With Winter's First Frost

by Kelly Irvin

  “I’ll never leave.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Your parents will be too.”

  Hannah wrapped a loose strand of hair around her finger and bit her lower lip. She looked eleven. “I’m keeping the bopli, no matter what happens. Mann or no mann. Without Thaddeus. Phillip or not.”

  “Gut for you. I’m glad.”

  “Me too. I’ve never been so scared as when that buggy started doing flips. All I could think was my bopli, my bopli. I wasn’t afraid for myself. Only the bopli.”

  “That’s what happens when you become a parent.”

  “I saw that little blob on the screen and heard his heartbeat and I knew.” Staring at the fire as if the memories resided there, Hannah smiled and sighed. “This is my bopli. Gott gave me this gift. He had His reasons for doing it now. It’s not to teach me a lesson or punish me. A person doesn’t give away a gift like this. At least I don’t, when I know I can take care of him and love him.”

  Waiting for the knot in her throat to dissolve, Laura inhaled and blew out the air. Danki, Gott. We had an accident. We went to the hospital. We were fine, but lessons were learned. Wisdom gained.

  Zechariah learned he shouldn’t listen to others who inadvertently, through their love and caring, made him feel useless. He could drive a buggy. He could help them from the pit. He could deliver messages. He could take care of Abel. Donny’s parents would remind him every time he left the house not to go far. They would remind his brothers and sisters to watch over him. They would check on him more often. A blessing nearly lost was held closer to the chest in tighter arms.

  Even if he did wiggle to be free.

  What had she learned? That sometimes she needed to be saved. Whether she liked it or not. Sometimes she needed help. She might not be helpless, but she could let others help her. And in doing so, she helped them.

  She might let someone else drive the buggy. Like Zechariah.

  She smiled. “I think . . .”

  Hannah’s eyes were closed. Her head reclined against the rocker. Her hands were tucked inside the crocheted blanket.

  Time for bed for a tuckered-out mother-to-be. And the old woman who, despite her aching body, didn’t feel quite so old.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “LAURA. LAURA! WAKE UP.”

  A hand shook Laura’s shoulder. She forced her eyelids open. Pain registered first. Her back. Her legs. Her arms. Her hands. Her head. Her fingers went to her forehead. Stitches. She rolled over. Ruby stood over her. “There you are. Zechariah is here. He’s determined to talk to you.” Her delighted expression matched the slight giggle in her voice.

  Laura rubbed her eyes and tried to absorb the meaning of her daughter’s words and the enthusiasm with which they were conveyed. “What time is it?”

  “Early. I just put biscuits in the oven. I’m starting the eggs.”

  “Breakfast time and Zechariah is at the door?”

  “Nee. I gave him a cup of kaffi in the living room. He said he went to the dawdy haus first, then came up here pounding on the door, all in a tizzy. He thought you were still in the hospital and no one told him.” Ruby scurried to the wall hooks and grabbed the dress on the top. A new dark-blue one she’d sewn for Laura. She pushed her glasses up her nose and examined it. “I didn’t know he needed to be told your whereabouts, but I told him you were still asleep because you had a hard day yesterday.”

  Laura dragged herself up on her elbows and squinted at the window. “Why is it so dark?”

  “Cloudy. And the temperature is dropping instead of going up this morning. Welcome to February. That little bit of spring we had is over.” Ruby whipped back to the bed and used her free hand to drag back the blankets and quilts. Icy air wafted over Laura. “Get up, get up. This dress is clean and looks fresh. Get dressed. He’s waiting.”

  “You’d think he was the bishop or something.” Despite her protestation, Laura swung her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled across the room on the cold wood planks to examine her other dresses. Blue brought out the green in her eyes. What was she thinking? She put her hand on her hip and winced. “You’d think I tumbled out of a buggy yesterday.”

  “I’ll get the ibuprofen and the B&W ointment.” Ruby thrust the blue dress at Laura. “Wear this one.”

  She bustled from the room and returned so fast with the first aid that she surely must’ve run up and down the stairs. “Hurry up.”

  After her daughter departed again, Laura took her time getting dressed, pinning up her hair, and brushing her teeth. A woman didn’t rush down to see a male visitor. She took the ibuprofen but left the B&W on the bathroom counter. She didn’t want to smell like aloe and comfrey.

  Taking a deep breath, she said a quick prayer and descended the stairs. Zechariah sat on the couch. He looked spiffy in his black pants, blue shirt, and suspenders.

  Instead of going to him, Laura strolled to the windows and stared out. “Did you steal Michael’s horse and buggy again?”

  “Aren’t you the funny one?” The clack of his cane on the wooden floor signaled his approach. His scent of soap and peppermint toothpaste told her he stopped close by. “Michael didn’t object. He didn’t say much. Mused a bit over how gut Gott was to bring me to your accident yesterday. He almost told me to be careful of the puddles that have turned to ice, but he caught himself about halfway through.”

  “Did he want to know where you were going?”

  “I told him. To see a freind.”

  “He probably thought it was Abel.”

  “Nee. I told him it was you.”

  It was good to have friends. Close friends. She gave him a sideways glance. “Why would you come to see a freind so early in the morning?”

  “It’s not that early. Some folks just lie around until all hours of the day.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” She concentrated on his scent and the sound of his soft, gruff voice. “It’s not that late. Ruby just put the biscuits in the oven.”

  “Gut. Then I’m not too late.”

  “You invited yourself to breakfast?”

  “Nee. I’m inviting you to breakfast.” He held out her coat. “I’m taking you to the Purple Martin Café.”

  In Ezekiel’s day the restaurant hadn’t been open until ten. Burke opened it for breakfast because it was his favorite meal to cook. Laura accepted her jacket, but she fixed her gaze on Zechariah’s face. “You’re taking me into town? Just you and me? To the Purple Martin?”

  “Jah, unless you have an objection.”

  They would be the talk of the Gmay. “Nee.” She stuck her head through the doorway to the kitchen and informed Ruby she would be going into town for breakfast.

  “Bundle up,” was her daughter’s only response.

  A few minutes later, Zechariah helped her into the buggy and slid in on the other side. He tugged a fleece-lined, blue-plaid blanket from the back seat and unfolded it. “It’s cold.” He grinned as he laid it over her knees and then tugged it over his. “And it’s a long drive.”

  Indeed.

  At first they chatted about the weather. Then Zechariah told her all about the sightings of the purple martins along the Gulf Coast and how some had been sighted in Austin, Texas. That meant they should arrive in northeast Missouri in early March.

  Was this what he wanted to talk about—bird-watching and the weather?

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Or her health. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

  “The truck driver was there. He would’ve gotten you out.”

  “Hannah has decided to keep the bopli—not give him up for adoption.”

  “It’ll be a hard road.”

  “But worth it.”

  He was silent for several minutes. The Jamesport city limits came into view.

  “Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about, or is this really about Burke’s Spanish omelet?”

  “I like his ham-and-cheese omelet better.” Zechariah’s voice, hoarse with cold, dropped. “But you
’re right. It’s not about breakfast. Although I am partial to breakfast. I’m also partial to the thought of eating it with you . . . every day.”

  He wanted to take her out to breakfast every day. The implication broke over her in an enormous breathtaking wave. She swallowed a squeak of excitement or trepidation or both. “That could get expensive if you plan to take me to a restaurant every day.”

  “Don’t be dense, woman.”

  “Zechariah, you’re driving me into town in freezing temperatures and an icy wind. A hard snow is about to dump all over us. You’re talking about weather, birds, and omelets. Spit it out.”

  Scowling, he pulled the buggy into the parking lot behind the restaurant and halted. At this early hour only a few cars dotted the lot. It would fill up as the morning wore on. “You’re such a sweet talker, you know that?”

  “I gave up sweet talking in my twenties. I’m old and acutely aware of the passage of time. We have little to spare.”

  “Tell me, are you going to keep trying to fix me?”

  “Nee. I gave that up. I learned my lesson with Tamara. It’s not my job to fix people.” The hardest lesson of her long life, just behind learning to accept death of loved ones as an integral part of the circle of life and God’s plan. “It’s my job to step out in faith and try to help people. But fixing them is Gott’s job. I pray and leave the rest to Him.”

  “I learned some things too.” He slid his gloved hands under the blanket. His fingers found Laura’s. She inhaled. The cold air hurt her lungs. He slid closer. The warmth of his legs seeped around hers. “Lessons I thought I’d already learned.”

  “Like life is short.”

  “Jah. I knew that, but when I heard your voice coming from inside that banged-up, upside-down buggy, everything inside me went topsy-turvy too.” His hand tightened. She put her free hand over it. “I keep thinking of how much worse it could’ve been.”

  “By the grace of Gott, we’re fine.”

  “That cut will leave a scar.” His gaze fixed on her stitches. “It will always remind me of how close I came to missing my chance.”

  He took his hand from hers, removed his glove, and with his bare finger traced a line just below the jagged stitches. “I’m burying my pride and my fear side by side. I will not miss this last chance.”

  Here she sat in the middle of a parking lot, under a dark sky that looked ready to drop a load of snow, and the cold left Laura. From her feet to her head, a toasty heat surged through her. A snowflake landed on her cheek. Then another on her lips. “What chance?”

  His expression bemused, he raised his face to the sky. Snowflakes dusted his eyebrows and his beard. “It’s snowing.”

  “Zechariah Stutzman.”

  “The chance to ask you to marry me.”

  “So do it.”

  “I thought I just did it.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Grinning, he turned on the seat so he faced her. His hands gripped hers. “I’ve wanted to do this since that day at Swan Lake. I knew I was being a stubborn old codger, but I was afraid. I’m not afraid anymore. Laura, will you marry me?”

  “Jah, jah, jah.”

  “Three times jah. In my book, that means three kisses.”

  “I like your book.”

  He tugged her closer. Their lips met. His warmth, his stubborn aliveness, flowed through Laura. His hands released hers and his arms slid around her waist. “Come here, woman,” he muttered. “Closer still.”

  His lips warmed her from head to toe. No more aches and pains. Nothing but sweet release. “I can’t breathe.” She leaned back and smiled at him. “You know how to warm up a woman.”

  “Just you.”

  “Better be.”

  She snuggled against him. The scratchy wool of his jacket tickled her nose. He kissed her kapp and then her forehead just above the stitches. “When?”

  “When do I want to get married?”

  “Jah.”

  “As soon as possible. As we both know, life is truly short.” She dared to touch his cheek. “And we’re old.”

  “Hey, you two are going to freeze to death out here.”

  They shot two feet apart on the buggy seat. Zechariah waved briskly at Burke, who slung two bulging garbage bags into a Dumpster. “Hey, Burke, don’t you have enough help? You’re bringing out the trash yourself?”

  “All work is honorable.” Chuckling, Burke cocked his head toward the back door. “Bring your lady friend in for kaffi and a hot cinnamon roll. I just took them out of the oven. I’ll have them frosted in a few minutes. I add a nice chunk of real butter when I serve them.”

  He broke into a Christmas carol as he headed for the door. It didn’t seem out of place at all. Christmas came year-round in Jamesport, Missouri. Hand on the door, he turned. “Or stay out here necking like teenagers. Looks like a lot more fun.”

  “Necking?” Laura had heard the term, but she’d never been accused of such behavior. “We’re not necking—”

  The door slammed behind Burke.

  Zechariah laughed first. The giddy sound of a man in love. Laura liked the sound so much she joined in. They laughed so hard her stomach hurt and tears rolled down her face.

  “First time in a long time I’ve been accused of doing anything like a teenager.” Zechariah wiped at his face with his sleeve. “I like it.”

  “Me too.” Laura slid back across the seat. “I think we need to neck some more.”

  “You’re my kind of girl. You choose kissing over a hot cinnamon roll.”

  “I think I can warm up more out here.”

  Zechariah hooted. “At your service.”

  Eventually, they did go inside. But not before the breakfast menu had been replaced with the lunch menu and all the cinnamon rolls had been eaten.

  Laura didn’t mind. From this day forward, she would have plenty of chances to make cinnamon rolls for Zechariah. And eat them with him.

  Life would be sweet, spicy, and warm, no matter the season.

  EPILOGUE

  CLANG, CLANG. LAURA SAT BOLT UPRIGHT IN BED. SHE opened her eyes. Darkness enveloped the dawdy haus bedroom. It couldn’t be time for breakfast yet. She’d just laid her head on the pillow. She patted the tangled mass of sheets. Still warm. Zechariah. She smiled at the thought, just as she did every time it hit her again like a bolt of lightning since their wedding almost five months earlier. “Zechariah?” She liked saying his name. It had weight and substance. “What are you doing?”

  No answer. She slipped from bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The windows were open to let the faint whisper of night-cooled July air waft through the house. Little good it did. The nights weren’t much cooler than the days. The light of a kerosene lamp flickered on the walls in the kitchen. Zechariah stood at the counter, a cookie in one hand and a glass of tea in the other.

  “Midnight snack?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So I see. Caffeine won’t help. Didn’t you get enough supper?”

  “I ate two helpings of your chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy.”

  His renewed appetite never ceased to delight Laura. Or the way he smiled at her across the table. Or his bashful request for more dessert. He’d put on a few pounds in the last few months. The doctor said this was good. The Parkinson’s hadn’t progressed a great deal in six months. A small miracle.

  Being happy and in love helped, the doctor said.

  As if they didn’t know that.

  “I’ll take a cookie.”

  Laura waited while Zechariah placed half a dozen peanut butter cookies on a saucer and brought it to the table. On the second trip he brought a glass of tea. “We can share. Otherwise, both of us will be up half the night going to the bathroom.” He settled into a chair. She did the same. “Not that we aren’t already up.”

  “It’s nice to be able to share the middle of the night in our very own place, just the two of us.”

  “I wanted my own place.�
�� He nudged the cookie plate toward her. “Sharing it with you makes it perfect. Moments like this are the best.”

  “I agree.” She selected the biggest cookie and nibbled at an edge. “Why are you really awake?”

  “Jerky legs.”

  “The doctor can adjust your medicine.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that right now.” He offered her the glass. She shook her head. He sipped and returned it to the table. “I like the way you look in the middle of the night with your hair down, no glasses, and wearing a nightgown.”

  Words of denial rose in her. She resisted them. If he liked what he saw, she was glad. She was grateful. Grateful for every second of every day. “You don’t look so bad yourself. No glasses. Bed shirt. Messy hair.”

  He rubbed his bald pate. “Ha. Not much hair.”

  Pounding buried the night noises. “Laura, Zechariah!”

  Ruby. Laura rose and swept through the tiny house to the door. She jerked it open. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Seth came to the door. Hannah’s in labor.” Ruby whirled and sped down the steps. “I told him not to wake you, but he says she’s asking for you.”

  “I’ll get dressed.”

  Sweet Hannah with her freckles and her love of volleyball, a mother. Laura flew to the bedroom and dressed. Zechariah insisted on coming with her. Seth paced the floor in the small living area when they came out.

  “Let’s go, let’s go.”

  A half hour later they rolled into Seth’s front yard. She hopped down and trudged into the house while the men put away the horse and the buggy.

  The smile her great-granddaughter offered was weak but still a smile. “He’s coming.”

  “You keep saying ‘he.’” Laura grabbed a washrag and wiped Hannah’s face. “Do you want a boy?”

  “Nee, not necessarily.” She gasped and panted. “The pains are strong. Rachel says soon I’ll know one way or another.”

  A sob punctuated her words. “Did I make the right decision? Should I give him up? What if I can’t be a gut mudder? What if I’m terrible at it?”

  “You won’t be terrible. You’re a natural. And you’ll have all of us to help you.”