Hester Takes Charge

by Byler, Linda;

  CHAPTER 12

  BAPPIE MADE A SAMPLER OF BEAUTIFUL WORK DRAWN ON stiff muslin—delicate flower stems with blossoms, entwined in vines, filled the borders. She stenciled on her full name, “Barbara King,” and also “Levi Buehler,” the date of their wedding and the year. She asked Hester to help her find a suitable Bible verse to stencil along the bottom.

  Hester was in the cellar sprouting the old, wrinkled potatoes that had been gathered the previous August and stored in the potato bin since then. Now some of the sprouts were two or three inches long, like waxen white worms. Hester snapped them off, threw them in one bucket and the potatoes in another.

  “My wedding sampler says, ‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder,’” she called up the stairs.

  “Perfect,” Bappie said.

  Hester repeated the verse, and Bappie set to work. She would keep the sampler in a small basket with the embroidery thread, needle, and a wooden hoop that would stretch the fabric for better sewing, and take this with her when they went yung kyat psucha.

  After their wedding, the bride and groom were expected to visit every invited guest, sometimes for a meal, other times for just a call to collect their wedding gift for the haus schtier, the start of housekeeping. It was a time-honored tradition; newlyweds were held in high esteem. How Bappie looked forward to this time, when she could enter the homes of her friends, now married with a husband, able to feel like one of them and not just Bappie Kinnich alone.

  Oh, she’d always been able to converse, keep up a good argument, serve food in high spirits, to be the perfect hostess welcoming the newlyweds and giving them useful gifts. Never once had anyone imagined how she ached to be a newlywed herself. Unflappable, no one had ever seen beneath the facade, her mask of energetic happiness.

  Now she could sit with Levi and partake of all the special dishes made for the yung kyaty. There were no common dishes for visiting newlyweds. No brown flour soup or potato cakes. There were butter Semmels, Krum Kuchen, German bread, soft gingerbread with whipped cream, beef brisket with sauerkraut and dumplings, sweet and sour tongue, and stuffed beef heart. The flavorful, traditional dishes were spread on the company table fit for a king.

  She would feel like a queen. She was a queen. Humming the old wedding song, Bappie burst into song, a loud rendition of the plainsong, the slow chant sung at each wedding. Bent over her work, she tapped her foot in time, nodding her head slightly with each word.

  “Schicket euch, ihr lieben gäschte.” Thump, thump, nod, nod. “Zu des lammes hochzeit fest.” Thump, thump, thump. At the third line, Bappie’s voice rose to a shrieking pitch, “Schmücket euch aufs allerbeste.” Thump, thump.

  She bet anything Enos Troyer sei Mamie would make her three-layer hazelnut cake with boiled icing when she and Levi, the yung kyaty, would come to visit.

  She started in again, singing raucously, tapping her foot with all the grace of a wooden pestle.

  “Hey!” Hester shouted.

  “What?”

  “I’m down here, you know. You’re loosening the whitewash and cobwebs. Stop your stomping on the floor.”

  “All right.”

  The singing resumed, louder than ever, and jerkier, but the thumping stopped. There were footsteps overhead; the cellar door squeaked open.

  “Did they sing that one at your wedding?”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  “Brings back memories, huh? Good ones, though, on your wedding day, huh?”

  “Yes.” Hester acknowledged this, mostly to get rid of Bappie’s questions. She had been in love, she supposed. And yes, happy to become William’s wife. She wondered vaguely if the sense of doom that hovered around the edges of her conscious thoughts had all been her own unwillingness to surrender to William’s stringent rules even then.

  He had spoken of this the week before the wedding. He had asked if she knew the verses in the Bible about giving over her will to him, and she had said yes, she knew. This was expected.

  But was she ready? he had asked, digging for straightforward answers of complete obedience. So total, he had swallowed her own life or may as well have.

  May he rest in peace. William was gone, and there was no use gathering senseless memories that only served up fear of the future like a plate of unappetizing, moldy bread.

  Her senseless feelings of agitation when she was with Noah would only dissipate with time. Noah, too, would expect that life-sucking submission, the authority over her so complete it was like a hood, stifling, allowing one to cling to life by short half-breaths, just enough to stay alive.

  What had he done last night? Tried to tell her to start over with the herbs. That was very likely only the beginning.

  No, she could not trust him. She could not begin to imagine that any form of friendship, and especially marriage, would be safe. It would be like stepping off a cliff, never being able to tell the outcome. She would be either dead, half-dead, or somewhat alive.

  She had to stop thinking about Noah. She could not continue to harbor any thoughts of love or even attraction. Nothing. His touch, the way he smiled and looked at her, the sheer force of him as he sat at a table, drove a buggy, walked away or toward her; eventually she would be able to banish any feeling of wonder or amazement. If she stayed aloof, the thrill would fade.

  If only she had done that with William, she would not have had to endure the marriage, the death, and all the hideous ghosts of self-blame that still haunted her at night.

  Yes, good for Bappie, her dear friend. Levi was captivated by his ginger-haired sweetheart, the secret of their friendship only making it more precious, more sacred. But Levi had suffered in his life, had shown he was willing to give his life for his beloved, even if she was given to him with a weakness of the nerves. And who could have foretold the dying of the dear babies?

  Bappie’s raucous singing continued as Hester snapped the sprouts off the potatoes and threw them in the bucket. She had found only a few very small wrinkled ones in the corner of the bin.

  She was conscious of Bappie’s footsteps, and then heard the back door hinges squeak. Someone had entered the house.

  A man’s voice.

  Bappie’s voice. Her footsteps, quick, light.

  “Hester?”

  “Yes?”

  “Someone to see you.”

  Hester straightened, dusted her skirt with the corner of her apron, and climbed the steep stairway to the kitchen.

  A man of medium height, a youth, stood inside the back door, framed by the blinding spring sunshine at his back. Hester walked toward him, puzzled.

  Dressed in the ordinary street clothes of the English, he looked like dozens of young men milling about on the streets of Lancaster. His face was pleasant, vaguely familiar, but she had to admit, she had never seen him. Until he removed his hat.

  All the red hair, that copper-hued thatch as thick as a bird’s nest, came tumbling down about his ears and over his forehead. An impish grin followed, and Hester’s hands went to her mouth.

  “Billy!”

  “Yep!”

  “Billy Feree.”

  “Sure am.”

  They shook hands, Billy’s face turning as red as his hair.

  “Oh my,” Hester breathed. “Look at you. All grown up.”

  The light from the back door was darkened as a beaming Emma, with Walter in tow, entered the room, the pride in her son so evident. It was unbelievable, the way Emma’s face seemed youthful, even radiant. Walter dipped and bowed, smiled at everything Emma said, and ushered little Vernon and Richard into the room where they stood, gazing up at Billy with amazement.

  Bappie rushed around, produced more chairs, and put the kettle on, while Hester explained Billy to Bappie, if she held still long enough to listen.

  When Hester was taken from the Indians, that dark and fearful night, and left for dead in the livery stable, it was Billy, Emma Ferree’s adopted son, who had found her. He loaded her on his sack wagon and brought her home to Emma, who nurs
ed her back to health.

  Then, when Hester married, he ran off and joined the war. It was just an awful blow to his mother, who meanwhile, had married her neighbor, Walter Trout. Now here he was, a youth, hardened and seasoned by the terrors of one battle that led to another, a senseless clashing of bayonets and rifles. But he’d stayed and was only released when he lost a leg.

  Proudly, he rolled up the cuff of his trousers. The women gasped to see a wooden peg where his shoe should have been. “Ain’t much wrong with me now. I strap this thing on and away I go.”

  His grin was crossed by delicate shadows of remembering though. The pain of it clouded the exuberance of his eyes, too, but only Hester saw that.

  Bappie produced a plate of cinnamon cookies and smear Kase with new brown bread, hard-crusted and filled with whole grains of wheat and oats. She set out a pat of butter, a glass jar of plum conserve, and a large, heavy bowl filled to the brim with pickled pears.

  A stack of plates, a few knives, forks, and spoons, and the midmorning schtick was spread.

  Walter pulled up his chair, happiness creasing his cheeks, which pushed up against his eyes and squashed them flat, the prospect of a snack so pleasurable, there was no hiding it.

  Emma said, “Now, Walter, we just ate our breakfast.”

  “Ah, my good wife, I agree, certainly, and good porridge. It was the best. But porridge speaks of a lightness to the meal, unlike scrapple and ponhaus or puddins. Although, Emma, I do acknowledge, porridge is so much better for the constitution, is it not?”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. Frowning prettily and patting his arm, she told him they were in the presence of ladies, and perhaps that was more information than they needed to know.

  Billy laughed outright and said it was good to be home. When Emma smiled indulgently, Walter took this as a good sign, spread an enormous chunk of the butter on the thickest slice of bread, and chewed, enjoying the delicious flavor with his eyes closed.

  Emma handed each of the boys a cookie. They each murmured their “thank you” and ran outside to play next to the henhouse, where they terrorized the chickens so badly, they declined in their egg-laying.

  Billy told them many stories of his years away from home, peppered with his quick grin and infectious laugh, the Billy they remembered so well. If the years had taken their toll, his good humor and frank outlook were still intact, which was so good to see.

  Hester found herself caught up in his stories, listening with rapt attention, her large eyes never leaving his face. Indeed, he had met some interesting characters and seen so many new places, including plenty of things he had no wish to speak of.

  “There were these two brothers, though, that stand out to me. I rode with them for awhile and I’ll never forget them. The oldest, Noah, was magnificent. Ain’t no other way to describe him. Can’t forget a name like that, huh? Straight off the ark. Oh, he was a sight. He rode with the colonel. He was put up in the ranks, the way some of ’em are. Never saw anyone ride like that. That build, that hair. He had wildness about him. Didn’t care if he lived or died, that one. He saved my life, but he couldn’t save his brother. Forget his name.”

  “Isaac,” Hester whispered before she could stop herself.

  Billy snapped his fingers and sat up straight. “You knew him?”

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “They are my brothers from Berks County.”

  “That’s right! You told us that. You mean, these guys are … you were raised with them?”

  His face fell, folding in on itself as memories attacked him. “You know Isaac’s dead.”

  Hester nodded.

  “It was vicious cold that winter, so cold our breath froze to our mustaches. Tears froze on our faces. It was Noah, Isaac, me, and maybe a few dozen others ridin’ into camp, mindin’ our own business, when one of the younger men—those often don’t think, just act—shot into this bunch of whacked Injuns to scare them off. Stupid little skirmish, nothing any commander knew about, just some Injuns drunk on some kinda poison someone sold them, must be.

  “It was terrible. Savages didn’t seem human. Painted faces, half-starved, their minds half gone with the slop they were drinking, acting out of revenge, knowing they was being chased outa Pennsylvania.

  “Isaac took an arrow through the chest. He died in the snow, with Noah holding him like a baby. Just sat in the snow and cradled him. He was talking in Dutch, I guess, or German. Singing. Noah was singing. He laid Isaac down, real gentle-like, then tended to me, with an arrow through my shin, bone splintered like a chunk of wood. He packed me to camp like a bedroll, where he took care of me till the doctor could take off my leg. The infection I got after a few weeks couldn’t be stopped. That’s how come they had to take it off.

  “Noah sang sometimes. Hummed, whistled, kept talking about his sister back home in Berks County. Said she was something. Could shoot a slingshot better than anyone he knew or ever heard of. Said she was good with the children. I forget everything he said, but he sure thought a lot about his sister. So that musta been you, Hester. He never mentioned your name. Didn’t say you was Indian.”

  Hester was blinking back the tears that pricked her eyelashes and trying to swallow the lump that rose in her throat. “He probably meant Lissie.”

  “No, he talked of her, too. Said she was a loudmouth.”

  Hester said nothing, clearly ashamed of this, afraid what Bappie would say.

  Walter cleared his throat and looked around for a napkin. He would never get used to these Pennsylvania Dutch and their eating habits. How was he supposed to wipe his mouth if they did not supply a good cloth napkin? He wiped a finger across his buttery mouth, quickly slid it beneath the table cover, and rolled it back and forth a bit. There, much better.

  He raised his head, tilted it back a few inches, and lowered his eyes to view his shirt front. As he had feared, it was scattered with crumbs, an embarrassing plop of plum conserve, and a wet spot at another place, no doubt a splash of pickled pear juice. This was annoying. He had tried and tried to impart to his dear wife the importance of a napkin, but she waved him away like an irritating mosquito, saying it made too much wash. This, when he so gladly built the fire, heated the water, even shaved the soap.

  Quite in despair he sat, the plum conserve and pear juice glistening on his shirt front, his face heated with consternation, his stomach only half full, the loaf of bread sliced and so inviting.

  “Walter, would you like to have a napkin?” Oh, the redemption in Bappie’s voice!

  “Why, yes, dear girl, if there is one available, I would be enormously grateful.”

  Billy watched as Bappie brought a stack of snowy white cloths embroidered on one corner with the letter B and crocheted delicately on the same corner. She was blushing all the way to her ears, the high forehead the same color as her hair.

  “There you go,” she said, her voice thick, her face flaming. Emma smiled up at Bappie and put her hand on the long, thin forearm. “How nice of you, Bappie. I know napkins make so much wash. Did you embroider and crochet these? B for Barbara, lovely. These napkins are lovely.”

  Hester said quickly, her eyes dancing. “The B is for Buehler.”

  “Buehler? But her name is King, I thought.” Emma was confused, sitting in the sun-filled kitchen, her round, wrinkled face glistening with the excitement of Billy’s arrival and too many cinnamon cookies dipped in her steaming, heavily sugared tea.

  “It will be Buehler in November,” Hester said, enjoying the mystery.

  “Buehler? But how?” Emma was completely flummoxed, till Billy’s grin gave him away and he whooped and pointed. Walter looked up from tucking in the blessed napkin and smiled, his eyes closing in delight.

  “You are betrothed, Bappie!”

  Bappie reveled in the moment, floating in the delighted stares, luxuriating in the drama that spread across the table, as her guests swooped up their hands in disbelief, full of pure happiness for her.

  “I am marryi
ng the widower, Levi Buehler. He asked me, and I have consented to be his wife.”

  Hester slanted a look at Bappie and pinched her leg at the white lie. Bappie grabbed Hester’s thumb and twisted until her mouth went slack with pain. Bappie’s shoulders shook, but she steadied them quickly.

  Congratulatory words, pats on shoulders, hand-wringing, even a few maudlin tears from Emma, brought a festive air to the kitchen that forenoon in the early summer, when the sun-kissed room held so much joy.

  After that, Bappie held forth like a royal monarch raising her scepter, with tales of Levi and his long-suffering wife, the farm that languished, raising no profit, his coon hunting, the dogs, everything.

  Emma was amazed, so Walter figured if she was occupied in this manner, he may as well take advantage of it and proceed with the bread and butter, seeing as it was almost the noon hour.

  Billy and Hester wandered to the back stoop, allowing Bappie her time with Walter and Emma. They sat side by side talking about old times, about how short a time it actually was.

  Hester told him about her marriage to William, the grief, the loneliness, but hesitated about telling him more.

  “No kids? I mean, children. You had no children?”

  Hester shook her head.

  “Well, good you didn’t. They wouldn’t have a father.”

  “I know.”

  After awhile, Billy shook his head. “He must of thought an awful lot of you.”

  “Who?”

  “That Noah.”

  Hester didn’t know what to say to this, so she said nothing. She lifted the hem of her apron and twisted it into a roll across her legs, over and over, while Billy looked out across the cramped space of the backyard. He squinted, his little boy’s face turned into the square-jawed, undimpled face of a man. He was clean-shaven, with too-long hair tumbling in untamed strands over his forehead and down his back.

  Not unattractive, Billy had a strong face with good humor lurking beneath the surface. Hester watched him sideways without his being aware of it.

  “He wanted to write to you. Said you’d left. Never said why. Just that you’d left. I don’t think many evenings went by without his talking about you, mentioning things.”