Becoming Bea

by Leslie Gould

  We’d already eaten supper, but he came into the house and I fixed him a plate. Before he was done, there was a racket upstairs with more than one baby crying.

  “It’s their fussy time,” I said. “I might be a while.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll wait by the oak tree. Come out when you can.”

  Two hours later, I managed to sneak away. “For just a few minutes,” I told Hope, after I’d taken a second cup of fennel tea to Nan.

  When I reached the back door, I flung my cape over my shoulders and hurried out. The night sky was bright with a million stars, every one of them twinkling, as if sending down more blessings than I could ever count. I hurried down the walkway toward the tree, feeling optimistic.

  There was Ben, sprawled out on the lawn, a backpack to the side of him. He had his coat on and his hat off and his head resting on . . . something. At first I thought he’d brought a pillow out—a big one—but then I realized it was Love.

  “Oh, goodness,” I said, approaching the two. Love stirred but Ben was fast asleep.

  I touched his arm. He rolled toward me. “Ben,” I whispered.

  He opened his eyes slowly and then raised himself to his elbow. “Bea,” he said, wiping his mouth as if maybe he’d drooled, which he hadn’t.

  I leaned toward him, but Love scampered to her feet and pressed up against me, nuzzling my face. “Why did you come back?” I cooed.

  “She couldn’t stay away,” Ben whispered, petting the dog. She wedged herself between us.

  I glanced toward the house.

  “I don’t see any faces in the windows,” he teased.

  “You never know,” I said.

  He reached up and slipped a strand of my hair behind my ear, his hand coming to a rest on my neck.

  My stomach fluttered. He’d made the same gesture back when we were courting, ever so briefly. I grabbed his hand and pulled it away. I needed answers. “What happened a year ago? After we’d gone out a couple—”

  “Ach, Bea,” he said. “Do we have to rehash the past?”

  “I need to know,” I said.

  He sighed. “What are you asking, exactly?”

  Before I could respond, the back door screen banged and a light cast across the yard. Hope called out, “Bea! Are you out here?”

  “Over here,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

  “Can you come take a turn with Asher? It seems you’re the only one who can calm him down.” Then she looked past me to Ben, a smile spreading across her face. “Sorry!” She held the lamp high as she spun around. If both her hands had been free I’m sure she would have been clapping.

  I sighed.

  Love rolled away from us.

  “What should I do about her?” I asked.

  “She can stay. Bob won’t care.” He bent down and hooked the chain to her collar, saying, “Just in case,” as he did.

  “Denki,” I answered.

  “Bea, hurry!” Hope called out. “Asher is going to wake up Cate.” As if Hope hadn’t already.

  “Sweet dreams,” I said to Ben and then hurried toward the house. When I reached the door, I turned. In the starlight, I could see Ben sitting beside Love on the grass, his back against the tree but his eyes on me.

  I waved.

  He returned the gesture and called out, “Good night, sweet Bea.”

  I stumbled going up the stairs. No one, in all my life, had ever referred to me as sweet. And what a great play on words. Sweet pea. Sweet dreams. Sweet Bea. I was definitely letting Ben Rupp have the last word tonight.

  Chapter

  12

  Bob was fine with Love staying. I thought perhaps he’d changed his mind when she barked at the mailman, but a few minutes later he came through the kitchen door with a postcard for me.

  It was a photo of the Kootenay River, a wide blue ribbon bordered by evergreen trees and hills on both sides. At the bend of the river was a fisherman. On the back, Molly had written, Missing you SO much. Wish you were HERE. See you SOON! Your sister, Molly

  I assumed they were having a good time, although she hadn’t said so. I slipped the postcard into my pocket and thanked Bob for bringing it to me.

  He nodded and headed back toward the shop.

  I finished making bottles for the babies and returned upstairs. By midmorning the babies settled down again, exhausted from their late night of screaming, and Nan said she thought she’d take a nap too. “Don’t wake me when it’s time to eat,” she said. “I’d rather sleep.”

  We assured her we’d check on the babies in half an hour. “We’ll pick more apples first,” I said, as Hope and I hurried out the nursery door, shutting it quietly behind us.

  As we tiptoed down the stairs I whispered to Hope that it was break time for the boys.

  “Jah,” she answered. “My thoughts exactly.”

  They were all sitting around the picnic table, along with Hannah, when we headed out with our baskets. Ben, with Love beside him, met my eyes and smiled. I nodded toward the orchard, but before Ben could move, Don sprang to his feet. “Good morning, girls,” he said, tipping his hat.

  Hope giggled. I smiled. We stopped at the end of the table.

  “How is everyone today?” Hope asked, looking straight at Martin.

  He grinned.

  For the first time in my life I felt as if I truly belonged to a group of Youngie. I could see why Molly liked these people.

  But Hope and I couldn’t linger. I figured the babies would sleep for at least a half hour, but after that it was anyone’s guess. Plus, we still had dinner to fix. I nudged Hope.

  She nodded her head and started around the picnic table, stopping at Martin and whispering something in his ear.

  “Sure,” he said, scooting off the bench.

  I smiled at Ben again as Don, who stood behind me now, asked if I needed help.

  I shook my head, turning toward him. “You should relax,” I said. “It’s your break.”

  Martin and Hope started toward the orchard, but I hesitated, wondering if Ben would decode my smile. He didn’t—or else the fact Don started following me convinced Ben to stay put.

  “Well,” Hannah said, rather loudly. “Bea, do you still plan to stay single?”

  I pretended I didn’t hear her.

  “How about you, Ben?” she asked.

  Mervin said, “Hannah.”

  I hurried on toward the orchard. We’d left the ladder out because there was no chance of rain. Once I reached it, I realized Don had followed me—or had at least started to. He’d stopped halfway between the picnic table and me, a troubled look on his face. He turned back slowly.

  Hannah giggled.

  I scampered up the ladder and set the basket on the platform. Then with a branch in front of my face, snuck a peek at the others. Don had started walking toward me again. Ben stood, his arms crossed, looking my way.

  Hannah was standing now too. “I need to go,” she said. “I’m supposed to be out running errands for Aenti Laurel.”

  “Jah,” Mervin said. “Break’s over.” As he swung his leg over the bench, he called out, “Come on, Martin.”

  Hope told Martin good-bye, and as he headed toward the shop, she started collecting apples along the ground again. I reached for an apple in the tree, just above my head, and then another one.

  I picked a third apple and then, as I put it in the basket, watched Ben head to the shop too. Below me, Don had reached the ladder. He put his hand on a middle rung and tugged. “Come on down a second,” he said.

  I shook my head. “We only have a short time to work—until the babies wake up. And we plan to make applesauce this afternoon.”

  “I’ll only be a minute,” he said.

  “Don’t you need to get back to work?” I grabbed a branch.

  “Come on, Bea. Please.”

  I’d prefer he called me Beatrice, but I didn’t want to point it out—again.

  “Come down.” His voice sounded so serious, I decided to comply.r />
  As I stepped to the ground, I asked, “What is it?”

  He squinted, even with his hat on. “What’s going on? With Ben.”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “You could have fooled me,” he said. “You acted like you despised him.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. He was right. I had acted that way. But once I knew Ben cared about me, I realized I’d suppressed my feelings for him. At least I thought Ben cared for me. He’d hinted that but hadn’t actually said it. The truth was, I wasn’t exactly sure what Ben’s feelings were—but I guessed they were positive.

  I wasn’t sure enough though to tell Don I was interested in Ben. I’d been burned once by Ben—I needed to protect myself this time.

  Don crossed his arms.

  “We’re just friends,” I said.

  “What did Hannah mean then? Just now.”

  I shrugged. “She’s my sister’s best friend. She’s been teasing me for years.”

  Don inhaled slowly and then blew his breath out in a rush. “So what about us?”

  I leaned back against the ladder, panic filling my chest. “Us?”

  “Jah,” he responded. “Where do we stand?”

  “You and me?”

  He nodded.

  “We’re friends too,” I managed to say.

  I expected him to be annoyed, but instead he smiled. “So I’m still in the running?” Before I could think of what to say, he stepped away and turned toward the shop. “Just you wait, Bea. I’ll win you over. I’m sure of it.” Then he took off at a march.

  I grabbed the side of the ladder as Hope scampered over to my tree. “What was that all about?”

  “He wanted to know what was going on between Ben and me.”

  “What did you tell him?” Hope braced herself against the tree.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bea. That’s not entirely true.”

  “But I don’t know what’s going on with Ben.” I felt something was, but he hadn’t communicated anything clearly. It seemed prideful for me to imply something was going on, especially if it wasn’t true. Even if Ben and I were courting again, I’d feel awkward discussing it with Don. It was hard enough talking about it with Hope.

  “Martin says Ben’s crazy about you.” She crossed her arms.

  I sat down on the bottom rung of the ladder.

  “Don’t lead Don on,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I’m not—honestly.”

  “I thought he’d be a good match if Ben didn’t work out,” she said. “But Ben really cares for you.”

  I groaned. “Well, he should make it clear, then,” I said. “And soon.”

  The next time the boys were outside was for their noon meal. I couldn’t bear to go out, but Hope did. I watched from the kitchen window as everyone laughed and chatted. Both Ben and Don appeared fine. It seemed I was the only one in a dither.

  Hope and I had managed to get the babies fed and back to sleep, giving Nan the longest nap she’d had since they were born. But they’d probably be awake again soon, so we started the process to make applesauce as soon as we got back downstairs, first retrieving the canning supplies from the basement and setting up a production line on the table.

  I started water to boil on the stove, dunking the jars and lids, while Hope peeled the apples and began slicing them. Once the jars were sterilized, I got the apple wedges cooking, and then helped Hope cut the rest, adding them to the pot along with the spices and sugar. After it had all cooked we ran it through the food mill and then put it into the jars, placing them back into the canner.

  I stepped toward the hall. “Is that Asher crying?”

  “I don’t hear him,” Hope said.

  I sighed. “I do. We’ll have to make the apple butter tomorrow.” I headed to the sink to wash my hands.

  “I’ll clean up,” Hope said.

  When I returned with Asher in my arms, the kitchen was only partially done and Hope was outside at the picnic table with Martin and Hannah and Mervin. They appeared to be deep in conversation. I stepped to the center of the window, where I had a view of the shop. Don and Ben walked toward it.

  I placed Asher in the playpen and talked to him as I worked, first clearing the table and then washing up the remaining items. I put the uncanned applesauce in the refrigerator. We’d turn it into apple butter the next day. Then I took the chicken out of the refrigerator and put it in the roaster pan, drizzling oil over the top and then sprinkling it with salt and pepper. I grabbed three apples from the basket beside the table and sliced them over the chicken and then sliced up an onion too, dabbing at my crying eyes as I did, and spread it over the bird and apples. Next I chopped several sprigs of rosemary that I’d stashed in the refrigerator from the garden the day before and sprinkled that on top of everything.

  After I popped the chicken into the oven, I glanced out the kitchen window. The twins had returned to work but Hannah and Hope continued talking. I headed downstairs with a bowl to retrieve potatoes from the basement. When I returned, I glanced out the window again. Hannah had left and Hope was working in the garden.

  Bob must have asked her to do that. If we needed help with the babies, I’d simply go get her. I busied myself peeling potatoes.

  As I made a salad, Hope and Cate came through the back door. Hope scrubbed her hands in the mudroom sink, and Cate scooped up Asher, who had started to fuss, and headed down the hall.

  “Tell Nan it’s almost time to eat,” I said, grabbing the potholders. When Hope came into the kitchen, I kept my voice low as I asked her how Ben was.

  A puzzled expression settled on her face.

  “You know—did he say anything about Don talking with me?” I asked as I lifted the roasting pan out of the oven.

  Hope’s face brightened. “He didn’t say anything at all. In fact, I wouldn’t worry about any of that. Martin said everyone’s fine.”

  I nearly lost my grip but managed to get the pan to the stovetop. Maybe neither one of them was all that interested in me.

  The next few days were mostly worry free—except for my dilemma over Ben. He and I managed to say hello to each other and exchange a smile or two, but we didn’t have time to really talk. I bit my tongue, deciding not to be pushy, and prayed for patience.

  A few times he helped me pin laundry on the line if I was out during one of his breaks or over the dinner hour, but there were always other Youngie within earshot, so we didn’t say much to each other, except to chat about the weather and the work we were doing.

  Don was friendly enough and didn’t put me on the spot.

  Hannah came over nearly every day to see Mervin. One noon hour the two sat off by themselves, intent on their conversation, as Ben helped me hang towels on the line.

  “They’re getting pretty serious,” Ben said.

  “Haven’t they been? For several years now?” True it had been on and off, but it was past time for them to either get hitched or call it off for good.

  Ben stepped closer to me. “They’re thinking about marriage—and soon.”

  I leaned toward him as I placed a wooden pin. “How soon?”

  “Maybe within a month or so.”

  That meant Hannah’s family would already be busy with the planning, although quietly. It was a good thing that Molly would be home in a few days. She’d want to help. But then again Molly probably knew before she left for Montana what Hannah’s plans were. She just hadn’t told me.

  The back screen banged, and Hope stepped out, looking around—for Martin, I knew. He hurried toward her from the picnic table.

  “They’ll be married soon too,” Ben whispered, stealing a pin out of my hand.

  I swatted at him, playfully, surprised at my ability to flirt. “How soon?”

  “Probably not too long after Hannah and Mervin.” Ben grinned.

  “No,” I said, my voice a whisper too. “They hardly know each other.”

  “But, regardless, don’t you think they know they�
�re meant to be together?”

  “Jah,” I answered. “But Hope hasn’t said a word about marriage.”

  “Neither has Martin,” Ben replied. “I’m just guessing—”

  I swatted at him again but this time he grabbed my hand. I twisted my arm, playfully trying to get away.

  “I have something I want to show you,” Ben said. “Do you have time?”

  “It depends what it is,” I teased.

  “It’s a book.” His voice was serious. “In my buggy.”

  He didn’t have to twist my arm to get me to go with him. I walked with him willingly toward the far side of the barn, where the workers parked.

  It wasn’t like we were going off alone or anything—at least not far—but still I felt self-conscious. When we reached the buggy, he grabbed his backpack out of the front and led me around to the back.

  As he opened his pack and pulled out a book another fell to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust as it landed. “Oops,” Ben said, picking it up and brushing off the book, and cramming it back into the bag in a quick motion.

  “What’s that book?” I asked, leaning against the back of the buggy.

  “This?” He held up the first one, still in his other hand.

  “No, the one you don’t want me to see.”

  “Who said I don’t want you to see it?” He scooted closer to me.

  “You did—by stuffing it away so quickly.”

  He grinned at me, his brown eyes dancing. “This is the one I want you to see.” He held it up again.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, you win. You can show me the other one next.”

  “We’ll see,” he said as he focused on the book in his hand. He opened it, going by a slip of paper that served as a bookmark. “It’s the book of sonnets, written by Shakespeare. It was still at the Olde Book Shoppe the last time I went in. Albert had set it aside for me.”

  I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I took it from him and flipped to the front cover. Sure enough, there was an illustration of the author on the cover, under the words Shakespeare’s Sonnets. He had bushy hair, a mustache, a pointy beard, and steely eyes. I opened the book again to the marker and handed it back to Ben.

  Ben put his hand on the page nearest him and then pointed to the other one, pressing against the book. “This is my favorite of all the poems,” he said. “Number 116. It uses nautical symbols—which I had to ask Albert about. But once I understood all of it, I really liked it.” He picked up the book and held it closer to his face. As he did, his shoulder brushed against mine. A shiver shot down my spine.