The Angel of Forest Hill

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Rose and Joel were married! Okay, so it wasn’t a love-story union, but still, they had stood in the living room with his children in their arms and promised faithfulness and kindness to each other. She didn’t know much, but she knew it wasn’t a kindness to be chatting with a widow in the wee hours of the morning while your wife slept a story above you.

  She continued to scour his shirt, scraping it against the washboard like the angry woman she was. Could fear and frustration turn her into a bitter shrew, like Florence’s Mamm? Joel had remarked how cheery Erma was before losing her daughter, how positive despite chronic pain. Now she was a thorn in everyone’s flesh. Rose didn’t want to be that person; she couldn’t imagine it. What would Joel think of her if she turned into an old nag?

  But how was she supposed to feel about seeing him with Gertie? Did the woman have special charms, other than being closer to his age, a widow who understood his situation, and absolutely beautiful?

  The moment Gertie had arrived in Forest Hill six weeks ago, Rose overheard Erma say how much the woman looked like Joel’s Florence, with her delicate features, dark hair, and bronze skin. She’d moved here from Lancaster, where Florence’s family hailed from, and Joel used to visit the town with his wife. Gertie had children—two boys and two girls. So he and Gertie had all sorts of things to talk about. She was currently living with an aunt and uncle and trying to raise laying hens and start an egg business. Rose imagined throwing a dozen of Gertie’s eggs against the workshop wall and then felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. What was she thinking?

  She wiped the back of her wrist across her brow, where tiny wisps of hair made her flushed face itch. She studied the addition to the house. What was Joel trying to accomplish? The room was on the first floor of the house, right off the kitchen. It was far away from her current room, which was on the second floor, across from the children’s bedrooms and just down the hallway from where Joel slept.

  He hadn’t mentioned building the new room until he was just days away from beginning the work, and he said something that led her to believe he was adding a second dining room, a good space for having Sunday meetings without needing to move furniture out of the house. Two weeks later he’d cut an opening in the side of house, poured the foundation, completed the rough framing, and worked fast to put up interior walls connecting the new room to the existing home. About that time he casually mentioned it would be a bedroom for her.

  Why? Nanny’s quarters, her dark thoughts murmured. To keep her separate from the family now that the children slept through most nights.

  When she learned it was for her, she’d been too bitterly disappointed to keep her feelings inside. She wasn’t going to let him separate her from the children or make it easier for him to visit with Gertie at any hour of the day, so with tears streaming down her face, she flat-out told him she wouldn’t ever move into it. That was two weeks ago, and when he learned how she felt, he put up the beautiful set of double doors that had been delivered a day earlier, closed them, and hadn’t worked on the room again.

  Good grief. Rose was desperate to talk to Elise. If the washer hadn’t broken down, Rose would’ve spent half the day helping Elise do whatever was on her to-do list while they talked. Elise had opinions galore and no fear of sharing them. Rose often couldn’t take her advice, but she liked hearing her take on things.

  Mose brought his scooter to a stop in front of her and sniffed the air. “Is dinner on?”

  At seven years old Mose was capable of eating almost as much as his Daed, sometimes more. She was never sure if Mose ate too much or if Joel ate that little. Neither father nor son had any extra weight.

  “Look at this face.” Rose pointed at herself. “Would I forget something as important to you as a full meal?”

  “It’s been a bad day. You said so.”

  That it had, starting with what she’d seen before daylight.

  When he’d arrived home from school and she didn’t have a snack waiting for him, she’d told him that a few things had knocked her off schedule. Fortunately, it took only ten minutes to mix a batch of his favorites, no bakes. “Food comes ahead of clean laundry, right?”

  He smiled, nodding his head. “I can wear dirty stuff. I can’t eat what isn’t there. So when will it be ready?”

  “When your Daed comes home from work.” She would serve him a nice dinner and sit in her place beside him, but she wondered what would happen if she dumped the food into his lap.

  Mose rubbed his nose, the wheels in his head clearly turning. “How do you know it won’t be done before then?”

  This was a dinner ritual—Mose questioning everything she knew about cooking. “Because I planned on it being ready at five thirty.”

  “But there’s no clock out here.”

  “True.” She sniffed the air. “But I don’t smell anything burning. Do you?”

  Mose’s eyebrows knit. He took life seriously, and Rose tried to help him find humor whenever possible.

  In his childlike way of pondering his great worry, Mose put both feet on the scooter and balanced on it. “If we can smell smoke, it’s already burned.”

  “Then we’ll know it’s done, right?”

  He studied her, a slow smile causing adorable dimples. “You’re funny.”

  “I try.” She dipped the freshly scrubbed shirt into a vat of clean water. In the boy’s defense, she’d burned more than one dinner over the last four years.

  “Is your mama funny too?”

  “Not exactly.” That was an understatement, but over the last four years, she and her Mamm had worked toward a decent relationship, one that existed mostly through writing letters four or five times a year. And she talked to her Mamm, Daed, and brothers every Christmas Eve. It wasn’t much, but it’s all her family seemed capable of.

  Mose continued standing there as if she had a better answer for him.

  “You should go before I make you wash the clothes while I ride the scooter.”

  He abandoned his questions and returned to riding up and down the driveway with the other two.

  About a month after she and Joel were married, she wrote to her Mamm. She asked Joel to read it, to make sure she’d been respectful. He’d said her kindness toward her Mamm moved him deeply, so she sent it. A week later her Mamm wrote back, but the letter was filled with anger, even mentioning mistakes Rose had made while doing chores as far back as when she was nine. When Joel read it, he wrote the next letter to Mamm, stating that her response was unacceptable and that she wasn’t to write to Rose again unless she was kind.

  A year later Rose’s Mamm wrote again, this time without listing any grievances against Rose. Joel’s intervention, his firm but gentle hand with her Mamm, was the only reason she and her Mamm had any contact at all.

  Rose broke free of her thoughts. Her hands were stiff and wrinkled from the now-frigid water. She imagined her fingers cracking into little pieces, but she wouldn’t stop scrubbing. If it would make any difference between Joel and her, she’d scrub the clothing until her flesh had become a part of the fabric.

  “Mama!” Grace’s panicked voice grabbed Rose’s full attention. She glanced in every direction and then realized her girl’s voice had come from the barn.

  When had she gone in there? The boys were at the edge of the grass, so they weren’t beside their sister to help with whatever was happening. Rose took a step in that direction, but her apron caught on the broken metal handle of the washtub.

  “Mama! Help!” Grace’s scream pierced Rose’s heart.

  “Let go!” Rose yelled at the tub while jerking her apron free. The tub fell over, dumping clean white shirts onto the muddy ground. Ignoring it, she ran as fast as she could. “I’m coming, baby. I’m coming!” She ran into the barn, the two boys close behind her.

  The neighbor’s rooster, Hank, flapped around the barn, wings spread as he chased Grace. If Rose had a gun, she’d shoot it and have it for dinner! She got between the old bird and Grace and grabbed her. “Up the ladder.
All of you.” She lifted Grace as high as she could, setting her feet on the fifth or sixth rung. “Go on.”

  Grace was crying as she climbed toward the loft, and Rose feared Hank had drawn blood, but right now she had to distract it while the boys climbed up too. This had to be the meanest rooster that ever lived. Once the children were in the loft, she scurried up also. “Grace, are you hurt?”

  “Mama.” Grace buried her body against Rose, sobbing.

  “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay.” While soothing Grace, Rose inspected her arms and legs and didn’t see any scratches. “Your face, baby. Let me see your face and eyes.”

  Grace tilted her head back, holding her misty eyes open wide. Rose drew a sigh of relief and rocked her until she was peaceful again. Hank stayed in the barn, pacing back and forth, but he seemed disinterested in hopping and flying up to the loft. The old bird was too decrepit to get up high like the young ones could.

  Rose set Grace to the side and kissed the top of her head. “Wait here. I’ll show that rooster who’s boss.”

  “Nee!” All three children screamed.

  “I’m fine. Watch.” Rose swung her feet onto the ladder. “And I’ll teach you a thing or two you can use when you’re just a little bit bigger.”

  Grace grabbed Rose’s wrist. “Please, Mama, no.”

  The boys’ faces showed sheer distress. Should she cave and do as they wanted or go down the ladder and do what she needed to do—run Hank off? Knowing what to do as a parent never came easy. Indulging the children wouldn’t teach them how to overcome, but if she left them now, would it traumatize them, making them more afraid of roosters rather than less?

  She looked into the sweet, earnest eyes of her little ones and sat back down in the loft. “Okay.” Rose waggled her shoulders and held out her fist. “Who’s up for a game of rock, paper, scissors?”

  By Amish tradition Grace should be spoken to only in Pennsylvania Dutch, and she should speak only that language until she started school in two years. But Rose didn’t think that was helpful. She wanted all three children to excel in learning, and getting a head start on the English language seemed wise. This way when they went to museums in Charleston or Charlottesville with Elise and her girls, Rose’s children at least understood the language if not all the history, art, nature, or science principles being shared. The community wasn’t thrilled with the way Rose handled certain things, especially going to museums and historical sites, but Joel backed her without fail.

  Grace climbed into Rose’s lap and tightly wrapped her arms around her mama’s neck. Mose and Levi were always ready to try to beat her at any game. They sat on each side of her, but Grace held on tight. Rose and the boys tapped the flat of their fists on their palms two times before revealing their choices. She made the scissors sign.

  Levi clapped. “I won! I won!”

  Mose shifted, looking more focused. “Let’s try again.”

  Grace released Rose’s neck and turned around, watching the game from the safety of Rose’s lap. Once Grace felt safe, Rose would go down the ladder and chase Hank away, but right now restoring Grace’s sense of safety and the boys’ sense of fun was more important.

  Grace gasped. “Mama, you’re bleeding.”

  “Am I?” Rose searched for the source of blood and found a gash in her forearm the size of the first joint of a pinkie finger. How had she done that? “Just a little scratch.” But it was dripping blood.

  Levi pulled a blue cowboy handkerchief from his pocket. He untied it and relieved it of four rocks, two marbles, and one bottle cap. “Here you go, Mama.” Levi was the most like his Daed—always ready to help her out of a self-inflicted situation.

  “Denki.” She put it around her forearm, and Mose tied it. “Denki,” she repeated and put her fist in the palm of her hand. “Ready?”

  The boys glanced at each other and giggled. “Ready!”

  She hoped the rooster would abandon the barn and go home, but whenever they peered over the edge of the loft, he flew at the ladder. “New game time,” she said. “Let’s do slap hands, but be as easy as you can.”

  Both boys vied to get in front of her so she would play with them, but she felt Grace wiggling away from her. Grace loved this game, and soon the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl was sitting in front of her with both her hands held out, palms down. Rose put her palms against Grace’s, pulled her hands free, and touched the back of Grace’s hands. The little girl giggled as if she’d won. The boys played with each other, and a frenzy of hand movements began. Every time a hand was slapped, a burst of giggles came from one of the children. Rose soaked in the sound of their laughter echoing off the rafters.

  “Rose?” Joel’s voice boomed, and Rose jolted.

  “In the barn,” she yelled.

  Joel’s shadow loomed large against the dirt floor before he entered the barn. Hank puffed out his chest and ran at Joel, his wings flapping. Joel kicked dirt at him, making the bird back off, and then grabbed a pitchfork and chased it out of the barn, yelling for it to go home. The rooster disappeared.

  Joel turned and looked up at the loft, anger etched across his brow. “Rose.” It was the same voice he used when he was disappointed with the children. “Seriously?” He sighed and motioned to the boys. “Kumm.”

  They scurried down the ladder. Rose carried Grace down several rungs before Joel reached up and took her.

  Grace hugged her Daed. “You saved us!”

  Rose finished climbing down the ladder.

  Joel noticed the handkerchief wrapped around her arm. Some of the anger drained from his face. “What happened?”

  “I—” She smelled something burning. “Oh, no! Dinner!” She ran out of the barn and across the yard. Joel’s best Sunday shirts were lying in the mud puddle, but she kept going. She’d never get those stains out. Once in the kitchen she opened the oven, and smoke rolled out. Her meatloaf and potato dinner wasn’t salvageable. She lifted the roasting pan out of the oven, took it to the side of the house, and tossed the burned contents toward the garden. When she turned around, the children and Joel were behind her. Joel stared at the blackened meatloaf. “Hey, guys, can you give us a moment? I need to talk to your stepmom.”

  The word stepmom cut deeper than anything else he could say to her. If he knew how bad that word hurt her, would he still use it? But it would be wrong to insist he call her a name that didn’t feel right to him. At least he didn’t use it often.

  As the children left, Mose looked back, and she saw disappointment on his face. She’d burned his dinner.

  Joel stepped forward. “I’ll ask again. What happened?”

  “The washer broke this morning before I got the first load done, and you’ll need the shirts soon, so I improvised, wanting to get the stains out of your best white shirts. While I was doing that, the rooster cornered Grace in the barn, and then the boys followed.” She felt like such a child, having to explain what had gone wrong and why.

  Joel sighed. “Rose, you can’t let something as simple as an ornery rooster rule your day. Why didn’t you hitch your rig and go to Elise’s house and use her washer?”

  She turned away from him. “That wouldn’t be right with your Daed being the bishop. And Hank didn’t ruin everything. I was making the best of the washer situation, and we were enjoying a beautiful winter day until—”

  “Next time kick it or kill it. But don’t let it chase the children.”

  Was he listening? She stopped it from chasing them and got them to safety. But what about me? Are you concerned for me? She coached herself to say that out loud, but the words refused to form in her mouth.

  Joel turned away from her and gestured toward the upside-down tub and the shirts in the mud. “That rooster,” he mumbled and walked toward the washtub.

  The conversation was over. She knew it as surely as she knew dinner was burned and her husband would once again sleep on the couch in his small office turned bedroom.

  Tears welled, and the darkness of seclusion threatened to swall
ow her right there in broad daylight. She wiped her eyes and swallowed hard. She’d made her decision to marry a man who didn’t love her.

  Mose opened the door and peeked out at her, and through the window she saw Levi and Grace looking at her too. Grace waved and blew her kisses.

  Rose drew a deep breath. There were children to feed and kiss and to read to until they all fell asleep.

  Joel stood at the washtub. He picked up a muddy shirt, holding it out as if it stank. They’d had a couple of good years, some fun times and laughter, but she never knew what he really felt. He was forced to marry her for the children’s sake. It was impossible to forget that.

  She pushed the hurt down deep and headed for the house. She had three hungry children to tend to.

  Joel set the washtub upright and dropped the muddy shirts into it. “Great,” he mumbled. He’d been having a bad day too, one in which clients and shipping contractors had yelled, and it became apparent that he’d made a costly mistake a few days ago.

  He’d spent the last few hours simply wanting to come home, help get supper on the table, and tell Rose about his day. Time with her caused his stress to melt, but it seemed as if he often added weight to her days. This wasn’t what she needed so close to Christmas—to find time to sew at least one, maybe two, new shirts. He glanced behind him. Rose’s shoulders were slumped as she slowly disappeared into the house.

  When he was twenty-five, he married Florence, a decision he made of his own free will, and he’d been energized by their love. When Rose had turned twenty-five this past August, she’d been tending to three small children for four years without the free will to leave or choose the life she wanted. She’d complied with his request to marry him because she was unhappy with her family.

  He used to be awed at how she maintained her high spirits, but lately he worried that she was too weary and caught in a life she couldn’t get free of. In spite of his best efforts, he managed to do little to control the chaos or the work load.