by Sarah Price
She could only imagine. With four children and a farm to run, he wouldn’t have time for socializing.
“But he did go to Katie Ruth’s funeral.”
Edna leaned forward. “Go on.”
“Said that there was a lot of tension between Katie Ruth’s father and Ezekiel. No one said much about it, but Nathanial sensed it. There was a comment, however, about Katie Ruth refusing to take treatment, though.”
Clearly, John had heard the same thing that Edna already knew. She sighed and sat back in her chair. “Oh, I already heard that Ezekiel’s rather conservative and doesn’t approve of modern medicine. He forbade his wife to take it.”
John frowned. “You sure about that?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve heard.” She paused. Who had told her that?
“According to Nathanial, Katie Ruth’s daed is the bishop.”
“So?”
John made a face at her. “Bishops aren’t usually your most liberal member of the community.” He stood up. “Anyway, thought you should know.” He winked. “Did my part, so no more scolding at the supper table.”
For a moment, Edna mulled over her son’s words. It was true that when preachers and bishops were nominated for the vote by the congregation, a vote that was conducted by lot, most districts did not choose liberal-thinking men but those who would uphold the standards of the community. Among the Amish, change was never evolution, but revolution.
If Katie Ruth’s father was the bishop, he would’ve had sway over both Ezekiel and his daughter. And he could have convinced Katie Ruth to get cancer treatment—unless, of course, he didn’t believe in it himself!
Was it possible that someone had gotten the story wrong?
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Oh, I just don’t want to interfere,” Verna said as she formed the round balls of dough to make drop cookies. The dough felt sticky against her skin, and she worried that it was too wet. She reached for some flour and sprinkled it onto the dough. “This question has already caused enough problems, and I’d hate to cause any more.”
It was Wednesday and the four women had gathered to make their first batch of cookies for the store in town. Edna had just informed everyone of the news her son John had discovered. For starters, Verna wasn’t certain what to make of it. The news that there was tension between Ezekiel and his former father-in-law wasn’t startling. After all, she’d heard as much from Miriam already. And the news that the bishop had apparently supported his daughter’s refusal of cancer treatment? Well, that wasn’t uncommon.
“Don’t you think Myrna should know?” Edna asked.
Mary chimed in. “I’d surely want Bethany to know.”
Verna, however, shook her head. She might not understand everything about Ezekiel Riehl, but she did understand that sharing any information about the man with her daughter was not a good idea. “Nee, it doesn’t make any difference now, does it? Bishops are known to be strict. They have to be in order to make decisions for their church members. Besides, it’s in the past, isn’t it?”
“But Verna,” Edna said, “if Myrna does marry him, what if she gets sick?”
That thought had crossed her mind. But she knew that her daughter was an adult and had to make her own decisions. “I’ll pray that she doesn’t.” She looked around the room at each of the friends staring at her. “Now, please, we really mustn’t talk about this again. The only thing that matters is how Ezekiel treats my dochder, and from what I can see, there is no question of his good intentions in regard to her.”
Edna held up her hands as if warding off an attack. “All right, then. I’ll speak no more about it except for this: I think this whole nonsense should be addressed, openly talked about, before she decides whether or not to marry him.”
Verna remained silent, focusing on the cookies. She didn’t want to get into an argument with Edna. Everything else about the day had been wonderful so far. It was their first week making cookies for Yoders’ Store. Mary had brought the little cards that Bethany had hand printed. They were, indeed, beautiful, with the words “Amish Cookie Club” on the label and a place for the women to indicate what kind of cookie was in the package.
No, Verna didn’t want to continue this particular conversation, with Edna or anyone else. Sometimes least said was soonest mended.
* * *
When Simon came home early that afternoon, he greeted her with an unusually affectionate hug and kiss.
“My word!” Verna laughed as she steadied herself against the edge of the counter. “What was that for?”
He grinned. “Oh, nothing much, I suppose.”
She didn’t believe that for one minute. “Simon Bontrager! What are you hiding from me?”
Laughing, he walked over to the sink and flipped on the water, letting it run to warm up before he washed his hands. “Mayhaps I had a visit at the shop today from a certain person.”
Verna narrowed her eyes. “A visit? From whom?”
Simon shrugged, pretending to hide his excitement.
“Simon!”
He reached for her hand and held it. “Ezekiel Riehl.”
Verna caught her breath.
“He came to get some tools for the garden. Seems Myrna’s been making his boys weed and water the garden every day after schule.”
“What did he say?”
“He commented about how organized and hardworking she is,” Simon told her. “‘Industrious’ was the word he used.” He winked at his wife. “He asked if she’d always been such a tireless worker. When I said yes, he wondered why she wasn’t working for me.” He chuckled.
“Oh help!” She collapsed against the back of the chair. “What on earth did you tell him?”
“Why, the truth, of course. How she organized my stockroom and displays to the point that I couldn’t find anything!”
“Simon!”
But his eyes were sparkling. She hadn’t seen him look so joyous in a long time.
“Then he made a comment about how he looked forward to seeing more of us.”
“Us?”
Simon nodded. “Ja, us. As in you and me.”
Verna’s mouth opened. “Oh, Simon! You don’t think . . . ?”
He reached out and cupped her chin with his fingers. “I do think. Frankly, I have thought it. Remember I said that Ezekiel’s picking up Myrna wouldn’t be a problem come harvest time? What did you think I meant?”
“I . . . I guess I thought you meant he’d be busy in the fields.”
He bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Nee, Verna. I meant that Myrna would be waking up each morning at his farm.” He pulled back. “As his fraa.”
Then, taking a step backward, he gave her one more wink before turning and walking to his chair. Verna barely noticed. Her mouth remained open and she put her hand onto her chest. If Simon thought it, surely it was bound to happen. He never speculated unless he felt it was a sure thing. Verna shut her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to realize that, at last, her daughter would be settled in and moving on with her life. She’d be marrying a good man and living on a prosperous farm. And she’d raise his four children alongside those that she bore Ezekiel. It would, indeed, be a fine life for her daughter.
She opened her eyes and swallowed, feeling as if a lump had formed in her throat. She had wanted nothing less for Myrna. But for a while, Verna had been too afraid that it would never come to pass. Now there was a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. And that light came from one, and only one, place.
“Thank you, God,” Verna whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Myrna was surprised when she looked at the clock and saw it was almost five o’clock. For a Wednesday, the day had surely flown by. Ezekiel should be coming in for supper soon, she presumed, and, at that time, she’d be able to leave. If Ezekiel didn’t want to take her home before he ate, she’d just ride one of his bicycles home. She could bring it back the next day when he fetched her. There was no sense waiting around, especial
ly since her chores were finished.
Realizing that the day was done felt bittersweet. To say she felt exhausted was an understatement. Her arm ached from having held Katie all afternoon. The baby had refused to sleep one wink! And she’d cried. A lot. Frankly, Myrna’s brain felt like mush. With Katie fussing so much, it had been hard to entertain Henry, who got into everything: cabinets, shelves, the wood box.
Sleep.
Myrna smiled at the thought. She couldn’t wait to go home, crawl into bed, and just sleep.
“You look peaceful.”
At the sound of Ezekiel’s voice, she started.
“Sorry.” He held up both hands as if to apologize.
“You scared me.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Again.”
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a peaceful expression as he watched her. “You were deep in thought.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement. “Was that smile about the kinner?”
She hesitated, just long enough that he didn’t need her to answer.
Now it was her turn to apologize. “I’m sorry, Ezekiel—” He raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, Zeke.”
He nodded.
“It was a long day. Frankly, I was thinking about sleeping tonight.” She pursed her lips. “Go home, forget about supper, and just crawl into bed. I just want sleep.”
She noticed that he suddenly looked disappointed. “Speaking of supper—”
She interrupted him. “It’s ready. I just need to call the boys. Katie’s already fed and in bed sleeping.”
He looked at her.
“I know, it’s early, but she refused to nap at all. I’m not sure which one of us is more tired, her or me!” She almost laughed, but she couldn’t find the energy. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll head on home now. I can ride my bicycle so you don’t have to be bothered.”
At first, Ezekiel didn’t respond. She waited for his dismissal, but it never came. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I . . . I was hoping you might sit a spell, mayhaps have supper with us.”
The question caught her off guard. For the past four weeks, she had left every evening when Ezekiel sat down for supper with his children. While his farm was only four miles from her house, it took her almost an hour to bicycle there. She hadn’t lingered past the time he needed her, as she certainly didn’t want to ride home in the waning hours of daylight, especially because that was when the roads were busiest.
This week, now that he was insisting on picking her up and taking her home each evening, he usually packed all of the children into the buggy around four thirty to take her home. Despite the late hour, he said the children could wait to eat when they returned.
But tonight he was actually inviting her to stay for supper?
She stood there, her mouth agape. There was a hopeful look on his face, one that made her heart beat rapidly. Those dark chocolate eyes searched her face for an answer.
“Oh, that’s a nice offer,” she started slowly. “But I . . . I really should get home.” The expression on his face changed and, for the briefest of moments, she thought he appeared genuinely disappointed. “I mean, I didn’t tell my parents I’d be late. They’d worry.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “Of course.” He paused. “It’s just that, well, I had something I wanted to ask you. And I thought the kinner might enjoy a livelier companion during supper.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “I’m afraid I’ve not been the best of company these days.”
That surprised her. “Oh? I find you to be rather enjoyable company,” she said without thinking. Immediately she bit her lower lip, wishing she could gobble up the words.
But Ezekiel didn’t appear to think less of her for such a forward compliment. “Mayhaps because you are enjoyable company,” he replied.
She felt the color flooding to her cheeks. Averting her eyes, she looked at the table, already set for the small family. What would it hurt, she thought, if she stayed? “I suppose I could stay a bit.”
She heard him exhale as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.
“Danke, Myrna Bontrager.”
Myrna Bontrager. The way he said her name made her stop. Had he ever said her full name? Or was that the first time? Either way, the manner in which he said it, the five syllables rolling off his tongue, gave her reason to pause. She looked at him, not entirely surprised to see that he was intently watching her.
“I . . . I’ll go call the boys to the table, then,” she said, softly.
* * *
It was dark when they left the house. She’d cleaned the dishes after everyone ate, and then, after ten minutes of pleading, she agreed to put the boys to bed with a story. She’d noticed Ezekiel smiling to himself as he watched her climb the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms. By the time she’d come back downstairs, Ezekiel was outside, and she was alone in the kitchen.
For a few minutes, she had stood there. She’d never been at the house this late, and the darkness mixed with the kerosene lanterns created strange shadows.
Funny how different things appeared in the evening, she’d thought.
She heard the screen door open. Rather than turn around, she stood there with her eyes shut. She wanted to see if she could feel Ezekiel’s presence. Sure enough, she knew the exact moment when he stood in the doorway, most likely with those dark eyes fastened upon her.
“Supper was gut,” he said, breaking the silence at last. “You’re a right gut cook, Myrna.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled as she turned toward him. “That’s my maem’s doing. All that baking desserts and breads. Rubbed off on me.”
“Hmm.” He hesitated for the briefest of moments before he walked into the room. “Myrna, you wouldn’t mind sitting for a spell, would you?” He gestured toward the sitting area. “I’ve something I want to talk to you about.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh ja! It’s just . . .”
“Myrna?” a soft voice called out from the darkness above.
At the sound of her name being called from the top of the stairs, they both looked in that direction.
“Henry?” Myrna got up and hurried over to where Henry was descending the steps. “What’re you doing up?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“You need to try, Henry. That wasn’t even ten minutes.”
“Can you hold me?” He didn’t wait for a response as he took hold of her dress, pressing his face into the folds of her apron.
She glanced at Ezekiel, who grunted and looked away.
“Come here, Henry,” she had said, reaching down for his hand. “We can sit a spell.”
Now, twenty minutes later, Ezekiel drove her home with Henry curled up on her lap. He’d refused to return to bed, insisting that he wanted to ride with his father when he took Myrna home. And, as much as Myrna wanted to resist his demands, she knew that they couldn’t leave a three-year-old alone if he wasn’t going to sleep next to his brothers.
They rode the rest of the way to her father’s house in silence, Myrna finding a strange sense of peace sitting beside Ezekiel in the buggy. She shut her eyes and listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves on the road and wondered at the secrets held in Ezekiel’s heart. He appeared to be such a kind and loving man, observant and helpful in a way that she had never noticed in other Amish men. What a rare treasure he would be, she realized, for the right woman.
If only that woman could be me, she thought.
* * *
The next day, Katie wouldn’t stop crying. No matter what Myrna did, the baby continued to cry. For over two hours, Myrna held the baby against her shoulder and paced the floors, rubbing the child’s back and trying to soothe her with soft, whispered words. When she’d gone to fetch the boys from school, she had to carry Katie in her arms while Henry lagged behind, complaining every step of the way.
That hour had been the only break in Katie’s tears.
Once they returned h
ome, she began all over again.
Desperate, Myrna bathed the child, hoping that the warm water would make her sleepy. Instead, she fussed and whimpered during the entire bath.
Once she was dried and dressed again, Katie continued her wailed complaints that no one could understand.
“Make her stop, Myrna!” Daniel covered his ears with his hands. “She’s so loud!”
Myrna frowned. “I’m trying, Daniel. But she just keeps crying.”
David grabbed his brother’s arm. “Let’s go outside. Mayhaps Daed needs help.”
For once, Daniel didn’t argue.
Despite feeling bone weary, Myrna couldn’t help but give a soft smile. “Seems there’s a benefit to your tears, little one,” she whispered to Katie. “They’d rather do chores than listen to you scream.”
By four o’clock, Myrna gave up trying. Instead, she sat in the rocking chair and, cradling the baby in her arms, just pushed her feet against the floor in the hope that the gliding movement might comfort one of them.
She’d been working for Ezekiel for five weeks, and she had to admit that she had grown to love the children. Each of the boys had a unique personality, but her heart swelled with extra love for Henry and Katie. David and Daniel had memories of their mother. They also had each other. But poor Henry remembered nothing, and Katie had not benefited from a mother’s love.
So knowing that Katie was in distress upset Myrna to no end. If only she knew what was wrong with the child!
“What’s this?”
Exhausted, Myrna could barely lift her head to look at Ezekiel. It was the first time she’d seen him since breakfast, for he’d been cutting hay in the back pasture, not even having stopped for a bite to eat. A week of rain was forecasted starting on Sunday. Ezekiel needed to finish the cutting in one day so that it could dry properly and he could bale it before the storms came.
Now, seeing him, Myrna felt a wave of relief.
“She’s been crying all day.”
He frowned and crossed the room to where she sat holding Katie. “And you didn’t think to fetch me?”