Three days later, Clara was astonished to see Isaiah waiting in the kitchen when she came downstairs to start breakfast. Usually, at this hour just before dawn, he’d be out to the barn doing chores. She was about to ask him if everything was okay when the stern expression on his face told her it wasn’t.
“There’s been a death at the Gingerich house. Henry Gingerich,” he said without a preamble. “A heart attack in his sleep. I need to get over there to help the family.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want me to pack food for you to take with you?”
He shook his head. “No. There will be plenty there. You know how plain folks make sure the grieving family has more to eat than they need.” His eyes shifted toward the freezer compartment on the refrigerator. He swallowed so hard she could see the motion.
Though the last of the food brought for Melvin and Esta’s funeral had been used up, she guessed he couldn’t get the picture of the stuffed freezer out of his mind. It was a lingering reminder of his loss.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she asked.
“Will you explain to the kids that I may not be able to get to their picnic at school?” He raked his hand through his pale hair, leaving it spiked across the top of his head.
She resisted the temptation to smooth those strands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the boys see everything at school.”
“I promised Andrew and Ammon I would attend with them.”
“I know.”
The older twins had been excited last night about visiting the school they’d attend in the fall. Neva Fry had taken over the school when Isaiah’s younger sister, Esther, married, and, as the new teacher, Neva had decided to ask next year’s first-time students to attend school for a fun day so the building and scholars would be familiar to them on their first day. In addition, she asked the parents to join in a frolic of cleaning the school building and yard.
With the gates done, Isaiah had looked forward to spending time with the twins at the school gathering. He’d volunteered to help paint the small outhouses used by the scholars. The buckets of white paint were already in the family buggy. Neither Isaiah nor Clara had mentioned that the twins might not be in Paradise Springs in the fall. Until they knew for sure who was going to take them and where, there was no reason to disrupt the kinder further.
“The twins will understand,” she said, though she wasn’t sure.
“If you tell them I’ve gone to oversee plans for a funeral.” His face lost what little color it’d had. “But I don’t want them to know that. Not on such a special day.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Go and be with the Gingerich family. They need you more than the kinder do.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“I am. Let me do what you hired me to do.”
He put his hand over hers, and she found herself sinking into the depths of his blue-gray eyes. She wished she knew how to answer the questions she saw within them. If she tried, everything would change between them. She couldn’t risk her heart again. The cracks in it were welded together by the heat of the tears she’d cried.
“I hate dumping this on you,” he said in a whisper.
“Don’t you think I know? I’ll try to keep them from hearing about Henry for as long as I can.”
He nodded. “The boys have looked forward to this day.”
“Nettie Mae and Nancy, too.”
“I don’t want it ruined for them.”
“It won’t be. Nobody is going to want to upset the scholars today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to get there later?”
“I don’t know at this point.”
There was so much regret in his voice her hand rose and curved along his smoothly shaven cheek above his wispy beard. “I’m sorry you have to miss today, Isaiah. After your hard work on those gates, you were due time to have fun with the twins.”
He put his fingers over hers and gave her a sad smile. “We’ll have to find another way to enjoy a fun day with them.” Drawing her hand away from his face, he gave it a squeeze before he walked to the door. “I’ll definitely be home in time for milking tonight.”
She nodded, holding her lower lip between her teeth. If she spoke, she wasn’t sure she could silence the words she wanted to say. Words to tell him again how sorry she was he couldn’t join them for the day as well as words to let him know how important he was becoming to her. She couldn’t say that! It would mean putting her heart on the line again, and she wouldn’t, especially when her time with him and the kinder was going to end too soon.
* * *
“We’re going to school! We’re going to school!” Andrew had turned the words into a song, which he sang at the top of his lungs, as he led the way out of the house.
When the other youngsters joined in, Clara made a big show of raising her hands as if to put them over her ears. Instead, she joined in, shocking the kids. They grinned, but she didn’t hear the laughter she’d hoped for. She had to believe it would come one day.
She skipped with them to the buggy and, after cautioning them not to tip over the plates on the seats, motioned for them to climb in. She handed one plate to each kind.
“Onkel Isaiah isn’t coming?” asked Andrew as he settled his covered plate on his lap, holding it with both hands.
She shook her head as she gave Nettie Mae a box containing the flatware they’d use. “He’s meeting with Reuben today.” It wasn’t a lie, because the bishop would be at Henry Gingerich’s house, too.
“But he said he was coming.” Andrew stuck out his lower lip. “He told me last night he’d let me help paint.”
“The paint is in the back of the buggy, and I’m sure, if you ask, the men painting the outhouses will let you help.”
Nancy interjected, “Onkel Isaiah gonna push me on the swings till I kick the clouds.”
“The next time you see him, ask him to take you there and give you a ride on the swings.” To ward off more questions, she said, “Don’t forget. Your onkel Isaiah knows the school well. He went there when he was a boy.”
The kinder looked at her with astonishment. She couldn’t tell if they were more surprised about Isaiah attending the same school they would or the fact he’d once been as young as they were.
Driving the buggy to the end of the farm lane, Clara asked, “Whose turn is it to get the mail today?”
“Mine!” Nancy jumped down from the buggy and ran to the metal mailbox where the letters spelling the family’s last name were hardly visible. The door on the front had rusted away. Standing on tiptoe, she reached in. “A letter!” She waved it in the air as she rushed to the buggy. “For me?”
Clara took the envelope and turned it over to read the return address. “It’s from your aenti Debra. Shall we read it now or after we go to school?”
“Now!” Nancy, Nettie Mae and Andrew shouted at the same time. Ammon chimed in a moment later...as he often did.
Too often did, Clara realized. He didn’t wait for Andrew to speak for the twins, but let the younger girls also answer first. She’d thought he was shy but didn’t believe that any longer. Once he joined in, he could be louder than the other three put together. Why was he the last one to answer any question she asked? And not only her questions, but everyone’s.
She opened the thin envelope and pulled out a single piece of lined paper. The words were in such tiny handwriting she was tempted to borrow Nettie Mae’s glasses.
“What does she say?” asked Andrew.
“Let’s see,” she said to buy herself time. Much of what Debra Wittmer had written wasn’t suitable for the kinder. They didn’t need to know about the number of deaths from recent earthquakes and the deprivations being prevented by the Mennonite mission. She began to read aloud the sections that were appropriate for the twins, the parts where Debra described the soaring landscapes and the nice people she’d met and worked with.
“Does she have a llama?” asked Nettie Mae when Clara paused to take a breath.
Pretending to check, Clara said, “She says the local people do and that the llamas carry goods for them when they shop in the village.”
“I like llamas,” the little girl said with a smile. “Can we ask Aenti Debra to bring one home?”
“Llamas live in herds like cows do. A llama by itself would be very lonely.”
“But we’d love it!”
“I know, but a llama wants to be with other llamas, and you wouldn’t want it to be lonely, would you?” Going back to “reading” the letter, Clara finished with, “It’s signed with your aenti Debra’s name.”
“Right there,” Ammon said, leaning over the seat to point at the letters. “D-e-b-r-a. That spells Debra.”
“It does.” She smiled at him. “Are you sure you haven’t already been going to school? You know your ABC’s, ain’t so?”
“Mamm helped me,” he whispered before he sat on the back bench.
Andrew sniffed and rubbed his hand against his nose as he dropped next to his brother.
“You learned very well,” Clara said, not wanting to let silence settle on the buggy. Her heart ached for the kinder.
If she’d had any doubt, the broken expressions on their young faces would have confirmed—for once and for all—that the twins were suffused with grief. She wanted to gather them into her arms and hold them until they let down the walls that must take an untold amount of will to keep in place.
Who were you who told them not to laugh and not to grieve? Why did you deny them the very tools that could allow them to heal?
By the time she reached the schoolhouse, Clara had gotten her unsteady emotions under control. She helped the kinder carry the food and supplies to the porch. They put the plates next to what others brought. She’d thought the twins would rush off to join the other kids, but they clung close to her. Another sign of how ragged their feelings were.
A young woman with a warm smile approached them. “I’m Neva Fry, the teacher here. I saw you at the most recent church Sunday, Clara.”
“Andrew and Ammon will be joining you in the fall.” If their family doesn’t move them away from Paradise Springs, she added silently as she put one hand on each boy and gave them a gentle shove forward.
Neva asked, “Would you like to see inside the school? Komm. I’ll show you.”
The boys’ enthusiasm returned, though they didn’t budge far from Clara, as the teacher pointed out where they’d be sitting in the front row with the other youngest scholars. She urged them to sit at the desks and page through the books they’d be using. Andrew seemed more interested in the desk itself, but Ammon ran his finger along the words in the primer and mouthed each letter to himself.
It was the last time either of them sat all morning. While Clara helped the scholars’ mamms give the classroom a gut cleaning, including every hidden space in the desks, the youngsters played outside under the supervision of Neva’s assistant teacher.
Clara was pleased to discover Leah among the other volunteers. They worked together washing the windows with vinegar and water until the glass sparkled.
When it was time for their picnic meal, adults had arranged the food, making sure there were serving utensils with each dish. Neva called to her scholars who were waiting to eat. A girl and boy came over and smiled at her when she asked if they’d share their blankets, spread on the grass, with the older twins. They nodded and offered their hands to Andrew and Ammon.
Andrew grabbed the boy’s hand, leaving the girl to his brother. Ammon hesitated before grasping the girl’s hand, but both boys were grinning as the older kinder chatted with them about school.
“He’s too young to think girls have cooties,” Neva said, as she smiled at Clara. “Most of the girls and boys play with each other until they’re around ten or eleven years old.”
Clara returned the smile to be polite, but her gaze followed the twins. Again and again, Ammon glanced at his brother before acting. It was as if he sought a clue to what he should do next. Ammon followed his brother’s lead. There must be a reason why the little boy was dependent on his twin.
Helping the little girls select what food they wanted from the vast variety on the porch, Clara led them to where Leah was sitting beside her niece. Mandy began talking with the twins who hung on every word. Several times, Clara had to remind them to eat.
“They’re adorable,” Leah said. “It seems like such a short time ago Mandy was no older than they are. Enjoy them, Clara.”
“I do.”
“Do you know when their grandparents are returning?”
“I haven’t heard from them, but the missionary board said it’d be at least another week or two before they could get home. At the earliest.”
“Isaiah is going to miss the kinder if they leave.”
“I know. We all will.”
Leah put her fork on her plate and set both beside her on the grass. “I worry about Isaiah. To lose them on top of losing their parents so soon after Rose died... It would break a weaker man.”
Clara jumped in to ask before she could stop herself, “Did Rose tell you that she married him because her parents insisted?”
“Who told you that?” She held up her hands. “No, I know who did, and I’m sure it was when Isaiah could hear, too. I don’t know how Orpha thinks she can persuade Isaiah to marry her when she acts spiteful.”
“Rose didn’t tell you that her parents insisted she get married?”
“She told me, but she also said she married Isaiah because she loved him. I wasn’t in Paradise Springs when they courted. I was here during the short time they were married, however. I never doubted she loved him. It’s true she was horrified when the lot fell on him, because she didn’t believe she would make a gut minister’s wife. She tried her best before she died.”
“Will you tell Isaiah that? He’s filled with a terrible guilt about his marriage.”
Leah put her hands on Clara’s arms. “I’ve told him that Rose loved him. Over and over. Help him, Clara. After seeing him with you, I think you may be the only one who can.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Please. No matchmaking.”
“I’m not talking about you marrying him. I’m talking about you helping him lay his past to rest along with whatever guilt he’s carrying around with him.”
“I want to, but I don’t know how.”
“I think you do.” Leah’s smile softened. “I think your heart does. All you need to do is listen to it.”
Was it that simple? Even if it was, doing so meant giving her heart free rein. It already yearned to lead her to Isaiah. Yet, how could she not help him?
Her thoughts spun around in her head until she heard Neva call, “Who wants to play softball? Andrew? Ammon? Do you want to play?”
Andrew’s head whipped around the moment the teacher spoke his name, but Ammon continued to watch the other kinder rushing to the spot where teams could be chosen. Jumping to his feet, Andrew gave his brother’s arm a gentle slap. Ammon looked at him. When Andrew motioned for his twin to follow him, he did.
Clara stared after them as the truth battered her. Ammon couldn’t hear everything said by her or anyone else. He was taking his signals from his siblings, going along and trusting them that they would clue him in on what was happening.
Had Isaiah noticed? She had to tell him about her suspicions as soon as possible.
* * *
As he stopped his buggy behind others parked in front of the schoolhouse, Isaiah heard the scholars cheering. Their excitement was what he needed to lift his heart. Preparations for a funeral were never easy, even when the person who’d died was old and in pain.
He’d known Henry Gingerich all of his life. The elderly farmer had been part of the lives of almost everyone in the district because he always helped his neighbors and family. By the next day, vans would be arriving at the Gingerich house, bringing family members who lived too far away to come by buggy.
Tomorrow he’d take each twin aside and tell them what had happened. He doubted they’d know who Henry Gingerich was, though they’d seen him almost every church Sunday of their lives.
As he stepped out of the buggy, a pair of small blurs rushed toward him.
“Onkel Isaiah!” shouted Nancy.
Nettie Mae threw her arms around him as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks rather than a few hours.
He stopped and gave the little girls each a hug. Tapping Nettie Mae’s nose beyond her glasses, he grinned. “Have you been coloring?”
“Ja! Komm and see. My dog! Want one.”
“A dog?”
“Like Shelby’s.”
Having no idea what the little girl was talking about, he knew he’d have to ask Daniel what sort of dog—and if it was real or stuffed—the toddler had.
“You here!” Nancy cried. “Me glad!”
“Ja, me too.” He looked past her. Clara was walking toward them. What would she do if he held out his arms to her as he had to the kinder? It was sweet to imagine her stepping into them, because her head was at the perfect height to lean against his shoulder.
“Go and get a ladle of cold water for your onkel Isaiah,” Clara said. As soon as the girls had sped away, she turned to him. “You look exhausted.”
“I feel like I’ve been carrying an elephant around.”
“How’s the family doing?”
“There’s sadness, but knowing he went in his sleep is a blessing for the whole family. I—” He was struck from behind twice, hitting him hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Expecting the girls, he was surprised to see the boys throwing their short arms around him.
“You’re here! You’re here!” Andrew cried.
Beside him, Ammon nodded, his eyes glistening with tears.
Tears? Why would the little boy cry at the sight of a man he called his onkel?
As if he’d asked that question aloud, Clara said, “They’ve been anxious that you wouldn’t come...” She pressed her fingers to her lips as her eyes widened.
At the motion, comprehension burst through him as it must have through her. He realized what the kinder meant. They hadn’t been concerned he wouldn’t come to the picnic. They were concerned he wouldn’t come home at all.
As their parents hadn’t.
With stark dismay, he recalled how one often clung to him when he left for work. They were as excited when he arrived at day’s end as if he’d been gone for days instead of hours.
He couldn’t promise he’d always make his way home to them. Life changed without warning, as they knew too well.
Soon, the kinder would be with their real family. How long would it take for them to forget him? He knew how long it would take him to forget them. Forever and a day. They were as much a part of him as his next breath. And within a couple of weeks, they’d be gone. Just as Melvin and Esta were.
The grief striking him was like a fist to the gut. He turned away so none of them could see his face.
Andrew’s name was called, and he looked over to where the other kinder were waiting for him to take his place as the batter. When Isaiah motioned for him to go and play, both boys ran to the game.
“How do we get through to them that they’ll never be alone?” asked Isaiah with a sigh.
“I don’t know,” Clara said, “but I think it’s important they learn to be happy again.”
He clasped his hands behind him so he wouldn’t reach out to take hers. “I keep trying to remind myself that, but then I see the emptiness of my life without them, and my heart breaks again.”
“Put them in God’s hands, Isaiah, and trust He’ll watch over them.” She gave a nervous half laugh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be telling a minister to have faith.”
“Why not? A minister is a man like any other. Having doubts or needing to reexamine one’s faith is part of being human.”
“You don’t believe...?”
“Ja, I believe. That won’t change.”
“But?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I’m not as close to God as I’d like to be.”
“Are you angry with Him?”
He was about to give her a quick answer, but then he paused. Anger? Was that what he felt? Or was it disappointment or betrayal? He wouldn’t be less than honest with her. “I don’t know.”
“You need to figure it out, or you’ll never be happy again either.”
“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t thought about myself. What I need is a solution.”
“The answer is the same for you as for the twins. You must be willing to speak of your loss and mourn before you can accept it.”
“I talk about Rose a lot.”
“You talk about her death, but you seldom say anything about her life. Since I got here, I’ve learned about how Leah was gone from Paradise Springs for ten years before she returned with her niece. I found out Rebekah’s first husband was best friends with your brother Joshua before his death. I know from personal experience your mamm makes the best snitz pie in the county.”
“Everyone knows that.”
“The point is, Isaiah, I know a lot about your family because they talk about each other in loving ways, but nobody talks about Rose. Or if they do, they stop when you come near.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“They love you. They don’t want to add to your grief.” She put a consoling hand on his arm. “I would be willing to listen if you need an ear.”
“Danki.” What else could he say? Holding you will help me more than you listening to me? That when I look into your eyes, I can believe—if only for a second—I’m not a lousy human being who failed the person who trusted me most?
When she started to say something else, he didn’t give her time. He walked toward the ball game where he could submerge his guilt and sorrow behind a practiced smile once more.