Hester Takes Charge

by Byler, Linda;

  Noah lay back in the grass, his hands beneath his head, his knees bent, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His blond hair was in disarray from passing his fingers through it, his eyes closed, the heavy lashes sweeping his tanned cheeks.

  Watching him, Hester thought his face looked lined, perhaps even older than his years. Had the war taken its toll on him, or had some hardship in his life chiseled the features, like storm winds on a rock or a cliff face, wearing away the perfect symmetry after years of time?

  Noah could not have had a carefree childhood without the ease and acceptance found between most fathers and sons. Hester’s mind retained vivid pictures of growing up in the little log house in Berks County when Kate was still alive.

  The heavy plank table, Noah’s and Isaac’s chins barely reaching to the table top, being cuffed on their shoulders as Hans’s great red hands came down in punishment for something as insignificant as a giggle or a forbidden burst of laughter at the table, where children were to be seen and not heard. Once Noah had spilled a half-tumbler of water, resulting in a ringing smack across one cheek, then the other, his head spinning in both directions.

  He never made a sound. Always it was the same. Noah’s eyes would be a brilliant blue, the color enhanced by unshed tears. His mouth would tremble once, slightly, and that was all. Hester always winced, feeling the slap on her own cheek. But she had learned to squelch her pity, folding it away where no one would see.

  Now, thinking of Salina, she suddenly wondered. Had Kate been a bit simple? Overwhelmed? Or was she only obedient to her husband’s wishes, honoring him to the point that she had no will of her own, leaving the discipline of the children to him?

  That Kate had loved her husband was without doubt. She had loved him, made him laugh, helped him through his anxiety and fits of depression. And Hans had been good to her, the way most husbands were.

  Watching Noah’s face, the craggy, chiseled planes of his features so striking, Hester remembered him as a baby, a toddler. Much larger than most babies, his head was big and almost bald till he was well past a year old. His wide mouth was almost alarming when he cried, which seemed to be his favorite thing to do.

  Did some fathers find themselves having a secret aversion to a newborn son? Hester only knew that Hans had often been unfair, even cruel to the two sons, born so quickly after they brought her home from the spring and nursed her back to health with goat’s milk.

  All her life Hans had been good to her, as well as to Kate. She had been favored even above Kate, but she had been too young to know. She had found security and happiness in Hans, the perfect attentive father.

  Until he wasn’t.

  Then her privileges were taken away and she was forbidden to ride horses, as Hans became harsh in his expectations of how she should follow the Ordnung. He was strict and unyielding where her clothes were concerned. After Kate’s death, he married thin and frigid Annie, who was merciless in her contempt for Hester. She treated her, the adopted Indian girl, with a coarseness that sprang from dislike, fueled by her jealousy.

  With a groan, Hester turned away. The unfairness of it, the patience of Noah and Isaac, the shame of Hans’s unrighteousness. She loathed Hans. She felt a deep and abiding humiliation, the knife edge of the wrong Hans had harbored in his ill-concealed heart.

  Why, then, did she feel as if she herself was tainted, soiled by the knowledge of his fatherly love and affection gone wrong? How could she hope to find even the smallest measure of peace by returning? How would she face him, the robust, swarthy man who had been her father, a figure of security? As she grew, she had been the dumkopf, the simple girl in school. But she skipped through her days with innocence, until Kate died and Hans married Annie, followed by the sense that something had gone very wrong. She could relive the intense glittering of Hans’s eyes, but how was she to know how wrong it was, never having encountered anything of that nature?

  She sat beside Noah, her arms wrapped around her bent knees, and let the misery overtake her. How could she have been so naïve, so uncomprehending, when so much was at stake? She could not go on, blindly riding into the Amish settlement and being among so many acquaintances after all she had gone through in the years since she left.

  How was she to know Noah would be any different than Hans? Here she was, taking Fannie, her pity for the thin, neglected girl overriding her common sense, perhaps into the same trap she herself had been caught in.

  A soft movement caught Hester’s attention. A whisper, “Here.”

  A bunch of white columbine, mixed with lacy ferns and waxy bluebells, was thrust into her lap.

  Hester looked up into Fannie’s face, her white cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  “Fannie! These look just like a garden. I can’t believe you arranged these flowers to look so natural. It’s amazing. How did you do it?”

  Fannie lowered her eyes, blushed deeper, and shrugged her thin shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “Thank you. I love these flowers. I think it’s the nicest bouquet anyone ever gave to me.”

  “Oh.”

  Noah awoke, sat up, and smiled immediately, as if kindness slept and woke with him. Fannie watched him warily as Hester showed him the flowers and laughed when he shook his head in disbelief, banishing Hester’s dark thoughts like a sunrise on night waters.

  They traveled steadily through the afternoon, the two black horses trotting faithfully, sometimes walking, the canvas top flapping in the breezes, Fannie content to sit between them.

  Noah observed the gathering clouds like dirty sheep’s wool rolling into dark colored bundles. He did not like the stillness in the air or the oppressive heat. He chose to say nothing, so when Hester questioned him about the approaching clouds, he simply nodded his head, taking in the surroundings, his gaze sweeping left, then right.

  They passed farms dotting the countryside, homes of the Amish, Mennonites, and the more liberal English, all dwelling side by side, forming neighborhoods of diversity and, for the most part, enjoying a life of peace, if not exactly spiritual unity. That part was accepted and acknowledged, as each family traveled to their respective house of worship on Sunday mornings, passing each other with friendly waves.

  The Mennonites had their meetinghouses, while the Amish met in homes. The English attended massive stone or brick churches scattered through the towns. Each chose to worship the same God in many different ways, following the Scripture according to their own understanding, love, and tradition. These were the ties that bound each one to family and congregation, the strongholds of their own individual faiths.

  Noah had spoken of his desire to stay in Lancaster. He thought it was the only sensible thing to do. With the soil so fertile, the crop yields were higher than anywhere he had ever been. But the land was costly, three times the amount per acre than it was in Berks County. He could purchase a tract of land without borrowing very much, if any, if he chose to buy in his homeland.

  Hester had been too shy to ask or to add to the conversation, certainly not wanting him to feel as if she had any part in his future.

  In her heart, she couldn’t imagine a future without Noah, but perhaps she was only being irrational and not thinking clearly.

  She also recognized that she had never cared for William the way she did for Noah. As each day passed, each week an eternity if she was not with Noah, her growing understanding of what love actually encompassed was staggering.

  Why had she married William? Did everything have a reason? Had it all been in God’s plan? If this is what real love is like, then perhaps she shouldn’t blame herself for her lack of obedience or her fiery rebellion.

  Her thoughts were unsettling, her spirit tumultuous, as she sat in the deep grass beside Noah. She glanced at the approaching clouds, wondering if a coming storm was causing her mind to produce all these endless, senseless thoughts.

  Noah suddenly suggested they hitch up and try to make it to an inn by nightfall. He got to his feet and reached for her hands, drawing her u
p with him. He would not let go of her hands, looking into her eyes until her vision blurred and her head swam. Wise little Fannie looked over her bouquet of flowers and nodded once to herself, then sighed softly.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE HORSES WERE EAGER. THE GOOD DRINK OF WATER AND rich grass had boosted their energy. They trotted together as if they were proud to be a team, to draw this gaily flapping canvas behind them.

  The road made a few turns, dipped down once, then steadied into a gradual incline up to a higher level. A steep ridge lay ahead, and then a small mountain.

  The clouds moved in steadily from the northwest, a low bank that seemed caught above the line of hills. The sun shone hot and brilliant, turning the backs of the sweating horses into polished glass.

  Noah said he remembered an inn at Black Creek at the foot of the ridge, which was a line of small mountains called Eagle Rock.

  Hester said they would be fine beneath this canvas, that she was afraid it was simply too expensive to stay at an inn. A waste of money.

  In answer, Noah pointed to the approaching storm, shaking his head.

  Toward evening, the light turned gray with a cast of yellow-orange.

  They passed a barn so new the lumber shone golden in the haze of the approaching bad weather. The house had been painted white and shone like a beacon of solid workmanship, the white sheets and towels and tablecloths dancing on their clothespins. A buxom woman clad in purple came hurrying out of the house, a wicker clothes basket balanced on one hip, glancing at the dark clouds. The hammering of nails reverberated from the barn. Children dotted the yard, colorful little characters running and tumbling about like birds.

  They waved when the woman set down her basket, stopped, and raised a hand to her forehead like a salute. Shading her eyes from the glare of the sun, she lifted her hand in a wave immediately.

  The wind was getting up, stirring the summer’s old leaves, rustling the dry grass by the side of the road. It lifted the horses’ manes, riffling through the thick hair. The breeze felt refreshing as it blew a few of Fannie’s schtrubles across her face.

  Far away, they heard a low muffled sound of thunder. Noah peered through the trees as they approached the ridge, muttering under his breath.

  “Don’t worry about an inn, please. When I traveled alone from Berks County, I slept in the rain more than once. If we get wet, we’ll dry out.”

  Noah smiled at her, flicking the reins across the horse’s back, goading them forward a bit faster as another low muffled sound came from the distance.

  The road wound in and out of the forest, the trees giving way to cleared land repeatedly, but always on a steady incline. The horses were tiring, their steps flagging, the neck reins stretched taut as their heads went lower, no longer held quite as high by their own accord.

  The distant rumblings were no longer muffled but a solid, rolling sound, followed by thin, jagged appearances of bluish-white light. These were powerful storm clouds that could send balls of fire through buildings and light barns with their ferocity, a thing feared but not understood. Lightning was the power of God on full display.

  The first raindrops that hit their faces were carried by powerful winds that swelled the canvas, whipped green leaves from thrashing tree branches, tossed the dusty roadside grasses, and flung the horses’ manes and tails to the right.

  The inn was nestled against a high bank of trees, built of solid gray limestone that had been carved and set, creating a building that would withstand the elements. The door was wide and thick, its boards painted a dark blue. The shutters beside each many-paned window looked like solid sentries, guarding the patrons within.

  Noah pulled up to the door, leaped off the wagon, and went to the horses’ heads without offering assistance to Hester or Fannie.

  “Get inside. I will be in,” was all he said.

  Hester walked up to the inn, lifted the heavy, cast-iron latch, drew back the massive door, and stepped inside, her eyes lowered and her face averted as she kept a steady grip on Fannie’s frail hand.

  The interior was dim, cool, and smelled of strong drink and burned food. The odor was thick and stale, clinging to Hester like a sticky vapor, a cloying scent she could not dispel. She stood uncertainly, gasping slightly as her senses became accustomed to the stale air.

  Immediately, a man came from behind the counter, a white dish towel tucked into the belt of his apron. He was about Hester‘s height, thick and muscular, with a mustache and a full beard covering most of his face, his small black eyes like two dark beetles.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “We’re waiting for my brother. He’s seeing to the horses.”

  “Oh, indeed. Indeed. Welcome. Welcome. You may be seated at any of these tables while you wait. May I bring you sustenance?”

  Hester shook her head. “We’ll wait.”

  Bowing deeply, the dishcloth lurching forward, he straightened and moved quickly behind the counter.

  Curious stares directed their way made Hester uneasy. She longed for her big hat which she could pull forward, obscuring her face. She felt exposed since her muslin cap did nothing to hide her features, so she lowered her eyes, keeping her gaze directed on the tips of her shoes and the floor beyond.

  Slowly the hush lessened, voices rose in their usual crescendo, and conversations resumed as the inn’s customers lost interest. Hester was relieved when Noah appeared, his eyes sweeping the room with a practiced gaze before he dropped into a chair.

  Blue lightning flashed against the windowpanes, followed by lashing rain and deep but muted growls of thunder. Candles were lit by long matches, the flames large and unsteady till they gained the full wick. Then they burned steadily, throwing a homey light across the greasy, smoke-filled room.

  The bearded man hurried over, the two dark beetles glistening, his eyes small and close to his nose. But a friendly smile showed his teeth somewhere in the recesses of all his facial hair. “Yessir. How do you do, sir? I welcome you to Black Creek Inn. How may I be of service?”

  Hester thought of Walter Trout, and a lump formed in her throat.

  “We’d like two rooms for the night, please. And an evening meal as well.” Noah had risen, extending a hand, a towering blond giant but given to a gentle demeanor, an air of kindness about him. He viewed the innkeeper with the same charity as he held for all the rest of the human race. Hester’s breath caught, a sensation of love and admiration quickening her heart.

  Of course, Noah held the innkeeper in high esteem. Condescension was not an attitude Noah practiced. He clearly thought well of the stranger and received his welcome with sincerity.

  “Two rooms indeed, sir. And just in time, the weather affording you no welcome,” the innkeeper said, indicating the violence of the storm with a wave of his hand.

  Their food was brought by a comely young woman dressed in a manner that made Hester blush, her eyes on Noah as she served their supper. He remained as polite and kind as he had been to the innkeeper.

  The heavy plates were heaped with roasted sausages, mounds of boiled potatoes and turnips, slices of summer squash and chunks of tomatoes and parsley. She brought glasses of dark frothy beer, which Noah asked to have replaced with hot tea and tumblers of water.

  Fannie’s eyes became big and round in the flickering candlelight as she eyed the mountain of food. Her cheeks were pink, her brown eyes full of light, as she dipped her head and put a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress a giggle.

  Hester caught Noah’s eyes, smiled, and leaned over. “Just eat what you can, Fannie.”

  And she did. She enjoyed a large portion of the potatoes and turnips, but only tasted the sausage delicately.

  Hester found the food delicious. The sausages were browned to perfection, the potatoes creamy, the tomatoes rich and satisfying. The shoofly pie that followed the meal was heavy with the rich brown sugar and molasses concoction that made up the two-layered filling, all baked in a thick, flaky pie crust.

  Noah ate two platefuls a
nd three slices of pie with his tea. Hester finished her serving of food but felt overfull and uncomfortable after eating her piece of pie.

  Outside the storm continued, a summer thunderstorm that would cleanse the whole countryside of the cloying heat and humidity. The inn seemed a haven now, a warm, dry place to be, the horses stabled and fed, the wagon pushed into a wide bay on the top floor of the bank barn.

  Hester had never been served food at an inn. She had no idea how to go about ordering a meal or paying for it afterward. She had certainly never slept in an inn. She hoped the night would prove restful, imagining the misery of riding on the high seat of the spring wagon while sleepily clinging to the side of the seat.

  “Would you like to retire to your rooms?” Noah asked after draining his tea.

  “It’s still early, isn’t it?” Hester wondered.

  “I’d say nightfall is only a few minutes away, although it’s hard to tell on account of the storm.”

  “At any rate, I am tired, and I’m sure Fannie will be willing to lie down after the long ride.”

  Noah went to make arrangements, brought the valise from the wagon, and led the way up a steep narrow stairs that opened to a long hallway with closed doors along each side. Towards the back of the hall, he opened a door to the right, gave the candleholder to Hester, set the valise on the floor, and asked if she and Fannie needed anything else.

  The wide, white bed shone like a beacon of rest; the washstand beside it held a large pitcher and bowl, along with clean white towels. Hester had all she needed. Weariness crept over her, a numbing sensation as she nodded, telling Noah that everything looked more than sufficient, and she was extremely grateful for these luxurious accommodations.

  For a brief instant his eyes stayed on hers, containing all his love, his longing as well as restraint. In his kindness, he bid her a good night’s rest before bending to take Fannie’s hand in his and putting a hand to Hester’s shoulder. Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click of the latch.