“My back is not broken, is it?” she whispered.
“No. Oh, no. Only bruised very badly.”
“It will heal?”
“Yes. I believe it will. Do you want to show your mam?”
“She probably won’t want to see me. When she has a new baby, she doesn’t want us for a while.”
“Oh, she will. Come.”
Hester refused to believe Fannie’s statement, knowing Salina would be so comforted by the sight of her daughter standing upright.
“Salina? Are you awake?” Hester called softly.
“Oh, yes,” came the soft reply.
“Look!” Beaming with excitement, Hester led Fannie to the doorway. Intent on the face of her newborn, Salina afforded Fannie only a short glance, saying, “I figured it wasn’t broken,” and went back to the baby.
Fannie remained stoic as she followed Hester out to her pallet where she was willingly lowered, a sheen of perspiration along her upper lip, testimony to the pain still present in her lower back.
“You’re a brave girl, Fannie. You really are.”
Hester smoothed back the hair on her forehead, then caressed the thin, pale cheek, softly stroking her face, before bending to kiss her.
Fannie’s brown eyes opened wide, sparkling with amazement. “I often wondered how a kiss would be,” she said, smiling fully for the first time.
What an astoundingly pretty face, Hester thought, like an underfed little fairy. A feeling of so much love that she could barely contain it swept over Hester like a life-giving rain to a parched and barren desert. She had never imagined such a sweetness of love and life and living, that had little to do with her personal desires and didn’t begin by serving her own selfish happiness. She was suddenly exploring the unending possibilities of life, triggered by a wellspring of something she could not explain. She felt privileged to care for this broken-down little soul who was living in the corner of a room on a pile of blankets, whispering a child’s German prayer through her tears.
Hester laid the palm of her hand against Fannie’s cheek, so tiny and pale, for what she guessed was an eight-year-old.
“How old are you, Fannie?”
“I’m eleven. Sallie is twelve.”
With that pronouncement, Hester knew without a smidgen of doubt she would be going to see John Kauffman before the week was up.
In the meantime, Hester cooked and baked, washed endless tubfuls of dirty clothes, scoured and scrubbed, lectured, and taught the children how to be useful, to care about the appearance of the yard, to pen up the chickens, to build nests where they could lay their eggs.
Amos remained agreeable and good-humored to a fault. He even bathed in the creek one evening, although he then dressed himself in the same clothes he had worn for almost a week.
Salina left her bed, dressed, combed her greasy hair filled with flakes of white dandruff, put on a limp, whitish-gray kerchief, and settled herself into the hickory rocker by the hearth.
The little ones climbed on her lap, clamoring for attention. She ladled it out sparingly, but it was there. Salina remarked on the house’s order, the freshly baked bread, the good butter. Rachel told her almost shyly that she had done all the churning. But when that brought no praise, the hooded, sullen look replaced her hope of a few words of praise from her mother.
Hester was quick to notice. She touched Rachel’s shoulder, telling her she could not have done it without her, with all the washing and cleaning she had to do. Rachel’s eyes flashed a quick grasp of Hester’s thanks, but then turned away just as quickly, before Hester would see her tears.
That evening Hester boiled the last of the sweet potatoes she found down cellar, made a brown sugar sauce for topping them, cooked beets with sugar and vinegar, and split a ham into two pieces before boiling one part in a pot on the hearth. Then she instructed Rachel about how to make a sponge cake and set Sallie to bring in the washing and fold it, while eight-year-old Eva set the table.
Salina took this all in, observing the way Hester put these girls to work, and her small, black eyes filled with hope. Was that the way other women got their work done, when she never could? Aloud, she said, “If I had a cookstove, I could make better meals.”
“Ask Amos,” Hester remarked.
“Oh, he doesn’t like to part with his money.” She lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting the tiny little back, the baby’s legs scrooched in under his stomach like a baby squirrel.
She watched as Rachel whipped the cake batter, her strong, young arms never tiring of the effort.
At the supper table, the family ate and ate, enjoying every spoonful of the good, wholesome food. By now, the row of older boys almost worshipped Hester, the saving grace sent into their lives in the form of a maud to help out for awhile.
Hester looked at Amos and told him his wife needed a cookstove, and a good one, now that they had 13 children, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to build her a washhouse either. No wonder the clothes didn’t get washed if she had to do it out in the cold of winter and heat of summer. And did he ever think of putting up a washline?
“Oh, this stuff costs money!” he exclaimed. “An lot gelt.”
“You have money, people say,” she replied quickly, knowing nothing about it but hoping it would bring the desired response.
Amos lifted his shoulders and inhaled, clearly enjoying the thought of other people thinking he had money. “Well, I have some put away.”
Startled, Salina looked at her husband. She could clearly not believe the words from his mouth. “You need to buy these things. Take a bit of pride in this place. The boys can paint.”
Amos narrowed his eyes and looked at his row of sons, who were already losing the furtive, hungry look that ruined their faces so much of the time. His gaze went to his daughters, slim, capable young girls, who were so unaccustomed to attention from their father that they all blushed deeply, lowered their faces to their plates, and kept them there.
One thing kept the family together, sparing them the pain of being separated, with some of the older ones being put into other homes to be raised—Amos’s good humor. He was too unconcerned to be harsh; he just didn’t think. It had never occurred to him that they needed more money for staples like flour and sugar and oatmeal, or a cookstove and a washline. He thought a fireplace and a fence was just all right for Salina, and she was too simple or too afraid to ask.
Hester still couldn’t understand her. What woman would be so taken with yet another baby, leaving an eleven-year-old crying silently in pain?
How Kate would have gathered little Fannie to her immense bosom, crying freely with her! Immediately, a new thought formed. Would Noah, like Kate, love Fannie, too?
CHAPTER 17
HESTER ENTERED A WHOLE OTHER WORLD WHEN AMOS TOOK her home on Saturday afternoon. She would attend church on Sunday, and he would return to fetch her on Monday morning. She’d have two blissful nights in her own clean bed, resting her battered muscles. She was bone-weary and had not had a decent bath, so being at home was a luxury that filled her with happiness.
The house was cool, orderly, and so clean. Hester ran a hand along the scrubbed oak table, the gleaming cookstove, the dishpans turned upside down in the dry sink. Even the glass-paned doors on the cupboard seemed to beam and wink with cleanliness. And the smell! The scent of soap and spices, of warm air flavored with growing things, the summer sun, even dust from the street, all of it seemed pure and sweet and unsullied.
Bappie was gone as usual, so the first thing Hester did was spread all the food on the table that she could find, pour a glass of cool buttermilk, and begin to eat. She had brown wheat bread, the crust hard and chewy, spread with good butter from Emma Ferree, plum preserves, dried venison, hard white cheese, new strawberries, a slice of custard pie, then another one, and more bread and butter.
She built a fire in the washhouse and filled the large iron kettle with water from the pump so she could wash her clothes first, followed by a good, long, Saturday-eve
ning soak behind the curtain in the corner of the kitchen. Then she would visit Walter and Emma.
Hester was humming, her spirits revived by the waves of joy that broke over her, swelled around her senses, and filled her heart. The week was over. She was here now.
She sang as she scrubbed her clothes, wrung them dry, and hung them reservedly in a corner of the washhouse. No good housewife, or old maid or widow, would hang clothes in the backyard on a Saturday evening.
She filled the iron kettle again, upended the large tub, pulled the curtain out on its string, and was shaving the good scented soap into a bottle, when the door was pushed open, followed by a raucous cry from the ebullient Bappie.
“You’re back!” she yelled, her hands clasped to her skinny chest.
“I am! Oh, I truly am!” Hester sang out.
“Well, it’s good to see you, Hester. Leaving a note on the table and being whisked away by some Amos Stoltzfus was pure nonsense. What in the world, Hester?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand. This man had a wife in bed with a new baby, thirteen children, and a daughter with a broken back. Or so he thought. It isn’t broken, only bruised.”
Bappie’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
“I checked.”
“You gathered herbs.”
Hester’s eyes twinkled, a dimple appearing on one cheek when she smiled only slightly. “I did. But, oh, Bappie! You have no idea. I hardened my heart and turned away, determined not to give in, but she cried so softly and is so painfully thin and repeated ‘Ich bin Klein,’ the children’s prayer, over and over, until I just lit a lantern and went to gather nettles and plantain.”
“That is a good thing. God’s ways aren’t so mysterious sometimes, now are they? What about Noah?”
“What about him?”
Hester looked straight at Bappie, the twinkle in her eye erased, the dimple flattened by the grim line of her mouth.
“Does he know about you being out at Amos’s?”
“Of course not. Why would he?”
Bappie turned without another word and let herself out the back door, slamming it harder than necessary on her way out. Hester shrugged her shoulders and began the ritual of her Saturday night bath.
Later she was welcomed and fussed over, with questions popping from Walter’s and Emma’s mouths. They made her sit down and have a glass of grape juice, cool and sweet from the cellar.
Walter said the butcher had a new product called Lebanon bologna, which was a tad spicy, heavy on black pepper especially, but if you ate it in small quantities, accompanied by buttered toast, it was exquisite. In spite of the heat remaining in the kitchen at this hour of the evening, he lit the kindling in the cookstove, brought out a cast-iron skillet, and proceeded to fry slabs of Emma’s good bread in copious amounts of melting butter. He sprinkled the fried bread with bits of thyme and rosemary before serving the crispy slices with round, thinly sliced portions of the new bologna.
Richard and Vernon had gone to the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Amesly, to play with their children in the back alley, returning as the light in the windows began to fade and Emma got up to light the coal oil lamps. Richard had grown into a strong-limbed, towheaded little boy, his face round with cheeks like apples, gleaming with good health. Vernon was taller and thinner, but like Richard, the picture of health and contentment.
Hester’s throat constricted as she watched Vernon grasp Emma’s heavy upper arm in both hands, smiling up into her round, dimpled face before laying his head on her plump shoulder, her arm bringing him close to her side.
Richard grunted, the effort of pulling himself into Walter’s lap turning his face dark with his maneuvering. Walter, so intent on placing a slice of bologna exactly in the center of the buttered toast, failed to discern this.
“Walter,” Emma said, sharply.
“Oh, oh, goodness, Richard, goodness.”
He quickly placed the eagerly awaited food on the plate, licked his heavy red fingers, and bent to help Richard onto his lap.
Hester smiled to herself, wondering what had become of the English napkins. Or was he slowly being converted to the more relaxed style of the Pennsylvania Dutch?
She watched as he bent sideways to cut the delicacy in half and handed one section to Richard before finally closing his mouth around his own portion, closing his eyes in appreciation.
It was so good to be home here with Walter and Emma, to have good food, and to relax in the luxury of being clean and rested and well fed.
Already, Sunday was almost here, and so soon it would be over.
Church services were held in the home of Danny and Lydia Miller, who had a prosperous farm east of Lancaster, only two miles from the town.
Hester dressed in a blue shortgown and pinned the traditional black cape and apron over it. The many layers of fabric were designed to disguise the womanly charms of her figure. Plentiful gathers in her black apron discreetly hid the curve of her hips. The hem of her long, full skirt fell to her shoe tops. The cape hung slightly over her shoulders and was pinned loosely down the front. She tucked the ends beneath the thin band that was the belt of her apron. The sleeves were long, all the way to her wrists, and loose without adornment. She tied her muslin cap beneath her chin. The cap was large and shielded most of her hair and her ears.
In spite of the austere dress code, there was no hiding Hester’s grace and beauty. Even from a distance, her gait was lithe and fluid, her steps easy, befitting the Indian princess she was. Her face was small, oval, and well proportioned, her big, dark eyes pools of light and dusk, twilight and night. Womanly thoughts and secrets were stored away in their depths.
As Hester aged, her beauty increased from winsome girl to a woman who had suffered, having experienced life and its imperfections. Her spirit was like the gold that can emerge from refining, when bitter dross is burned away. She believed that a greater being was in control of her destiny, which lent her an aura of restfulness, of quiet contentment.
Beside her, Bappie strode along with her choppy gait bobbing her up and down, her arms swinging vigorously. She was shorter, but the brown dress she wore covered her identically, including the heavy black cape and apron, the large cap, black shoes, and serviceable stockings.
Her hair was like tamed fire, combed severely for now. Her brown eyes danced and the freckles traveled along. They had been stamped on her fair skin the day she was born. The summer sun always deepened their color, even as it heated the skin beneath to an alarming pink that would turn into an attractive copper hue as the summer waned.
Bappie’s sheer happiness could easily be accounted as beauty, or at least radiance. She was betrothed, promised, wanted by the one man she had both pitied and admired. Now, given free rein, her love was like a tropical flower, lush, watered, a thing beautiful to behold.
At the Miller farm, a few buggies were parked along the barnyard fence. The horses had been led into the cool interior of the barn, given a cool drink at the trough, then tied to a stall to wait till church services were over. The barn itself was similar to Dan Stoltzfus’s barn, the one Noah had worked on for almost a year.
Painted white, it had louvered windows on the gable ends and fancy trim along the front, where glass windows gleamed in the hot morning sun.
Freshly painted board fencing outlined the rectangular garden, a showcase of beautiful vegetables. The dark earth between the rows had been loosened with a hoe, a testimony to hours of labor. Already, the sweet corn was higher than a person of medium height. The potato plants were dotted with white, star-shaped blooms, the harbinger of large, brown-skinned potatoes growing underneath.
The beans and beets looked lush. The wide bare spot where the pea vines had been pulled was now tilled and planted with lima beans or late corn. Along the garden fence, the huge, red-veined leaves of rhubarb plants thrived; the frilly tops of the carrots showed off like a decoration of lace.
Bappie said this was what her garden would look like after she and Levi were
married. She had serious zeitlang to work in such a garden. Looked like Lydia didn’t grow turnips, which was something Bappie would not do either. The sheep would eat them.
Hester saw Levi Buehler drive past, his buggy grayish, splattered with bits of mud, and coated with dust, his horse a bit ungainly. He held his neck out at a tired angle, not high with a spirited stance, the way some horses did. It was just the way Levi was—relaxed and happy, never competitive, nor trying to make a show of his own good management. If the buggy was less than clean, well, no one would notice or care.
Unfortunately, Bappie did.
First she said, “There goes Levi.”
Then she followed it with, “He should have washed his buggy.”
Followed by, “After we’re married, I’m getting rid of that horse. He runs like a cow.”
Hester smiled. Levi climbed down from his buggy, caught sight of his future bride, and beamed like a ray of sunlight before turning away quickly, busying himself with the reins. But it was enough for Bappie, who had caught Levi’s shining look of happiness, which seemed to take away her dissatisfaction with the less than clean buggy and cow-like horse.
Hester smiled wider but lowered her face before someone caught her being bold or brazen on a Sunday morning. It was bad enough that Bappie had persuaded her not to wear a hat that day. A hat was a Sunday requirement. Large enough to cover all of one’s hair and the sides of one’s head when it was pulled front, a hat did its part to obscure a face, so that a woman’s appearance was mostly a shapeless, black figure, the rustling of skirts on shoe tops the only distraction from the severity.
Bappie refused to wear the thing on hot summer days, stating briefly that if someone didn’t like it, they could come talk to her. She had once gone barefoot to church, which was met by drawn eyebrows and mouths turned down like upended bowls of disapproval. Whispers and head-wagging were of course followed by a visit from the deacon, Abner Esh, from south of town.
Bappie wouldn’t admit it to Hester, but she was plenty shook up by the visit, ashamed, humiliated, and even a wee bit sorry after being rebuked in Abner’s loving, godly manner. Her face was white as a clean pillowcase when she came back into the house, after he had spoken to her on the back stoop. She wouldn’t say much to Hester, but she didn’t need to, as her face flamed and her eyes blinked rapidly and she told Hester she didn’t care what anyone thought, she wasn’t going to wear shoes to church in this humidity. But she did care. She was ashamed of her own boldness, and she wore her shoes and stockings to church from that day on.
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