Hester Takes Charge

by Byler, Linda;

  The fading light created an aura of gold covering the white plastered walls, the heavy oak ceiling beams, and the well-worn floorboards in a deep, rich color. The stovetop gleamed cozily, the steam from the cooking ham and apples rising fragrantly.

  A red and white cloth covered the table, where a brown, earthenware pitcher of purple violets stood in the center. Bappie’s sampler, an embroidered piece of fabric with a tree, her family’s names, and the words “Home Sweet Home” beneath it, hung on the wall above the bright table.

  A rush of sweetness enveloped Hester. For only a moment, she allowed herself the thought of his golden hair and his thick, solid form seated at the kitchen table, infused with warm light.

  “His.” She could not think “Noah.” It was far too intimate, and Bappie might detect a faint blush on her cheeks.

  But different memories crowded in then, Hester helpless in their wake. So many meals, so much effort. Lighter bread, crispier chicken, vegetables left boiling too long, or not long enough. Tea that was not strong enough, or harvested too soon. Always after this derision, her husband bowed his dark head, closed his eyes in severe concentration, and moved his mouth with sincerity as he silently thanked God for his food.

  Hester often didn’t pray at all. She figured God saw the blackness of her rebellion, so he wouldn’t want her praise, would he? She was powerless to stop her anger and hurt. She seethed behind her calm, unperturbed face, wanting to throw her heavy ironstone plate at her husband’s pious demeanor.

  “Her William,” he had been, as she was “his Hester.” He owned her, possessed her, was proud of her to the world, or appeared to be. It was only when they were alone that he displayed so much criticism. It fell like a shower of bricks, painful, unprotected, crushing. At other times she could manage to wave it away like a swarm of bothersome gnats.

  But here it was again. How could she hope to have happiness with any man after having been married to William? Better, much better, to leave marriage and love to those who were truly sweet and good.

  With a grunt and a scrape, Bappie scuttled past, a bit bent over as she carried the wooden bucket and scrub cloth, her face contorted and red, her hair only a shade darker, as she went to the back stoop and sloshed the water across the backyard.

  Flopping ungracefully into a kitchen chair, she shoved her backside down, sprawled her legs in front of her, threw her arms across the chair back, and lifted her face to the beams across the ceiling. “Whooo!”

  “You drive yourself too hard, Bappie.”

  “It’s not as if I had any help.”

  Hester, mixing the flour, milk, and shortening for the knepp, gave her a sidelong look. She decided to say nothing, knowing that when Bappie got into this mood, she became as prickly as a porcupine if you crossed her path.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be home. We can houseclean the kitchen together.”

  “But our bedrooms aren’t done. You know how long it takes to empty and refill the ticks. It’s hard work, getting all that straw to stay in the cover. And it takes them a long time to dry after they’ve been washed. I was thinking of getting up at five to start the fire under the kettle and to get the bedding on the line as soon as possible. Do we have enough kindling? If we don’t, I’ll have to split some tonight yet.

  “It’s hot in here. Why don’t you put a window cloth in the window and get some air in here?”

  And so they ate their meal while Bappie planned and worried, eating an alarming amount of the dried apples, ham, and dumplings. She soon became quite relaxed, her mood mellowing as she finished up with the sweet spearmint tea. They needed to get out to the farm to check the peas, onions, and radishes, she said. But if they did that, when would the housecleaning get done?

  It was important to have the first peas, she stated emphatically, because when the market opened, the wealthy women of the town were always willing to pay an exceedingly high amount for a half-bushel of spring peas. Of course, if they planted the peas too early, there was a danger of frost, which would be no gain at all, if those pea stalks froze. All the profit would be lost, and all they’d eventually have to sell would be some sun-bleached peas that were grown in too-warm temperatures.

  Bappie was rambling on.

  “We should actually move out there. Emma could find a renter for this house. She would likely be able to charge more then we pay. If we’d live there …”

  Hester broke in. “Bappie, that house is a hut at best. You know it’s not big enough, and it would cost far too much to make it decent. No.”

  “You’re just scared out there in the wild.”

  “No. No, I’m not.”

  “Why don’t you want to move?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “It’s your doctoring and herbs and stuff.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, it is. I saw all those baskets of weeds out back.”

  “They’re not weeds.”

  “I know.” Bappie smiled good-naturedly, then placed a hand on Hester’s forearm.

  “You’re a gifted herbalist, I know. And I respect that more and more as time goes on. You help me tomorrow, I’ll help you Thursday, then Friday we’ll go to the farm. All right?”

  CHAPTER 2

  THEY SCOURED AND SCRUBBED THE FOLLOWING DAY, THE SWEET spring breezes touching the rooms with magic. They filled the washlines with curtains and bedding. They put fresh straw in the heavy covers, called ticks, then laid them on top of the sturdy ropes that held the wooden beds together and supported the straw ticks. They washed the windows until they gleamed, and wiped down and scrubbed the floors.

  They sang and talked as they worked companionably. Sometimes quiet spread across the room, comfortable and relaxed, an atmosphere that comes only after years of togetherness.

  Hester pushed up the window from her bedroom and called to Emma, who was pegging a tablecloth on her washline. “Hey, neighbor lady!”

  Emma’s shiny, round face looked around, confused, till Hester called again. Looking up this time, the rotund little woman’s face broke into a wreath of wrinkles, her eyes almost closing as her cheeks pushed up on them when she smiled. Her white ruffled house cap bounced sideways as she shook her finger at Hester.

  “You gave me a scare, young lady!”

  Hester laughed, glad to see Emma again. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it, Emma?”

  “Ya! Ya!”

  Although Walter and Emma went to the Lutheran church, she was from Germany and spoke the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect fluently. She spoke English well, but a smattering of Dutch messed up many good and proper English words. Sometimes Hester gave up being serious and attentive and burst out laughing at all the wrong pronunciations.

  “Hester, you and Bappie come on over. It’s time for mittag. Me and Walter have a wonderful goot piece of pork sausage. Come.”

  Walter, Emma’s impeccably mannered husband, bowed and scraped his way down the hallway into the kitchen, his face pink and shining with the pleasure of having Bappie and Hester at his table.

  Hester noticed the pull of his wide suspenders, which put an alarming amount of pressure on his trousers. She winced to notice the snug fit around his protruding middle, the button straining at the waistband. His shirt was buttoned properly and was flawlessly white. A ring of gray hair encircled his otherwise bald and shining dome.

  “Certainly, certainly, come this way. How grand! How grand!” Pulling back the chairs with a flourish, his pudgy fingers placed lightly at their elbows, he seated first Bappie, then Hester, in his perfect English manner.

  He offered them each a white cloth napkin, but Emma waved him away.

  “Ach, now, Walter. Veck mit selly. We’re just plain old Dutch people from Deutschland. We chust eat; we don’t need them cloths.”

  With that, she tucked into her perfectly browned piece of sausage, rolled it into a slice of bread, and topped it with pungent horseradish. On her plate was a stack of fried potatoes, well salted and peppered.

  Walter lifted a piece of the
fragrant sausage, holding it at different angles to the light that filtered through the small windowpanes, his eyebrows lifted in appreciation.

  “Fine sausage, this. The best in Lancaster. I told Harvey, now, ‘I don’t want any of your lesser quality with too much grease.’ I am suspicious that he is trying to elevate his profits somewhat, by adding undesirable portions of the hog to his sausages. I told him of my fears, and I do believe his face took on a red color, although my words were spoken with care toward his feelings.”

  “Ach, Walter, you’re too easy on that butcher. Everyone knows he puts too much of the pig in his sausage. It’s good, so chust eat it, and don’t be so bothered.”

  Hester cut a small piece, chewed, and swallowed, but was glad to finish the too-much-discussed piece of meat and eat the fried potatoes. Either way, it didn’t seem to harm Bappie’s appetite; she seemed to be enjoying her lunch immensely.

  “Would you ladies care for some of our sauerkraut? We have the best. It accompanies the sausage in such an excellent manner.” Walter rose to bring the blue crockery bowl filled with steaming sauerkraut to each one, carefully ladling huge spoonfuls onto their plates, his eyes shining, his face beaming with anticipation.

  It was at that moment that Bappie chose to bring up the subject of moving out to the farm, asking if they could find renters for the house that Emma had vacated when she become Walter’s wife only a few years before, since both had been left behind by the passing of their spouses.

  “Ach, du yay.” Poor Emma was completely taken off-guard, the abrupt announcement almost more than she could comprehend. Walter stopped chewing, wiped his mouth carefully with the snowy white napkin, cleared his throat, and reached for his water glass.

  “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but why would you do something like that?” His eyebrows shot up in consternation and stayed there, wrinkling his forehead like pleats in an apron.

  Bappie explained her case. The garden needed closer watching in the spring, much more than they had given it in the past few years.

  Yes, the house out there needed attention, but they would try and do what they could themselves. Perhaps some men in the Amish community would be good enough to volunteer their labor.

  “Ach, you Amish. Always for free. You ask too much of each other. They’ll want some sort of payment, you watch.” Clearly, Emma was unhappy with the thing Bappie was planning.

  Hester stayed quiet, surprised that Bappie approached the old couple with her plans quite so soon, although she knew it was her way—think once, then get it done, plowing through life with full determination.

  Walter sat back, his chin wobbling as he valiantly fought the overflowing emotion in his eyes. “But, it will never be the same, you know. No more friendly banter across the backyard fence, no more impromptu visits like this. My heart would indeed be heavily burdened were you to carry out these plans.”

  Emma sighed and lifted forlorn eyes to Hester. “You don’t want to go.”

  Hester shrugged her shoulders and looked to Bappie for help.

  Bappie took the situation in hand, stating matter-of-factly that, yes, they did want to go, only because of the garden, and yes, they would miss them as neighbors, but it was time. They would have no problem filling their house, as the town of Lancaster was booming, with buildings going up so fast. There were always people needing a home.

  There was nothing for Walter and Emma to do but to let them go, difficult as it was. Bappie and Hester ate the good, flaky crust of the dried huckleberry pie, drank their tea, and bade them a good afternoon, promising to stay another month till they found someone to help them with the renovations of the tiny, dilapidated farmhouse.

  At the door, Walter cleared his throat, drawing himself up to his full height. “My dear ladies, let it be known that I consider you two as salt of the earth, two of God’s best women ever placed on the face of this earth. I value your friendship with utmost esteem.”

  Emma harrumphed beside him, short and squat and thoroughly disgruntled. “Ya, well, Walter, hush. I’m not sure I’d say that. I think you’re making a mistake. You’ll regret it, living out there.”

  With that said, she stepped in front of Walter and shut the door firmly.

  Hester walked quietly behind Bappie. Neither one spoke as they made their way to the back door.

  “Was Silver fed?”

  Hester nodded.

  “We’ll have clean beds and curtains when we move.”

  “You should have given me a bit of warning. I thought you meant in a year or so.”

  “And let that pea crop go to waste again? No. I meant now.”

  Hester said nothing.

  They worked silently the remainder of the afternoon, although Hester’s heart was no longer in her work. Why clean like this if she didn’t need to? Why let someone else enjoy the fruits of their labor? She felt a twinge of the same rebellion she had felt when William berated her, but figured she’d better stay quiet, with Bappie so determined and all.

  The truth was, she did not want to live in that little house. It was dark and cold and mildewed. There weren’t enough windows. She didn’t like the eerie quiet, nor all the hooting and hissing and warbling sounds of the night creatures. She felt alone there and unprotected.

  She thought of staying by herself in this good, solidly built house beside Walter and Emma. The safety of the surrounding people, the town police, the passersby, the work she did with the herbs. Could she stand up to Bappie? Did she want to?

  She could not generate enough income to pay the rent on her own, that was sure. The people she served with the herbs and medicines so often had very little money, or none. She could not count on her own income to make her way, so she supposed she really had very little choice of her own.

  Bappie was good to her, sharing the profits from the vegetables in the summer. They worked well as a team, and as long as they could manage together financially, she had better appreciate Bappie’s good way with business. And so she slept in her clean bedroom on the sun-kissed, freshly laundered ticking, grateful for the home she had with a companion she trusted. She only hoped they could make that disgusting little hovel into a house fit for living.

  She was awake at first light because of an energetic robin chirping directly outside her half-opened window. She lay a while, breathing deeply of the fresh, crackling straw beneath her, listening to the sounds of the town awakening. Horses’ hooves made a dull, sucking sound as they stepped through the ever present spring mud, the rains turning the streets slick with it.

  Horses pulled graders across the worst of it and hauled the muck away, but there was still always a layer of mud, sometimes thicker than other times. Men called to each other or to their horses, the early risers who were on their way to their various duties, the menial tasks that kept the town growing.

  So many buildings were going up, with endless hammering and sawing and loads of fresh, yellow lumber being hauled in by the great Belgians and Percherons. Many of the Amish preferred mules, hearty, long-eared creatures that worked tirelessly on very little feed, with many of the qualities of a donkey.

  Hester heard the gong of a bell, the breakfast call at the hotel for the laborers who worked in construction. Perhaps she could find a job there as a server, carrying great trays loaded with food to the hungry men. She soon discarded that thought though, as she imagined the strange men, the low wages, and the backbreaking work. Better to stay with Bappie, even if she would have to drive Silver into town or ride with the person who came to fetch her when the need arose.

  She sat up, drawing a hand through her disheveled hair as a wave of unworthiness attacked her. Despair that was cloying squeezed the life out of the beautiful spring morning.

  Lowering her head, she whispered, “Dear Lord, my Savior, be here with me now. You know I need you to revive my spirits. I don’t like changes, and now I have no choice. Help me to submit to thy will always.”

  She whispered the “Amen,” then rose, determined to shake off th
e lethargy. She needed to throw herself into her work, forget her own foolishness, and be thankful.

  She dressed, flicked a comb through her heavy, jet-black hair, set the large muslin cap on her head, and went downstairs.

  The house was cold, and Bappie was nowhere about. Lifting the lid on the cookstove, she threw in a few small pieces of kindling, watching to make sure the bit of red coals would ignite the dry wood. A thin column of smoke was accompanied by a light crackling, so she replaced the lid and put both hands, palms down, on the welcoming warmth of the cookstove top. She shivered, then added a bit more wood to build up the fire.

  Going to the pantry, she brought out the tin of cooked cornmeal mush, found a knife, and sliced a dozen good thick slices. She set them to fry in the melting white lard she had placed in the black, cast-iron frying pan.

  Now she’d see if there were eggs beneath the brown hens. Grimly, she drew on a pair of heavy gloves, knowing all too well how every hen wanted to stay sitting on top of her prize eggs in the spring, hoping to hatch chicks. The hens would peck and flog and scratch with their feet, resisting any attempt to gather their brown eggs. Bappie was better at this than she was, but the mush was frying, and there was nothing better than fresh eggs to eat with it. Hester went through the back door with the egg basket, biting her lip and hoping for the best.

  Another wonderful day had dawned. The maple tree in the backyard was bursting with delicate, purple buds. Clumps of green grass already grew thickly alongside the fence separating their yard from Walter and Emma’s.

  A wagon clattered by, the driver perched on a crate and rocking from side to side with each step from the horses, his hat on the back of his head, a piece of hay stuck between his lower teeth, singing at the top of his lungs. He caught sight of her, grinned and waved furiously, his large, farmer’s hand flapping madly until he disappeared behind the fence.

  Hester waved in return, then shook her head, a small smile playing around her full lips. That was the one thing she would miss the most, moving to the farm.