Clara heard the rattle of buggy wheels on the stones in the lane and looked out the window. Isaiah! What was he doing at the house in the middle of the day? She wiped her hands on the dish towel and left the rest of the dishes soaking in the sink.
The twins were already swarming over Isaiah by the time she stepped outside. They greeted him with the same enthusiasm whenever he returned to the house, but they seemed a bit more excited than usual.
During the past two weeks, the days had flowed one into the other without much of note other than taking Ammon to Lititz to have his hearing aid fitted. The concerns he wouldn’t want to wear it were for naught because he was delighted to be able to hear his siblings. It was the first thing he reached for in the morning and the last thing he took off at night. And Nettie Mae became less resistant to wearing glasses now that he had the hearing aid. Clara had warned them more than once that just because they had special tools to help them didn’t mean they were any different from any other kind in the district. Each plain youngster had to learn being part of the community was more important than standing out.
As she neared, Isaiah went around to the back of his buggy and opened it. He pulled out bright blue pieces of plastic and black rods and netting. As he tossed each item on the grass, the twins became more excited.
“What’s that?” Clara asked as he grabbed several of the larger pieces. She jumped aside when he dragged them past her.
“It’s a trampoline. Or at least it’s supposed to be once it’s assembled.” He dropped the pieces onto the ground not far from the sandbox and went to get more. When the twins picked up a few smaller parts near the buggy, he pointed to the spot where he wanted them put. “Daniel got it at the house where he’s working. He’s renovating a big farmhouse for an Englischer and his wife.”
She glanced at the piles of parts on the grass. “They didn’t want the trampoline?”
“No. From what Daniel told me, it was in the barn when his clients bought the house. Their kinder are grown, so they don’t have any use for it. Daniel talked to them about the twins, and they decided to give him the trampoline for them.”
“How generous!” She smiled. “It looks as if you’ve got your work cut out for you. There are a lot of pieces.”
“Daniel is coming over later to help me put it together. He put one up for Joshua’s youngsters last summer. He says he remembers most of the steps.” He gave her a half smile. “Which is gut because we don’t have any assembly instructions.”
“I’ll keep the kids away from it.”
“You?” His smile broadened. “I’ll watch them this afternoon.”
“You aren’t going to the forge?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t taken as much time with the twins as I’d like. I want to while I can.”
Clara blinked abrupt moisture from her eyes at the resignation in his voice. The kinder’s family could come at any time and take them, but they avoided speaking of it. Like the twins, they’d learned to pretend everything was fine.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll get supper ready.”
“Or you could stay out here and work with us.”
“I don’t want to barge in on your time with them.”
“How could you? You’re part of their lives, too. Don’t you want to help us? It’ll be fun, Clara, and we could use fun in our lives.”
The dampness in her eyes threatened to coalesce into tears. She blinked them aside as she nodded. He was right. She was taking everything too seriously.
“That sounds wunderbaar,” she said, and took the hand he held out to her.
“C’mon!” he called to the twins. “Let’s get this sorted out so we can put it together.” As they began to try to figure out the pieces of the trampoline, she realized she’d forgotten how to have fun.
She didn’t want to forget again.
* * *
By the time Daniel had arrived and they’d set to work assembling the trampoline, Isaiah was grateful for his younger brother’s assistance. Clara excused herself to let them work and insisted the kinder go in the house with her so one of the heavier pieces didn’t tumble on them.
It took them almost two hours to set up the trampoline and make sure it was safe. Isaiah was pleased when Clara and the twins reappeared as he and Daniel were putting away the last of the tools. She carried a pitcher of lemonade that was sweating as much as they were. The afternoon was humid, and thunderheads threatened over the western hills.
Taking a glass filled with ice and lemonade, he said, “Exactly what I was thinking about.”
“I guessed.” She smiled at the youngsters staring with delight at the trampoline. “The twins were eager to do something while they waited for you to finish, so we squeezed lemons.” Looking at his brother, she added, “Daniel, would you like to join us for dinner?”
“Danki, Clara,” his brother said after draining his glass and holding it out for a refill, “but I need to get home and help with Shelby’s physical therapy. She won’t let anyone else help her with practicing going up and down stairs.”
“She’s got you well-trained.” Isaiah couldn’t help envying his younger brother, who had fallen in love with a girl who came with a ready-made family.
“I’m wrapped around her little finger. Hers and Hannah’s.” Daniel finished his second glass of lemonade and handed it to Clara. He waved to them before heading to where his light brown buggy horse waited.
The kinder were clamoring to test the trampoline even before the buggy left. Cautioning them to put a big space between them so they wouldn’t bump into each other, Isaiah lifted them, one after another, through the opening in the netting. As the trampoline shifted beneath them, they grabbed on to the netting and looked scared.
“Just bounce,” he said.
Ammon did, jumping high and coming down hard. He fell to his knees and then flat on his face. He pushed himself up. The side of his face was reddened, but he was grinning.
“Bounce gently,” Clara urged. “A little motion will make you go a lot.” She grinned when the girls began to move with more confidence.
Soon all four kinder were leaping around the trampoline like mad rabbits. Their squeals of excitement were sweet music. Not quite laughter, but closer than he’d heard from them since that tragic night.
When the twins took a break to drink more lemonade, Isaiah asked, “Shall we try it, Clara?”
“You go ahead.” She took a step away. “I should get dinner on the table.”
“Not until you have your turn.” He grasped her hands and tugged her forward.
“Clara’s turn! Clara’s turn!” shouted the twins, jumping with excitement as if still on the trampoline.
“You hear them.” He yanked off his work boots and tossed them and his socks to one side. “They think it’s a gut idea for you to take a turn.” He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the surface.
She gasped and clung to the netting to keep herself on her feet. “Give me a warning next time.”
“I gave you one this time.”
“Not much of one.”
“But it was a warning.” He swung up and began moving along the unsteady surface.
It was more fun than it looked, though it wasn’t easy keeping his balance. Every downward motion seemed to create a stronger upward one. Starting slowly, he increased the pressure he put on the trampoline, jumping a bit higher each time. The twins cheered when he flapped his arms like a bird taking flight.
Spinning through the strengthening wind, which blew in heated gusts, he faced Clara. “You aren’t jumping.”
“I’m trying to stay on my feet. It’s easier to give the twins advice than to do this myself.”
“It’s easier if you jump.”
She laced the fingers of one hand through another section of the netting and held her kapp in place with the other as the wind swirled its strings across her cheeks. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
He bounced hard, and she released the netting to throw out her arms to try to keep her balance. Grasping her hands, he pulled her to face him. “No, you don’t.”
“Isaiah! I’m going to break my neck!”
He halted his bouncing and steadied her as she was about to tumble off her feet. “Take it slow, Clara. You’ll see how much fun it is.”
“That’s your opinion,” she retorted, but gave him a saucy grin.
Again he began the slow, steady bouncing. He didn’t release her hands as they went up and down together. Her grin became a gleeful smile when they bounced higher and higher.
“It’s fun!” she shouted.
Thrilled he’d convinced her to toss aside her overwhelming sense of duty and enjoy herself, he looked into her pretty eyes that sparkled like ice in the pitcher. He was lost in their earth-brown depths. Hearing something like a heartfelt sigh, he wasn’t sure if it came from his throat or hers. There was nothing in the world but the two of them and the slick surface of the trampoline beneath their bare feet.
As he thought that, he slipped when a gust of wind pushed him sideways. He fell forward but twisted to avoid hitting Clara. As he struck the trampoline, his breath bursting out of him, he realized she’d tumbled backward at the same time and had rolled out of his way. Before he could get to his feet, she’d crawled out of the trampoline and was standing on the grass, panting from exertion.
Isaiah climbed down, too, and she halted him from saying anything by pointing to the trampoline and shaking her head.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she said, leaning on the netting. “I’ll leave this to you and the twins. This isn’t something I can do by myself.”
Ammon looked at her, as serious as a deacon scolding a member of the Leit. “In the Bible, it says, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’”
She smiled. “It does, but I’m not sure if Paul had trampolines in mind when he wrote to the Phillipians.”
“It means all things,” the little boy insisted.
“He’s right.” Isaiah wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold in his laughter at the little boy’s attempt to reassure her. “It does say all things. We don’t get to pick or choose.”
Ammon nodded. “That’s what Mamm says.” Sudden tears flooded his blue eyes. “I miss Mamm. I miss her and Daed.”
Gasps came from his siblings, and they frowned, wanting him to stop talking about their parents. Isaiah was too shocked to move, but Clara didn’t hesitate. She went to her knees to wrap her arms around the kind. He threw himself against her and sobbed.
The other twins stared at Ammon, and Isaiah could see them struggling to contain their grief. It was impossible. One after another, their faces fell.
When Clara reached out and gathered Nettie Mae to her, the little girl dissolved into sobs. Isaiah wrapped his arms around Nancy and Andrew. They cried, not like young kinder, but with the bone-deep weeping of someone far older who had suffered the worst blows life could bring their way.
An abrupt detonation of thunder followed a flash of lightning. He scooped up the little girl and boy and ran toward the house. Clara followed with Ammon and Nettie Mae. As soon as they entered the kitchen, all four kinder ran into the living room and crouched by the sofa, their heart-rending cries filling the silence between the rumbles of thunder.
“Go to them,” Clara urged. “They need you.”
“I don’t know what to say to them.” Something released inside him as he admitted he was at a loss for what to do.
“Say to them what you’d say to anyone else.” She grasped his arms and looked at him. “Say to them what you wish someone had said to you when Rose died.”
He stared, riveted by her advice. Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? Many times, he’d wanted someone to sit and listen to him talk—or not talk—about Rose without telling him he was brave or he was strong enough to bear the burden of his loss.
He took one stiff step, then another toward where the kinder huddled together, looking for comfort from one another. Realization flashed like lightning through his mind. They believed they could find solace only from each other in their shared loss.
Sitting on the floor beside them, he didn’t touch them. Instead he spread his arms in both directions along the sofa cushions, offering them an open invitation when they were ready. He wasn’t sure if they were aware he’d come over to them because they hid their faces behind their hands or each other’s shoulder.
“You know your daed and mamm would have come home to you if they could have, don’t you?” he asked.
None of the youngsters replied, but they froze, and he knew they were listening to what he said. God, please send me the right words. Let me be Your conduit to their hearts.
“It’s true,” he went on aloud. “There’s nothing your mamm and daed would have wanted more than to return to you.”
“But they didn’t!” The pain in Andrew’s voice sliced through Isaiah, because he empathized with the boy. Being left behind by someone you love, especially when that person wouldn’t have chosen to go, was agony.
“I know, and it hurts when I think about things I want to say to them.”
“You too?” Nancy raised her head.
“All the time. Your daed was excited to see the gates when they were finished, and I couldn’t wait to show him, but I couldn’t. Not like I used to, but in my heart, I know he’s near and celebrating with me.”
“But,” Nettie Mae said around a sob, “I talk. Mamm no talk. Daed no talk. Want to hear them!”
“Don’t listen here.” He pointed to his left ear before tapping the center of her narrow chest. “Listen here. In your heart.”
“Where God is?” asked Andrew in awe.
“Ja.” Envy struck him again, but this time for the boy’s simple faith that hadn’t wavered in the wake of his parents’ deaths. He wished his had been as strong. Could it be again? All he needed to do was walk the path God had given him. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of his troubles. He needed to help the twins, who were looking to him for help.
Clara stepped forward and sat on the other side of the kinder. She held out her arms, not saying a word. The girls launched themselves into her embrace. She held them close and comforted them. The boys inched nearer. She motioned for them to join in the group hug. Andrew and Ammon threw their arms around their siblings.
From the center of the hug, Clara began to sing Jesus Loves Me, and the youngsters joined one after another. When they stumbled on the Englisch words and looked ready to cry again, she switched to Deitsch. She began a different hymn when they finished, and the kinder sang until their tears stopped. She kept singing as the youngsters’ eyelids grew heavy. While the twins fell asleep around her like a litter of puppies, she continued singing, making the hymns sound like both a prayer and a lullaby.
She extracted herself from among the kinder as the last one nodded off, worn out by the day’s events and the release of the emotions they’d kept bottled up. Walking into the kitchen, she leaned her hands on the table and sighed. “I know I shouldn’t pray for them to be able to set their grief aside because that would mean forgetting their parents. But for a few moments...” She glanced at him as he rose to follow her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine. I know what you mean. It’s not easy to walk between the gut memories and the grief. But it’s a beginning for their healing.”
“How about your healing, Isaiah? When is that going to start?”
Words failed him as he saw the sympathy on her face. There must be something he could say, but he had no idea what. As thunder crashed around them and wind-driven rain lashed the windows, the storm within him was louder. A calm would settle around the hills once the clouds passed, but it wouldn’t be easy to quiet the turbulence inside him.
She raised a hand toward him, but he pushed himself away from the table and strode into the dawdi haus, shutting the door. He was as brittle as improperly tempered cast iron. If she touched him, he’d shatter as the metal would when struck by his hammer. He had no idea how he’d ever put himself together again.