Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat at his parents’ kitchen without a whole herd of siblings traipsing through. Arlene Stahl expertly pinched the ends off a handful of beans and broke them in two while his father sat looking guilty for leaving the fields during daylight hours. His eyes were on the window, and the flax outside waiting to be harvested.
“What I want to do,” explained Jacob, “is take the plot of land you’ve allotted me and sell it back to you.”
“Why,” Gunther said, “that land—”
“Let him finish,” Arlene interrupted.
“I’ve asked for permission to court Samantha.”
“I knew it.” The beans in his mother’s hands became a blur as she doubled her speed. “When’s the wedding?”
“Her father didn’t give me permission to court.”
Gunther sat straighter. “Why? Is he thinking there’s something wrong with her marrying a Stahl?”
“No, Pa, that’s not it. He says a doctor is married to his profession, and that I’ll be gone more than I’ll stay put. He doesn’t think the two rooms above the barbershop constitute a home.”
“Marrying a Gustefan certainly gave the man airs.” Gunther slammed a fist down on the table.
The bowl of beans shuddered. Arlene put out one hand to steady it. “So, what are you thinking, Son?”
He’d prepared for the question, knowing his practical mother. Opening his doctor’s bag, he drew out a plan he’d worked on for three weeks. Three agonizing weeks. He’d spent part of the time over in Wabash Springs amputating the arm of a farmer who’d gotten too close to an ax. He’d delivered a baby out at the docks. Mother, father, and child were staying at the inn for a few days.
Jacob had spent some of the time conferring with Reverend Tidewell, praying, and figuring his next course of action. He lay that action in front of his parents now. “Doc says he’ll sell me the building, barbershop and all. I’m going to tear it down and build a combination doctor’s office, barbershop, and home. I want to order bricks from the kiln over in Wabash Springs. Once Silas sees that Samantha will live in town, instead of out here, I think he’ll reconsider. Then, there’s also the fact that Raymond still intends to practice here. With two doctors, we can share the out-of-county calls. What do you think, Pa?”
“I think you’re going to a lot of trouble for a man too blind to see how much you love his daughter.”
“In all honesty, Silas only voiced concerns I already had. I owe him thanks. He made me take action.”
“Does Samantha know how you feel?”
For three weeks, Samantha had watched him with curious eyes. During week one, he’d imagined those eyes longing for him to say something. During the second week, she withdrew, a slight frown on her face as if something puzzled her. This week, her chin jutted in the air as she carefully avoided him.
“She does, and she returns the feeling. But,” Jacob carefully folded the plan, “I don’t think she knows her father refused me permission to call.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jacob Stahl headed for the bank.
Samantha cut through a yard of muslin.
“Martin left for New York this morning. Oh, what a job offer he has.” Olivia Crabtree narrowed her eyes into slits. “He’ll be back in a month. He’ll be wanting to pack up the last of his things. Why, he might ask me along. He’ll need someone to take care of the big house he’ll be able to afford. Some people don’t know what’s good.”
It had been three weeks since Jacob stopped by with the sole intent of seeing Samantha. Oh, he’d been by to purchase goods. He’d also attended church and sat with his family. From her pew, sitting next to Father, she’d longed for a wink.
“New York’s far away,” Silas said. “You think he’ll stay there forever? Hickory Corners is growing. Two new families this last month. Soon we’ll be needing a lawyer.”
To Samantha’s chagrin, Father looked at her. Lately, he’d been bringing up Martin just as often as Olivia.
“‘Tis possible,” Olivia agreed. “Let’s hope the future works itself out.” The look she sent Samantha said it all: Samantha was upsetting Olivia Crabtree’s carefully constructed plans.
Folding the material into a neat square, Samantha gathered matching thread and a few buttons. Olivia moved over next to Father.
One thing Samantha knew, Martin Crabtree wasn’t husband material. She’d recognized that at Greta’s funeral. Oh, to be honest, she’d figured it out at the Friday Social.
After Olivia left the store, peace returned. Samantha returned the sewing paraphernalia to its shelf. Cecilia was upstairs, and Samantha enjoyed the time spent with Father alone. For a moment, she pretended that nothing had changed. In all honesty, the Thomasohn home seemed a bit more tolerable. Less and less, Samantha felt resentment taking hold. Lately, Cecilia spent more time piecing together a quilt than she did interfering.
The afternoon toiled on. Samantha sold a seventeen-cent broom and a handful of lamp wickings. Father whistled over his ledger as he tallied profits and losses.
A feeling of happiness overtook Samantha and lasted until five o’clock when Father closed the door and Samantha finished pricing the beeswax she’d taken in exchange for a yard of bleached sheeting.
Cecilia had supper on the table, but instead of hustling to serve Father, she struggled in the corner of the living room next to where Samantha used to sleep.
She’d lowered Rachel’s quilting frame from the ceiling. It swayed gently under the pressure of Cecilia valiantly trying to fasten the quilt to the tacks stuck in the edges for just that purpose. Samantha couldn’t remember Mama ever trying to set up the quilting frame on her own.
Father quickly tugged on the opposite end and pulled it taut. “Samantha, get the other end.”
Cecilia chuckled as they set the frame together. “My mama always said when you finish a quilt what you need to do is put a cat in the center. Then, everyone tugs on the sides. When the cat runs off, whichever girl he passes by, that will be the girl to get married next. Perhaps when I finish this quilt, Samantha, we can try that.”
The quilting frame swayed under Samantha’s hands. Weeks ago Samantha would have figured the words were Cecilia’s way of hinting that Samantha should leave, but now she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except that feeling the soft fabric under her hands made her remember crawling underneath this very frame with Raymond and watching Mama’s needle dipping in and out, a silver blur. They’d felt so safe with the quilt over their heads and Mama’s feet tapping to thoughts they couldn’t hear.
Samantha climbed the ladder to the loft, dropped to her knees, and leaned against the bed to pray. The resentment hadn’t left, but what she’d learned from the scene below told her the problems lay with her and her alone.
“I want to go visit Opa and Oma for awhile.” Samantha tried to eat a piece of toast. Her stomach rolled, and she set the bread back on her plate. She’d thought long and hard about it. Visiting her grandparents would give her time to work through all the turmoil.
“Are you feeling okay? Shall I call Doc Stahl?” Father felt her forehead, as he’d done hundreds of times before.
“Let her go, Silas.” Cecilia looked pale today.
For the first time Samantha wondered how acutely her stepmother felt the animosity. Cecilia probably thought Samantha’s leaving a good idea.
“Why? I don’t understand. I thought things were better.” Father looked confused. He stared at Cecilia for a long time, then turned a stern gaze at Samantha. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She thought of the quilting frame in the corner. She saw Cecilia hunched over it every night. Cecilia’s foot tapped in the same way Mama’s used to. “Very sure.”
“Well, then, Zack is heading out there with some supplies later today. Pack your things. You may go.”
For a moment, Samantha had it in mind to give her father a hug. But she didn’t feel happy. She’d expected him to put up a bit more fuss.
It didn’t take long to pack a valise. It had been years since she’d spent time at Opa and Oma ’s. The Gustefans lived a good eight hours from town. Zack would be spending the night before returning to his farm. It would be different staying there now that she was older. Maybe Opa would let her help milk the cows. She’d loved that as a child. Then, there were the banty hens. One summer, because Oma wanted fryers, Samantha and Oma stuck Barred Rock chicken eggs under the banty hens to set. Samantha always wondered if the banty hens marveled at the size of their much-larger offspring, or if the hens had any clue about the switch. Samantha closed her eyes. The last time she’d stayed with Oma, she’d been so small she had to stand on a chair to see out the window.
Zack didn’t waste any words when he pulled in front of the store at noon and found Samantha waiting. “Pa needs you.”
“Cecilia’s here to help him.”
“You’re running away. It’s time you faced whatever it is that has your lips looking like you sucked on a lemon.”
“Leave me alone, Zackery Gus Thomasohn, you only come to see Father once a month when you deliver these supplies. You have no right to tell me what to do.”
“You’re a spoilt brat, that’s what you are.”
Eight hours she’d have to spend with him in the wagon. Of all her brothers, she understood him the least. Trevor was the silent one, only offering words when he deemed it important. Raymond would have scolded her, too, no doubt. But first he’d have mussed up her hair and given her a peck on the cheek. Zack must have been dropped as a baby, that’s the only thing Samantha could figure. “I’m going to walk over and say good-bye to Mrs. T. I need you to do me one favor.”
He shot her a look of disbelief.
“I want to take Mama’s old cedar chest.”
“You need to get over this, Mantha.” He surprised her by using the nickname that no longer echoed through the upstairs of Thomasohn’s Mercantile.
“I know. I’m trying.” Her feet grew heavier each step she took. The town looked brighter, and Samantha wondered if that was because she didn’t know how long it would be before she saw it again. She crossed to the other side so she wouldn’t have to walk in front of Doc’s place. Her feet dragged as she slowed a bit. All the Stahl brothers were busy loading Doc’s belongings into farm wagons. To the side, Samantha could see at least a thousand bricks stacked taller than Jacob. The man didn’t deserve a good-bye. He’d winked at church, prayed with her at Greta’s side, made her a ladder, flirted with her over maple sap, then backed away so fast that if Samantha didn’t know better, she’d think maybe a giant wart had appeared on the tip of her nose. What was he up to now?
She forced herself not to walk backward. She didn’t care what Jacob did.
“Everybody is talking,” Mrs. T said from her front step, “except Jacob.”
Samantha stared back at the sight of chaos on the corner of the street. “You’ll have to write and tell me what’s going on.”
“Write? Oh, Darling, not you, too?”
“Just to Opa and Oma ’s and just for awhile.”
Mrs. T insisted on packing up a hefty lunch. Samantha hadn’t given thought to that, although Zack’s wife probably had.
“I’ll tell the girls,” Mrs. T promised. She hugged Samantha close. “Oh, now you don’t stay away too long. Our little sewing circle is dwindling down. We need you.”
Zack knocked at the door. A moment later, he took the box of food from Mrs. T. “Not too late to change your mind,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“I need to go.”
Zack looked down the street. “Doc’s staying at the inn, and I think Jacob’s lost his mind. I wonder where he got the money?”
As the town of Hickory Corners disappeared from sight, Samantha wondered if she’d been wrong about Jacob’s reasons for leaving medical school.
Rosie Gustefan didn’t bat an eye at Samantha’s arrival. She opened up the extra bedroom and set about enjoying her granddaughter.
Living on the farm was vastly different than visiting. Milking the cows lost its appeal after four days. At the mercantile, they’d never needed livestock. They took everything in trade. The third time Old Bess slapped Samantha in the face with her tail, leaving a residue Samantha would rather not think about, she wished she had a tail to slap back with.
The chickens were another matter. There existed something called a pecking order. The dominant chickens actually cornered a cowering Rhode Island Red and pecked it half bald. Samantha removed it from the brood and stuck it in a pen all by itself. Instead of saying thanks, the chicken pecked her! Of course, the daring rescue of the Rhode Island Red gave the rooster an opportunity to escape. The silly thing frantically stayed near the pen wanting back in but was too stupid to take advantage as Samantha held open the door. Five hours Samantha spent chasing Wilber the rooster. Oma didn’t name the farm animals, but Samantha named the ones she scolded. She also named what she fell in love with, like the collie puppies in the barn. Opa grumbled that her favorite, Ike, would not learn how to walk if she didn’t put him down.
While there was more work at Oma and Opa ’s, there was more time for solitude, too. Samantha sat in the living room in the evening and read the Bible aloud to Opa.
On Sunday, they met in the home of a cousin. The men took turns preaching. It was very different than the church in town. Not the words or the feeling of reverence, but the absence of friends who were more family than anything else. Samantha wondered if Elsa had delivered the baby. She wondered if Betsy still visited Greta’s grave every day. She wondered if Father missed her. And she wondered what in the world Jacob Stahl was doing with all those bricks.
They rested on the Sabbath but made up for it on Monday. Samantha knelt in the dirt beside Oma and patiently listened to the lecture on how to tell a weed from a tomato plant.
Oma said, “The leaves on the tomato plant have tiny little hairs. Oh, there he is.”
Samantha leaned closer to stare at the leaves. Just which “he” was Oma referring to?
Oma’s knees popped as she stood. Samantha looked down the road. It wasn’t Zack’s wagon, although he was due any day now. This was a buggy.
“Who is it?” Samantha asked.
“Why, he’s finally come for you. I knew he would.”
Jacob pulled up in front of the house. Samantha looked down at her blue cotton dress. Sweat stained under her arms. Dirt smeared near her knees. She was pretty sure dirt streaked her face, too.
“Jacob Stahl,” Oma greeted. “About time you got here. The cobbler said you were building a house for your bride. Can’t figure why you let her stay here a month. You don’t have second thoughts, do you?”
“Oma,” Samantha whispered frantically. “He’s not building a house for me.”
“Sure he is. Cobbler said so.”
Jacob never looked more handsome. He wore a brown vest over a white shirt. Brown homespun pants hugged his thighs. His chestnut hair danced in the wind; it was longer than she would have liked … on anyone else.
Oma brushed the dirt from her hands. “Close your mouth, Samantha, and let’s pack you up.”
“I’m not going.”
Jacob somehow had grown taller. His voice held that same commanding tone he so often tried to use with her. “Yes, you are. Morning, Mrs. Gustefan.”
Samantha gazed up, intending to argue, and instead felt her breath quicken.
“You can call me Oma. Might as well start getting used to it. She never completely unpacked, so it shouldn’t take long. Sure you don’t want to spend the night? You look spent.”
“Can’t,” Jacob said. “Cecilia is sick. I need to get Samantha back there as soon as possible. Silas needs help.”
Numbness washed over Samantha. He hadn’t come for her, after all. He’d come because of Cecilia.
Jacob took it easy on the way back. The horse looked as weary as Jacob felt. Samantha sat silently by his side, her posture as straight as the ironing board his mother propped against the kitchen wall. It made him tongue-tied to watch her grip the side of the seat to keep from bumping into him.
She’d changed out of the blue dress and now wore a simple yellow cotton. A white petticoat peeked out near the same silly boots that often had her accidentally ice-skating in winter. They made her feet look dainty and small. He liked having her beside him in the buggy. He’d have gone another seven hours to retrieve her. “You might as well tell me what’s bothering you. We can’t fix it until I know what’s broken.”
“Nothing’s broken. I just didn’t want to come back to town, that’s all.”
No, that wasn’t all. He knew that much. Her eyes had lit up at the sight of him, but they’d dimmed just as easily. He replayed his words, but couldn’t think of anything he’d said amiss. Surely, Samantha didn’t feel such ire at Cecilia as to consider not pitching in.
“I missed you,” Jacob said softly.
“I didn’t miss you.” She stared straight ahead.
Jacob smiled. For someone who didn’t miss him, she sure seemed bent on pointedly ignoring him. He grinned. “I think your pa missed you, too.”
“Why didn’t he send for me sooner?”
“He didn’t send for you at all. I took it upon myself to come get you.”
She forgot to hold herself erect. She let out her breath and slumped against the back of the seat. “That doesn’t make sense. I always help out.”
“I think he was worried about how you would take it.”
“Take what?”
“Cecilia’s in the family way.”