Andrew

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  In her own way, Bitsy was as hard to ignore as Mary, so to avoid looking at Mary, Andrew trained his gaze on Bitsy. She’d dyed her hair an emerald green color, which clashed horribly with her bright pink fingernail polish. She was scowling, which wasn’t unusual, but her eyes were directed at the ground below Andrew’s feet.

  Bitsy tried to talk while catching her breath. “Get off the dandelions, Andrew Petersheim. Have you no shame?”

  Andrew raised his eyebrows and tried to position himself so he wasn’t standing on any dandelions, but it was impossible to do. There were more dandelions than grass.

  Bitsy obviously wasn’t pleased with his efforts. “We can talk about dandelions after we’ve saved your bruder. Much as I hate to admit it, he’s more important than dandelions. What has he gotten himself into?”

  “He’s stuck in that tree and can’t get down. Your cats too.” He mentioned the cats just in case it would give Bitsy a greater sense of urgency.

  Bitsy looked up into the tree and shaded her eyes even though the sun was behind her. “Alfie Petersheim, you have no business being in my tree.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Alfie called, his voice trembling with desperation and irritation. He was obviously desperate to be down, but maybe also irritated that Bitsy would lecture him at a time like this. “Your cats are stuck too.”

  Bitsy swatted away sympathy for her cats. “Serves them right for following you up the tree on a fool’s errand.”

  “The white one won’t get off my shoulder.”

  “Alfie,” Andrew called, “you’ve got to keep still.”

  Bitsy’s brows practically crashed into each other. “Farrah Fawcett climbed up with you? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Can you get us down?” Alfie said, obviously not in a position to argue with Bitsy Weaver.

  Bitsy squinted into the tree. “I can’t get you down. I quit climbing trees a decade ago.”

  Mary cupped her hands around her mouth. “Don’t worry, Alfie. Everything is going to be okay. Do you know any songs you could sing to the cats? Maybe they won’t be so scared if you sing to them.”

  “We need to call the fire department,” Andrew said, more than a little annoyed that it was taking Bitsy and Mary so long to come to that conclusion. “Can you take me to your phone shack?”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Andrew Petersheim,” Bitsy said. “They’re on their way.”

  Andrew stopped short. “Who’s on their way?”

  “The fire department. Mary has a cell phone.”

  Of course she did.

  “We called them before we came outside,” Bitsy said. “That’s what Benji told us to do, and I always try to do what Benji tells me. He’s as smart as a whip.”

  Andrew hid his irritation that someone hadn’t informed him of the phone call, but at least help was on its way. He was grateful for that.

  Benji was a mess. Tears ran down his cheeks, his hair stuck out in about four different directions, and he couldn’t seem to keep still. He paced back and forth under the tree with his hat in hand and scratched his head as if he had about a hundred lice chewing on his scalp. “Alfie,” he yelled, “one time, I ate your pumpkin chocolate chip cookie, the one you were saving. And I was the one that broke that wooden horse Andrew made you, even though I blamed it on the cow.”

  Bitsy glanced at Benji. “You blamed it on the cow?”

  Benji nodded, looking pale and pitiful. He was a very distraught eight-year-old. “I blamed Ivy Bell, who never hurt a soul in her life—except that one time when she stepped on my foot.”

  Mary knelt down and gathered Benji into her arms. “I’m sure Ivy Bell has forgiven you. And I’m sure Alfie will forgive you too. We all do things we regret.”

  Benji glanced above his head and whispered, “But what if Alfie dies before he forgives me?”

  Mary smoothed a lock of Benji’s hair. “Alfie is not going to die. The firemen will get him down.”

  Benji burst into tears all over again. “I’ll sleep in the cellar for the rest of my life if Gotte will save Alfie.”

  Andrew thought his heart might break right there on Bitsy’s lawn. Benji was inconsolable, but Mary was trying anyway. She whispered soft words in his ear and cooed and hummed as if Benji was her own son and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him.

  Every unkind thought Andrew had ever harbored about Mary flew out of his head. No hardened sinner could treat someone with such exceptional kindness. If Mary was a lost soul, then there was no hope for any of them.

  The mammoth fire engine rolled around the bend and slowly made its way down the dirt road. Couldn’t they have at least pretended to be in a hurry? Where was the siren? Wasn’t it supposed to be an emergency vehicle? It was probably a gute thing there were no flashing lights or blaring noises. Nothing drew a crowd like a siren. Mamm didn’t need that headache in her life. She never had to find out. Andrew climbed over the fence and flagged the truck down, motioning for them to stop directly under Alfie’s tree.

  Three firefighters jumped from the truck. Andrew smiled in relief. One of them was Jerry Zimmerman, from Andrew’s gmayna. Last year, Jerry had gotten permission from the bishop to volunteer with the fire department. It was gute to see a familiar face.

  Jerry took off his hard hat and reached out for Andrew’s hand. “They said there was trouble at Bitsy Weaver’s house. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “My bruder is stuck in that tree,” Andrew said, pointing to the spot where Alfie was trapped. “He’s too high for any of us to reach him. And there are three cats.”

  “Four cats,” Bitsy said from behind the fence. “And you don’t have to save them if it’s going to cost extra.”

  Four cats? No wonder that branch creaked like a rusty hinge. He leaned toward Jerry and lowered his voice. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell my mater.”

  Jerry made a show of buttoning his lips. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “But you need to hurry. I’m worried that branch won’t hold much longer.”

  Jerry turned to talk to the other two firefighters. They stood side by side, gazing solemnly up into the tree. One of the other ones pointed and said something Andrew couldn’t hear. The two others started tinkering with their truck, hopefully getting ready to quickly hoist that ladder into the tree.

  Jerry came back to Andrew. “Which of your bruderen?”

  “Alfie. Abraham and Austin wouldn’t be so dumm.”

  Jerry nodded, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Just checking.” He glanced over Andrew’s shoulder and practically exploded into a smile. “Mary Coblenz, I was hoping I’d see you. Vie gehts?”

  Something about Jerry’s smile set Andrew’s teeth on edge. It was so genuine, so unreserved, as if he was truly happy to see Mary back, pregnant and all. Andrew hung his head and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. This was the way he should have treated Mary all along.

  “I am gute,” Mary said, standing up but keeping hold of Benji’s hand. “Will it be hard to get Alfie out of the tree?”

  Andrew appreciated her sense of urgency. Alfie was the most important person right now, no matter how Jerry Zimmerman was looking at Mary.

  Jerry took several steps backward. “Alfie,” he yelled. “Are you okay?”

  “I think Billy Idol wants to eat me.”

  Jerry glanced at Mary. “Billy Idol?”

  Mary shook her head. “One of Bitsy’s cats. He’s harmless.”

  Jerry looked up again. “Don’t be afraid, Alfie. We’re going to get our long ladder and come up and get you. Hold on tight and try not to move.” He turned back to Mary. “Make sure he stays as still as possible. We don’t want him to fall.”

  Jerry seemed to have abandoned Andrew altogether and talked to Mary as if she was in charge. In charge of what, Andrew didn’t know, but he was still a little put out by it. Jerry should be doing his duties, not making eyes at Mary. Mary was pregnant, for goodness’ sake. Andrew wasn’t sure what that had t
o do with his irritation, but it sounded good in his head and made him feel better about himself and the times he’d treated Mary like a leper instead of an actual person with feelings.

  One of the other firefighters signaled to Jerry and pointed to Bitsy’s bridge. Jerry smiled apologetically at Mary. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to drive to this side of the fence. The angle will be better and safer.”

  “I beg your pardon, young man,” Bitsy said. “What about my dandelions?”

  Jerry signaled for his partners. “We’re going to run over quite a few of them.”

  Bitsy huffed out a loud, long sigh. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

  “Dandelions will grow back, Aunt Bitsy,” Mary said.

  “Alfie is going to get a good talking-to when they bring him down here. It’s lucky for me he’s so wiry. There’s not a chance he’s going to fall. If he fell, I’d feel too guilty to scold him.”

  It was oddly comforting that Bitsy seemed so unruffled. She knew these trees and her bees and cats better than anyone. If she wasn’t concerned, surely Alfie would be okay.

  One of the firefighters drove the truck across Bitsy’s small wooden bridge. Andrew feared it might collapse under the weight, but it held strong long enough for the truck to pass. The truck made deep ruts as it lumbered across the grass, and Andrew knew just what Alfie and Benji would be doing for the next few days. They’d need two shovels, a rake, and lots of elbow grease, but they’d even out Bitsy’s grass or face the wrath of Mamm.

  Once the truck was in place, the rest of the operation went quickly and smoothly, much to Andrew’s relief. Jerry and one of the other firefighters stood in the basket while the third firefighter sat at the bottom as they went higher and higher into the air. Mary gasped, and Andrew held his breath when Alfie let go of his branch, obviously unwilling to wait for the harness Jerry held in his hand. Jerry grabbed Alfie under his arms and hauled him into the basket. The white cat—what had Bitsy called her? Farrah Fawcett?—tumbled off Alfie’s shoulder and into the basket. It was a gute thing cats always seemed to know how to land.

  They lowered Alfie and deposited Farrah Fawcett on the ground before going back for the rest of the cats. As soon as Alfie was safely on firm soil, he and Benji ran toward each other and crashed into a grunting hug, the only thing between them a pair of binoculars hanging from Alfie’s neck. The binoculars were extremely suspicious, but questions could wait.

  Mary and Andrew reached Alfie and Benji at the same time, and they ended up in a four-way hug with Mary’s arms partially wrapped around Andrew and his arms sort of touching hers. It would have felt wunderbarr if Andrew hadn’t decided it should feel awkward.

  He shrugged away from Mary’s touch and scooped Alfie into his arms, hugging him tightly enough to squeeze the wind out of him. He could feel Alfie’s heartbeat vibrating like a hummingbird’s wings. Jah, Alfie didn’t need any punishment, even if he did deserve a gute scolding. “Are you okay?”

  It was only when Andrew set Alfie on his feet that he noticed the red, bleeding welts on both arms.

  Mary saw them too. She knelt down, took Alfie’s wrists, and turned his arms over. It would be a lot easier to avoid Mary if she wasn’t so kind to his bruderen. “Ach, Alfie, did Billy Idol scratch you?”

  “Nae, but he hissed at me every time I tried to climb down.”

  Andrew furrowed his brow. Maybe that cat wasn’t such a menace after all. “What happened?”

  Alfie shrugged. “I got too high and tried to climb down. I slipped and scraped against the tree trunk.”

  Andrew pursed his lips. With scratches that deep, Alfie had slid hard. Thank Derr Herr he’d been strong enough to catch himself.

  “Poor Alfie,” Mary said, cooing and clicking her tongue. “It must hurt something wonderful.”

  Benji’s lips formed into an O. “That looks bad. Do you think you’ll have a scar?”

  Alfie wasn’t in too much pain to puff out his chest. “At least twenty, all down my arms.”

  Benji suddenly wanted to know everything. “Why did the cats follow you? Could you see everything from up there? Did you get stung by a bee?”

  “Nae, but I killed seven mosquitoes. And I dropped my walkie-talkie.”

  “I missed you so much, Alfie.”

  “I missed you too, Benji. And I forgive you for breaking my horse.”

  Yost Weaver came tromping across the grass from the direction of the barn. “What in the world is going on?”

  Bitsy didn’t look at her husband as she was watching the firefighters save her cats. “Alfie Petersheim got himself stuck in one of our trees. Mary had to call the fire department.”

  Yost put his arm around Bitsy in plain sight of everybody. Bitsy took her eyes off the tree long enough to give Yost a gruff, affectionate smile. Yost used to be the most buttoned-up Amish man in Wisconsin, happily pious and unwilling to step one foot outside of the rules. Folks gossiped, wondering what Bitsy had done to trick Yost into marrying the most headstrong, unconventional woman in the district—the woman who painted her fingernails and kept a shotgun.

  But the reason was as plain as the smell of rose water on Mammi Martha.

  Bitsy and Yost loved each other, madly. They weren’t like most old married couples. Yost couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Bitsy, and Bitsy seemed to tolerate Yost just fine, which was the highest compliment she ever paid anybody. And she smiled at him more often than she smiled at anybody else—which wasn’t saying much. Bitsy didn’t smile at anyone unless it was a special occasion.

  “Alfie needs a few Band-Aids,” Yost said.

  Bitsy turned her eyes to the firefighters who were being lowered to the ground. Jerry held an orange marmalade cat, and the other firefighter held a light-and-dark-brown striped cat. Should there have been three cats?

  The first firefighter handed his cat to Yost, who immediately put her down and let her run off to find adventure. Jerry handed his cat to Mary with that smile that was really starting to annoy Andrew. He was grateful for Jerry’s help with Alfie, but he didn’t have to hang around when he was no longer needed.

  Mary’s smile was radiant and completely unnecessary. “Denki, Jerry. We are all so grateful.”

  “Jah,” Andrew said, nearly choking on his own saliva, “we’re wonderful grateful.”

  Benji and Alfie both gave Jerry a hug. Alfie’s hug smeared blood on Jerry’s firefighter shirt. Jerry messed up Alfie’s already unruly hair. “Stop climbing trees. You could break your arm or your neck next time.”

  Alfie scrunched his lips to one side of his face. “I won’t break anything.”

  It was plain that Alfie had no intention of staying out of trees. Andrew would have scolded him, but it would have done no good. Trying to keep a boy out of a tree was like trying to stop a river with your arm.

  Jerry reached into his pocket and pulled out two Tootsie Rolls, which he handed to the boys. “Just remember to be careful.”

  Mary pointed to the trunk of the tree about ten feet off the ground. “Look, Aunt Bitsy. Billy Idol climbed down by himself.”

  Bitsy grunted. “He’s not very fond of people. He has some trust issues.” Billy Idol let go of the trunk when he was about four feet off the ground and landed gracefully on his feet. Bitsy picked him up and gave him a pat on the head. “Good job, Billy Idol. Good job.” She set him on the ground, and he bolted in the direction of the barn. Andrew hoped there was a juicy mouse waiting for him there. He deserved it.

  “Cum, Alfie,” Mary said, holding out her hands to both boys. They took her hands as if she could save them from drowning. “Let’s go into the house and get your arms fixed up, Alfie. I have a whole bee-sting cake that needs eating.”

  The boys looked at Andrew, who felt his face flush with heat. The last time Mary had offered them a treat, he’d refused to even step inside the house. Surely Mary hadn’t forgotten.

  Mary eyed Andrew with a guarded expression, as if this was a test and she expected him to fail it. “Ther
e’s lots of bee-sting cake,” she said.

  “Does it have bee stings in it?” Benji asked.

  “Nae, it’s called bee-sting cake because it’s so sweet bees would eat it if we let them in the house.”

  “I want some bee-sting cake,” Alfie said, sticking out his lips and showing Andrew his blood-encrusted arms. “I deserve a treat for being so brave.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes, but he was unable to keep a smile from creeping onto his lips. “You deserve a spanking for being so deerich.” He put a hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “Come on then. We’d better go see what all the fuss is about this cake.”

  “Hooray!” Benji yelled, doing a little jig and almost stepping on the orange cat.

  “It must be gute,” Andrew said. “Mary brought one to the gathering.”

  Mary’s lips twitched upward sheepishly, but there was just a hint of something unhappy in her eyes. “It is the cake I brought to the gathering.”

  Ach. Andrew’s stomach dropped to his toes. No one had touched Mary’s bee-sting cake at the gathering, even though there were plenty of hungry boys and that cake could have stopped traffic on the highway. Die youngie didn’t want to have a thing to do with Mary or her cake. Andrew’s stomach dropped clear to China, or whatever was on the other side of the world from Wisconsin. He’d passed by Mary’s cake at the gathering for the very same reason. He didn’t want anyone to think he’d even consider eating a sinner’s cake.

  He forced a smile and pretended not to understand the significance of an uneaten cake. “Well, Alfie, you should be grateful no one ate it at the gathering.”

  Mary nodded. “Not quite as fresh, but we kept it in the fridge and it’s still appeditlich.”

  Bitsy headed toward the house. “They can soak it in milk, if they’re picky.” She turned, and her gaze flicked from Andrew to Jerry. “Can you stay for a piece of cake, Jerry? You and your friends or mates or comrades or whatever it is you call them?”