15

In the last month, Jesse had learned a great deal about his employer. Hank Lapp was utterly affable, and utterly lacking in ambition. On top of that, he had a bad back, and believed that many chores were too strenuous to do very often. He applied that same principle to organizing, sweeping, dusting, rearranging tools, ordering supplies, bill collecting, and taking inventory. It was all too much work.

Hank had a soft spot for children. In his pockets, he carried Smarties candy, which he gave away when a child skinned his knee or fell for some whopper of a fish story he told.

Also, Hank didn’t like to talk about money.

On a cold day in late October, Jesse arrived at the buggy shop to make a full confession to Hank about the unfortunate disappearance of funds. Hank was tinkering on a buggy that had a broken axle.

Say it, Jesse. Just say it. “Hank, there’s something I need to tell you.” His forehead was slick, his hands were sweating, his heart was pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled the words, as quickly as he could. “I lost all the money I collected for you in a gambling debt.”

Hank exchanged a wrench for a hammer. “That’s just the reason I avoid gaming, myself. I always seemed to come out on the wrong side of a bet.”

Another thing Jesse had discovered about Hank was that his conversation came off the top of his head and out his mouth seemingly without passing through his brain. Jesse tried again. “Hank, I lost everything.”

“Wer nix hot, verliert nix.” If you have nothing, you won’t lose it.

Jesse sighed. “Your money, Hank, not mine. I lost all of your money.”

“I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. Second and third time too.”

Was it possible that someone in this town forgave a Stoltzfus? “That’s it? You aren’t angry? Aren’t you bothered?”

“Nope.”

“Hank, I lost over one thousand dollars. Of your money.”

“Easy come, easy go.”

Jesse was confused. He held a different view entirely on money. It didn’t come easily and yet, he had to admit, it did go easily, with alarming speed. “Why aren’t you upset?”

“Mighta been if you told me yesterday. But today, nothing could bother me.”

“Why today?”

“You won’t believe it,” Hank said, as if he’d just been waiting to tell Jesse his news. “SHE SAID YES.”

“Who said yes?” Jesse said. “And what was the question?”

Hank smacked a hand to his desktop, a sound like a shot, clearly disappointed in Jesse. “EDITH! She said she’d marry me.”

“Marry you?” You?

“Yup. Two weeks from today. Turns out Fern was right.”

“You mean . . . about women liking kindness and sweet gestures?” That was a new thought for Jesse.

“YES! Last night, Edith and I had a long talk. She wants me to give up the buggy repair business and come help her with those chickens. So I’ll be handing over the buggy business to you.”

“Me?” Me?

“That was the plan, all along. To give you some skills that you could make an honest living out of and turn from your life of crime.”

“But . . .” But, but, but . . .

“NO NEED TO THANK ME, son. Someday, you’ll be doing the same thing for a wayward boy in your own life. And the news gets better. Fern said you’re to move into this apartment over the buggy shop. I think she’s finally warming up to you. Either that, or she wants to keep an eye on you.”

Suddenly Jesse was looking ahead into the terrible future. But one thing he had learned in his sixteen years, sometimes it was wise to bend before the gale. “And keep me straight.”

Hank’s good eye skimmed over Jesse. “Well, that might be too much to expect.” He turned back to the buggy he was working on, then spun around. “Almost forgot. Fern wants you up at the house. She’s got a long list waiting for you.”

“A long list?”

“To ready the farm for the wedding!” He grinned. “Edith thought it was too much to have it at her place, what with her boy Jimmy’s heartless abandonment, so Fern volunteered Windmill Farm. Less than two weeks and she wants this place cleaned from top to bottom. Spick-and-span.”

Again? Jesse thought, scratching his head. It seemed he had just finished doing that very thing.

It was the time of year that Katrina loved the best, October sliding into November. She loved the way the light angled, illuminating valleys she never noticed the rest of the year. Today was a beautiful wedding day for Hank Lapp and Edith Fisher, the sun was overhead in the sky.

Her happy mood was jeopardized after an encounter with the Glick wives, just as she and Andy and Thelma arrived at Windmill Farm. She was helping Andy unhitch the horse when the Glick wives strolled past, looked Katrina up and down with disdain, and one of them said, “Wann’d dich amme schwatze Kessel reibscht, waerscht schwatz.” Rub up against a black kettle and you will become black.

Katrina blanched a little at such a rude remark, irritated to know that people in town had been talking about her. But, she reminded herself, how could they not? Stoney Ridge was a small town. Everybody knew everybody else’s business. She’d been guilty of it herself from time to time. No matter how she felt about it, people were going to talk about her and the baby, at least until some newer and more interesting gossip came along. She kept her head up. She wasn’t going to let those two steal her happiness. And she did feel happy.

After the initial shock of discovering that she was going to have a baby, Katrina decided to focus on the fact that this little one was surely a gift from God. Once she’d made up her mind about that, she couldn’t understand that anybody else might not feel the same way or take longer to reach the same conclusion. She understood the responsibility and challenges that lay before her, but that didn’t stop her from being thrilled by this miracle child.

Bethany waved to her and hurried to the buggy. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Andy squeezed Katrina’s shoulder. “Go on. I’ll finish with the horse.”

As they walked toward the house, Bethany looked at her friend. “What’s up with you two?”

Katrina swayed. “Nothing.” And something. “You look especially happy today.”

She grinned and lifted her chin toward the house. “I got a letter from Jimmy Fisher.”

“He didn’t come back for his own mother’s wedding?” She knew Bethany had hoped this event might draw him home.

“He just got a job and couldn’t leave.” She rolled her eyes. “As a cowboy.” She leaned closer to Katrina. “He wants me to come to Colorado.”

“Are you going to go?”

“I told him I would only go as a married woman. I’m no fool.” Her eyes dropped to Katrina’s midriff, and she gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Katrina. Please forgive me.”

“You’re right. I was a fool. No longer.” She looped her arm through Bethany’s. “All is forgiven.”

Katrina’s gaze took in all the women, gathered in clusters in front of the house, at the men who gravitated toward the barn, the children who played in the yard, and then went beyond. A thousand times her eyes and heart must have taken in such a scene. It was all the same and so was she. She hadn’t changed at all, not at all.

After the very long wedding ceremony, everyone enjoyed a traditional wedding lunch of turkey and celery roasht, potato salad, chow chow, coleslaw, pickled beets, four-bean salad, applesauce, sweet rolls, every jam imaginable, pies, cookies, and cake. And punch.

Freeman Glick said it was the best punch he ever had, and that his wife should be sure to get the recipe. Jesse, being the kind and thoughtful fellow that he was, a true servant, made sure that Freeman’s glass was never empty.

Meanwhile, a rumor started to circulate among the older boys that someone—no one knew whom, though Luke Schrock’s name was tossed about—had spiked the punch with vodka.

Freeman spent the remainder of the afternoon “resting his eyes” in his buggy, snoring loudly.

After returning home from Hank and Edith’s wedding, Katrina wondered if events like today made Thelma feel sad, aware of her widowhood. As she started to get supper ready, Thelma sat on a chair placed at the kitchen door threshold. There wasn’t room enough for two to work in the shoebox kitchen, so this had become their evening ritual. Thelma would keep Katrina company while she cooked or vice versa.

“Do you miss Elmo terribly?” Katrina asked, mashing up hot potatoes with a fork.

“In many ways, I do. An important part of my life ended when he died. But I must say that it’s not such a bad thing to have the final say-so in my own life. Elmo was a wonderful man and he thought he had my best interests at heart, but he was always keeping things from me. He said it was to protect me, maybe that’s true, but I always thought it had more to do with his mindset that women were meant to cook and clean and bear babies, but we didn’t have the mental hardware to manage more than that.”

Katrina brought her a cup of peppermint tea.

“When Freeman first told me I had to sell my property, in the same tone of voice Elmo would give me at times, something woke up inside of me.” Thelma gave Katrina a mischievous little smile. “I snapped at him and told him I would be making my own decisions from here on out. That shocked him! I don’t think he’s had many women tell him what’s what.” She laughed.

Katrina added hot milk and butter into the mashed potatoes and whipped it all together. What was it about most men? Were they born knowing how to use a certain tone in their voice to make a woman feel foolish and inconsequential while professing to have her best interests at heart? Or did they pick it up from their fathers and older brothers? Katrina’s father had always supported her, made her feel important and capable, but he seemed to be an exception to the general inclinations of his gender.

John had known that certain tone well and had adopted it whenever she had a differing opinion from his. Maybe if he’d encouraged her a little more, maybe she’d have been a little more confident . . . Maybe a lot of things.

But one thing was sure, like Thelma, Katrina had learned how to say no.

She saw Andy stride up to the house for the evening meal, Keeper trotting behind him. She couldn’t help herself from comparing the differences between John and Andy. She never had to say no to Andy because he didn’t push her. She didn’t feel manipulated when she was with him. She knew that he was attracted to her. Many times throughout a day, he would find her wherever she happened to be on the farm. Just checking in to see if she needed help, he would say, but she knew he had missed her. He had a tender way of looking at her, just at her, that tugged at her heart: his smile deepened, his eyes warmed.

She knew Andy would like to kiss her if she’d let him—but after that one time, when she told him no and why, he never tried again. But kissing wasn’t all he wanted. He liked to talk to her too.

John had never been much of a talker. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. He talked plenty, and he was always joking around. At first, she’d liked his lightheartedness; it was a breath of fresh air compared to the sadness that filled her home after her mother’s death. He seemed so upbeat, filled with big ideas, and it was flattering to have an older man like him pursue her.

But looking back, she realized that he never talked about things that mattered. And listening? He never listened to her. It was a one-way conversation. No, hardly even that. It was a monologue.

Andy liked to listen to her ideas about the moss farm. Many times, after supper, he would stay and help her with the dishes, then they would sit in the living room, warmed by the woodstove, and work on plans for expanding Moss Hill. He would take her thoughts seriously, like changing the name of the greenhouse to the mossery. He never referred to it as a greenhouse again, only as the mossery. A small thing, really, and yet it was meaningful to her. He listened.

Now that she thought about it, if she measured it just on word alone, Andy talked considerably less than John ever had. But he managed to say a whole lot more.

On Sunday evenings, Birdy went up to the Big House for supper. She was helping her sisters-in-law in the kitchen when she heard snippets of conversation between Freeman and Levi in the other room. She stood by the doorframe, unnoticed, to listen more closely.

“I never thought we’d be facing this kind of thing,” Levi said.

“No, but I’m not at all surprised,” Freeman said. “David’s far too independent-minded. If we wish to destroy a weed we must pull it up by the roots.” Freeman clapped his hands against his knees. “I’ll make a call to a couple of bishops I’m friendly with—Isaac Fisher in Gap, and Sam Smucker over in Leola. They’ll help get him quieted.”

Birdy gripped her elbows, hugging herself to stifle a sudden chill. This was wrong, what they were planning to do. Wrong and malicious and deceitful. When her brothers noticed she was standing by the door, they abruptly stopped their conversation. Freeman’s gaze swept over her, holding her quiet and still and frightened, and then he smiled. The way he could go from that hard look of a moment ago, his eyes all flat and cold, to the way he was now, warm and friendly. It disturbed her, but she only blinked innocently back. “Supper’s almost ready,” she said in the sweetest tone possible.

All throughout the night, and over the next few days, Birdy wavered about what to do. She felt that familiar pluck in her chest, a need to make sure everyone else was happy. But after she heard her brothers discuss that they were setting into motion the process to have David quieted, she knew the time had come to do something she should have done months ago.

Katrina went into the mossery and found Andy transplanting moss. She smiled at his concentration, the comma of his body arched over the shelf, his precision in placing the gathered moss into the substrate like he was creating a picture of mosaic tiles. His face was nearly perfect in profile—the high brow and angled cheekbones, his strong Roman nose and full lips. So very handsome.

Keeper, curled up by Andy’s feet, scrambled up to meet her, his tail wagging like a flag. Andy straightened. He stared at her for what seemed like forever. She was having a hard time meeting his eyes, the way he looked at her lately. Then came one of those unexpected and dazzling smiles. “Morning.”

All business, she reminded herself. Keep everything all business. “I just received a call from a florist in Lancaster. She wondered if Moss Hill could provide reindeer moss for a wedding this weekend.”

“Well,” he answered, drawing out the word long and slow. “First of all, reindeer moss isn’t a moss, it’s a lichen. And if anyone does provide it for her to use in a wedding, he should be drawn and quartered.”

“Why?”

“It’s endangered in most states. It’s very slow growing, takes thirty to fifty years to recover after it’s been removed or trampled on. Reindeer and caribou rely on it for their winter diet. It’s highly nutritious. They can smell it through the snow and paw down to eat it.”

Katrina put her hand up in the air to stop the lecture. “Thank you, Professor Miller. I’ll tell her that we can’t provide reindeer moss and that she should be ashamed of herself for depriving animals of their winter food.”

He laughed, a soft laugh. “Tell her we’ve got something even better. A specialty moss called Hedwigia. Looks somewhat similar to reindeer moss but she won’t have to feel guilty.”

“She needs two trays by Friday morning.”

“Sounds good. She can even come get them today and put them in the refrigerator for a few days. They’ll keep fresh.”

“I’ll let her know.”

He stared at her again in that intense way he had, his head slightly tilted.

“What? Is there something else you’ve thought of?”

A trace of color rose under his fair skin. “To be perfectly honest, I’m still thinking how much I’d like to kiss you.”

She flushed, looking away. “No.” Yes.

He read her mind and took a step toward her and leaned his head close, but she reacted without thought. “No! You mustn’t.” She put her fingers against his mouth and felt as if she got a spark from touching him, like you might get if you pressed your fingertips to a window during a lightning storm. She took her fingers off his lips the instant she had touched him, but the strange tingly feeling remained. “Andy, any girl in town would be flattered by your attention.”

He backed up a step, studying her as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. “Any girl except you?”

She conceded with a tilt of her head. “Not me. Not right now. It’s not a good time to start something. Not for me, not for you. I think it’s best to stop it before—”

“Right.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “We’re not even involved.”

Yet. She heard the word clearly in his head.

On Saturday morning, David had barely opened the Bent N’ Dent store when Freeman Glick burst in the door. “There’s going to be a Members’ Meeting after church tomorrow.”

“Good morning to you too, Freeman.” David tried not to show any reaction, though he could feel his whole body and soul tense up. “Any particular reason?”

Freeman sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “David, I think you know why we’ve come to this point.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“It’s my duty to inform you that you will be asked to confess your sins before church on Sunday.”

“Which particular sins are those?”

Freeman drew in another deep breath. “Neglecting your children.”

Not controlling them, he meant. Pretending they weren’t separate and unique individuals who had their own journey of faith to discover. “Freeman, have you ever had a herding dog?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“My father raised sheep and always counted on a border collie to help him with the sheep.”

Freeman sighed.

“A smart herding dog never nags or drives or frightens the sheep, never nips at their heels or rushes them. It goes back and forth from the rear, gently guiding the sheep into the fold.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that I’ve always considered it to be an illustration from the natural world of good parenting.”

“Well, maybe that’s the problem right there. You’re letting a dog guide you.” He leaned forward with a sneer. “And just look at the results.”

“Freeman, I don’t deny that Anna was a better disciplinarian than I am. I’m not a perfect father, not by any means. I can certainly confess to making mistakes as a parent. But neglecting my children? That, I don’t agree with.”

“That’s the sin that’s been laid on you.”

That’s the one you can build a case on. David was aware there were a number of rumors circulating around and that he was not held in high regard in the church right now; the balance sheet at the store gave credence to that fact. But Freeman, as bishop, would have the most influence over the Members’ Meeting on Sunday. He’d been trying to get rid of David for a long time now and, at last, he’d found what seemed to be a legitimate way to oust him.

David crossed his arms against his chest. “And just what will happen if I don’t confess to the sin of neglecting my children?”

“Then we will have you quieted.” Freeman strode out of the store, leaving only the sound of the bell ringing on the door.

So. The rumor was true.

That evening, after he read stories to the girls, David worked on his sermon—possibly the last sermon he would ever give. The text for that Sunday would come from the book of Exodus, the life of Moses. He kept sensing a distinct impression: power through weakness. God chose Moses, a man who showed little courage and less wisdom. A man who responded to God’s divine call with five different excuses. A weak man. God used a weak man to shame the strong—Pharaoh and his multitude of armies.

David sat back in his chair and thought of how often that very principle displayed itself throughout Scripture: God’s power operates best in human weakness.

He read, then reread this moment from the book of Exodus, when Moses and the Israelites faced the Red Sea in front of them, Pharaoh’s pursuing army behind them: “And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will shew to you today: for the Egyptians whom ye have seen to day, ye shall see them again no more for ever. The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.”

A wave of understanding washed over David’s mind. This was what the biblical phrase “wait on the Lord” was all about: committing our Red Sea situations to God in prayer, trusting him, and waiting for him to work. God alone could part the waters. And he could hold on to his peace.

He went outside to look at the stars. He lifted his hands toward the night sky, handing to God the outcome of tomorrow’s Members’ Meeting. Again, that one verse of Scripture filled his mind: “The Lord will fight for you and ye shall hold your peace.” A gentle hush of God’s Holy Spirit overtook him and he could hardly speak. He hadn’t felt God’s presence like that in a long, long time.

If Freeman wanted to have David quieted, so be it.