Esther pushed open the door and led Daisy through. Joe, sitting on the couch with a can of beer in his hand, looked them both up and down. What was he doing, and why was he drinking? Irene never had to disallow alcohol because Joe never drank. Esther was shaken by this change in him. His clothing was the same as before Irene died, but his face was different. Lined and weathered. He’d grown up.
He smiled at Daisy and leaned forward on his knees. But Daisy just gripped Esther’s hand tighter and pushed into her side. Esther rubbed her thumb over the small hand inside hers. Joe inhaled deeply, making his chest grow thicker, and he exhaled slowly.
“We would’ve been here earlier, but we do our visiting on Friday,” Esther said simply. “And I thought you might like the extra sleep after . . .”
Esther realized when she couldn’t finish the sentence that she was shaking. She looked away from Joe and took in the living room instead. She had been to the house often enough when Irene was cleaning for Joe. Irene had insisted Esther come with her when she was able. It was this room where Irene admitted to Esther her feelings for Joe, which came as no surprise. The fact that Joe returned Irene’s love had surprised Esther, however. He’d asked her to leave the Amish and marry him. Esther had never thought that in a world filled with bright colors, long wavy hair, and red lips a man could still be interested in someone who lived within the black and white of the Amish.
As Esther looked around, she desperately wanted to feel Irene in the room, and she did, but it was more haunting than comforting. Her ghost was everywhere. The room looked just as it had the day Irene died. Esther recognized photographs that Irene had been so proud of and a few rag rugs on the floor that they’d made together. Irene had told Esther that she and Joe didn’t have much money for anything special, but the house was comfortable. The couch was nicer than Esther’s own threadbare one, and there was a fireplace. Beyond the living room, dirty plates littered the small table.
“Hello, my girl,” he said, unnaturally loud. He put his beer on the wooden floor at the foot of the couch and knelt near Daisy. He took her hand gently in his.
Daisy did not respond.
“Your blue eyes are like your mama’s.” He spoke these words pleasantly and in his natural rhythm, without trying to yell or go slowly. His voice was like velvet and brushed softly against the burlap that wound tightly around her heart. Esther had found kinship with the old Joe in their mutual love for Irene. But so far this Joe had been like a different version of the same man. His face was worn and weathered, and his voice at the train station had sounded disconnected from any emotion. As she waded through her memories, the only one she could conjure of his voice was in the last moments of Irene’s life, with his ragged pleadings for her not to leave him.
The nostalgia in his expression diminished when he realized that his daughter would not respond to him. He dropped her hand and stood. She could have offered to sign for him. He could have asked. The moment had passed by them both.
Joe may have been right that Irene did have beautiful blue eyes, but Esther never saw her in Daisy’s. She saw Joe. Against his reddish tan, which only grew richer in the summer, his eyes were as blue as she’d ever seen. Irene had always talked about how handsome he was, and Esther couldn’t deny or argue this truth. Today his eyes were just as blue, only there was something more within them she could not resist seeking. Had it been Irene’s death or the war that changed him?
“Why do you have her dressed like this?” He touched Daisy’s kapp string, letting it loop and fall over a single finger. Daisy carefully watched every move he made.
“What did you expect?” She worked carefully to pull the resentment from her voice, but only partially succeeded. She could’ve said it in a nicer way, but something about this circumstance brought out the worst in her—as if she needed to defend and protect herself and Daisy. The commitment to making sure Daisy was happy with Joe was going to be far more difficult than she’d imagined.
“She’s not Amish, Esther,” he said. “You could’ve gotten other clothes.”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about what to buy for an English girl. Besides, after she grew out of the few dresses you left for her, she wanted to fit in with the other girls at church.” Esther readjusted her black purse strap, nervous.
Esther tapped Daisy on the shoulder to get her attention, then signed to her to go take a look around. If she hadn’t already picked up on the fact that the two adults were arguing, she would likely soon.
“Angelica could’ve helped you. What do you think the money was for?”
Esther had just opened her mouth to rebut his suggestion when the screen door screeched open and slapped shut.
“That’s what I said.” Angelica’s voice was like a cat’s claw. Her appearance was only slightly improved from a normal day. She’d done her hair at least. Instead of the frizz circling her face, every strand was smooth, and the waves at the side of her head were under control. Esther had seen Mrs. White’s daughters wear their hair in a similar fashion. Irene had also done her hair in these English rolls and always giggled about them with Esther.
Daisy ran between them and pulled Esther’s arm. The little girl signed that the outhouse was indoors, just like at Mrs. White’s farm. Her smile stretched wide across her small face. She looked about her, and her brow furrowed as she took in the adults’ expressions. Her lips returned to the small heart shape they usually took, eyebrows up and eyes round.
“Here we go,” Angelica spat out. “It ain’t right, Joe. Making all these signs when we don’t know what they are saying.”
“Then I suggest you learn.” Esther matched Angelica’s venom.
Angelica’s eyes shot to Joe’s and she huffed, “Do you see how she treats me?”
Joe inhaled and his gaze shifted from his sister’s to Esther. “What is she saying?”
Esther didn’t want to tell them the truth. The fact that Daisy had the option of a perfectly fine modern home with indoor plumbing and even refrigeration made the run-down Detweiler home with an outhouse and a pump outside and a small icebox seem meager. Comparing the two would only prove concretely that Daisy was truly better off with Joe. As Esther took a moment to consider, the sting of reality penetrated deeply. There was no real option but to be truthful. No matter how anyone looked at it, Joe was Daisy’s father, and unless he handed her over to Esther for good, she would be hers no longer. Esther’s duties as the little girl’s temporary guardian were coming to a close.
Her inhale was weighted with the truth and the air of defeat filled her lungs.
“She is asking about the bathroom.”
“The bathroom?” Joe asked, chuckling.
“She likes using Mrs. White’s indoor bathroom, since we have outhouses. She didn’t know you had an indoor one as well.” Esther diverted her gaze from Joe, to Daisy, then to her own well-worn shoes.
Angelica stayed for several hours. She suggested that Esther leave but was reminded that no one else could communicate with Daisy. This sedated Angelica for the time being. Esther prepared a simple meal of buttered bread, from her own pantry, and some canned tomato soup that the renters had left behind.
A too-large bite of bread stuck dry in Esther’s throat as she watched Joe’s eyes linger on Daisy. She and Joe had experienced birth and death together. All of this should be easier—so why wasn’t it? Was it her or him? Was it Irene?
Esther and Daisy didn’t stay long after the meal, since Esther had promised Mrs. White she would weed the garden before the weekend. By the time they were out of the house and down the porch steps, Esther wanted to run. If they hadn’t had the buggy, she would’ve put Daisy on her back and galloped home like a horse heading for the barn. In the early months after Daisy came to live with Esther, these were the only times she’d laughed like any other child.
Not like the other children who could hear—like the other children who had mothers.