by Leslie Gould
In my state of exhaustion, I gave way to my frustration. “A bit what?”
He didn’t respond.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I already knew she was old. And she was interested in Dat’s money. And it seemed, even before her husband took ill, it wasn’t a priority for her to make it to her son’s wedding.
After another long, silent moment, Pete said, “Actually I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you.” He gestured toward the dark sky with his free hand. “I’ve been away for seven months. Maybe she’s changed.”
I doubted an old woman would change much, but I didn’t bother to respond. I needed all the energy I could muster to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I would find out soon enough what Pete’s mother was like.
It seemed a near eternity until a house came into view. It was old and fairly small. Probably the Dawdi Haus. My heart lifted. Maybe we wouldn’t be staying in the same home as his parents at all. The main house was probably farther down the lane.
Pete angled through the yard to the building. Relieved, I followed him. It wouldn’t matter if his Mamm didn’t have a meal ready for us. Surely there would be food available, though.
We creaked up the weathered back steps. The rickety door was unlocked, and the hinges groaned as Pete pushed it open. We passed through a mud porch and into the kitchen, which was small with a table in the middle. Pete bee-lined through, but I stopped, my eyes searching the darkness for a refrigerator.
Not able to spot one, I turned around slowly, figuring there was a pantry off the kitchen.
Pete stepped back into the room. “Come on,” he said.
“I’m looking for the fridge.”
“There isn’t one.”
“I need some food.”
He put his pack on the table and unzipped it, pulling out the trail mix.
“Real food,” I insisted.
“The icehouse is out back.” He stuffed the bag back into his pack. “Go take a look.”
“You’re kidding,” I stammered, but he was already through the doorway.
I followed. “Pete!”
“Shh.” He turned abruptly, and I almost plowed into him. “You’ll wake up my Mamm.”
“This is where they live?”
“Of course.” He headed to the staircase.
There was no way the place could have housed fourteen boys. “This is your home?”
“Was,” he muttered.
At the top of the stairs, Pete opened the door to the right and stepped inside. I stopped in the doorway.
A moment later he struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp beside the bed.
“Is this my room?” I asked. There was an old bed—one that a century ago might have been considered large enough for two people but wasn’t much bigger than a single—and a little table for the kerosene lamp. That was all.
“It’s our room,” Pete said.
“I don’t think so. . . .” I stopped.
He plopped down on the bed, patting the mattress beside him. “You can have this side.”
I shook my head slowly.
He smirked and grabbed the pillow that would have been mine. “Just kidding,” he said, springing off the bed and tossing the pillow on the bare floor.
Of course he’d been kidding. What had I been thinking? He didn’t want to sleep with me any more than I wanted to sleep with him. My breath caught in my chest.
“You can have the bed.” He pulled a mummy bag from his pack and then flung it open, flopping it down beside the pillow.
“How about another room . . .” I pointed toward the hall.
“That might work. The next one over is my Mamm’s. Although she might be frightened by you crawling into bed with her.” His eyes narrowed as a horrid bearlike noise came from down the hall. “Sounds like Dat’s home from the hospital,” Pete said. “His room is the last one. They’ve had separate rooms for years.”
For obvious reasons. “Only three bedrooms?” I asked.
He nodded.
“For fourteen boys?”
“By the time I was born, three of my brothers were already gone. . . .”
“Still.” That was two rooms for eleven boys. He’d been telling the truth about growing up in poverty. It was no excuse, but maybe it helped explain why he’d been tempted by Mervin and Martin’s offer of money—and had succumbed.
I poked my head out into the hall again. “Which one is the bathroom?”
“The one out the window.” He jerked his head toward the outer wall.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Outhouse,” he said. “Ever used one?”
I grimaced. “You’re kidding.”
Sarcasm filled his voice as he said, “Oh, Poor Cate.”
I blushed, remembering the time he’d called me Sweet Cate. How foolish I’d been to think he’d meant it. He was mocking me, even then.
“Take the lamp,” he said.
I placed my bag on the end of the bed, then opened it and dug to the bottom for my nightgown, thankful I’d packed my bathrobe and slippers. I wedged my things under my arm and stepped between the bed and Pete, who wormed his way into his sleeping bag.
He didn’t say another word as I grabbed the kerosene lamp, the clear liquid sloshing around in the base, and in a moment I was back in the hall and then making my way down the stairs. I’d never bothered to imagine my wedding night, but if I had, never in my wildest dreams would I have come up with such a nightmare.
CHAPTER
17
I awoke out of a deep sleep to a knocking sound. In my half sleep I thought it came from outside, but as I opened my eyes to just a hint of dawn coming through the curtain, I realized it was coming from the closed door, and growing louder. And then I remembered where I was.
“You plan to sleep all day!”
I sat up in bed, squinting toward the floor. In the dim light it was obvious Pete wasn’t there. Neither was his sleeping bag. Only bare wood.
The commotion grew louder.
“Just a minute,” I said.
The knocking stopped. “Breakfast is almost ready,” a woman’s gruff voice called out.
I collapsed back onto the bed, remembering I needed to play the part of the dutiful wife, but the next thing I knew someone was knocking again and the room was much lighter. I’d gone back to sleep!
The same voice barked, “We’re going to eat without you.”
I slipped my feet onto the cold floor, pulled the worn quilt up to the pillow, and grabbed my dress from the peg on the wall, eyeing the door. “I’ll be right there,” I called out.
I dressed quickly, into one of my everyday dresses, facing the blank wall just in case someone came bursting through the door. After slipping on my Kapp and then my shoes, I left the room. I’d have to figure out where to wash my face and hair later. I cringed, imagining a Saturday night bath in a tub in the kitchen. “Oh, please, no,” I muttered under my breath.
An ancient-looking man and an old woman both glanced up at me from the table as I stepped into the kitchen. A fringe of snow-white surrounded the man’s head. In contrast, his long white beard was tucked under the table. He was thin and gangly and had tiny gray eyes and a huge nose and ears. I’d read somewhere that a person’s facial features kept growing long after the rest of them started shrinking. One look at him convinced me that was true.
The woman, who was turned in her chair so she could get a better look at me, was small and wrinkled like a dried-apple doll. Her hair was remarkably dark, though, with just a few strands of silver. Her Kapp was yellowish and her dress an extra-plain brown.
“I’m Cate.” I smiled as best I could. I was their new daughter-in-law, regardless of whether their son loved me or not.
“That’s what we figured,” the man said. “I’m Walter, and this is Esther.”
She looked nothing like an Esther—or at least my ideas of what a woman named Esther would look like, based on the Bible story. I greeted both of them as warmly as I
could manage and then said I needed to wash up.
“Basin’s in the pantry,” the woman said, motioning toward a door across the room.
“I’ll be right back.” I’d been right about a pantry—just not right about a refrigerator being in it. I eased open the door to a fairly large room. The shelves were lined with colorful jars of canned goods. Two bins stood against the far wall—probably flour and sugar. Perpendicular to them was a table with a basin of water and a towel beside it. The water was grayish. I tested it with my finger. And cold. Next to it was a bar of strong-smelling soap. I picked it up, lathered, and then rinsed my hands quickly. The towel was damp. I wiped my hands on my apron.
As I returned to the table, Esther said, “Sit.” And then, “Hope you like oatmeal.”
I nodded and pulled out the chair nearest the sink. “Where’s Pete?”
“Shoveling manure,” his father answered.
“At the neighbors,” his mother clarified.
After he finished leading us in a silent prayer, I asked Walter how his health was, wondering what the big emergency was the day before yesterday.
“Can’t complain,” he answered, gripping his spoon with his leathery hand.
“Why?” Esther leaned back in her chair. “Is Pete still hoping to get a piece of the farm?”
“Oh, no,” I said quickly, taken aback by her attitude. “I just wondered how Walter was feeling. Because he’d been in the hospital.”
“Oh, that,” Esther said. She looked at Walter. “Remember you had that fainting spell. You rode in that ambulance, to the ER.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Walter chuckled.
Had Pete exaggerated his Dat’s health condition to force us away from our wedding celebration? Or had he been motivated to take care of his Dat, just like me, only to have the situation not be as dire as he’d been told?
“I’m much better, denki,” Walter said.
Esther took a sip of her coffee, and the aroma wafted my way.
“That sure smells good,” I said.
“This?” She held the cup toward me.
I nodded.
“Sorry to say there isn’t more. I only make a cup a day. It aggravates Walter’s prostate.”
“Oh.” I’d read about prostates, but that didn’t mean I wanted to discuss them.
“Pete already ate,” his mother said. It looked as if she had too, because she didn’t have a bowl in front of her. “He used to be a lazy one too.” Her gaze was on me. “Never did like to get up before five.”
“Now, Esther,” Walter said.
I tried to take another bite, but the cereal was lumpy.
“Pete did the choring before he left,” she said. “Now he’s off to earn a day’s wage.”
I nodded. There was no doubt that Pete Treger was a hard worker, whatever the case had been when he was younger.
“Maybe with him back, he can earn enough money to help build us that Dawdi Haus we need.” She turned from her husband to me. “Our next-up son, Johnny, runs the farm, but his wife won’t move here. Says it’s too crowded. So they rent a ways away. Can you imagine? When we have a perfectly good house here—and would love to have the grandchildren nearby.”
“How many do they have?”
“None yet.”
I nearly choked—even though my mouth was empty. But I managed to ask how many other grandchildren they had.
“Oh, let’s see. It’s so easy to lose track. Sixty-three, I think.”
Walter nodded.
“Of course there are great-grandkids too—close to twenty by now. Nine sets of twins in all, between the two generations.”
Genetically speaking, twins were attributed to the mother’s side, not the father’s. But they were more common among the Amish than the general population. Not that any of that would matter for Pete and me.
“My, Christmas around here must be quite the gathering,” I said. That was close to a hundred people.
Esther finished her coffee and stood. “Oh, we don’t all get together then. Just once a year for a potluck in the summer.”
“Everyone will be able to meet you then,” Walter said.
“When is it?” I asked.
“A few weeks.” Esther looked at Walter. “Or so. We vary it from year to year.”
I hoped I’d be long gone before the reunion, whenever that would be.
“You can get started this morning by weeding the garden,” Esther said without missing a beat.
“Oh, I’m not very good at gardening. I’ve been doing office work for the last several years.”
Esther didn’t hesitate. “We don’t have any need for office work around here. Just plain old work.”
I tried not to react.
“The hoe is in the tool shed. By the outhouse.”
I decided to ignore her first comment. “Speaking of the outhouse,” I said, “I need to stop there first. And then get freshened up for the day.”
“Basin’s in the pantry,” she said, pointing to a door across the room. Then she laughed. “Did you forget already?”
I made a conscious effort not to react.
I finished my oatmeal, managing to get it down bite by small bite. Thankfully Esther hadn’t served me a large portion. I washed it down with the glass of water at my place. When I was done, I headed to the sink, where I found a hand pump that I hadn’t noticed before.
I stared at it for a long moment.
“Just had the pump and sink installed last year,” Esther said. “It’s made life so much easier.”
“I can only imagine,” I said, turning toward the cooking stove. Of course it was wood, but thankfully there was a kettle simmering on the back. My eye stopped on the pantry door. “So why have the basin in there? Why not by the sink?”
“So you’re a know-it-all too?” She harrumphed.
I shook my head. At least I didn’t mean to be. I was only asking a question.
Walter cleared his throat and I turned toward him. “We’ve always done it that way. Long before the pump and sink were installed.”
“Oh,” I said, shoving my hand into my apron pocket and balling it into a fist.
“I have quilting to do today.” Esther stood with her hands wrapped around the coffee cup, even though it was empty. “Would you get dinner?”
“Beg your pardon?” I tightened my fist.
“Dinner. You know. The noon meal.” She laughed. “What’s the matter? You don’t do much cooking either?”
I turned toward the pump, wanting to say, Actually I don’t. I began working the handle, wondering if the day could get any worse.
The garden was vast, probably big enough to feed all sixty-three grandchildren. It was certainly far more than Esther and Walter needed to sustain the two of them. I just hoped I would be long gone before it was time to can. The early-morning cold soon gave way to bright sunshine, as different from my stormy wedding day as could be. Weeding the garden and living with Pete’s parents would surely be temporary, but I didn’t know how I would endure it.
I couldn’t wait to get back to Lancaster County.
Betsy would marry and move to Levi’s parents’ place. Pete and I could sleep upstairs at my father’s house. With Dat’s bedroom downstairs, he would never have a reason to be on the second floor; he’d never need to know Pete and I had separate rooms. We could go back to our old jobs for the time being, until we figured out a business. Of course we’d have to be able to actually have a conversation before that could happen. But in time we’d be sure to develop some sort of working relationship.
My thoughts twirled around and around as I weeded. After three hours my hands, my arms, and my legs all ached. I longed for my desk, my chair, and my office.
When my watch said it was ten o’clock, I stood back and scanned the plot. There were still lots and lots of weeds. I’d barely made a dent. I stretched my back and glanced over toward the neighbors’ dairy, catching a whiff of manure again. I wondered if Pete was shoveling the barns out by hand. I d
idn’t see a tractor or hear one.
After scraping my shoes on the lawn, doing my best to get off as much mud as possible, I headed toward the tool shed, putting the hoe back in its place, and then peeled off the gloves I’d been wearing, putting them away above the potting bench. As I rinsed my hands at the spigot by the garden, I noticed Walter in the door of the barn talking to a man. I presumed it was John, the brother who farmed the place.
I guessed he’d be eating with us—meaning he, along with everyone else, would expect some sort of meal. I decided to check out the icehouse before heading back to the kitchen. It had to be between the smokehouse and the tool shed. My guess was correct. I eased open the insulated door, stepping onto sawdust. Big blocks of ice lined the walls, insulated with more sawdust. Wedged along the walls were two old refrigerators. Shivering, I opened the one that was entirely surrounded by ice blocks. It was crammed full of white packages of frozen meat. I closed the door quickly, not wanting any cold air to escape. I opened the second refrigerator, which only had ice along the back of it. There were a couple of cartons of eggs. A parcel wrapped in paper. A plastic container of some kind of leftovers—maybe soup. A glass jar of milk.
“Think like Betsy,” I coaxed myself, grabbing a carton of eggs. I looked around for some cheese, moving the leftovers, but couldn’t find any. I unwrapped the parcel. It was a hunk of cured ham. I took what I had and stopped at the herb garden, pinching off a bunch of chives with my fingernails. Somewhere there had to be a root cellar—or maybe the potatoes and other vegetables were stored in the basement.
I headed up to the house, kicking off my shoes in the mudroom and then entering the kitchen.
I put the food on the table and stepped into the pantry. First I emptied the basin in the kitchen and refilled it—half with cold water and half with the water in the teakettle that was only lukewarm. As I scrubbed my hands I saw a closed cupboard I hadn’t noticed earlier. Inside was a loaf of homemade bread, a container of hand-churned butter, a jar of jelly, a glass bottle of maple syrup, and a hunk of cheese. I scanned the shelves again. Tomatoes, green beans, pickled beets, chow chow, pickled eggs, pickles, peaches, pears, cherries . . . I selected pickled beets and pears and headed back to the kitchen.