Adoring Addie

by Leslie Gould

  I exhaled slowly, disappointed in Mervin and Martin’s Dat. Was I really so bad?

  Jonathan stepped forward. “I was showing her my work.”

  “Why?” His Dat’s eyes drilled us both. “Out of all the girls in the county, why a Cramer?”

  “Maybe it’s not what we think,” his mother said. “Right?” She turned toward Jonathan and me.

  My heart raced. Jonathan shook his head.

  His mother’s mouth turned downward, and she placed the bags by the back door and spun back around to the van.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Dirk said to Jonathan. Then to me he said, “You go along now.”

  “I’m giving her a ride,” Jonathan said, gesturing toward the horse and buggy.

  His Dat froze.

  Jonathan took my hand and pulled me toward the buggy.

  “Son!” Dirk called out. “Randall can take her home.”

  The driver, who had gone around to the back of the van, appeared, carrying two suitcases, nodding his head.

  Jonathan thanked the driver and then said, “There’s no need. I’m taking her.”

  His mother slammed the side door to the van shut as the back door to the house opened. Dawdi Mosier stepped out, his white beard caught by the slight breeze, looking like Moses on Mount Sinai. “Welcome home,” he called out. Then he looked beyond his son and daughter-in-law and said, “Jonathan, it’s late. You hurry Addie on home. Remember, I said we don’t want her parents to worry.”

  Jonathan nodded.

  I looked over my shoulder, wanting to communicate my thanks to the old man, but he’d stepped down and was collecting bags.

  Jonathan’s mother made a shooing motion with her hand, willing me to disappear, I was sure.

  By the time we reached the buggy, I was trembling. I’d never felt so rejected in my entire life. As Jonathan turned the buggy around, I held out my hand to show it was shaking. He reached for it and held it until it stopped.

  “Is this how you feel around my house, jah?”

  He shook his head. “Your folks were nicer.”

  “Timothy hasn’t been. And none of them would be if they knew we were . . .” I stopped, searching for the right word.

  “Courting?” Jonathan interjected.

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “Jah,” he answered. “It is. We’re officially, for us, courting.”

  I nodded. I liked the sound of his words immensely.

  We needed an advocate. Someone from the older generation to broker a deal with our parents. That’s what happened in the classic novels I sometimes had a chance to read. One person would talk to another who would talk to another. Then everything ended up being a bigger mess than at the beginning, but by the end of the story everything was sorted out. I hoped we could skip to the end and avoid the bigger mess in the middle, though.

  “Does your Dat know my Onkel Bob?” I asked.

  “Jah. I don’t think well, but they’re acquainted. When I cited your Onkel as someone who has made a living off carpentry, my Dat knew who I was speaking of.”

  “My Aenti Nell thought he might be able to help us. I was going to talk with you about it last night.” I scooted my hands under my thighs. “Maybe you and I could talk with my Onkel about approaching our parents to try to put an end to the grudge. I’m sure your Dawdi would try to help too.”

  “Jah,” Jonathan said. “I think it’s worth a try.”

  Then I told him what Aenti Nell had said, about the letters his father had sent my mother all those years ago.

  “That’s strange,” Jonathan said when I finished. “I’ve never known my Dat to send a letter. He hates to write.”

  I pondered that as we rode along. Maybe those letters were the reason he hated writing. Who wouldn’t after destroying a relationship with their best friend?

  We decided to meet at Onkel Bob’s the next afternoon at two o’clock. At one fifty, Joe-Joe still hadn’t settled down for his nap and was sitting on the couch, making monster noises inspired by a library book I now regretted checking out for him. Mutter had fallen asleep upstairs, and Aenti Nell was dozing in her chair in the sewing room, sending soft snores into the kitchen.

  Deciding it was too late for Joe-Joe to nap now anyway, I motioned for him to follow me. With a smile on his face, he did. We tiptoed through the kitchen, but by the time we reached the back door he started to whine that he was tired. I put my hand over his mouth and pulled him outside and down the steps.

  “Why didn’t you take a nap, then?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I wasn’t tired.”

  I scanned the barnyard for Billy but couldn’t see him. Daed, Timothy, and Danny were repairing the south fence today, and I imagined Billy had tagged along.

  I couldn’t leave him unattended at the house. Even if I woke Aenti Nell to watch him, it wouldn’t be long until he woke Mutter. Then she would wonder where I went.

  “You’re going over to Onkel Bob’s with me.”

  Joe-Joe smiled. He liked Cate.

  “Come on.” This way I could honestly say Joe-Joe and I went on a walk. Or to pick blackberries along the creek.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I hurried into the house and grabbed an empty ice cream bucket from the counter. We used them for all sorts of things—compost, slop, and berry picking mainly.

  I handed Joe-Joe the bucket, and he swung it around as we walked. I kept a look out for Billy as we rounded the willow tree and then started down the trail, instantly feeling the drop in temperature as we neared the creek.

  Joe-Joe, barefoot, splashed into the water. I wore my flip-flops and crossed on the stones—until Joe-Joe slipped and fell, plopping onto his side.

  “Hop up,” I said.

  He turned up toward me with startled eyes, the bucket handle still in his hand. By now his pants and most of his shirt were soaked. I wadded my skirt, holding it above my knees with one hand, stepped into the water, and pulled Joe-Joe up with my other hand. Together, we waded across the creek. When we got to the other side, he scampered up the trail, digging his toes into the mud.

  He’d definitely be staying outside when we reached Onkel Bob’s.

  He left my sight for a moment at the crest of the trail. A moment later a screech from him made me increase my stride. When I reached the top, I found Joe-Joe sitting in the middle of the trail next to a rock, holding his foot, his bloody big toe pointed upward, the bucket off to the side.

  “Did you stub it?”

  “Jah.”

  “Well, come on.” Stubbed toes were a part of every Amish childhood.

  His eyes filled with tears. “It hurts.”

  I grabbed the bucket and pulled him to his feet; he hobbled along for a few steps, obviously in pain. Then he stopped. “Can you carry me?” he sobbed.

  I handed him the bucket and swung him up into my arms, feeling his weight in my lower back. His foot brushed my apron, leaving a muddy mark, and then he wrapped his legs around my waist, the bucket banging against my thigh. I walked along the edge of the sycamore grove and then through the gate to Onkel Bob’s property. I’d heard my Daed say several times that he could have used the ten acres his sister and Onkel Bob were given. I’m sure he could have, but I was thankful to have such kind relatives next door.

  What Onkel Bob ended up with wasn’t prime farmland anyway. It was good land for his showroom and shop, and of course the house and barn he built too. And for the few steers he raised for beef.

  “Addie!” It was Jonathan’s voice, but I couldn’t see him.

  “There he is.” Joe-Joe pointed toward the barn.

  Jonathan stepped out of the shadows and started to jog toward us. When he reached us, he took Joe-Joe from me.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Joe-Joe held up his mud-covered and still-bloodied toe.

  “Let’s see if you can walk.” Jonathan slid Joe-Joe to the ground, leaving a muddy streak down the side of Jona
than’s white shirt.

  Joe-Joe handed me the bucket and took a few steps.

  “And run!” Jonathan took off at full force. Joe-Joe barreled after him.

  I shook my head. I’d been duped.

  Joe-Joe stopped at Betsy’s rose garden, out of breath, and collapsed onto the grass beside it.

  When I reached the garden, I bent down to smell a peach-colored rose. My parents felt roses were too fancy to grow. I always envied my cousin’s bushes.

  “It’s the pinnacle of God’s beauty,” Jonathan said. “Don’t you think?” Then he chuckled and said, “Except for you.”

  I stood up straight. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m no beauty.”

  “Ach, but you are,” he said.

  Joe-Joe groaned in our direction and crawled to the bench of the picnic table.

  Jonathan took out his knife and cut the stem of the flower, handing it to me. I raised my eyebrows as I took it.

  “Your Onkel won’t mind,” he said. “Smell it.”

  I breathed deeply, soaking in the heavenly scent.

  “Now touch a petal.”

  I lifted it to my face, rubbing the blossom against my skin.

  “If you don’t think you’re far more beautiful to God than that rose, then you need to get to know God better.”

  His voice was full of kindness, but still his words embarrassed me—his claim that God found me beautiful and that he did too, and his admonishment.

  I turned away. “I’ll go see if Onkel Bob can talk with us,” I said.

  “I already asked,” Jonathan answered. “He’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  I nodded toward Joe-Joe. I didn’t want him to overhear the conversation.

  “Hey.” Jonathan sat down beside him. “How about some shade?”

  “And some lemonade?” Cate stood behind me holding a tray with four full glasses.

  “Ach,” I said. “Denki.”

  She put the tray on the table and picked up two of the glasses. “Better than the shade, Joe-Joe, how about if you come in the house with me? I was just taking a reading break. Want to join me?”

  He seemed torn about leaving Jonathan.

  “It’s nice and cool in the living room,” Cate said. “Plus I have some sugar cookies I made this morning.”

  He broke into a smile and scampered off the bench.

  “He’s really muddy,” I said.

  “I’ll help him clean up,” Cate answered.

  I changed the subject. “Tell me about Betsy before you go.”

  “She thought she was in labor yesterday, but it turned out to be false. It should be any day though.”

  I searched Cate’s face, wondering if she felt even a hint of jealousy. All I could see was joy, mixed in with a little bit of worry.

  “Come on,” she said to Joe-Joe as she carried one glass back toward the house. She’d never seemed very fond of children—until she married Pete.

  It would have seemed like a long time waiting for Onkel Bob—wondering how long Cate would keep Joe-Joe busy, wondering if Mutter had woken up yet and realized I was gone—except that I was sitting next to Jonathan.

  I hardly noticed the heat. Or the horse flies buzzing around. Or the thunderclouds building again on the horizon.

  “I prayed about all of this,” Jonathan said. “This morning.”

  “Denki,” I said, a little embarrassed I hadn’t thought to do the same.

  A moment later Onkel Bob joined us, apologizing profusely. “A customer called.”

  He sat down across from us. I slid the third glass of lemonade toward him. The ice had melted, and the condensation was thick on the outside. “Cate brought these out.”

  Onkel Bob drained it. “Ach,” he said. “That’s much better. It’s so muggy today. We can go into the house. Somehow Cate manages to keep it cool.”

  “Joe-Joe’s in there with her,” I said.

  Onkel Bob nodded, as if he understood.

  “We won’t be long,” Jonathan said. “We’re hoping for your advice—and maybe your help.”

  Onkel Bob met Jonathan’s gaze and then mine. “I can guess what this is about—but why don’t you go ahead and tell me.”

  “We’re courting,” Jonathan said. “But our parents don’t approve.”

  “And you want to figure out how to get around that?”

  “No,” I said. “We want to figure out how to stop this grudge between them. It’s been going on too long.”

  “I agree,” Onkel Bob said. “I thought we made some progress at the barbecue.”

  I wasn’t sure how to say my parents only behaved because they cared what other people thought. “I don’t know that there have been any lasting changes.”

  “And my parents are stubborn too,” Jonathan added. “Although my grandfather wants to see it end, as he has from the beginning.”

  “Jah,” Onkel Bob said. “That’s always been my impression too.”

  “Plus, I’m afraid if something isn’t done, it will explode with our generation,” I said. “I don’t think Martin and Mervin will do anything, but Timothy is likely to.”

  Onkel Bob nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So what should we do?” Jonathan asked.

  Onkel Bob took his hat off and then put it back on. “Well,” he finally said. “Don’t go behind your parents’ backs. That will only lead to more hard feelings.”

  My face fell. I wouldn’t be able to see Jonathan at all if we didn’t sneak around.

  Onkel Bob’s expression was sympathetic. “I’ll talk to all of them,” he said. “Soon.”

  “When?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Within the next couple of days, God willing.”

  “Denki,” Jonathan said.

  “Just remember, go slowly. You’re bound to stumble if you run too fast.” Onkel Bob started to stand, asking as he did, “Anything else?”

  “Jah,” Jonathan said. “Are you hiring?”

  Onkel Bob swung his leg over the bench. “Not right now, but in a few weeks or so I will be. Check back then.”

  Jonathan’s face hid his disappointment—he’d probably be locked into farming by then—as he too stood. “We appreciate your help. We really do.” He extended his hand.

  Onkel Bob clasped Jonathan’s hand with both of his and then let go, reaching to pat my shoulder. “I’d do anything I could for Addie,” he said to Jonathan. “I trust her as a judge of character when it comes to you. She’s always been a wise soul, along with being a hard worker.”

  I blushed at his compliments, unusual in our community. But Onkel Bob had always been extra positive. All my life I’d tried not to be jealous of Cate and Betsy and the relationship they had with him, reminding myself they didn’t have a mother. But the thing was, I did have a mother, and a live-in Aenti, but I still didn’t have the encouragement Cate and Betsy had always had.

  My family, from my maternal grandmother on down, could be negative with subtle put-downs and not so subtle criticisms, but Onkel Bob and Cate and Betsy were the opposite. Even when Cate had been rough around the edges, she still had an enthusiasm for others, especially for Betsy, and even for me. There was a sense of gratitude in their family that I hadn’t experienced in mine.

  I glanced at Jonathan. I felt the same optimistic attitude from him.

  “Something will work out,” Onkel Bob said, yanking me out of my thoughts. “Come back if you need more advice, but right now I’d best get back to work.”

  We bid him good-bye, and then I started toward the house to collect Joe-Joe.

  “Do you have a minute?” Jonathan asked.

  I nodded, even though I didn’t.

  “I have something for you in my buggy.” He took my hand. “It’s in the showroom parking lot.”

  I followed him, wondering what he had for me and marveling at his generosity, but stopped when I noticed Pete standing in the open doorway of the showroom. He worked part-time for Onkel Bob and part-time in the publishing business he and Cate had
become involved in after they moved back to Lancaster County from New York, not too long after their wedding.

  “Just trying to catch a breeze.” Pete mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and then around his beard, a mischievous smile on his face. “What are you two up to?”

  Jonathan made a funny face, and Pete smiled and then winked as Jonathan pulled me along to the rear of his buggy. He let go of my hand and unlatched the back. There was something pretty large but covered. It wasn’t for me—I was certain my gift was something small, like the bookmark or box.

  Jonathan pulled the horse blanket off, revealing one of his hope chests.

  “Nice,” I said. Perhaps Onkel Bob had ordered one for Cate. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d refused one when she was thirteen. “Who is it for?”

  He folded the blanket in half, catching it under his chin. “You,” he answered, folding the blanket again.

  “Me?”

  He nodded, placing the blanket back into the buggy.

  My heart raced. How did he know I’d wanted one of my own more than anything else in the world?

  He pulled the chest toward us, balancing it on the edge. “Can you help me?”

  “Jah.” I hurried to the other side. “Jonathan, I can’t tell you how much this means . . .”

  He grinned. “It’s your anniversary gift.”

  I laughed. “Jah, it’s been all of four days.”

  He tilted his head toward me. “It feels like four years. I can’t wait until it’s been forty.”

  We lifted the chest together, carrying it to the sidewalk in front of the showroom, and then put it down, the front facing me. Jonathan stepped backward. I gasped.

  Carved into the front of the chest was my name—Adelaide—with a willow tree on one side and cattails on the other. Above shone the moon and stars.

  “Oh, Jonathan.” I stepped forward and lifted the lid. Inside were more carvings of the orchard and the creek tumbling along with the sycamore grove above the bank. “It’s beautiful. When did you have time to do this?”

  “The chest was already made—but I started carving it Sunday night. And finished it an hour ago.” He yawned, and for the first time I noticed how tired he looked.

  “Did your parents see it?”

  He shook his head.