by Kelly Irvin
“An eye disease.” Freeman wore thick, Coke-bottle glasses. But then so did Cyrus and Solomon. The bishop, deacon, and minister all wore glasses. They were three overgrown, big-bellied bears. Each with long gray beards, girth, and strong opinions. They worked well together. They’d been the church elders for so long, some of the young folks didn’t remember them being anything else. “The middle of his sight is going, but the outside is still there. Eventually he won’t be able to see your face.”
“But he could see stop signs?” Ivan ventured the question. “Could he still drive a buggy?”
“He could see stop signs but not a car coming right at him.” Cyrus sipped the coffee and gave a contented sigh. He picked up his fork. “He could still preach but he wouldn’t be able to see the faces of the people in front of him.”
They were quiet again, surely contemplating such an odd disease.
“Not being able to see doesn’t make him unable to serve as bishop.” Zechariah tackled the subject on everyone’s mind. “Gott appointed him. He drew the lot.”
“He has prayed. We have prayed.” Cyrus shifted in his chair. His fingers, covered with wiry, white hair, gripped the fork and cut into the cake. “The Ordnung allows for him to step down because of illness or chronic disease. He believes this is a sign that Gott wants him to step aside. Not being able to see a man’s expression, to see how he holds himself when he speaks, that is a problem when it comes to spiritual matters. It’s not enough to hear the tone of voice to know the truth of a man’s convictions.”
“He’ll retire to the dawdy haus then?” Micah slid into a chair next to Ivan. “When will we have the drawing of the lots?”
His bigger concern. Zechariah stifled the urge to smack him with a rolled-up newspaper. The young were in such a hurry. The Gmay would not rush such an important ritual.
A painful irritation flitted across Cyrus’s face. He felt it too. He chewed and swallowed. Chocolate crumbs fell into his gray beard, but he didn’t seem to notice. Taking his time, he slurped another sip of coffee. His lips smacked. “Usually we would wait until Communion, but we just had it in October. We’ll have a meeting later this week and then the casting of lots with the ordination a week later if everyone agrees. We want to do it before Christmas.”
“We plan to leave—”
“I’ve heard of those plans.” Cyrus shook his fat finger at Micah. “You’ll have to wait. The casting of lots is too important. Everyone needs to be here. Freeman will not hear your arguments. He’ll leave it to the new bishop.”
That new bishop would also hear Laura’s great-granddaughter’s freewill confession. Did she know yet? He would be a busy man. The names and faces of the men in the Gmay eligible for the lot floated through Zechariah’s mind. Sixteen or more. Only five or six would be in the pool for the lot. From young men like Dillon and Micah to older ones like David. Better an older, wiser man. It wouldn’t do to have someone like Micah who had one foot in Indiana and who thought working in a factory a good job for a Plain man.
God’s hand moved in the Gmay. Human failings and plans would have to wait.
SIXTEEN
SQUEALS AND SHOUTS OF LAUGHTER FOLLOWED BY THE lusty cries of two babies heralded the arrival of Ben, Rosalie, and the twins. Zechariah settled into the rocking chair in Ben’s front room and waited for the hubbub to die down. Laura hadn’t returned from the Christmas present frolic. She was missing all the fun here. Maybe she wouldn’t return. Maybe she thought her help wouldn’t be needed after all or her family needed her more to untangle their issues. No, she wouldn’t abandon her duties. Laura wasn’t that kind of woman. What kind of woman was she? And what kind of thought was that? She was no Marian. For sure.
Zechariah batted the thoughts away like pesky fruit flies in summer and focused on the new arrivals. Grinning from ear to ear, Ben knelt, a baby in each arm, and introduced Delia, Samuel, and Christopher to their new sisters. With a half-stifled groan Rosalie eased into a rocking chair. She looked wan.
“Welcome home.” He lifted his voice over the children’s excited chatter. “How are you? Happy to be here, I reckon?”
“Very happy.” Rosalie’s voice quavered. “It’s gut to be home. The hospital is not a place you want to stay for a day, let alone a week.”
Looking at her children probably reminded her that she would have no more. God had blessed her with five healthy children. All she needed in the Lord’s way of thinking. “I didn’t like it much. You’ll heal faster at home with gut cooking and your kinner to wait on you.”
Hospitals reminded Zechariah of Marian and her illness. Surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation did nothing to stall its forward march toward an inevitable end. Scars marked the spots where she’d once nursed her children. Her long hair fell to the floor in chunks. Her body had been skeletal at the end when she asked him to take her home. Glad to have her with him, Zechariah wrapped her in her grandmother’s Log Cabin quilt and settled her on his lap in the rocking chair by the fire. She weighed less than a child. He leaned in to kiss her forehead and heard her soft murmur. Her last words. Something about Robert and Martha and the sun. It had been a cold, blustery November day. The sun hid itself behind a foreboding blanket of black clouds.
That night it rained ten inches and the Missouri River flooded.
“Look, they’re here. They’re here.” Delia ran to Zechariah, tugged at his sleeve, and raced back to Ben. “I want to hold them.”
He blinked away tears. A person must hoard happy days, store them up against the hurtful ones sure to come.
“Groossdaadi gets first dibs.” Ben stood and offered the squirming, fussing girls to Zechariah. “Can you handle both or would you like to meet them one at a time?”
Zechariah ducked his head, not wanting his grandson to see his face. Daily he measured his lifetime and found it should’ve ended, but then God came along and gave him an event such as this to remind him he still lived. That he would live on in his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, just as Marian did. They would know and remember him and any sparse bits of wisdom he imparted to them.
He held out his arms. “Let me see Mary first. They might be twins, but they deserve to have a man’s full attention, one at a time.”
Ben studied the girls in his arms. Rosalie laughed and hoisted herself from the chair. Hand on her puffy belly, she shuffled to her husband’s side. “You have to learn. See, this is Mary.” Her hand smoothed the blanket tucked around the noisy one in Ben’s left arm. “She has that pucker in her chin and her eyes are a tiny bit farther apart. Mia has less hair. Plus Mary is the fussy one. Her cry is different, higher. And she’s the oldest, by two minutes.”
They both had a full head of dark hair, but Mia’s forehead was longer. Zechariah could see that. He made note of Rosalie’s words. A person didn’t want to mix up twins. Later they would have their own personalities, but for now, they were nearly identical. He took Mary and held her straight out and up so they were face-to-face. Her lips scrunched. Her mouth opened. She wailed.
Her forehead crinkled, Rosalie hovered nearby.
“Don’t worry. I won’t drop her.” Zechariah cocked his head toward the other chair. “Sit down and rest before you keel over.”
Rosalie sat, but her gaze stayed on the baby.
“Hello to you, too, fussy one.” He tucked Mary in his arm and began to rock. “I’m Zechariah. I’m an old man. I’m your daed’s groossdaadi. You don’t have to remember all this right now. You can memorize the names later. I reckon as long as you have a clean diaper, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep, you’re happy. So which is it now? Are you tired or hungry?”
He leaned over and sniffed. Her little button nose wrinkling, she sniffed back. “Unless my honker stopped working, it’s not your diaper.”
With great care he nestled her against his chest. No arm jerking, Gott, please. Despite the rocking, her eyes were wide and her face perplexed. One new experience after another. Zechariah tried to grasp the tail end of how that must fe
el. New to the world. Fresh. Everything big and loud and exciting, moreover frightening. She instinctively knew her mother would take care of her. Mother would feed her and Father would keep her safe. Everyone else was a stranger waiting to be experienced. A life just begun. “She looks like you, Rosalie.”
“She looks like me,” Delia volunteered. “I can hold her. I can feed her.”
Christopher snorted. Ben shushed him. “You can help by bringing clean diapers to your mudder and helping wash the dishes and the clothes and sweeping the floor. How’s that?”
“I’d rather rock her like Groossdaadi.”
Zechariah stared at Mary, memorizing her tiny face and the way her arms flailed. Kind of like his did. She was a kindred spirit. “Pleased to meet you, Mary. You and your sister will like it here. You’ll see. It’s not so bad.”
Ben laughed. “You would know.”
A knot formed in Zechariah’s throat. He tore his gaze from the baby and met Ben’s head-on. “Did they tell you they want me to leave and go stay with Michael and his fraa?”
“It’s not necessary for you to go anywhere.” Ben didn’t hesitate. His smile disappeared. “I told Ivan that. I told Michael that.”
“Even though you have your hands full?”
“You’re a help, not more work.” Rosalie took Mary and eased back into her chair. “I told them the same thing when they came to visit me. They needn’t fix something that’s not broken.”
Ben laid Mia in Zechariah’s arms. Unlike her sister, she saw no reason to fuss. Instead, she stared at him with a serious, owlish gaze. “Welcome, welcome, Mia. I’m Zechariah. It’s a mouthful, I know. You’ll get the hang of it. No hurry.”
Her rosebud lips pursed. She almost smiled. Zechariah was certain of it. He tickled her cheek and murmured sweet nothings. Her head turned and she began to root around his chest. He held her out. “Nee, bopli, you’re mighty confused.”
Rosalie and Ben laughed. The boys crowded the chair. Samuel tried to crawl onto Zechariah’s lap. “You’ll have to wait your turn.” Zechariah smiled at the boy. “I promise you’ll get one.”
“Unless you want to go.” Ben gathered Delia in his arms and gave her a big, fat kiss on top of her kapp. “Don’t feel you have to stay here. The kinner will miss you. So will me and Rosalie.”
Zechariah doubted that. “Don’t blow smoke, suh.”
Ben rolled his eyes just as he had done in his youth. “Where is Laura? She’s needed too.”
“I’m right here.” The woman had a way of making an entry. Not something most Plain women would want. The front door stood open and Laura planted herself on the rug. She had her granddaughter, Tamara Eicher, in tow. “Look who’s with me. Tamara’s here to help.”
The fact that Laura had one hand on the girl’s arm and the way Tamara grimaced told the story. Laura had bulldozed her into coming, and Tamara wasn’t happy about it.
A man rocking a newborn baby in his arms was a man after Laura’s heart. She tore her gaze from the sight of Zechariah, his face softened with love, cooing to his grandbaby. His trembling fingers smoothed her crib quilt. His soft murmurs of “hush-hush-hush-bopli-don’t you cry” were like a lullaby to her ears.
She bent over and worked off her muddy boots. “Ruby sent a stuffed-pepper casserole. We waited for her to finish putting it together, or we would’ve been here sooner. All it lacks is baking. I’ll run it into the kitchen.”
“You sit.” Rosalie intervened. “Christopher can do it.”
The boy hopped up and took the casserole like he’d been given a fragile gift to carry. He was much more agreeable than Tamara.
She would get over it and Laura would convince her she was meant for this life. She had to. But first, Laura had to meet the babies.
“Let me at those boplin.” Laura swooped down on Rosalie and held out her arms. She had no choice but to hand over the baby. “Gott is gut. You are a sweet little thing. Which one are you?”
“Mary, the fussy one. She has the higher cry, just so you know.”
Zechariah was already an expert. Excitement brought color to his face and a brightness to his eyes. It looked good on him. Laura forced her gaze to the baby. “We’ll fix that, won’t we, Mary?” She drank in the scent of baby. She missed babies and their smell of milk and innocence. And a diaper that needed changing.
Maybe not that last thing. She glanced back to make sure Tamara hadn’t skipped out on her. The girl was stubborn. She agreed to come and then nearly talked herself out of the idea while she packed her bag. The trip to Ben’s had been a long one. “Look, Tamara, she’s a tiny mite, isn’t she? Have you ever helped deliver a baby this tiny?”
Tamara shrugged. “Iris’s boy was six pounds.”
“Mary is the bigger one.” Rosalie leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Four pounds four ounces now. Mia weighs right at four pounds. They had to weigh four pounds in order to come home. I reckon they’ll gain faster now that they’re home and I’m home.”
“Healthy boplin, that’s the important thing.” Laura cooed and talked as if Mary understood every word. If she didn’t, she soon would. Laura squeezed past the boys so she could get a glimpse of Mia in Zechariah’s arms. “They’re identical, aren’t they, except Mary has a bit of a tuck in her chin and her eyes are a little farther apart—just a tad.”
“We just went over that.” Seeming slightly irked, Zechariah clutched his twin to his chest. “Spend any time at all with them, and you’ll see the differences.”
Laura offered him a smile. He might not want to share this bounty of baby with her, but she didn’t mind. It was a sign he cared, that he was engaged in this homecoming. Seeing him hold his newborn great-grandchild gave her hope for him. And made her heart flutter, something it hadn’t done in years.
He could still care, and if he could still care about a baby, he could care about other things.
What things? Her mind did a swirling, dizzying loop-di-loop. About living. About finding a reason for getting up in the morning. For ending the pity party. For finding a reason to employ that lopsided grin in friendship.
Only that. Nothing more.
That and they had a checkers match to finish.
“I’ll go unhitch our horse.” Ben nodded at Tamara, who still stood by the door. “Shall I get yours too?”
“Jah. We’re here to stay.” Laura tried out her smile on Zechariah. His eyebrows popped up. Then a fraction of a second later, his lopsided grin appeared. Her stomach joined in the loop-di-loop. “Isn’t that right, Tamara?”
“I told you I would help until the first of the year.” Tamara’s tone hadn’t changed. Still begrudging. Who could stay stiff-necked at the sight of such baby bounty? She must’ve known it, because she paused and forced an unduly bright smile. “I can help you with your dressing, Rosalie, and bring the boplin to you when they’re ready to eat and help the kinner with their baths.”
“I’m not an invalid. The doctor said I need to get up and walk around. I’ll recover faster.”
“I reckon the doctor also told you not to lift anything heavier than five pounds.” Laura rocked Mary in one arm as she turned to Rosalie. “We’ve got everything covered. All you have to do is feed the babies and rest.”
“I’ve been resting for the last week—”
“You’re not healed yet. I’m a midwife, remember?” Laura cocked her head toward Tamara. “Tamara might be one someday. It’ll be gut practice. Now, go on, get yourself into your bedroom and lie down for a while. You look like the trip wore you out. We’ll get supper.”
Red crept into Rosalie’s cheeks. “I really don’t need to rest.”
“You really do. I’ll put Mary down in the cradle and Zechariah can put Mia down.”
Zechariah’s grin unfurled across his grizzled face. “She’s asleep.”
“Seems you have the touch. You’ll be on twin duty.” Laura memorized his face. She would remember it when he decided to be surly and uncooperative. “Especially when one’s asleep an
d the other wants to cry. We want to keep the roar down to a minimum.”
She turned to the children. “Boys, you have chores to do with your daed. Run along. You can see your schweschders when they wake up. Delia, you can pick up the toys and put them away. Then you can help me fix supper.”
“I want to sleep with Mary and Mia.”
“If you’re quiet and lie still, you can lie on my bed with me.” Rosalie eased from the chair. White lines etched themselves around her mouth. “Let me have one of them.”
“Nee.” Laura shooed with one hand. “We’ll make a little parade. When you wake up, supper will be served. We’ll have the casserole, some canned corn, and warm bread. I made some oatmeal-raisin cookies yesterday.”
“Anything not made in the hospital kitchen sounds wunderbarr.”
Rosalie led the slow-moving procession. It took a good five minutes, but soon everyone was resting. Tamara took her battered suitcase to the remaining free bedroom next to Laura’s. It was the size of a storage closet just big enough for a single bed and a chair. All a young woman needed. Laura headed for the kitchen. Zechariah followed.
His expression preoccupied, he stood in the doorway. “Cup of kaffi?” She needed one herself. It had been a long day and there was more to be done. “It only needs to be heated.”
“I can get it myself. You look tired.” He shuffled to the stove, put the pot on the burner, and turned it on. He tugged a mug from the rack next to it. “It’s possible Tamara could take this load and you could go back to your dawdy haus.”
“Trying to get rid of me again?”
“Nee, nee.” He studied the coffeepot as if it might burst into flames any second. “We have checkers to finish.”
“We do. I noticed the kinner moved the board.”
“We might have to start over.” Even though the coffee would still be cold, he poured a cup, added milk, and dumped in a liberal amount of sugar. Again no jerks. Some days were better than others. Thank You, Gott, for giving him these gut days. “But we have time. You’ll be here awhile.”