“After it’s washed,” Bitsy said. “And bleached. And fumigated.”
“Do I have to take a bath?” Benji said.
Mary looked him up and down. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
Benji grimaced. “Do you have special rose soap?”
“Nae. Only regular soap.”
He seemed to like that answer. “Okay. I’ll take a bath too.”
Mary bent over and helped Alfie when she could see he was having trouble unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric was stiff. “You boys need to wash your hair twice and use the little brush in the drawer to scrub your fingernails.”
Alfie rolled his eyes. “Twice? Why do I have to do it twice?”
Nobody answered him, as if it should be obvious from the smells rising from his body.
Mary helped Alfie peel off his shirt. The scabs up his arms were getting smaller. They’d probably do much better if they were out in the sunshine more often, but that was too much to ask of Alfie. The boys ran upstairs, and Bitsy pinched the shirt between two fingers and held it away from her body.
Andrew came into the house. “Mamm makes them take a bath almost every night, but things have been hard with Mammi and Dawdi this week. She’s barely had time to notice the boys live at our house.”
Bitsy frowned. “They’re old enough to know they need to take a bath. Don’t let them get away with being lazy about it.”
“You’re right,” Andrew said. “Alfie is afraid to take a bath in case Mamm sees him without his shirt on, and both boys hate the rose soap.”
Bitsy directed a smug expression up the stairs. “Maybe he’ll learn that keeping a secret is greater punishment than telling.”
“Maybe he will.”
Bitsy headed toward the washroom. “I’ll scrub this shirt and leave it to soak in some bleach, but then I have to go to Walmart. Will you take it out after about twenty minutes? Lord willing, it will have time to dry.”
“We’ll hang it in the sun.” Mary heard the water running upstairs. The boys had started filling their tub. Andrew had two jars of peanut butter in his hands. “You look like you’re ready to make peanut-butter-and-honey power balls,” she said.
“Or ready to sit and watch you make them.”
She giggled. “And rob you of the experience? I wouldn’t dream of it. These power balls are nutritious. If you get lost in the woods, they’ll keep you alive for days.”
“But what if I forget to bring my peanut-butter-and-honey power balls and then get lost in the woods? They won’t do me any good.”
“It’s why you need to learn how to make them. So you’ll never be caught without a bucketful.”
A horn honked outside. “That’s my ride.” Bitsy walked past them from the washroom, grabbed her large flowered canvas bag, and headed out the front door. “The shirt is soaking. If the bleach doesn’t help, you’ll have to burn it. And do it away from the house.”
Mary smiled and smoothed her hand down her stomach. The baby was extra active today, and it felt as if he was kicking Mary right in the ribs with his little foot. She winced and caught her breath.
“Is everything okay?” Andrew said.
Mary concentrated on taking deep breaths. “He’s kicking hard today.”
“Are you having a boy?”
Mary studied his face, a little surprised. No one in the community had cared to ask her that except Bitsy and her nieces. “Sometimes I call the buplie a he, sometimes a she, but I don’t know what I’m having.” She couldn’t afford an ultrasound, even though the doctor had strongly recommended one.
Andrew’s face flooded with concern. “How long has it been since you’ve seen a doctor?”
She held up her hand and grimaced as the baby kicked again. “I saw a doctor just last week.” She paused to catch her breath. “She says everything is going fine, and I am right on schedule. Two weeks to go.” Mary tried not to think about how she was going to pay the doctor, but she insisted on having her baby in a hospital, even if that meant years of debt. She’d made so many mistakes, and she would not be able to live with the guilt if she had the baby at home and something went wrong.
Bitsy had offered to help with the bills, but how could Mary ask any more of her than she and Yost were already doing, than she and Yost had already done—for Mary and for Jerry Zimmerman? Mary certainly wouldn’t ask the gmayna for money. They resented her enough as it was, and she wouldn’t give them any reason to think she had come home just so she could get them to pay for the baby.
Of course she wouldn’t tell Andrew any of this. He couldn’t do anything about it and would feel guilty that he didn’t really want to help her. She wouldn’t risk spoiling their friendship with her money troubles.
Her heart hurt just thinking about it. She was only prolonging the inevitable. Like as not, Andrew would stop coming around as soon as she had the buplie. He was twenty-four years old, and a friendship with someone like Mary would make the other girls in the district wary.
He was still looking at her as if trying to determine how healthy she really was. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“The buplie is wonderful ornery today. Maybe he’ll be a wrestler.” She winced again as the baby seemed to turn a full circle in her womb. “Can you fetch the oats? They’re in the bottom cupboard, and I don’t bend all that well.”
Andrew pulled a chair out from under the table. “Here, you sit, and I’ll bring the ingredients to you.”
“I’ll be okay.” Another jab took her breath away. “Never mind. Hand me the peanut butter.”
He hesitated, frowning like a largemouth bass. “Do we need to call the doctor?”
Mary took a deep breath and made a face at him. “I’ll be fine. The honey is in the pantry. And the powdered milk.”
He widened his eyes in mock horror. “Powdered milk?”
“Don’t worry. You won’t even taste it.”
“Mamm used to make us drink powdered milk. I think it stunted my growth.”
Mary made another face. “You’re what, six two, six three? I think you turned out just fine.”
His mouth relaxed into a smile. “I’m only six one. See. I should have been two inches taller.”
Mary jumped at a loud, insistent knock. Andrew motioned for her to stay put and answered the door. Wallace and Erla Zimmerman stood on the porch, their faces as bleak as winter frost. Jerry’s parents. Ach. A thousand heavy stones pressed on Mary’s heart. He’d done it. Jerry had finally done it.
“I would have a word with Mary Coblenz,” Wallace said, his voice ragged and unyielding as he stood with his hat in his hand, gazing into the house.
Andrew turned to her, an unspoken question in his eyes. Mary nodded. Wallace and Erla deserved to have their say, and she deserved to hear it. She folded her hands protectively around her baby.
Andrew invited Wallace and Erla into the house, but when he closed the door, they stood motionless, as if they didn’t know what to do now that they were inside. “Do you want to sit down?” Andrew said.
The Zimmermans seemed frozen, like they hadn’t heard him, staring at Mary as if she had all the answers they couldn’t bear to ask. The pain in their eyes broke Mary’s heart. The anger in Wallace’s expression took her breath away. “How could you?” Wallace said. “How could you do this to our son?”
Andrew had no idea what was going on, but bless him, he tried to make it better. “Please sit down, Wallace, Erla.” His voice was perfect mildness, his expression full of calm. “Can I get you a cup of kaffee?”
Wallace banged his fist on the table, making everyone else in the room flinch. Mary held her breath as a sharp ache stabbed her stomach.
“There’s no need for that,” Andrew said, more firmly this time. He moved so he was standing between Mary and Wallace. “You can’t come in here and treat Mary . . .”
“What do you know of it?” Wallace said, shaking an accusatory finger in Andrew’s direction. “That girl convinced my son to leave us. He’s gone off to New York.
”
Andrew glanced at Mary, doubt and confusion playing at the corners of his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Jerry has left home then?” Mary said.
“You’re the one who told him to do it.” With a trembling hand, Wallace pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “‘Dear Mamm and Dat, I’m sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore. You don’t have to worry about me. Mary Coblenz gave me some money for travel, and I have a job waiting for me in New York with a nice family willing to take me in.’”
Erla covered her mouth with her hand and whimpered softly. Mary ached to embrace her. If only Erla knew how Jerry’s words tore at Mary’s heart too. But she stayed firmly planted in her chair and took the blame they thought she deserved.
Wallace kept reading. “‘I know how much this will hurt you, but please try to understand. I have to find my own path and make my own choices. I must choose my own happiness and not live only for yours. I’m sorry, and I love you.’”
Andrew snapped his head around to look at her, his eyes flashing with fierce accusation. “Mary,” he hissed, “you gave him money?”
Bitsy and Yost had provided the money since Mary didn’t have a cent to her name, but she didn’t want the Zimmermans to be mad at Bitsy too. “He needed bus fare.”
“What have you done?” The raw pain on Andrew’s face couldn’t have made it any clearer. He blamed her too.
“Andrew, it’s not what you think. I—”
“We welcomed you into the community,” Andrew said. “Is this how you repay us?”
Of course he wouldn’t let her try to explain. Why would he? He was an Amish boy, raised to believe there was only one right answer to every question, set in his ways like the rest of them. His chest heaved up and down as if breathing was an effort, and his eyes flashed with the righteous indignation she’d seen so many times before in so many different pairs of eyes. “I trusted you. How could you do this to me? To them?”
In that instant, her hopes shattered like delicate glass on a stony path. After all they’d been through together, after she had bared her soul to him, didn’t he know her better than to think she’d betray the whole community? A shard of that delicate glass pierced her heart. Andrew knew her too well. She’d confessed how selfish she was. He knew how she’d used Josh because she wanted her freedom. Maybe he was only just now seeing who she really was.
She felt dizzy. She had made so many mistakes, but helping Jerry was not one of them. She hadn’t betrayed the Zimmermans or the community or Andrew. She had helped a friend. And no matter what anyone thought, Gotte had forgiven her for her sins.
The only mistake she could chastise herself for was believing that Andrew was different from every other Amish boy in Wisconsin. What a fool she had been! He would never let himself love her, but she thought that maybe in the past few weeks he had seen past her sin and into her heart.
Nae, he believed like the others, even if his true feelings had taken longer to reveal themselves.
Wallace crumpled the paper in his fist, propped his hand on the table, and leaned toward Mary. His face was a map of grief, withered and inconsolable. “Jerry hasn’t been the same since you came back. He’s restless and dissatisfied with the life Gotte gave him to live. Ada Herschberger says she saw you whispering with him at the haystack supper, and Martin saw Jerry here last week. You talked him into leaving, didn’t you?” When Mary didn’t answer, Wallace snapped at her. “Didn’t you?”
Mary wrapped her arms more tightly around her stomach and glanced at Andrew, silently pleading for his help. He offered none, just stared at her as if she was a perfect stranger who’d been caught stealing his tools. “Nae,” she said. It wasn’t any use trying to explain. Wallace was too angry to believe a word she said, Erla too distraught. Andrew, too resentful.
“That’s why you came back,” Wallace said. “To persuade him to leave and meet you in New York, and you gave him the money to do it.”
She wouldn’t be able to convince the Zimmermans of anything. Wallace had already made up his own version of the story. What did it matter if Jerry had been thinking about leaving home ever since he was sixteen, long before Mary had even left, long before she had returned? Jerry had tried to talk to his fater about leaving, but Wallace wouldn’t hear him, didn’t even want to understand. Jerry had come to Mary for support. She’d given him her truth and maybe some courage to actually go through with it, but she couldn’t blame herself for that. She couldn’t even feel bad about the money. Jerry would have hitchhiked to New York, and Mary couldn’t bear to think of him in that kind of danger.
Jerry had made his own decision.
But Wallace blamed her.
“I’ve never been to New York,” Mary said.
Wallace pushed himself from the table and glared at Andrew. “Jerry yelled at me yesterday. Yelled at me when I gave him correction. What has this world come to? ‘Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the earth.’”
Andrew nodded earnestly. “Jerry should have come to you for guidance instead of going to Mary. She led him astray.” Andrew turned his face to her but wouldn’t meet her eye. “She thinks she is so wise, but she has brought shame and pain to the whole community.”
Mary gasped quietly as the shock of betrayal slapped her across the face and the pain in her womb tore through her body. Andrew couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d ripped out her heart and thrown it on the sidewalk.
It was clear what he thought of her. Mary Coblenz was not only the vilest of sinners, but she led her unsuspecting friends along the path to hell with her. She must be avoided. She must be shunned. She must be driven out.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry Jerry hurt you. So very sorry.” What else could she say? She wasn’t sorry Jerry had finally found his courage, and she rejoiced that he was free from his fater’s firm hand.
Wallace turned on her and spit out his words. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. If you have any shame at all, you will leave our community and never come back. Jerry’s soul is on your head. You will suffer twice the damnation.”
Reeling as if she’d suffered a blow to the head, Mary breathlessly clutched her stomach and rose to her feet. She couldn’t look at Andrew and keep her composure, so she leaned on the table for support and locked gazes with Wallace. “I am deeply sorry that you are upset. If it eases your pain to blame me, then you can blame me. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You can deny all you want. I know the truth.” Wallace nodded to Andrew. “We all know the truth.”
Saturated in pain and heartbreak, Mary could barely concentrate on Wallace’s accusations. “Is there anything else you want to say?” she said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. She wanted nothing more than for all of them to be gone.
Wallace shoved his hat on his head. “You’re not welcome here, Mary Coblenz. Go back to where you came from.”
Wallace turned his back on Mary and ushered Erla out of the house ahead of him. He slammed the door behind him and made the front window rattle.
Immediately after, Mary heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Praise Derr Herr the boys hadn’t witnessed that horrible commotion. Benji, then Alfie in her Twenty One Pilots T-shirt, came bounding down the stairs as if they were running from a wolf.
Benji threw his arms around Mary as best he could. To her surprise, two fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “Are you okay, Mary? Did they hurt you?”
Mary tried to appear calm and relatively cheerful, but it was nearly impossible to smile with her heart shattered on the floor. She smoothed her hand down his damp hair. “I’m . . . I’m okay, Benji.”
“We sneaked and listened at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Benji!” Alfie scolded.
Benji didn’t seem to care that he’d just revealed their secret. He released Mary and looked up into her face. “They was very mean to you.”
Mary’s knees buckled under her, and she plopped herself into her chair be
fore she fell over. Propping her elbow on the table, she covered her eyes with her hand, suddenly weary and broken. “Today is not a gute day for making cookies, Benji. I need to go lie down.”
She felt Benji’s cool hand against her cheek. “Are you okay, Mary?”
Andrew finally spoke. “We need to go now.”
“But can we make peanut-butter-and-honey power balls tomorrow?” Alfie said.
Andrew folded his arms and looked anywhere but at Mary. “We’ll see.”
Benji wasn’t so easily sidetracked. “But, Mary, you don’t feel good. We could make some chicken soup. Andrew knows how.”
“Nae, I don’t,” Andrew said.
Mary adored Benji and Alfie. She didn’t want to hurt their feelings, but she had to get Andrew out of her house this very minute. With her head still cradled in her hand, she said, “Andrew, will you please take your bruderen and go home?”
“Ah, Mary,” Benji groaned. “We want to take care of you.”
Alfie scrunched his lips together. “What about my shirt?”
Andrew lunged like an uncoiled spring. “I’ll get it.” He was gone in less than a second.
“Benji,” Mary whispered. Another pain seized her and rendered her momentarily unable to speak.
“What’s the matter, Mary?” Alfie said, finally realizing something was wrong. The look of excruciating pain on her face probably tipped him off.
“Benji, my phone is upstairs on top of my dresser. Will you get it for me? Quickly, please.”
Benji and Alfie raced each other up the stairs, clomping as if they were wearing heavy boots. Lord willing, her phone had enough charge to make a call. She silently chastised herself for not being more careful about that, now that the baby was so close. Too close.
She could hear the water running in the washroom, Andrew rinsing the bleach from Alfie’s shirt. The twins stampeded down the stairs, and Alfie handed Mary her phone. Fourteen percent power. That would be enough. She entered the number and held her breath as it rang and rang. “Please be home,” she murmured. Patti answered after what seemed like a hundred rings. “Can you come and get me?”
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