Amish Beginnings

by Vannetta Chapman

“Is this why you’re cautious about everything now?” he asked without facing her.

  “I’m sure that’s part of it. When we’re young, we can’t imagine anything truly terrible happening.”

  “Some do.”

  She waited for him to explain his cryptic comment. Silence stretched between them until the faint sounds from beyond the door seemed to grow louder and louder with each breath she took.

  Slowly she stood. “Nathaniel, I was foolish, but please don’t shut me out.”

  “I’m not shutting you out.” He turned to look at her, his face as blank as the door behind him.

  “No? I don’t have any idea what you’re thinking.”

  “You don’t?” A faint smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “That’s a change. You almost always have known what I’m thinking.”

  “I don’t now. I wish I did.”

  He closed the distance between them with a pair of steps. Gently he framed her face between his work-roughened hands and tilted it as he whispered, “You’re curious what I’m thinking? Do you really want to know?”

  “Nathaniel—”

  He silenced her as his mouth found hers. She froze, fearing she’d forgotten how to breathe. Then she softened against his broad chest as he deepened the kiss. She slid her arms up his back, wanting to hold on to him and this wunderbaar moment. All thoughts of being only his friend were banished from her mind as well as her heart.

  He raised his head far enough so his lips could form the words, “That was what I was thinking. How much fun it would be to kiss you.”

  Fun? Was that all their kiss was to him? Fun? Another adventure? She didn’t want to think of his jesting words with her brothers, but they rang through her mind.

  Playing the field is gut in more than baseball.

  “Esther...” he began.

  The door opened, and Jacob came in. His grin was ringed with chocolate from the candy he’d been eating. He held a half-finished cup of soda in one hand and a crinkled bag of chips in the other.

  “I should go,” she said, grateful for the interruption.

  She picked up her bonnet. If Nathaniel noticed how her hands trembled, he didn’t mention it. Somehow, she managed to tell him and Jacob goodbye without stumbling over her words. She didn’t wait to hear their replies.

  * * *

  What a mess he’d made of everything!

  Nathaniel took off his straw hat and hung it by the kitchen door. The alpacas and the other animals were fed and watered and settled for the night. He checked the door out of the barn and the gate to the alpacas’ pen to make sure they were locked. They constantly tested every possible spot to find a way out.

  As Esther had at the hospital after he’d kissed her.

  He couldn’t guess why she’d retreated quickly, but he should be relieved she had. What had he been thinking to give in to his yearning to kiss her? A woman considered a man’s kiss a prelude to a proposal, and he wouldn’t ask her to be his wife. He cared about her too much—he loved her too much—to ask her to marry him when he couldn’t give her kinder. The memory of one perfect kiss would have to be enough for him for the rest of his days.

  God, You know I want her in my life. To watch her wed another man, knowing her husband will savor her kisses that set my soul alight, would be the greatest torment I can imagine.

  He made himself a glass of warm milk and went into the living room, glad Jacob was upstairs. Sitting in the chair that had been his grossdawdi’s, he didn’t light a lamp. Instead he stared out into the deepening darkness. It was silent save for the distant yapping of a dog. Not even the sound of a car intruded.

  How could he stay in Paradise Springs where he’d see Esther and her husband and their kinder? He was realizing now that becoming a farmer and making his grandparents’ farm a success had been in large part a cover for his desire to return to Lancaster County and to her. Something he hadn’t realized himself until he understood he could have lost her forever in a buggy accident.

  Should he give in to his mamm’s frequent requests and return home? He could sell the farm and the animals. Ironically, Esther would be his best chance of finding a home for the alpacas. She wanted a herd of her own. He couldn’t imagine a better home for his animals—or for himself—than with her.

  Stop it! Feeling sorry for himself was a waste of time and energy. The facts were unalterable.

  Another thought burst into his head. All you have to do is tell her the truth. He needed to, because kissing her had changed everything. She might think he wanted to court her.

  He did.

  But he couldn’t. Not without telling her the truth. He wasn’t the man for her.

  He needed to think of something else. He’d been shocked when she told him she’d taken part in buggy races. He wondered how many of those friends living a fast life she’d estranged when she came to her senses. Some important ones, he’d guess, by how dim her eyes had become as she spoke.

  Abruptly he understood what she was not saying. One of those people who’d turned away from her must have been a suitor. It would explain why she’d lost much of her daring, turning into a shadow of the girl he’d known. She needed someone special to bring forth her high spirits again. Someone who understood Esther the Pester resided somewhere deep within her.

  Someone like Nathaniel Zook.

  He growled a wordless argument with his own thoughts, but halted when Jacob came down the stairs.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Jacob asked.

  He held out his glass of lukewarm milk to the boy. “Sometimes a man likes to have some quiet time to think.”

  “Onkel Titus used to say that.” Taking the glass, Jacob sat on the sofa. He swallowed half the milk in a big gulp.

  “Your onkel sounds as if he’s a very wise man.”

  “You’ll see for yourself when he comes home from the hospital.” Sipping more slowly, Jacob grinned. “I’m going to ask Onkel Titus if we can get some alpacas to raise on our farm. He’s going to like them as much as we do, ain’t so?”

  Nathaniel let him continue to outline his plans for fixing his onkel’s outbuildings for alpacas and how he’d teach Titus what Esther had helped him and Nathaniel learn. There was no reason to dash the boy’s dreams tonight, simply because his own had been decimated.

  At last, Nathaniel said, “Time for you to get to bed, Jacob. You didn’t sleep much last night, and you don’t want to fall asleep while they’re making cider tomorrow, do you?” Before the wedding, Jacob had told him about a trip the scholars were taking to a neighboring farm to watch windfall apples being squeezed into cider.

  “No!” He jumped to his feet, ran out to the sink, rinsed out the glass and put it near the others to be washed after breakfast. With a cheerful wave, Jacob rushed up the stairs. His bedroom door closed with a distant click.

  Nathaniel was left in the dark to try to figure out what he’d do and say the next time he saw Esther. As long as he was in Paradise Springs, he couldn’t avoid her forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nathaniel stepped out of his buggy and let the reins drop to the ground. Bumper would stay put until he returned. If the horse thought it was strange they’d returned to the place they’d left ten minutes before, he kept his thoughts to himself as he chomped on dried grass.

  Hearing excited voices and a heavy metallic clunk, Nathaniel walked toward an outbuilding at the rear of the Gingerichs’ farm where he’d been told the cider press was kept. The aroma of apples reached him long before he stood in the doorway.

  Sunlight burst between the planks in the walls and seemed to focus on the large cider press in the middle of the barn. It was a simple contraption. Tall, thick wooden beams stood upright on either side. Stacked on a metal table with narrow gutters across it were planks with apples sandwiched between them. Heavier beams had been set on top of the uppermost pla
nk and a heavy metal weight had been lowered onto them. From between the planks and running down the gutters to a hole in the side of the table were steady streams of the juice being squeezed out slowly by the weight.

  Nathaniel noticed that in a single glance as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the barn. His gaze went to where Esther stood with her hands on the shoulders of two smaller scholars. She was making sure they could see the great press and the juice.

  It’d been two weeks since he’d said more than hello or goodbye to her when he dropped off Jacob at school or picked him up at the end of the day. He’d known he would see her at services on Sunday if he attended in her district, but he hadn’t made up his mind about going or not.

  During that time, Alvin Lee Peachy had been released from the hospital into a rehab facility. The community was planning several fund-raising events to help pay for his care, which likely would continue for months, if not years. Nathaniel had seen flyers for a supper to be held next week as well as an auction after the first of the year. He planned to donate the extra furniture his grandparents had collected. If he did decide to sell the farm, the new owners wouldn’t have to deal with the chairs.

  But that wasn’t the reason he’d returned to the Gingerichs’ farm shortly after he’d brought Jacob to join the other scholars. He’d met the bishop on way home, and Reuben had shared news with him that he needed to deliver to Esther and the boy immediately.

  He took a step into the barn, and Esther’s head snapped up as if he’d pulled a string. Her smile evaporated. She bent to whisper to the two scholars beside her. Walking toward him, she caught her assistant’s eye and pointed toward him and the door. Neva glanced at him and nodded.

  Nathaniel went outside to wait for Esther. As she emerged from the barn, three apples in her hands, he saw wisps of cobwebs clinging to her dark blue dress. It was the same one she’d worn to her brother’s wedding, and its color was a perfect complement to her eyes. His heart did somersaults, but he tried to ignore it.

  “I thought you’d already left,” Esther said in the cool, polite voice she’d used since the night he’d kissed her.

  Not now, he ordered those memories that were both wunderbaar and sad. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “I did, but I have some news I didn’t want you to hear from anyone else.”

  His face must have displayed the truth, because she clutched the apples close to her as she whispered, “Jacob’s onkel?”

  “He died this morning.”

  Tears rushed into her eyes, and he had to fight his hands that immediately wanted to pull her to him so he could offer her what sparse comfort there was. When she glanced at the barn, she asked, “What will happen to Jacob now?”

  “I don’t know.” He swallowed hard. “I need to tell him.”

  “We will tell him. After school.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “He’s having such a gut time, and there’s nothing he can do now, anyhow.”

  “I agree. Let him enjoy the day. I can stay here until...”

  She shook her head. “No. We must make this seem like a normal day until we tell him what’s happened. If you’d like to help—”

  “You know I do.”

  “Bring Reuben with you,” she finished as if he hadn’t interrupted.

  “Gut idea. I’ll talk to him.” He hesitated, wanting to add that he needed to talk with Esther as well, to clear the air between them. He missed their friendship. How could a single kiss—a single splendid kiss meant to show her how much he cared for her—drive such a wedge between them? He hoped she wanted to recover their friendship as much as he did.

  “Danki.” She took a step back and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ll see you and Reuben after school.”

  He didn’t have a chance to reply as she rushed into the barn. No sign of her dismay would be visible on her face when she was among the kinder. She’d make sure each of the scholars enjoyed the day. What strength she possessed! Exactly as she had when she was a little girl and kept up with and then surpassed him and her brothers. He’d loved her then, and his childish love had grown into what he wanted to offer her now.

  Turning away, he went to his buggy. He’d drive to Reuben’s farm and talk to the bishop before going to his own farm to tend to the animals. It was going to be a long, difficult day.

  * * *

  Esther didn’t pretend to do work at her desk when the other kinder left after school. Jacob stood by a window and watched for Nathaniel’s buggy.

  “I’m sorry he’s late,” the boy said for the fourth time in as many minutes. “He’s usually on time. Do you think the alpacas are okay?”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.” It wasn’t easy to speak past the lump filling her throat.

  “What if one is having her cria?”

  “Nathaniel knows you don’t want to miss that.”

  “But—” He halted himself, then laughed. “Here he comes now. He won’t be able to tease me about being slow in the morning!”

  She smiled, but her heart was breaking at the sight of his easy grin. Jacob had become a cheerful kind during his time with Nathaniel. Everything was about to change for the boy again, and she wished she could spare him the sorrow.

  God, give us the right words and let him know we are here for him, though everyone in his family has gone away.

  “Someone’s with him,” Jacob called from by the window. “It’s Reuben. What’s he doing here?”

  “I’m sure he’ll tell us.”

  “I haven’t been fighting again. I’m being honest.” His face flushed. “Most of the time, and always when it matters.”

  She put her arm around his shoulders. Was he trembling hard or was she? “Jacob, you know the bishop doesn’t discipline members of our community. You don’t need to worry, anyhow.” She forced another smile. “You’ve been a very gut boy lately.”

  His shoulders drooped beneath her arm, and she realized how tense he’d been. She couldn’t help recall how he’d mentioned his onkel punishing him harshly for the slightest transgression.

  The door opened, bringing chilly air into the classroom. Reuben entered first, taking off his straw hat and hanging it where the scholars usually did. Nathaniel followed. As he set his hat on the shelf above the pegs, he looked everywhere but at her and Jacob. His face was drawn and looked years older than it had that morning. The day had been as painful for him as it had for her. Such news shouldn’t ever be held as a secret within a heart because it burned like a wildfire, without thought or compassion.

  She fought her feet that wanted to speed her across the room so she could draw his arms around her. She stayed where she was.

  “Are the alpacas okay?” asked the boy before anyone else could speak.

  “They’re fine.” Nathaniel gave him a gentle smile. “You can see for yourself as soon as we get there.”

  “Gut!” Jacob shrugged off Esther’s arm and sprinted toward the door. “I’m ready. Let’s go home now.”

  She saw the glance the two men exchanged, and she wondered if it was the first time they’d heard Jacob describe Nathaniel’s farm as home.

  Reuben cleared his throat. “Jacob, can we talk for a minute?”

  “Ja,” the boy answered, though it was clear from his expression he wished he had any excuse to say no.

  The bishop motioned toward the nearest desk. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  “What’s happened?” Jacob’s eyes grew wild with fear, and his face became a sickish shade of gray. “They told me to sit down when they told me Mamm and Daed were dead. Is it Onkel Titus? Is he dead?”

  Esther knew she should leave the answer to the bishop, but she couldn’t bear the pain in the kind’s voice. Putting her arms around Jacob, she drew him close to her. He resisted for a moment, then clung to her as if she were a lifesaver in a turbulent sea.

  “I’m sorry,” she wh
ispered against his hair.

  “Danki.” His voice was steadier than hers. As he stepped away and looked at Reuben and Nathaniel, he asked in his normal tone, “Can we go home now?”

  “Go on out and turn the buggy around, so it’ll be ready when we leave,” Nathaniel said quietly.

  The boy grabbed his hat, coat and lunch box before racing out of the schoolroom. Esther went to the window to watch him scurry to the buggy. He patted Bumper and spoke to him before climbing in and picking up the reins. Except for a brief moment when he’d held on to her, he acted as if nothing had occurred.

  “We grieve in different ways,” Reuben murmured, as if she’d spoken aloud. Turning to Nathaniel, he added, “You must watch for his moods to change abruptly. He understands more than most kinder his age about death and loss, but he’s still only eight years old.”

  Walking away from the window, Esther asked, “What will happen to him now? Titus Fisher was, as far as we could find out, his only living relative.”

  “He’s welcome to stay with me,” Nathaniel replied quietly. “For as long as he needs to.”

  The tears that had scorched her eyes all day threatened to fall when she heard the genuine emotion in his words. Not only had Nathaniel made a positive change in Jacob, but the boy had done the same for him. Nathaniel had become more confident in handling the animals at the farm and had a clear vision of how he could make the farm a success.

  If only he wasn’t playing the field like Daniel, I could...

  She silenced the thoughts. This was neither the time nor the place for them. She should be grateful she knew his intentions.

  “That is gut of you, Nathaniel,” Reuben said. “However, the choice isn’t ours. With his onkel’s death, Jacob is now a ward of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I received a call earlier today. An Englisch social worker named Chloe Lambert will be visiting you at your farm once the funeral is over.”

  “Is it just a formality?” Esther asked.

  The bishop raked his fingers through his beard as he did often when he was distressed. “I wish I could say it was, but Nathaniel isn’t related to Jacob, so there will need to be supervision by a social worker.”