Hans lifted a thin hand. Noah took it, held it.
“Noah, unser Noah. Kate’s and my Noah,” he whispered. “Ich bin so frowah.”
That Hans was glad to see Noah was pitifully evident. He clung to his oldest son, his eyes alight with pleasure. He asked for more pillows, which Annie provided, putting him in a semi-seated position. His eyes found Hester. He blinked, then blinked again.
He relinquished his hold on Noah’s hand and waved the hand weakly in Hester’s direction. “Have you brought a wife, Noah?”
Hester stepped forward, buoyed by a calm that was not her own. “I am Hester.”
Again, Hans’s mouth opened, but he was soon wracked by fresh dry sobs, his eyes closing by the force of his sorrow. Over and over he raised his hand as if to speak, but the rasping sound continued.
Noah came to stand close to her, wanting to support her in the only way he could here in this room, with Annie like a specter of disapproval. Finally, Hans gathered some weakened control over himself.
“Ach, Hester, Hester, Hester. Komm mol.”
He waved a feeble hand. Hester caught it and held the hand as light as air.
“How I have prayed!” Hans gasped for breath. Annie rushed over, saying it was too much.
“No, no,” Hans shook his head.
“God heard the prayers of a sick man. Over and over I prayed that you would come. Ach, my Hester. My liebchen maedle.”
He stopped and asked for water, which Annie supplied from the kitchen, holding the tumbler to his cracked, dry lips gently, as if for a child.
“Danke, Mam,” Hans whispered.
As if the water revived him, Hans seemed to gather strength. “First of all, I owe you an apology. I am sorry, Hester. I was a man possessed by you. I allowed the natural affection of a father to turn into something that nearly destroyed me, my faith, you, and many more members of the family. You have suffered on my account, Hester. Annie has suffered. Noah. And my Isaac, gone to his eternal rest. Oh, how I hope he remembered his teaching.”
Noah broke in. “He did Dat. He was saved at the end.”
“Preist Gott. We are not worthy of such grace.”
Hester lifted the black apron to find the white lawn handkerchief in her pocket, blew her nose gently, and dabbed at quiet tears.
“As I was saying, my unnatural affection, the lust of my heart, caused great hardship, and I have reaped many times over what I have sown. Isaac’s death, your disappearance, Noah going to war, but worst of all, the ferment of my own conscience. I begged God to forgive me day and night, yet I found no peace. I felt I had to make it right with you, my dear Hester. I know I am lower than the worms that burrow below the earth’s surface and do not deserve to be forgiven. If anyone ever deserves to burn in hell for all eternity, I do. Will you try, at least sometime in your life, if not now, to forgive me? I know I’m asking for more than you can ever grant me.”
By now Hester was crying freely, her lower lip caught between her teeth, the lawn handkerchief catching the tears that welled up and spilled over. It was the pure, jeweled releasing of a festering sore, finally opened and beginning to heal by the miraculous hand that healed so many people before.
She stepped up and bent over his hands as she caught them in both of hers. She spoke clearly in her low voice. “I forgive you, Dat.”
For a long time the only sound in the room was the awful, dry sobs, the sound of a broken man, crushed to bits by his own failure, completely repentant, honest, and finished. Annie blinked repeatedly, pursed her lips, scowled, and made all manner of strange faces to keep her tears hidden. Emma merely stood at the foot of her father’s bed, sniffed occasionally, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was a child and could not grasp the full impact of her father’s confession.
When the sound of his crying ceased, he drew a deep, ragged breath and spoke again. “I won’t be here long, so let me say this. To make restitution, Noah, you shall have two hundred acres to the south. It is all surveyed and posted. I am leaving you five thousand dollars to build on the land. That is my wish. Solomon has the home farm. Daniel and John will also inherit land.”
Suddenly, he smiled. “But Menno, I’m afraid, won’t require land. He has inherited my love of horseshoeing. So be it.”
Instantly Hester was at his bedside again. “Oh, Dat, I have many good memories of going with you on the spring wagon, shoeing horses. Those were the best years of my life. I do thank you for allowing me to go.”
Those words brought another smile and a new light in his eyes. But he was tired out, completely exhausted by the force of his confession. Before anyone could say anything more, he was asleep, breathing slowly but deeply.
Noah turned to Hester, took her hands, and held them, as Annie watched with disapproving eyes, scowling, and pinching her lips.
“How do you feel, Hester?”
“As light as a feather. And very hungry.”
Annie erased the scowl, led the way to the kitchen, and said stiffly, “Well, you should have said something.”
“Oh, no. You shouldn’t go to any trouble.”
That was the way of tradition, the polite answer, but in truth, Hester was ravenous and unreasonably happy, her great burden lifted. She suddenly remembered Annie’s baking, especially her molasses cakes, the oversized sugar cookies sprinkled with brown sugar, the huckleberry pie and butterscotch pudding drizzled with clabbered cream.
Annie spread snow-white tablecloths on the plank tabletop, turned, and said, “I just made a fresh molasses cake.”
She scowled immediately after saying that as her hands shook fiercely. She made two or three attempts at placing the tablecloth, but so much had happened. At least she had made a molasses cake.
CHAPTER 23
IT WAS HARD TO WATCH THIS ANGRY WOMAN TRYING SO valiantly to hide the handicap of her fluttering hands. She flitted from cupboard to table as if her swiftly moving feet would make up for her ill-disposed hands. She was nervous, which Hester assumed made the shaking much worse.
The knife wobbled as she sliced through the perfect layer cake. The tumblers clacked wildly as she brought them to the table. She asked Emma to pour cold buttermilk, and Hester could easily see why. Annie would not have been capable. Now, more than ever, Hester would so have liked to try the Indian remedy for palsy of the hands, but she chose not to speak of it.
While they were seated, there was a clatter on the back porch and two more children burst through the door, their faces red from exertion, their hair plastered to their foreheads, perspiring freely.
“Barbara. Menno,” Annie said sternly.
They stopped, two adolescents, the picture of good health and vitality, smiles fading from their faces as they struggled to recognize these people who were seated at the table.
Barbara’s voice burst out, “Noah! Hester!”
Noah beamed, hugging his sister and then his brother. Hester gathered them into her arms immediately, laughing, teasing them, and saying they certainly hadn’t grown up much at all.
They were both dark-haired and dark-eyed like Hans. They exuded the same ambition, the lust for life, the boundless energy, never quite able to sit still for any length of time. They were clearly delighted to have Noah and Hester here at the house and were soon swapping tales of childhood shenanigans.
“They’re probably pretty much the same way we were, Hester,” Noah laughed, punching Menno on his upper arm.
“I can’t shoot a slingshot the way you could, Hester,” Barbara said. “You killed the rooster once.”
“Did I? Oh, I remember. I guess I did. Well, don’t blame me. He had it coming. Roosters can’t go through life flogging people!”
Noah laughed heartily. “That’s not the only thing you shot. I still remember that rumor about the ghost in the hollow. I think you climbed a tree and shot Obadiah’s hat off one morning on our way to school.”
Hester’s eyes danced. “You will never know, will you?”
Through all this ban
ter Annie moved stiffly. She seemed determined to hide any show of interest in Hester and Noah, intent on heating water in the polished kettle, sweeping up a few crumbs, straightening the curtain by the dry sink. Hester watched, wishing there was a way of getting to know her better, a way of understanding her.
Annie moved fast, checking on Hans, going to the back door to pull the latch, and back to the stove. Then she was again at the dry sink, always with her mouth pulled down in a perpetual scowl, a sort of repressed, upside-down smile.
Was her life a bitter potion? After Hester left, had Hans loved her? Had he been good to her?
A sudden pity welled up in Hester. Surely Annie had some reason to be so hard-hearted. The cruelty Hester remembered had bordered on uncontrollable surges of anger. Only after she had demeaned Hester to a mere scrap heap would she let go of her taunting.
Now that all this time had passed without Hester in her life, had she, too, felt badly, perhaps remembering the unfairness of her hatred? Or was this woman simply not aware of having done anything wrong?
It was when Annie dropped the butter dish that Hester’s pity became real and deep. She determined within herself to find some way of tunneling into her good graces, if any such thing existed.
She watched Annie bend to retrieve the broken butter dish piece by piece, her hands shaking so badly Hester felt sure she would cut herself. When she offered to help, getting down on her knees, she was elbowed aside so rudely she was almost knocked on her backside.
Embarrassed, she straightened and went back to her chair. Noah caught her eye and winked, smiling widely. Some things never change, he mouthed.
Hester sat up to the table, aware of the flush stealing across her face. As Noah kept up a lively conversation with his siblings, Hester remained quiet, watching Annie’s determination to hide any form of disability, her mouth drawn in concentration. She set her shoulders and worked stiffly and persistently, as if she, all by herself, could exert control over her shaking hands.
Hester got up, went over to the dry sink, asked Annie for a clean tea towel, and began to wipe dishes without saying anything further. Instantly Annie became terribly ill at ease. Her nose twitched, her mouth worked, her movements became so jerky that water from the dishpan splashed on the floor. She fought the tremors, but eventually, after repeatedly attempting to lift a heavy white plate from the slippery water, she clutched the edge of the sink and stood still until they passed. Then she turned, her tortured eyes sparking with animosity.
“I guess you came to dry dishes so you could see my aylend.” Her words were quick, harsh, and as dry and scaly as a rattlesnake crawling over a rock at midday.
Hester felt herself shrink, an involuntary need to get away from the words that brought back memories of her overwhelming anger, the tongue-lashings she experienced as a girl. But now she was a woman. A person in her own right, who had been married, loved, and rejected, who worked among people in the world and knew a few things about life in general.
So she said, “That is not why I came to help you, Annie. I think you are managing very well with your difficulty.”
“No, you don’t.”
Hester watched her ailing stepmother, saying nothing.
Annie clenched her hands as she stared out the window. Her words tumbled thick and fast, like quiet hisses from a swarm of angry wasps attacking Hester.
“You think you’re so much better than me. You sailed through our house like some queen, swinging your hips at my Hans, you did. Your big eyes are so bold, and here he lies dying, apologizing for something you brought on yourself, you Indian. You never were anything, and you still aren’t. I was glad when you left, glad.”
Hester absorbed the viciousness of her words quietly. They were merely words, flung out by her mouth from the dark recesses of her heart.
Then Hester spoke. “Annie, you know as well as I do, that you are not speaking words of wahrheit. I did nothing to get any of this attention from my father.”
Here Annie broke in. “He’s not your father.”
Hester turned to look at her stepmother, hoping to meet her eyes, to convey some sort of feeling. Annie presented her profile like a brick wall, and as impenetrable.
From the corner of her eye, Hester saw Noah herd his younger siblings out the door and thanked him silently.
“You are right, Annie. He is not my father. If he were, none of this would have happened.”
“Yes, it would. You brought it on yourself.”
Hester sighed. She polished a glass tumbler until her towel became stuck, then continued to twist it round and round, buying time, desperately seeking a response that was not an argument, a continued clash of senseless word-dueling.
“Annie, I don’t believe I ever tried anything intentionally. Hans was a good father to me. I adored him as a child, as he loved and adored his wife. I had no idea there was anything amiss, growing up.”
Here Annie snorted, a derisive, mocking assault. “You were dumb. Indians are. He married me merely to cover up his feeling for you. I saw it the first week of our marriage.”
This silenced Hester. All too well, she remembered the tight-lipped Annie, the tension between Hans and his new bride, Annie’s refusal to meet his eyes, her angry movements like a puppet on a string when she served him at the table. Yes, Hester had seen it, believing that their newlywed bliss had gone far wrong. But never once had she thought of herself as the cause.
Extending the olive branch of peace, Hester bowed to Annie the way Abraham of old bowed to his brother Lot, offering him the choice of the much better land. Hester conceded, allowing Annie her valued opinion.
“Yes, I was dumb, innocent, naive. All of that. Whether it was because I’m an Indian, I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s just me being me. I never did very well at numbers and letters in school.
“But, Annie, you must believe me when I say I never did anything to intentionally come between you and Hans. I wanted a mother, someone like Kate.”
When Annie turned her head, Hester met her eyes, completely unprepared for the raw pain and the bottomless vulnerability in this thin, spare woman. She saw only for a moment. Then Annie drew the curtain of anger, sparking a dangerous round.
“I’m not Kate,” she spat.
Hester remained quiet, set down the polished glass, then picked up a fork and dried it.
Annie launched herself away from the dry sink with quick, staccato steps, marched through the kitchen, her shoulders stiff, her arms like pokers at her thin hips, and disappeared into the sick room to check on her husband.
When she returned, she sat at the table, her hands clenched in front of her, her head bent over them. “Come sit with me,” she ground out.
Hester sat.
“All my life my father was cruel. Not just to me, but to everyone. The sting of the whip across my legs was nothing unusual. I needed it. I did most things wrong. I was the small, spindly one, the runt.”
Here, Hester thought of Fannie.
“My father always had money. Our farm was well managed. Yet he gave me away to a family who needed a maud. A maid.
“Rebecca was a good enough stepmother, but I was not her child. I was on the outside looking in. She held the other children, kissed them. But she never touched me. My heart often hurt, but I found strength in anger. In not caring. I decided it wouldn’t hurt me. I became strong. I never complained, I did my share of the work. I had it nice, really. Ich hab es shay Kott. Plenty to eat, clothes to wear.
“About five years after I entered rumspringa, I realized that I would likely not be chosen to marry. My face was plain. I was thin and already angry most of the time. I lacked charm. It was the other girls who smiled, laughed, spoke clearly, and won the attention of the boys at the hymn singings. One by one, my friends were all courting. And one by one, they were married.”
Annie reached into her pocket, produced a spotless square of white linen, wiped her nose with a few swipes, sniffed, and returned it to her pocket. “When Hans asked for my
hand at the age of thirty-nine, I was overcome with gratitude. I had returned to my family as a housekeeper, and since I was an adult, Dat could no longer ply that whip. So he used words, as hurtful as the slash of the leather thongs.
“Never once did I imagine I would become like my father. I had always imagined that I would be kind and loving to my children. I would never stoop so low as to lash out with words or a whip. So why did I?”
The kitchen was bright with the late morning sunshine streaming through the windows, dust motes hovering on shafts of it, the polished floor gleaming where the light fell. The ornately carved clock on the wall ticked loudly. Somewhere, the pinging of heated and cooled metal sounded.
“Why did I?” Annie repeated.
Hester opened her mouth to answer, to tell her it was all right, to make her feel better in an urge to convey sympathy.
“I became my father.”
Again, Hester took a breath, a soothing reply on her lips.
Annie held up her hand.
“Don’t. Let me finish. I married Hans with complete happiness. I loved him and looked forward to the time when I would be his wife in every sense of the word.”
A long silence ensued, after which Annie lifted her head and met Hester’s eyes, revealing another painful glimpse of those tortured eyes.
“He never touched me, Hester,” she whispered, a ragged sound so pitiful, it shredded every ounce of painful memories in Hester.
“We lived under the same roof, sharing our meals and our bed as brother and sister. You are the only one who knows. Can you understand my frustration? Although I had no right. As I was treated cruelly, so I treated others. You especially. I hated you. I wanted you gone, out of my life. Away from Hans.
“When you left, he blamed me. He became like a man possessed. It was terrible to see. But life went on. Outwardly, we prospered. We acquired acreage. The crops did well. The children worked alongside us. Hans developed a distant fondness for me, his second wife. If it was all the love I would ever receive, it was enough. I stayed strong, bolstered by work and the harsh words that gave me my strength.
Hester Takes Charge Page 27