The Haven

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Now that really got M.K.’s goat. A person could only take so much, especially from the likes of Jimmy Fisher.

  Mary Kate pointed a finger at his chest. “You. Me. Your worthless gelding. My sleek filly. From here to Blue Lake Pond and back again.” She glanced at the store. She needed to get back in time before Sadie came out.

  Jimmy perked up. “Now?”

  “Now.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Unless, of course, you need some practice.”

  “Me and my gelding, we don’t need any practice,” he shot back. “What’s at stake?”

  “When I win, you will keep your mouth shut about anything that has to do with the Lapp family.”

  “And when I win?”

  M.K. narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t thought this through. Then a brilliant thought bubbled to the front and the corners of her mouth curled up in a devilish grin. “I won’t tell anyone that you were the one who let Jake Hostetler’s bull out.”

  Jimmy’s mouth opened wide in outrage. Clapped shut. “I never did!”

  “That’s a big lie, Jimmy Fisher, and it’ll only get bigger.”

  The bull breakout had been the talk of the town for a week. Jake Hostetler’s bull had broken through two neighbors’ fences to get to the Masts’ dairy farm. It had taken eight men over two hours to get all of the Masts’ cows gathered and contained and Jake’s bull back home. The Masts were not entirely unhappy about the outcome as they had a prize sire visit their farm without the usual stud fees, but Jake Hostetler was furious. “The Masts sure would like to know who got their cows all stirred up and crazy with desire.” She lifted her voice and carefully enunciated the word desire, just to rub it in.

  Jimmy’s eyes shifted to shifty. She was getting nearer the truth, never a short trip.

  “On. The. Sabbath.”

  Jimmy’s ears burned like fire, and his broad shoulders slumped. So she was right! She wasn’t entirely sure it was Jimmy who had started the mischief, but she had a strong suspicion. She wondered if the pressures of life had unhinged his mind. Even at the best of times, his mind hung by a single, rusty hinge.

  He glared at her. “Down to Blue Lake Pond and back again.”

  She gave a short jerk of her head.

  Jimmy ran back to his buggy and hopped in. They lined up the horses, side by side, at the edge of the Bent N’ Dent parking lot. “Ready?” he said, watching M.K. from the corner of his eye. She was doing the same.

  The horses quickly surmised that something was up. Their ears, cocked forward, were sharpened to a point. They were retired racehorses and knew the drill. Cayenne pawed at the ground with her right front hoof.

  M.K. made sure she had the reins tightly held. She looked for traffic and saw no car in sight, either direction. “Go!” she shouted, and her mare hurtled into action. Jimmy slapped his reins on his gelding’s rump and his buggy lunged forward.

  The race was on and they were off.

  Sadie walked out of the store just in time to see the backs of two buggies kick up dust as they thundered down the road. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Through the window, as she had paid for her groceries, she had seen Jimmy Fisher buzzing around M.K. She sighed and reviewed her options. This might be a blessing in disguise. She wanted to go do a little sleuthing that didn’t involve her little sister’s nose for news. She put her groceries on a bench, told the clerk that she’d be back soon, and hurried down the road. She cut through one field and came out on a seldom-traveled lane that led to a run-down old farm. At least, it looked run-down to someone from the Old Order Amish, who took pride in the upkeep of their farms even though they weren’t supposed to be prideful. This farm belonged to an elderly Swartzentruber man. He lived there with his granddaughter, Annie.

  As Sadie approached the house, she saw it looked even worse than a year ago, the last time she had been here to visit Annie. An old house without a speck of paint stood set back from the dirt lane. A few outbuildings had caved in, and the privy stood at an angle. A handful of scrawny chickens pecked dirt. The big shade tree in front of the house had just leafed out and made shadowy patterns. The yard wasn’t mowed. Even in full daylight, the place had an eerie feel to it, a little like a graveyard when you’re all alone, and you could almost feel ghosts lurking about, even though Sadie didn’t believe in ghosts.

  A skinny, pathetic-looking yellow dog let out a halfhearted “woof!” as Sadie walked along. The dog cocked its head, then came forward cautiously to sniff her. Sadie went down on one knee.

  “Where did you come from, big guy?” Sadie held out her hand, palm up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been eaten up by a bear.” She ran her hand along the dog’s side. “Your ribs are poking through. How long since you’ve eaten?” The dog sauntered off to lie in the shade.

  Sadie hadn’t noticed an old man sitting in a chair on the porch, slumped, with his jaw dropped. He could be dead. He could be a dead body somebody left here. But then something made him stir, maybe the dog’s gentle woof. His eyes opened, and he looked up under his worn black hat, then yanked it off to have a better look at her. He was as bald as an egg and needed a shave. His neck shrank back from the collar on his shirt. He was looking at Sadie like he thought he knew her. Sadie’s mind whirled. She wanted to run away, but she had to see this through.

  “THERE YOU ARE. I WANT MY DINNER.” The old man’s jaw wobbled as he spoke, and Sadie could see there was not a tooth in his head. He had an unusually loud voice for such a withered old man. The old man squinted at her over his glasses. “I WANT MY SUPPER IS WHAT I WANT.” He looked around the front yard. “ANNIE, I’M HUNGRY. IT’S PAST SUPPERTIME.”

  Now Sadie was up on the porch, gripping the post. She was Annie, and he wanted his supper, and she didn’t know what to do. “I’m not Annie. I’m Sadie. SADIE LAPP. NOT ANNIE.”

  The old man’s eyes were just watery slits now, and he was getting really excited. A big cane was tucked behind his chair. The old man thrashed around in his chair, looking for his cane, and she wanted to keep out of its range.

  The yellow dog gave out another feeble woof. Sadie looked at it again. Something dawned on her—this was the puppy her brother Menno had given to Annie a year or so ago, now full grown. The realization made her sad. Menno took pride in his pups’ well-being.

  “WHEN IS ANNIE COMING HOME?”

  “I’M HUNGRY. I WANT MY DINNER.”

  “WHEN WILL ANNIE COME HOME TO MAKE YOUR DINNER?”

  “YOU’RE ANNIE AND I’M HALF-STARVED.”

  “I’M NOT ANNIE. I’M SADIE LAPP. HOW LONG HAS SHE BEEN GONE?”

  “WHAT?”

  “HOW LONG HAS ANNIE BEEN GONE?”

  He blinked at her a number of times, like a fog was lifting. “DON’T YOU HAVE SOMEPLACE YOU NEED TO BE?”

  He had a point. It was definitely time to get going. Sadie was in new territory here, but she knew where she wanted to go next. She had to try one more time. “I’LL GET YOUR DINNER FOR YOU.”

  The old man brightened.

  Sadie walked up to the porch, expecting the old man to tell her to leave, but he seemed to be delighted to have someone solve his immediate problem. She slipped into the house and found the kitchen. The furnishings were sparse. Bare necessities only. It worried her to see what little food was in the house.

  She didn’t know much about this tiny Swartzentruber colony. They seldom interacted with Sadie’s church, but she would have thought they’d be looking out for this old man. She found some bread, peanut butter, and jam, made a sandwich for him, filled a glass of milk—sniffed it first to make sure it hadn’t gone sour—and found a small tray to take it out to him. She peeked out the window and saw he had his eyes closed. She put the tray down and looked around the room. Emboldened, she went down the hallway, opened a door, and poked her head in. It must be the old man’s room, because it was dark and smelled musty. Then she looked into another room, tiptoeing in as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Something familiar caught her eye and she bent down t
o examine it.

  So this was it.

  The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding whooshed out of her.

  “WHERE’S MY DINNER?” sailed through the open window from the front porch.

  Sadie closed the door to the bedroom and picked up the tray with the sandwich and glass of milk in the kitchen. She hurried outside and handed the plate to the old man before he could rise from the chair. “Perhaps it’s time to be running along,” she said in a loud and strange voice. “GOING.” She waved goodbye to make her point.

  The old man was gumming the sandwich and didn’t even look up. The yellow dog followed Sadie down the path to the road, despite her efforts to shoo him home. Finally, she turned and tried to drag the dog back to the old man, but the dog sat back on its heels and wouldn’t budge.

  “TAKE IT!” the old man yelled. “THAT DOG IS A DOOZY. I DON’T WANT IT.”

  Sadie walked back through the fields to the Bent N’ Dent, deep in thought, with the yellow dog trailing behind her. When she arrived at the store, Mary Kate was waiting for her with an odd look on her face and a very lathered-up buggy horse. She waved to Sadie to hurry. “Maybe we’d better skip the basketmaker today and get on home.”

  Sadie opened the buggy door and let the yellow dog jump in. M.K. seemed so distracted, she didn’t even look twice at the dog. Sadie barely shut the door as M.K. slapped the horse’s rump with the reins and headed home. Sadie watched her for a while, amused by the tense look on M.K.’s face.

  “What happened to Jimmy?” Sadie finally asked.

  Eyes straight forward, M.K. said, “Jimmy who?”

  “M.K., he’s not bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere, is he?”

  M.K. flashed her a look of disgust. “No!” But she wouldn’t offer another word.

  M.K. was always up to something and Sadie wondered what. She had this urge—just a slight one—to grab her little sister by the ankles and dangle her over the side of the buggy until she started talking.

  As they pulled up to the barn at Windmill Farm—in record time, Sadie noted—Fern walked out of the house to meet them with a crying baby in her arms. M.K. rushed to get the horse out of its shafts. She waved Fern’s questioning glance off. “Got to take care of the horse, Fern,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked the horse down the hill to cool it off before returning it to the barn. Fern turned to Sadie with a question in her eyes.

  Sadie shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure what happened, but it had something to do with Jimmy Fisher.”

  Fern, who had heard all this before, released an effluvial sigh. “It always has something to do with that boy. Those two are like oil and vinegar.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to my impatiens?”

  Sadie’s attention was suddenly riveted to the sky, where the male falcon, the one Will called Adam, soared above them. The baby let out another big wail and Fern passed him off to Sadie. “He’s fed, he’s dry, and he keeps on crying.” She cocked her head. “And where are the groceries?”

  Sadie smacked her own forehead. “Oh. Oh no! I left them at the store.”

  Fern looked at her as if she might have a screw loose.

  The yellow dog leaped out of the backseat of the buggy and jumped up on Fern, drenching her face with wet licks. Fern pushed it off and walked back to the house, muttering away about how it was easier just to do things herself.

  7

  Sunrise would stir Will in just moments, and he could hardly lift his head off the pillow. Every single muscle in his body ached from the farmwork he had been doing. It was backbreaking work, day after day. It was the best time of his life.

  On a Saturday morning, he knew there would be plenty of bird-watchers lined up with their scopes to watch his birds. His birds. He was already thinking they belonged to him. He felt oddly protective toward them. It started when he named them Adam and Eve. He stuck his stocking feet in his boots and looked around for his binoculars. He had just moved in a day or so ago, and the cottage was already a mess. Clothes were strewn all over. Some groceries he had bought were still on the kitchen table, next to a banana peel and a half-eaten piece of wheat toast, and a dirty napkin. He frowned, looking around the room. He really was a slob. He drank milk and orange juice from the carton. He dipped his toast in the peanut butter jar. He left the cap off the toothpaste and squeezed it in the middle. He didn’t pick up his socks or make his bed. Why bother? He was just getting back into it tonight.

  He finally found his binoculars under a newspaper, and grabbed a granola bar out of a box to stave off hunger. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to manage cooking for himself. Not that he had much experience with cooking in the first place, but he sure couldn’t figure out the appliances in the kitchen. Where were the wall switches? And he still had to learn how to light the kerosene lamp. He tried again and again last night, went through a box of matches, and finally gave up and went to sleep. But he liked this little cottage. It was simple living at its best. As he lay in the snug bed last night, covered in homemade quilts, he could have sworn he smelled a faint scent of beeswax, infused in the walls. The scent was very homey and appealing.

  He jammed his hat on his head and hurried outside to scan the sky. Adam and Eve were already up, soaring over the creek bed that wove through Windmill Farm. He watched Eve—the larger of the two—soar high and key in on something down below. He watched her virtually stop in the air, then dive straight down as if she was heading right into the water, only to make a last-minute turn and soar back up to the sky with a small bird in her talons. Effortless! Will kept his eyes trained on her. Just as he expected, she flew to a nearby place on the ground and tore the bird to pieces, quickly swallowing them. The falcons were vulnerable on the ground and preferred to spend as little time there as possible. They have a special pouch in their throats to hold food. It would be digested later, when Eve was safely in her scape.

  Adam flew over a field and caught a small bird in the air. He disappeared into a treetop. Will noticed a group of bird-watchers had just arrived and were setting up their telescopes. He walked over to politely remind them to stay off the property. He wasn’t too worried about this crowd—anyone who set an alarm for predawn to watch a bird catch his breakfast was a pretty tame type. It was the feeding at dusk that seemed to bring out a rowdier crowd.

  Eve flew back to the scape, which Will thought was indicative of impending motherhood. He followed Adam’s flight path and ended up passing the farmhouse. Sadie was out on the porch, filling a bird feeder with sunflower seeds. He’d never seen so many bird feeders or birdhouses at one home. It was a regular feeding station. Tall purple martin houses, stacked like condominiums, lined the far end of the driveway. Hollowed-out gourds hung from the limbs of a large maple tree in the front yard. Small wooden birdhouses sat on tall poles. If a bird were smart enough to get to Windmill Farm, it would find plenty of food and shelter.

  “Mornin’,” Will called out. “Your birds sure are regular customers. I thought I saw someone filling up that feeder just yesterday.”

  “Well, it’s springtime,” she said.

  “You must spend a fortune on birdseed.”

  “Not at all. We grow dozens and dozens of sunflowers along the back side of the vegetable garden.” She put the container of seeds on the ground. “Have you ever noticed how much birdsong there is, so early in the morning?”

  “The race to reproduction,” Will said professorially, as he watched her replace the top on the feeder.

  Sadie’s face went a shade of crimson.

  Will tried hard, without success, not to smile at her modesty.

  “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet on a Saturday,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us for breakfast. That is, if you haven’t eaten yet.” She stammered her request in embarrassed politeness, then finally looked up at him with an almost mortified expression on her face.

  How could he refuse?

  But he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought about being invited over so soon.
Or so early in the morning. The effects of the granola bar had worn off long ago and his stomach was growling. “Well, sure . . . I guess so. I don’t usually eat much breakfast, though, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of strong coffee.”

  A shy smile curled Sadie’s lips. “Oh, wait until you try a cup of Fern’s coffee. She’s known for her good cooking.” She took the broom that was resting on the porch rail and swung it at a few curled brown leaves along the stairs. Swish, swish. “We figured you might be having some trouble figuring out how to live without electricity. You’ll have to be sure to let us know if you need anything.”

  The broom was still swishing. Will found himself watching her. She reached up to her forehead and tucked a wisp of hair back under her prayer cap, then positioned herself again like a golfer at the driving range. She was a careful sweeper, going all the way to the edges. What a serious, methodical little person she was. He wondered what she did for fun.

  She stopped abruptly and straightened up when she noticed he was observing her. “The problem with sunflower seeds is that the hulls make a mess.” Then she went down the steps and out in the yard to fill a bluebird feeder. A dinner plate with a hole drilled into it was positioned on the pole under the feeder to deter squirrels. Pretty clever, Will thought, but the feeder itself was a sorry excuse; the roof was rotting and the pole was leaning over precariously as if it would topple right over if a crow or blue jay landed on it. She needed a new one. Maybe he should get her one after his time at Windmill Farm came to an end, a parting gift. But by then she might know what he had been up to, and she might not want a bird feeder or anything else from him.

  But he had nothing to worry about, he told himself again. He kept reminding himself of that. What he was doing wasn’t wrong. Not wrong at all. In fact, you could say it was very right. A good thing to do. A win-win.

  Wonderful aromas greeted his nose as he stepped up on the porch. He was even hungrier than he had thought. The kitchen door began to swing open slowly, with a squeak as if its hinges needed oil. Then he saw a face peering around the edge at him—the woman who looked like a middle-aged version of Katharine Hepburn. His first impression was that she was scowling at him, but when he looked more closely, he saw that she was merely looking him over and sizing him up. She seemed as lovable as a mountain thistle. They stood there looking at each other for a moment, and then he heard Amos’s voice from behind her.