Chapter Nineteen
Probably he shouldn’t follow Miriam into the kitchen after Nick had walked away, but David did so anyway. He needed her to know he was glad she’d come today. Seeing her back as she set a covered dish into his refrigerator, he remembered something he’d meant to tell her.
A good excuse for pursuing her.
He cleared his throat and she looked around the door.
“It’s really full in here.”
“That’s because Mamm brought food from home. Along with what she prepared for the meal.” He leaned a hip against the countertop edge.
“Oh. Well, I hate to see anything go to waste.”
“It won’t,” he said hastily. “I have a good appetite. I’ll eat it all in no time.”
She chuckled, that happy sound he often thought about when he was trying to sleep, and went back to the counter where she’d set a pile of containers with lids. As she ferried them to the refrigerator, a few at a time, she said, “Did you know your mamm fell when she was mopping, and pulled a muscle in her back?”
“No.” David straightened. “She shouldn’t have done all this cooking. Why didn’t Daad stop her?”
“You know your mother better than that! He’s been trying, annoying her. I don’t think she likes having to rest and do nothing.”
He sighed. “Of course she doesn’t. Your mamm wouldn’t like it any better.”
“No, she spent a day in bed last fall, and we finally figured out that there was nothing wrong with her. She was determined to make Daad take a day off work, thinking he’d been doing too much.”
David laughed. “Does he know that?”
Laughing in return, she said, “Of course not.”
He squeezed sore muscles in his neck. “The only time I’ve seen you sit still is just long enough to eat a meal, and in a buggy or at worship.”
“Oh, I do when I quilt,” she told him, closing the refrigerator door on the last of the leftovers. Or, at least, the last that she’d carried into the house. “Ach, I need to go help.”
He held up a hand and said, “Wait. I wanted to tell you something. Maybe you’ve heard, but I hadn’t. Jake and Daad said that Abel Hershberger gathered some other men to replace Esther’s roof. She tried to refuse, so Abel asked Amos to talk to her. Daad says she’s more accepting now. I offered to help, but they thought it was better that other members of the church do their part. He said I’d shamed the rest of them, who should have noticed long since that she needed more help.” Bothered by that, David frowned. “I never meant that. I owe more to her than the others do.”
Reading what he felt, Miriam stepped forward and laid a hand on his bare forearm. “I do, too,” she said quietly. “Better to say you inspired everyone else. Or maybe”—a tiny smile slipped out—“you gave them courage by setting an example.”
He grinned crookedly down at her. “David and the lions.”
“God delivered you from Esther’s broom.” She wrinkled her nose. “We shouldn’t make jokes about such things.”
“We shouldn’t,” he said, almost gravely, “but she is a fearsome woman.”
“Ja.” Laughing again, she whirled away in that dizzying way she had. “Not such a bad thing to be.”
The kitchen door swung closed behind her. Still feeling the warmth of her touch, he stood there longer than he should, doing nothing but grinning. He probably looked doppick.
Then it was just as well no one else could see him, wasn’t it?
Sunday worship took place at Sol and Lydia Graber’s place. Miriam had heard that, after their buggy was hit by the car, Sol’s long recuperation, and the loss of their oldest son, they’d been given the option not to host this service, even though they had been on the schedule for a year or more. But they’d refused to be removed from the rotation, even temporarily, and today they greeted their brethren with joy that took Miriam’s breath away.
Their faith hadn’t faltered; they’d accepted God’s will and still walked gladly on the path He had laid out for them.
Miriam hugged Lydia as soon as she saw her, an embrace that was enthusiastically returned. It wasn’t as if they didn’t see each other often, but this was different.
“Noah grows before my very eyes,” Miriam exclaimed, watching him solemnly greeting John and Leah Mast. “Your girls, too, but not the same way.”
“Ach, he’s at that age when he eats as much as a grown man and is still hungry.” Her joy dimmed only slightly. “He insists on helping his daad, works too hard, but won’t take no for answer.”
As Miriam had feared, the boy would never again be the kind he’d been just before he saw his brother die and his father be hurt almost unbearably.
“He’ll be a fine man,” she said. “You don’t need to fear.”
“No.” Lydia smiled gratefully. “Denke for saying so.”
Today, Miriam gave herself heart and soul to the service despite her awareness of where David sat across the aisle.
Not at all surprisingly, given the events in town and the uneasiness she’d heard so many others express, the bishop chose today to speak from a passage in Matthew that was truly at the heart of their faith.
Looking from face to face, Amos quoted, “‘You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.’”
Unless she was imagining it, his eyes rested on Luke and David, sitting side by side, when he reached Matthew 5:41: “Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.”
Momentarily indignant, she wondered if he doubted the two of them in particular because of the years they’d spent in the outside world. Did he believe either of them would fight the two gunmen? David himself had been quick to remind Nick that resistance was not their way. Yet she felt a moment of doubt about her own brother. The way he looked at Julia held love and tenderness so great, would he be able to stand back if a masked man struck her?
No, he’d step in between them, take the blow himself. Her heart eased. Of course he wouldn’t counter violence with violence, any more than David would.
When the service ended, she hurried out with the other women who weren’t slowed by kinder, and went to work in the kitchen to prepare the meal. As she did, she rejoiced in the many sisters, from the young to the old, so willingly working while cheerfully catching each other up on their lives.
She was the one to say, “I didn’t see Tamara or Ira Hilty. Nothing is wrong, I hope?” During her shift helping with the kinder this week, she’d noticed how restless Tamara had become, as if she couldn’t bear for another minute to be still.
“Ira’s daad is here,” Martha Beiler answered, “but her mamm stayed to help care for the kinder so Ira could be with her. Tamara went into labor early this morning, he said.”
“They called the midwife?” another woman asked.
“Oh, ja, first thing. She’s with Tamara. According to Joshua, everything is going well. We can pray the boppli has been born already.”
“She’ll be so happy, for many reasons,” contributed Katie-Ann Kline.
There was laughter, many of them having helped in the Hilty household. They knew how desperate Tamara was to be on her feet again, able to cook meals in her own kitchen, bathe her own kinder.
These had been hard weeks.
It would be wonderful if Ira were able to get word to them before the gathering broke up.
Ferrying utensils out to the tables still being set up, Miriam detoured to give Julia the news. Understandably enough, Julia identified with Tamara.
“Oh, that’s good to hear!” she exclaimed. “I just hope—”
Miriam didn’t have to ask what she hoped for. They’d all worried about the boppli.
“What’s good to hear?” Luke said from behind Miriam.
Turning to find him and David both, she repeated the news, noticing how Luke’s eyes went to the still barely noticeable swell of his unborn kind. For a moment, David’s gaze did the same before he flushed and looked away.
“I need to be helping,” Miriam reminded herself as much as them, and started back toward the house. She knew Julia would be following, but was surprised when David caught her arm.
“I’d like to drive you home again today,” he said quietly.
Her smile rose from a deep well of happiness. “Ja, I’d like that. So long as—”
The skin beside his eyes crinkled. “Still too exciting for Copper.”
“Well, then.” She laughed at him, and hurried to rejoin the other women.
Hurried too fast, because she almost ran into Esther.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Knowing she must be glowing like a kerosene lamp, she reached for the big platter of cheeses and meat slices that Esther carried. “Let me take that—”
Esther stepped backward, bobbling the tray. Her eyes burned into Miriam’s. “Are you sounding the trumpet? Being sure to do your charitable deed in front of everyone? Remember what the Lord said. David Miller may admire you for your kindness”—her voice curdled on the last word—“but God won’t be fooled.”
Even after all Esther’s bitterness, this attack stole Miriam’s breath. Frozen in place, she gaped at the older woman.
“Did you flirt like this with David when Levi was still alive?” Her laugh could have stripped skin from flesh. “Ja, of course you did. But show the least bit of shame? Not you.” Shaking her head, she circled widely around Miriam, who was too stunned to know what to think or do, and rushed away.
“What was that all about?” It was David, not touching her, but standing close.
“You heard?” she whispered.
“Not all, but—” Lines deepened on his forehead and between his dark brows. “Has she said such hateful things before?”
Miriam closed her eyes and wished she could rest her cheek on David’s chest, lean until her legs felt steadier. “Ja.” A whisper was still all she could manage. “From grief, I thought. I’m alive, when her son is dead. She hurts so much.”
“You haven’t talked to Amos?” David sounded incredulous.
“No. No!” She focused on his face, blocking her awareness of the sounds of children playing, of women coming to and fro with food and dishes, calling to each other, no doubt wondering why these two people had stopped in such private, intense conversation. “I pray for her. I don’t want to get her put under the bann.”
“If she’s thinking such things, maybe that’s what she needs. It would make her face what she’s doing to you, and to herself.”
“‘Beloved, do not avenge yourselves,’” Miriam murmured. “Should I strike back at her?”
He had aged years in this moment. “Taking your worry to your bishop is not striking. Anyway, you know what the Bible tells us. ‘The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.’ Esther needs both forgiveness and to be led to find repentance.”
“As long as I’m the only one she says such things to, I can live with it. I . . . pity her.”
“I’m not sure I do anymore.” His voice was hard. “Why is she so angry at you?”
Sickened, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “I must have done something, ain’t so? Now, I should get back to work.”
Still seeing that last expression imprinted on his face, Miriam fled. Despite what she’d said, she locked herself in the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat, face buried in her hands, until she was sure she could hide her distress.
Even amid a tavern brawl, David hadn’t ever heard a tone so like the lash of a whip, slicing open flesh where it struck. And from an Amish woman, a member of his faith?
He shook his head in disbelief.
He hadn’t heard everything Esther said; instead, his attention had been caught by their very stillness, but mostly by their faces, the two women blind to anyone else around them. Miriam glowing with happiness one moment, staggering the next, as if she had been struck in truth rather than only with words.
Only? Words could be as cruel as actions.
Levi’s relationship with his mother hadn’t been easy, but even with his best friend, he’d never been so blunt as to say, Mamm hates Miriam. What am I to do?
What would he have done? David wondered now. He couldn’t have abandoned his mother, but surely he wouldn’t have abandoned Miriam, either. Being confronted with such a choice would have torn him in two.
David kept an eye out for Miriam—not that he didn’t always—and saw her a few minutes later, setting out food for the men who were finding places at the long tables. As always, the women would eat when the men were done; there wasn’t room for everyone to eat together.
Inevitably, she and Esther passed each other a couple of times, but neither paused or spoke. Miriam never came close to him; in fact, he had to wonder if she wasn’t deliberately keeping her distance. And that led to his worrying that he had said something wrong. Was she shamed that he’d heard?
Then he frowned. What if she’d taken his question about why Esther was so angry at her as an accusation? An implication that she must have done something to deserve that kind of accusation? David didn’t want to believe she’d jump to such a false conclusion, but as upset as she’d been, she wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.
He calmed himself with the reminder that he’d have time alone with her during the drive home. Unless she changed her mind?
He watched Esther, too, during her less frequent appearances. Her face remained set and closed, her lips thin. Nobody else seemed to notice anything different about her, and maybe there wasn’t. When had he last seen her smile? Surely when he was a boy—but he couldn’t picture it.
What if he talked to her? Would she be honest about her fury?
He grimaced. She didn’t like him, either. He had taken to staying away, grateful others had offered the help she still needed. Eventually, for Levi’s sake, he’d go back, but . . . not yet.
“Making faces?” Sitting across the table from him, Jake spoke up, his eyebrows arched. “The apples in that pie sour?”
He forced himself to relax, if only outwardly. If he were to talk to anyone about Esther, it would be the bishop . . . and he couldn’t even do that without discussing it further with Miriam.
“I haven’t taken a bite yet,” he pointed out. “Just thinking about my aching back.”
His brother grinned. “You’ve become lazy like the Englischers. Or should I say, you’re no stronger than a boy?”
“Not unless you want to start trouble.”
“‘And be at peace among yourselves,’” his brother said piously.
Recognizing the quote from Thessalonians, David countered, “Do you think our Lord would consider taunts to be the way to keep the peace?”
Beside him, Luke laughed. “Enough! We each have our strengths. I doubt you could use a saw the way I can, or convince a headstrong horse to do as he’s told the way David does.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . .” But Jake, grinning, subsided when he felt his father’s elbow in his ribs.
Jake was distracted by a question from a friend down the table when Luke asked quietly, “Are you all right?”
David forked up a bite of the pie. “Ja, I was . . . concerned about someone else, not me. Trying to decide how much I can help.”
Luke looked past him, and David turned his head to see Esther snatching up dirty plates from the table the minute men had taken a last bite, not asking if they’d intended to have a second serving.
“Take your fingers off if you’re not careful, that one,” Luke murmured, and David realized he’d made a logical leap to a conclusion that was wrong . . . but not so very wrong.
“She’s not a happy woman,” he said, just as quietly. “Fixing that might be something only she can do.”
“She isn’t kind to Miriam, I’ve seen that.”
David glanced sharply at his new friend. “No, but your sister forgives her, no matter how often it’s necessary.”
“She does.” But Luke looked perturbed. “But will God forgive Esther, if she clings to her imagined wrongs and never offers the forgiveness He expects of us?”
There was no answer to that. David didn’t even try.
After a minute, Luke said, “I forgot to say that Samuel Ropp came into the store yesterday to ask about you. Miriam told him that Daad and I think highly of you, but I don’t think he believed her.”
She’d mentioned recommending him to Samuel. David shrugged. “He either brings the horse to me or he doesn’t.”
“The printer in town makes business cards. We get ours done there, and so does Micah Yoder and many others.”
“Does the printer design them, too? I don’t want fancy, but eye-catching would be good.”
“That’s true. Miriam came up with ours, including a drawing of a rocking chair. She made up the one for the quilt store, too. Ruth was grateful.”
“An artist, is she?”
“Ja, in her way. I’m sure she’d be glad to help.”
Had Miriam ever in her life turned anyone down who sought help from her?
No need to even answer that.
“I’ll ask her.” David grinned. “Lately I’ve come up with a list of all the things that I’m no good at—”
“Some with your brother’s help.”
He chuckled. “Ja, Jake is ever helpful. Designing something to advertise my services has gone on my list.”
Obviously amused, Luke said, “But you and Levi had business cards. Who designed those? Levi?”
“Levi never quite said, but I’m guessing it was really Miriam.”
Luke gave a hearty laugh. “Of course it was.” He sighed, rubbed his belly, and said, “I suppose it’s time to heave myself up so Julia can sit down.”
“You’re right. Your daughter, too—although I’ve never seen her eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
As the two men joined the exodus from the table, Luke made a sound that expressed his exasperation. “You know that saying, ‘You can lead a horse to water’?”
“She may have a growth spurt someday.” He looked ruefully down at himself. “I certainly did.”
“You and me both. My mother used to complain that she’d barely sew a pair of pants for me than they suddenly ended in the middle of my shins.”
“Mine, too. But just think. We didn’t have time to wear out our clothes, so our younger brothers probably never needed new ones.”
“Maybe that’s why they’re so fond of us.”
The two men laughed again.