away from misdirected balls and mischievous boys, but low enough that she could easily reach it to resupply with birdseed. Like right now, she realized, seeing how near empty it was.
In the coatroom, Birdy kept a container of sunflower seeds that she had grown over the summer just for the purpose of feeding her birds. The sunflowers took up most of her garden space, which her sisters-in-law teased her about, but she didn’t mind. She loved birds, always had.
A year ago, Will Stoltz, who ran the Wild Bird Rescue Center, knowing of Birdy’s bird interests, asked if she might be willing to lead local bird-watching tours. She was flabbergasted when he asked. And thrilled beyond words. She jumped in, loving every minute of it. Early dawn expeditions to Blue Lake Pond to spot a nesting pair of sandhill cranes. Tromping through the woods to seek out a yellow-rumped warbler. Climbing hills to catch sight of a ruby-crowned kinglet.
Then this last summer, Will Stoltz said her tours had developed a following and he wanted to increase tours for the fall migrating birds, plus give her a raise. She was as happy as she’d ever been. It felt as if she had finally found the one thing in the world that she was good at. Until Freeman told her—told her! never asked her—she would be teaching school this term.
Teaching school, she was convinced, would not give her the same satisfaction that leading bird tours did. She tried to explain that to her brother, but he wasn’t listening. He never listened. It was a common characteristic in her family.
Birdy had always been surrounded by big personalities, starting with her father and mother, then her older brothers. Freeman was the firstborn, the oldest son. After him came five more boys, like stair steps. Then, when Freeman was twenty, her mother gave birth to Birdy. She had the daughter she’d always longed for.
But Birdy didn’t fit, quite literally, the notion her mother had about having a daughter. She was ungainly, awkward, oversized. By the age of fourteen, she was an inch taller than her tallest brother. She preferred being outdoors, regardless of weather, to being stuck indoors with women’s work. Her mother did everything well. Birdy did very little well. The harder her mother tried to make Birdy into her image, the more clumsy and self-conscious she became. Her mother passed when Birdy was twenty-one, but her awkwardness remained.
Birdy didn’t know how or why or when it happened, but suddenly, in the midst of teaching school one day last week, she felt confident. Competent. Nearly as self-assured as when she led bird tours. For now, she knew that little schoolhouse was where she was meant to be. Even her clumsiness—a hallmark of her life—was leaving her.
She filled up the feeder and stepped back to watch the birds return to the feeder. Two little finches, one gold, one red, had lit on the feeder.
“Which is your true favorite?” His voice moved down her neck like a whisper. David.
He had said he would try to stop by after lunch to teach a Bible class one afternoon this week.
She swallowed. Her heart was pounding. He’d never stood so close to her. “I’m not sure.” She smiled and gave a tiny shrug. “Depends on the day.”
“If you could choose one bird to observe, which would it be?”
She swung around. He had asked just the right question. “Ospreys!” This, this was exciting! Unless she was leading a bird-watching tour, hardly anyone ever asked her about birds. “One of my favorite sights is to see a white-and-black osprey fly across a deep blue sky, usually with an unlucky fish in its talons.”
Their eyes met, locked. There was something in his face that touched her like the flutter of bird wings.
He inclined his head. “Oh, I almost forgot. Would you like to come to dinner on Thursday? Katrina is bringing Thelma and wanted you to come too. Our Molly is learning to cook.”
Is Thelma a chaperone or is he being kind? She nodded, holding his gaze.
“Is five thirty early enough?”
Something like hope bloomed in her chest. Don’t get excited, said some cynical voice in her head, he would never find you appealing.
The atmosphere had shifted, the air grew taut between them. Then a ball came hurling through the air, breaking the moment. On legs that felt wobbly, she turned and went into the schoolhouse to pull on the bell. Lunch was over, David would teach his class and go back to his life, and she was almost relieved. He was too much, the feeling was too much. But how do you stop a feeling once it begins?
Birdy peeked in the Stoltzfus kitchen at four thirty on Thursday evening—early because she was so excited—to find supper uncooked but Molly bent low to the opened oven. When she saw Birdy, her eyes filled with horror. “Teacher Birdy! This bird refuses to get cooked.”
Pale and dry and flabby, the small turkey lay there in the roaster. Birdy rolled up her sleeves. “If I might make a suggestion, it is time to baste the beast.”
Molly looked doubtful. “What does it mean to baste?”
“Allow me.” Crouching where Molly had been, Birdy spooned the turkey’s drippings over the breast and drumsticks. “There, now, that bird has no choice but to cook.”
An hour and a half later, the bird was perfectly cooked. Molly was so excited that she screamed, which brought the girls running into the kitchen. As Birdy carefully placed the turkey on top of the oven, she had to admit, it looked pretty delicious. “And this, girls, is what happens when you baste a bird.”
“Just the bird?” Ruthie said, giggling. “Or you too?”
Birdy looked down at herself. The top of her dress had greasy splatters from the basting of the bird, her face felt flushed from the oven, and she smelled of a roasting turkey.
And in walked David with Mary Mast hanging on to his arm. Mary looked at Birdy with the faintest frown of censure, then lifted a long elegant hand in a slight wave. Mary was so petite, her movements delicate and graceful, couched in femininity yet with undeniable strength, and Birdy found herself wishing she were more like that and less like . . . herself. But she gave them both her best grin.
The sound of his daughters’ giggles, as they surrounded Birdy—who stood in the middle of his kitchen with a cockeyed prayer cap and a grease-splattered dress—so startled David that he jerked to a stop.
“Hungry?” Molly said, still smiling, eyes darting between David and his guest.
“Always,” David said with a smile directly at Birdy. Pink touched her cheeks, but they didn’t flame. In fact, David felt heat in his own cheeks when she met his glance with a shy smile. But maybe that was just from being out in the sun all afternoon. Still, he was glad to see Birdy there, glad to feel the way she seemed to belong, glad to hear Ruthie and Molly and Lydie and Emily laughing with her.
He felt a tight squeeze on his elbow and realized he had forgotten all about the woman on his arm. Millie? Mona? Good grief, he couldn’t remember her name! He didn’t even know why she was here. He was about to lock up the store to head home for a special meal—Katrina had been unusually emphatic about having a family dinner tonight—and when he turned around, there was Mina.
Margaret? Mindy?
He gave her the beneficent ministerial version of his smile, which was low key and meant to be kindly. She was beaming at him, positively beaming, and walked alongside him all the way back to the house as if he’d invited her.
About halfway home, he discovered that Katrina had invited this woman to his house for dinner. It took until he reached the hill that led to his driveway for it to dawn on him why his daughter had invited this woman to his house for dinner. Hank Lapp’s infamous letter to the newspaper.
And by the time he walked into the house, he was silently seething, then shocked by the sight of Birdy cooking at the old gas stove in his kitchen—she looked so right there, so comfortable and at home—and in the next second, he was filled with joy by the sound of his daughters’ laughter. Laughter! How wonderful to see his girls smile—really smile, eyes and all. To laugh with ease. When had he last seen it?
He unlocked his arm from Mabel’s, Monika’s, May’s?—Arrgh, what is her name?—and rubbed his sweaty palms off on his pants.
“Hello, Mary,” Birdy said. “We met at church last Sunday.”
Mary!
Before anyone had a chance to say another word, Jesse tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, the door swung open and in came Katrina, Thelma, and her new farmhand, Andy. Trailing behind those three was a big yellow dog, thumping his tail. And for the next few hours, the kitchen was filled with happy, noisy chaos.
It was the best turkey dinner David had ever eaten.