by Anna Schmidt
“Pancakes—triple stack,” John muttered.
“Well?” Hester said when the waitress had left them alone again. “I mean, what is it with you, John Steiner?” She knew that her exhaustion only added to her exasperation with the man. “Ignore that,” she added before he could respond. “I’m just tired. I’ll come out and dig the ferns next week if that’s all right.”
“Fine.”
If Hester had learned one thing about John, it was that he was anything but fine. She rearranged the condiments on the table and refrained from starting any further conversation.
A few minutes later, the waitress set their plates in front of them, steam rising from both, as Hester folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.
And it came to her that the burden John was carrying had something to do with his mother’s death and that the birth of Grady’s child had somehow brought all of that back to him.
“You don’t have to answer this, of course—after all, it’s certainly none of my business.”
He continued pouring syrup on his pancakes, but she saw his hand twitch slightly.
“How did you mother die?”
With more care than necessary he set the syrup pitcher down. “I killed her.”
Part Three
And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest;
as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.
ISAIAH 32:2
There is more day to dawn…. The sun is but a morning star.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU, WALDEN: LIFE IN THE WOODS
Chapter 18
Hester was searching for words to respond to John’s astounding admission when they were interrupted.
“Hester? Is that you?” Olive Crowder brushed past the hostess with Agnes trailing behind her. “What on earth are you doing out at this hour?”
A question that Hester understood wasn’t complete without the unspoken “with a strange man.” Olive focused all of her attention on John.
“I might ask you the same thing,” Hester said, fighting to keep her tone light. “It’s early even for the two of you. Olive and Agnes Crowder, this is John Steiner.” Hester’s mind raced with how she might quickly get rid of the spinster sisters and get back to addressing the astounding confession John had just made to her.
But Olive’s eyes flickered with interest when she heard John’s name, even as she bristled at the idea that he was having breakfast with Hester.
“Hello,” Agnes said with a smile.
Olive stepped between her sister and John as if she needed to protect Agnes. “You’re that man—the one who bought land at Tucker’s Point. The one who got wiped out by the storm. The Amish man.”
“Guilty on all counts,” John said. He had stood up when Hester made the introductions, and he now met Olive Crowder eye-to-eye. “And you are …”
He glanced at Hester, who was holding her breath, silently praying that he would not say something to set Olive off.
“You are the lady of whom Hester speaks so often,” he said.
Olive looked past John to Hester. “What are you doing here?” she demanded again.
“We’re having breakfast,” John replied as if she had addressed her question to him. “Perhaps you know Grady Forrest and his wife, Amy?”
“Oh, they are the loveliest couple,” Agnes chirped.
“They had their baby last night,” John explained. “Hester and I happened to be with them, so we went to the hospital to be sure everything was all right.”
“And stayed the night?”
“Yes, Olive, we were at the hospital,” Hester said quietly. “The child was born a little after four this morning. Now if you’ll excuse us, our breakfast is getting cold, and both Mr. Steiner and I have a busy day ahead.”
“Well,” Olive huffed and turned on her heel. “Come, Agnes. Let’s find another place to have our meal. We know when we’re not welcome.”
“But, Olive,” Agnes said, pointing to a row of empty tables. Then, seeing the futility of arguing, she smiled apologetically. “It was so nice to meet you,” she said in a near whisper as she scurried after her sister, who was already out the door and striding toward the larger restaurant across the street.
“Well, that can’t be good,” John said. “Will you be all right?”
The question confused her. “Oh, you mean Olive? That’s just her way. No doubt she will stop by the house later to have a word with my father. He’ll assure her that he’ll look into the matter, and that will be the end of it.” He was still standing next to the booth. “Let’s just finish our breakfast.” And our conversation. “You were about to tell—”
“I should go.” He folded his napkin and left it next to his half-eaten pancakes; then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim fold of money. “Think this will cover it?” he asked, placing a five and four singles on the table.
Hester saw that this left him with a single bill, a twenty. She wondered how long that had to last him. “It’s fine, but, John …” She didn’t want to make a scene, but surely he was aware that he’d made an incredible admission to her, and she could hardly just let him walk away without an explanation.
“I didn’t murder her,” he said, “but I was responsible for her death.” He took a long swallow of his water and then left. Outside he ran to a bus stop, where a westbound bus was just pulling away. He flagged it down and jumped on board.
“Anything else, miss?” The waitress hovered uncertainly, holding a carafe of coffee in one hand and their check in the other. She was new at working here, and that comforted Hester some. At least whatever she might have witnessed, she wouldn’t be telling it to others who knew she was the preacher’s daughter having breakfast with a man who was not her father—and not Samuel Brubaker. But why worry about a gossiping waitress when Olive already had a head start?
“No, thank you. I have to …” She picked up the money and handed it to the waitress, then practically ran from the restaurant as if she might be able to flag the bus and stop John from leaving. He was the most exasperating man.
“Miss?” The waitress had followed her out to the parking lot. “You forgot your magazine.”
Hester turned back to meet her halfway. “Thanks.” She rolled the magazine and looked up and down the street. Pinecraft was already bustling with business owners out sweeping their entrances or unloading stock for their shops. Her days had begun to run into one another, but she might as well head for the MCC office—the haven she had gone to every day since her mother’s funeral. It was where her mother had done so much good, and the constant work made the hours fly by.
She was surprised to find the door locked. Rosalyn almost always arrived ahead of her, her bright smile something Hester had been especially looking forward to seeing today. Of course it was early yet, just past seven.
But Rosalyn still had not come by nine…or eleven. By that time, Hester was seriously worried. She had called several friends and neighbors. No one had seen her. She’d even stopped by Rosalyn’s house. Out of ideas of where she might be and beginning to worry, Hester decided to stop at her father’s shop. He would know what to do.
“She’s with Samuel,” Arlen told her as he concentrated on sanding the double doors that would attach to a large china cabinet that had already been stained and polished. “There was a bit of trouble last night. Fortunately, Samuel was nearby when the bottle hit Rosalyn—”
“What bottle, Dad? Is Rosalyn all right? Who—”
“Some rowdies had been drinking. They were driving in the area and spotted Rosalyn on her way home. According to Samuel, one of them threw away his beer bottle, and it hit Rosalyn in the forehead. She has quite a nasty cut. You weren’t here, so Samuel took her to the walk-in clinic, and they stitched it up fine.”
“She had to have stitches?” Hester was appalled at the calmness with which her father was relating this news. “Where is she now?”
“You just
missed her. This morning Samuel stopped to check on her and was worried that she seemed to have a fever, so he brought her to the house for you to have a look. When you weren’t there, he took her back to the doctor just to be sure she was all right. Samuel stopped by to let me know he was taking her home so she can rest. The doctor says she should be fine in a couple of days but that she’s had not only a physical trauma but an emotional one as well.”
“I would say so.” Hester decided to ignore her father’s inference that it was odd she wouldn’t be at home first thing in the morning. Instead, she perched on a stool and watched him work. “What about the men who did this?”
“Samuel said they were barely men, more like boys trying to play at being grown up. He spoke with them and they left.”
“I should go see if she’s all right.”
“Yes, perhaps later.” He put down his paintbrush and pulled a stool next to hers. “Olive Crowder brought cookies,” he said, nodding toward a tin on his workbench. “Oatmeal with chocolate chips.”
“No thanks.”
Olive Crowder had been bringing her father baked goods and sometimes huge casseroles since the day after Sarah died. The casseroles always came with the implied message that Hester was far too busy with her nursing and volunteer activities to take proper care of her father.
Come to think of it, she had been bringing him baked goods for most of Hester’s life. Her mother had marveled at what a gifted baker Olive was, which only encouraged her. As girls, Olive and Hester’s mother had been the best of friends and rivals for Arlen’s affection. And while there had been some distance between the two women once Sarah and Arlen married, Hester could not deny that Olive had been a devoted friend to both her parents all through the long years of Sarah’s illness. She had often suspected that once Sarah died, Olive had permitted herself to think that maybe in time Arlen would turn to her, that one day they might even marry. Of course, her father seemed oblivious to any underlying motive that might accompany Olive’s baked gifts.
“Olive has a concern,” her father said as he bit down on a cookie and took his time chewing.
“Dad, I know that she has become more and more upset about my work with MCC. She believes that CAM is—”
“Her concern is about you being seen walking with John Steiner before dawn and then having breakfast with him. Her concern is that there was no reason you needed to stay the night once Grady and Amy arrived at the hospital, and I have to say that I agree.”
“Papa …”
He held up a finger and continued speaking. “I began to think more about this after our conversation last evening, liebchen. Since your mother died, you have run from one project to the next, and in between you have taken on the running of our household, something you had been doing more and more as Sarah’s health failed. I have to admit that I allowed this, even encouraged it once your brothers moved away and your mother was gone—”
“Oh, Papa.” Hester stood and wrapped her arms around her father’s shoulders.
His eyes filled with tears, but he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them away. “You have fallen into the habit of caring for everyone but yourself. Olive has made me see that I have been selfish, Hester, and that the time has come for us to consider your future and happiness, not mine.”
“She said that?”
“No, I am saying that. Olive chastised me for allowing you too much freedom.”
“I am a grown woman,” Hester protested.
“And a good Mennonite woman. But Olive has a point. You know my concerns. You have become so involved in matters of the world outside Pinecraft. Not that the people you have befriended aren’t perfectly wonderful, and in most cases God-loving people, but you cannot find happiness out there, Hester.”
“I’m happy. I’m busy with so many things because that is the work God has called me to do.” She hesitated, wondering where this was all coming from. It wasn’t like her father to become so emotionally invested when a member of his congregation came to him with a concern. Of course, this concern did involve her, but still…“What exactly did Olive say?” she asked, taking her seat across from him so that they were knee to knee.
“Oh, you know Olive. She was quite upset seeing you this morning. She said that you and John seemed to be having quite a serious conversation. I told her that you had been trying to help that young man get back on his feet, but she was adamant that this conversation appeared to be of a more personal nature and, given the circumstances, was totally inappropriate. She raised the question of whether or not she should report her observations to Samuel.”
“She can report her observations to anyone she pleases, and she no doubt will. John Steiner and I were indeed having a serious and personal conversation. The man had just told me that he killed his mother when Olive interrupted. I really can’t imagine things could get much more serious or personal than that.” She clasped her fingers over her mouth, horrified that she had revealed such incriminating information when she had no idea what it meant.
“He killed his own mother?” Arlen closed his eyes for a moment, and Hester knew that he was sending up a prayer for John.
“He didn’t murder her,” she hastened to assure him. “He was just somehow involved in her death.”
“In what way?”
Hester blinked. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Olive started in, and then once she left John left without elaborating. I think he regretted saying anything at all.”
“I knew the man was deeply troubled, but this …” Arlen began to pace, wringing his hands as he considered this news. “I think it best if you stay away from him.”
“You would judge him?”
“The man has admitted a crime to you, Hester.”
“And what if his only crime is guilt, Dad? I would stake everything on that being the case. It explains so much about the way he is, his lack of trust, his running away from the only home and community he’s ever known. His determination not to make connections here.” The more she talked, the more she saw parallels between John’s actions and her own.
“You can’t know that until we know the whole story.”
“But that was what I felt, what I have felt every day since Mom died. I am a trained nurse, and still …”
“There’s no cure for ALS, Hester. You know that. You did everything you possibly could have done to see that her last days and months were the best they could be, and it took its toll on you. I should have seen what it was doing to you. I should have recognized it when you spent so many hours in the garden after her death—the garden you had created for her. I thought once Samuel came to work here and became our friend…I hoped …”
She took his hand between both of hers. “I know. I know.”
Father and daughter sat that way for a long moment.
“I will go and speak with John,” Arlen said, finally getting down from his stool and turning to his workbench.
“No, Dad. Let me go. He almost told me this morning, and if Olive hadn’t interrupted, I’m certain that he would have told me the entire story.”
“I think it best if you keep your distance for now. Give Olive a few days to calm herself.”
Hester glanced down at the tin of cookies. “She’s in love with you, you know.”
Arlen shrugged. “I know. Your mother even suggested that if I remarried, Olive would be a good match.”
This was news that Hester had never imagined. “Mom said that?”
“Yep. Badgered me for a promise that I would do just that almost right up to the end. Even when she could no longer speak, it was there in her eyes every time Olive stopped by.”
“But you didn’t. Why?”
“Because Olive may love me or think she does, but I don’t love her.”
“But if you promised …”
“I promised only that I would find peace in God’s will for Sarah and that I would move forward with my life. I have done that,” he said, gesturing to the shop, where partially com
pleted pieces of hand-crafted furniture lined the walls.
“But if you didn’t like it that Mom chose Olive as the most likely candidate, why would you do the same by bringing Samuel …”
“I know that you and Samuel have not yet found your way, but I am convinced that his coming here was God’s will. You and Samuel are young, Hester, and with time all things are possible, even falling in love. Just give him a chance, all right?”
She wrestled with the double standard that lay behind his words. There was some truth to the idea that two young people just starting out might find love after years of companionship, but something about the idea did not seem right to Hester. “And what about John Steiner? I truly believe that he has begun to trust me, to reach out for help.”