With Winter's First Frost

by Kelly Irvin

  “I’m not running away from this life. I’m embracing a new life.”

  They were getting nowhere. Tamara was as stubborn as her father. They got that from Eli. “If Freeman or Cyrus or Solomon hear about this, they may make you leave before Christmas.”

  “I know. I’ll go to Trenton early and get a job. Get situated.”

  “You have no regrets?”

  Her smile flew away on the achingly cold wind. “Of course I do. I care about Mudder and Daed and my bruders and schweschders. I’ve thought about what it’ll be like not to be with them.” Her voice quivered for the first time. “Holidays and birthdays and not having family. But this is what will make me happy.”

  “Sometimes we sacrifice in order to have another kind of happiness.”

  “You mean lieb. I don’t think that’ll happen to me.”

  “But you don’t know. You have all the qualities of a gut fraa.”

  “Maybe my mann is out there in the world, waiting for me.”

  A knot lodged in Laura’s throat. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “I’ve thought about how it will affect my family and I’m sorry.” She skidded to a halt, her sneakers squishing in the wet earth. Tamara threw her arms around Laura and hugged tight. Her breath was warm on Laura’s cheek. She smelled of peanut butter. Her voice held bravado, but also a trace of uncertainty for the first time. “I’m sorry to hurt you and make you worry. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll never be more than a car’s drive away. I’ll peek at you in Sweet Notions and make it a point to run into you in The Book Apothecary and I’ll take pictures from afar and put them on my refrigerator with magnets. Don’t you see, Groossmammi, I was meant for this?”

  “Nee, I don’t see it.” Laura returned the hug and let her forehead rest on Tamara’s shoulder for a second. The wool was scratchy. She took a deep breath and raised her head so she could look Tamara in the eye. “I see a woman who is fleeing from Gott’s plan. He put a bopli in the arms of a Plain woman who raised her with a Plain man, who taught her everything she needed to know to be a Plain fraa with a Plain mann. Her mudder taught her to work hard and love the work. Her daed taught her to go to services and believe Gott knows better than she does. He taught her to be humble and obedient, to keep herself from the world so she doesn’t fall into the world’s ways.”

  Laura sucked in air. She talked a lot, but never this much. Never something so important as her granddaughter’s eternal salvation.

  Tamara shook her head and patted Laura’s cheeks with her mittened hands. The look on her face was so like Eli’s. He was always right, bless his pea-picking heart. Always. “You’re so sweet. I lieb you.”

  Not something Plain folks said to each other much. Laura had to clear her throat again. Her joints and bones ached from the cold. Standing out here in the sleet and snow, she might be coming down with something. “I have an idea.”

  “You are a sly one.” Tamara eased away from Laura and began to walk again. “I won’t be tricked into changing my mind. It’s done. I’m going.”

  “It’s not a trick. I need your help. Rosalie and her twins are coming home later this afternoon. Come take care of them with me. I’ll do the cooking and cleaning. You can help Rosalie with her dressings and with the boplin.”

  “It should be the other way around. You’re—”

  “Old? I can still hold my own with a mop and a wringer-wash machine.”

  “And old men, I hear.”

  Laura slipped in the mud. Her arms flailed. She bit her tongue and caught her balance before it flew away entirely. “Ach, ouch. What did you hear?”

  “Just that you were whipping folks into shape at Ben’s house.”

  “I don’t know about that.” The warmth of the fire flickered inside her. The checkers. The conversation. The scent of cinnamon-spice tea. The sense of shared joys and suffering. Lives lived on parallel lines now intersecting. “I’m taking care of the kinner and cooking.”

  “Is taking care of Zechariah like taking care of kinner?”

  “You shouldn’t listen to gossip about me or Zechariah any more than I listen to the gossip about you.”

  “Fair point.” Tamara entwined her arm in Laura’s and guided her around so they walked back toward the house. “I’m leaving in January.”

  “So help me until then.”

  Tamara didn’t speak for several yards. Laura waited. She’d spoken her piece. Nothing more to be done at this moment.

  “I’ll do it if you promise me one thing.”

  “What one thing?”

  “To not try to chip away at my resolve forty times a day every day. You won’t change my mind.”

  Yes, she would. Everything depended on it. “You promise to play checkers with Zechariah now and again and take Delia to the potty at night, and we’ll see what happens from here.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Tamara let go of Laura’s arm and ran up the steps to the door. She looked back, smiling, her eyes lit with certainty and laughter. Like Laura more than fifty years ago. No one could convince her to stay either. Until Eli did.

  “I will be a doctor.”

  Laura forced a smile in return. “We’ll see about that.”

  FIFTEEN

  SPOON FROM PLATE TO MOUTH. FROM MOUTH TO PLATE. Zechariah concentrated. For all the effort it took not to fling the spoon across the front room, a person would think he was building a tower of glasses. But the effort proved to be worth it. Homemade vanilla ice cream and chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting. Because he sat by a blazing fire that filled Ivan’s front room with the homey scent of hickory wood, Zechariah’s ice cream was already melting. He didn’t mind. Kimberly, her smile displaying her two missing front teeth, had informed him chocolate was her favorite. At seven, she still had time to come around to carrot cake, which, to his way of thinking, was the best.

  His great-granddaughter shared her seventh birthday with Grandpa Ivan’s fifty-second birthday, but Ivan didn’t seem inclined to go around shouting “Happy birthday to me” at the top of his lungs the way little Kimberly did.

  Zechariah’s real mission—to find and convince Dillon and Micah to stay in Missouri—went nowhere fast. Neither boy had made an appearance so far and time was running out. Zechariah would have to return to Ben’s when Esther decided to go since she had been his ride. She would decide if he could be responsible for Ben’s children until Laura returned from her frolic.

  Ridiculous.

  Donald, his granddaughter Anna’s special child, approached and climbed into Zechariah’s lap without so much as a by-your-leave. He proceeded to claim Zechariah’s spoon and help himself to a heaping bite of the ice cream.

  “Hey, that’s mine.”

  “Mine.” Donald was eight, with the mind of a four-or five-yearold, and didn’t talk much, but he had a smile that would knock a great-grandpa’s socks off. He handed the spoon back to Zechariah. “Now yours.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t want a bite of my cake too?”

  Donald nodded so hard his hat shook. Zechariah made a show of cutting a large chunk of cake and loaded it onto the spoon. “Are you sure? It is my cake.”

  Donald opened his mouth wide. Zechariah floated the load into his mouth while making train sounds. Chewing with his mouth still open, Donald grinned and gave Zechariah a big hug. “I like you.”

  That came from his mudder. Anna always was the most affectionate of Zechariah’s grandchildren. She was nothing like her father, David, Zechariah’s oldest living son. “I like you too, Donald.”

  “Donny.”

  “Donny.”

  The boy slid from Zechariah’s lap and took the bowl of ice cream and cake with both hands. “Mine.”

  “Mine.” Zechariah tugged back. “Go get your own.”

  “He already had his. Any more sugar and that boy will bounce off the ceiling.”

  Ivan approached and settled into the walnut rocker next to Zechariah’s padded straight chai
r. He had two unopened presents in his arms. David followed behind. He might be Zechariah’s oldest son, but at fifty-four, he looked no older than his brother. In fact, they could be twins.

  “Mine.” Donald tried to crawl into his uncle’s lap. Ivan shook his finger at him. “It’s not your birthday, Donny. It’s me and Kimberly’s. Go play.”

  With a grin Donald shrugged and skipped away.

  “What a blessing that boy is. Always smiling. Never complaining. A sweet soul. He reminds me of Martha. Even has her smile.” Ivan’s sad face didn’t match the vigor with which he ripped the paper from the first package. A new church hat. The sadness disappeared, replaced with a glimmer of satisfaction. The man needed a new hat. “From my fraa. Only you could look that sour while eating ice cream. Did someone dump salt into it?”

  “Have a little respect for your elders.” Zechariah raised his voice to be heard over the conversations among a couple of dozen children ranging in age from two to twelve playing games on the floor, running from room to room, and generally providing the festive air to this birthday gathering. “It’s gut. Everything your fraa makes is gut.”

  “Nadia made the cake. Our suhs made the ice cream.”

  “December is cold for cranking ice cream.”

  “Stays firm longer.”

  Zechariah stirred his creamy dessert. “I like it soft. Like Dairy Queen soft serve.”

  “Where’s Abel?” David slouched on the sofa and rubbed the fingers of his right hand as if in pain. “He never misses the opportunity for free ice cream and cake.”

  “He got a better offer. It’s his granddaughter’s birthday. His fraa makes a fine German chocolate cake and strawberry ice cream. His favorite.” Zechariah studied his oldest son’s face. His skin was pallid and dark circles ringed his eyes. “I thought you were home with the flu. You still look sickly.”

  “Danki.” David grinned and pointed at his younger brother. “I’m fine and I wouldn’t miss Ivan’s birthday. He’s getting old.”

  “I’ll never be as old as you are.” Ivan growled and tossed the hat at his brother, who caught it with one hand. “You’re the most ancient one.”

  They both turned to look at Zechariah. “Almost.”

  They were horsing around to avoid the real topics of the day. Moving an old man around like a piece of secondhand furniture. And Ivan’s two sons’ plans to move to Indiana to work in a factory. Kimberly would go with her father, Micah. Ivan would miss his sons and his grandchildren. No doubt. Zechariah’s hard line softened to a squiggle. “I know this isn’t what you want either.”

  “I like vanilla just fine.”

  “Don’t be dense.”

  “No point in beating a dead horse.” David tossed the hat back to Ivan as if to say, “Your turn.” “They’re adults.”

  “I always treated my horses with respect. That’s more than I can say for the way Dillon and Micah are treating Ivan or the way all of you are treating me.”

  “They want what’s best for their families. We all do. Look at all these kinner.” Ivan’s arm swept out toward the room. “All your grands and great-grands. Moving around gives you a chance to spend time with them. That’s a gift from Gott. For you. And for them.”

  When had Ivan acquired such wisdom?

  Still, he couldn’t read minds. He had no way of knowing Zechariah didn’t want to be relegated to the children’s table. He still longed for adult company. Even he hadn’t known it until the checkers match.

  The unfinished game.

  The unfinished conversation.

  A man could still want female company in his seventies, couldn’t he? What would Marian say? She would say it was about time and to get off his keister and stop feeling sorry for himself. But she also would never have done the same. She told him so once. Should God call him home, she expected to live out her life taking care of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. But men needed women more. That was Marian. Always with a theory.

  “I can help Ben and Rosalie. I’m not dead weight. Not yet.”

  “No one said you were, but someone has to take you to the doctor appointments and make sure you get your bath—”

  “No need to list the things I can’t do. I know.”

  Raised voices in the kitchen served as a signal that the two traitors were in the house. They sounded jovial and perfectly unaware of Zechariah’s intent to bend their ears but good.

  “Don’t start with them.” David shook his finger at Zechariah. “We’re celebrating birthdays.”

  “And in a few weeks, we’ll be eating a last meal with them before they drive off across the country.” Zechariah set his bowl on the table between them and scowled at Ivan. “Open the other present. I need a cup of kaffi.”

  Micah appeared in the doorway before Zechariah could make it across the room. He held two more presents wrapped in brown sack paper in both arms. “Where is the birthday girl? I have more booty for both her and Daed.”

  “I need a cup of kaffi. Come carry it for me. With my shaky hands I’ll burn myself.” This served as the first time Zechariah had used his disease as a tool. It might come in handy now and again. “Nadia will fix you some food. The venison chili is gut. So is the cornbread.”

  “Sounds gut. It’s snowing again. Or trying. It doesn’t know whether to sleet or rain.” Micah followed him into the kitchen where Dillon stood talking to Micah’s fraa, Jeanie. Kimberly was one of theirs.

  Zechariah cocked his head toward the door. “Jeanie, Kimberly is opening presents. She wants you to come look.”

  Not a lie. Everyone liked an audience when opening presents. Better to ooh and aaah.

  “Don’t start.” Dillon obviously wanted to get out in front of the argument. He grabbed a bowl and helped himself to a ladle of chili. “We’ve decided.”

  “Your daed told you my thoughts on this plan?”

  “He tried, but don’t blame him for not getting through to us.” Micah plopped into a chair and yawned. “I was up all night with a sickly horse, so I’m too tired to have this discussion.”

  At least he hadn’t called it an argument. “Then just listen.” Zechariah held out his cup. Micah rose and took it without question. A minute later Zechariah had his coffee. “We’re farmers. We’ve always been farmers. Staying close to the land keeps us close to Gott. And far from the world.”

  “I will miss farming.” Dillon’s tone held something akin to grief. “But I must provide for my family. Here, there’s not enough land and too many big farmers who raise crops cheaper than we can. I’m not a carpenter or a leatherworker or a shop owner. I have two kinner.” His face turned red. He ducked his head. “And another on the way.”

  Another child Zechariah wouldn’t know. Distance would prohibit it. “All the more reason to stay here. Close to family.”

  “Change is a part of life.” Micah returned to his seat. “We go carefully. We go slowly. But sometimes we concede that change is necessary.”

  “Whether we use battery-operated smoke detectors. Whether phones are allowed in our businesses. How long our beards will be or what color the girls’ dresses may be.” Zechariah managed to set his mug on the table without spilling a drop. A small victory. “But not working in a factory. That’s not change. That’s giving up a way of life.”

  “No one is giving up.” Dillon crumbled corn bread into his chili, but he didn’t take a bite. “Do you think we’re looking forward to spending our days making a quota in a factory? We can go in before dawn, make eight campers or motor homes, and go home to our families.”

  “And it pays at least fifteen dollars an hour, or more,” Micah chimed in. “It’s not any different from building boats or cabinets and they’ve been doing that in Elkhart and La Grange for sixty or seventy years.”

  “But we haven’t. We’re farmers.” He sounded old and tired. Even to himself. “Since when do we talk about how much we make? What about humility? What about equality? What about family time?”

  “There will be more family
time because we’ll work fast and get home early. Not like working the fields sunup to sundown.”

  “Here you see your fraas and your kinner for every meal. They work in the fields with you. That won’t be the case in Indiana.”

  “Joshua inherited the farm. He’s the oldest son.” Micah’s tone didn’t change, but his expression held frustration—with Zechariah or for their situation or both. “We can’t all support our families on one farm. It can’t be done. Not anymore.”

  “You’re making it harder.” Dillon set his bowl on the counter and went to the window. It was cloudy with condensation. With one callused finger he drew a box house with a smokestack and a sun overhead. Quick, sure strokes. “We’ll go to Freeman tomorrow after church to inform him. He’ll understand.”

  “He might, but he won’t be at church.” Cyrus’s bulky frame squeezed through the doorway. Ivan and Nadia followed in his wake. “The announcement will be made tomorrow. Freeman is stepping down.”

  The words hung in the air. Dillon’s mouth slid open. Micah dropped his spoon. It clanged on the floor.

  A man didn’t step down from being bishop for a puny reason. The drawing of the lots brought a lifetime obligation with it to be shed only in the case of death or debilitating disease. Zechariah remembered to breathe. No one spoke for two beats. The obligation fell to Zechariah as the elder family member and host to Cyrus, their deacon. He sat in the closest chair and motioned for the other men to sit as well.

  “Is Freeman ill?” He pointed to his cup. “Have some kaffi. There’s chili. Or cake if you’re in need of sweets.”

  “Nee, not exactly. I’ll have kaffi and cake.” Cyrus, never one to pass up sweets, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. “He has an eye disease with a peculiar name.” His expression perplexed, the deacon studied a knot in the table’s wood for a minute. Finally, he tapped on it with his fingernail. “Macular degeneration. That’s it.”

  More quiet. Nadia went to the counter and fixed coffee and a slice of cake for Cyrus. She set them in front of him and left the room. This was man talk and Ivan would tell her about it later.