CHAPTER
six

Immediately after the ride around Hickory Hollow, Sylvia walked to Aendi Ruthann’s to purchase three dozen fresh eggs. It felt good to get out for some exercise after being cooped up in the buggy during Adeline’s tour of the area. Goodness, Sylvia had learned things her father hadn’t ever bothered to tell her. She wondered if even Mamma knew some of what Dat had shared about his first wife and how he fought to save the marriage.

On the way home from her aunt’s, the sun beat mercilessly on Sylvia’s neck and arms, and she wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her forearm. Nearing the house, she prayed silently, Please let Mamma be alone in the kitchen when I get back.

Walking briskly now, she noticed the purple martins flying in and out of the tall white birdhouse Dat had built and erected years ago. To this day, she often wondered how birds could fly from their nest and return to the same spot to lay their own eggs a year later. “God puts a homing device in their brains,” Dat had once told her when she was a little girl.

Contemplating this, it struck her that God must have also given Adeline a sort of homing device to find her biological father. Outsiders didn’t just happen onto Hickory Hollow; they had to know it existed.

As she neared the house, Mamma burst out the back door, waving a rag into the air.

“Was in der Welt?”

“Just gettin’ rid of a big spider,” Mamma said. “And I mean big.”

Sylvia disliked spiders, too. Farm girl though she was, she was not happy when they managed to creep into the house. “It didn’t bite ya, I hope,” Sylvia said, stepping onto the back porch.

“Ach, I’m all right.”

They headed inside together, and as Sylvia put away the cartons of eggs, she asked, “Are the boys around?”

“Ernie and Adam are harvesting sweet corn.”

“What ’bout Calvin and Tommy?”

“Picking cucumbers and squash. And Adeline’s spending some time in the spare room, looking at our copy of Martyrs Mirror.”

“She’s interested in Anabaptist history?” Sylvia was rather surprised. She went to the sink to lather up her hands.

“Seems so. She was practicing her stitching on the back porch when ya left to get the eggs, though,” Mamma said.

She might also be texting her family or her fiancé, Sylvia thought, thinking how handy it would be to communicate with Titus whenever she wished. But as cell phones weren’t permitted for any purpose but business, Sylvia dismissed that fleeting notion as fanciful.

Mamma eyed her soberly. “I know ya, daughter. Somethin’s on your mind.”

Sylvia nodded, drying her hands. “Dat seems more talkative than usual. Have ya noticed?”

“Jah.”

Sighing, Sylvia said, “He hasn’t talked that much in months now.”

Mamma frowned as she opened the fridge. “What’re ya sayin’, dear?”

She felt foolish, now that her thoughts were out in the open. “Ach, I don’t know. . . .”

Looking baffled, Mamma closed the fridge without taking anything out. “Your Dat’s just being friendly to Adeline, exactly as he should be.”

It’s confusing, Sylvia thought. All the years I’ve tried to get him to open up about his former life without scarcely a word . . .

“I know it’s unsettling and will take some time to get used to, but it appears that Adeline’s your father’s flesh and blood.” Mamma opened the fridge yet again and set out two heads of chilled lettuce, some radishes, carrots, and tomatoes. “And that makes Adeline yours, too, Sylvie.”

“Honestly, she doesn’t seem like kin to me.” Sylvia opened the drawer for a white work apron.

“That will take time. This isn’t easy for any of us, your brothers included.”

Sylvia pondered that. “Is it easy for you, Mamma?”

“Showin’ kindness to others is the right thing to do. The Lord instructs us about that in the Good Book.”

“But Dat’s Amish . . . and Adeline’s worldly. An outsider.”

Mamma nodded. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t get acquainted with the daughter he never knew.” She took down her big wood block and then spun around the lazy Susan, looking for her favorite chopping knife. Finding it, she began to cut up the heads of lettuce.

Sylvia glanced out the window, uncertain how to explain what she was feeling, even to Mamma. The conversation between Dat and Adeline during the carriage ride continued to replay in her memory.

“Remember, dear, that life is full of unexpected distress,” Mamma said. “And ofttimes trials, too. This isn’t easy for me, either, but I’m learning that it’s not what comes our way that matters so much as it is how we react. Our heavenly Father is always with us. We’re never alone.” She went on to say that, from what she could tell, Adeline might have needed to come to Hickory Hollow. “Only the Good Lord knows for what reason. I’m sure, though, that she’s still sufferin’ from the loss of her mother.” Mamma shook her head mournfully as she continued to chop. “I can’t begin to imagine facing a grief like that at such a young age.”

Now Sylvia felt terrible for bringing any of this up. Mamma was right—Adeline had to be carrying a deep sorrow within her.

Washing the radishes and then the tomatoes, Sylvia considered what Mamma had said. But it didn’t change how she felt about Dat’s sudden openness.

Later, when Adeline came into the kitchen carrying their large volume of Martyrs Mirror, Sylvia greeted her. “Mamma says you made lots of practice stitches today.”

“I did.” Adeline glanced at Mamma and returned the book to its spot on the corner cupboard. “All pretty amateur-looking ones. So I’m hoping for a breakthrough this afternoon.”

Mamma opened the oven and checked on the roast, then looked over her shoulder at Adeline. “You’ll get better in time.”

“Patience, determination, and practice,” Adeline said, parroting one of Mamma’s pet phrases.

“Wunnerbaar-gut,” Mamma said with a smile.

Adeline offered to set the table, which Mamma agreed to with a bob of her head. “Sylvia, do you mind if I ask how old you were when you learned to sew?” Adeline went to the utensil drawer and opened it.

Unsure, Sylvia looked at her mother. “Do you remember, Mamma?”

“Just four when I put a needle in your hand,” Mamma said, a fond expression on her face.

Adeline shook her head in apparent wonder. “Four?”

“Well, round here, we teach our girls to sew and mend, and cook and clean, as soon as they can hold a needle or a broom,” Mamma said, stirring the simmering beans on the stove. “Some of the little girls are helpin’ dry dishes at three or younger.”

“That is young,” Adeline murmured, walking slowly to the table with a handful of utensils, as if lost in thought.

Sylvia blinked, amused. She’s unquestionably an Englischer, she thought.

After the kitchen was spotless again following the noon meal, it was impossible for Sylvia not to notice how attentively Dat was regarding Adeline’s efforts to sew straight stitches, out there on the porch. Perhaps he was at a loss for what to do with himself on a day he would normally have been at market selling his beautiful clocks to tourists and local customers.

Dat had actually pulled up a chair to sit beside Mamma as she worked with Adeline and prompted her from time to time on things like the needle’s position or the proper use of the thimble—all actions that were second nature to Sylvia. Trying to mind her own business and finish her mending, Sylvia wouldn’t fret about the fact that she had no memory of her father ever sitting to watch her sew. She sighed, frustrated, and reminded herself of what Mamma had said earlier: Adeline hadn’t wished for this awkward situation, and it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t known her natural father all of her life. Of course Dat’s going to pay close attention to her while she’s here, Sylvia decided.

Later, when the sun had moved around to the west side of the porch, Sylvia offered to go in and get some cold water for everyone. “We also have some homemade lemonade,” she suggested, aware of the intense heat.

“Water’s fine for me, thanks,” Adeline said. And Mamma said the same.

Dat, however, requested lemonade, just as Sylvia figured he would. He likes sweet drinks.

Once inside, Sylvia opened the cupboard for clean tumblers. As she did so, she heard one of her brothers cry out, sounding panicked.

Going to see about all the racket, Sylvia saw Tommy flying up the back steps to the porch, hollering that they needed some ice for Ernie. “He’s lyin’ on the ground in the garden!” Tommy told Dat and Mamma.

O Lord, please help my brother! Sylvia prayed, hurrying back to the kitchen to put some ice into a plastic bag.

———

Earnest got up immediately and ran with Tommy, thinking Ernie must be overcome with heat. The boys had probably lost track of time, out there picking the corn. . . .

Tommy scurried along, keeping up with Earnest’s long strides. “Will he be all right, Dat?”

“We must get him hydrated and cooled down right away,” Earnest said as they hurried to the large garden plot, where they found Ernie sitting up now with Adam’s help, soil stuck to his black trousers and pale blue shirt. His eldest son looked awful red in the face. “Son?” He went to him, crouching to touch Ernie’s forehead while the other boys looked on. Earnest reached for the bucket Calvin and Adam had brought from the well.

“Sis mer kotzerich,” Ernie said, holding his stomach and hunching forward. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Sylvia came running with ice, which Earnest added to the well water before pouring it over Ernie’s arms and hands. Then, when Ernie was ready, he gently poured the remaining water on his son’s head and neck and back.

Drenched to the skin, Ernie coughed, still looking sick.

“Let’s get you to the house,” Earnest said, helping him to stay upright. Though unsteady on his feet, Ernie managed okay.

Now Rhoda and Adeline appeared, too, staying back to give Earnest and Ernie some space.

“Have him sit in the shade, and I’ll run an’ get an ice pack for his head,” Rhoda suggested.

Ernie nodded, and Earnest had him put an arm around Adam’s and Earnest’s shoulders, one on either side, as they slowly made their way across the yard and over to the large tree near the walkway to the clock shop. Once there, the three of them lowered themselves onto the cool grass. Tommy followed and sat down in the shade, too, eyes on Ernie, whose soaked hair stuck to his head.

Promptly, Rhoda came with the ice pack and placed it on the back of his neck, sitting on the ground next to him, looking very concerned. For several minutes, she continued to turn the ice pack, at one point placing it right on his head.

His color is returning to normal, thought Earnest, relieved as Ernie slowly sipped some of the water that Rhoda had brought him.

Rhoda fanned herself with the hem of her black apron—in this humidity, perhaps more out of nerves than because of any hope for cooling. Even Adeline looked quite worried. Something about her concerned expression touched Earnest deeply as he used his straw hat to fan his eldest son’s face.

A few minutes later, a carriage rumbled into the driveway, and Earnest turned to see Rhoda’s brunette niece Alma Yoder in the driver’s seat.

Quickly, Sylvia ran to greet her. “Kumme, join us,” Earnest heard Sylvia say as Alma walked with Sylvia to the shade tree and sat down.

Seeing Adeline there in the midst of his family, all of them gathered around Ernie, something tugged at Earnest’s heartstrings, and he hoped she might indeed decide to stay longer, if only just another day or so.