5

David might feel ambivalent about his mother’s visit, but he was looking forward to a dinner cooked by her. She was a stellar cook. It was a bit of a disappointment when he was confronted by the unexpected arrival of Marvin King, a bishop in a neighboring church, just as he was thinking about leaving the store a little early for the day.

Marvin King was in his late sixties. Considerably smaller and rounder than David, with short arms and narrow shoulders, he had a crooked mouth that turned any attempt at a smile into a sneer. He was head of the local committee for the Amish Aid Society, and David assumed he had come because of the request he had sent him for donations to cover Ephraim Yoder’s hospital bills. But covering bills didn’t seem to be on the top of Marvin’s mind today.

“I’m more than a little concerned,” Marvin said, easing himself into David’s chair, “about the rumors and stories that are trickling out of Stoney Ridge.”

David’s spirits sank. This conversation did not seem to be one that would end quickly. “Marvin, I can’t be held responsible for gossip.”

“The situation seems to have gotten rather out of hand.” As Marvin spoke, he tapped his fingers on the desktop as if to emphasize his point.

“Well, I agree with you on that. I’m hopeful that this Sunday will bring a positive resolution to our troubling circumstance.” He explained what Abraham planned to do, and said that he hoped Freeman would do the same.

Marvin pretended to reflect on what David had said, but it was obvious from his relentlessly tapping fingers that he shared another view. “David, I fear you’re in danger of failing to see the whole picture. Sometimes a minister needs to step back and take a more objective view. A wider view. There’s a great deal at stake in this situation. Perhaps you’re getting bogged down in the detail.”

David bristled. He was well aware of the dangers between the detail and the wider picture. He decided to redirect the conversation. “So, Marvin, about the bills for Ephraim Yoder.”

“Yes, yes. Unfortunately, our reserve is quite low right now. Did you hear about those barn fires in Mifflin? Struck by lightning, all three.”

“Yes, I did hear, but—”

“Of course, you can understand the need to get those barns rebuilt before winter arrives in full fury. Perhaps there might be some other way to raise funds for Ephraim Yoder. An auction? A pancake breakfast?”

A pancake breakfast? Was Marvin serious? It would take years of pancake breakfasts to raise the kind of money that was required to pay off Ephraim’s hospital bills. David’s mind wandered to the lease for oil wells on Moss Hill. Perhaps Thelma was right—this lease might be God’s provision for their little church. A just-in-time windfall.

Marvin leaned forward. “I have also heard a rumor—”

David put a hand in the air to stop him before he began to pontificate. He had expected this. “I can guess what it is.”

“I trust there is no substance to it.”

“If you’re referring to my daughter Katrina, there is no possibility of her marrying the father of her baby. He is already planning to marry someone else.”

Marvin’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “I hadn’t heard anything about your daughter . . .”

What? David winced. He had just stepped into a trap of his own making.

“Well, you certainly have a cup of troubles running over.” Marvin laced his fingers together. “I was speaking about your . . . friendship with Birdy Glick. No doubt, David, you’re eager to remarry.”

Was nothing private? David resented being lectured to in this manner, by a man he hardly knew. “Well, it’s something I hope for, eventually, but it’s not quite as simple as it might sound.”

“Nothing is simple in this world, David, but the life of a minister is a good deal easier if he’s got himself a wife. I’d be lost without my Florence. However . . . and I’m speaking to you as a friend here, not as a bishop . . . perhaps it would be wise to set your sights on someone other than Freeman Glick’s only sister.” He pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the door. “I’m glad we had this little chat, David.”

Alone in the storeroom, David found himself extremely agitated by the bishop’s generous dose of uninvited advice. He felt a sharp pain in his abdomen and rubbed his sore stomach. Was Molly’s spicy chili still lingering, still causing aftereffects?

He needed relief from the constant onslaught of problems. He needed a different perspective. Someone who felt like a breath of fresh air.

He needed Birdy.

As soon as the clock reached four o’clock, David told Bethany Schrock that he was leaving for the day and to lock up at 5:00 p.m. He tipped his hat to the old codgers who sat around the potbellied stove as he walked past them.

“Quitting time already?” Hank Lapp called out, barely looking up from his game of checkers.

“Just have something to do,” David said.

“Like . . . maybe a little Bird-y watching?” Hank elbowed the man sitting next to him and they started to cackle like old hens.

David sighed. It seemed that nothing he did could ever be private, and that everyone must know and comment on his business. He wrapped the collar of his coat around his neck and started walking toward the schoolhouse. It had started to sprinkle again, and from the heavy set of the clouds, it would turn to a hard rain before long, but he hadn’t had a chance to see Birdy all week and he missed her. Just as he turned the corner to the road that led to the schoolhouse, he saw her up the road. She walked everywhere—school, town, store, library, post office, church. As he watched her, he thought that her long, purposeful stride reflected a sense of optimism, as if anything were possible.

“Birdy! Wait up!”

She spun around when she heard his voice. By the time he reached her, she was smiling. Something about her expression lifted his spirits too. Then he started to smile. He stood there like an awkward schoolboy, grinning from ear to ear. “Mind if I tag along?”

A flame of red went up Birdy’s cheeks, a girlish feature he found endearing. “I’d be delighted.”

They started up the road. “Where are you headed?”

“Over to the Big House.”

David stopped. “You’re going to see Freeman?” That would surprise him, if that’s where she was headed. She had been living in a small house on the property of the Big House, her childhood home, but when she confessed to the church that she had seen her brother switch the lots, Freeman insisted that she leave home. Thelma Beiler offered a room in her house over at Moss Hill, so that’s where she’d been staying the last few weeks.

Birdy slowed and turned, waiting for him to catch up with her. “Goodness no. I’m going nowhere near the house. Just a jaunt up into the hills.”

“In this rain?”

She looked up at the sky. “Barely a spitting rain. Do you have time to come along?”

“I wish I could, but it turns out I have some unexpected houseguests.” He explained the arrival of his mother and nieces. “They’ve heard about the . . . problem . . . at the church and have come to help.” Interference might be a more apt word.

“Well, if you can’t come with me now,” Birdy said, “perhaps you could plan to meet soon for a hike. There’s something I want to show you.” She grinned. “But it will require you to join me on a hike at a frightfully early hour.”

“An unusual bird?” David said.

“Yes!” She practically brimmed with happiness. “It’s a great blue heron. Absolutely stunning. It’s built a stick nest in a dead white oak tree near the far edge of the property. It’s really quite a sight.”

“Tomorrow morning, then.”

They walked companionably along the road, chatting about their day. Now and then, Birdy would point out birds that flew overhead. David had never really noticed birds before, though many in his church were dedicated bird-watchers. None as skilled as Birdy, though.

She could peer up into the sky and identify any bird in flight. She said it was simple if you knew four basic things: size and shape, color pattern, behavior, habitat. Field marks, she called them. Each time they took a walk, like now, she did her best to try to teach him field marks of a bird’s distinguishing characteristics. A large black crow hopped along ahead of them on the road, looking for worms.

“Look at that crow,” she said. “See its bill? Long, with a slight hook. You know it eats carrion because that kind of a bird’s bill is designed to tear flesh.”

He cringed and she laughed.

“Don’t look so squeamish, David. Crows are quite intelligent. They’re thought to be as intelligent as apes.”

Crows were nothing but a nuisance to him. Pests! They raided gardens, stole eggs from other birds’ nests. There was good reason a gang of crows was called a murder. Only Birdy could find something noble about a crow. “You’re kidding me.”

“It’s true. They can remember all kinds of things, including faces. I heard a story once about an Amish family that raised a crow named Charlie . . .”

David watched her as she spoke, half listening, half admiring. Unlike most Amish men, he preferred being indoors. His ideal day was a rainy one, like today, sitting by the fireplace with a pile of books at his side. Birdy wasn’t much of a reader, but her book was the great outdoors. And he was discovering the outdoors through her eyes. She said that nature had spiritual treasures, just waiting to be mined. Through her eyes, he felt as if he was waking up to the majesty and mystery of the created world. Birdy loved everything about nature—insects, birds, animals, the play of light on the leaves. She studied the world of nature with the same ferocity that David studied Scripture. Nature was God’s first book, she often said, and he had to agree.

The constant tension that had been dogging him all day started to dissipate. This, this was what he needed. A reminder to rest in God’s sovereignty. Birdy always helped bring him back to that important truth.

Then the rain turned hard and Birdy had the only umbrella. When she put her arm through his, so that they could share it, and she squeezed up against him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “So let’s plan to meet at the schoolhouse at five.”

“That is frightfully early.”

Birdy laughed. “But David, everyone needs a daily serving of nature as well as bread.”

Bread. Bread! Katrina would be arriving for dinner soon, encountering David’s mother, without any reinforcements. He’d better get home before she arrived. It occurred to him that he should probably invite Birdy to meet his mother, but somehow the idea never made it past his thought process.

Soon.

Ruthie’s annoyance was obvious. Abigail couldn’t fathom why she was so irritated. The kitchen had been completely improved. Mammi had stressed, numerous times, that she and Laura were here in Stoney Ridge to help their cousins. So, today, while the girl cousins were at school, Abigail reorganized the kitchen from its state of complete and utter chaos to a new system with specific departments. The pantry, in particular, had a high level of organization: Each shelf contained similar products. Bottom shelf: flour, sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, molasses, honey. Eye-level shelf: spices, herbs. (She briefly considered hiding the ground cayenne pepper so that Molly couldn’t find it. She seemed to have a fondness for that particular spice, which deadened a person’s taste buds.) Abigail carried similar organizational strategies throughout each drawer and cupboard. She had also made carefully written labels for the contents of each drawer, because she assumed the cousins would revert to their sloppy ways after she returned to Ohio.

When the girls came home from school, Ruthie sniffed around the entire kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, banging them shut, muttering, sighing. “I see no reason,” she said. “No reason in the world.”

That was when it dawned on Abigail that Ruthie was not happy with the newly implemented Kitchen Department Program.

Molly was, though. As she followed behind Ruthie, opening and closing drawers, she exclaimed with delight, “Why, it makes perfect sense to put all the measuring cups together in one place. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I spend most of my time looking for things.”

“Precisely the purpose of an organized system,” Abigail said. “Everything has a place.” She listed the major advantages of the Kitchen Department Program:

1. No time was lost wondering where ingredients or tools were situated.
2. Almost no waste. Ingredients were shelved face out. Labels were easy to read.
3. Less time spent cleaning up and wondering where to return ingredients and tools.

The last one, in particular, was Abigail’s favorite advantage. She loathed washing dishes. Even Mammi, who had been the first to use the new system because she made an enormous beef and cheese noodle casserole this afternoon for tonight’s supper, expressed pleasure with Abigail’s use of time. “This is just what I hoped for, Gabby. We are spreading blessings all around us.”

Excellent. Abigail had thought this through. By displaying early on that she was taking her grandmother’s mandate to help very seriously, she felt confident Mammi would turn her officious attentions toward someone else. Ruthie’s poor attitude, for example.

“Gabby thinks we’re stupid,” Ruthie whispered to Molly, pointing to the labels on each drawer.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ruthie,” Abigail said. She had excellent hearing. “Organization is something that is taught, not intrinsic.” To be fair, she did have a natural talent for it. Most people didn’t.

“You’re going to have to use simpler words,” Ruthie said, speaking in a tone that seemed more appropriate to instructing children. “I can’t understand more than two syllables strung together at a time.”

Abigail reviewed the previous sentence she had said. “Intrinsic? That’s a word that means innate. Natural. Inborn. I have a dictionary upstairs if you’d like to see for yourself.”

Ruthie’s eyes closed to a pair of dangerous slits. Abigail wondered if she might be feeling unwell. Molly’s taste-bud-killing chili had taken a toll on her own stomach too. She watched Ruthie carefully in case she was about to faint.

But suddenly Ruthie flounced out of the room.

“She lost the staring match!” Molly said.

The twins, Emily and Lydie, looked at each other in shock. “She never loses.”

“Don’t be offended, Gabby,” Mammi said as she swept past, though Abigail wasn’t at all offended. “Ruthie’s reached the troublesome age. It’s always worse with girls.”

In the kitchen, Mammi started pulling out ingredients for a coleslaw salad: cabbage, carrots, onions. She set to work chopping the cabbage, grating carrots, dicing onions as if she was in a race to the finish. Then she started to whip together the dressing: large spoonfuls of mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, apple cider vinegar, salt, and pepper.

Her grandmother had a way of moving about the kitchen with a certain purposeful motion that let everyone around her know she had everything under control. Molly offered to help, but Mammi assigned her nothing more than the table to set. Emily was between pages of a book, Lydie scooted her chair flush with Abigail’s at the kitchen table, helping to fold napkins, Molly remained in the background, at the edge of the kitchen, neither in nor out of it.

Abigail heard a horse whinny and Thistle answer back from her stall in the barn, then looked out the window to see a buggy climb the driveway. Behind it, Uncle David was running at full speed. Behind him, striding along at a much less frantic pace, walked cousin Jesse and Dane like Rain, with the black Labrador puppy zigzagging around their legs. Mammi was already on her way to the door.

Cousin Katrina had arrived.

A disaster was in the making.