by Leslie Gould
Pete nodded his head toward me, a gesture that seemed intended more for the nearby men than for me. I climbed into the buggy, unassisted, and then we sat silently until his parents arrived. I was pretty sure we were the first family—if you could call us that—to leave.
The next week was spent getting ready for the reunion. On Monday I washed the clothes and then started on the windows. They hadn’t been cleaned in several years, or so it seemed. Walter mowed the lawn with the push mower, but after his third rest on the plastic lawn chair under the elm tree in just half an hour, I finished it. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I cleaned the inside of the house, which I was pretty sure hadn’t been done in a long, long time either.
On Friday, my mother-in-law abandoned her quilting and began making pies. She started by bossing me around, telling me to go get the box of apples from the cellar in the basement, then to start peeling the apples. She sat at the table, her hand wrapped around her mug, watching me.
“You’re wasting too much of the fruit.” She put her coffee down and picked up an apple. “That might be the way you do things in Lancaster, but not here.” She reached out her hand, and I extended the knife as I heard a step behind me.
Pete stood in the doorway.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Esther asked.
He held up a torn glove. “I have an extra pair upstairs.” He’d taken off his boots and was making his way across the kitchen in his stocking feet.
“Well, just as long as you’re going back,” Esther muttered.
I cocked my head. I couldn’t figure the woman out. All Pete did was work. Obviously not anticipating an answer from Pete, she started back in on me. “The idea here is to feed the people—not the chickens or the hogs. They only get the peel, not half the fruit with it.” She went on berating me.
I’d been standing but decided to get a bit of a rest while she had my knife, so I sat down.
Pete stepped back into the kitchen, taking his time, as she said, “You do it like this.” She peeled the apple deftly and quickly. By the time Pete was back out the door, she had the whole thing done, in one long stretch of peel with just a trace of white fruit on it, hanging from the knife. She dropped the peel on the table.
My face burned and my tongue began to itch, but I literally bit it to keep from responding.
“Watch the waste when you core it too. I know how you young girls are—especially pretty ones from wealthy homes. Around here, though, it’s waste not, want not.”
She extended the knife back to me, but I had to stand to reach it. As I did, I saw that Pete was still in the mudroom, probably putting on his boots. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and smiled warily.
My breath caught, and I turned my attention back to Esther, taking the knife from her and then concentrating on doing it right while she made the piecrust and then rolled it out. An hour later she chided me for taking so long.
“I guess you’ll have to finish up these pies,” she said. “I’ll go ahead and get started on the vinegar ones.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Jah, vinegar. Around here, we’re thankful for what the Lord provides, even if it is a bit lowbrow for your tastes,” she responded. “We don’t have lemons the way you do in Lancaster.” She laughed at that, as if she’d made a great joke.
“I could go to town and buy a few,” I offered.
“Don’t get smart with me.” She headed to the pantry.
I hadn’t meant to be smart—but she didn’t know that. I fixed my eyes on a water spot in the corner of the room up by the ceiling, took a deep breath, and willed myself to stay calm. I’d made a really stupid choice, and now I was living with the consequences. Kicking and screaming wasn’t going to make it any better. I knew now what that sort of behavior would lead to when I was old.
That night, I couldn’t find the devotional book. I’d finished it the evening before, for the sixth time, and was looking forward to starting it again. I panicked, looking under the bed and then through my things. It was nowhere to be found. I eyed Pete’s pile in the corner. Where else could it be? He had a flashlight. Maybe he’d been reading it after I fell asleep. I picked up his pillow and when I did, the book fell to the floor. Relieved, I climbed into bed with it.
When Pete finally came in, I offered it to him.
“Denki,” he said. “I’ve been feeling crazy without anything to read.”
“Ach.” I sighed. “Me too. How did you survive growing up?”
He didn’t answer me.
“Pete?”
“I’d get to the library when I could hitch a ride. The first time I was ten.”
I was up on one elbow. “You hitchhiked when you were ten! What did your mother say?”
“A lot. I was grounded from reading for months.” He grimaced.
I plopped back down. Esther was worse than I thought. “But you kept going on adventures.”
“Jah, now and then. But believe me, I’ve always felt tremendous guilt for it. I’d stay around mostly, until I couldn’t stand it and then take off again. But this last time was the longest.”
“What got you through the times when you were home?”
Pete answered immediately. “I started working at the dairy when I was thirteen—of course, all my money went to my folks. It was still worth it, though, because our neighbor has a nice collection of books.”
“But he’s Amish?”
“Jah,” he answered.
“So it’s just your parents who don’t believe in reading around here?”
“It’s not that they’re morally opposed—just too frugal to buy books, I think. And they’re not interested, so they think it’s a waste of time. Plus, Mamm was convinced reading’s what made me so headstrong—although I’m pretty sure I was that way before I learned to read.”
I bit my tongue from saying he’d gotten his mother’s stubborn streak—she just didn’t realize it. Instead I told him he could leave the lamp on, adding, “I’ll still be able to sleep.”
“Denki,” he said. “My flashlight battery is getting weak.”
I turned over, facing the wall.
“Cate?”
“Jah.” I didn’t bother to roll back over.
“You were good to my Mamm today. . . . I appreciate it.”
“What are you talking about?” I rolled toward him.
“When she was scolding you about peeling the apples.”
“Oh, that.” I’d put it out of my mind. Maybe I was changing, just a little.
“She doesn’t realize she’s so harsh.”
I found it sweet that he felt protective of her, regardless of the way she’d treated him through the years. “She’s wasn’t that bad.” Not like she’d been in the past, anyway, especially Pete’s past. I told him about the vinegar pie and my comments about the lemons. He actually laughed, although softly, but stopped abruptly at the sound of a knock on the door.
“Put that light out.” It was Esther, of course. “You’re wasting oil.”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
Sitting in his long underwear, even though the room was hot and stuffy, Pete looked as if he was going to burst into laughter.
“Are you asleep?” she asked as the door flew open. I fumbled to turn the wick down and extinguish the flame.
Her eyes were glued on Pete. “Why are you on the floor?” But then she turned to me. “What kind of woman are you? Not letting your husband sleep in your bed.”
With one last turn, I managed to get the light out.
“Shame on you!” She pulled the door shut with a bang. Then her voice, a little shaky, came from the other side of the door. “I thought the two of you’d gone to sleep with the lamp on. That’s the only reason I came in.”
Neither Pete nor I said a word. A second later the devotional landed on the bed beside me, and I put it on the table by the lamp.
“Good night,” I whispered, overcome with regret. My coercing Pete into a marriage of convenienc
e was hurting more than just the two of us.
“Jah,” Pete said. “Good night.”
I was pretty sure he was lamenting what we’d done as much as I was.
All of Pete’s brothers except for John hired a driver to bring them to their parents’ house. Besides John, Bert lived the closest at ten miles away. Others lived various places in Chautauqua County. Several of the families lived up to the north. A few lived in Pennsylvania’s Big Valley. It seemed the family liked to get around, although none as much as the youngest.
The brothers all greeted Pete warmly, and they seemed happy enough to meet me. The sisters-in-law were polite but not overly so. John was the last to arrive, alone. “Jana’s not feeling well,” he said.
I already thought it odd that I hadn’t yet met the sister-in-law who, by Esther’s account, lived the closest. And it seemed as if she would have to be quite ill not to join her husband.
Of course there were grandchildren from nearly thirty years old, older than Pete, to a three-month-old, plus all the great-grandchildren. Livy, Bert’s wife, was the biggest help in the kitchen. She was close to fifty and under her bonnet was silvery hair. She was plump and had a warm, friendly smile. For a moment we found ourselves alone, and she asked me how I was managing.
I thought perhaps Esther had told her I was making Pete sleep on the floor, but my face must have been puzzled, because she said, “You know. Living here.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Well, we all think you’re a saint.”
“Oh?”
“Haven’t you wondered why none of us live here? Not even Jana would, even though John will soon have the farm.” She frowned. “We all had an advantage, though—we actually had the chance to meet Esther before we married into the family.”
“That’s true,” I answered.
“Well.” She patted my shoulder. “Bert and I would like to get to know you better. He’s going to talk to Pete about you two coming over soon. Pete’s always been like a son to me, since I joined the family before he was born.”
I had noticed that Pete was hanging out more with his nephews than his siblings, except for Bert. He seemed closest with his oldest brother. Funny thing was, in all the time we’d lived with his parents, I hadn’t seen him interact at all with John. Not once. John often ate dinner with his parents, but Pete was always at the neighbors’. Then John would be gone by suppertime when Pete came home.
“What’s John’s wife like?” I asked.
Livy’s eyes grew wide. “Jana?”
“Jah.” I looked at her closely.
“Well . . .” She seemed to be stalling. “She’s nice.” She smiled.
“Do you know her well?”
“Sure. She’s been around for quite a while.”
“How long have she and John been married?”
“Oh, less than a year.”
“So they courted a long time?”
Livy pursed her lips together as if she wasn’t sure what to say. “Something like that,” she finally said.
Esther came marching through the door, interrupting us. “Time to put the rest of the food out,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
I couldn’t help but notice Livy’s sad look. And to think I’d seen myself as antisocial my whole life. Compared to Esther, I was top-of-the-chart outgoing.
I carried the pot of baked beans that had been in the oven all morning out to the hot-food table, which was already heaped with dishes.
Pete and his older nephews had a gunnysack race going with the school-aged children, and Esther yelled at them to stop. The kids kept squealing until they saw their grandmother headed their way. In no time they were on their feet, the sacks wadded in their hands.
I headed to the icehouse and grabbed the first of the two big tubs of potato salad Esther had made the day before. I’d cautioned her about leaving them out too long, saying she didn’t want the mayo, homemade, of course, to go bad and poison anyone. She harrumphed and said we didn’t need to worry about that. It would all be gobbled up in no time. Then she told me to mind my own business. I answered that safety was everyone’s business, but she ignored me.
Now, after delivering them to the food table, I went back for the vinegar pies, which we’d topped with meringue. My arms were still sore from beating the egg whites.
When everyone had gathered around, Walter cleared his throat and said he wanted to say a few words.
“We’ve been so blessed,” he said. “With this farm. And our sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” His eyes watered. “Haven’t we, Esther?”
She stood across the circle and dipped her head.
“God has provided everything we need, day by day.” Abruptly he lowered his head and led the silent prayer. I couldn’t keep from questioning his words by thinking of all the work that needed to be done on the farm and how their children didn’t seem to visit very often. Or how destitute the old couple seemed. I chided myself. It wasn’t right to be critical. Clearly God was meeting their needs.
“Amen,” Walter called out, and then he and Esther started dishing up their plates. After them, the mothers with the youngest children went through, then Bert and Livy. It seemed there was a prescribed order to the line—and that Pete and I were last.
Just like at a church service, the women sat at different tables than the men, except none of the women seemed very interested in me, except for Livy.
After we were done eating, as the tables were being cleared, Livy asked Pete when he knew I was the right girl for him.
“Oh my,” I quickly said, stacking the two completely empty potato salad bowls. “Don’t put him on the spot.”
“No.” Esther stood, her plate in her hand. “Do. I’d like to know.”
Bert put his arm around Pete. “We’d all like to.”
Pete tugged on his short beard and raised his eyebrows, his expression softening. “Let’s see,” he said. “I knew Cate was something the first time I met her. Her wit won me over immediately. By the time I asked her to go hiking, I was a goner. And by the time we went kayaking, I was one hundred percent sure she was the girl for me.”
He glanced at me again. Instead of the sarcastic smile I expected, his quick expression appeared sincere. “Jah,” he said, turning away and back to the others, “I guess you could say I knew that very first day.”
“Awww,” Livy said.
Esther left the table with a “harrumph.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one who knew Pete was lying—but I had no idea he’d be so good at it.
Later, as Livy and I were doing dishes in the sweltering kitchen, not wanting the topic to return to Pete and me, I asked her if Jana had come to the reunion the summer before.
“As a matter of fact, she did.” Livy added cold water from the pump to the basin of nearly boiling water.
“Where will Esther and Walter live when John takes over the farm for good?” I asked.
“Well,” Livy said, “it depends on where you and Pete are living by then.”
“Oh, we won’t be living here,” I said. “John’s getting the farm. There’s no reason for us to stay.”
Livy trailed her fingers through the water, stirring up the bubbles. “You’ve been a big help to Esther.” She leaned toward me. “She said your cooking is getting better.”
When I didn’t respond, Livy added, “She wants you to stay.”
“Oh, no,” I blurted out. “We’re going back to Lancaster. My sister will be getting married soon. Dat will help us start a business. Being here is just temporary.” I could try to emulate Queen Esther for a short while—but certainly not for a lifetime.
Livy scrubbed a plate and plunged it into the rinse water. “Have you talked to Pete? Because that’s not what Esther said this morning.”
CHAPTER
20
Talking with Livy made me anxious, but she was still the best thing about the reunion.
It turned out the day of interacting with others had
to last me, because it was a few more weeks, other than at services, until I saw anyone else. The dread of Esther thinking she could somehow force us to permanently live in New York weighed heavy, and the days ticked by.
About every third meal I cooked was edible, but I was growing weary of coming up with ideas day after day. I did feel as if my attempt to cook and clean and garden and get along with Esther and with Pete, as much as possible, was changing something in me, though. I wasn’t sure what exactly I was learning, but it seemed I was less uptight than I had been. And less prone to react in anger. But that didn’t take away my loneliness or the hurt inside.
I was thrilled when Pete finally said we were going to visit Bert and Livy.
“Are we going to hire a driver?”
“I thought we’d take the buggy. On the off Sunday.”
I thought of the money he’d spent for us to go hiking and kayaking. But of course he knew if it all worked out, the local bachelors would reimburse him, and more. I admired a frugal person and was one myself, but I worried Pete might end up being a miser like his parents.
We left the farm midmorning on a hot and humid Sunday. The old horse couldn’t go fast enough to create a decent breeze, and we sweltered in the heat mile after mile.
Finally I broke the silence, asking, “When will we return to Lancaster?”
“Not sure,” was all he said.
I was expecting an invitation to Betsy’s wedding. In her last letter she said she’d send one soon. Even Nan, in a recent letter, said she was looking forward to the wedding.
I squirmed on the bench, trying to get comfortable. “We’ll go back by the time Betsy gets married, though, right?” She still hadn’t told me how she was doing, and I’d given up finding a phone to call her, finally deciding if she needed me, she’d let me know.
“Probably,” Pete said. “But I don’t know for how long.”