Wonderful Lonesome

by Newport, Olivia

  “But it won’t always be a hundred degrees, and we won’t always be in a drought.”

  “Why then, I suppose a quilt is an act of faith.” Willem stabbed at unyielding earth once more. It was not too far into summer to put in a few vegetables—something that did not require much water.

  “That’s exactly right.” Abbie folded the empty flour sack she had exchanged for Willem’s weekly ration of bread inside his cabin. “An act of faith. It’s going to be a tree of life quilt.”

  Willem chuckled. “The attraction of this land was that we didn’t have to clear trees before we could plant. Right now I could do with a bit of shade.”

  “It’s a beautiful pattern. I can make one tree for each of the twelve families in our settlement.”

  Willem nodded. It seemed unlikely the Elbert County settlement would attract more families anytime soon. He tipped his hat back and looked at Abbie full on. “And what will become of this quilt once it is finished? Will it be big enough for two?”

  That blush. That was the reason he said these things.

  She unfurled the folded flour sack at him. “You would like to think you’re deserving, wouldn’t you?”

  He grinned. “I’m just choosing my moment.”

  “And what excuse will you have when the fall harvest is over and it’s marrying season?”

  “Ministers are as scarce as trees out here.” Willem raised the shovel above his shoulders and let its point drop directly into the cracked soil.

  “Maybe you’d better start solving that problem now.”

  “There’s always Jake Heatwole.”

  He heard her gasp but refused to meet her eyes, instead scraping at the thin layer of soil he had managed to loosen. “What if it comes down to a Mennonite minister or no wedding at all?”

  “Aren’t you getting the cart before the horse? I don’t recall hearing a proper proposal of marriage.” Abbie folded the sack once again.

  “You know I’m irresistible.”

  “Willem Peters! That is the most prideful thing to say.”

  “Perhaps. But it is a legitimate question, considering we haven’t had a minister even visit us in a year to preach, much less baptize or marry.”

  “That’s not going to last forever. The drought will end. The settlement will grow. We will have a minister.”

  Willem wiped a sleeve across his forehead. He hoped she was right. He hoped the day would not come that he would have to tell her that the optimism had worn off his own faith.

  “Are you tempted to use some prints?” Ruthanna smoothed the folded blue apron one last time before handing it to Abbie.

  “Oh my, no.” Abbie clutched the apron to her chest. “I don’t want to use any fabric that our people would not wear.”

  “Some do, you know. Nothing too outrageous, but remnants or old skirts from the English.” Ruthanna sat in one of her four kitchen chairs and wished she had washed the morning dishes before Abbie arrived.

  In another chair, Abbie shook her head. “Not me. My tree of life quilt will be a symbol of our growing settlement. I don’t want the suggestion of anything English.”

  Ruthanna gave a small shrug. “You wouldn’t have to go all the way to the English. The Mennonite women are beginning to wear small prints.”

  “I wish them well in their own settlement, but I do not want their worn dresses.”

  “I wish I had more to give you. I only have three dresses. I feel I can spare the apron because I spilled ink all over it and couldn’t get it out. But there are plenty of unspoiled patches that will do fine in a piece quilt.”

  “Don’t feel badly,” Abbie said. “My mamm says it is time for her to give her quilt scraps to me anyway. If I have even one item from each of our households, the quilt will truly represent the settlement.”

  “How much do you have so far?”

  Abbie tilted her head to think. “I still need to go by the Millers’, but Mary promised me one of Albert’s old shirts. And I haven’t spoken to Rudy yet.” She had contributions from the Yoders, Nissleys, Chupps, Yutzys, Mullets, Troyers, and now the Gingeriches. Even Willem and Widower Samuels had found something to donate. Her mother’s scraps would fill in many gaps.

  “Do you really think Rudy will have something you can use?” Ruthanna stroked her stomach. “Most of his clothes look ready for the rag pile as it is.”

  “I know. I ought to make him a shirt.”

  “He’s sweet on you. You know that, right?”

  Abbie bristled. “I most certainly do not. Where do you get such nonsense?”

  “I see the way his eyes follow you when everyone is together.”

  “Without church services, that hardly ever happens. You’re imagining things.”

  “Would it be so bad if he were? Willem is not exactly…”

  “Willem is Willem.”

  “Right.” Ruthanna cleared her throat. “Are you sure you don’t want a cup of kaffi?”

  “Positive. I’m perspiring as it is, and I still need to take eggs and cheese to some of the other families of the settlement.”

  Ruthanna breathed in and out slowly. “Do you think we’ll ever stop calling it that?”

  “Calling it what?”

  “The settlement. Nobody at home in Pennsylvania or Ohio uses that word.”

  “Because they are all in established districts, with ministers.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Ruthanna said. “If no minister ever comes, we’ll never be more than a settlement.”

  Abbie stood. “I am far too busy to let such doubts into my mind, and I suggest you banish them as well. You have a baby to get ready for!”

  Ruthanna received the kiss her friend offered her cheek and watched as Abbie skittered across the cabin and out the front door. Last year’s failed crop. A horrific winter. Spring hail. Summer drought. Yet Abigail Weaver believed.

  Rudy Stutzman leaned on a fence post and wiped his eyes against his shoulder to contain the dripping sweat. Even when he came out to work in his fields at first light, long before the sun slashed the sky with full-fledged rays, he was drenched in his own perspiration before breakfast. Indiana summers were hot, but mature oaks and elms dotted the countryside, and creeks and rivers ran with as much cool water as a man could ask for. Here Rudy reminded himself to swallow his spit because drinking water was scarce and he had the animals to think of—never mind sufficient water to irrigate.

  After the hail, Rudy had dutifully begun turning his soil again, inch by backbreaking inch. Not all of it. He did not have seed for a second planting even for half of his acres—not even a third. He only turned as much earth as he needed for sparse rows he could afford. Without any delusions that he would have enough crop to generate cash in the market, he settled for hoping for enough wheat to grind and mill. If the Weaver women were going to continue to bake his bread, he ought at least to contribute grain to the process. He had not intended to be anyone’s charity case when he came to this land he could only describe as desolate. Unyielding. Everthirsty. Stingy. Yes, desolate.

  Rudy wanted to throw off his hat, stick his head in a bucket of cold water, and gulp freely. And when he pulled it out again, he wanted to see the rolling green hills of Indiana, the smile of his mother’s face, fresh clean sheets on his bed. He still had the voucher for a train ticket that he bought the morning when Abbie Weaver pleaded with him not to leave. Alone in the evenings, he sometimes took it out of its envelope and fingered the edges.

  She still stopped him from going. If he left now, he would never see her sweet face again. In all the weeks since that day, he had heard nothing new about what was between Abbie Weaver and Willem Peters. Perhaps it was not as much as many people presumed.

  Let me help you, Eber.” Ruthanna reached for the metal pail. Eber grunted and turned away from her without releasing his grip on the handle. “Do you think I cannot manage a milk pail on my own?”

  “That’s just it.” Ruthanna moved one hand to the achy spot at the side of her back more out
of habit than pain. “It’s only a milk pail. I can carry it to the house while you get started with the other cow.”

  “There’s no need. I can bring them both when I come. You have the child to think of.”

  “The baby is not coming for months,” Ruthanna said. “There is no need for me to give up simple tasks, at least not yet.”

  “You have a tendency to overwork yourself.”

  Ruthanna bit her bottom lip. How could Eber not see that he had taken his own tendency toward overwork to extremes? Every day that he spent outside in the heat worried her more. Even the brown tones the sun gave his skin did not hide his underlying pallor, and he was breathing too fast for her liking.

  “Eber, please let me take the pail. It’s not even half-full. I will be careful.”

  He relented. “We are going to need all the cheese you can make. We may not have much else to see us through the winter.”

  Ruthanna took the pail before he could change his mind. “Let me bring you some water.”

  Eber shook his head. “That isn’t necessary. We must conserve.”

  “One glass of water is not going to save the crop, Eber. But it might save you.”

  He grunted again, running a dry tongue over chapped lips.

  Ruthanna pivoted as smoothly as she could with her growing bulk and left the barn.

  Inside the cabin, Ruthanna set the milk pail in the corner of the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard. With the dipper in the water barrel, she filled the glass before looking around for some bit of nourishment to take to Eber as well. He had so little appetite these days. Ruthanna had already taken in his trousers twice. In the evenings, he sat in his chair and stared at her swelling belly. His early exuberance about the child had long ago faded. Ruthanna was sure he would love the baby when it arrived in November, but he wanted to provide a better start for their child’s life than a failed crop and a hungry winter.

  Ruthanna settled on a boiled egg. They still had hens, and the hens still laid. Ruthanna had boiled a batch that morning, carefully setting aside the leftover water to use again for another purpose. With a glass in one hand and an egg in the other, Ruthanna began the trek back to the barn.

  The cow whose udder still hung heavy mooed in protest at Eber’s inattention. He sat on a bale of hay with his head hanging between his hands. Just as Ruthanna entered the barn, he looked up for a fraction of a second, then slid off the hay.

  Ruthanna hastened her swaying progress, gripping the water glass. She wanted to cast it away and run, but her intuition told her Eber needed the precious water more than ever. When she reached him, she cradled his head in her lap and slapped gently at his cheek.

  “Eber! Open your eyes!”

  He obliged, to her great relief. He was breathing far too heavily, and his skin was clammy under her touch.

  “You must drink some water. Don’t argue with me.” She gripped the back of his head and raised it, while at the same time tipping the water glass against his lips. But he seemed to part his lips only to let his faltering breath escape. Water dribbled down his chin rather than down his throat.

  “Eber! You must drink!”

  He seemed to want to speak, but he did not have the strength.

  Ruthanna’s heart pounded. Her husband needed help. The closest neighbors, the Weavers, were miles away even by crisscrossing the back road. She picked up the hem of her dress and dipped it in the water glass, then moved the damp fabric around Eber’s face and against his lips. When his mouth opened again, she squeezed the hem so loose drops would fall into his throat.

  He closed his eyes again.

  “Eber! No!”

  He moaned but did not open his eyes. His head fell to one side.

  Ruthanna laid his head back in the straw and opened the front of his shirt before drenching her hem again and dabbing his chest. He breathed evenly now and not so heavily, but Ruthanna was not fooled. He was not simply asleep.

  She pushed herself upright and left the empty water glass beside the egg in the hay. The buggy was outside the barn, and the horse in the pasture. Ruthanna mustered a whistle, and the horse turned his head. She whistled again, and he began to trot toward her. She opened the gates. The hundreds of times she had fastened horse to cart guided her muscles now with efficiency beyond her thought. Ruthanna could not get herself astride a horse in her condition. The buggy was her only option.

  She drove recklessly, abandoning all sensibility to the thought of losing Eber. Even when she turned into the rugged lane leading to the Weaver home, she did not slow down. Chickens in the yard scattered. The young Weaver sons looked up from their chores. Ruthanna screamed her friend’s name.

  The front door opened and Abbie appeared.

  Abbie drove the rig with firm determination and little sympathy for the performance she demanded from Ruthanna’s horse. Beside her, Ruthanna gripped the bench with both hands, and behind them, Abbie’s mother clutched a large jug of water and a sack of herbs and cloths. Esther had refused to stay behind, and Abbie was grateful. Her mother had far more experience coping with a crisis than she did. Ruthanna’s face was a sopping mess of tears by the time they turned toward Eber and the barn. Abbie pulled the buggy up as close to the barn as she could. Even in her clumsy state, Ruthanna was out of the rig before it fully stopped, and Esther clamored out behind her. Abbie opted to leave the buggy harnessed to the horse in case they should need the animal’s service again soon, but she allowed a rapid gesture to tie him to a post while Esther and Ruthanna ran into the barn.

  When Abbie entered, she could not see Eber. Ruthanna and Esther were on their knees, bent over him.

  “Is he—?” Abbie asked.

  Ruthanna gave a cry. “He’s still breathing. We’re not too late.”

  “Hold his head, Ruthanna.” Esther fished in her bag. “He’s burning up. We have to get him cooled down before we do anything else.”

  As Ruthanna arranged her lap under her husband’s head, Abbie fell to her knees on the other side of Eber. “Mamm, tell me what to do.”

  “Get this cloth good and wet.” Esther flung the scrap of an old flour sack at Abbie and thrust the water jug toward her.

  Perspiration drenched Abbie’s dress as the afternoon’s heat pressed in. She handed the sopping rag back to her mother, who exchanged it for a dry one. Abbie drenched the second rag as her mother opened Eber’s shirt as far as it would go. With cool damp rags on Eber’s chest and face, Esther proceeded to force water down his throat a spoonful at a time.

  “Shall we try to take him into the house?” Ruthanna asked.

  Esther nodded. “Soon. I hope it’s cooler in there.”

  “It is,” Ruthanna said. “Eber insisted on building a generous overhang for the extra shade.”

  “His own wisdom may help save his life.”

  “I should pray.” Ruthanna looked stricken. “I can’t think what to say. Why can’t I pray when I have never needed to pray so hard in my life?”

  “God hears your prayers.” Esther handed a rag to Abbie to dampen again. “Words are not necessary. Now, Abbie, you help me get Eber upright. Ruthanna, you make sure a damp rag stays on his head at all times. Do you understand?”

  While her mother tended Eber, Abbie finished milking the cow Eber had left in distress. With three younger brothers she did not often milk a cow anymore, but she managed. Then she took a slop bucket out to the chickens and made sure the horse had food and water.

  Evening’s waning light gave way to blackness, and still Eber’s skin threw off heat. Each time he moaned, the three women jumped to their feet. Ruthanna pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and draped herself across her husband, finally finding words for her prayers. Abbie watched her friend’s lips move silently but steadily.

  Well after midnight, Abbie lit a lantern and rummaged around Ruthanna’s pantry. She found the boiled eggs and a wedge of cheese and prepared a plate, which she set on the bed next to Ruthanna.

  Ruthanna shook her head, struggling t
o swallow. “I cannot eat.”

  “You must. For the baby.”

  Ruthanna slowly drew herself up. “I am not sure I can.”

  “You must try. You must.”

  “Abigail is right.” Esther Weaver’s voice came from a dark corner at the foot of the bed.

  Abbie peeled a boiled egg and handed it to Ruthanna. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Take care of my Ruthie.” The sound from the bed startled them all.

  “Eber!” Ruthanna put a hand against his face then turned toward Abbie. “He’s cooling off!”

  Esther laid a hand across his forehead. “She’s right. The fever has broken.”

  “Will you drink something now, Eber?” Ruthanna asked.

  He nodded. “If you will.”

  Abbie let out a joyful breath. “I will be right back with two glasses.”

  Esther followed Abbie out of the cramped bedroom and into the cooking area.

  “Do you know where to find the doctor in Limon?” Esther whispered.

  Abbie swallowed. “I think so. But Eber is better. Haven’t we sat through the worst of it?”

  Esther glanced toward the bedroom. “I am concerned that he is truly ill.”

  “He was too much in the heat,” Abbie said. “He’ll listen to Ruthanna now. He’ll be more sensible.”

  Esther shook her head. “The Lord whispers to my spirit that it is more than that. You should go at first light.”

  Three days later, Abbie hung up her apron and brushed the loose flour from her skirt. While the bread rose, she had time to go visit Ruthanna and Eber, particularly if she took a horse and buggy rather than walking the miles between the farms. Outside she stood for a moment surveying the Weaver land. The barn and chicken coop were close to the house. Beyond them her father had marked off the corners of a proper stables and training area for new horses. Abbie knew he had hoped to build the structure by now, rather than cramming horses into the barn at night and leaving the weather-beaten buggy outside.

  Abbie blew out her breath, swallowed, and crossed the yard to the barn for a horse. Inside, the barn was dim, and it took a few seconds for Abbie to realize that her father knelt next to an open sack of seed. He scooped up a handful then spread his fingers and let it run back down to the sack. She watched him do this three or four times before she spoke.