CHAPTER 19

Reuben bowed his head for an abbreviated minute, then I listened to his footsteps tromp out the back door, followed by a slam.

Armin got to his feet. “I’d better help with the livestock.” He swatted Peter’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You two come with me.”

“But I haven’t had dessert yet,” Jeremy said.

“I’m sure your mother will save you a slice of pie.” He jostled Jeremy’s chair.

“Yah, of course I will,” Rhoda said. “And I’ll make ya hot spiced cider or cocoa. Be sure to wear your winter coat.”

Peter sulked. “Mamm, I ain’t a little boy anymore.”

“Then, why aren’t you out helping your father?” Armin said. I figured he was taking Jeremy and Peter with him for my benefit, so I could talk to Pops and my grandparents with more privacy.

Like a sprite, Lizzie helped Rhoda clear the table, and then the two of them brought out chocolate pie, a plate of cookies, and a stack of dessert plates.

“Please, won’t ya sit down here by us?” Grandpa Leonard said to me. His gnarled finger pointed to Peter’s now-empty chair. I wanted to speak to him so very much, but my father—just yesterday my beloved Pops—smelled like a stinkbug. And I had to take into consideration: I might not be related to my grandparents. Unless they’d adopt me. Nah, who would adopt a grown woman?

Pops guzzled his glass of water. “Never mind.” Practically his first words at the table—not his usual talkative self. Using his arms, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’d better split, for everyone’s sake.”

“Nee, please don’t leave.” Rhoda’s voice turned urgent. “You hardly touched your supper.”

I almost jumped in to explain that Pops had declared he no longer had an appetite; a metallic taste like a tarnished spoon had pervaded his mouth. But he was a grown man. He could talk for himself. Rhoda brought a bowl of whipped cream from the refrigerator and set it on the table. “You have yet to taste my pie, Ezekiel. Chocolate used to be your favorite when you were a boy. I made it ’specially for you.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.” His eyes were sunken.

“Are ya kidding? You’re mei Bruder.”

“You’re kind, Rhodie, but then you always were.” Pops stood, a sluggish process. “I don’t deserve your hospitality.”

Rhoda’s voice rose to a ferocious pitch. “We must forgive those who harm us.”

“Yah, ’tis a sin to bear malice,” Grandma Leah said, her face a road map of fine lines. “Especially against your own child.” Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch Pops’s forearm. “Please sit. Reuben won’t be in again for at least an hour.”

I listened and watched them as if I were in the audience of a movie theater—a spectator. Which was how I wanted to be: in the shadows, unseen. I wondered if they’d be so distracted they wouldn’t notice if I left the table. But the moment my knee swung to the side, Rhoda caught sight of me.

“Sally, don’t ya want to speak to your father?”

I couldn’t even shake my head; my shoulders were as hard as concrete. “I’ve said all I have to say to him. There’s no point.”

“But, Sally—” Pops leaned closer to me.

“Ezekiel, we want you to spend the night here,” Rhoda said.

“You mustn’t disobey your husband, Rhodie.” Pops’s hands grasped the back of a chair, as if it were a pair of crutches. His complexion was murky—maybe from the dim gas lighting. No, his skin was definitely darker. He looked wobbly, ready to keel over. It took all my willpower to remain seated and not rush over to help him.

“Please,” Lizzie said, “don’t leave us, Uncle Ed.”

“Yah, we can call you anything you like,” Rhoda said.

“Ed is fine,” my grandfather said, then wagged his finger. “But it’s greislich—terrible—for a man to change his last name, to discard his ancestors. Our heritage is very important. We must never forget it.”

“But for tonight,” my grandma said, “we can accept Ezekiel as he is.” She was practically pleading, a pitiful whimper. “We don’t want him on the road in this storm.”

With everyone talking, I decided this was the opportune moment for me to leave. Rhoda glanced at me for a moment but didn’t protest.

Minutes later, wearing the borrowed rubber boots, I practically skated across the frozen snow to Armin’s cabin. The sky seemed to be clearing and flakes drifted down lazily. Armin’s front porch was dark, but I noticed a dim light inside and heard Ginger’s yip. I knocked, then let myself in. When Ginger saw me, she jumped for joy, as only dogs do.

“Looks like you’re spending the night in this cabin,” I told her. My gaze stole over to Armin’s bed, which looked comfy, a refuge, what I’d hoped to find at the bed and breakfast yesterday. If things got too weird around here, when the weekend was over and the tourists returned to the city, I might just drive over to that B&B to see if they had a vacancy.

What was I thinking? I had Ginger with me.

Donald’s alligator billfold always bulged with an array of credit cards and hundred-dollar bills. He could afford to stay at a pricey pet-friendly hotel, but I couldn’t. I asked myself, frankly, if his financial standing—that sense of security—hadn’t played a role in my falling for him. No, he’d sent flowers, opened doors, paid me compliments, wooed me. Except when it came to Pops.

I draped my jacket over the back of a wooden chair. My annoyance and frustration had seemed to warm me from the inside on my walk here, but now I realized the cabin had cooled down. I added wood to the fire and used the poker to nudge the glowing embers toward the center. In a swoosh, the wood ignited. I felt pleased with my accomplishment. Silly that such a minor task brought me joy I so desperately needed.

Armin had left a lantern burning on a side table next to his sofa. I dug into my purse and found the preowned Amish novel I’d borrowed from the store today. With a plaid wool lap blanket covering my legs, I settled onto the couch and opened the paperback and started reading. After spending the day selling books like this, I was surprised to find the story intriguing. I could relate to several of the characters. Yet my lids grew heavy, and I set it aside, rested my head on a pillow, and closed my eyes.

I must have dozed, because the opening door jarred me to consciousness.

“Taking a cat nap?” Armin said.

“Uh, I guess working today was harder than I thought.” I didn’t know why I was so flustered and embarrassed by his sudden appearance.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep out here?” He removed his jacket, gave it a shake out the door, then hung it on a peg. He yanked off his boots and stepped into his slippers.

“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “But I’d better go back to the house.” I could only imagine what Reuben would conclude if I slept out here. Talk about wagging tongues. And this place would be freezing in the morning, not that the big house wouldn’t get cold, with no central heating.

The saying about March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb somersaulted through my mind. Well, not true this year. I recalled a brutal March in Connecticut, as a child. We kids in the neighborhood had thoroughly enjoyed the snow. Or was it February? My past seemed like a hazy morning without a horizon.

“I hate to leave Ginger,” I told Armin.

“She’ll be fine.”

“I worry about if she needs to go out. She’s not used to wandering around a farm.”

“I’ll keep a gut eye on her.”

A light rapping on the door caught Ginger’s attention. She hurried over to it.

“Coming.” Armin opened the door. “Rhoda.”

She ducked her head in and spotted me, then turned to Armin and paused. I sat up straighter and lay the blanket aside—not that I was doing anything wrong.

“Sally, your father’s staying in the extra bedroom on the first floor.” She moved just inside the doorway. “I helped him into bed and was concerned to see how swollen his feet and ankles are.”

“I’ve been concerned about that too. Did he explain what’s wrong with him?”

“Nee, he didn’t have to. Ach, his foul breath told me everything. My cousin had the same problem. I wonder how long before he goes into renal failure.”

“I’ve tried to get Pops to return to the doctor’s, but he won’t listen.” I felt guilty for my glib reply, but the truth was I had no power to make my father do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Please come sleep in your room,” Rhoda said. “The men will get up as usual to milk the cows and feed the livestock, then we’re off to church service, a day of rest to reflect upon the Lord.”

“Leaving me alone with Pops.” I recollected the two-headed pushmi-pullyu in the Doctor Dolittle book Pops read to me when I was a kid. Half of me worried about Pops’s health while the other half wished to avoid further confrontation with him.

“Could I come to church with you?” I assumed Lizzie wouldn’t disappear during the night, not in this weather. “Do you have room in your buggy for everyone?”

“Armin can drive you.” She turned to him. “Can you do that for our Sally?”

Armin looked ill at ease, his lower lip tightened. “Yah, I can, even if it means running into my brother.”

“Can’t you just sit on the other side of the church?” I asked.

“Nee, the men sit on one side, the women on the other.” Rhoda gestured with her hands. “Sally, you may sit with Lizzie.”

“But I can’t go to church dressed like this.” I glanced down at my sweats.

“We’ll lend you a dress, a long wool coat, and a wool bonnet to cover your head. You’ll need it tomorrow. Even if the snow lets up, it’ll be a mighty cold ride.”

Armin crossed his arms. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. No telling what the bishop might do. Your family has troubles enough.”