by Leslie Gould
The lantern swung as we traveled, casting long shadows over the fields. October was nearly over. The seemingly endless Indian summer would come to an end. Mamm, Molly, and Leon would return. Eventually I would leave the Millers’.
And then what? I closed my eyes, dreading my future. What sort of life was I destined to? I’d been fooling myself to think I wanted to be single, especially after living with the Millers. The truth was, I wanted to have babies some day—not three at once—but maybe three altogether. More if that’s how God blessed me.
Jah, it was difficult to admit, but I wanted a husband. I wanted a relationship like Nan and Bob had. It was obvious they loved each other because they served each other. Considered each other. Put the other first, even in impossible circumstances.
I wanted what Pete and Cate had too. Granted they weren’t as stressed as Nan and Bob—weren’t in crisis mode, yet. But Pete’s concern was more endearing than any love poem, and the way Cate lit up when he walked in the room, even though they worked together, spoke volumes more than any story.
“Really, Bea,” Hope said, shifting toward me, as if we were in the middle of a conversation. “Don’s not so bad. He—”
Martin interrupted her. “Hope . . .” His voice trailed off.
“But I can tell how much Don cares for her by the way he looks at her,” Hope said to Martin, quietly but not low enough so I couldn’t hear her.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I said, sitting up straight, doing my best to inject some cheer into my voice. “I’ve been set on not marrying all my life. There’s no reason to change that now.”
Martin and Hope turned their heads toward each other. I imagined “a look,” although I couldn’t see their faces enough to have an idea of what exactly they were communicating. I turned my head toward the dark fields again.
I woke up as we pulled onto the lane to the Millers’ house. I kept my eyes closed until we came to a stop and Hope asked, “Whose buggy is that?”
“I’m not sure,” Martin replied. He set the brake and jumped down. I opened the door, determined to be in the house before Martin and Hope started their long good-bye, giving the buggy a glance but not a second thought. Perhaps Pete and Cate had gone out.
But then a voice stopped me. “Beatrice.”
I turned around slowly, fully aware it was Ben.
“Oh, hello,” I said.
“Could we talk?”
I tried to ignore Hope clapping her hands together from the buggy. Instead of acknowledging her, I nodded toward Ben.
He pointed toward the oak tree and then led the way. I followed, my head throbbing. When we reached the tree he stopped and turned toward me. I stepped around him, stumbling over the dog dish that I should have put away, and then grabbed the tree. I leaned against it, acutely aware of my sleep deprivation mixed with the tension of the evening.
“Did you go to the singing with Don?” he asked, looking down at his feet.
“No,” I answered.
“But you were there with him.”
“I got lost in the maze. He led us out.”
“Oh.” He looked up at me. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“I had no idea if you were going to show up.” I leaned into the tree even more, pressing my hands against the bark.
“But you knew I would.”
“I didn’t know if you planned to pick me up or meet me there. And then you did neither.”
He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair, which was in need of a haircut again.
My heart ached as badly as my head. “You don’t communicate very well, at least not with me. It’s what you did last time.”
“What?” He pulled his hat back onto his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. I’d been so hurt by the way he’d treated me before—and he didn’t even remember. Or else pretended not to, so he didn’t have to talk about it. Don was right. He was still a boy.
I started toward the house.
He called out after me. “Bea—”
I spun back around. “My name is Beatrice.”
He stepped backward.
I kept going.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I turned around again, this time slowly. Had I heard him right? I didn’t remember him ever apologizing before.
“I got distracted today, working on a project. I lost track of time,” he said. “Maybe we can talk more—not right now but sometime soon.”
I nodded, not wanting to make a fool of myself now, in front of the twins and Hannah and Hope, who all still stood beside the buggy.
“See you tomorrow,” I said to Ben.
The others drifted out of my path as I headed toward the back door.
I didn’t bother to say good-night. My goal was to get in bed and pretend to be asleep before Hope came up. That could only happen, though, if Nan didn’t need my help.
I practically ran through the kitchen and up the hall but then started to tiptoe up the stairs. There was no reason to, however. All three babies were screaming.
The nursery door was wide open, and inside Bob held the boys like two logs, one on top of the other, and walked back and forth while Pete held Leah.
“I’ll be right back,” I said and hurried into the bathroom to wash my hands. When I returned, Bob told me Nan was trying to sleep as I took Asher from him.
“And I sent Cate up to bed,” Pete said. “She’s exhausted.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Have they been crying all evening?”
“Most of it.” Pete spoke over Leah.
“We hoped they wouldn’t be colicky—to no avail,” Bob said.
“Any ideas of what to do?” I held Asher tightly and began shuffling back and forth.
“Nan did some research, and she’s going to try eliminating certain foods. Cabbage, in particular.” I’d used that in the soup I’d made, the one Nan had eaten for supper. “And some other things,” Bob answered. “She wonders if maybe they have allergies.”
I hoped it wasn’t the formula.
Bob added, “She’s going to try drinking fennel tea, too, and see if that helps. She read that it’s a good natural remedy.”
We continued walking the babies for the next hour. Leah fell asleep first, and Pete slipped her into the bassinet. Next Asher fell asleep. “Go on,” Bob said. “By the time Kurt settles down Leah will be ready to eat. I’ll wake Nan then.”
“Make sure and have her wake me when she needs me,” I said.
Bob raised his eyebrows as he spoke. “Oh, she will.”
As I stepped into our room, Hope said, “He really does care about you.”
I hadn’t realized she’d come up. “Don or Ben?” I asked, stalling.
She giggled. “Well, both, I suppose, but I was thinking about Ben.”
“Well,” I answered, sitting on the edge of my bed, “he has a funny way of showing it.”
“Martin says Ben’s been crazy about you for years.”
I shook my head.
Hope leaned forward. “No, it’s true. Ben said you were his best friend all through school. That he would have been bored without you. That you kept him in line.”
I smiled, just a little.
“If he did something stupid, you let him know. He said he could always trust you.”
I crossed my arms. “What about me being able to trust him?”
“Martin said Ben wants to make that up to you.”
I wrinkled my nose.
Hope whispered, “So, will you give him another chance?”
Tears filled my eyes. I was exhausted. And distraught. “I can’t talk about it tonight,” I said. Again I was afraid of saying something I’d later regret.
Chapter
11
The next morning, as Hope washed clothes in the basement and I swept the kitchen floor, someone knocked on the back door. I stopped, pulling the broom close. Could it be Ben? I took a deep breath and walked to the door, swing
ing it wide.
Don stood on the stoop, holding his left index finger with a paper towel soaked in blood.
“Oh, dear,” I said.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “I don’t need stitches. Just butterfly bandages. Cate said they’re in the downstairs bathroom.”
“Come in.” I was the last person he wanted to help him with an injury. I started down the hall toward the bathroom, feeling queasy. Don followed, saying, “Cate already scrubbed it out before she realized she was out of that type of bandage.”
I wished she’d come up with him.
He waited in the hall while I opened the medicine cabinet. I retrieved the box. “Go on back to the table,” I said. I grabbed a clean washcloth, ran hot water over it, then wrung it out, and followed him down the hall.
I sat down next to Don so I could get a good look at his finger. As he unwrapped it, I handed him the washcloth. “What happened?”
“I was using the hand saw, and it slipped.” He cleaned the blood off his finger.
“At least it wasn’t the electric saw.” He could have lost all of his fingers if it had been.
I unwrapped the first bandage. From the looks of the cut, I’d need several. I took a deep breath and secured the first one. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” I said.
“You’re doing great.” He glanced up at me.
I quickly looked away and put three more bandages on, focusing on the cut.
“Denki,” he said.
“I’ll go get a piece of gauze to tape over all of it,” I said. “Hold on.”
When I returned, Don said he had a good time the evening before.
I concentrated on not wrinkling the gauze into a big mess.
He continued, “You seem more mature than the rest of them. An old soul. Especially more than the boys—because that’s really what they are.”
I had the gauze ready for his finger, and he lifted it toward me. “Hold it,” I said.
He obeyed. “You must get tired of their antics.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I answered, cutting the tape with the scissors I’d found in the cabinet too. Of course I did! But I didn’t want to discuss it with him.
“Well,” he said, “I’d like to go out again.”
I tilted my head. Oh! I stood. Did he think we’d gone on a date? “Oh,” I stammered, “I don’t go out much. I never have.”
He smiled.
I shook my head and turned my attention to cleaning up. My face grew warmer and warmer.
Don said, “I’ll go ahead and get back to the shop. . . .”
I nodded without looking up.
As the screen door banged, I realized I should have sent the box of butterfly bandages with him. There was a second box in the bathroom. I grabbed it and headed out the door. He was halfway to the shop. “Don!” I called out, waving the box.
He turned, stopped, and then started toward me. I kept moving forward.
Ahead the door to the shop building opened and Ben stepped out just as Don and I met, blocking my view.
“Give this to Cate,” I said to Don.
“Denki,” he replied, rather loudly.
The door closed. I started back toward the house, glancing over my shoulder as I did. Ben was nowhere in sight. He must have gone back into the shop. My face grew even warmer as I guessed what my encounter with Don must have looked like.
Ben and I weren’t meant to be together, not as a couple, I was sure.
The rest of the morning, Hope and I did the wash and cleaned, while the babies slept and slept. I was relieved that she didn’t ask me anything more about my feelings for Ben—or Don.
After dinner, we helped Nan feed the triplets their bottles, and then they immediately settled down again. Nan was going to take a nap too, saying she was afraid the babies were getting their days and nights turned around.
As we pinned the last load of laundry on the line, I suggested to Hope that we gather up the apples. The morning had been chilly but sunny, and the afternoon was beautiful and warm.
We left the laundry basket under the line and headed toward the orchard. “Let’s check the barn for baskets,” I said, veering to the left. “We won’t be able to carry much in our aprons.”
I pushed open the door of the barn, and a swallow flew out, startling both of us. Hope screamed and my hand flew to my chest. Then we both laughed. A calico cat bounded down from the stack of hay, but when she realized we weren’t there to feed her, she disappeared again. Once our eyes adjusted we spotted a stack of baskets along the far wall on a shelf, probably near where Ben and Don had found the dog food and dishes.
Breathing in the scent of hay and leather from the stables at the end of the barn, I grabbed four baskets and met Hope back at the door. We started at the end of the orchard closest to the barn. It was a small orchard, with only six trees—but that was still a lot of apples.
We’d make what we could into applesauce and apple butter and then store the rest in the basement, along with the apples Pete had already picked and the potatoes, onions, and turnips he’d harvested. I had quite a few recipes I could make using apples too. Crisps, of course. Pies if I had the time. I had a pork loin recipe that called for apples, along with one with sausage. I’d peruse Nan’s recipe books and see if I could find more too.
As Hope began gathering up the good apples on the ground, I said, “We’re going to need a ladder.” I hadn’t really thought things through. “I’ll go get it,” I said. I hadn’t seen any in the barn, but I’d probably just overlooked them.
Sure enough, they were on the far side, hanging just above the floor, behind the buggy. It took me a minute to wiggle the medium-size one off its hooks, but I managed to get it out from behind the buggy without hitting it and out the barn door. I staggered a little, trying to balance it. Molly carried ladders all the time—and then climbed them to prune branches off trees. I squared my shoulders. I certainly could manage this on my own.
I did, staggering again as I walked, but still making my way. When I approached the trees, Hope began laughing. “You should have asked one of the boys to help.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
I put the ladder down in front of the first tree, spreading it wide and securing it, and then climbed with the basket in one hand, reaching as best I could with the other. Hope continued to collect apples off the ground and from the lower branches.
We’d worked that way for about an hour, from tree to tree, when a wasp began buzzing around my head. I ducked, making the ladder quiver. The wasp buzzed me again. I swatted at it. Growing up on a flower farm, I appreciated bees. However, wasps were an entirely different matter. I’d been stung as a child when I’d been helping Molly pot mums outside the greenhouse.
The memory of that sting came back clear as day when a second wasp joined the first. I climbed down the ladder as calmly as I could. “Hope, I think there’s a nest up there. Come on.” I grabbed her arm and started marching away.
A chuckle from the end of the shop caught my attention. Ben stood clutching the handles of a wheelbarrow full of sawdust.
I stopped and turned back toward the trees. I considered that I might have overreacted . . . until I felt a tickle on my neck. I swiped at it, turning toward Hope.
“It’s a wasp,” she squealed.
I swiped again, but my hand came away empty. “Can you get it?”
Hope hit at my neck. “Oops,” she said. “It crawled under your Kapp!”
I screamed as I yanked my Kapp off, pins and all, and then grabbed at my bun, twisting it undone, flinging my head down, swatting at my hair as I did. My wavy, chestnut hair reached the ground, swinging this way and that, brushing over the dirt.
The wasp fell, and Hope stomped on it, stepped backward, tripped over a rock, and landed on the ground, giving out a yell. I fell to my knees beside her, laughing. She grabbed my hair to keep it out of the dirt, twisting it on top of my head. “Ach, Bea, it’s so be
autiful.”
Embarrassed, I took it from her and scooted it down, reworking my bun in the proper place. Then I remembered Ben. I couldn’t help but look at him.
He stood staring at me, his eyes wide.
Hope nudged me. I diverted my eyes. It wasn’t proper for him to see my hair down. I began searching the ground for my bobby pins but couldn’t find them. I must have flung them far and wide. My Kapp was off to the side, between Ben and me. I started to stand, but before I could, he started toward us. I froze.
He retrieved my Kapp and handed it to me, our hands touching. An electric current surged through me—as real as a wasp sting but not as painful. Not painful at all, actually.
“Denki,” I finally said, taking the Kapp from him.
Hope quickly pulled a couple of bobby pins from her bun and handed them to me. Then she hurried back toward the trees, picking up the basket she’d abandoned. I did the best I could, tucking my hair under my Kapp.
“Beatrice,” he said. “I—”
“Bea,” I corrected.
“Bea,” he said and then grinned.
I smiled in return, fastening my Kapp with a pin that had clung to the fabric.
Ben whispered, “Could we talk tonight?”
My first instinct was to correct him, to say, May . . . But the truth was I had no idea if may was the right word or not. Could, actually, was probably the better choice. “We could try,” I said. “Depending on the babies.”
“Ah, the Tropplis,” he said.
“The what?” But then I registered the word play, his combination of Bopplis and triplets, and smiled.
He grinned and started to walk away.
“Ben,” I said.
He stopped and turned back toward me.
I placed my hand on the top of my Kapp. “I hope the Tropplis will cooperate.”
His eyes sparkled. “Me too.”
I inhaled deeply as I walked back toward the trees. I couldn’t deny it. I wanted a relationship with Ben. I really did.
Ben ended up working well past seven, finishing a special-order hutch, so Bob told him to spend the night in the Dawdi Haus. “There’s no use you going back and forth.”