Huckleberry Hearts

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  She looked up from her sink of dishes to see Mammi and Dawdi eyeing her expectantly, and Zach gazing at her with a sheepish grin on his face. Was there a question hanging in the air she should have answered? She picked up a plate and swiped the rag across it, giving her memory a chance to retrieve Mammi’s question. “Oh, yes, we love having you come over, Doctor.” The answer was sincere, but should she be encouraging him with so much enthusiasm?

  Zach’s face relaxed into a casual smile. “I’m not sure why. All I do when I come over is eat.”

  “You’re a growing boy,” Mammi said. “You need good food in your belly for your circles tonight.”

  “You mean his rounds, Mammi,” Cassie said.

  “I know it’s not politically correct to compliment a woman’s cooking,” Zach said, “but, Cassie, you are an amazing cook.”

  Cassie blushed. “I’m not horrible.”

  “Not horrible? Those rolls you made on Thursday melted in my mouth like warm butter. And your huckleberry pie could be served at the White House.”

  “She learned how to cook from her mammi,” Dawdi said. “Annie Banannie is the best cook I’ve ever seen.”

  “Now, Felty,” Mammi scolded. “We’re talking about Cassie. Don’t divert the doctor’s attention.”

  “I have to run an extra five miles every day just to keep from getting fat.”

  “Well,” Mammi said, “it’s the least we can do for all the help you’ve given my foot.”

  “And all the help you’ve given my farm,” Dawdi said. He sat on the sofa next to Mammi’s recliner rolling skeins of yarn into balls.

  Zach checked to make sure Mammi’s wound vacuum worked properly. “I haven’t been that much help.”

  “Of course you have,” Mammi insisted. “Our buggy has never been so oily.”

  Cassie smiled to herself. Dr. Reynolds had been coming around for almost two weeks to change the dressing on Mammi’s foot, and every time he had come, he’d asked Cassie or Dawdi to teach him how to do something on the farm. Even with his impossible schedule at the hospital, he was eager to learn some useful Amish skills, but she had no idea why he’d ever need useful Amish skills as a doctor.

  Cassie had taught him how to milk the cow, which he turned out to be very good at. He had strong arms and hands, so all she really had to teach him was the proper downward pulling motion as well as how to keep the cow from kicking the bucket over or giving him a good whack in the shins.

  Dawdi had taught him how to care for the buggy, how to hitch the horse to it, and how to drive it. The driving had been a short lesson because they’d done it in the dark, and Dawdi hadn’t wanted to take it down the hill on the ice.

  Zach had proved a fast learner, but Cassie hadn’t expected anything less. A guy didn’t get into medical school by being thick in the head. But why was he so determined? What benefit could he get from knowing how to drive a buggy or fill propane lanterns?

  Zach came to the kitchen sink where Cassie kept vigil over the plates. Her heart pitter-pattered like rain on the roof when he sidled next to her and washed in the second sink. He scrubbed his hands like a doctor, thoroughly and clear up to his elbows. She pulled a towel from the drawer and handed it to him before he had to search for one. His smile looked like sunshine.

  “Denki,” he said. “Did I say that right?”

  She smiled at his attempt to learn Deitsch. “Jah. Very good.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re just being nice. My accent is atrocious.”

  “You’re making a good try at it.”

  Grimacing, he picked up the dish towel and started drying Cassie’s clean dishes. “When my piano teacher said ‘Good try,’ it was secret code for ‘you might be better suited for the harmonica.’”

  Cassie’s face got pleasantly warm when he looked at her like that. “I would never say any such thing about your language skills.”

  “Only because you’re too nice to say anything bad about anybody, but what you’re really thinking is that the only language I’m ever going to be good at is pig latin.”

  “What’s pig latin?” Dawdi asked.

  Cassie giggled. “A language so hard that only the pigs can speak it.” She handed him a plate. “This is the last one, Doctor. Thanks for your help.”

  “What else can I do before I go? My shift doesn’t start until eleven. I know I’m not much help around here, but I’d like to learn.”

  Mammi picked up her knitting needles. “Do you know how to chop wood, Doctor?”

  Zach folded his towel neatly and set it on the cupboard. “Chopping wood is one Amish thing I’m actually good at. I chopped a lot of cherrywood growing up.”

  Mammi glanced at Dawdi. “He could chop wood for the you-know-what on Saturday.”

  Dawdi leaned back, frowned, and folded his arms. “I don’t want to know anything about that.”

  “What’s the you-know-what?” Zach asked.

  Cassie caught his eye and shook her head slightly. Puzzlement traveled across his face, but he knew enough not to ask. “He doesn’t need to chop any wood, Mammi. Luke is planning on coming early Saturday morning to chop as much wood as we’ll need.”

  The doctor stiffened at the sound of Luke’s name. “Why leave it for Luke when I can do it?”

  “It’s dark,” Cassie said.

  “I can take a lantern.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “I’ll wear a coat.”

  Cassie pushed her lips to one side of her face. “Then I’ll hold the lantern for you.”

  “It’s cold,” he said.

  “I’ll wear my coat.”

  He nodded as if deep in thought. “If you come out, it will give me a chance to show off my muscles by the light of the moon.”

  Could he read her mind? She pretended to be unimpressed. “You’ve seen one bulging bicep, you’ve seen them all.”

  He flexed both arms. “Not mine. These babies have been known to strike fear in the hearts of soccer players.”

  She grinned. “I don’t see that well in the dark.”

  Zach smiled mischievously and growled from deep in his throat. “What do I have to do to impress you, Amish girl?”

  “For one thing, quit calling me Amish girl.”

  They both laughed, and Zach went to the hook to retrieve their coats and scarves. Cassie put on the mittens that she had stuffed into her coat pocket, and Zach donned the beanie that Mammi had made him. “Okay, Mammi and Dawdi,” Cassie said. “We’re going out to chop wood.”

  Mammi nodded. “Have fun.”

  They shut the door behind them, and Cassie lifted the lantern from the hook on the porch.

  Zach zipped up his coat. “So what is the you-know-what your dawdi doesn’t want to talk about?”

  “We’re butchering his hog on Saturday, and we need lots of wood for the scalding fire. Every spring he buys a hog to raise, and every winter the family butchers it for him. Killing animals makes him very upset. For his sake, we try to pretend it’s not happening.”

  “But that’s why he buys a hog every year, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t even want to know when we’re doing it. We’ve put it off an extra month already. The family butchers his pig while he stays in the house and reads Where the Red Fern Grows or some other very sad book.”

  Zach furrowed his brow. “Maybe he would feel better if he didn’t raise a hog every year.”

  “Mammi likes the bacon.”

  Cassie pointed the way to the toolshed, even though Zach already knew where it was. He found the axe and also a whetstone just in case. Dawdi’s substantial woodpile stood on one side of the shed complete with a thick chopping block.

  Cassie held up the lantern as Zach stood the first log on the chopping block. He winked at her and swung the axe with such force that one swing cleaved the log in two. Maybe it wasn’t too dark to admire his muscles. “You know how to chop wood.”

  “Did you think I was exaggerating?”

  “I’m glad
you won’t be losing any limbs for the sake of Dawdi’s woodpile.”

  She watched as he placed another log on the chopping block and reduced it to kindling in a matter of seconds. He swung the axe as if he were born with one in his hand. With the sweat beading off his forehead, he took off his coat, giving her a better view of those muscles. This activity was as entertaining as anything she’d done for a very long time.

  “You’re going to wear yourself out for the hospital tonight,” she said, as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “I’ve got to work off that yummasetti you made. What is it, about a thousand calories a bite?”

  “Too rich?”

  “Like liquid gold.” He smiled at her so she knew that was a good thing and swung the axe down on a thick piece of hardwood. “It’s kind of amazing that all Amish men aren’t several hundred pounds overweight.”

  “They work hard. Dishes like yummasetti are meant to stick to your ribs for a long day in the fields.”

  Zach concentrated hard on the next piece of firewood. “I’ve seen enough of the Amish to know that hard work is a way of life.”

  “Especially on a farm in the summertime. We’d milk cows and gather eggs, plow fields, weed gardens, care for the horses, all before lunchtime. I had chores inside too.”

  His lips twisted wryly. “No wonder you left.”

  She shook her head. “Plain life is almost easier. We only go to school until eighth grade. When I got to the junior college, I was so far behind everyone else I had to take two years of remedial classes after I got my GED.”

  “But you did well enough to get into UChicago.”

  “I studied hard,” Cassie said.

  “How did you afford it? School and living on your own?”

  “I didn’t need much. I shared an apartment with five other girls.” Her lips quirked upward at the thought of that dilapidated box that passed for an apartment. Three space heaters and four blankets and she had still been afraid of freezing to death every night. “I worked part-time during school. Full-time in the summers. I took a year off between sophomore and junior years to work two jobs and save enough to go back, and I patched together several grants and student loans.”

  He had stopped chopping altogether to stare at her.

  Self-consciously, she played with a strand of her hair. “Senior year I got a partial scholarship.”

  He rested the axe on the ground like a cane and leaned on it. “I had it easy. My dad’s life insurance paid for everything.”

  “I wouldn’t say you had it easy. You went to medical school. Most people can’t even dream of being that smart.”

  His lips curled. “Dumb luck.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re making the most of the talents God gave you.”

  He lowered his head, as if he didn’t want to talk about the impressive fact that he was a doctor, picked up another good-sized log, and stood it on the chopping block. He took a swing. “Something happened at the hospital this morning. It made me wonder.”

  “About what?”

  “They were having trouble getting an IV into this little kid. He was pretty scared. I went in to try to help. He had a soccer scarf.”

  “A soccer scarf?”

  “Soccer fans love team scarves. This kid had an FC Barcelona scarf, which isn’t cheap and isn’t easy to come by, so I knew he must be a soccer fan. It gave us an instant connection. He calmed down enough that the nurses could give him the IV.”

  Cassie’s heart swelled. “You were his superhero.”

  He shook his head. “If he hadn’t worn his scarf to the hospital, I wouldn’t have known. How many doctors in Shawano played collegiate soccer? And who around here knows who Messi is?”

  “Messi?”

  “The greatest soccer player in the world.”

  She studied his face. “You don’t think it was a coincidence.”

  “I don’t know what to think. You know more about this stuff than I do. I used to think I knew, but simple faith doesn’t cut it when life gets complicated.” He buried the edge of the axe into the chopping block and rubbed his hand down the side of his face. “Does God really care that much about a frightened little boy in Shawano, Wisconsin?”

  “You mean, does He care enough to send you to save the day? I know He does.”

  Zach gazed at her before picking up the wood he’d chopped and tossing it into the woodpile. “Then why didn’t He care enough to save my dad?”

  Cassie’s heart thudded for fear of saying the wrong thing. Why did he think she knew the answers to such questions?

  Because he trusted that her faith was strong while his was not. He yearned for her to understand, to give him an answer that would help him make sense of his father’s death. She wanted to help him so badly, but she didn’t know if she would say what he needed to hear.

  She clutched the lantern more tightly in her hand. She wasn’t up to it, but God was. She just had to open her mouth. God would fill it with words. He was the only one who could change Zach’s heart.

  She stepped closer to him and ran her mitten down the handle of the axe. “I’m sorry about your dad. I don’t know why God didn’t save your dad or mine, but I know beyond seeing that God loves us more deeply than we can begin to imagine. ‘Why’ is a question we can’t answer. He said, ‘Be still and know that I am God.’”

  Zach looked truly stricken, as if he wanted to understand but found it impossible to actually do so. “But what does that mean?”

  “I think it means that we must let Him be God, trust in His plan, and do our best to love each other and keep his commandments.”

  Zach expelled a long, tortured breath. “I can’t trust in a plan that brings so much sadness.”

  “Do you remember the Bible story of Jesus’s friend Lazarus?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The Bible says that Jesus wept at Lazarus’s death because He loved Lazarus. Mary and Martha were heartbroken. Jesus wept because of their sorrow.”

  “And then He brought Lazarus back to life,” Zach said.

  “I’m sure God wept to see you so sad about your dad, but He had a bigger plan for you and your mom and even your dad. Nothing is by accident, and not even a sparrow falls to the ground without God knowing.”

  To her surprise, she saw tears pool in his eyes in the dim light of the lantern. “Why did I curse God when my dad died and you didn’t?”

  “I was only ten. Too young to be angry, maybe.”

  “It’s because you’re an angel.” He yanked the axe from the wood. “And I’m no angel.”

  “Your anger is as much a part of you as your kind heart. God wants your whole heart, the parts that are easy to give and the parts that are hard. Maybe your struggle is a piece of His plan, especially if the struggle makes you stronger in the end.” She took the axe from him and, nearly tipping over, dragged it toward the toolshed. “Like if I hefted this axe enough times every day, I’d get bulging muscles like yours.”

  He held up a hand to stop her, took the axe, and lifted it as if it weighed three pounds. “I’d rather not have to explain to your grandparents why you got a hernia.”

  “They like you. They’d blame it on me.”

  They trudged together to the toolshed, where Zach hung up the axe and zipped his coat. “Can I help with the butchering on Saturday? I don’t have to be to the hospital until noon.”

  Cassie made a face. “You want to help with the butchering? It’s kind of gross.”

  “I’m a doctor. Believe me, I’ve seen gross.”

  She giggled. “Yep. Feet. Feet are gross.”

  “Ripping out an ingrown toenail is kind of cool.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him as they walked to his car.

  She shivered with the cold, but she didn’t necessarily want to go inside just yet, not with Dr. Reynolds smiling at her like that. He slowly pulled out his car keys and unlocked his car.

  She shook her head in mock surprise. “You locked your car again?”

 
He chuckled. “Old habit.” He stood next to his car as if he were reluctant to get in. “So, can I help with the butchering?”

  “If you really want to. They’re starting at six.”

  “Will I get to meet some of your cousins?”

  She winced. “Norman and Luke are doing it this year. And Titus. Titus doesn’t have a girlfriend, so the family recruits him for everything.”

  “Does Titus know Norman is coming?”

  “He’s a glutton for punishment.”

  The doctor gave Cassie a wry smile. “So am I.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Getting up the hill in Fifi got easier every time he did it. Maybe he’d finally figured out how to drive uphill in the snow. Maybe it was the three bags of snow melt he’d sprinkled all the way down the hill after the second time he’d come up here. Three large bags was a small investment in the grand scheme of things. If he wanted to see Cassie, he had to be able to make it up her hill without plowing his car into a snowdrift.

  By the muted light of early dawn, he could see a ribbon of smoke curling from behind the barn. Norman and Luke must have already gotten here.

  Zach parked his car next to Cassie’s. He couldn’t help but smile every time he saw their matching sets of wheels. In his mind, having the same car gave them a connection, a bond. He’d take any advantage he could get.

  Wrapping his red scarf around his neck, he crunched through the snow to the porch. It might have been in the upper thirties today. Cassie opened the door before Zach could knock. She wore a threadbare black coat and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. She’d tied her hair up in a red bandanna, but some of her unruly curls tumbled around her face like curly ribbons on a birthday gift. He held his breath as a shard of glass seemed to lodge in his chest. He thought he might go mad with the ache to stroke one of those silky tendrils. She got prettier every time he saw her.

  With two aprons and a coat draped over one arm, she put her finger to her lips before he had a chance to speak, tiptoed onto the porch, and shut the door quietly behind her.

  “Is everything all right?” he whispered, shoving his hands behind his back to better resist the temptation of her curls.

  “Dawdi is not to be disturbed. He woke up at four this morning, milked the cow, and then sat down to read Charlotte’s Web. I don’t think it’s going to be a very good day for him.”