by Risner, Fay
“No, I don't think so. I can't do much walking. Bad knees you know, and I already did plenty of walking this morning when I helped Hal hang out all those clothes,” Tootie complained, rubbing her knees.
“Oh, pittle,” Nora said. “It would do you good to get a little exercise and some fresh air.”
Memory of the walk she enjoyed with Peter came back to Tootie. She remarked to Peter she needed to walk more. Maybe she refused Emma's offer too quickly.
Nora was saying, “If you get some exercise, you might rest better so the rest of us can sleep.”
Tootie thought about her restless nights. That was as good a reason to use as any to change her mind. She relented sheepishly, “All right. If you think a walk will help me sleep, I'll give it a try if we don't go too far.” She felt she had to add that part. There was just so much she was willing to do in the name of exercise.
“We will not go far,” Emma promised.
As they left the house, Emma heard Mammi Nora praise her. “Emma is as dependable as that rooster of hers that crows so loud at daylight to wake us up.”
They stopped for Daniel. The reel mower clacked noisily as he rushed by them on another round. The clippings sailed around them and on their shoes, putting the scent of new mowed grass in the air.
Tootie noticed the glinting copper pennies in the fly bags tacked by the door and windows. “What are all the bags filled with water and pennies are for?”
“The flies see their reflection in the water, and the sparkle the pennies make. They will not come past the bag to go in the doors or sit on the windows,” Emma said.
Tootie scoffed, “Does that really work?”
“Have you seen many flies in our house?”
Tootie thought a moment. “No, I guess I haven't.”
“So there you have it,” Emma said. “We can go this way and walk down the lane between the cornfield and the pasture. It is a pleasant walk.”
“If you say so,” Tootie said, pushing her lower lip out in a doubting pout.
“Look over that way. I hear Daed's tractor coming over the hill. He's planting corn with Dawdi Jim sitting on the fender of the tractor.” Emma shaded her eyes with her hand. Tootie did the same thing. When she saw Jim, Tootie waved, and Jim waved back.
Emma said. “I think our farm is one of the prettiest around. I love watching the animals with their young in the rolling pasture. Ahead of us is the hayfield, growing fast. Daed will have the seeds planted soon, and we will be able to row the corn when the plants come up.”
Tootie pointed at Noah hoeing in the cornfield. “What is Noah doing?”
“Along the fence at the field gate hole, Noah is planting pumpkin and squash that will vine into the corn. We sell what we raise in our roadside stand in the fall,” Emma explained.
“I see,” Tootie said as she stepped close to the opposite fence to look at the sheep, cattle and horses in the pasture. A pheasant burst out of the dead grass. With a great flapping rush, the bird soared away and lit beyond the grassy swells strewn with cedars and multiflora rose bushes. The elderly lady hurried back by Emma. “Gracious sakes! That scared me.”
“Pheasants do have a way of surprising us. All the other birds that live around us are back from their winter home,” Emma pointed out. “See the red wing blackbirds in the trees. If you watch, you might see cardinals, mourning doves and blue birds.”
“That's nice, Dear.” Tootie said, sounding like she trying to appease. Huffing and puffing, she had all she could do to keep up. Emma chose to ignore her until they reached the hayfield gate hole. “This is the end of the lane.”
“Good! Can we go back to the house now?” Tootie squeaked. Her face had turned a fire engine red.
“Sure, stop and rest a minute. When we get back, we will have a cold glass of lemonade. How does that sound?”
Tootie's head shot up. “Is it homemade? I don't like canned or bottled lemonade.”
“My lemonade is homemade. I would not drink any other kind,” Emma declared.
In the kitchen, Emma was pouring the lemonade around the table when she heard hooves on the driveway. She pushed the bushy parsley plant pot over so she could look out the window. “Hallie, Peter Rogies stopped in front of the house. You said he was here this morning, ain't so?”
“Jah, he wants to talk to your dad. He did say he'd be back. I just didn't expect it to be this soon,” Hal said, getting up from the table. “I'll go talk to him.” She met the man on his way to the house. “Afternoon, Peter. What can I do for you?”
The screen door squeaked. Hal looked back. Tootie was edging up behind her.
“I want to see John Lapp,” Peter said hoarsely.
“John's in the field. He will be here in time to milk,” Hal said. “Would you like to come in for some of Emma's lemonade? We were about to have a glass.”
“Nah! You tell John he might as well quit avoiding my visits. I will catch up with him sooner or later.” Peter looked over Hal's shoulder at Tootie and nodded before he walked back to his buggy.
The elderly woman stared at the leaving buggy. Hal fleetingly wondered what was running through her aunt's head, before her mind shifted back to Peter. From what John said about him, she worried that Peter soon might not be capable of finding his way home.
The next morning, John sat down at the table. “Aendi Tootie had a good night.”
Hal agreed, “Not a peep out of her.”
Emma winked at her father. “It wonders me how a long walk can help someone get a gute night's sleep.
When John and Jim were going to the tractor, Peter Rogies drove in. John greeted, “Morning, Peter. How are you doing?”
“Have been better,” Peter said shortly. He glared sullenly at John as his horse pawed the driveway with a restless hoof.
Finally, John cleared his throat and spoke. “Hal said you stopped to see me when I was in the field. What can I do to help you?”
“I want you to give back the post hole digger I loaned you last year. I think you have borrowed it long enough, ain't so?” Peter demanded in an acid tone.
“I did not borrow your post hole digger. It must have been someone else. I have always had my own,” John said calmly.
“If that is true where is your digger,” Peter retorted testily.
“In the tool shed. Have not used it for some time. My fences are all in gute shape as you can see,” John declared. He was suddenly grateful the boys fixed the pasture fence before Peter had a chance to see the mess it was in.
“Can I see the digger?” Peter demanded.
“Jah, but will you recognize your own if you saw it. I thought diggers all look alike,” John said, trying to reason with the man.
“Mine has a nick in one of the handles about half way down. I will know it when I see it,” the old man said.
“Get down and come to the tool shed with me.”
The two men went to the shed with Jim following them. John opened the door, stepped in and looked around. He spotted his digger in a far corner, picked it up and held it outside the door for Peter to inspect.
The old man looked up and down the wooden handles and ran his crooked fingers over them. “You sure you did not sand the nick out?”
“Nah, Peter. I did not,” John declared.
“And is this the only post hole digger in there?” Peter looked around John to search the insides of the shed for himself.
“Jah, You can see that. This is the only digger I have,” John said solemnly.
“Someone must have stole my digger. I will go home and tell my son to help me hunt the man who stole from us,” Peter said angrily. “Gute day to you.” He hesitated when he saw Tootie swaying back and forth in the porch swing. He walked past his buggy and across the yard to the edge of the porch.
He took off his straw hat and smiled. “Morning, Dolly.”
“Morning, Peter. It's a beautiful day,” Tootie replied softly.
“It is that. Praise the Lord.”
Tootie patted
the swing seat. “Would you like to sit with me a spell and visit?”
Peter shook his head no and blurted out, “Would you like to go for a ride with me and visit?”
Tootie's heart beat faster in her chest as she smiled at him. “Where would we go?”
“It is pretty on Bender Creek Road this time of year. I like to drive there all the time like we used to do,” Peter suggested.
Tootie bit her bottom lip as she felt completely discombobulated. The local Amish Lover's Lane. She wanted to say yes so badly to go for a nice ride with Peter. If he had picked anywhere but there. “I guess not today. I'm needed here to help Hallie. Maybe some other time.”
Peter trudged back to his buggy, climbed in and snapped the lines over his horse's back and took off out of the driveway.
Jim scratched a sideburn. “What do you make of that, John?”
John couldn't help the sadness he felt when he thought of the good, hard working man Peter once was. “The poor old man does not know what he is doing anymore. I hope Cooner Jonah can convince him their digger was not stolen. No one would do that.”
“No, I mean what do you think about Peter talking to Tootie? Wonder what is up with that? They talked so low I couldn't hear what they said, but they sure looked friendly,” Jim marveled.
John shrugged. “Do not know what that was about.”
“Guess we better go to the field now,” Jim said.
“Jah, mer muss hoi mache, wann die sunn scheint,” John said, heading toward the tractor.
Jim stepped faster to catch up. “You lost me there.”
John sat on the tractor seat. While Jim climbed up, he grinned at his father-in-law. “I said I need to make hay while the sun shines.” As John pulled the corn planter through the field, he said, “So you did not have any trouble with your horse yesterday in town.”
“I didn't say that,” Jim replied.
John gave him a sharp look. “You did have trouble?”
“Nothing Daniel and I couldn't handle,” Jim said with a shrug.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“Might as well as long as Nora doesn't get wind of it. I just hate to admit that horse is smarter than me is all,” Jim said. “Mike untied his lead rope from the hitch racks at the stores and took off without us. We were on foot a couple times until we found him.”
“No wonder you were longer coming home than the women thought you should be,” John said with a chuckle.
“The first time the sheriff took us to where the buggy was parked on Main Street. He acted like I was particular for owning a buggy or something. The horse untied himself again at the grocery store. I was hating to call the sheriff again when Bishop Bontrager happened to come along. He helped us find the horse and buggy that time. Would you believe he stopped in the tree nursery rows?”
“That so?”
“You must have tied the knot different when you tied Mike to your fence. He didn't get away once while he was tied there. Reckon you could teach me a knot to use that my horse can't figure out how to untie? I'd like to go to town and know he's going to be where I left him. That was embarrassing, being a foot like that,” Jim said.
“I can do that,” John said, trying not to laugh again.
“Fine, and whatever you do, don't let this slip to Nora. That woman would never let me live it down if she found out. Once she started in on me, Tootie would side with her. They would make my life miserable.”
“I will not say a word,” John declared.
Chapter 9
That evening, fourteen years old Andy Zook, drove in to pick up Noah, Daniel and their dog. The boys had been watching at the window, more than ready to leave with him. When Daniel placed Biscuit in the back of the buggy with Andy's dog, the older, territorial black hound growled at Biscuit. Daniel snatched up the pup and sat with his back to the growling hound. It was hard to keep Biscuit from wiggling out of his arms, but he wasn't about to turn him loose. Andy's dog acted like he'd whip Biscuit if he could get at him.
They drove down Bender Creek Road and came upon several buggies parked by a small clearing on the edge of the timber. As the three boys and their dogs walked to meet the others, the chilly night breeze carried spring fragrances of dogwoods and wild plum thickets.
A dozen boys stood around with a flashlight in one hand, and a rope tethered to their dogs in the other. The dogs sniffed at each other and growled. When the boys jerked on the ropes to distract the dogs, the hounds leaped and pulled against the ropes. They huffed for breath when the ropes tightened around their necks, eager to run through the timber. Most of the dogs were seasoned hunters wanting to try out their trailing and treeing skills.
Biscuit didn't understand what was going on. He moved close by Daniel's leg, licked his dangling hand and whined for protection.
Johnnie Mast elbowed Benny Gingerich. “Look at the Lapp hound. Ain't the little fellow something?”
“Little young to be coon hunting, ain't so?” Benny said to Noah.
“We know that, but we have to start training him by letting him run with the other dogs,” Noah explained.
“Do not make fun of the pup,” Jimmie Miller defended. “He is out of my gute hound and will make a gute coon hound.”
“So what is the plan?” Andy Zook said to the group.
Johnnie Mast spoke up. “We should spread out in a line, turn our dogs loose and take off after them.”
Matthew Stoll stepped out of the group with a twenty two rifle cradled in his arms. “I think spreading out is a gute way to do it. Quite a few of us here.”
Noah frowned. “Matthew, why the rifle? This is not open season on coons. We should not shoot them.”
“I know it. Thought there might be a reason we would need protection. I heard a mountain lion has been seen in the area. I do not want to walk into one and not be able to defend myself,” Matthew excused.
“Just make sure you know what you are aiming at. Like you said there is a bunch of us here in the dark,” Andy Zook warned.
They scattered out and turned their dogs loose along Bender Creek. The boys and dogs made a tremendous rustling noise tramping in the deep leaves. Hidden branches crackled and popped under the many feet.
After they were by themselves, Daniel listened for any noise he couldn't tell what was. He whispered to Noah, “Not much chance of a mountain lion sticking around with all this noise, ain't so?”
“Nah,” Noah agreed. “But Matthew was just using that as an excuse to carry his rifle.”
With wide eyes, Daniel glanced around the surroundings. “We are sure that a Sneak Upon has not followed Dawdi Jim from up north and is hiding behind a tree, ain't so?”
“Daniel, you should not let your imagination get the better of you, or we will never be able to concentrate on teaching Dog how to coon hunt,” Noah scolded. “We better catch up to the pup so we do not lose him.”
Biscuit put his head down, trailing in front of them. Occasionally, his head perked up, his ears wiggled and his nose twitched, trying to pick up certain scents in the air.
Noah said, “He sure does act like he knows what he is doing.”
Ahead of them and off to the side, a hound bayed loud and clear on the trail of a coon. Soon the boys heard the distinctive bawl of a dog's tree bark off to their left.
“Should we see what's going on?” Daniel asked.
“Nah, we need to keep following Dog,” Noah said.
Suddenly, Biscuit woofed and froze in his tracks. He stared straight ahead. His body turned rigid. His head went up, and his nose wiggled as he sniffed the air. Suddenly, he charged the gooseberry thicket in front of them.
As Biscuit fought his way into the brambles, a throaty growl shattered the darkness, warning the dog to stay away. Biscuit was more curious than scared. He dove into the middle of the thicket, bawling a challenge.
Noah and Daniel raced to his aid, whooping for the dog to come to them. Daniel cried in delight, “Dog has already found himself a coon.”
/> “Sure sounds like it,” Noah replied. “But a coon can whip that pup. We got to get him out of there.”
Too late! The sounds of a fight broke out. Biscuit whimpered and yelped during the loud thrashing in the bushes. Growls and deep hisses came from a cornered animal. By the time the boys reached the edge of the thicket, the dog came crashing out of the bushes and raced at them. He ran into Noah and knocked him down. Biscuit picked himself up. He shivered and whined by Noah's side, licking the boy's face.
Daniel grabbed the dog and held him. “Are you hurt, Boy?” Biscuit whimpered and snuggled close for protection.
“You are not worried about me, ain't so? I am the one that took a tumble,” groused Noah.
“You look all recht to me so get up,” Daniel said and put his attention back on their dog.
On the backside of the thicket, the coon crashed out of the gooseberry bushes and rustled dry leaves. Daniel stuttered, “Noah, we – we better run for it. That coon Dog cornered was too big for him or us to handle if it is mad enough to fight .”
“Nah, listen. He is running away from us,” Noah reasoned.
“Gute. We better get back out on the road and shine our flashlight on Dog. He is trembling something awful. He may be hurt,” Daniel fretted.
In the flashlight's glow, Noah examined the scratches around the pup's face. “Not very deep but those rips in his hide were caused by sharp claws. That is for sure.”
“Think that run in will scare Dog enough he will not want to hunt again,” Daniel worried.
“Nah, hunting is bred into a coon hound. He will be all right once he gets a little age to him.” Noah added, “And wiser. Next time, he might not tackle a coon if he finds one on the ground.”
Two of the boys burst out of the underbrush and rushed to them. Andy Zook asked, “That little pup find a coon? We heard you whoop.”
Daniel stood taller as he elbowed Noah and whispered, “I'm going to pull one on Matthew for saying there was a mountain lion in these parts.” He said to the boys, “We have had a time of it over in that gooseberry thicket. This dog of ours cornered himself that mountain lion.”