Becoming Bea

by Leslie Gould

  A half mile later I turned onto the main road, keeping to the side of the road as best I could. Ahead, at the end of a cluster of shops, was the bookstore, with sunflowers growing along the brick building, bidding me inside.

  I climbed down from my buggy, hitched Daisy to the post, and hurried inside, my hands in my apron pockets. Inhaling deeply, I took in the musty scent of old books, strong coffee, and shelves made of pine. Albert welcomed me, a sparkle in his eyes and his hair and beard even whiter than the last time I’d seen him. “We haven’t seen you for some time,” he said.

  “Jah,” I answered. “I’ve been busy.”

  “We’ve acquired a recent collection,” he said. “From an Englisch man. There are several volumes you haven’t seen along the back wall.”

  The shop sold mostly old books, although it also carried Bibles, copies of the Martyrs Mirror, prayer books, and hymnals. Specialty books could be ordered. A few new children’s books, coloring books, and workbooks were carried, and they also sold several different kinds of cards, all made by Amish people.

  The old books weren’t rare books and they certainly weren’t in pristine condition, but they were wonderful. Plus, it meant so much that the Schmidts were always so happy to see me. Truth be told, their love for each other reminded me of my parents’ relationship, and although it made me miss my Dat, I still relished witnessing it.

  I stopped for a moment at a rack of paper dolls and grimaced. They were supposedly Plain, but the designer hadn’t researched our Kapps and dresses. Still I understood the store needed to make a profit, and I imagined they were a big draw to the Englisch who made their way through the front door. I continued on toward the back, passing coloring books, picture books, and then Willa Schmidt, her pure white hair and Kapp like a halo resting atop her head. She smiled at me sweetly. I responded in kind and kept on toward the back.

  An Amish man, his back to me, stood in front of the shelf of books I aimed for. I stopped in the aisle as a child exclaimed, “Look!”

  I couldn’t help but turn around. A little Englisch girl had discovered the paper dolls. A woman, who looked to be her grandmother, quickly pulled them from the rack before the girl even requested the set.

  I turned back toward the shelf, expecting the man to be gone. He wasn’t. He’d knelt down in front of the bottom shelf with a book in his hand, his head down. In the dim light, I peered over the top of him, skimming the title of a very old book above his head. The words Shakespeare: Sonnets were imprinted on the spine. I smiled. Sonnet had never been one of our spelling words, but I’d seen the word in some of the poetry books I checked out and looked up the definition in my dictionary: a poem of fourteen lines.

  “Pardon me,” I said, reaching over the man.

  He stood abruptly, bumping my arm. I jerked it away as he faced me.

  “Well, well, well.” Ben Rupp grinned at me, the book still in his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I snatched the book I was after and crossed my arms, hiding it. “What do you think?”

  “Spying on me?” His dimples flashed.

  “Believe me, if I were, I would be standing where you wouldn’t be able to assault me.”

  His smile faded. “Why are you so frosty?” He turned toward the window. “Is there an early snowstorm on the way?”

  Before I could come up with a retort, Willa squeezed past me. “Oh, my,” she said, “do you two know each other?” Before either one of us could answer, she called to her husband. “Bea and Ben are already acquainted.”

  My face grew warm, so I turned toward the front of the shop, making accidental eye contact with the Englisch grandmother, who smiled broadly. I spun back around.

  Willa caught my arm. “How do you know Ben?”

  “We had the misfortune of being in school together.”

  She grinned at me as if I’d told her we were courting. “Oh, goody,” she said. I heard the footsteps of her husband before I saw him, and then he asked his wife if she could help the customer up front as he rounded the corner.

  She scurried away, and it seemed Albert wanted to say something but instead he shook his head and asked Ben if he’d found the volume of sonnets.

  “No,” Ben said.

  “It was right there.” Albert pointed to the empty spot. He stepped closer. “Where did it go?”

  “I have it,” I confessed, holding it out, my face growing warm. Ben could probably afford to buy it—while I couldn’t. I might as well let him have it, although I couldn’t imagine Ben reading poetry.

  “Do you want it?” Ben asked me.

  I shook my head. Of course I wanted it! My face was now hot and probably beet red. Hot enough to melt snow, if in fact it had been winter.

  Ben took it from me, saying he’d have a look. I wandered to the front of the store, hoping Ben would leave. But I had no such luck. I headed to the door.

  “Bea.” It was Albert, popping out from between two bookcases, his voice a near whisper. “Willa’s not herself lately,” he said. “She wouldn’t have said anything so forward about you and Ben if she . . . ” He paused.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, feeling alarmed, more at Albert’s concerns than with what Willa actually said. She wasn’t the first person to think Ben and I would make a good match.

  He shook his head. “Pray for her, that’s all. For us. For our business.”

  “Jah, of course,” I said. I couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Willa, Albert, or the shop.

  Molly avoided me until early Friday morning. “Bea,” she said as I fried ham for breakfast, “did you plan to do the wash this morning?”

  I tilted my head, trying to remember the last time I’d done it, even though it was my responsibility.

  “Because,” she continued, “I need to finish cutting the mums to get the last load to market. And Mamm, Leon, and I need to pack tonight.”

  I speared a piece of ham with the fork in my hand and flipped it. I needed clean clothes for my stay at the Millers’ next week too. I exhaled and then said, “Jah, I was planning to do the wash. I’ll start right after breakfast.”

  A few minutes later she came through the kitchen with a basket of dirty clothes, followed by Mamm, who carried a smaller basket. They headed down the basement stairs as I continued cooking. It wasn’t as if I was the mule of the family. Molly worked far harder than I did—but she had a passion for what she did. I only had a tolerance for my chores.

  As I pulled another skillet from the cupboard for the dippy eggs, I reminded myself that I wouldn’t want to be taking the mums to market, not for anything. I’d have to talk to people. I’d have to make sure we were paid a fair price. I’d have to ride in the pickup with the driver.

  I’d much rather do the laundry.

  After breakfast, I soaked Molly and Leon’s work clothes in a bucket as I collected my own things to wash. Then I filled the wringer washer tub with hot water and started the whites. After I’d run them through the wringer, I put the regular clothes in the tub and took the basket of whites out to hang to dry. I’d do the work clothes last.

  As I headed toward the line, I spotted a buggy turning up our lane in the distance. I squinted. We weren’t expecting anyone. I turned toward the loading dock. Leon and the driver lifted the buckets of mums into the back of the truck. Molly was nowhere in sight.

  I started pinning aprons on the line, keeping an eye on the buggy as I did until I realized it was Hannah, Molly’s best friend.

  “She’s inside,” Leon called out as Hannah jumped down from the buggy.

  He said something to the driver I couldn’t hear. As Hannah hitched her horse to the post by the barn, the driver jumped into the pickup and then pulled away from the loading dock and headed down the driveway, without Leon or Molly. He had to pull to the side of the driveway to make room for another pickup, this one pulling a horse trailer. Leon greeted that driver and directed him toward the corral. I recognized the man as the owner of the horse Leon had been tr
aining. That made sense—why pay someone to see to the horse while Leon was gone?

  Hannah waved as she passed me by on her way to the house. I flapped the apron in my hand at her in response and kept on pinning. When I finished, I picked up the basket, choosing to go in the kitchen door instead of the outside basement door, hoping to overhear what Molly and Hannah were talking about.

  I’d always been a little flabbergasted by their friendship. They talked more than seemed humanly possible when they were together, going on and on about people they knew, parties they’d been to, and their hopes for the future. I found them both fascinating and repulsive. But I couldn’t stop listening.

  As I entered the kitchen, they didn’t even glance at me.

  “No, Mervin’s going hunting.” Hannah sat across the table from Molly.

  “Oh, that’s right,” my sister said, her hands wrapped around a mug. “Who else?”

  “Phillip and his brother.”

  Molly lifted the mug. “Which one?”

  “Don.”

  Molly’s eyes grew wide over the rim of the mug as she took a sip. Then she said, “When did he come home?”

  “Two weeks ago. And get this—Phillip and Jessie broke up.”

  “No!” Molly said, putting the cup on the table with a clatter. Tea sloshed over the side, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  I put the laundry basket on the counter, started the tap, and pulled a glass from the cupboard, slowly filling it with water.

  I couldn’t hear what Molly said, but when I turned the faucet off, I heard Hannah saying, “ . . . went to a singing in Berk County and met someone—he broke up with Jessie.”

  “He’s a fool,” Molly said. “She was perfect for him.”

  “Jah,” Hannah said. “And now the girl from Berk County broke up with Phillip.”

  “Serves him right.” Molly paused and then said, “Bea, how’s the wash coming along?”

  “Gut,” I answered, without turning toward her. I put my glass in the sink, picked up the basket, and headed toward the stairs. Everything I knew about men and courtship I’d learned from eavesdropping on Molly and Hannah—except for the painful lesson of rejection Ben Rupp taught me last year. None of it made me want to ever get married.

  As I reached the basement stairs, Molly said, “She’s not going to Montana with us.”

  Hannah exclaimed, “Really!”

  “Jah, she’s going to work for the Millers instead,” Molly said. “I wish you could go.”

  “Jah, but I promised my Aenti Laurel I’d help her. I start on Monday.” Knee surgery had sidelined Laurel Cramer, the mother of a household of boys, the youngest less than a year old. My new sister-in-law, Nell, Laurel’s sister, used to live with the family and help run the home, but since she married Ivan, Laurel had been on her own. It was kind of Hannah to help, although I figured she had ulterior motives. The Cramers lived just over the creek from the Millers. Working there meant she’d be able to see Mervin every day—except for when he was hunting.

  It took me all day to finish doing the laundry, including ironing Mamm’s aprons and dresses. Thankfully, Molly pressed her own things and Leon’s shirts and trousers, probably because she didn’t trust me to do it. I didn’t see the point of ironing any of it—the clothes would wrinkle in their suitcases and have to be redone once they reached Montana anyway.

  The next morning, I cleaned the kitchen, staying out of Molly’s way as best I could as she prepared sandwiches at the table for their trip. After I’d dried the last plate, scrubbed our faded Formica counters, and scoured the sink, I hurried upstairs to check on Mamm, who was finishing up her packing. Her room, like all of ours, was simple with her double bed, a bureau, and a small table by the window. The few dresses she hadn’t packed hung from pegs. I’d avoided entering her room since Dat passed away. I felt his absence throughout the house and farm, but especially in their room.

  Dat’s manly scent left when Molly cleared out his clothes, but the comforting scent of Mamm’s lilac talcum remained strong.

  She sat on her bed, her back to me, staring out the window.

  I cleared my throat. She didn’t respond.

  “Mamm,” I said.

  Without turning toward me, she said, “I wish you were going with us.”

  I walked around the bed and sat down beside her. Not knowing what to say, I said nothing. She clasped my hand. For a moment I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

  Until Molly yelled up the stairs. “It’s time to go!”

  No, I’d made the right decision. I stood and reached for Mamm’s bag. “You’ll only be gone a couple of weeks.”

  She nodded and then looked back out the window.

  “Dat would be happy you’re going, Mamm.”

  She didn’t answer me. The wind played among the walnut tree branches. Love barked at the approaching van.

  Finally she said, “It will be good for you to be without us. At least that’s what I’m praying.”

  It was my turn to nod. I’d never been without my family. It was high time I took a step of independence.

  Molly shouted up the stairs again.

  By then I wondered if agreeing to go as far as the train station with them had been a mistake.

  Mamm stood, and I put my arms around her. When I let her go, I retrieved her cane and handed it to her. “Just in case you get overtired,” I said.

  She patted my arm after she took it and led the way to the landing and down the stairs, with me following, carrying her bag.

  By the time I made my way out the back door, Leon had their suitcases outside, along with a small cooler filled with the food. Our usual driver, Doris, stood watching Leon load everything. She was an excellent driver that everyone in our district called first because of her good nature. She pointed to a bag that had fallen sideways in the back and then laughed as Leon hurried to right it. Obviously she was teasing him.

  Mamm locked the door and then handed me the key. “Give this to Edna,” she said.

  I took the key, examining it for a moment. It was spindly and tarnished, as old as the house, it seemed. I slipped it into my apron pocket and crawled into the back seat of the van. Mamm and Molly seated themselves in the middle, and Leon took the front.

  As we headed west toward Lancaster, Molly chatted away, talking about the work that would need to be done when they returned. “I hope you don’t plan to stay at the Millers’ for long. When I wanted you to get a job, I didn’t mean one where you wouldn’t be available to help at home at all.”

  I smiled at her, unsure of what to say. I had no idea how long they’d need me.

  Molly turned back around, now talking to Mamm. “I’m excited to see Chicago—aren’t you?”

  Mamm nodded and I turned my attention to the landscape out the window. Corn ready to be harvested. A final cutting of alfalfa. A small dairy herd huddled under an oak tree. A field of pumpkins, bright orange against the dying vines.

  Soon the fields gave way to houses and then the freeway. When we exited, Doris turned south toward the train station, and when we were near it, she stopped the van at an unloading area and told us to pile out. “I’ll wait here for you, Bea,” she said. As Leon grabbed the bags, I took Mamm’s arm and we started toward the brick building. I’d only been to Lancaster a few times and never to the train station. It was a beautiful building, two stories high with concrete columns and rounded windows.

  Leon and Molly soon caught up with us, pushing a cart with all of the luggage and the cooler, and then led the way into the lobby. Wooden benches lined the area, and the ceiling was high, with a skylight and hanging lamps.

  Excitement filled the air as people dashed around us. The wheels of a passing luggage cart squeaked. A train whistle blew. Molly pointed toward the ticket booth and said, “We need to hurry.”

  I gave Mamm a quick hug and told Molly good-bye. My sister reached for me then and held me tightly. As she pulled away, a tear spilled from her eye. “We’ve never been apart,” she said,
brushing the tear away.

  I stepped back. She’d been gone all the time. Overnights at Hannah’s. Parties on the river. Hours spent in the greenhouse talking on her phone. Still her emotions caused my voice to falter. “Have a good trip,” I managed to say.

  She shook her head a little. “You won’t miss me, will you?”

  I swallowed hard. I hadn’t expected to miss her . . . but already I did.

  Leon slapped my back and told me to take care. Then he led the way, pushing the cart. Mamm trailed behind, using her cane.

  I tried to ignore the emotion that welled inside me as I called out traveling mercies to them. They turned and waved and then proceeded toward the booth. I practically ran back outside.

  “Ready?” Doris asked as I reached the van.

  I blinked back the tears threatening to fill my eyes and climbed into the passenger side of the van. Doris seemed to sense my emotional state and drove in silence.

  By the time we reached Edna’s little house in Paradise, I’d composed myself. I hurried toward her front door, but she stepped onto her porch, carrying her bag, before I reached the steps. Seeing her, I felt foolish that I’d been near tears. Her husband had passed away nearly five years before, but she carried on with grace and goodwill to all she knew, never feeling sorry for herself. She’d been a big help to Molly and me, both when Dat passed and when Mamm had been ill.

  She dropped her bag onto the chair on her porch and greeted me with a hug, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close. Her hugs were warm and solid and made me feel cherished and cared for. She had no children of her own, and it was as if I was her baby sister and daughter all in one.

  She released me. “So you go to the Millers’ place on Monday?”

  I nodded, aware for the first time in my life what it meant not to be surrounded by family. I had a new appreciation for Edna’s plight. “Will you be all right on the farm by yourself?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll have Love to keep me company. I’m glad you’ll have this experience of living away from home.”