by Leslie Gould
Beyond them, in the distance on the lane by the patch of sweet peas, stood a man I didn’t recognize. His head was held high, his hat back, and he appeared to be looking at the fading sky. Maybe he hoped to see the first star. Or perhaps he was whistling at the birds bedding down in their nests in the poplars that lined the lane. His profile was toward me, nearly silhouetted against the setting sun. In the dim light, his hair, what I could see, appeared to be the color of the summer moon.
As if he sensed me watching him, he glanced my way and smiled. Then he turned and strolled up the lane.
I stared after him until Phillip caught my eye. He waved. I responded, quickly, and backed into the house, pulling the door shut behind me.
CHAPTER
3
Like all communities, Plain people have our fair share of dysfunctional families, a term I’d learned from my cousin Cate. Just a week ago she mentioned she’d been reading about middle children, who typically long for more attention, and how some are pleasers and others are terrors. I was pretty sure she had me and Timothy in mind.
“The terrors take too many risks,” she’d said, “and the pleasers not enough.”
I thought she was on to something though, at least as far as I was concerned. I was a pleaser. I’d been trying to please my parents my entire life, feeling as if I needed to win their approval. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. I couldn’t measure up to what they wanted or, for that matter, what God wanted.
Still, all I knew to do was keep trying.
But it was funny how Cate’s passing comment got me thinking and, looking back on it, had even inspired me to go to the market against Mutter’s wishes. It was also the reason I began evaluating how I felt about Phillip. Was he truly what I wanted? Or was my motivation in courting him to please my parents?
As I dressed at five o’clock the next morning, I found myself wondering about taking risks. It wasn’t the norm for an Amish girl to take any at all. We lived protected lives—going from our Dat’s home to a husband’s. We might go on a few outings, but it wasn’t as if we went rock climbing or parasailing or bungee jumping or anything. I couldn’t imagine, exactly, what a true risk would look like in my life. More so, I couldn’t imagine my parents ever letting me take one.
Our family came across to others as pretty normal. But I knew better—although I was far too loyal to discuss it with anyone. Mutter was depressed. And Daed had possessed an awful temper when we were all younger. He seemed to have mellowed with age, but I remained leery of his anger and still tiptoed around it. I found myself constantly monitoring Mutter’s moods as well.
I stepped out of my room determined to prepare a good breakfast to get everyone off to an extra-positive start. As I hurried down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen, I hoped for as little chaos as possible on the one day, aside from when we hosted church, we were on display to our community. At least half of the families in our church district would join us, along with Mutter’s relatives—minus my grandmother, who was visiting a widow friend a county over.
Only Onkel Bob’s family on my Daed’s side would be in attendance, but still that was a big crowd of people.
For some reason Mutter and Daed kept hosting the barbecue even though it seemed they enjoyed it less and less each year. They thought others were judging them because none of their sons had joined the church—and most likely they were right.
Mutter sat at the table, scribbling down one of her lists. She wasn’t much of a morning person and only nodded at me in acknowledgment.
“Guder Mariye,” I said in return as I put the water on to boil for coffee and then took the bacon from the refrigerator.
I didn’t mind she was quiet until she had her coffee. I relished the stillness of the kitchen while Daed and the boys did the milking.
The breeze blew through the open windows above the sink, along with the concert of the mooing cows. The morning light cast a peachy glow through the first floor of the Haus, brightening the wood floors, which felt cool against my bare feet. The rooster crowed in the distance, followed by the chirping of blue jays in the elm in the courtyard.
As I lined the largest cast-iron skillet with the bacon and mixed up the batter for pancakes, I thought about our Haus, which had been passed down from generation to generation in my Daed’s family for nearly two hundred years. The L shape formed a courtyard in the back that had been paved with bricks and filled with plants and flowers. An elm tree grew just off of the courtyard on the lawn, shading the side yard and providing a climbing structure for my brothers.
One of the six upstairs bedrooms, which just happened to be mine, had a small balcony—awfully fancy for a Plain house. Years ago, my three oldest brothers had slept in the room, but after they began sneaking out of the house by transferring themselves from the balcony to a trellis and then dropping down to the courtyard, my parents moved them to a different room. I was the one they trusted with the balcony. And I validated their trust, over and over. Never had I even stepped out onto that balcony. Just as I had never crossed them or disobeyed—until questioning my feelings for Phillip last night.
The scent of the coffee mingled with the sizzling bacon, creating one of the most comforting smells in the world. I poured Mutter a cup, added cream, and put it on the table in front of her.
Next I turned the flame on under the griddle and added blueberries from our garden to the batter as an extra treat.
“Oh, Addie.” Mutter craned her neck from the table. “You shouldn’t waste the berries on us. We should serve those this afternoon, to our guests.”
“The little boys can pick more,” I said, stirring the batter lightly. The bushes hung heavy this year. She knew that.
I worked quietly, spooning batter onto the griddle, turning the bacon, then flipping the pancakes. After I took the first batch off the griddle, Mutter pushed the list she’d been writing toward me.
“These are the chores that have to be done this morning,” she said.
I skimmed the items. She hadn’t included anything we hadn’t discussed the day before.
“Make sure and wear your purple dress,” Mutter said. “It goes so well with your eyes.”
I’d slipped on a work dress for the morning. I’d change later, before our guests arrived.
Joe-Joe tiptoed into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still in his pajamas. I gave him a hug and directed him to the table.
As I spooned more batter onto the griddle, Danny traipsed in through the back door.
Before I realized Daed was behind him, I asked, “Where’s Timothy?”
Danny shrugged as our father marched through the kitchen into the living room. A moment later, he yelled up the stairs, “Timothy! Get down here. Now!”
“What time did you get home last night?” I asked Danny.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he answered, stifling a yawn.
“Where’s Billy?”
“Feeding the chickens.”
I dished up the bacon and then flipped the second round of pancakes. “Watch the pancakes,” I said to Danny. “I’ll go get Billy.” I headed out the back door, happy to be outside. Daed would be ready to pray in just a minute.
Billy wasn’t in the chicken coop.
I called out his name as I headed toward the barn.
“Back here!”
I rounded the corner. There he stood, inspecting a can of beer. “What’s this?” He held it up to his nose and made a face.
“Is it empty?” I asked.
He nodded, shaking the can as he did. “Oops,” he said, as liquid splashed onto his hand. “Not quite.”
The ground was littered with cans—the same brand that Samuel had given Timothy the day before. I thought they were for the party, and perhaps some of them had been, but it looked as if Timothy had a fair share on his own. No wonder he couldn’t get out of bed for chores.
“Those,” I said, “aren’t for you. That’s for sure.”
Billy dropped the
can and it bounced off a rock, clattering against the concrete foundation of the barn. “Are they Timothy’s?”
“Probably,” I said. “But they shouldn’t be. He’s too young.”
“But Samuel and George are old enough, right?” Both were old enough, and it was clear Samuel had taken to drinking, but I liked to think George didn’t drink, though I didn’t know for sure.
“Right. Kind of.” I sighed. “Regardless of how old they are, they’re stupid to drink this stuff, especially so much at once.” One or two might have been fine, but by the looks of it, Timothy had gone overboard. “Let’s go in for breakfast. Timothy needs to clean these up.”
“I can do it,” Billy said, grabbing a second can.
“No. Leave it. It’s Timothy’s mess—he needs to take care of it.”
He still had the can in his hand as Daed came around the corner with a feed sack. “Bag these up,” he said, thrusting it at me.
Billy the Brave stepped in front of me. “Addie said Timothy should do it.”
“He’s not feeling well.”
I frowned.
He pushed the sack toward me again. I took it as I said, “Timothy’s going to hurt himself or someone else if he doesn’t stop.”
“At least he was drinking here.” Daed crossed his arms. “And not driving.”
I shook my head. Sure, it looked as if he’d been drinking here, but there was no way to know he hadn’t been drinking and driving too.
“Look.” Daed’s eyebrows came together as he wrinkled his brow. “Boys will be boys.”
I grimaced, clutching the sack tightly.
Daed turned to Billy. “Go back to the house.”
Billy tossed the can he’d been holding against the side of the barn, stumbled backward, and took off at a run.
“Our boys aren’t that different than others. What they’re going through is as common as dirt.” My father, like most men his age, had a collection of odd sayings. “Not all Youngie are so foolish. That’s why your Mamm and I are thankful for Phillip Eicher,” Daed said, motioning toward the dozen cans. “He’s hard working and doesn’t run around.”
“About that,” I said. “I really need to talk with you—”
“Later.” Daed turned away from me. “After the barbecue. We have too much to do until then.” He strode off, stretching his stride with each step.
I flung the sack open and began picking up the cans, turning my head away from the smell, painfully aware of my ambivalence about Phillip. What if he was my only chance at marriage? It wasn’t that I wanted to push him away—I just wanted to slow things down. There was nothing wrong with that.
When I finished picking up the cans, I stashed the sack in the back seat of Timothy’s car. By the time I reached the kitchen, everyone was finishing up with breakfast. All that was left was one pancake and a half piece of bacon.
I washed my hands at the kitchen sink, using the lavender soap I’d made last fall, the sweet smell washing away the stink of the beer. I hoped Daed wouldn’t have time to talk with Phillip today either, not before he had time to listen to me at least.
One blessing of the day would be not having to worry about the Mosier boys and Timothy. There was no way Mervin and Martin would be foolish enough to show up at our barbecue—or so I thought.
The hickory smoke from Daed’s barbecue filled the courtyard and blew in through the open kitchen window. I picked up one of the coolers of lemonade and started toward the back door, telling Danny to grab the second one.
“Bring the bowl of blueberries,” I told Billy, nodding toward the table.
He did, tilting it precariously.
“Careful now,” I said.
He righted it and followed Danny through the door as I held the screen wide open. Joe-Joe traipsed along, a stack of napkins in his hand.
Mutter sat on a lawn chair in the courtyard, under the canopy Daed had bought the year before. Nan Beiler, whom my Onkel Bob seemed to be courting, sat beside her. Nan was Mennonite and wore a printed dress, noticeably different from our Plain colored fabric, and a rounded Kapp instead of a heart-shaped one. She drove the local bookmobile, and because most Amish were big readers, nearly everyone in our area knew her.
Danny and Daed, with Billy and Joe-Joe’s help, had set up the tables and benches from the church wagon. Since it was an off Sunday, and services had been at a neighbors’ farm the week before, it worked out well.
My cousin Cate and her husband, Pete, were walking toward us from the creek, where they’d cut across from Onkel Bob’s property. She carried a bowl in her hands, and Pete carried two folding lawn chairs. Joe-Joe took off toward them, swinging his arms around and around and twirling the napkins as he did. I was relieved when Cate snatched them from him before he let go.
Beyond them, by the horseshoe pit, stood a young man I didn’t recognize. Unless . . . I squinted into the afternoon sun. Was he the man I’d seen the night before? I couldn’t be certain from so far away.
I forced myself to stop staring and put the cooler of lemonade on the table and then took the bowl of blueberries from Billy. Cate smiled as she neared me, waving the napkins in one hand and lifting her bowl higher in the other.
“I brought potato salad,” she said. “Pete’s Mamm’s recipe.” She took off the lid and put it on the table and then met my gaze with her deep blue eyes. “You look tired.”
I yawned, on cue, and then laughed. “Just a little.”
“I imagine you’ve been working hard.”
“I’ll rest tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Right . . .” She nodded toward my dress. “Purple is such a good color on you,” she said. “And the black apron—now, that’s a good idea.”
I soaked in her compliments but focused on the practical one. “Jah, I figured a white one would be dirty in no time.”
I scooted Cate’s bowl to the right to make room for the trays of sliced watermelon that were still in the kitchen and then changed the subject. “Is Betsy coming?”
“I think so.”
Betsy was expecting a Bobli soon. Cate had laughed when she told me, saying it was a wedding trip pregnancy for sure, although Betsy and her husband, Levi, had only traveled as far as his parents’ farm, where they’d been ever since.
“How’s she doing?”
“Gut,” Cate answered. “Tired—and a little nervous, I think. But overall, fine.”
I wondered if it was hard on Cate, who was six years older than Betsy, to have her little Schwester having Onkel Bob’s first grandchild. Of course I’d never ask her. I did step back and try to evaluate, slyly, if there was any chance Cate might be expecting, but she appeared as thin as ever.
I hoped she and Pete would be blessed with a Bobli of their own soon.
Cate stepped over to Mutter and Nan, and Pete wandered over to Daed and Onkel Bob, who hovered over the barbecue. They hadn’t started the chicken, yet all three were intent about something, probably the state of the burning coals.
My Aenti Pauline, one of my Mutter’s Schwesters, and her family arrived next, minus her husband and Hannah. “Owen’s taking care of one of the horses.” Aenti Pauline’s family raised both standard-bred and quarter horses on their farm. “And Hannah spent the night at Molly’s, although she may come later.”
I couldn’t help but envy how free my Aenti Pauline was in letting Hannah have a life of her own. I’d never spent the night at a friend’s house, not even at the homes of my cousins.
A few minutes later both of my Aentis met me in the kitchen and, under Pauline’s lead, helped me carry out the rest of the food. As Daed put the meat on the grill, Betsy arrived with Levi, who directed her to a lawn chair right away. Plain dresses did a good job hiding a pregnancy, but it was obvious Betsy was due soon, both by her size and by the way she walked.
A minute later Mutter rose to greet Phillip and his parents, who were walking toward the gathering from where they’d parked their buggy in the field. The breeze caught Bishop Eicher’s long white
beard, sending it off to the side. He grabbed it with one hand and his hat with the other. Patty Eicher, the bishop’s wife, was nearly as tall as her husband, thin as a rail, and all business. Phillip’s face brightened when he saw my mother limping toward him. I decided to let Mutter welcome them. I would greet them later.
Timothy and Danny were flirting with a group of girls from our district. I searched the crowd for the young man I’d seen earlier—and probably last night—but when I couldn’t find him, I turned my attention back to my Bruders, calling out to them to put out the rest of the benches. Timothy ignored me, but Danny got busy right away. As I glared at Timothy, I saw a movement in the bushes by the creek.
Two heads popped up, both wearing sunglasses. I didn’t react, not wanting to alert Timothy.
“It’s almost time to eat,” I called out, waving my hand at Timothy and the girls, who wore flip-flops, white Kapps, and pastel dresses—mint green and baby blue, light pink and lavender, as if they’d been freshly dipped in Easter-egg dye.
Keeping an eye on Mervin and Martin as they darted in and out of the brush, I gathered Joe-Joe and Billy around me, readying them for the prayer, but before Daed started it, Samuel, George, and Sadie arrived. She wore a dark blue dress and was as petite as George was brawny. She was a shy one and stuck to his side.
It took a few minutes for everyone to settle down again and for Daed to start the prayer. A minute into it, when we should have all had our eyes closed, Joe-Joe stirred. I peeked as he pointed toward the creek.
Not lowering his voice, despite the fact that we were in the middle of the silent prayer, he asked, “Who’s that?”
Mervin and Martin both froze for just a moment and then disappeared behind the willow tree. That’s all it took for Timothy, followed by Samuel, to bolt after them.
Daed took his time with the prayer. Perhaps he sensed something going on and figured the longer everyone had their eyes closed the better, although I kept my eyes wide open. Timothy and Samuel disappeared behind the brush, swishing foliage and tree branches as they bounded down the trail. I could only imagine what Timothy, with Samuel’s help, would do once they caught the twins.