“Eddie, how long have you had this?” Millie was kneeling beside him.
He shrugged. “A while.”
“It’s definitely Sarah Berg’s work. I found an identical set over at the Home Place.”
“Well, I’ll talk to Daed.”
“Eddie,” I said. “Is there anything else under your floor? Other drawings? Paintings? Anything like that?”
He shook his head solemnly.
I held the tin toward him. “You should put the kitten back with the others.”
He did so reluctantly.
“Maybe we can play the game sometime,” I said.
He nodded solemnly.
I ran my fingers through the squares again and then picked some more up, turning them right side up. There was the willow tree and a rosemary plant. I stared at the next one. I hadn’t seen it before.
“This is odd: 1+1+1=1,” I read out loud.
“There are two of that one,” Eddie said, “but only one of all the rest.”
Millie laughed. “Your great-grandmother wasn’t very good at math.”
“How strange,” I said. I was certain Sarah Berg knew the right answer to that equation. Maybe this was part of her code with the numbers.
Millie held out her hand for the box, and I closed the lid and gave it to her.
“I’ll let you know what Daed says.”
I thanked her, told Eddie goodbye, and then headed back through the woods. When I reached the Home Place, Luke was parking the tractor by the barn. I waited until he jumped down and then said there was something I wanted to tell him about. I relayed the story of the two boxes. When I explained Millie was going to talk with his daed, his face reddened.
“Do you think you could say something to him? I’d really like to have the pictures.”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
A raindrop fell and then another. I thanked him.
Luke started toward the barn but then stopped and walked back toward me.
“You should brace yourself,” he said. “Daed doesn’t think very highly about things like that.” He kicked at a rock with his boot. “He doesn’t like it when I get drawing books from the library, even though I use them to draw inventions—like the gate latch.”
I nodded. I remembered. More raindrops fell.
“Daed thinks things are pretty black and white.”
I shaded my eyes. “And Tom agrees with him, right?”
“Two peas in a pod is what Mamm says.” Luke had a pained expression on his face. “Daed and Tom have always gotten along.”
“And you and he haven’t?”
“Oh, he loves me all right. I know that. But we don’t have much in common.”
“Is that why Rosalee wanted you to work at her place?” I realized my hand was balled in my apron pocket, wadding the fabric.
“I suppose so,” he answered. “Plus, considering Tom will take over the dairy someday, she probably thought working here would give me extra experience to hire out.”
“That hardly seems fair—”
He held up his hand. “It’s fine. Really. God will provide.” With that he turned and walked away again.
I was pretty sure that was the most he’d ever said to me. It was certainly the most he had ever said to me about himself.
I slept fitfully that night. Though they might not seem important to Darryl, the drawings were priceless to me and, of course, irreplaceable. Before dawn I woke for what seemed like the tenth time that night. I decided to go ahead and dress. I might as well head down to the bakery with Rosalee to start the bread for the day. But first, kneeling at the bedroom window, I prayed more than that God’s will would be done—I prayed that He would soften Darryl’s heart.
I said “amen” out loud and then stared off into the trees. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks. In the dim light it looked as if a strong wind was blowing through the woods. Then I saw a faint orange glow that seemed to come from over on the Klines’ side.
I was pretty sure Darryl and Tom were burning their slash pile. I stood, catching a whiff of smoke through the three inches of open window. It wouldn’t hurt to go see if they were burning—I wouldn’t get close enough for them to see me. I just wanted to make sure that the fire was intentional, not accidental.
By the time I reached the woods, the smoke was more noticeable. When I reached the creek, more flames were darting up from where the slash pile was. I moved quickly but quietly, expecting to see the men any minute. The wind grew stronger, and in the dark shadows of the trees I stumbled over a root, catching myself before I fell. The flames were larger now, and I moved to the left. Before I reached the edge of the woods, it was obvious the slash pile was on fire. A moment later it was also clear no one was attending it, at least not now. The pile was damp, as if water had been poured on it, but the wind was fanning the flames into the grass and the fire was creeping toward the woods. Sparks from the crackling pine needles in the pile were flying up toward the branches of the closest trees. If one tree caught fire, the whole woods could be engulfed in flames.
There wasn’t a shovel in sight so I dashed up the back steps and pounded on the back door so hard my fist throbbed. Though it only took a few minutes for Darryl to answer, it seemed like forever before he appeared looking tired and grumpy, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders.
Before he could speak, I yelled “Fire!” and pointed to the slash pile.
“Tom! Luke! Now!” he bellowed.
Darryl grabbed a shovel from the side of the house and took off running toward the woods. A second later, Luke dashed out the door, his boots in his hands. He hopped a few times, slipping them onto his feet. He ran to the barn and then back out with a big shovel.
Tom followed a minute later. “Grab the hose on the side of the house,” he said to me. “And meet me by the barn.”
I did as I was told. By the time I was running toward the barn, the hose slung over my shoulder, Eddie was in the front yard of the house, barefoot.
“Don’t come any closer,” I said.
Tom had two other hoses hooked together and quickly attached the one I brought.
“Turn on the spigot!” he yelled at me.
I did and then followed him as he ran toward the fire.
Luke and Darryl were digging a trench on the tree side of the flames.
Tom started spraying water over the fire, blanketing it as he moved the nozzle of the hose back and forth, over and over. Darryl and Luke kept digging as Tom splattered them with wet ashes. As the flames subsided, Tom soaked the surrounding pasture and then the closest trees.
I stood staring at the pile, aware that dawn had broken, aware that Eddie, Millie, and Cora were all standing behind me, aware that Darryl now had a pitchfork and was sifting through the pine needles to make sure every spark was out. As I watched the steam and ashes rise from the pile, I noticed a small piece of paper float up and then fall to the ground a few feet away. I picked it up, and though its edges were charred, I could still make out 1 + 1+ 1 = 1. If Darryl had thrown this innocent card on the pile to be burned, then surely he had burned the whole set of Sarah’s pictures. Eddie quietly reached out and took my hand. Luke didn’t look at me, but I saw a brief flicker of anger in his eyes as he glanced toward his father.
I squeezed Eddie’s hand, let go, and then stumbled back through the woods in a daze.
I didn’t go down to the bakery. Instead, I made breakfast, but it was just Rosalee and me this morning. I gave her the short version of what happened, leaving out the part about Darryl burning Sarah’s pictures. I don’t know why I couldn’t tell her that. I think I was afraid if I said it out loud I might fully realize it was true.
On the way down to the bakery I had a text from Zed. Summer school is great. I’m taking another film class. I wondered if Mom knew. I felt too emotionally drained to respond and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Within a half hour we were finishing up the order for the distributor—an order that grew a littl
e larger each week—when Luke poked his head into the kitchen, telling Rosalee he’d be working in the soybean field for the day. I started after him, banging through the kitchen door and then the dining room door, yelling, “Luke!”
He was almost to the tractor when he turned. “I’ll talk to you later,” he called out, pulling his hat down on his head.
I walked slowly back to the bakery.
He didn’t join us for lunch, and Rosalee guessed he went back home. “Darryl probably has some work that’s urgent,” she said.
Around one, Millie and Eddie showed up at the bakery. “I promised him a sticky bun,” she said.
I served one up immediately, delivering it to Eddie with a flourish.
He looked up at me, his eyes moist. “I’m sorry Daed burned the pictures.”
“It was the picture of the baby,” Millie said. “He has some ideas that way—not about babies, just about drawings of people.”
I slumped down into a chair. “Oh.”
“Are you okay?” Millie put a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have just given them to you. I thought I was doing the right thing by talking to Daed. But it wouldn’t have mattered.”
Their father really was a tyrant, just as Ezra had said. Suddenly I felt overcome with sadness for Luke. Millie would marry and move away. Tom would get the dairy. But what about Luke? It wasn’t as though his family could afford to buy him a place of his own like the Gundys were doing for Ezra. Luke had nothing. He would end up hiring out to people, unless the girl he was courting, Naomi it seemed, came from a family with money or an extra farm.
Eddie sniffled. “I wanted to play the game with you.” His sticky bun sat untouched.
“I have the other set,” I said quickly. “We could copy all of those, minus the baby.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Then we can play the game, the way my mom and her sisters used to,” I said.
“I’d like that,” he answered.
“Me too.” I tousled his hair. “Now eat.”
I knew that as long as I didn’t recreate the drawing of the baby, Darryl shouldn’t object. Amish kids were allowed to play board games all the time.
I began copying the pictures on the squares in my spare time. I wasn’t nearly as good as Sarah, but I was good enough that the pictures were definitely matchable. Although several times, I wondered why Darryl couldn’t have just destroyed the picture of the baby and let me have the other ones. It took me several days to finish the copying, but when I did Eddie and I sat down at a table in the bakery and played the game. Eddie won the game by matching the two willows.
As we were putting it away, Luke came into the bakery.
“Time to go,” he said to his little brother.
I put the lid on the tin. If Luke knew what we were doing, he didn’t say anything.
“We need to get back home.” Luke spun his straw hat on his finger. “Tom and Daed are gone for the day, so I have to do the milking.”
Eddie’s face lit up as he turned toward me. “Want to come help?”
It was a Friday, so I didn’t have class until Tuesday. I glanced at Luke and he was actually smiling. “Let me check with Rosalee.”
She was in the living room, dozing. She said to go and have fun. “Take the roast in the fridge to help with their dinner, would you? I’ll make a sandwich.”
Luke took the roast from me and led the way through the woods. Halfway there we stopped at the red pine and all looked up at the magpie nest.
“They’re always fighting,” Eddie said.
“Kind of like another family I know,” Luke muttered. I don’t think Eddie heard him, and I pretended not to.
When we reached their house, we greeted Millie, who was hanging wash on the line. I stayed out with her while Luke put the meat in the refrigerator.
Their mother appeared at the back door. “Thank you for the roast, Ella,” she said. She seemed to be feeling fine.
A minute later Luke came out carrying a pair of rubber boots. “These are for you,” he said.
I slipped off my shoes and pulled on the boots. Eddie was barefoot, as usual, and Luke wore his work boots.
As we headed toward the barn, Luke veered off to the field and began herding the cows toward the holding pen. He cornered one and directed her into the barn. I followed. The cow walked to the end of the row and stuck her head through the slats of the gate. Luke pulled on the gate to secure her and then, as he hooked her up to the machine, said, “Give her a half shovel of feed.” Eddie pointed to a bin, where the feed was coming out of a chute.
I grabbed the shovel.
Soon cows were hooked up to all eight machines and milk was pumping through tubes to the vat in the adjacent room. Eddie ran back and forth between Luke, the vat, the cows, and me as if he were the supervisor.
After the first couple of cows were done, Luke unhooked them and ushered in the next ones. I scooped the feed into the trough and we kept going, cow after cow, with Eddie running around, just out of reach of the cows’ hooves, his bare feet pattering on the cement.
It took an hour and a half to do all the milking, and by the time we were done, I was hungry.
“I just need to fill the water trough out in the pasture,” Luke said. “Want to come along?”
“Sure,” I said.
As we left the barn, Eddie between us, my phone beeped. I took it out. It was Zed. Mom wants you to call her tonight.
“Daed hates cell phones,” Eddie said as we reached the pasture. I followed Luke through the gate.
“So I’ve heard.” Embarrassed that I’d been so careless, I started to put it into my pocket but it buzzed again. I started to fumble the phone just as Eddie darted in front of me toward the spigot. I tripped on his foot, sending the cell phone sailing. I grabbed for it, but it was already in flight, arcing toward the trough. It landed with a splash.
I plunged my arm in after it. The visibility was nil as I thrashed around.
Luke splashed both hands into the trough too, submerging himself up to his armpits, soaking his shirt as Eddie jumped around behind us.
“Got it!” Luke said, jumping to his feet, the phone in his hand.
As he gave it to me I thanked him, but of course it was ruined. I took the battery out immediately. “Do you have rice? If I put the phone in a bag of it, it might be okay.” I’d heard of that working before.
They did have rice, and soon my phone and battery were buried in a plastic bag of it.
“Thanks,” I said to Millie.
“Good thing Daed isn’t here,” she said.
“I know,” I said, chastising myself. If I had been more respectful of Darryl Kline’s rules, I wouldn’t be wondering if my phone was going to still work or not.
I tried not to think about it as we sat down to dinner. Luke led the prayer. Eddie talked about how fun the milking was. Cora smiled as she looked at her youngest son. She seemed in good spirits. Millie seemed more relaxed than usual too.
After dinner Luke said he’d walk me back through the woods. I told him there was no need and then wished I hadn’t. It seemed, perhaps, as if he had something to say to me.
By the time I reached my room, clutching the bag of rice to my chest, I was in tears. I knew I would need to give up my phone someday, but I wasn’t ready to, not yet.
TWENTY-FOUR
My new life started Monday morning. I waited that long to take the phone out of the rice. The battery and phone were totally dry, but there was nothing there. Absolutely nothing.
My contract wasn’t up for six months, so it wasn’t as though I could go get another one at a reduced price. No, I would be paying the big bucks, money I didn’t have. After more than two years of having a cell phone, I was going without one cold turkey.
That morning I slipped the phone into the top drawer of my bureau next to Sarah’s book, deciding to keep it as a memento of my previous life. If I was going to become Amish
before I married Ezra, I might as well get used to it. Maybe this was God’s way of preparing me.
We were busier in the bakery that day. An owner of a grocery in town stopped by to redeem the sticky bun offer I’d given him. He was a middle-aged man, and he ate slowly, as if he were really tasting each bite. I practically held my breath until he finished.
Once he had he approached the counter again. “Do you deliver?” he asked.
I nodded. “Bread. Pies. Streusel. Anything we make.”
“I’ll start with the buns,” he said and placed an order.
When Millie came in mid morning, she said her daed and Tom returned home late the night before with a new tractor. They had driven it home from the other side of Nappanee. That was one of the differences between the Amish in Elkhart County and Lancaster—unlike the metal tires used in Lancaster County, the tractors here had regular tires and could be driven on the road.
“That will help,” she said.
That night I wrote letters to Zed and Mom, Ezra, and Lexie, and explained that my phone was toast. Not that Ezra had called me since my birthday. Finally, I wrote to Ada. She’d sent me a letter after I moved to the Home Place, but I hadn’t written her back. I wrote a quick note but didn’t mention my phone. It was pretty unlikely she would ever try to reach me on it anyway.
The pastry-making lessons didn’t go any better than bread making. I decided if I offered pastries through my business in Lancaster that they would be good old-fashioned Plain pastries, like tarts, not the fancy stuff Pierre was trying to teach me.
The very last lesson on l’art de la patisserie was the final. We were to choose a recipe and bake it at the school. I decided to take a risk and bake Rosalee’s lemon tart. I told Pierre it was an old family recipe I had modified. By the time we all had our pastries out of the oven, the bakery smelled absolutely divine.
Pierre went around the room, tasting each sample. He made sparingly positive remarks to most of the students and then raved about Penny’s éclairs. When he got to mine, he took a small bite.
“Better,” he said and then shrugged. “Good enough, anyway, to pass this part of the class.” He took another bite. “Hmmm,” he said, taking a third forkful. “Ever heard the expression ‘cook what you know’?”
The Amish Bride Page 24