22

Maggie stared at the bottle of pills her father had spent his hard-earned money for.

She wished she could will away her uncertainty about starting yet another experiment. If she took the pills and nothing happened, like every other time, wouldn’t she become disheartened again? Then again, if she actually got well, might this be God’s way of healing her?

She contemplated the latter, really wanting to adopt an optimistic outlook. Like Aunt Nellie would if she were in my shoes. But after so many unsuccessful attempts at treatment over the past years, Maggie was skeptical.

Following evening prayers and family Bible reading, she slipped away to the kitchen and turned on the faucet to fill the tumbler half full, then opened the pill bottle, having read the directions on the back: Take one twice a day, twelve hours apart.

“I may as well start tonight,” she murmured, opening her mouth.

Just then, Grace appeared in her pastel pink cotton duster. “You’re talkin’ to yourself again,” she said, opening the cupboard door and reaching for a tumbler, too.

“And you must be thirsty.” Maggie took a sip of water and swallowed the pill.

“It’s so hot upstairs, I thought of comin’ downstairs to sleep.”

“Want to?”

“Would ya mind?” Grace looked hopeful.

Maggie hesitated, then said, “Not at all.” But the damage was done.

“Are ya worried I might bump ya?”

“You’ll be careful, I’m sure,” Maggie replied, knowing that to say more would hurt her sister’s feelings.

But Grace could read her pretty well. “On second thought, I’d rather sweat it out upstairs than risk that.”

“Ach, Gracie—”

“I mean it,” Grace interrupted, carrying her water to the kitchen table and taking a spot on the side near the open windows. “I’m wide-awake,” she said. “Want to sit with me a while?”

“Sure, I’ll just get my cushion.”

“Nee . . . I’ll go an’ get it for ya.” Grace scurried off to Maggie’s bedroom, then rushed right back. “There, that’ll be better.”

“Denki.” Maggie wondered if Grace had heard about these new pills, so she said, “I started takin’ something different than aspirin for my pain.”

Grace looked surprised. “Something Rachel dreamed up?”

“Why would ya think that?”

“Oh, she sometimes has a way of pushin’ her nose into things.”

Maggie thought about that but wasn’t sure she agreed. “Rachel’s comin’ along, I think. Don’t you?”

“Maybe . . .”

Maggie didn’t feel at liberty to reveal that it was Jimmy Beiler who’d first mentioned the pills to her. “Well, I will say that this is probably the last time I’m gonna try a newfangled product. I get my hopes up, and then they come fallin’ down.”

“It’s up to you, isn’t it, since you’re eighteen now?”

Maggie didn’t agree. “As long as I’m livin’ under Dat’s roof, that really ain’t true.”

Grace took a long drink of cold water. “S’pose you’re right, but you went off to those meetings with Luke and Lila that time, without askin’.”

Maggie acknowledged that. “I regret it. And made it right with Dat, too.”

Grace nodded. “I should’ve known ya would.” She rose and walked back to the pantry and brought out a box of crackers. “Are ya hungry?”

“I rarely am this time of night.” Maggie wondered if there was something more on Grace’s mind.

Grace opened the box anyway and took several crackers. “Am I keepin’ you up?”

“Nee, not if ya have somethin’ you wanna talk about.”

“But I’m sure you’re tired.” Grace rose again and asked to see the pill bottle. “If it’s all right.”

Maggie handed it to her, glad to have this opportunity to talk about it, knowing Grace would keep it to herself.

I wouldn’t want my younger siblings asking every few minutes if I’m feeling better yet, Maggie thought. “I’m fairly sure Rachel knows, ’cause Dat bought them, but I’d rather the rest of the family not. Let’s just keep it ’tween us. The younger ones might just get their hopes up if they know.”

“Like you have before.” Grace’s words seemed to hang in the air.

“But this time, I’m putting my faith and hope in the Great Physician.”

Grace looked solemn there in the flickering lantern light. “I daresay you’re a stronger person than I’ll ever be.”

Maggie thought of the verse Glenn had shared with her. My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. “When we are weak, we can trust Christ to make us strong,” she said softly.

Grace agreed. “I need to remember that.” She smiled, then outened the lantern.

They said good-night and returned to their separate bedrooms.

Bees swarmed in the flower garden around the summer phlox Mamm had planted years ago, as Maggie headed outdoors with her cane a little after eleven-thirty the next morning. Leroy had already hitched up for Dat to drive over to the mill with her and was waiting to help her into the family carriage.

Maggie glanced at the sky. “It’s sure a nice, clear day for workin’ on the new stable,” she remarked.

“It’s a gut day for getting my nose sunburnt, that’s what.” Leroy chuckled as he pushed down on the crown of his straw hat, then offered a hand so she could climb into the buggy.

“Denki for helpin’ me.”

Leroy bobbed his head. “Thought I’d surprise Dat by hitchin’ up, too.” He glanced toward the stable, more than halfway built now.

She stuck her neck out. “I take it ya didn’t mention to Dat who I was sittin’ with at Betsy’s yesterday.” Maggie hoped she sounded less concerned than she felt.

Leroy smiled then. “That there fella seemed harmless enough.”

“Well, I did tell Dat that I ran into Glenn and his mother,” Maggie said. “It was just a coincidence—they were out sight-seeing.”

“That Glenn’s real freindlich, ain’t so?” Leroy observed.

She nodded. If her brother had seen Glenn greet her after one of the tent meetings, Leroy would know this for certain. But she didn’t need to add firewood to his curiosity.

Then, seeing their father head to the pump to wash his arms and hands, she quietly thanked Leroy for not making a mountain out of yesterday’s impromptu encounter.

“Just have yourself a nice time at the mill . . . with your English friends,” Leroy said with a sly smile.

“Well now, I will,” she said, laughing.

Three vehicles were parked outside when Dat pulled into the parking area next to the old gristmill. The trees on the south side of the small lot shimmered in the sunlight, and birds flitted back and forth, calling merrily.

“I appreciate this,” Maggie told her father as she got out of the buggy. Stepping down, she momentarily winced, though she felt happy at the thought of seeing Glenn and his delightful mother, Esther, again. Their family has done so much to bring the gospel into our community.

Taking her father’s arm, Maggie walked to the door and entered, immediately aware of the rhythmic rumble and clatter of the moving machinery powered by the waterwheel outside.

It wasn’t long before Glenn and his mother arrived. Dat let them in through the mill’s Dutch door and shook hands with Glenn. He introduced himself, then joked that he was “a man who keeps his nose to the grindstone.”

Glenn chuckled, and his mother smiled as Maggie welcomed them inside, as well.

“What’re ya most interested in seeing?” Dat asked them.

Glenn deferred to his mother, who said she appreciated simply being permitted to look around. “I’ve seen waterwheels close up, but not the interior of a working mill,” Esther said.

“Well, I’ll be glad to show ya what I do all day,” Dat said.

Maggie was pleased at how cordial he was, even though he likely wasn’t keen on encouraging her acquaintance with the son and wife of the man making headlines in the Lancaster papers.

When the last of the already cleaned grain had been sent through the center of the millstones to be sifted, Dat directed the other workers to halt the process.

“It’s so fine!” Esther exclaimed, evidently surprised at the quality of the flour as it went through the large sifter before dropping into the bin.

Once the machinery ceased its motion, Dat led them over to the enormous quartz stone and demonstrated the process of dressing, or sharpening it. “It can take up to three days to dress a set of stones,” he mentioned.

Next, her father showed how they adjusted the studs and checked the texture of the flour. “Something I do pretty often during the process—all day long, really.” He chuckled before adding, “It’s the same old grind, ya know!”

It was plain to see that Dat was enjoying himself.

At the end of the tour, Maggie went with the Brubakers to look at the wheat flour and cornmeal packaged for sale in white paper bags, the name of the mill printed on them.

After Esther had looked around and asked several more questions, Dat led them back outdoors. Maggie walked with Glenn, who held the door for them, seemingly pleased about the tour. He thanked Dat for his time, and Esther reached to squeeze Maggie’s hand. “Lord bless you,” she said, eyes sparkling.

When Maggie glanced up, she saw Jimmy Beiler sitting in the lot in his father’s market wagon, looking her way. He waved, and she swallowed hard, wondering what he was thinking at the sight of her and her father talking so animatedly with two Englischers.

“The tour was very informative,” Esther was saying. “You’re so thoughtful, Maggie, to arrange it for us.”

“Yes, thank you both again,” Glenn said.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable with Jimmy still parked there, Maggie waved to the Brubakers as they got in their car. They backed up slowly, the tires crunching over the pebbles on the dirt lane as they waved again through the windows.

The minute they were gone, Jimmy hopped down from the wagon. “Nice to bump into ya here, Maggie,” he said, walking up to her.

“I rarely come over anymore,” she admitted, looking down at her cane and feeling self-conscious.

Jimmy’s black work trousers were a bit grubby, no doubt from the smithy’s shop, and for some reason, his green short-sleeved shirt made his eyes look bluer. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked in the direction where Glenn’s car kicked up dust as it exited toward the paved road. “Do ya know those folk?” Jimmy asked, returning his gaze to her.

“Jah, for just a short time.” She left out who they were, or that she’d gone to the tent meetings. Dat would likely want that kept quiet, so she didn’t broadcast it. “They were curious to see a workin’ mill,” she told him, her heart still thrumming. Oh, if only she could just talk normally to Jimmy!

“And your father showed them around?”

She nodded, wishing Jimmy would just go in and do what he’d come for.

“S’pose you’re headed home now,” he said, his smile inquisitive. That same remarkable smile had caught her attention so long ago.

“The new stable’s comin’ along nicely,” she said, looking for her father, who must have gone back into the mill for something. “But I’m sure Dat needs to return soon.”

In a moment, her father poked his head out the door. “I need to talk to the boss for a while, Maggie,” he said. “Say, Jimmy, would ya mind runnin’ Maggie home?”

Her stomach did a flip-flop.

“Glad to,” Jimmy replied. “Maggie?” He turned to offer her his arm.

What on earth? Her heart pounded as she went with him to the wagon.

“Here, I’ll help ya in.” He boosted her up like she weighed no more than a feather.

Fortunately, Maggie found her voice quickly enough to say a quiet Denki before he went to the other side to get into the wagon.

Jimmy didn’t ask how she was feeling; she figured it was apparent. Besides, he saw her every other Sunday during baptismal classes. And of course he was the one who had so thoughtfully mentioned the special supplements to her.

Suddenly eager to tell him about her father’s recent purchase, she said, “I started takin’ those pills ya told me about.”

Jimmy gave her one of his good-natured smiles. “Did ya?”

“They were a surprise from my father.”

“Well, I sure hope they help, Maggie.”

“Denki. I’ll gladly accept hope . . . and prayer,” she said, conscious of the light in his eyes when he looked her way. Blushing at the memory of his strong hands around her small waist as he’d boosted her into the wagon, Maggie wondered if he might be able to guess what she was thinking right now.

Quickly, she looked over toward the horse paddock on the side of the road nearest her and noticed a section of broken fence, which she pointed out to him.

“I noticed that mess on my way to the mill,” Jimmy said. “Do ya know when it happened?”

“There was a windstorm a couple weeks ago.”

“Wonder why I didn’t see it till just today,” he said.

It was such trivial talk, she felt nearly dishonest; there was so much more she wished they might share.

Just then, she glanced down and saw a New Testament on the seat near Jimmy’s side of the wagon. She almost reached to pick it up.

Jimmy seemed to notice. “I take it with me on errands,” he told her. “There’s a lot in the Good Book we don’t hear much about,” he said, a bounce in his voice now. “I like to read passages when I’ve got a chance.”

“I’ve been readin’ from the Gospels quite a lot,” Maggie said.

“Our Lord’s compassion reached out to the sick everywhere He went,” Jimmy said quietly.

In that moment, she felt a kinship with him, knowing that Jimmy, too, had read the same chapters she’d become so attached to.

“I’ve been learnin’ new things,” she admitted.

He looked her way with tender eyes. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, Maggie. All right?”

She suddenly felt wistful and wondered why he hadn’t spoken of Deborah, then worried she was overstepping her bounds.

“I appreciate it,” she said. More than you know.

“It’s the least I can do.” He smiled.

When they turned into her lane, Jimmy halted his horse adjacent to the side door, and Maggie thanked him for bringing her home. “It sure was a quick ride,” she said, wishing to say more.

“Just glad I showed up at the mill when I did,” he said as he stepped down and went around to offer his hand this time.

She accepted, putting much of her weight into it, but using her cane, as well. The combination of the two set her aright.

Jimmy smiled, but something about the way he looked at her seemed to relay more, though she couldn’t decipher just what.

After he left in the wagon, Maggie remained on the back porch, catching her breath not only from the effort it took to get up the steps, but from the happiness of seeing Jimmy again. So unexpected, she thought, still savoring every moment, every gesture.

She placed a hand on her face. “Ach, I must go in without flushed cheeks,” she whispered, wondering if this was how she might feel after riding with wonderful Jimmy Beiler some evening in the future.

Silly me, she thought just as swiftly.