by Leslie Gould
I stepped into the kitchen, which was empty. But Mamm and several others, including Leisel, Marie, and Gail, sat in the living room. I couldn’t help but think of Ruby again and her love and care for her sweet mother all those years ago. My heart hurt again. I longed to be able to show love to my own mother. Even though she’d never been very affectionate when I was a child, being estranged from her broke my heart, over and over.
No one said anything to me as I swung around to the staircase and hurried up to the second floor. I quickly grabbed my purse and hurried back down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I held up the air filter and announced, “I’m going to go buy a new one of these. For the tractor.”
Mamm simply nodded, but Leisel said, “Thank you for helping with that. I know Milton needs it working again.”
It was such an easy fix, I couldn’t believe Arden hadn’t seen to it. “I’ll be back soon,” I said.
As I came down the front steps, Milton paced around my car, bending down every few steps to examine a tire.
As I neared him, I asked, “What’s up?”
Still squatting, he looked up at me. “Just looking.”
“Want to look at the engine?”
“Sure,” he said.
I opened the passenger door and popped the hood. Before I stepped around, he had it up and secured.
“Is it an automatic?” he asked.
“No. Standard.” I enjoyed driving a clutch.
Milton took off his hat, pushed his bangs off his forehead, put the hat back on, and then leaned over the engine. “You keep it nice and clean.”
I did. I changed my own oil and did my own tune-ups too. If Bishop Jacobs had thought I was too involved in the running of the farm and the upkeep of our equipment, he’d be appalled at what I did in my Englisch life. Not to mention dating Tom.
The sound of a buggy approaching distracted me. Expecting another neighbor, I stepped out from under the hood—to find Arden and Vi staring at me from their buggy. Obviously their trip to the funeral home had taken less time than expected.
“Milton,” Arden commanded. “Get back to your work.”
He sighed and then gave me a furtive look before he strode away.
“I’m going to go get a filter for the tractor,” I said, once again holding up the old one.
“It’s not necessary,” Arden said. “I’ll see to it later.”
“No,” I answered. “It’s no trouble.” I slammed the hood of my car and then strode to the driver’s door. Perhaps my brother said something more to me. If he did, it was lost in the wind. Vi’s steely stare nearly pierced me as I climbed in, buckled my seat belt, and then turned on the engine. I waited a moment for them to proceed to the barn. When they didn’t, I backed my car up and maneuvered around them, anxious to have a few moments alone in the car.
I found it difficult to mourn Dat amongst the drama of my family.
When I returned home, neither Arden nor Milton was in the field. I headed to the tractor, installed the filter, and then started the engine. It turned over. It was rough but didn’t stall. A tune-up was most likely in order.
I shifted into first and headed toward the big shed by the barn, where the tractor was usually stored. I hoped being exposed to the elements for the last month hadn’t caused too much harm. Dat never would have treated a piece of equipment so poorly.
I put the stick in neutral, set the brake, and left the tractor idling as I opened up both doors of the shed. Dat’s service would be held in the wide open space, but I’d park the tractor in it until it was time to clean the shed for the service. The afternoon light wafted through the high windows and over the wood-planked floor. The structure was ancient, although I doubted it dated all the way back to Ruby’s time.
I jumped back on the tractor, released the brake, and drove it inside. It lurched a little and then sputtered to a stop before I turned the engine off. It definitely needed more work. In the old days, Silas and I would have worked on it together.
The old familiar ache settled in my chest as I jumped down from the tractor. He’d been my best friend. For most of our school days we competed against each other, for the best grades and in whatever game or sport we played during recess. I mostly chose the games. Looking back, I was pretty bossy, but at the time it all felt so natural. I was used to my sisters following my lead and expected everyone else to also.
I stood in the middle of the shed, looking out the open doors to the field. Silas and I were very different. We were almost always team captains, on opposing sides, when it came to sports. I chose my teammates for their athletic skills mostly. He chose his randomly, at least it seemed that way to me. His first choice might be the youngest or the smallest or someone who was having a bad day.
Not surprisingly, his team mostly lost to mine.
I thought he was ridiculous until his father died when we were fourteen, toward the very end of our last year as scholars. I cried and cried for Silas, in what was my first encounter with true empathy. We both had older fathers, in their late fifties. And I knew I’d be devastated if Dat died.
I started being kind to Silas after that. For the last weeks of school, I chose the younger students for my team and left the better athletes for him. I stopped being as bossy. We truly became friends.
And then a few weeks later Dat hired Silas to work on our farm, against Arden’s wishes. I still remember the fight they had. Well, the argument Arden tried to have. Dat wouldn’t respond.
Silas and I grew closer as we worked together, even though we continued to compete. We’d see who could complete their chores first. Milk the most cows. Cut the most hay. The fall after Silas first came to work on the farm, we were each plowing opposite ends of a field, racing teams of mules to see who could pass the middle mark first, when Silas abruptly stopped and jogged toward the woods. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, except that I had noticed Milton slinking off that way. But I kept on plowing, determined to win. Fifteen minutes later Silas returned, with Milton, who was six at the time. He’d been crying because Arden had been yelling at him for not latching the chicken coop properly. Soon Milton stood in front of Silas, holding the reins while Silas guided him.
Of course I won the plowing competition that day, but not really. Silas most definitely had the better heart, something even I could see. But the experience did give me a marker of when I first knew I was falling in love with him—before he’d even started shaving.
We plowed and planted and pruned together. We fixed the tractor. Picked apples. Branded calves. Harvested the corn. Bailed hay. Fertilized the fields. Vaccinated the cows and calves. I rushed through my housework, much to Mamm’s disdain, to get outside and farm with him. Life with Silas had been so easy and fun and fulfilling, until Bishop Jacobs, along with Marie and Arden, began to interfere.
Tears stung my eyes as I closed the doors to the shed and decided to see what I could do to help with the chores. It was time to start the milking. I needed to do whatever I could to stop thinking about Silas. And I needed to speak with Arden about the farm.
A few minutes later, I squinted as I pushed the barn door open.
Straw covered the floor along with a few piles of manure from the morning milking. Dat never would have allowed that either. I stopped. No, I couldn’t come in criticizing Arden. He was in mourning, like all of us. Perhaps it wasn’t him at all. Most likely neighbors had helped with the chores. Perhaps they hadn’t cleaned up. I grabbed the shovel and began scooping, a little surprised that whoever was doing the evening milking hadn’t started.
It wasn’t until I had the place swept, too, that Silas stepped through the barn doors. “Oh,” he said when he saw me. “Is Arden around?”
I shook my head. “Aren’t neighbors helping?”
“There was some sort of miscommunication. Arden will probably be here soon. I’ll get started.”
“I’ll help,” I said.
“No,” he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Silas . . .”
“Arden doesn’t want you around his kids.” Silas appeared uncomfortable again as his gaze fell behind me.
Milton approached, along with his brothers Luke and Leroy, who were ten and eleven. I’d been over the moon when all of my nephews and nieces were born and had played with them and later babysat whenever I could. Back then, Vi and Arden liked me and were eager for me to help with their children. Luke and Leroy both gave me a half smile. At least they remembered me. They’d grown too, although they hadn’t changed as much as Milton.
“Where’s your Dat?” Silas asked Milton.
“In the big house, talking things through with Mammi.”
“We’ll be fine,” Silas said to me. “You should help your sisters or something.”
I bristled, but Silas seemed oblivious to what he’d just said. That had been the main problem before—that I did too much outside and didn’t help in the house enough.
The boys headed farther into the barn. Silas looked as if he’d perhaps registered what he’d just said and wanted to say something more, but then Arden started toward us. When he grew closer, he said, “The viewing will be tomorrow night and then the service will be Wednesday morning at nine a.m.” The burial would be in the cemetery a half-mile away from our house, on land the Bachmann family had donated years and years ago to be used by all in our community. He didn’t need to tell us that.
I nodded in response and said, “I wanted to speak with you.”
“About?”
“The farm.”
His eyes narrowed as if he were angry with me, but then he burst out laughing. “Nothing has changed in the last three years, Jessica. The farm was never any of your business.”
“I just have a few questions,” I said.
He shook his head. “That I’ll not entertain.”
“Please listen.”
He started walking past me. “Never,” he hissed.
I stood frozen for a long minute. I didn’t turn to watch him go, to see Silas staring at me, as I expected he was. Instead, I slipped away, patting my phone in my apron pocket, through the thickness of the coat. I obviously wasn’t welcome to speak with Arden about anything at all. I wouldn’t challenge that, at least not for the time being.
I strolled, slowly, around the pond. There was an underground spring closer to our house, where our water came from. Good clean water that had sustained the Bachmann family for generations.
The pond sustained the livestock all these years, along with the land. Water was life. The green budded boughs of the willow tree at the far end of the pond swayed in the breeze, along with the bare cattails. The murky water smelled of mud and fish and plants. A flock of ducks congregated under the willow, while two ventured out into the water. I stepped away from the reeds and soggy ground and continued through the field, concentrating on each inch of land my feet stepped on. The spicy scent of spring, the new growing grass, and the hint of woodsmoke in the air comforted me. But still, coming home felt like that first day Dat tried to teach me to swim—as if I might flail my way under the water. But being home without Dat here, without his arms around me, was worse than feeling as if I might drown.
I made my way to the woods and then picked my way along the slippery trail. The day grew colder and darker under the boughs of the evergreen trees. I could hear the traffic from the highway—tires rolling over the asphalt, horns honking, the occasional squeal of brakes. The trees muffled the noise but couldn’t hide it entirely. Arden felt the property was useless, but I disagreed. It was a buffer between the farm and the world. The trees helped cleanse the air, provide shade for the animals, and nourish the soil. It also provided firewood through the winter. If Arden sold the property to a developer, an apartment complex would look over the property instead of us enjoying our own mini forest.
I was sure that after he sold one parcel off, he’d be more likely to sell another. And then another. Until nothing was left.
I took a deep breath, sucking in the clean pine scent and the smell of the fertile soil beneath my feet. I blew it out slowly. I loved the woods. I leaned against a tree, aware of the puzzle of the bark through my coat, and tilted my head upward. The breeze blew high in the boughs, swaying them back and forth. A needle fell against my cheek, and I turned my face back down, scanning the ground. Ferns of all sizes covered the ground. Green shoots curled out from the stem. How many times had Silas and I played hide-and-go-seek with Leisel and Marie through these trees? And Milton, and even Luke and Leroy. A few times Dat had played with us. I remembered him chasing Silas through the woods. I remembered him scooping my youngest nephews up, one under each arm. I remembered the pure joy on both Leroy’s and Luke’s faces. Jah, my Dat had a gift with people, no matter their ages.
I fought the urge to sing “How Great Thou Art.” I couldn’t bear to even think of it. As a child, I thought the line “Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made” was Consider all the woods. . . . I only confessed my mistake to Silas when we were fifteen and we’d started to court, as covertly as we could because Mamm insisted we wait until we were sixteen. He sang the line as Consider all the woods forever after. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his voice, his smile, his soul . . . his hazel eyes twinkling down at me as he sang.
I don’t know how long I stayed in the woods, but it grew so dark that I finally headed back toward the oak Bohm, thinking about the Wallis property next door. Today an Englisch family owned the farm, but I knew they weren’t descendants of the Wallis family. They’d bought the property from a Mennonite family ten years before.
For a moment the sun seemed as if it were stuck in the oak tree, casting a golden hue over the green buds. But then it shot a moment of pink and orange across the horizon before disappearing.
“Jessie!”
I turned slowly toward Silas.
“Do you have a minute?”
I nodded, hurrying away from the tree. The last thing I wanted was to stand in our spot with Silas.
“We didn’t really have a chance to talk earlier, not much at least.”
The last thing I wanted was to talk with Silas. The day had been hard enough as it was.
“How do you like Harrisburg?” he asked.
It seemed so far away. Had it only been this morning that I’d left? “It’s great,” I answered, the image of my peaceful apartment coming to mind.
He tilted his head toward the house. “You might have guessed that Gail and I are courting.”
“Jah.”
“Since last November. That’s when I started taking Gail home from singings.”
I swallowed hard. “Look, we don’t need to have this conversation. You and I—we were a long time ago. I’m happy for you and Gail. Honestly.” I took a step toward the fence and stumbled a little. He reached for me, grabbing my hand.
A sob formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard again. I would not be vulnerable in front of Silas. Not for anything. I resolved to remain on guard. Against him. Against Arden. Against the world—at least the Amish one.
I pulled away from him and retrieved my phone. “I need to make a call.”
“It’s almost time for supper.”
“I’ll be right in,” I said, dreading where I’d have to sit.
Silas didn’t budge.
“Go on,” I said. “I’ll only be a minute.”
As Silas retreated, I hit speed dial for Tom. As I held it to my ear, Silas reached the barn.
Tom picked up on the third ring, and I immediately burst into tears.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.
I took a deep breath, not ready to try to explain all of the emotions I was feeling. “I’m sad,” I answered. That was true. “I wanted to let you know when the service will be.” I gave him the time.
“Where?” he asked.
“On our farm.” I rattled off the address. “Do you still think you’ll come?”
“Of course,” he answered. “I’ll arri
ve early, by eight thirty.”
“Perfect.” That would give me time to explain everything to him.
A rustling caught my attention, and I turned around. Arden was striding toward me. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’ll call tomorrow.” I said good-bye as quickly as I could.
Arden had his hand out, and I tucked my phone back under my coat, into my pocket.
“Give it to me,” my brother said.
I shook my head.
“I’m in charge now, and I don’t allow cell phones on my farm.”
“I’ll be here less than two days.” I kept my voice as calm as I could. “I promise I won’t use it where your children can see me.”
He pointed toward the barn. Milton stood there, watching us.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll do better next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Of course not,” I said, striding past him. I kept marching toward the house.
I glanced over my shoulder. Arden followed several paces behind. Milton followed his father, but his eyes were on me.
6
I washed up at the sink on the back porch and then hung Aenti Suz’s coat on the only empty peg on the wall. Next I kicked off my shoes and entered the kitchen in my stocking feet. The smell of roast beef, part of the meal a neighbor had dropped by, made my stomach growl.
Mamm didn’t look up from where she pulled out a container of mashed potatoes, but Aenti Suz gave me a smile as she placed biscuits in a basket. Leisel, who filled a pitcher with water, smiled at me. Marie and Gail stood with their backs to me at the island. Neither glanced my way.
My mouth watered. I hadn’t had a good home-cooked meal since . . . I left home. I scanned the dining room table. It was fully set, which meant Arden’s family was probably joining us, along with Silas. I turned toward the far wall. The shunning table was exactly where I expected it to be. Still, shame grew inside of me.
I stood at the end of the table. For a moment I thought about running up the stairs, grabbing my things, and fleeing out the front door. But then my stomach rumbled again. Jah, I was hungry. But it was more than that. I’d chosen to come home. I knew what was in store. I wouldn’t run now.