CHAPTER NINE

 

An unseasonably cool snap met Charlotte as she opened the front door.  There were no birds in the sky or even the sound of the wind.  Her brow rushed with uneasiness, as did her gut, for something just didn’t feel right.  The horizon was as blue as her eyes, so she laughed at herself for being worried about nothing.  You’re just nervous because Roy Bender is coming to lunch! She heard Uncle Graham coming down the loft steps and turned to get his opinion on the unusual weather, and he came around the corner with worried eyes. 

“It’s a bad frontal system; the men at the saloon were talking about it last night.  It sparked a twister in Kansas late yesterday evening.”  He snapped his suspenders and sighed.  “It’s going to hit us, and I don’t know who it’ll take with ‘em.  I guess the good Lord knows better than me.”

The wind blew her damp deep yellow locks and the hair dotted up the back of her neck.  “The root cellar is approximately a minute away if you run, and it takes a good thirty seconds to close the metal roof if the wind is fighting it.”

“Looks like you have been a storm chaser,” He ran his hands throw his salt and pepper hair and leaned down over the table.  “Let’s get the extra lanterns just in case we need them.  I’ll go next door to Drakes to make sure that they know about the storm.”

“They were in town yesterday.  I saw them leave; I’m sure that they have heard the news.  Can you help me dig up the potatoes from the hole?”  She smiled and then added, “I could barely pull out enough for a batch of tators and onions.  I know they are three feet deep, but for some reason, I’m not getting very many of them out at a time.”

“You have to make sure to dig in different places around the sheet metal.  When you can’t get any more tators out of one hole, try a couple more times, digging deeper, and if none turn up, then that side is empty.  Refill it with orchard grass, the wooden board and sheet tin and move on to another hole.”

Her sun burnt hands swung over her mouth with embarrassment.  “I just patted the grass back on top.  Will it hurt the potatoes?” 

“Yes it could harm them, girl.  The reason for the layers of orchard grass is to keep them cool, preserved, and the wood and sheet metal is to help preserve them and keep them dark and snug.  The reason the holes are dug against the cellar wall is because it is a steep hill so the water will drain,” he informed, and she became intrigued with the planting of potatoes. 

“I understand.  I’ll go gather them for breakfast, but it might take me a while.”

“That’s fine.  I’ll go out and get the supplies for the fence out of the wagon. The men are supposed to be here in two hours.” He took his straw hat off of the peg on the wall and swung it over his head. “What are you cooking up for us men today?”

She poured him a cup of kaffi and handed it to him.  Take this with you; you’ll need something warm to drink out there.”  She turned and grabbed the large wooden mixing bowl.  “I am fixing Poor Man’s Steak atop thick fried hard wheat pancakes, fried potatoes, and honey pears cooked down with spices and a little brown sugar.”  She wiped lifted her black apron up and wiped her hands on it and eyed her uncle.  “Dessert will be Shoofly Pie.”

He clapped his hands.  “You’ve won your man over.  Every man loves a generous slice of Shoofly Pie!”

She blushed and uttered, “We’ll have to see about that, Uncle Graham.”

He gave that supportive uncle wink and smiled.  The front door closed, and she was still blushing, feeling the heat against the middle of her cheeks.  I can’t mess up the pie.  She grabbed her lavender bonnet and headed outside.  Although the sky appeared normal, there were no birds around, and she kept eyeing her surroundings for any other strange clues. 

She wrinkled her brow and threw her hands on her hips, eyeing the last hole that she’d dug along the step hill that covered the root cellar.  Nervously, she noted that the cellar door looked calm; however, she wondered if it would be like that later when the round of storms came through Indiana. 

Kansas was several hundred miles away, but it still seemed like a side door to Indiana.  Would the storms weaken by the time they got to Bloomington?  She looked up through the sun’s rays. God, please protect us. Wind splashed through the heated light and coldly slapped her in the face, and she closed her eyes and shivered.  There’s still something odd with this weather; something’s just not right.

She reached her navy-covered arms around her back and grabbed the apron strings, pulling them to form a perfect bow.  Finally, she heard a chirping bird and eagerly jerked her head upward in search of the creature.  It was alone, and it circled the tall sycamore tree making rounding circles like a hungry vulture.  I could stand her all day to try to lesson my worry of the weather, and that’s not getting lunch cooked. 

She took the hoe, which she had left by the cellar, and carefully dug a hole opposite the side of the last spot that she had dug.  Were there anymore potatoes under the orchard grass?  Good food couldn’t be wasted. The good Lord knew that some people had no food to eat. She smiled as she recalled that her daed Earl had taught her about scraping your plate clean.  “God likes a hungry person and a waste not person,” he had always told his kinner, and they had all agreed with him.

I found more potatoes in there! She almost jumped for joy when she dug out twelve potatoes, five being quite large, which would be good for baking.  Like her uncle Graham, she loved anything that was either sweet or starchy enough to eventually elevate one’s blood sugar level.  She shyly grinned and turned her back against the farm entrance when she heard the wagon wheels clumping down the lane.  He’s here with the doctor, and I am so excited! She tried hard not to bite her lip, to focus her attention of gathering hearty food for a good afternoon meal.

Her chest released a long sigh and her white teeth slid over her bottom lip, gripping it in the middle as she flipped around, potatoes in hand, to see the doctor and Roy Bender get out of the wagon.  Roy waved for her to come to the buggy as the doctor walked over to Uncle Graham, who had already started on the fence.

“You all made it here.  I am fixing potatoes from last year’s crop and a Shoofly Pie!”  She exclaimed as her eager legs made their way through the dirt and gravel to reach him, her black laced-up boots spinning a quick brown mist. “The weather is odd, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma’am, it is going to be a bad one; it’s coming straight across,” he said, and she got closer and showed him the large potatoes.  “Those are good for baking.  Maybe we can have those for supper Sunday night.  I wanted to take you to the Sunday service to get you used to the fellowship.”

“I’ve never been to any service,” she replied as she leaned up and pressed her lips against his bare chin.  For a moment, she wondered if he’d ever grow a beard, get married, and settle down.  I know I am the one.

“You’d look handsome with a beard.  I think that I may be able to help make that happen one day,” she smiled and reached up and ran her fingers across his smooth skin, and he looked down at her eyes as if he loved every minute of the attention.

“I need to help the men with the fence.  I’m making you a thin New York steak and brown gravy for Sunday dinner, and then I want to go over some doctrine with you.  I know that you’ve been sheltered, and I want to make sure that you’re not confused; the bishop asked me to do this because he’s gone to Fort Wayne for a wedding.” He reached down and lightly tapped his lips against hers. “He’s very excited about your choosing God’s way over the shiny lights and glimmer of New York.”

“I have to give my dresses up,” she hung her head, and he leaned closer and took his hand and tilted her chin up. She smiled but drew half a frown before tearing up.

“Kathy was your mother, but she chose the fast lane.  You can too, but I want no part in it.  If you court me, you have to believe what we believe,” he smiled and then pointed toward Heaven.  “Put Him first and me second.  Do you think that you can do that?”  The wind dangled the light brown ends of his straw hat and she became nauseous. 

She nodded, her stomach flipping several times as she swallowed the lump in her throat.  God, what have I done?  I am fixing to dedicate my life to a man?  How did this happen? She wanted to close her eyes and keep them shut and scold herself for moving too fast, but he was standing there looking at her, and although she knew that it was wrong to lead him on, she accepted his request because she had felt so unworthy and piteous during their earlier interactions in town and at his cabin.  Do women sometimes make the wrong choice just so they can feel accepted: to avoid rejection? 

God, I am going to get to know you better, so please help me keep the commitment that I am fixing to make. “He’s everything to me. That’s it: he is the center of my world.

His mouth slowly curved and he took his finger and ran it under each of her eyes to wipe the tears away. “I’m holding you to that promise and so is our God.”  He leaned down and kissed her, melting his lips into hers, and he thought that her lips tastes better than anything that they’d ever touched.  He held her chin and gazed into her eyes, “I’m down on my knees along in the open countryside, pioneering it, just me and God.  You’ll make a fine addition.  Hope you’ve got some good knees.  You’ll need them!”

His words panicked her, for she had mostly prayed to go through her upstairs bedroom window.  Had she been ungrateful, unfaithful to not kneel as often as she should?  God, you’ve given me a cowboy- an Amish Christian one. WOW!  I think that I might faint.

“Go cook us some dinner.  I’ll be hungry when we get done.”

A light kiss and short embrace and he made his way to the area by one of the barns where the men were working with the fence.  He rubbed his lip across his top and bottom lip and told himself that she was the one. 

He had to admit that a woman so eager to get his attention surely was fearless, and although she appeared fragile and indecisive, he knew that was only a front, a mold that the prejudice townspeople had taught her: that she would “break’ on the outside world, and that it was okay to cross that English line and mingle; it was not, and he knew that she knew it.  He admired a woman that had the faith to wear a kapp and correct her past errors before the Lord. 

The extra lantern hung from her free hand as she climbed down the loft stairs; a bad storm, one which had wreaked havoc in Kansas was beating down a path of destruction, headed their way later in the day.  They would be prepared.  Lanterns, candles, an extra pitcher of spring water for the root cellar. No storm would catch her family off guard. She lit the crème-colored candles and studied the table.  Where would her new man sit?  Uncle Graham always sat from her at mealtimes.  Her daed had always sat at the top of the table.  Would he be okay sitting there?

A delicate white place-setting, rimmed in slender lavender lilacs, was carefully placed for each guest, and she looked out the window to see if the sky was still blue: it was a beautiful baby blue.  A little sunshine for our noon meal; that’s good for lively chatter, and I can see my new man’s eyes as he tries out my baking and cooking skills. I hope that he likes my food.

The black cast iron skillet was grabbed and placed onto the back burner of the wood burning stove.  Grabbing the bowl of potatoes, she separated the larger ones, which would be used for baking chive-sour cream potatoes, and placed them on the corner of the kitchen counter. Mamm would never like the counter cluttered. Her deep peach face appeared happy, an upward curve started from cheek to cheek.  It was her kitchen now, and it looked like she was already doing things differently than her perfectly-organized mother, and it felt good, like a sense of identity, that of an independent woman. 

The potatoes were peeled, sliced thinly round, and tossed into the hot grease.  The canned Poor Man’s Steak was popped open and tosses in a medium cooking pot.  The sweet fragrance from the honey pears teased her palate, but will-power to wait and enjoy their locally-grown delicacy overrode her hungry stomach. 

A wonderful combination of sweet spices pushed its way out of the oven of the black stove and made her sweet tooth dance.  All burners are busy, and the Shoofly Pie is almost done.  I hope he likes my cooking.

After thirty minutes, it was time to fry the hard wheat pancakes.  Her family had always eaten Poor Man’s Steak on hard wheat pancakes, and her mother believed that the cakes should be thick and cooked perfectly golden brown.  Her heart dropped; this was the first time that she’d eat this family-favorite meal without her sister Lola and her mamm Pearl.  Her head leaned over the sink and fought back tears, and if it hadn’t been for the more strong feeling of butterflies in her stomach, she probably would have broken down and wept.  In a way, Roy Bender was a Godsend, a good, strong distraction from the world of chaos that she’d been thrown into this past summer, and she hoped that he’d continue to keep her mind and heart busy.

Her fingers pushed the hard wheat berries into the grinder to grind it into good flour.  Every so often, her eyes nervously darted out the kitchen window. God, you protected me and this haus when I couldn’t go to the root cellar; please have mercy and protect us from this violent storm this evening even though I can make it to the safe cellar this time.

The front door swung open and the eyes of three hungry men came walking in scanning the kitchen stove and counter in search of the delicious food that had tempted their nostrils and then their empty stomachs. 

“I am frying the hard wheat pancakes for the Poor Man’s Steak right now,” Charlotte announced as she walked over and took their coats and hats and leaned up to place them on the pegs beside the door.

“That’s nice knitting work, Charlotte; is it for your treatments?”  Roy asked as he walked over and ran his hand across one of the orchard grass-colored ones.  He admired the tight loops and perfect snugness of the mitten.

“They are going to be donated,” she replied as she took the hard wheat pancake batter and poured it into a large circle in the greased cast iron skillet. “The Louisville School for the Blind will get them. It’s part of my giving back; God’s led me to do it.”

The tanned wells under Roy’s eyes filled with tears, and it embarrassed him, for a strong man like him, with millions in the bank, half of it given to him by his billionaire copper heiress friend, Claudia-Janine when she’d passed away, was used to having no emotions during hard times; he’d always been straight, to the point, and actually downright unsympathetic.  My life is changing. He was right, for this past summer had come with more sympathy, compassion, and attentive listening than he’d had in his whole life.  Much to his shock, he’d even volunteered to teach school at Walnut Creek for a month while his brother had surgery, and he was due to leave Monday morning. 

“Roy, you may have a seat at the head of the table where my daed uses to sit’ Doctor Bronson, you may sit to his left, and Uncle Graham and I will take our usual seats across from each other,” she gleamed as she placed the heaping piping-hot plate of hard wheat pancakes in the middle of the table.  The large bowl of Poor Man’s Steak came next, and the dish of cooked tiny honey pears, laced with brown sugar and spices, was set to the left of the steak.  Finally, Roy’s favorite: a dish of hearty fried potatoes was placed on the table. 

Roy’s mouth watered, and he studied her hospitality, her attentiveness to them, and he concluded that she would be serving many a meal to his traveling guests and to his kinner.

I’m going to have to keep the business separate because I don’t think that she likes my business etiquette. It scares her.  He was right, and he knew it, for he’d been watching her head drop, her chubby, cherry-tasting lips suddenly curve downward when he’d be business-like with her.  He couldn’t wait to see her reaction during their first week at homesteading; for he was the total opposite around those that he was close to; he was laid back, attentive, and even chatty, and he had an eye for romance: the fresh-picked pastel bouquet of flowers, the delicate chocolates from his best supplier in New York, and relaxing lavender bubble bath salts from France.  She wasn’t after any of this like the earlier girlfriends; she was after him and not what he could provide for her.  It felt good, rewarding, to have someone like her.

“I think that it would be fitting for Mr. Bender to say the afternoon blessing for the meal,” Uncle Graham looked at him, and he nodded, and everyone solemnly and gratefully bowed their heads, all while a destructive storm, one that would make Bloomington’s history books, thumped across the earth and forced its way over the Indiana state line.

******

 

Roy Bender folded the dress pants and placed them neatly in the black suitcase.  He’d been a member of the Walnut Creek Old Order Amish for years, and he’d never questioned his faith in God.  However, he was now realizing that he’d been bitter toward his grandmother for not letting him read his grandfather’s secret journal. His tanned hands ran across the extra pair of suspenders that his New York friend had given him.  Had he gotten too close to the Englisch, and were they party to blame for his grandfather’s secret downward spiral, for he’d spent his early years, right up to the day that his oldest child turned sixteen and joined the church, traveling to sell wares. 

You gave me your headache, grandfather. A cold anger rushed through him, turning to a bitter cold snap across his face.  He’d turned into the person that he had so much detested, and he was glad that God had sent a beautiful woman who could look past the profit and loss statements and into his heart.  There would be no secret journals for him, and that made him happy.  He looked up to the ceiling and imagined God’s caring face, “Make me the opposite of my grandfather, even if you have to take everything away. Charlotte will move me even if we have to pray to put food on the table.  She is fearless.”  His eyes stay shut, his heart merging with the warm, Fatherly comfort from God.  He was a changed man…he was in love.

The banging on the door was fast and furious, alarming him from his meditation.  He made his way through the hallway of the cabin and crossed to the front door.  It was his neighbor’s son, Matthew Troyer, and he wore a worried look.

Roy wondered what could be wrong as he turned the door handle to let him in.  Could the baby’s fever have gotten worse?  He knew that Mr. Troyer was away with the bishop for a wedding in Fort Wayne, so it could have been a possibility that his wife had asked her son to go get a neighbor. 

“Five-hundred are dead and several cities are leveled, people trapped inside!” Matthew spoke nervously and turned to look past the cabin’s front porch to view the shape of the clouds.  “It looks pretty normal now, but I don’t know how it will be in two hours.”

“It’s going to hit us in two hours?” Roy asked as he leaned into the doorway.  “I guess the God Lord will protect us.  If he takes us, he takes us, and if he doesn’t, it means we have a purpose, a mission to accomplish.  Did you get all of your corn put up?”

“We got half of it put up.  My brother was a little slow today.  How are you and the Miller girl doing?”

“We built a fence for her chickens today.  She is harvesting her honey pear trees next week.  They are loaded with the sweetest, most beautiful little pears.  Her peaches look good too.  She’ll be able to pay for a whole treatment from sale of her orchard fruit.”

“That’s good.  I’m going back over to the house.  Come join us if the storm gets worse.”

“I sure will, Matthew.  I appreciate your taking the time to warn me.”

Matthew nodded and drew a wide smile, “Anytime.  That’s what neighbors are for, Roy.”

******

 

 

“Can you feel your legs Uncle Graham?”  Charlotte sobbed as she leaned over and looked into her uncle’s frail face.  He had to feel his legs; he had to be okay. He had to live.  “Did the storm get your house?” His tone was weak, his breathing shallow.

She wept harder and leaned her head onto his broad chest.  “I don’t care about the house.  I care about you.  What the tornado took can be replaced but you can’t be replaced, Uncle Graham!”

“I stopped drinking for you.  Tell the doctor to get a Preacher now.”  He uttered, his face turning an ash color.

She didn’t ask him why he needed a preacher.  She didn’t even comprehend that he’d just said that he’d stopped drinking for her.  Her mind was on carrying him out of the doctor’s office.  “I’ll go tell him.  Please move your legs while I’m gone into the other room.”

Charlotte, there’s a letter in your parent’s room in the bureau drawer.  If the house is left standing, you need to read it.  Make sure that Roy’s with you.”

She became confused, but she didn’t want to question his behavior at a time like this, so she ran into the next room where Doctor Bronson was leaning over a brown metal folding chair talking with Reverend Smith, a Baptist Preacher in Bloomington.  Both men looked concerned, their minds heavy.

The Preacher stood up as she entered the room, and the doctor followed and extended his arm out as to take her in his arms.  The doctor gently held her and announced, “The Reverend wants to meet with your uncle to make sure that he’s ready to go be with the Lord.”

Charlotte jerked out of his arms, stomped her feet and screamed, “I won’t be planning a third funeral.  Lola and my mother left way too early.  It won’t happen again.  He extended his arms around her again as the Reverend came running into the room. 

“Come quick, Charlotte!” The Reverend snapped before turning and leading them into the room.

Uncle Graham lay fighting for air, his eyelids sunk in and his skin a bluish hue.  He finally opened his eyes halfway and said, “Forgive me, Charlotte.  I’m not perfect, but I’m going to meet the Lord, and I’m going without a drop of whiskey on my person.  I am your father, not your uncle, and Kathy is your mother. You were switched at birth because Pearl Miller’s infant daughter was born dead while my wife lay cradling two beautiful twins in the other room.  She decided to share the joy of having a child.  I’ve never been Amish, and John C. Brow sits in jail accused of the crime streak that I executed out.  I am the bank robber, and I shot the US Marshall from the upstairs bedroom.”

“You’re the bank robber?”  Charlotte was in shock, and the doctor and Roy Bender were, too, for the whole town thought that John C. Crow was the bank robber.

His breathing decreased, his words drawn out,”  What Earl and Pearl Miller and you have showed me is the kind, gentle love and forgiveness that God must have, and I, being the most wanted man in America, thought that I would never say this, but I do today: I want to follow that Man on the cross at Calvary.  Thank you for forgiving me for the hair tonic accident; it was the only way that the doctor could keep you sheltered from the town gossip.  You don’t have a disease.  It was all made up.” He briefly coughed, and then he took his last breath.  The tornado had just claimed victim number five-hundred and one, and he would be solely missed.

The doctor led her to the front office area, had her to sit down on the couch, and put a cool cloth on her forehead.  He ran her hand over her face and said, “I am sorry Charlotte, but we were all covering ourselves, and along the way, more lies were told, and then we all become confused about what was really going on.  You don’t have an illness at all.”

“This is crazy!  Totally rubbish!”  She didn’t know what to believe except that she would be on the first train to Walnut Creek.  She’d volunteer to teach school even if Roy Bender didn’t come along.  She’d been abandoned and humiliated, and it kept getting worse and worse, as did the lies that they had been telling, so she had to leave now.