by Sarah Price
Maem’s mouth dropped open and the fork fell from her hand. Lydia and Catherine broke into giggles while Jane and Lizzie clasped hands under the table, an unspoken support to keep from joining their younger sisters in giggling at Daed’s comment.
“Oh help!” Maem cried, with an indignant tone of voice. “I should think the burden would be yours as well. If your dear dochders don’t marry farmers and one without his own farm, what will happen to this place? We can’t keep tending the farm and the cows on our own!” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “To think that Grossdawdi put so much into keeping it!”
Daed sighed wearily and shook his head. “God will provide, fraa. He always does.”
The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. At such an early hour, a visitor was most unusual. Daed pushed his chair back from the table and walked toward the mudroom, too aware that six pairs of eyes watched his back. Maem began wringing her hands, clearly fearful that the early morning visitor bore bad news. Lizzie glanced around the table, intrigued by the silence and the variety of expressions on her sisters’ faces. From the mudroom they heard the squeak of the screen door and Daed’s low voice. Another male voice joined him, followed by friendly laughter shared by the two men.
Only a few short seconds passed before Daed sauntered back into the kitchen, a piece of paper in his hand. “Ach vell,” he said, glancing down at his hand. “Seems someone has already made a new friend.”
Immediately Maem lightened up and leaned forward, her burdens from the previous conversation forgotten. “Oh! You must share! Don’t delay the news!”
Lizzie rolled her eyes good-naturedly as Jane poked her leg under the table. Lydia’s eyes were as large as their mother’s while Mary seemed completely disinterested. Catherine’s reaction was somewhere in the middle.
“A young gentleman has dropped off a letter,” Daed said, dragging out the news in order to delay his wife’s satisfaction. Lizzie hid her pleasure, loving the gentle teasing that flowed from her daed to her maem. “A boy.”
Jane sat up straighter, but it was Lydia who blurted out, “Charles?”
“Nee,” Daed said, turning the paper over in his hand. “His cousin, George.”
A collective gasp went about the table and, without asking for permission, Lydia and Catherine jumped up from the bench where they had been seated and raced to the kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the younger cousin. To their dismay, his buggy was already nearing the end of the lane.
“Oh, bother!” Lydia pouted.
Maem clutched her hands together. “The letter, Daed. Who is the letter for?”
“Ja, vell,” he started slowly, deliberately procrastinating as his eyes scanned the letter. “Seems it’s addressed to our Jane.”
A gasp escaped from Maem while Jane reluctantly took the letter from her father. Lizzie nudged her, urging her to open the letter quickly to put the curious out of their misery. Jane’s blue eyes fluttered over the written lines, and she smiled, a soft and kind smile. When she glanced up, she blushed, realizing that all eyes were upon her.
“It’s from Carol Ann Beachey,” she started.
Maem sank back in her chair, unable to hide her disappointment but still intrigued.
“She’s asked me to come visiting, perhaps to even show her around, take her to some of the local stores for knitting supplies and cloth. She’d like to make a new prayer kapp so that she fits in better with our g’may.” Jane looked up. “She said she’d come by later to pick me up, if I have no other plans. What a lovely gesture of friendship!”
“New prayer kapp,” Maem scoffed, shaking her head. Clearly she was disappointed that the letter came from the sister and not the brother. “Prideful at that! She fits in just fine with her strange little Ohio kapp, of that I’m sure.”
Jane leaned forward and touched her mother’s hand. “Perhaps she is just reaching out to make a friend, Maem. Remember, she knows no one here but her brother and cousin.”
“And that miserable-looking Detweiler fellow,” Lizzie added drily.
Daed cleared his throat and started back to the door, clearly finished with both breakfast and conversation. “Mayhaps he’s her beau, ja?” Taking his battered straw hat from the hook near the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Reckon we’ve had enough time for idle chat. Need to rake the back pasture that we cut last week. Lizzie, you’ll be out to help, ja?” She responded with an eager nod. There was nothing she loved more than working outside. Satisfied, her daed glanced at the younger girls. “And you two shall need to do some mucking in the dairy, then help rake the rows. Seems dry enough to bale later this afternoon. Besides, too much falls on your sister Lizzie while you both sit inside and crochet all day.”
He slipped through the door, ignoring the imploring looks on Lydia’s and Catherine’s faces. They knew better than to talk back to Daed, but they had hoped their maem might jump to their defense.
Lizzie was quick to excuse herself, knowing that Jane and Mary would help Maem clean the morning dishes before starting on their own chores. Being Monday, laundry would have to be the first priority. After all, it would do no good to have their Sunday dresses soiled, so the sooner they were washed, the fresher they would be. Lizzie was surprised that her Maem had not already done the laundry. She liked to have her clothes drying on the line before breakfast so that any passing buggies would see how good and devoted a wife she was. In fact, Lizzie was equally surprised that her maem hadn’t lamented that fact when the Wickey boy had dropped the letter off for Jane. Certainly he would have noticed, and that would have pleased Maem to no end!
It hadn’t rained in a while, so the hay was ready to be mowed and then windrowed before it could be baled. Everyone would have to rake the lines of hay, insuring that most of the cut grass was ready for the baler. Their Belgian draft horses pulled all of the larger farm equipment, and driving them was one of her greatest delights. She felt closer to God in the fields than at the church services. She liked to imagine that His arms surrounded her, embracing her for her love of the land and willingness to work it with a joyful heart. From the smell of fresh-cut hay to the musky scent of the horses, Lizzie knew that God, indeed, was surrounding her with His gifts.
As they were cutting the timothy mix near the back pasture, Lizzie driving the horses with the windrower, a buggy pulled along the road on the other side of the fence. Daed lifted a hand to wave at the driver, a habitual gesture more than one of familiarity, but continued with his work without so much as a second glance. Lizzie, however, squinted in the early morning sun, not quite certain of who was driving the buggy until it neared her. With the driver seated on the left side, it was easier for Lizzie to see him than his companion as the buggy passed by. She stared but didn’t wave, needing two firm hands on the reins in order to keep the Belgian draft in check.
Frederick Detweiler.
She would recognize that long face anywhere. He barely looked at her as he passed by, his eyes staring straight ahead. Without even having to look, Lizzie knew who sat beside him: Carol Ann. Clearly they were on their way to the Blank farm to pick up Jane. Lizzie was perplexed as to why Frederick would be driving Carol Ann except, perhaps, for the fact that she was unfamiliar with the back roads to their farm. Still, that was no excuse for not returning her daed’s wave or at least nodding acknowledgment in his direction. She shook her head in disbelief and returned her attention to the horses that were pulling the windrower through the rows of freshly cut hay. She was more convinced than ever that she didn’t care the least for that Frederick Detweiler or his special friend, Carol Ann Beachey, even if Jane felt otherwise about the young woman.
It was lunchtime when the subject of Jane and her visitors became the topic of conversation. Daed and Lizzie had just washed up and seated themselves at the large hardwood table, eager to refuel themselves for the long afternoon of baling awaiting them. Lizzie gave her daed a lot of credit. With the hay so dry, if he mowed smaller patches, he could b
ale it in the same day, thus avoiding the risk of rain delaying the process. Once the rain fell, the hay would have to be fully dried and raked in order to insure that no moisture snuck into the large, rectangular bales. Over time, moisture would smolder, and the hay often caught fire. It was the younger farmers who often lost their barns to such fires, the older ones having learned from past mistakes made by them or their peers during their youth.
The table seemed empty without Jane, but Maem had plenty to say to make up for Jane’s absence. Lizzie only half listened, too eager to fill her stomach with the warm slices of ham, cold applesauce, and mounds of whipped potatoes. Working in the fields always gave her such a hearty appetite!
“I could barely believe that he wouldn’t even step past the threshold!” she declared. “The rudest man I have ever met.”
At this Lizzie looked up from her plate of food.
Maem didn’t notice Lizzie’s sudden interest in the conversation. “And that Carol Ann Beachey! Why, she looked around this kitchen with her nose right up in the air! As if our home was inferior to what they are used to!” She plopped a hefty spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate before passing the bowl to Mary. “I must say that a lived-in farmhouse is one that shows a true commitment to God. If Holmes County Amish feel differently, well, then I’m right glad we stayed put, here in Lancaster!”
“Our farm is in Lancaster,” Lizzie pointed out.
“Fiddle-faddle!” Maem shook her finger at her daughter. “You know exactly what I mean, Elizabeth. Don’t be sassing me, now.”
Daed ignored the banter, but his eyes continued to glance outside the kitchen window. It was Mary who noticed it first and questioned his concern. “The sky,” he pointed out. “It’s getting darker right quick.” He pushed back his plate and quickly stood up. Walking to the window, he leaned against the counter and peered through the upper pane, his eyes full of concern as he assessed the situation. “I think it just might rain!”
“Oh, help!”
Ignoring her maem’s frazzled expression and the way that she wrung her hands in distress, Lizzie took one more mouthful of food. Then, pushing aside her plate, she hurried to her daed’s side. “Reckon we ought to bale it, then?”
She could tell from his expression that he didn’t look too happy. But, as always, he tried to keep a level head. “Girls, I want you all out in the field.” He glanced at his wife but didn’t say a word. “Say a prayer that the rain holds off,” he mumbled before hurrying to the door, Lizzie and Mary directly behind him while Catherine and Lydia lingered as if hoping to be relieved.
“You heard your daed now,” Maem snapped. “I can handle these dishes by myself. Go help with the baling!”
It took less than an hour to bale the hay, the Belgian drafts working extra hard to pull the baler faster than usual. As the machine collected the dried hay and bundled it into neat, rectangular packages, the girls were quick to stack them in a wagon that was pulled behind the baler. When Lydia complained of it being too much work, Lizzie scowled at her but ignored her sister’s complaint. If laziness was one of the major sins among the Amish, complaining was a close second.
No sooner had they unharnessed the draft horses, having pulled the flat wagon of baled hay directly into the barn, than the sky turned a dark gray and the winds started whipping up. Lizzie lifted her hand to the handkerchief that covered her head as she fought the wind to shut the sliding doors to the barn. The younger sisters ran toward the house, the rain beginning to pelt down upon them. Sister Mary slipped on the wet grass and landed on her knees. Lizzie hurried over to help her sister, frowning at Catherine and Lydia, who hadn’t even noticed.
“Oh, help,” Lizzie muttered. “You tore your dress, Mary. And I think you scraped your knees.”
Mary looked up at her sister, thankful for the assistance. Of all the sisters, Mary was the frailest and quietest, often overlooked in the mix of energy from the younger two sisters. “Danke, sis.”
Inside the kitchen it was very dark from the sudden onslaught of gray clouds. Maem stood at the window, her eyes lifted toward the sky and her face wrinkled with worry as she stared outside. “I’ve never seen any storm come so fast!” She looked over at the girls. “Where’s your daed?”
Lizzie helped Mary to a chair. “Unhitching the drafts, Maem.” She looked over at Catherine and Lydia, already sitting on the sofa. “Could one of you at least light the lamps?” She tried to mask the irritation in her voice, reminding herself that her sisters were younger. “And I need the medical kit for cuts, if you don’t mind bringing it over here.”
Maem looked over at her. “Mary’s hurt? Oh, help and bother!” She hurried over to her daughter’s side and lifted up the torn skirt. “I knew you shouldn’t be outside helping. It’s man’s work, not fit for a frail thing like you.”
Once the lamps had been lit, the gentle hissing of the propane filling the room with a soothing background noise, Maem tended to Mary’s injury and Lizzie took a step back, watching through the window and assessing the situation. The rain had started to fall, a dark wall of water cutting across the fields accompanied by whirling wild winds. With such gray skies and unexpected weather, she prayed that Jane and Carol Ann were not out in the buggy, hoping that they had sensed the storm and sought shelter.
When the door opened and Daed walked inside, he was drenched with water. He removed his hat and hung it on the peg, droplets of rain pouring down the brim and along the side of the wall, making an immediate puddle on the floor. His hair was soaked, and his clothes looked as if Maem had just washed them. Daed ran his hand through his graying hair, drops of water splattering through the air as he entered the kitchen. Lizzie studied his face, immediately sensing his concern.
“Reckon we didn’t see that coming,” he muttered. “Just thankful we didn’t cut more hay.”
Lizzie hurried to give her daed a dry towel from the washroom. He nodded his appreciation and immediately rubbed it against his head and the back of his neck. “What about Jane, Daed?”
He glanced at Lizzie then lowered his eyes. “With wind like that, I worry.”
Maem shut the lid to the small medical box that she had been using to disinfect Mary’s cuts. “Worry? Worry about what?” With one tragedy averted, her attention was yet to be directed at a new one.
“Trees, my fraa. Limbs are down for sure and certain. I can’t fetch her in this weather, and I pray to God that she had the sense to seek shelter rather than try for home if they were a-ways from the Beachey farm.” He sighed, looking more worried than Lizzie liked. “Their farm is located on back roads . . . not all of them paved.”
With something new to worry about, Maem wrung her hands and stationed herself at the window, muttering under her breath about having let Jane go at all. Lizzie wanted to point out that the day had started out as beautiful and sunny. How were Jane, Carol Ann, or that Detweiler fellow supposed to have known that a storm would blow in so quickly? But knowing that her maem loved nothing more than a good fret, Lizzie removed herself to the sofa and picked up the latest issue of the Blackboard Bulletin. She flipped through, her eyes scanning the short stories and recipes, but her mind still centering on Jane and the howling of the wind that sent the rain dashing against the windowpanes, the noise sounding like little pebbles instead of mere water. It was going to be a long night, she realized, one filled with concern. Yet Lizzie knew that the outcome was in God’s hands; all they could do was wait until the morning to find out what had happened to her schwester.
Chapter Five
IT WAS EARLY in the morning when Lizzie awoke, surprised to see that the rain had not completely let up. She pushed back the light quilt covering her bed and swung her feet over the side. It had felt rather strange to not sleep next to Jane. She could not remember a time when Jane had not been by her side. Yet Lizzie was aware that such a sensation of loss would be something she’d have to accept, should the interest between Jane and this Charles Beachey grow into something more.
Wi
th bare feet she padded across the worn hardwood floors and peered outside the small window. Their bedroom was small, but not quite as small as the others that were located upstairs. With only three bedrooms on the second floor and one on the main floor, Jane and Lizzie had to share the room. Mary had the smallest room, the one toward the rear of the hallway, while Lydia and Catherine shared the one near the top of the stairs. There was a fourth room that had never been used for anything other than storage. Lizzie always suspected that her maem and daed had kept it empty in the hopes of being graced with a son. God had blessed the Blank family with many things and many kinner . . . a son, however, had not been one of them.
The sole bathroom located in the house was downstairs. It had been added to the house years ago when Daed had been but a young boy. Prior to that there had been an outhouse for personal needs, and bathing was done by a wood-burning cookstove in the basement. Sometimes in the summer, Daed had confided to Lizzie, the children would sneak to the creek with a bar of soap, preferring to bathe in secret outside in the fresh air rather than in the heat of the house basement.
Daed had been an only son, so there had been no question as to who would inherit the farm. Both of his parents suffered from the cold winter weather and had moved down to Pinecraft, Florida, settling in a small Amish community outside of Sarasota. His four older sisters had married well, two having moved to Holmes County, Ohio, where, at the time, the land was more abundant and less costly. His oldest sister had passed five years prior, refusing treatment for her spine cancer from the Englische doctors. Instead, she had relied on the natural cures of herbs and concoctions. Whether the cancer killed Aendi Ruth or it was the concoctions that did it, no one ever questioned God’s will in taking Aendi Ruth home.