Huckleberry Spring

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Ben said, even as his legs screamed for him to sit down. He resisted the urge. If he sat, he might not be able to stand back up.

  “Oh, Ben,” Mammi gushed, “always so helpful. I know we can count on you.”

  “It smells delicious,” Ben lied, going to the stove and planting a kiss on his mammi’s cheek.

  “I’m making another pumpkin recipe. Pumpkin-stuffed trout. Your cousin Moses was kind enough to give us his catch.”

  Ben stifled a shudder. Sometimes it was quite taxing eating at Mammi’s table. “Sounds wonderful gute. When will it be ready? Do I have time to milk the cow first?”

  “Emma’s already milking.”

  “Emma?”

  Mammi nudged the trout and mushy pumpkin around the pan with a spatula. “She wanted to get an early start on the vegetables, but when I told her you hadn’t got up yet, she offered to milk for me. That girl is a treasure—always so good to both of us.”

  Ben swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. This was why he would never marry Emma. It shamed him that she needed to do his chores because he had accidentally slept in.

  “She might need your help,” Mammi said. “I don’t know that she can manage a full bucket with crutches.”

  “She’s on crutches?”

  “Jah, but her foot didn’t look that bad to me. Not all wrapped up like Felty’s.”

  Ben was out the front door before Mammi finished her sentence. There was Emma. She shuffled from the barn trying to drag the milk bucket behind her while negotiating the dirt with a pair of crutches. She’d spill it, as sure as you’re born.

  Instead of a kapp, she’d tied her hair up in a scarf, the way a lot of girls wore it when they did chores so they wouldn’t soil their head coverings. Ben thought it was an especially attractive look on Emma.

  “Can I help?” he said, ignoring his stiff legs and bounding down the stairs.

  Something like regret traveled across her features before she twisted her mouth sheepishly and released the bucket, almost tipping it over in an effort to set it down. Its contents sloshed over the side, but most of it stayed in the bucket.

  He picked up the bucket and pointed to her ankle, wrapped in an Ace bandage and glowing a light purple color. He didn’t like it when Emma got injured. At least the huge gauze pad didn’t dangle over her eye anymore. The scar would be almost invisible in a few months. “You milked my mammi’s cow?”

  She shrugged. “Anna said you haven’t been feeling well. I want to help.”

  An ache formed right between his eyes. Mammi had noticed he hadn’t been feeling well? He obviously hadn’t been good at keeping a stiff upper lip. He’d have to work harder. “I overslept. I never meant for you to do my chores.”

  She smiled the way she always did when she got praise she didn’t think she deserved. “I’m not a very gute milker, if that makes you feel better.”

  “What happened to your foot?”

  She fiddled with the handles of her crutches. “Nothing serious. I twisted my ankle.”

  “What happened?”

  “You know. I was just being clumsy, like I always am.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Well,” she said, “John Shirk invited me over to his house to play Scrabble with his family.”

  Ben should have been thrilled. John Shirk had asked Emma on a date. But all he felt was emptiness, as if life were marching on without him.

  “Scrabble seems safe enough.”

  Emma blushed. “We played Race Scrabble, where the tiles are scattered on the patio and you have to run for them. You have to go fast or other people will make their words before you do.”

  “I see.” Running was never one of Emma’s best activities. John should have known that. Ben narrowed his eyes. He had always suspected there was something a little irresponsible about John Shirk. “Does it hurt?”

  “It did. The doctor said I should be able to put weight on it in another few days.”

  Ben fell in step with Emma, and they strolled to the house. “Careful of that divot in the grass.”

  “It looks like your dawdi’s surgery went well.”

  “His recovery shouldn’t take long. And then I can get back to Florida.”

  He didn’t mean to say it so eagerly, as if he were looking forward to leaving Emma again, but he really did need to be away from her in order to hold on to the shreds of his sanity.

  Her expression didn’t change. He’d probably already wounded her as deeply as it was possible to hurt her. She held her crutches in one hand and hopped up the steps. She paused before going into the house, looking as if she were thinking very deep thoughts.

  He waited for her to excuse herself to go to the bathroom.

  Instead, she sprouted a smile. “Anna invited me for breakfast.”

  He could certainly be cheerful if she could. “I have to warn you. Her pumpkin-stuffed trout looks pretty rough.”

  “Don’t worry. I can eat just about anything, especially to spare Anna’s feelings. Remember when we ate those little octopus things at the food festival?”

  Ben groaned at the memory. “You ate three, and I threw up.”

  “Don’t throw up in front of your mammi. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  “I’ve eaten enough of Mammi’s cooking to know what to expect. It hasn’t killed me yet. I try not to show her my weaknesses.”

  She gazed at him with what looked like affection. He wished he hadn’t noticed it. “I’ve never seen any weaknesses.”

  “I have plenty.” But she would never, ever see them. He’d be long gone before Emma or Mammi or anybody else had a chance to find out how weak he really was.

  “Not you, Ben. You are so capable. I always depended on your strength when we were . . .” Emma pressed her lips together and didn’t say another word.

  Ben followed her as she marched into the house. She seemed determined to get somewhere quickly but didn’t race to the bathroom like he expected she would. With only a little hesitation on both sides, they sat next to each other at the table and watched Mammi pour the trout-swimming-in-pumpkin into bowls because it was too runny to serve on plates. “Come on, Felty. Let’s eat.”

  Mammi’s concoction didn’t turn out so bad. It tasted more like pumpkin clam chowder than anything else—not that Ben had ever tasted pumpkin clam chowder, but he suspected that this is what it would have tasted like, except with slimy, undercooked trout and stringy, overcooked pumpkin. Emma had two bowlfuls. Ben could only stomach one.

  Once the dishes were attended to, Ben made sure Dawdi was comfortable in his chair and went outside to help Emma in the garden. He left without knowing whether Dawdi would take his pain pill. Dawdi and Mammi were still discussing it as he walked out the door.

  With her crutches beside her, Emma sat next to her giant pumpkin plant, which seemed to spread a couple of feet every day. Yellow flowers already appeared from each stalk. She didn’t look at him, probably still trying to recover from that little dish of pain he’d handed her right before breakfast. Or maybe trying to recover from breakfast itself.

  “Do you want me to tear fabric?” he asked, as the memories overtook him. Last year, they had hand-pollinated dozens of pumpkin flowers and then tied the petals closed with narrow strips of fabric. Those times were some of Ben’s fondest memories. Emma hadn’t hurt herself while tying flowers, and their hands had touched more than once while passing fabric back and forth.

  “Okay,” she said with a serene but unreadable expression on her face.

  “Maybe I should go weed tomatoes,” he suggested. If she would rather not have him around, tomatoes would be a perfect excuse to get rid of him.

  She forced a smile. “Nae. Stay. It helps to have somebody measure and cut, especially when I’m not very mobile.”

  If she could be strong, then he could too. He knelt beside her and measured lengths of fabric while she stretched and pulled out what tertiary vines she could reach sitting on the
ground. Then she picked up her crutches.

  “Can I help?” he said.

  “Not unless you can tell a female flower from a male flower.”

  She didn’t seem too steady on those crutches.

  “You could teach me.”

  “It’s okay. I think I can manage all right. It’s like walking on three legs instead of two. That should make me more stable than ever.”

  She hobbled amongst the pumpkin vines while Ben kept a sharp watch out of the corner of his eye. If she took a tumble, at least it wouldn’t be a long way down.

  “Mammi will be so happy about her giant pumpkin,” he said.

  “Lord willing, it will grow. There is so much that can go wrong. Here’s one,” she said as she bent and plucked a flower from one of the vines. She tore all the petals off and then stuck it into a female flower still on the vine. “With just one plant, pollinating won’t take long.”

  Ben shook his head in awe. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  She pretended not to be pleased with his compliment as she balanced on her crutches and tied the female flower closed with a piece of fabric. “I’m not smart. Everybody knows how to pollinate pumpkin plants.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I think you’re the very last person in the world who doesn’t know how to pollinate pumpkins,” Emma said.

  “Are you saying I’m not very bright?”

  “I think you know what I’m saying.” Her eyes sparkled when she grinned. It was the first genuine smile he’d seen from her since he came back to Huckleberry Hill.

  “Hey, I’ll have you know I could calculate the area of a triangle better than anyone in the eighth grade.”

  She reached out her hand for another strip of fabric. “I can figure out the volume of a cylinder with my eyes closed.”

  “I can add fractions with both hands tied behind my back.”

  Emma certainly had nice white teeth. “Are you sure? You might need your fingers to count the high numbers.”

  “You wouldn’t think that was funny if you only had nine fingers to count on, Stumpy.”

  She laughed. The sound was so spontaneous and delightful that he joined her. He’d forgotten how much he loved to hear her so happy.

  “I still have all my fingers, thank you very much,” she said. “You are not allowed to use that nickname until I actually do lose one of them.”

  “It’s kind of growing on me. I might have to call you that anyway, but only in private, of course. We’d bore everybody with the story of how you almost had nine fingers and then didn’t.”

  “The part with the fishing knife is pretty exciting.”

  “What about Thumbkin?” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Instead of Stumpy, I could call you Thumbkin. Thumbkin, the girl who grows pumpkins.”

  Laughter tripped from her mouth. “Very clever.”

  Emma continued to look for male and female flowers while Ben sang “Where Is Thumbkin” until Emma begged him to choose another tune. After that, he made up songs about the trees and the bees and the flowers every hour and the butterflies and mosquitoes, because he couldn’t think of a rhyme for “butterflies.”

  He was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t hear Adam Wengerd until he came up right behind him. “Ben,” Adam called, three feet from his ear. “I’m here.”

  Emma looked up from the flower she tied. “Hi, Adam.”

  Adam motioned to her crutches. “What happened?”

  “I sprained my ankle. Another couple of days and I’ll be fine.”

  Ben loved that Emma wasn’t a complainer.

  “Did you come to help with the pollinating?” she asked Adam.

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. What exactly are you doing?”

  “We’re pollinating pumpkins for Anna,” Emma said. “She wants a great big one.”

  “Like the one you grew last year,” Adam said.

  Emma bent over and plucked another flower from one of the vines. “Jah. Did you come to help?”

  Adam flashed his blinding, charm-the-girls’-socks-off smile and gave Ben a small nod. “I’m delivering feed for my dat, but I really wanted to talk to you.”

  Ben’s heart raced with dread. Adam wasn’t going to ask Emma on a date while he stood there, was he?

  Don’t do it, Adam. At least let me excuse myself to go get a drink of water. Or go to the bathroom. That works for Emma.

  “I need to go check on Dawdi,” Ben stuttered.

  “Don’t go,” Adam said, still beaming, still carrying that overconfident air about him. What did Ben expect? Adam’s good face was one of the reasons he’d chosen Adam in the first place. He thought Emma might be more inclined to agree to a date if the boy was good-looking. “I want to talk to both of you.”

  Emma eyed Ben and Adam suspiciously, as if she expected them to gang up on her. Stuffing the extra fabric strips into her pocket, she maneuvered her crutches around the abundant pumpkin vines and came to the edge of the pumpkin mound. “What can I do for you?” she asked, a pleasantly curious curl on her lips.

  Ben clenched his fists. This was not how he wanted Adam to go about courting Emma.

  “I am wondering if you would like to help me at the benefit haystack supper two weeks from tomorrow.”

  Ben almost passed out with relief. Nothing threatening about a benefit haystack supper.

  Emma raised her eyebrows, as if she had been expecting something else. “Of course. For the Kaufmanns’ hospital bills?”

  “We expect maybe a hundred people,” Adam said. “Mamm wanted me to round up some help.”

  “I’ll help,” Ben said, so glad he could have given Adam a crushing bear hug.

  “Gute,” Adam said. “Because after the dinner, I want Emma to be my date for a bonfire at the lake, and Ben, I want you to come with us and bring a girl too.”

  The air around Ben grew stale. Why hadn’t he fled for the bathroom when he still had a chance?

  Emma’s eyes darted between Adam and Ben as she pressed a wide smile onto her face. She spoke with forced enthusiasm. “Denki, Adam. I would enjoy going to a bonfire with you.”

  “Will you be okay to walk by then?”

  “Of course. Do you want me to bring marshmallows?”

  What was Adam thinking? Emma and fire did not mix well together. Why had Ben ever imagined that Adam would make a gute husband for his Emma?

  Adam shook his head. “You don’t need to bring anything. I’ve got it all taken care of. It’ll just be a few of us. We’ll do some singing. Ben can make up lyrics to his heart’s content.”

  Emma tightened her grip on the crutch handles. “I am pleased that you would invite me.”

  Adam jabbed his thumb in Ben’s direction. “Don’t thank me. Ben’s the one who suggested I should ask you on an outing. He told me that you’re not interested in each other anymore and wanted me to give you a chance.”

  Emma didn’t change her expression, but the dancing lights of her eyes immediately went out. She inclined her head stiffly. “Then I’m very grateful to Ben.”

  Adam wasn’t finished yet. Why, oh why wouldn’t he shut up and go away? “Truth be told, I’ve wanted to drive you home from a gathering for a long while. Ben gave me the push I needed.”

  Neither Emma nor Ben said anything in reply.

  After standing in awkward and painful silence for what seemed like three days, Adam cleared his throat and slid his hat onto his head. “I guess I should finish my deliveries. My mamm will contact your mamm about the haystack supper. I appreciate your help.”

  Adam marched away with all the confidence of a runner who had just won a big race.

  Ben didn’t move a muscle until Adam disappeared from sight. Then he glanced at Emma. She stood with her face toward the lane and her hands firmly gripping her crutches. Her eyes held no expression whatsoever. How could Adam have been so stupid? How could Ben have been so stupid?

  “Emma, I didn’t mean for it . . . That isn’t the
way it was supposed to happen.”

  She pressed her lips into a rigid line.

  “I’m sorry if that embarrassed you.” He tried to smile. “It definitely embarrassed me.”

  Balancing on one crutch, she pulled a fistful of fabric from her pocket. Her hand trembled so badly, she looked as if she were shivering with cold. In June. “No need to apologize, Ben. I got the message.”

  “What message? There wasn’t any message.”

  “I must be making a horrible pest of myself if you have to persuade young men to ask me out.”

  Ben’s mouth went dry. “That’s not true. I thought you might enjoy—”

  “You talked to John and Freeman too, didn’t you?”

  With every miserable breath he took, he wanted to pretend she hadn’t asked that question. “Okay, I did, but only to—”

  She couldn’t move far, but she swiveled a quarter-turn away from him. “And Lamar Zook and Wallace Sensenig?”

  Those names struck him momentarily mute. Lamar and Wallace had asked her on dates too?

  “Emma, look at me.”

  She completely ignored his request. Turning even farther away from him, she said, “You don’t need to help me with the pumpkins.”

  “Emma.”

  “I don’t want your help with the pumpkins anymore. You’ve got plenty to do on the farm without coddling poor, helpless Emma Nelson.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Leave the fabric on the ground next to my trowel. I’m going to the bathroom.”

  Ben had never seen anyone move so quickly on crutches, as if her life depended on her speed. Ben didn’t stop her. He’d made a horrible mess of things already. No use chasing her if it meant that she would trip over her own foot in an effort to escape.

  The hoe lay near the pumpkin mound with its head buried in the dirt. He yanked it out and then pounded it furiously against the ground over and over again.

  Why, God? Why? You made the heavens and the earth. Why can’t you make me strong and able? All I want is to serve you and love Emma. Is that too much to ask?

  He persistently drove the hoe into the ground until the dirt looked like cottage cheese and his arms were so stiff he couldn’t move them.