Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Ted, their English driver, was talking on a cell phone, so when his conversation ended, Ben asked if he could make a call. He had never used such a fancy phone, so Ted punched in the number Ben hoped he remembered correctly from the Sweet Seasons menu. He got the answering machine and closed his eyes as Miriam’s businesslike phone voice told him to leave a message for her café or the quilt shop.

  “Miriam, it’s Ben,” he murmured, wishing this call could be more private, “and we’re runnin’ way behind—waitin’ for two new trailer tires out in the middle of Illinois. I sure hope to make the wedding, but if we don’t”—he paused, picturing the disappointment on her sweet face—“I’m sorry. Nothin’s goin’ right and I wish ya were here with me. Believe the best, all right? Because ya deserve the best, Miriam, and that’s who I intend to be for ya.”

  As he handed the tiny phone back to Ted, they spotted the red tow truck from a tire place they’d passed about twenty minutes ago. A day late and several dollars short, he thought as he considered what this stop would cost. Was God telling them this mill in Missouri was a bad idea? Or was the Lord strengthening his younger brothers for the adjustments they faced now that they’d left the only home they’d ever known? One thing was clear: Hiram Knepp would not welcome Luke and Ira to Willow Ridge with open arms, if only because they were Ben’s brothers. The bishop would fight the establishment of their mill every step of the way, unless other folks prevailed against his wishes—

  Or kept him too busy to be a bother.

  “Denki,” Ben said as Aunt Nazareth handed him a thick ham sandwich. When his other aunt stepped inside the horse trailer with big bottles of milk, loud bleating and the trip-trap, trip-trap of restless little hooves made him smile for the first time that morning. Jerusalem Hooley was on a mission, so Hiram had better watch out!

  Thursday morning dawned bright and crisp, the perfect October day for a wedding—except that Ben and his brothers weren’t here. Miriam gazed toward the road yet again, even though she knew they wouldn’t be arriving this early. Ben’s voice on the message machine had sounded every bit as forlorn as she had been feeling in his absence, so she told herself to have faith.

  Believe the best.

  Ben had said they would get here as soon as they could, and he was as good as his word. It would take more than Polly Petersheim’s calls and Hiram Knepp’s harassment to convince her Ben Hooley was stuck on his old girlfriend or playing on Miriam’s affections to get land for his brothers’ mill.

  Already lights were on in the Sweet Seasons kitchen, where Naomi would be baking the “roast”—chickens baked with stuffing—and peeling the potatoes with Mary, Eva, and Priscilla Schrock. What would she do without such fine friends? Her two brothers, her sister, and their families had arrived yesterday, as well, so the house was noisier and livelier than it had been in years. Rachel’s wedding was the first gathering they’d had since Jesse’s funeral, and Miriam felt grateful to have family here with her for a joyful occasion this time.

  Miriam grinned when a bright red sports car pulled off the road and came toward the house. Who wouldn’t feel wonderful-gut at the sight of the daughter she’d feared was dead for eighteen years, now coming up the porch steps with a smile brighter than the sun?

  “Gut mornin’ to ya, honey-bunch!” Miriam said as Rebecca hugged her close. “Are ya ready for the big day? You’re up before the chickens this mornin’.”

  “Hi, Mamma! What with uncles, aunts, and cousins here, I wanted to show you what I’ve drafted—real quick, before things get too busy.” Rebecca opened her computer on the kitchen table and made pictures appear on its screen.

  “Why, that’s the front of the café!” Miriam said eagerly. “And jah, there’s our menu. I like the way ya put that steam table alongside the words. And—oh my.”

  After Rebecca tapped a few computer keys, Miriam was gazing at a view of the Missouri River and its rapids, but instead of the grassy banks there stood a quaint wooden mill with a big wheel that slowly turned as the water drove it. Above it all, THE MILL AT WILLOW RIDGE was written in artistic green and rust lettering. “Rebecca, that’s quite a sight,” Miriam breathed, “but how’d ya know what the Hooleys’ mill will look like? And how’d ya get the buildin’ in the picture when it hasn’t been constructed yet?”

  Rebecca smiled sweetly; creating such wonders was second nature to her. “When I asked Micah, he said the plans resemble most classic mills, so I dropped in this image. Once the mill’s built, I’ll use a for-real photograph.”

  “Ah. Computer magic.”

  “Jah, that’s it.” Rebecca closed the laptop and tucked it into her backpack. “And just so you know, the bishop’s webmaster has taken Hiram’s photograph off his website.”

  “Glad to hear it. At least he did what he was supposed to on that account.”

  Rebecca’s eyebrow rose. “Has he been pestering you again? Or has he said Ben’s brothers couldn’t build their mill?”

  Miriam poured Rebecca the first cup from a fresh pot of coffee. “Lo and behold, on Sunday all the members voted in favor of bringin’ in the new b23usiness, so Hiram had to go along with them,” she recounted. “I was mighty surprised at how outspoken folks got after Gabe Glick preached a sermon on the consequences of doin’ what ya please rather than listenin’ to God and actin’ toward the higher gut for everyone involved.”

  “Bet Hiram wasn’t too happy about that.” Rebecca sipped her coffee and broke off a chunk of apple coffee cake from the tray on the kitchen counter. “Mmmm! Mamma, ya make the best goodies on this Earth, you know it?”

  And wasn’t it a fine thing that this child, raised by other parents, seemed so at home in her kitchen? Miriam hugged her close. “Let’s don’t let talk of the bishop spoil our day. Rachel’s been waitin’ a long time to be Micah’s bride—and I hear feet hittin’ the floor upstairs. Shall we go see your sisters?”

  Miriam put two more mugs of coffee on her tray and preceded Rebecca past the rows of wooden pew benches that filled most of the house’s main level. Up the stairs they went, to the adjoining bedrooms Rachel and Rhoda had slept in all their lives . . . but that would change today.

  Last week she and the girls had painted the bigger bedroom farthest down the hall for Rachel and Micah . . . and what a bittersweet day that had been, preparing for Rachel to become the woman of this house. Micah had handcrafted a beautiful walnut bed, two nightstands, and a dresser as his wedding present to her. Miriam had completed the top of the Dresden Plate quilt she’d been piecing together these past several months, and now that Eva and Priscilla Schrock had hand-quilted it, the new coverlet graced the bed. So the room, simple yet beautiful, awaited the newlyweds.

  Rhoda had redded up one of the other rooms in preparation for Ben’s aunts, too. And right now Miriam’s sister Deborah and her husband, Wilmer, slept there; her sister Lovinia and her husband, Mose, had a room; her sister Mattie and her husband, Paul, had a room; and all the cousins were bunking over at Leah’s house. Miriam had kept the room she’d shared with Jesse, so at least that hadn’t changed.

  “So Ben hasn’t made it back with his brothers?”

  Miriam came out of her woolgathering, smiling at the playful tone of Rebecca’s question. “He called to say they were havin’ one problem after another—nails in trailer tires and such,” she replied. “But he’ll get here today, whenever he can. Probably not for the wedding ceremony, though.”

  “I bet he’s disappointed about that. Like you are.”

  When Rebecca slipped an arm around her shoulders, Miriam forgot her fretting over Ben. Weren’t there plenty of reasons to rejoice on this day? And her daughters were the three best ones.

  Miriam poked her head into Rachel’s room and then laughed. The bed was a mess and two nightgowns lay on the plank floor, but the bride had put on her new royal-blue dress and crisp white apron, eager to wear the special clothing she and Rhoda had made a few weeks ago.

  “Gut mornin’, Mamma! And Rebecca, too!” Rachel
chirped as she tied her new black high-top shoes. “And ya brought up breakfast? Now this is a big day!”

  Rhoda came in from the bathroom then, wearing a dress and apron identical to Rachel’s. “Jah, we’re all up before the sun, ready to shine with our own light! Batteries not included—or needed!” With a wide grin, she handed Rebecca her blue dress. “We’ll help ya pin that on, and pin your hair back for ya, if ya want.”

  “Let’s see how I do,” Rebecca replied.

  Miriam slipped into her own room to put on the new magenta dress the girls had made for her. How blessed she was that her daughters were talented in so many ways; so generous and loving. After she pinned the front of the dress, she fastened her V-shaped cape at the small of her back and brought its two halves over her shoulders to pin them at her waist. Her black cape and apron signified that she’d reached forty; no longer a sign that she was in mourning for Jesse, although more than once this past week she’d wished her husband were here to watch this important rite of passage for their dear daughter.

  As she reached for her brush, Miriam wondered if Ben would mind the silvery strands mixed into the dark brown hair that fell past her hips—or was it inappropriate to think about him in this bedroom she’d shared with Jesse? She quickly wound her hair into a bun, pinned it into place, and put on a fresh white kapp. No sense in letting her thoughts stray, as this day would require her most focused thinking; she had to get through all the details of church and the big dinner afterwards, with upwards of two hundred family members and friends coming.

  When she returned to Rachel’s room, Rebecca stood between her sisters, allowing them to pin the Plain dress. Over her shoulders went the blue cape . . . then the white apron, which Rachel pinned in the back. Rebecca wore no makeup today, out of respect for her family, and when her white kapp covered her shorter hair, she turned around.

  Oh, Jesse, what you’re missin’ right now, Miriam thought as she blinked back tears. The triplets linked elbows, and when Rachel and Rhoda extended their arms to her, Miriam stepped into that warm, sweet circle they’d shared far more often since the man of the Lantz family had passed. Miriam knew it wasn’t this way in most Plain families, even where the mother and her daughters were close. But today more than ever she craved this physical sign of love and . . . belonging. Where would any one of them be without the other?

  Rachel’s eyes were shining, crystal blue. “Family . . . fer gut and forever—no matter how the names may change,” she murmured.

  “Family, fer gut and forever,” they all repeated, huddling until their foreheads met. For a shimmering moment the world around them went still. The people they would see and the food they would serve didn’t exist: it was the four of them, as solid as the posts on the walnut bed Micah had made, standing to celebrate their love before Rachel entered into another kind of life altogether—knowing that even then, they would have each other. Always.

  “Well now,” Miriam whispered. “Everybody’ll be up soon. Let’s go downstairs to help your cousins with their breakfast and be ready to meet who-all’s comin’. And let’s promise each other that no matter what the bishop might do or say, this is your day, Rachel. And we’ll all remember it with the special love we’re feelin’ right now, in these quiet moments in this fine old house.”

  As Ted’s pickup rounded the curve on the county highway, Ben’s heart thrummed: the Sweet Seasons, the smithy, and the big white home back off the road were such a welcome sight! He leaned forward, gazing eagerly at a place he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much these past few days. Although a sign that said CLOSED FOR RACHEL & MICAH’S WEDDING was across the front door, folks bustled in the kitchen as they prepared the feast.

  Their driver, too, was gawking. “Wow, judging from all the carriages and tipped-up buggies, there must be a hundred people here!”

  “Closer to two hundred, if all of Miriam and Jesse Lantz’s kin made it.” Ben and his brothers stepped out of the truck, happy to be on solid ground . . . and in the place they’d soon be calling home. They smoothed the black trousers and vests they’d put on early this morning to be properly dressed for the day. “That’s the final hymn of the wedding comin’ from the house, but we’re in time to eat. You and Gregg are welcome to join us,” he offered. “There’ll be plenty of food, and it’ll be the best stuff ya ever put in your mouths.”

  Gregg came over from his van, followed by Aunt Nazareth and Aunt Jerusalem. “That’s the last hymn they’re singin’,” Nazareth confirmed with a nod. “But we got here in time to help with the dinner, anyway.”

  “It’ll be in that woodworkin’ shop over there,” Ben said, gesturing to the large metal building on the next spread. “That’s where Micah Brenneman’ll be workin’ on the mill for ya, and his family lives in that house up the way. His mamm, Naomi, cooks with Miriam in her café and she’s in charge of the food today,” he explained. “No doubt they’ve been hard at it since before the sun even thought of comin’ up, usin’ the café kitchen’s ovens and dishwasher and what-all.”

  “How nice that the two families live so close.” Aunt Nazareth gazed around, taking in Miriam’s extensive plowed gardens, the orchard, and the distant trees growing along the river. “What a lovely place! As green as Pennsylvania, but a little more rugged.”

  “Not every inch of it cultivated or given over to shops,” Aunt Jerusalem remarked with a decisive nod. “I can see why Bennie thinks it’s gonna be just the right place for a mill.”

  “Jah, I’m likin’ the looks of it, too.” Luke stretched wearily, yet his smile was wide as he retucked his white shirt. “Ira, we just made it to the promised land, buddy! How about you settle up with Ted while I tether the horses? Best to get the livestock watered before folks come out from the service.”

  Ben nodded, relieved that everyone felt the same immediate liking for this place that he had. As they’d crossed through central Missouri, his brothers had admired the gentle roll of the hills and the farmsteads sprinkled with cattle, silos, and modest homes. If they could look past the way a certain bishop might behave . . .

  But Ben set aside his concerns about Hiram Knepp. If the bishop had nixed their plans while he was fetching his brothers, Derek Shotwell would still find a way to get the mill built. Ben turned to the two English drivers, who were discussing where Ted might stay the night before he started back to Lancaster. “I was serious, sayin’ you fellas can stay for dinner.”

  Ted’s eyes widened. “But I don’t even know these people! I’d hate to intrude.”

  “Miriam Lantz and Naomi Brenneman cook for hundreds of folks every day,” Gregg said with a laugh. “They’ll be so glad you helped these Hooley boys get here, feeding you will be their pleasure. I’ll be on my way, though. I live just down the road, and the wife’s been expecting me.”

  Ben and his aunts thanked him, waving as Gregg pulled out of the lot. Ted had punched a few buttons on his phone to find a motel, so he drove off down the country blacktop a few minutes later.

  With a tired but happy sigh, Ben strode to the back of the horse trailer to assist his aunts: as maidels well into their fifties, they didn’t wait around for a man to take care of things. “Keep those little critters corralled in the trailer while I set up the pen over here in the grass,” he said over the noise of their bleating.

  Aunt Jerusalem and her sister stepped carefully inside the long metal trailer, holding their skirts out to their sides to form a barricade. “Jah, you little kids just stay put a few minutes more,” Aunt Nazareth baby-talked. “Bennie’s gonna set ya up with the best grass you’ve seen for days.”

  As Ben grabbed the wooden framework of the portable pen, he chuckled to himself. His brothers had protested, saying four little goats would be more bother than they were worth on the long trip, but Ben’s faith in his dat’s sisters had prevailed. Knowing Aunt Jerusalem and Aunt Nazareth, they had discussed their plan for these feisty Alpines, and within a few hours they would either win the day . . . or he’d be finding the little kids a
nother home.

  He arranged the hinged sections of the pen against the side of the smithy, where the grass was thickest, forming an enclosure by hooking the sections together. A few minutes later the four little goats were trotting around inside it, wagging their tails, as his aunts grinned at them from outside the pen.

  “Be gut little goats, now,” Aunt Jerusalem instructed them.

  “Jah, no jumpin’ the fence or buttin’ in on the dinner,” Aunt Nazareth added with a laugh.

  A loud, ecstatic whoopee! made Ben look toward the house. Sure enough, the Knepp twins and Sara had burst out the door ahead of the rest of the wedding guests. “Well, there they are. That’s Joey, Josh, and Sara Knepp, the bishop’s kids.”

  Aunt Jerusalem’s hands went to her hips in the gesture he’d known all his life. She assessed them, standing beside her sister. “Puh! After keepin’ you three wild colts coralled years ago, I don’t see much problem handlin’ these little whippersnappers.”

  “Jah, bishops’ kids tend to be ornerier than most,” Aunt Nazareth added as she watched the twins box at each other. “But over our years of teachin’ at the schoolhouse, we haven’t met one yet who didn’t see the light.”

  “And every one of them joined the church, too,” her sister added. “No slackers. No backslidin’ into heathen or English ways.”

  Ben smiled. Well he recalled how these two aunts had corrected him, Ira, and Luke at school—and had then reported to their parents so the discipline would continue after they got home. His dat’s sisters had steered many a potentially wayward soul along a higher path, which was precisely why he’d encouraged Nazareth and Jerusalem Hooley to come along for a visit.