Bishop Aaron shook his head. "Not so gut."
As familiar with Nick as he was, Sol didn't think one iota less of the bishop for voicing this.
"The whole situation really wore on me yesterday. So much so that I crept into Nick's room last night ... stood there in the dark at the foot of his bed," Aaron said. "A terrible temptation came over me - one I'd never experienced before."
"Oh?"
"It was all I could do to keep from going over there, while he lay sound asleep, and cutting that scandalous ponytail off his head!"
Sol was downright startled. Bishop Aaron had always seemed to be a tolerant father. "How'd ya keep from doin' it?" he asked.
"Gritted my teeth, that's what ... and turned away from the pull of righteous indignation." The bishop's face was stern.
"What would cuttin' off Nick's long hair accomplish?"
The bishop nodded slowly and tugged on his suspenders. "That's just what I asked myself in bed later. What gut would it do?"
Sol thought on that. "You've always treated Nick as your own."
Bishop looked at him askance. "Well, how else would I treat a boy who's been with us all these years?" Then, with a thoughtful sigh, he added, "Who the Lord handpicked to come here ... and who I'd always hoped to adopt."
Solomon felt sorry he'd uttered a word.
Scuffing his feet on the woodshop floor, Aaron admitted it wasn't easy to live with such a defiant boy.
Pulling his pencil from behind his ear, Sol asked, "You ever ask Nick to cut his hair, in accordance with the Ordnung?"
"Oh, more times than I can count."
"Well, what's he say?"
"Nothin' ... just shrugs and keeps on working."
"What if Barbara asked him?"
Aaron frowned. "I'm tryin' to keep the stress off her. But my daughters have teased and tormented Nick something awful over his `Samson locks.'"
Sol shook his head. "I guess I'm with you, then - I would've wanted to cut his ponytail off, too."
The man of God let out a restrained chuckle, and they both returned to figuring up how much manure they'd need, planning to divide the expense of having it hauled in on a manure spreader to make quick work of the chore once it arrived.
An hour before supper, Hen surprised Rose with yet another visit. As she walked with Nick across the baryard, Rose's legs felt sluggish from sweeping and redding up the barn.
"See ya tomorrow," she told Nick, who'd spotted Hen's car.
He nodded abruptly and scooted off toward the grazing land without saying more.
Immediately Rose looked for Mattie Sue, but this time Hen was alone. It was actually startling to see her sister here again. Shouldn't she be at home cooking?
But then Rose remembered "mother's day out," or so Hen called the days Mattie spent with her little English friend. "Hullo, sister," she called, lifting the barnyard gate and going toward the backyard. She waited for Hen to make her way to the sidewalk.
"You look all in, Rose."
She gave a little laugh. "Almost said the same'bout you." She motioned to the screened-in porch. "Can ya sit awhile?"
Hen dropped her purse on the wood floor and sat down with a sigh. "Might do me some good."
Rose pulled a wooden chair over next to Hen's.
"How's Mom?" asked Hen.
"Still restin', hoping to knock this cold. Mammi Sylvia has an ear out for her."
"I hope she's feeling better soon." Hen picked at her floral print skirt, like the ones the Mennonite girls up at the Bart general store sewed for themselves. "Maybe you won't know what I mean if I say this, but do you ever wish you could relive your life?" Hen leaned back against the chair. "Do you ever have regrets?"
"What sort of regrets?"
"Do you wish you could go back and make different choices?"
Rose was surprised, but she considered the question for a moment, and thought of Mamm ... and the day of the accident. "Jah, I guess I do, sometimes." No, all the time. She caught Hen's eye. "What about you? Do you ever regret marrying Brandon?"
"Well, no ... we wouldn't have Mattie Sue if I hadn't."
Rose noticed a glint in Hen's eye. Something was amiss. "Are you all right, Hen?"
Her sister wore a sudden frown. "No need to tell Mom any of this. Promise?"
"Any of what?"
"Just what I said."
Rose couldn't understand why she was being asked to promise, but because she knew Hen very well, she suspected her sister must be struggling with something. Hopefully it's not about her and Brandon! The thought made her awful sad.
"I'm planning to make an Amish dress for Mattie Sue," Hen said quietly.
"Why?"
"And I've been teaching her a few words in Deitsch, too." Hen glanced over her shoulder tentatively. "It's time for Mattie Sue to know more about her Plain heritage."
Rose did not understand this new talk whatsoever. She had observed through the years of her sister's marriage that Brandon was determined to keep Amish ways out of their home and life. And besides, the People were always saying that once a person left, the world swallowed them up. Yet if that was so, why was Hen coming back to visit so often?
Hen grimaced faintly. "Oh, Rosie, my daughter's missing out on so many of the old traditions."
Rose Ann hardly knew what to say. Wasn't that the reason for marrying an Englischer?
"I just can't figure out how to mix the Plain ways with the modern. It's so hard." Her sister's voice cracked.
Rose lightly touched Hen's wrist. But you didn't want anything to do with our ways....
They sat there silently looking at the barn, where the bishop and his son, Christian - and Dat, too - were going in and out of the sliding wooden door. A heavy feeling pervaded the atmosphere, and Rose hoped Hen wasn't going to get herself into hot water with her husband.
After a moment, Hen leaned forward and clasped her knees through her long skirt, linking her fingers. "If I tell you something, will you keep it mum?" She looked at Rose.
"Two promises in two minutes?"
"I'm simply asking you to keep everything we've just talked about private. That's all."
Rose tried to absorb the seriousness in Hen's eyes.
"I need to tell you this, sister to sister," Hen said. "Do I have your word?"
It was easy to say she'd be silent about something and quite another to remember what she'd promised. With a sister like Hen, Rose had often had to keep track of what was a secret and what wasn't. "Of course you do," she said at last.
Hen's face beamed, like she was ever so relieved. "I did something today I've wanted to do for quite a while."
Rose braced herself.
"I filled out a job application."
"You did what?"
Her sister nodded happily. "I'm holding my breath I'll get the job."
Rose groaned. She felt she knew where this was going.
"And I'll be expected to put my hair in a bun when I work."
"You want to work at an Amish store?"
"Rachel's Fabrics."
What does it mean? Rose's heart was torn.
Hen continued. "Rachel wants me to look Plain, which shouldn't be too hard, right? After all, I am."
"Will you start talking Deitsch again, too?" Rose gave a nervous laugh, not sure she wanted to know all that Hen was up to.
"I feel desperate, Rosie. I really miss the old life ... and my family." Her sister smiled sadly and looked down. "You have no idea."
"Oh, Hen."
The silence hung in the air. So her worldly sister had finally woken up and realized she'd made a terrible mistake.
"I'm hopin' you might be able to help with Mattie Sue ... if I get the job, I mean."
Rose didn't see how she could take on more responsibility, but she loved her sister's little girl and felt sorry she'd had no choice in being raised English. "Just remember I'm busy in the afternoons, and Wednesday mornings, too."
"I know Mom and Dad need you to help around here - and you'r
e working at Mr. Browning's. Certainly I don't expect you to adjust your work schedule to baby-sit Mattie Sue."
"I'll do what I can." That is if Brandon lets you take the job.
Hen waved her hand casually. "Or ... maybe one of our sistersin-law might be a better choice."
Rose immediately thought of Josh's wife. "Kate's home all day with her three girls. Maybe between Kate and me, something can work out."
Hen paused and glanced toward the pastureland. "I'm determined to pull this off, Rose."
You always do what you set your mind to....
The sound of songbirds was thick in a nearby tree, and Rose tilted her head to watch them, feeling a bit awkward. Hen had come here to bare her soul.
They sat quietly and observed their father talking with the bishop and Christian near the entrance to his woodshop. Nick had returned - Rose hadn't noticed when - and glanced their way. Hen looked at Rose, seemingly nervous. "Is Nick eavesdropping on us?"
Rose almost made an excuse for him, but she kept still. Maybe he was eavesdropping.
Hen kept her voice to a near whisper. "You mustn't think poorly of me, Rosie. Please don't."
Rose looked at her sister. "Ach, my mind's just a-spinnin' - I can't help it."
The distinctive sound of a horse's hooves on the road was the perfect background to Hen's peculiar news. What Hen had told her about wanting to work at the Amish fabric store was the very last thing Rose had expected to hear from the sister who'd shunned her own people and upbringing to marry the English boy she loved.
"You and I both know what Brandon will say when you tell him," Rose ventured.
"Well, I'll have to sometime." Hen fussed with her plainlooking skirt, flicking off imaginary bits of lint.
"Your husband despises your Amish roots," Rose whispered, a lump in her throat. "You know that as well as anyone."
Wednesday morning Rose didn't have to wait around for her grayhaired grandmother to arrive from the larger of the two Dawdi Hauses next door. Mammi Sylvia came right over and began making blueberry muffins and scrambled egg and cheese sandwiches. Mamm smiled broadly, since she loved this kind of breakfast.
Mammi Sylvia took Mamm's smooth hands in hers, like Mamm was just a child, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. At times the way she treated Mamm made Rose wonder if she thought Mamm had regressed in her mind.
"You feeling up to hot cocoa with your breakfast, Emma?" Mammi asked.
Mamm's eyes lit up. "With some whipped cream?"
Rose had to smile. "And a cherry on top of that, jah?"
Mamm turned and nodded her head. "Sweets on sweet, I always say."
"Which reminds me, we should be Navin' more snitz pie." Mammi Sylvia went to the pantry and opened the door, peering inside. "Looks to me like you're nearly out of sugar."
"You need me to get some?" Rose offered.
"No, no." Mammi waved her hand. "I've got extra next door."
Having her mother's parents living on the other side of the wall from the main house was as handy as all get-out.
She eyed the wicker basket next to Mamm's wheelchair and thought of the market baskets and other items, including the tin money box, lost to the ravine the day the buggy tipped over and rolled. Sometimes, when Rose thought of it, she had to keep from marching down there in broad daylight to scour the craggy creek area. Surely Mamm's old tin was still sitting deep in there somewhere.
After a delicious, filling breakfast, Rose took the family buggy to Mr. Browning's, at her father's urging. She was hesitant to inconvenience Dat in any way. Mamm, of course, could ride with her mother anywhere she needed to go, if necessary, although it was doubtful Mamm would be going anywhere today. Rose knew Mamm was still hoping to attend Friday's birthday get-together for Mamm's older sister Malinda. All of them - Mammi Sylvia, Rose, and Mamm - were going up to Bart for some birthday cake and ice cream, and Dutch Blitz, a lively card game they liked to play. And a mystery meal was also planned. Rose loved a good mystery - craved them nearly as much as the wholesome romance novels she liked to read.
When she arrived at Gilbert Browning's farmhouse, Rose tied Alfalfa to the hitching post still there from a former Amish homeowner. Any of their other horses might have balked at being tied to the post for long. But she knew she could go about her work and return to find Alfalfa contentedly nibbling on the grassy row near the lane.
The landscape seemed to pour over her as Rose took in the enormous cornfields in several directions. The little woodshed to the side of the house had been piled with newly split logs just since she began working there.
She studied the house with its three prominent dormer windows facing the road, wondering when the exterior had last been painted white. The fact that electricity had been installed at some point made the clapboard house, with its peeling front porch, more comfortable for Mr. Browning, who had to be in his late fifties if he was a day.
She nuzzled the horse and gave her a sugar cube. If Rose found she was needed longer, she would free her from the buggy, but that always took extra time. Last week, she'd cleaned the kitchen so thoroughly she knew she would be primarily cooking today. She hoped Mr. Browning or his neighbor had purchased everything on the grocery list she'd jotted down last time.
One thing for sure, the man had a fondness for meals with chicken as the main ingredient. He'd insisted she make him fried or baked chicken, chicken salad, and chicken casseroles with noodles or rice. He was a man of peculiar habits, having explained that his late wife liked to cook lots of chicken dishes for him. So, for now, chicken it was.
Rose made her way up the front steps, noting the sagging front porch railing. She wished someone would sand, prime, and paint the whole porch, because a good sprucing up was definitely needed.
She knocked on the door, noticing Donna Becker, Gilbert Browning's neighbor, across the yard, shaking throw rugs. Donna gave Rose a jovial wave.
"Come over before you leave today, all right?" the dark-haired woman called. For a moment Rose considered the Englischer, whom she guessed was in her midthirties. Certainly the woman was older than Hen.
Rose agreed, smiling and waving back. "Might be ten o'clock or later till I'm finished here."
"By then you'll be ready for some warm cookies," Donna said as her fluffy white Old English sheepdog, Farley, came out onto the back porch.
"I'll look forward to it. Denki!" Rose turned back to the house just as Mr. Browning called from inside. She said, "Good mornin' to ya," as she pushed the door open.
Usually, he came to the door when she knocked or rang the bell, but today he was quick to say he'd had a bad night and was tired. "I'll try to make it snappy, then," she told him, setting about to wash the many dishes.
"I don't mean it's necessary for you to hurry." He tapped his black pipe on the arm of his oak chair. "Take your time."
She again recalled the bishop's grandson's tale and wondered where in this house the frogs and dead fishes had been discovered after the flood. A quick glance at Mr. Browning, and she doubted he felt up to talking about such things just now. She could only imagine where the critters had shown up. If they had.
She looked in the refrigerator and was pleased to find the items she'd requested. The fridge had been organized and cleaned, which surprised her, as she hadn't done a thing to it last time she was there. The butter was located in its designated spot behind the small compartment in the door, and so were the fresh eggs, all lined up in a neat row. The spills she'd noted last time had been wiped clean, as well. Had the man taken time to straighten up?
When she'd gathered the thawed chicken breasts, butter, and milk onto the kitchen counter, she glanced toward the pantry. "Do ya like brown rice or white better?" she asked, not turning to look at him.
"Doesn't matter, Miss Rose. Whatever you want to cook."
Well, how about some pork chops or a nice juicy steak? She smiled at herself, knowing she'd never talk up to him that way.
A quick trip to the pantry, and Rose found both brown
and white rice on the shelves, along with several kinds of nuts, boxed cereals, and oatmeal. "Have you ever eaten homemade granola bars?" she asked, making small talk as she emerged. "I have a delicious recipe."
"What's in it?" he asked.
"Well, let's see - oats, Rice Krispies, marshmallows, and nuts, too. Oh, and sunflower seeds and coconut."
"Any peanut butter?" He suddenly looked chipper.
She smiled over her shoulder. "Yes, peanut butter and some honey, too."
"Sounds tasty."
"All right, then. I'll make up a nice batch for ya. You can nibble on them all week." First, though, she set to work making a large chicken casserole with brown rice to make it more filling to eat for several days. Next she mixed up the ingredients for the no-bake granola bars before readying his weekly dish of scalloped potatoes.
Once the side dish was in the oven, she cleaned the counters and the double sink. Then she swept and washed the kitchen floor, as well as the hallway that led to the first-floor bathroom.
After she had also scrubbed the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen to wash her hands. Looking over at Mr. Browning, she offered to dust and sweep in the small sitting room adjacent to the kitchen. It was the room behind the doorway where he always sat, like a guard. "Wouldn't you like more of the house cleaned today?" she asked, holding the broom and dustpan. "I'd be happy to."
"No, no ... and besides, the sitting room rarely gets used." He gave an uncomfortable chuckle.
Rose wasn't one to argue with a man, yet it was apparent the dust stood thick on the lamp table not but a few feet from Mr. Browning's chair. "Looks like the tables could use a good dusting, at least."
He stared back at her. "There's plenty to keep you busy in the kitchen," he said, a gruff edge to his words.
Backing away, she didn't understand why he expected her to clean only the kitchen and one small bath. "What about your bedding and linens? Don't you want them washed?" At home, every Monday morning without fail, she and her grandmother stripped the beds to wash up all the sheets and towels, and every stitch of clothing from the week, then hung them out to dry on the clothesline. She had no idea when Mr. Browning had last done his laundry.
The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy) Page 5