by Sarah Price
Hard work had never been a deterrent for Lizzie. There was nothing like rolling up her sleeves and getting dirty as she worked in the fields. Today was no exception. Lizzie didn’t wait for instructions to begin gathering limbs and branches and drag them away from the lane and into the pasture. Charles welcomed her help, but Frederick seemed to view the presence of a lone female in their midst with surprise and disapproval, frowning whenever she came his way. George, meanwhile, was quick to jump to her aid with some of the heavier limbs, his charming smile and light conversation making time pass quickly as they worked in unison.
Given that it was early summer, the sky stayed brighter longer than usual. For that, Lizzie and all of the men who were working gave thanks to God. However, as suppertime neared, Lizzie’s daed removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, using the back of his arm to do so.
“Lizzie,” he called out. “Best be heading back. We’ll be able to see what progress the Englische have made on the roads.”
The thought horrified Lizzie. To leave Jane at the Beachey farm yet again? Could the roads still be so impassable?
“Nee, nee,” Charles said quickly, leaping over the dismembered trunk of the tree. “Let Lizzie stay here with Jane. I’m sure by tomorrow the roads will be clear.” He looked over at Lizzie and grinned. “If not, I shall personally carry your dear schwester home! But do not leave her alone.” He looked back at Lizzie’s daed. “I’m sure that Lizzie would be quite a comfort to Jane, I reckon.”
Lizzie watched as her daed seemed to contemplate the situation. The decision laid on his shoulders and his shoulders alone. Yet Lizzie knew that her daed saw the sense in the suggestion from the eager Charles Beachey. The other remaining men seemed to watch her daed too, one or two of them nodding in agreement that Charles’s suggestion made the most sense. After all, with Lizzie there, it was one more set of eyes on Jane in a house of unmarried males without parental supervision.
He leveled his eyes at Lizzie as if trying to ascertain her true desire. When she merely raised an eyebrow, he nodded his consent. “I reckon you’re right, Charles. Lizzie could make Jane more comfortable, and she could continue to help clear the debris in the morning.”
And so it was settled.
Lizzie watched him, thankful for his decision, as her daed began the long walk home. Several other men joined him, knowing that it was soon time to milk the cows and prepare for another long day tomorrow. With a sigh, Lizzie turned away from the still muddy lane and assessed the day’s work. The tree had been removed from the barn, three men had patched up the holes, and five men had been busy cutting the tree into manageable chunks. It had been a productive day, to say the least.
“Tomorrow we can burn the brambles, ja?”
She glanced over her shoulder at George and nodded her head. “A right gut idea. Gives them time to dry out.”
Frederick walked by, his eyes avoiding contact with both of them, but she thought she heard him make a guttural noise deep within his throat. Her curiosity was more than piqued, and she wondered if she’d be able to discover more about the obvious animosity between Frederick and George. How odd, she pondered. After all, it was her impression that Frederick was there to guide the cousins. Why on earth would he have agreed to travel such a distance and for such a long time if he did not feel the inclination to help the younger of the two?
It was after supper when she had a chance to further observe the interaction among the Beachey cousins and Frederick Detweiler. They had partaken of a rather light supper and, upon finishing their evening chores, retired to the sunroom, now lit with the glow of the propane lantern. Jane had retired to the downstairs bedroom, Charles and Lizzie having helped her hobble into the room. After Charles bade his good night, Lizzie had helped Jane into her nightgown, thoughtfully packed by their maem when Daed had returned home for the noon meal and to get more tools.
“He’s wunderbaar gut, Lizzie,” Jane had whispered. “Such a kind and charming man who is full of God’s grace and love.”
There was no argument from Lizzie. She could see that Charles Beachey was a good-hearted and godly man. Yet her concern about the other two hindered her from making any additional comments.
Back in the main room Lizzie quietly took her place in a straight-back chair. Carol Ann offered her a crochet hook and ball of yarn, which Lizzie gladly accepted. She felt much more comfortable with busy hands. Still, her ears stayed tuned to the conversation and undercurrents that swelled within the room.
Frederick stayed at the table, his shoulders hunched over as he pored over a piece of paper, a pen in his left hand, writing. Lizzie paid him little mind, his horrid words from the singing still ringing in her ears despite his kindness helping her span the puddles in the lane earlier today. Yet she noticed that Carol Ann continued to glance up and in his direction, her attention more on Frederick than on the blanket she was crocheting.
“Another letter?” she asked drily, although Lizzie suspected there was an attempt at humor in her tone. “You write so much for someone who has only been here but a few days, Frederick.”
“There is much to share with home,” he answered.
Silence.
A few moments passed, Charles poring over the worn book Martyrs Mirror while George lingered near the door. He seemed antsy and nervous, more interested in the outside than the indoors. He reminded Lizzie of a tomcat, wanting to explore the night more than sleep in the warmth of the house.
“Still,” Carol Ann finally continued, “it is rare for a man to write so frequently. Surely it is not to the same person,” she probed.
“My sister, Grace,” he answered.
Lizzie tilted her head. She had been unaware that Frederick had a sister. Of course, she should not be surprised, for her exchanges with him had been so limited. Yet the fact that he would write to his sister, and apparently more than just once, surprised her. He had not seemed to be the type that would put pen to paper.
“Do share my well-wishes with dear Grace,” Carol Ann gushed. “Oh, how I wish she could have joined us.”
“I shared your wishes already in my previous letter,” Frederick replied, stopping Carol Ann from any further flattery.
“I do hope she is faring well with her cousins Elinor and Mary Anne,” Carol Ann added.
“I have no reason to think otherwise.”
Lizzie had watched this banter with slight amusement, well aware that Carol Ann was vying for Frederick’s attention, something he was naught ready to give to her. Indeed, she realized, had she previously thought they might have been a courting couple, she now was convinced otherwise. It didn’t surprise Lizzie. After all, Frederick was too proud of himself and his status to catch or even desire a wife.
Dropping her half-finished blanket in her lap, Carol Ann stared at Lizzie. “Such horrid manners,” she said, a teasing tone to her voice with a hint of seriousness lying just beneath the surface. “No wonder he is leddich!”
Lizzie stifled her gasp, shocked that Carol Ann had said exactly what they had apparently both been thinking. The rudeness of Carol Ann’s statement gave Lizzie pause. For just that moment she felt sympathy toward Frederick and heard herself jump to his defense. “Why, I reckon he cares deeply for his sister and is focused on writing his letter,” she started. “Our interruptions must break his concentration.”
At her words Frederick suddenly raised his head. He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face as he announced, “The interruptions come only from one direction, Lizzie.”
She lowered her eyes and blushed, fearing that his words were a reprimand.
“I find your willingness to soften the chastisement by spreading the blame where it does not belong most admirable, a quality not often found in a woman,” he stated firmly.
“And what qualities do you look for in a woman, then?” Carol Ann snapped, her own cheeks reddened, but for a different reason.
With a great display of inconvenience Frederick set down his pen and turned to face t
he two women. To Lizzie it was clear that Carol Ann was annoyed that his attention had gone toward the one woman rather than herself. She was amused with this reaction and watched as Carol Ann attempted to engage Frederick, at last, in a one-on-one conversation. Yet his expression clearly showed that he preferred anything but the conversation Carol Ann had started.
“A love of God and His gifts should come first,” he began. “The good and the bad. A love of community and family should come second. And with that is the common sense to protect them from hurt or injury as well as guiding them toward a godly life.”
“Is there a third thing, then?” Carol Ann asked, suddenly more animated and flirtatious as she was enjoying his attention. No one except Lizzie seemed to have noticed that George had slipped out the door.
“Humility with intelligence.”
Carol Ann waved her hand at him, dismissing him. But he turned his eyes to Lizzie, as if waiting to gauge her reaction.
“I should think,” Lizzie began slowly, “that such an ideal woman would not exist, Frederick.”
He seemed genuinely curious about her statement and directed his attention at her. This shift seemed to annoy Carol Ann even further, and she rolled her eyes while walking toward the window, clearly finished with the discussion. Frederick, however, paid no mind to Carol Ann as he looked at Lizzie. “How so?”
“Only God is perfect, and what you have described . . . well . . . ” Lizzie paused, not certain how to phrase what she was thinking. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, yet she knew that his ideal was so high that it could never be reached. After all, perfection could only be found in God. To even hope that any woman could come close would be to set oneself up for unobtainable expectations and enormous disappointment. In fact, to even desire such perfection went against everything in the Ordnung. Humility alone countered his ideal. “You might find yourself looking for quite some time, I fear.”
And then she saw it: the change in his expression; from disinterest to something else, something that she could not quite describe. Suddenly she felt nervous under the intensity of his stare and felt compelled to return her attention to the yarn held on her lap, as she continued crocheting. What could she possibly have said that would have made his manner switch so quickly?
Chapter Six
IT WAS A beautiful morning, and Lizzie awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window of the bedroom where both she and Jane slept at the Beachey farm. From the sound of it, she thought she could identify the pretty little nuthatches and chickadees with an occasional plain sparrow joining the song. She slipped out from under the plain white sheet, careful not to disturb Jane, who had tossed and turned a bit throughout the night. Quietly Lizzie padded to the window to look outside.
The window overlooked the back fields on the eastern side of the property. The fields were overgrown. Apparently the tenants had not used them for several years, letting them sit dormant while focusing their planting efforts on the front and western side field, away from the pasture where the cows had grazed. Birds flew through the air, dipping down and disappearing into the overgrown grasses and weeds. Lizzie leaned her elbows on the windowsill to watch, smiling at the pleasant sight, especially as the sun arose over the horizon, the sky a magnificent reddish-gold color.
It was probably close to six o’clock, and Lizzie felt refreshed at having slept so late. At this time she was normally up and working, helping Daed in the dairy. A momentary wave of guilt washed over her, and she wondered if her sisters were helping him so that the burden would not be too great.
Something caught her eye: movement in the field. She squinted and strained her eyes, for the movement was far toward the back fencing. It was a man, walking along the outer edge of the field as if inspecting the fencing and the amount of work that would need to be done in order to properly prepare the fields for planting crops the next year. She wondered if it was Charles, up early and assessing the farm that he was to begin working. She was fairly certain it would not be George. She had heard the door open late in the night, the hinges squeaking as they announced his arrival. While he had tried to be quiet, tiptoeing into the kitchen and heading for the stairs, she had sensed something awkward about his movements and wondered where he had been for such a long time.
With a sigh, Lizzie quickly removed the borrowed nightgown that Carol Ann had lent to her and slipped on her own dress, careful to pin it properly so that she wouldn’t stick herself. She borrowed Jane’s brush that she had brought with her and ran it through her long, brunette hair, pulling it over her shoulders in order to reach the ends. Then, with an expertise that came from years of practice, she twisted it into a plain bun, secured it with hairpins, and reached for her prayer kapp. Only when the kapp was firmly secured to her hair did she venture into the kitchen.
She was surprised to see Charles already seated at the table, a cup of hot coffee before him and the Budget newspaper in his hands. He looked up and greeted her with a broad, friendly smile. She was about to inquire as to who was walking in his field but thought twice about displaying such curiosity when, clearly, her priority and concern were tending to Jane and certainly not prying into the Beachey’s business.
“Gut mariye,” he said, smiling as Lizzie entered the room.
She returned the greeting with a simple smile.
“Coffee is on the stove,” he added, pointing in that direction.
“Danke.” She walked to the stove and, after hesitating for just a minute, opened a cabinet to try to locate a mug. She poured herself a cup then carried the pot over to the table. “A refill, ja?”
She heard the back door open as she was pouring the coffee into Charles’s empty mug. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Frederick saunter into the room. He left on his hat rather than hang it on the wall. Upon seeing her standing there, serving Charles, he paused and frowned.
His expression perplexed her. It was only normal that she should be serving the coffee, so she wondered why he looked at her in that strange manner. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Would you care for some coffee, then?”
Her voice must have startled him, for he merely shook his head and averted his eyes.
“Out and about so early, Frederick?” Charles asked brightly.
“Ja,” he replied, his deep voice sounding even stronger in the quiet of the morning. “Fencing needs some fixing in that back pasture. Wire and some boards.”
So it was Frederick! Lizzie couldn’t help but wonder why he would be so concerned when the farm was Charles’s, not his. And after all, didn’t he hire his own workers back in Ohio to tend to manual upkeep and labor?
“Mayhaps we might send George to pick these up when the roads are clear, ja?” Charles asked.
Lizzie noticed Frederick purse his lips at the mention of George’s name, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “That won’t be today, I reckon. The roads are not quite opened yet,” he added, stealing a quick glance at Lizzie. “I suspect your daed will not be able to come fetch you and your schwester again this day.”
Charles lifted his chin, a hint of relief in his eyes as he stared at his friend. “I wouldn’t dream of sending Jane home still being injured and with the roads so impassable. And such enjoyable company, especially since we do not have a dairy to tend . . . yet.”
Frederick tensed but said not another word. Instead he turned on his heel and walked back through the door and outside. From the corner of her eye Lizzie could see him heading toward the stable. She busied herself near the window, curious as to what he was doing despite not caring one whit for Frederick Detweiler and his haughty manner. So she was further surprised to see him begin working outside, continuing to move chopped wood and broken boards away from the barn.
A few moments later the bedroom door opened and Jane appeared, limping ever so slightly but looking fresh and beautiful as always. Lizzie smiled at her sister, happy to see the rosy color on her cheeks. Charles hurried to her side, extending his arm to assist
her. Jane seemed reluctant to take it, but Charles insisted and guided her to the table, pulling out a chair for Jane to sit. It did not go without notice on Lizzie’s part that he had seated her beside his own place at the kitchen table.
Quietly Lizzie busied herself preparing breakfast, noticing that Carol Ann had yet to appear in the kitchen. Or, if she had, she had made herself scarce in time to avoid preparing the morning meal. Additionally George was obviously absent. Lizzie thought back to his mysterious disappearance the evening before and the noise of the door opening in the dark hours of early morning. She was learning a lot about these newcomers to their g’may, and not all of it was pleasant.
“I’m elated that you are feeling better,” Charles pronounced, his body leaning toward Jane. “But I’m sorry that you were injured at all.”
She lowered her eyes and flushed, a demure reaction that Lizzie caught out of the corner of her eye when she handed her sister a cup of hot coffee. “I’m embarrassed that I have been a burden,” Jane responded, looking genuinely concerned and contrite. Clearly she was uncomfortable at having imposed on their hospitality, even if it was not something that she could control.
“Nee!” Charles countered quickly. “It’s been our pleasure!” He paused. For as uncomfortable as Jane appeared, Charles was clearly the opposite. If she felt that she presented an imposition, Charles saw her presence as anything but a burden. Yet he was having a hard time expressing such an emotion. “Ach,” he stumbled across his words. “Not that you were injured, but a more pleasant patient has never existed!”