Bappie completely failed to see all this. She was squeezing her eyes shut tightly and flapping her tongue in the most eccentric manner after scalding it viciously with her cup of boiling tea. “Shoo, this is hot!”
The spell was broken, but Noah was rewarded by a soft laugh from Hester, her perfect eyebrows lifting in the way that he still remembered. If only he could somehow win her trust.
What was William like? Had she suffered? Why had she left Berks County? He told himself he needed to take one moment at a time, one day, one week. But he could never leave her now. He had to find out more about her life after she had disappeared, leaving Hans in a state of wildness, a fury he could fully understand.
“Well,” said Bappie, after cooling the afflicted tongue in her water glass, “William wanted a whole bunch of children, that’s what it was. They never had any. It was hard on his pride and rode on that Frances’s back like a growth.”
“Bappie, it’s all right. It’s in the past. Noah, William was very devout and held fast to the tiniest requirements of the Ordnung. So I was not always obedient. The Lord couldn’t bless us because of my rebellion. The marriage would have been good otherwise.” Hester’s voice was soft and low, the words thickened by the constriction in her throat.
Bappie reared back and placed her cup of tea on the table with a bang, so that some of the scalding liquid splashed over the side, wetting her fingers, which she rubbed across her apron.
“See how she is? That’s like saying the snake wouldn’t have bitten me if I would have stayed out of its way. She blames herself, and that is simply not truth.”
Noah knew there was not much he could say to this, so he drank some of his tea, biding his time. He knew Hester well enough to know her mind was not easily changed. He also knew Bappie would be the help he needed and wanted, if he could ever hope to tell Hester of the love he carried in his heart all these years.
But she had spoken to him and called him by his name.
“Well, Hester, I can’t say. I wasn’t there with you. Unfortunately, after you left I joined the French cavalry to fight with the Indians against the British. I was young, wild, rebellious far beyond anything you can imagine. Nothing in my life mattered much at all. Isaac stayed home on the farm. Annie’s hands got so bad, Lissie had the whole work load, and Dat, well, he become demented, of sorts. He was never the same after you left. They say he is better, but shakes with the palsy. Isaac pretty much runs the whole farm now, with the younger boys’ help.”
An expression of raw longing passed over Hester’s face. “I miss the farm in Berks County,” she whispered.
Noah swallowed, feeling mist rising in his eyes. He had never loved her more completely than at this moment. How long would he need to wait?
The days after Noah was a guest for breakfast passed in a haze of remembering for Hester. Dreamy-eyed, she walked absently from room to room as the rain fell steadily on the house on Mulberry Street. It was a good rain, a cold rain that soaked into the earth and brought plenty of moisture to the energetic growth of the new spring plants. It fell relentlessly from scudding gray clouds and turned the small, meandering creeks into swollen, brown torrents of dangerous, swirling currents. The streets of Lancaster became avenues of mud, the dirt clinging to wide, steel-banded wheels and the hooves of the horses.
Bappie hitched up Silver in the pouring rain and drove the distance to the farm as determinedly as she did everything else. She wore her shawl and bonnet, sniffed righteously when Hester refused to accompany her, and returned with a severe headache, sodden clothes, and a bad temper. If this rain kept up another few days, the garden would be drowned, she informed Hester gruffly as she shed her clothes on the back stoop and ran barefoot through the kitchen and up the steps, her wet petticoat clinging to her narrow form. Like a stick, Hester thought, holding her hands to her mouth to stifle the giggle that rose in her throat.
“Start a fire!” Bappie bellowed down from the top of the stairs, followed by a tremendous sneeze, a quick intake of breath, and then another sneeze. “Ah, shoot! Must have run on to some goldenrod.”
“Not in the spring,” Hester called back.
“Start a fire.”
“There is one.”
“Well, poke it up. Get it going. I’m cold. I’m so cold my teeth are chattering.”
Ah-hah! Hester was delighted. For the first time since Bappie had come into her life, she was coming down with a cold. At least Hester sincerely hoped she was. Bappie merely tolerated the herbal remedies that Hester was so deeply convinced of, no matter what she said.
Oh, Bappie pretended to support her, but now if she came down with a fever or a severe cough, Hester would have the opportunity she had so often wished for. She smiled impishly, rubbing her hands over the increasing flames as the rain splashed against the window panes and slid to the sash, ran down the clapboard siding and into the street, where it joined the brown puddles and piles of dirt turning into mud.
Bappie come down the stairs, blowing her nose into a large square handkerchief, warm brown socks on her feet and a clean shortgown pinned down the front, but no apron. Going to the hickory rocker, she yanked it as close to the stove as possible, lifted a small nine patch quilt from the basket, and covered her shoulders securely, clutching the two ends with her hands.
She shivered. Her feet flew off the floor as another sneeze racked her body. “Whew! It’s freezing in here.”
“Want some tea?”
“What kind? Not that stuff you make for sick people. Horsehair, or whatever it is.”
Hester’s laugh rang out loud and true, an honest laugh of happiness and humor, appreciating Bappie’s unsuccessful attempt to hide her discomfort.
“You’re getting sick, Bappie.”
“Puh! You wish I would.”
“How did you guess?”
“Well, you can forget it, Hester. I’m not going to swallow those foul-smelling tinctures and teas and rub that greasy stuff all over myself. I just got wet, that’s all.”
In the gloomy light of late afternoon, as she sat wrapped in the quilt, sunk into the depth of the rocking chair and glaring balefully out of the folds of the cover, Bappie looked like a trapped raccoon.
Once, Noah and Isaac had set a snare beside the Irish Creek in Berks County and caught a large, furious raccoon. When they found it, it was well on its way to chewing through the rope that held its two front feet and was glaring at them with brown eyes that closely resembled Bappie’s. Hester had cried and made them let it go. She wasn’t sure if Isaac ever forgave her.
Now Hester smiled. “I’ll make you comfrey tea.”
“I hate that stuff.”
“How about fennel?”
“Worse.”
“Spearmint?”
“Only with sugar.”
So Hester brought Bappie a cup of tea and a slice of toasted bread. She crumbled some ham into a pot, added beans and water, and set the mixture on the back of the stove to simmer. As she swept the kitchen and dusted the cupboard, she was surprised to see that Bappie’s head had fallen forward on the quilt. She was fast asleep, snoring lightly.
Hmm. That was strange. Bappie had never taken a nap as far as Hester could remember, not even on Sundays. She must be exhausted after that long, wet ride.
The kettle hummed quietly, the fire beneath it popping and crackling. The gloom in the kitchen deepened, so that Hester got up to light a few candles. She shivered. It felt just like the night William was thrown from his horse—that awful, rain-filled night, with the wind howling around the eaves, lifting loose wooden shakes with a mournful, whirring sound, sending shivers of foreboding up her spine.
She had prayed for William’s safety. She wanted him to return out of harm’s way, having carried out another selfless deed that aided in the growth and well-being of the fledgling Amish community. Her William, strong, dark, and highly esteemed by the ministers, an exacting and noble young man, if ever they saw one.
Why, then, had she rebelled so bit
terly against him in her heart?
Oh, she didn’t do it outwardly. She was absolutely the picture of humble submission, her hair sleek and controlled, her muslin prayer cap large, covering her ears and tied closely beneath her chain, her mouth kept in a demure, straight line. When she spoke, her voice was well modulated; she never spoke an unkind word to anyone.
For the most part, the Amish were kind and accepting of the Indian girl who was William’s wife. There were some, of course, who shook their heads, compressing their lips and speaking quietly of William and Hester’s inability to conceive. Well, of course they would have problems. Der Herren saya was withheld, likely, because Hester was an Indian. It wasn’t the way God intended vonn anbegin. They were sure Isaac and Frances hadn’t blessed the marriage. But then, that William was smooth. It was easy to tell he had a way with his mother. With her “wearing the pants” the way she did, what was Isaac to say? Not that he ever had very much to say to anyone, poor man.
Hester had desperately wanted William to live, to wake up from that agonizing sleep that hovered so close to death. She did not understand why, when his heart beat so strongly in his chest, he could not wake up.
The guilt of her rebellion held her by his bedside, keeping a tormented vigil, her whole being crying out to God in groanings that could not be uttered, as the Heilig Schrift taught her. She felt the rain and the wind, the howling, the dangerous waters in her soul, a chastening so firm and exact from a God who was angry, taking William as a sign of his displeasure.
Wretched and regretting the day she was born, Hester lived in anguish those ten days that her William lay unable to wake from the battering of his head.
Had Kate lived and been there to hold her, to tell her those thoughts were not good, to bind her to the comfort of her great, soft dress by the sweet arms of her love, Hester would not have had to endure those days of self-inflicted torture. But Kate was dead. There was only Frances, William’s mother, appearing like a tall, dark ghost, bearing displeasure and blame in the form of her own sorrow. Frances’s keening reached to the rough-hewn beams of the bedroom and swirled around Hester’s ears like the high, raucous cry of the crows that battered her senses.
Some semblance of peace had been restored by the quiet voice of her father-in-law, the hesitant Isaac, who spoke quiet words of assurance, urging her not to lay blame on herself. He, too, had lived many years with the pious Frances, having had no choice but obedience to her harsh will. He felt his subservience might bring der saya, recognizing his sacrifice for loving a woman who was so often held aloft by the sails of her own grandeur.
“So gates. So iss es,” he had spoken softly, shaking his head as he urged Hester to accept the situation. His words to Hester had partially healed the raw wound of William’s disapproval, but never entirely.
CHAPTER 4
IN HER HEART, HESTER RESOLVED NEVER TO LOVE AGAIN. SHE was not a good judge of what was true and kind in a man. And so, because of her past, she clung to Bappie, the strong and independent spinster.
She would never return to Berks County, the home of her heart. Her father, Hans, had made life unbearable after she finally realized the affection he felt for her was not what he wanted her to believe, but a kind of love that was unacceptable. She found it hard to fully forgive him, since she felt she had to leave the only home she had known.
Hester stood, stretched, and yawned. No use getting all dark and gloomy like the kitchen was. Lighting two more candles, she set one on the high shelf, filled a bowl with good, hot bean soup, and sat down at the table.
She lifted a spoonful, pursing her lips to blow on the steaming soup. In that moment, Bappie fell sideways in the rocking chair, mumbled, righted herself, and then looked at Hester, her dark eyes glistening with an unnatural light, her face almost as dark as Hester’s. Lifting a hand, she clapped it weakly to her forehead and said that her head felt like one big potato.
Quickly, Hester rose. She felt the heat before her hand touched Bappie’s head. “Bappie, you have a fever. A high one.”
“It’s from the stove. It’s too hot sitting here with this quilt. I’ll be all right. Just get me a drink of cold water.”
Hester did. Bappie gulped it down thirstily, then promptly leaned forward and deposited it all over the clean oak floor. She groaned and held her head, apologizing gruffly before sagging against the back of the rocking chair, her eyes closing again.
“I’ll clean the floor,” she whispered, her pride carefully in place.
“I’ll get it.” Hot, soapy water and a clean rag were all Hester needed. It was a job she frequently did, having been to numerous bedsides of the sick.
She tried to persuade Bappie to go upstairs to bed, arguing that the rocking chair was no place for a person with a fever. But Bappie would have none of it. Stubbornly, she sat upright, refusing to take anything Hester suggested.
Bappie’s coughing began around midnight, a tight, scratching sound that wouldn’t stop, ejecting Hester from her bed as if someone had dumped it sideways. Holding the hem of her thick nightgown in one hand, the handle of the pewter candleholder in another, she made her way down the stairs to Bappie’s side.
Again, she felt the heat before she touched her forehead. Instinctively, she knew Bappie was very sick. She had to get her out of this rocking chair and into a bed, but there was no possibility of maneuvering her up those narrow stairs.
Coughing furiously, Bappie waved her away. “Go back to bed.” She simply dismissed Hester with a wandering wave of her thin hand.
Her mouth pinched in a determined line, Hester went to Bappie’s cedar-lined wooden chest and began to remove the heavy sheep’s-wool comforters. Stomping down the stairs, with the candle flame flickering, she wrestled Bappie’s pillow, her large heavy nightgown, and more warm socks to the first floor.
She stretched out the blankets on the floor, put the pillow on the end away from the stove, then approached Bappie with one purpose. She would help her out of the quilt, her dress, and the rocking chair, and get her onto the floor where she could lie down. Then she would spoon some medicine down that stubborn throat.
Taking a firm grip on the quilt, she dragged it away from Bappie’s shivering form, as she grabbed at it weakly. “I’m cold, Hester. Stop it. Stop taking my quilt.”
“Get up.” Hester’s words were as solid and unmoving as a stone wall.
Bappie shook her head, then reached down for the quilt.
“Get up.” Hester began removing the straight pins that held her dress closed as Bappie fought her hands.
“Stop it, Bappie, you’re sick. This is not your choice this time.”
When all the pins had been removed, Hester raked the dress off her thin shoulders and immediately lowered the good, heavy nightgown over her head. She stuck the now unresisting arms into the sleeves, like dressing a child, and buttoned it securely under her chin. She smiled to herself as she thought Bappie might have elevated her chin only a fraction, like an obedient youngster.
Well, that was just fine. Bappie had never experienced this side of Hester. She helped her to the bed she made on the floor, lowering her carefully, then covered her with the warm sheep’s-wool comforter, adjusted the pillow, and slid a cool hand expertly across her brow. Hot! Bappie was so feverish. Somehow she must get this fever down.
Going down cellar, Hester opened the wooden plug on the small vinegar barrel, held a cup underneath till it was partially filled, and went back upstairs, closing the door softly behind her. She tore a clean portion of white muslin from the length in the lower cupboard drawer, soaked it with the cold vinegar, and approached Bappie. Lowering herself to her knees, she leaned forward, speaking quietly, “Listen, I’m going to apply vinegar compresses to your forehead and the tops of your feet. Just lie still, all right?”
“Phew! You’re not putting anything anywhere. Go away.”
In answer, Hester clamped a cool, vinegar rag on her forehead. Bappie promptly ripped it away with her thin fingers. Hester put it back,
holding her head in a vise-like grip.
And so it went all night until the light of morning appeared, gray and ghostly, creating squares of color where night had erased them, Hester resisting Bappie’s pride and ignorance of the dangers of a fever as high as hers.
Hester dozed in the rocking chair next to the fire, which was now only a few bright embers, and beside Bappie who had fallen into a restless sleep. Hester was suddenly awakened by the sound of a polite tapping on the front door. At first she thought it was only the wind, but when the tapping became more pronounced, she went to lift the cumbersome cast-iron latch.
“Yes?” she asked, peering thought the gloom and a heavy, swirling fog that was cold, wet, and so thick she could see only a form.
“Is Bappie here?”
“She is, but she’s indisposed at the moment.”
“I would like to talk to her.”
“Who is calling, may I ask?”
“Levi, Levi Buehler.”
“Oh, yes. We borrowed your team of horses and wagon last fall.”
“Yes.” He seemed hesitant, unable to state his purpose, yet unable to leave. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking around as if searching for a clear direction somewhere in the dank, swirling fog.
“Can I be of any help?” Hester asked.
“Well, no. Bappie knows my wife well, or used to, before she got so bad. She’s not doing so good. I thought maybe Bappie could come sit with her, talk with her, as she often has in the past.”
“Bappie is very sick with a cough and fever.”
“Oh, is that right? Well, then I’ll go.”
“There’s nothing I can do?”
“No, no.” Without another word, Levi turned, made his way down the steps, and disappeared into the vast gloom and fog.
Slowly, Hester closed the door, wincing as the dreaded coughing began in earnest. This was not good, Bappie being so sick in this wet, heavy weather. She had to get something down her throat, or things would only go from bad to worse.
Scabious would be first. This odd-looking plant, with thin, hairy leaves and a long, bare stem holding a blue flower in the time of blossoming, was the best for a cough or any disease of the throat and lungs. The clarified juice, given with plenty of liquid before an infection settled in, was without fail.
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