by Jo Ann Brown
If he or one of his siblings had tried something so foolhardy, his daed would have been furious. None of them wanted to be the target when Daed lost his temper because he hadn’t held back, leaving them bruised from head to foot.
The Yoder temper.
That’s what Mamm had called it when Daed wasn’t near. She’d lamented that it was the burden of every Yoder male and the bane of every other person a Yoder male came into contact with.
He’d hoped the scourge might skip him, but it hadn’t. His temper was a hideous beast inside him, waiting for any opportunity to burst out. It frightened him, and he was determined not to pass it along to another generation, which was why he’d remained a bachelor. The decision had cost him several special relationships, but he couldn’t commit to a woman. No kinder or wife of his should have to fear his temper as he and his siblings had been terrified by their daed’s. He’d spent his life trying to control his temper, but to his shame, he sometimes failed. The last time had been more than two years ago when in the blur of red-hot anger he’d spoken the words ending a friendship he treasured.
He must not let that occur again. He needed to focus on that old bridge. If he could convince the authorities in Evergreen Corners to agree to his plan, he’d offer his services to oversee the project. Not as a volunteer, but as a paid contractor. He had to earn money to repay the debts his daed had left after his death three weeks ago, and he didn’t want to burden his sisters, who had families to raise.
Robert hadn’t suspected his daed had liked to gamble. He must not have been any gut because he owed one hundred thousand dollars to a man who’d come to collect the debt the day after Daed was laid to rest.
Robert was grateful he’d convinced the man to give him time to sell the family’s farm. He was shocked to discover his daed had already sold the land except the two acres where the house and barns stood. A quick offer for the remaining property had been for less than half of what Robert needed to pay off the gambling debts, but he’d accepted, hoping the funds would be enough to gain more time to get the rest. The man his daed owed told him the debt must be paid by the first of next June. Almost seven months, but how could he raise more than fifty thousand dollars in less than a year?
He’d come to Evergreen Corners because he hadn’t been sure where else to go. Any work available in the village was on a volunteer basis. He could go to a plain community, and someone would offer him room and board in exchange for his help on the farm. That wouldn’t give him any income.
In addition, he wanted to spend time with his older sister, who lived in the small town. They’d been apart for twenty years after she’d run away and made an extraordinary life of her own, and he’d felt a hole in his heart every day they’d been separated. If he left Evergreen Corners and returned to the community where he’d lived in Ohio, he wasn’t sure when or if they’d ever see each other again.
No, he wouldn’t return to Ohio. There, the long shadow of his daed’s deeds would smother him. His younger sister had moved the week before Daed’s death to Indiana. Maybe he could go there. He hated the idea of working in an RV factory, and he tried not to think how long it would take to pay off his daed’s debts while working at minimum wage.
Bowing his head into the wind again, he crossed the street and headed toward his sister’s house. He’d pick her brain about how best to deal with Glen and the mayor. Tomorrow, he’d begin his quest to save the bridge. It was the way to save himself from a life of misery for years to come and give him the chance to find a way to submerge his temper. Only then could he try to find his own family to love.
Chapter Two
Beth Ann rubbed her hands against her lower back late the next afternoon as she straightened and looked around the room. She was in the next-to-last house the aid groups had been building in Evergreen Corners. She’d finished taping and mudding the bedroom ceiling. When Michael Miller, who oversaw the project house, had asked if she wanted to do the job, she’d agreed, but now she ached everywhere. She’d spent the whole day stretching to reach the ceiling. She’d been told Robert Yoder would help her, but he hadn’t shown up.
She didn’t want to think he was another man who’d cut and run after he noticed her brace. If he was, she should be glad she’d found out so quickly.
As she went into the main room to put away the tools she’d been using, she was shocked to discover the team members were talking quietly. Not quietly enough, because she could hear what they said.
“Robert Yoder reamed out the mayor this morning,” said a man who’d been working in the kitchen. “I was told you could hear his voice out on the street.”
“He said terrible things,” added a plain woman named Vera.
“Which is why he got kicked to the curb by the mayor.”
“No, that’s not what happened,” Vera said. “He was asked to leave, but when he didn’t, the mayor walked out herself.”
“To think an Amish man would...” The Englischer scowled. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Vera patted his arm. “It’s okay, Jim. We understand what you meant.”
“Good, because I don’t.” He gave them a wry grin. “I don’t understand any of this. I thought Robert was a good guy.”
Beth Ann wanted to assert that Robert had been kind when she’d spoken with him, but didn’t. Today was just her second day working with these volunteers. They knew Robert far better than she did. But she couldn’t envision him yelling at the mayor. As she listened, she sighed. The only way she was going to know the truth was to ask Robert.
The gossip made her uncomfortable, as it had the first time after her grandmother’s death when a baby hadn’t survived a birth she attended. The baby had been dead when it emerged, but that didn’t stop people from saying she’d dropped the baby or let it suffocate. She’d known the truth, and so had the child’s family. Still, the half-truths had hurt. Had that been when she started to question being a midwife? She couldn’t be sure.
After cleaning up, Beth Ann headed toward the community center on the other side of the village green. She ignored the snow falling onto the piles from an earlier storm. It was melting as soon as it struck the sidewalk, and the setting sun was trying to peek out from beneath gray banks of clouds.
She’d learned as a midwife not to heed secondhand information. Stories repeated often became rumors with little basis in fact. She’d ask Robert himself what had happened at the mayor’s office.
How?
Before she could answer that tough question, she saw a boy standing on the village green, holding his hand out to passersby. He was begging. She frowned as she changed her course to pass close to him.
“Hey, lady,” the redheaded boy called as she approached. “Got a buck to help a guy?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” she asked.
“School’s out. It’s after four. Almost five. Besides, I’m sixteen, so I don’t have to go to school anymore.”
Her gaze moving up and down the boy who couldn’t be more than twelve was meant to express her disbelief. He was as skinny as an abandoned pup, and his coat didn’t close because the zipper was broken. The holes in his jeans weren’t because of fashion but because of wear. The fronts of his shoes had been cut away, and his toes extended over the soles.
When she didn’t reply, he squirmed and started to walk away.
“If you’re hungry,” she said to his back, “there’s food at the community center.”
He looked at her. “That’s for the people fixing up the town.”
She suspected he’d been sent on his way when he’d gone inside before. The volunteers hadn’t recognized the boy was truly hungry. Boys his age were always ready to eat, but she wondered when he’d last had a real meal. Beneath his too-small coat, his collarbones jutted against his skin.
“It’s for anyone who needs food and doesn’t have a way to cook,” she replie
d.
“I can cook.”
“Can you? Maybe you could teach me, because I can’t.”
“Yeah, right,” he sneered. “You’re one of those Amish ladies, and you cook up a storm. That’s what everyone says.”
She didn’t argue that she wasn’t Amish. She doubted the boy cared. When his stomach growled, shame flashed on his face.
“Look,” she said, “it’s okay to let others help you.”
“I can take care of myself. I’m sixteen.”
“I see,” she said as he again raised his chin in a pose of defiance.
What she saw was a young boy trying to act as if he were old enough to be treated with the respect due to an adult. Arguing with him about anything would be silly when the child was starving.
“I’m Beth Ann Overholt,” she said.
“Douglas.”
“Just Douglas?”
“Ain’t it enough?”
She didn’t react to his attempt to infuriate her with his lack of manners. “I told you my whole name, so I assumed you’d tell me yours.”
“You shouldn’t assume anything, lady.”
“Beth Ann.”
“You want me to call you ‘Lady Beth Ann’?”
“Beth Ann will do, Douglas Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is.”
“It’s Henderson. Okay?” He ground the heel of his holey sneaker into the earth. Or tried to, because the soil was half frozen. “Will you leave me alone so I can get back to what I was doing?”
“Panhandling?”
“What’s wrong with hoping folks get some early Christmas cheer by helping those less fortunate?”
“Everything, when you can get all the food you want right there.” She pointed across the green to the community center beside the Mennonite chapel.
“All the food I want?” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to be preached at while I’m eating.”
“Nobody will preach at you, though you’ll see people thanking God for their food. It never hurts to say thank you, does it?”
“Guess not.”
“I’m headed that way. Come and see if what I’ve told you is true.”
“If it isn’t?”
She shrugged. “You get out of the cold for a few minutes. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”
Watching the boy’s face, she realized how torn he was between wanting to prove he could fend for himself and his hunger. The need to eat won out, and he went with her toward the community center. He bragged about two dollars an elderly woman had given him.
Inside, the community center was bustling. A few people were already gathered around the mismatched tables, and they were digging into chicken and biscuits. Robert sat alone at the far end, an untouched plate in front of him. He didn’t glance up as she and Douglas entered.
One problem at a time. She hung up her coat and waited for the boy to do the same. She didn’t have to urge Douglas to come with her to the kitchen’s pass-through window where chicken and gravy bubbled in a slow cooker next to piles of biscuits. Cranberry sauce added to the mouthwatering aroma.
She handed the boy a plate and took one for herself. Going first, because she didn’t want to have Douglas be unsure how much he could take, she opened a biscuit and put the two pieces on her plate.
As she spooned gravy and chicken onto the biscuits, she said, “The rule here is take all you want, but eat all you take.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he grabbed four biscuits. He poured on so much gravy she thought it would spill off the plate. Somehow, he managed to drop a large blob of cranberry sauce into the middle of the gravy.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing at another tray.
“Bran muffins. The kitchen puts out extras so people can have one with a cup of coffee.”
His nose wrinkled. “Ugh! Bran muffins are nasty.”
“I think you’ve got enough food for now.” She arched her brows at Abby, the Amish volunteer in charge of the kitchen. Saying nothing, Abby gave her an encouraging smile. Beth Ann was relieved. She’d known the community kitchen wouldn’t begrudge a kid a meal, but it was nice nobody was making a big deal of his presence in the community center.
Leading the way to where Robert sat, Beth Ann put down her plate. He frowned, appearing as if the world’s weight was upon his shoulders. She wanted to ask him if there were any truth to the rumors about what had happened earlier, but was aware of other ears listening. Most especially, the boy’s.
Later, she promised herself.
* * *
Robert struggled to hide his curiosity as he looked from Beth Ann to the boy. The rest of the volunteers had avoided him tonight as if he were a leper. Had Beth Ann failed to hear the rumors flying through town as fast as debris from the hurricanes? Another flash of dismay erupted through him. He’d nearly lost his temper that morning.
Hoping his expression didn’t reveal his thoughts, he asked, “Who’s your friend, Beth Ann?”
She smiled, and he was fascinated by her bright pink cheeks that had been burnished by the wind. Her green eyes didn’t match her smile, and he wondered what was bothering her. The boy? No, it must be the tales of Robert’s visit with the mayor earlier. Another wave of shame flooded him.
“This is Douglas Henderson,” Beth Ann replied with what he could tell was feigned cheerfulness. “Douglas, this is Robert Yoder. He’s working in town.”
“Nice to meet you, Bob,” Douglas said, holding out a small, bony hand.
When Robert took it, the boy shook it hard. Robert arched his brows.
She gave another shrug in answer.
“I go by Robert,” he said to the boy.
“La-di-da!”
“Is Robert any fancier than Douglas?” asked Robert.
For once, the boy was shocked into silence. Beth Ann had to look away before Douglas saw her smile. Not that she needed to worry. As she bowed her head to say grace, Douglas dug into his food as if he hadn’t eaten in a year.
Robert frowned. The kind’s gaunt appearance and ragged clothes shocked him.
He and Beth Ann had finished only half of their meals when the boy bounced to his feet and asked, “Can I have more?”
“Remember what I told you?” she asked.
“Take all you want, but eat all you take.” He hesitated before blurting, “I wasn’t sure you meant that.”
“I try to say what I mean. God asks us to be honest with one another.”
“You Amish are so, so weird.” He grabbed his plate and rushed to the pass-through window.
Robert shook his head. “Out of the mouths of bopplin...”
“Don’t let him hear you call him a baby.” Pushing aside her half-eaten meal, she asked, “Where were you this afternoon?”
“I’d planned to be there.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her how his worst nightmare had come to life when he’d fought to hold on to his temper while in the mayor’s office. He might have to explain the rest, including the reason why he couldn’t let himself get angry.
How could he explain the truth that shadowed his life? He hadn’t told his two sisters about his deepest fear: that Manassas Yoder’s volatile temper had been bequeathed to his son. His daed had used his hands and belt to punish them. If they’d tried to protect themselves, they were punished more, shut in dark cellars or denied food. The invisible beast within Robert waited, ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down.
It nearly had today.
As if he’d spoken aloud, Beth Ann asked, “What happened between you and the mayor?”
“I should have guessed you’d hear about me going to the mayor’s office.”
“I’ve heard several different versions.”
He snorted. “I’m not surprised. Folks like to gossip.”
“It s
ounds as if you gave them good reason to.” Folding her arms on the table, she watched Douglas take as big a serving as he had the first time. “Did you really yell at Mayor Whittaker?”
He found himself about to tell her everything about how his hopes had been so high when he’d climbed two steps to the town hall. Finding the room number for the mayor’s office, he’d known this might be his best—and possibly only—chance to save the covered bridge and his future.
The mayor’s office door, her name written in gold letters on the frosted glass, had been ajar. Had it been meant to be an invitation to walk in? Unsure, he’d rapped his knuckles against the wood before he opened it wider.
Gladys Whittaker was seldom seen without her phone pressed to her ear. Sometimes, she held two phones at the same time. However, she’d been focused on paperwork. She’d smiled as he entered, and everything had started out okay.
“I did raise my voice toward the end of our conversation about the covered bridge,” Robert admitted. “When I realized what I’d done, I apologized and left.” He put his hand on her arm, startling her as much as he did himself. His eyes sought hers across the table. “You believe me, ain’t so?”
He could tell his question had stunned her, and he had to wonder why it was so important for her to accept what he said as the truth.
“Of course I do,” she replied, and a knot released in the center of his gut. “I was sincere when I said Plain People prefer honesty.”
“Which makes us so, so weird.” He managed to put the same disdain on the words as Douglas had.
She laughed. “My advice is ignore the gossip. In a small community like this, there will soon be something new to talk about.”
Beth Ann added something more, but he didn’t hear as he caught sight of Douglas glancing around before reaching out for another handful of food.
When her gaze followed his toward the boy, she gasped. “Oh my! He’s stuffing food in his pockets.”
“Probably for later.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He took two bran muffins, and he said he hated bran muffins. I think he’s stealing for someone else.”