Portrait of a Sister

by Laura Bradford

  “I think it is the peppermint candy on top of the cookie that Tucker really wants,” she said, earning her an encore of a laugh that warmed her in a way that had nothing to do with the sun or any sort of embarrassment.

  “I think you are right.” He returned his free hand to hers and held it gently. “But that is why I picked purple for you. Because a person who can draw such a picture is creative, Katie.”

  She looked down at her hands inside his and then, after a beat or two of an increasingly weighted silence, extricated them to smooth wrinkles that didn’t exist from her dress. “I do not know why I drew that picture.”

  “I do.”

  Tucker’s ears perked at her gasp, necessitating a gentle word of reassurance from Abram in return. “You do? But . . . how?”

  “Because I saw your smile while you were sitting on the grass drawing it.”

  “My smile?”

  “Yah. It made you happy to draw that picture. And that is why I hope there will be more.”

  She knew her mouth was hanging open, she could feel it just as surely as she could hear her heart pounding inside her ears, but at that moment, in that place, she was powerless to do anything but stare back at Abram.

  He, in turn, laughed. “You look surprised, Katie.”

  She gave thought to correcting his word choice to better reflect her shock, but settled for simply speaking, instead. “Drawing such pictures is not useful.”

  “You think all of my drawings are useful?”

  “Your drawings?” she echoed.

  “Yah. The ones I do out by the covered bridge instead of eating lunch most days.”

  “What do you draw?”

  “The furniture I will make in my workshop one day.” Reaching up, he repositioned his hat and stepped into the shade afforded by Tucker. “I will make them in the winter. When there are no crops to tend. Maybe, one day, there will be enough to have a whole shop. But even if there is not, I can still sell pieces that I make.

  “I like to draw what I will build so I know how much wood I will need. Most of the time, I draw footstools and dressers and tables. But a few times, when I am finished, I am surprised to see I have drawn much more.”

  Intrigued, she shortened the gap between them by a few steps. “Like what?”

  “One day, when I was drawing a table and chairs, I drew a whole kitchen . . . and then a hallway . . . and then a room to be used for church . . . and then a front porch . . . with two chairs—one for me, and one for you . . . and then I drew a cradle like the one my brother slept in when he was born . . . only in my head, I saw our child—the one I pray God gives us when we are married.” He swiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his thumb and then smiled down at Katie. “I drew all those things even though I was only building a table and chairs.”

  It was all so much more than she could take in at the moment, but still she tried, her head reeling from their first real conversation about something other than Mamm’s death or their need to wait to get married. “I knew you liked making wooden toys for your brothers and sisters, but I had no idea you wanted to make furniture.”

  “There was never a good time to speak of such things.”

  “But it’s your dream,” she protested.

  Abram’s shoulders hitched upward with a shrug. “It’s just something I have wanted to do for many years. Since Dat brought me to a furniture maker when I was eight.”

  “Okay, but that’s a dream, Abram, and I love hearing about that kind of thing.”

  He met her gaze and held it. “I want to hear about such things, too. From you. But you have been so quiet during our Sunday rides.”

  In lieu of an argument she couldn’t make, she left her spot in the shade to nuzzle noses with Tucker. Abram followed. “I know you had much to do during your mamm’s illness and now again with caring for the little ones, but maybe, now that time has passed, you will be ready to share more, Katie. Because I very much want to know the things that make you happy. And I want to hear about your dreams, too.”

  No you don’t, she wanted to say . . .

  Because if she did share her dream and he said nothing to the bishop or their district, Abram, too, could be shunned.

  Still, just knowing he wanted to know was a surprise—a pleasant surprise.

  “Do you think I could see something you’ve made one day?” she asked, looking back at Abram.

  “You will. On our wedding day. When it is finished.”

  “It?”

  His hat moved with his nod but not enough to shield his answering grin from view completely. “It is to be a surprise.”

  “Does Sadie know what it is?”

  “No, why?”

  She gave Tucker one last nuzzle and then turned back to Abram, her mouth spreading wide with the kind of smile that hadn’t been hers since—

  Eric?

  “Katie?”

  She shook the unexpected thought from her head and forced herself back to the moment and the man standing in front of her with amused curiosity. “Sorry. Anyway, don’t you remember the apple pie?”

  “Apple pie?”

  “Specifically, Mary’s secret apple pie . . .”

  The understanding that finally dawned on Abram’s face sent Katie into a fit of laughter. His subsequent “oooohhhh” only made it louder. Soon, Abram joined in, prompting Tucker to give them a more perplexed version of his infamous peppermint eye.

  Eventually though, she stopped and pointed in the direction she’d come. “I better get back. Annie will be waking soon and there is much work to be done before supper.”

  “May I drive you back?”

  The answering flutter she felt in her chest made it so her yah came before her next breath. The feel of his hand as he helped her onto his wagon seat simply made the flutter stronger.

  “I am glad you were out walking today,” Abram said as he joined her on the seat and guided Tucker to turn with a gentle tug of the reins. “Your laugh, it is a nice sound.”

  Unsure of how best to respond, she chose to let the clip-clop of Tucker’s hooves, the warmth of the sun on their faces, and the comforting feel of Abram’s shoulder against hers fill in the space, instead.

  And it felt good.

  Right, even . . .

  “If I am purple for creative, what color are you?” she finally asked as they turned onto her driveway and headed toward the house.

  “I am green. For hope.”

  She felt the buggy slow as they passed the barn and then the house. But at that moment, all she could see was the man seated beside her on the bench. “Why?”

  “Because I have hope for many things, Katie Beiler. I have hope for good crops. I have hope that I will make much furniture one day. And I have hope that it will be God’s will for us to share a long and happy life together. With many reasons for you to smile and laugh.”

  Chapter 23

  She was just pulling a loaf of bread from the oven when the screen door banged against its frame at the front of the house, ushering in the pitter-patter of Sadie’s bare feet.

  “Katie! Katie!”

  Grinning, she set the pan on the counter, pulled off her oven mitt, and spun around, hands on hips. “Yes, Sadie, the bread is out of the oven. And yes, I know it smells really, really good right now. But just like last time, it needs to cool a little before I can slice it and you can eat it.” She squatted down next to the counter and waved the four-year-old over. “Besides, if we eat it all now, Dat and the boys will not have bread with their dinner.”

  “Can I sniff over it?” Sadie asked, peeking around Katie’s shoulder in an attempt to see into the pan. “Please?”

  “Since you asked nicely, yes, you can sniff over it.” Katie scooped up her sister and held her over the bread pan.

  “Mmmm, that smells yummy!”

  “It sure does, doesn’t it? And you . . . You smell like flowers, barn cats, and”—she pulled Sadie close and sniffed—“chocolate chip cookies!”

  “Miss Lot
tie gave me a cookie. Her gave Annie one, too!”

  “She,” Katie corrected. “She gave Annie one.”

  Sadie wiggled her way back to the ground and then pointed to the hallway. “She has one for you, too, Katie! And two letters!”

  “Miss Lottie is here?”

  “She’s in the barn with Mary and Annie!” Sadie took a few running steps toward the front of the house and then stopped, her eyes crackling with excitement as she looked back at Katie. “Come! Come!”

  “Go on, I’ll be there in a few moments.” Reaching behind herself, she plucked a dishcloth off the counter, gave her hands a quick wipe, and made her way onto the front porch.

  “That bread smells as good as your mamm’s always did . . .”

  Katie turned toward the familiar voice and smiled. “Miss Lottie! Sadie said you were in the barn.”

  “I was. But now I’m here. Taking a wee rest on your chair.”

  She closed the gap between them with three long strides, her eyes skirting the rest of the porch and the yard as she did. “Where did Sadie go?”

  “To help Annie find Fancy Feet.”

  “Ahhh.” Slowly, she lowered herself onto the edge of Dat’s vacant chair and released a much-needed sigh. “How are you? Would you like to come inside? The bread still needs to cool, but there is a piece of chess pie left over from last night.”

  “I am well, thank you, and no, it’s a beautiful day to be outside. There’s even a hint of fall in the air, don’t you think?”

  She looked across the drive to the barn and then swung her attention north toward the trees in the distance. Sure enough, the greens of summer were beginning to hint at the colors to come. “I had not noticed, but you are right. Fall is most certainly beginning to peek around summer, as Mamm would say.”

  “You still miss her, don’t you?” Miss Lottie asked.

  “Every day. I just wish Annie could have known her longer. Sadie, too.”

  Miss Lottie’s hand closed over Katie’s and squeezed. “They will know of her from the stories you and Mary and the others tell, dear. Tell them when you are baking from a recipe she used. Share lessons she taught you with them. And point out things you see that made her smile. That is what will keep her alive in their hearts and minds.”

  “Sadies does like Mamm’s bread.”

  “And the cookies I make are from her recipes, too.” Miss Lottie recovered her hand and reached inside the bag at her feet. “I brought one for you, too, Katie.”

  She accepted the treat and set it on the armrest of her chair. “Thank you.”

  “I also have letters.”

  “I know, Sadie told me. But I’m surprised to hear there are only two. Usually Hannah sends one to each of us.”

  “And she did this time, as well.”

  “Oh. So you’d like me to read Annie’s to her?”

  “No, I already did that. In the barn. And now she and Sadie are sharing the contents with the cats and the chickens.”

  “They’re fascinated, I’m sure.” Katie let her laugh lapse in favor of another question. “So who didn’t get theirs, then?”

  “Just you.”

  “Ahhh, okay, so you hadn’t given Annie hers when Sadie came looking for me . . . I get it.”

  Again, Miss Lottie reached into her bag, this time pulling out two different-shaped envelopes. “No, I had. The two letters are for you, Katie.”

  “Hannah wrote me twice?”

  “Only one is from Hannah.”

  Katie dropped her gaze from Miss Lottie’s to the envelopes in her hand. “I don’t understand.”

  “This one is from your sister.” Miss Lottie handed Katie the first of the two envelopes and then pointed to the name in the upper left corner of the second. “This, too, is from New York, but it’s from an E. Morgan.”

  “E. Morgan?” Katie echoed. “I don’t know an E. Mor—”

  She bit down over the rest of her sentence as the face that coincided with the sender’s name claimed center stage in her thoughts.

  “I take it this is someone you met while visiting Hannah?” Miss Lottie asked.

  “Yah.”

  “What does E stand for?”

  She tried to cool her cheeks with her hands, but it was no use. Instead, she took the letter from Miss Lottie’s outstretched hand and ran her fingers across her name. “Eric,” she whispered. “He-he is a friend of Hannah’s.”

  “And of you, too, from what I can see.”

  Miss Lottie’s gaze was heavy on the side of her face, but try as she might, Katie couldn’t take her eyes off Eric’s name long enough to meet it. Instead, she swallowed and tried to nod the best she could. “I-I suppose.”

  Seconds turned into minutes as she slid her fingertips across his name, her head filling in possible reasons he would write . . .

  She left something behind that he found . . .

  He—

  No, there was no reason that she could imagine that would have him reaching out to her via a letter. It made no sense.

  “The only way to know is to open it, child.”

  She glanced up. “Know? Know what, Miss Lottie?”

  “What the letter says.” Miss Lottie nudged the bag away from the front of her chair with her foot and leaned back. “So, while I rest here for a little while longer before I head back home, why don’t you take those two letters down to the pond and see what Hannah and your friend, Eric, have to say.”

  Pulling the letters to her chest, she tried to steady her voice enough to protest, but she couldn’t. All she could do was think about the envelope on her lap and the fact that Eric had written a letter. To her . . .

  “It’s okay, dear. Mary is in the barn with the girls, and I’ll see that they start setting the table for supper if you’re not back in the next thirty minutes.”

  She rose up onto shaky legs, the gratitude she felt making her lips quiver along with her voice. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, child.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lottie. I-I won’t be long.”

  First, on slow feet, and then with gathering speed, Katie made her way across the porch and down the driveway to the main road; her need to know what Eric wanted no longer encumbered by have-to’s and shouldn’ts. The fact that Eric had written, rather than simply ask Hannah to pass something along, pointed to one simple and pulse-racing fact: Eric had wanted to reach out. To her.

  It was a realization that guided her steps east to a trail she’d traveled often in life. There, just beyond a grove of trees, was Miller’s Pond, the stretch of earth at the base of the old climbing tree calling to her with the same pull it had held all her life.

  Lowering herself to the ground, Katie set Hannah’s envelope on her lap and carefully opened Eric’s. Inside, she found a tri-folded piece of white lined paper that she promptly unfolded and smoothed across her legs.

  Dear Katie,

  It’s been a month since you were here, and my walks in the park are no longer the same as they were before your visit.

  Now, when I cut through the park to get to the west side, I find myself stopping to watch squirrels and birds for far longer than I ever did before. And while I can imagine you smiling and telling me, “that’s good,” I’ve been as much as ten minutes late to three different meetings because of that.

  Her answering laugh quieted a pair of birds standing watch atop the branch of a neighboring tree. Leaning her head against the trunk at her back, she tried to imagine the reaction of the city squirrel or bird as Eric ran off, muttering about lateness.

  “You must learn to look and talk at the same time, silly,” she whispered before turning her attention back to the letter.

  One of those meetings was actually with the agent of a pretty well-known singer. They like one of the songs I sent them and wanted to talk to me about it. It was cool, sure, but it was also incredibly unnerving. Needless to say, while I’m not sure it was the same squirrel who’d made me late, I found myself talking to one from a bench not far from our p
icnic spot when I was done. The people walking by must have thought I was a crazy person, talking to myself like that.

  Come to think of it, the squirrel probably thought that, too.

  Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I think about you a lot, that I look at that picture I shouldn’t have taken (but am so glad I did) at some point every day, and that I often wonder how things are going for you. I imagine your family was really happy to see you when you got home from here. Abram, too.

  She ignored the heat resurrecting itself in her cheeks and, instead, moved on to the final line.

  I miss you, Katie.

  Your friend,

  Eric

  Eric . . .

  Closing her eyes, she let herself travel back to the moment, in the bus station, when he’d tapped her on the shoulder and introduced himself. At the time, she’d been so overwhelmed and frightened, the only other emotion she’d felt was hurt. She’d been so sure Hannah was going to be there when she stepped off the bus.

  Instead, it had been Eric.

  Eric with the dark brown hair that had glistened in the overhead light, the green eyes that had hitched her breath, and the kind of genuine smile that had dulled her fear and somehow let her know that everything, while daunting, would be okay. And it had been.

  Because of Eric . . .

  Startled by the unexpected realization, she tried to shake it off, to remember all the things she’d done with Hannah during the same visit. But every encounter with Hannah had ended in anger and frustration, while every encounter with Eric had ended in laughter and a quiet, yet determined confidence she’d never felt with Hannah.

  She blinked hard against the tears she knew were building and, instead, carefully folded Eric’s letter and slipped it back into the envelope. For a few moments she simply sat there, looking down at it, trying to absorb everything about his handwriting, his choice of pen, and the tiny crease she imagined him making while carrying it to the mailbox. Eventually though, she shifted it to the bottom of the two-envelope pile and opened the pale blue, slightly thicker than normal one from her twin sister.