Andrew crinkled his nose. “No surprise there.”
“Sure they’ll pay you a visit soon. Heard they were upstate with family. Pieter Mueller’s your age. You two’ll probably get along fine.” She turned to him curiously. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem like a farmer.”
“No?” He shoved his hand into his pocket self-consciously, wondered if she was referring to his injury. He peeked at her, saw the eyes open and without pity, and he felt reassured. “Well, guess it doesn’t matter if I seem like one or not, just what I am now.” He couldn’t shake her eyes peering into him.
“I always wanted to take care of animals.” His voice fell slightly. “I know that seems silly, but just what I always wanted to do. Help them, you know?”
Her eyes widened as if she was just seeing him for the first time and he realized she didn’t think it was silly at all. He smiled. “They talk to me sometimes.” Then corrected himself with a laugh. “Well, not really talk to me with words, but I feel like I can understand them. We’re not any different if you think about it. Animals and people. We still feel. Still get scared and mad. We’re not different at all, when you think about it.”
She bit her lip. “I draw animals. Sometimes.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “They’re not very good. Just like to draw them, makes me feel closer to them, like you were saying. Like I don’t have to hide or pretend with them.” She clamped her mouth as if she had said too much.
Andrew smiled widely at her, liked her so much right then that he didn’t feel the road beneath his feet or the sky above his head.
“I think it’s nice you care about the animals,” she said. “I think there’s a special place saved in Heaven for people who care for all the creatures.”
“They’re probably sitting with those people who know how to deliver babies.” He gave her a quick wink.
They were quiet for a while when she glanced at him, glanced back quickly to her old work boots. “Can I ask you something? Mrs. Kiser isn’t your ma, is she?”
“No. My aunt.” He kicked at a pebble along the road.
“Where are your parents?” She tried to soften her voice. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“My mother’s in Holland. My father passed away.” He grew quiet and this time she watched him, waited for an answer. When none came, she strode on quietly.
He didn’t want to think about death. He wanted to keep talking to this girl with the soft smile and tender eyes. He felt playful for the first time since his accident. He brushed her arm lightly with his elbow to get her attention. “My last name isn’t Kiser, by the way. It’s Houghton.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see her watching his profile, her expression intense. “My father was a coal miner down in Fayette County,” he confided. “Died in a mining accident.”
Lily walked absently, her eyes wide and staring. “Is that how you lost your arm?” she asked. “In the coal mine?”
He turned away, tightened his jaw. “No. I was working on the railroad with my uncle. I was on the roof of the train when . . . I fell.” He didn’t need to say more.
He turned to her and was instantly taken aback by the full, open look of her face, a look that seemed to wrap around him in an embrace. “You’re lucky to be alive.” The words nearly a gasp.
He had never thought of it like that. “I guess so. I nearly didn’t make it. Fever almost did me in.”
She brushed her elbow against his accidentally. “I’m glad it didn’t.”
They were silent for a few more moments before she asked, “Do you miss them? Your parents?”
“I do.” He smiled at her searching face, the purity of its questioning. “I miss my father a lot. He was a good man. I miss them both.”
A breeze picked up, blew Lily’s golden hair around her neck. “I don’t have many memories of my father,” she added. “And the ones I have aren’t worth remembering.”
The heaviness of her words settled in his chest. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “My sister’s all the family I have.”
“And your brother-in-law.”
She shot him a spark of fire before relenting. “He’s not family. He’s my sister’s husband. I had no say in it. Didn’t even have a choice about taking on his last name.”
Andrew and Lily walked the miles to the Morton home in comfortable strides with small talk of the weather mingled with stories of neighbors’ crops, innocuous, casual bantering that came from the throat, but between them was a steady warmth of the skin that could not have found conversation to match. And as they neared the long and rutted gravel drive through the woods, Andrew wished the walk had been much longer.
The house was not what he had expected and left him sullen. The siding was worn, the paint chipped and curling like Mary Pickford’s hair. The stone walkway broken so badly that one had to walk on the parallel dirt path instead of on the stepping-stones. Lily’s mood instantly turned inward and the smile seemed long forgotten as they approached the warped screen door.
“Claire?” Lily called out. She peered into the kitchen. “Claire, you in there? Want to introduce you to our neighbor.”
The room was quiet until a croaked sobbing filtered over the creaking floorboards. Lily hurried into the kitchen. A woman about Eveline’s age huddled in the corner, a wire basket overturned by her side. Yolks and egg whites and shells spread in a gooey mass across the splintered floor. Lily knelt next to her sister, stroked the woman’s blond hair. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
The woman trembled, watched the broken eggs in horror as if they were some moving assailants. “B-b-broke them, Lil. I broke them all. All of them. I b-b-br . . .”
Andrew began scooping the mess into his hand, threw it in the compost bucket. The ooze dripped through his fingers as he corralled the shells and broken bits.
“It was an accident, Claire,” Lily whispered to her sister, petted the hair in long strokes. “No need to get so upset. No need.” She cradled her older sister as she would a child. “It’s all right, Claire. I promise.”
Andrew washed his hand, picked up the wire basket and washed it off, set it next to the sink and then wet a towel, set to wiping up the last remnants of egg along the floor.
But despite her sister’s comfort, Claire became more agitated and shouted, “All of them, Lil! All of them!”
Lily held her sister tight even as Claire’s limbs quivered. Andrew sat down next to Claire and Lily shook her head fiercely at him in silent pleading. Just go, she mouthed.
He ignored her and lifted the woman’s hand, held it tight in his palm. “Look at me, Claire,” he ordered kindly.
“No! I b-b-broke them!”
He squeezed her hand. “Look at the floor, Claire. Just look.” He let go of her fingers and forced the bobbing pupils to look where he directed. “It’s all gone. It’s all better. You see?”
She blinked at the space as if finally emerging from a nightmare. “It’s all better,” he repeated. “We have eggs at our place. Lily will bring you a whole basket of eggs. More than you can eat. It’s all better now, you see?”
A sparkle entered the wet eyes; the irises stopped their spastic movements. “Yes.” She nodded. The lucidity, the clarity, cutting through the anxiety. “I’ll make the cake tomorrow.” She squeezed Lily’s hand. “You’ll bring me the eggs?”
Lily nodded, her chin set as granite, and Andrew knew if she spoke her voice would not mirror that strength.
Claire stood then, wiped down the folds of her skirt. She smiled widely, the childish smile of a toddler who fell and scraped her knee and then was off running again. She turned to Andrew, the hysterics forgotten, and she beamed. “I’ll make a cake for you, too. All right?”
Andrew nodded, attempted to smile, but his insides were too sad.
“Good.” Without another word, she walked to the sink, picked up the compost bucket and took it outside. The screen door banged loudly behind her.
“Thank you.”
He drifted into the face that peered up at him. “I only cleaned up the eggs,” he answered.
Lily’s brow wrinkled. “Not many people are nice to her. You were nice without even trying. Didn’t make her feel like there was something wrong with her.”
There weren’t any other words to speak in the presence of such heart. And so Andrew turned and watched his feet as they headed back to the farm, the way back as forgotten as his own name.
CHAPTER 20
Edgar and Will returned from town with pockets stuffed with white and red peppermints. Wilhelm came back with sacks of flour and sugar, salt, cartons of eggs, milk, cheese, racks of beef and lamb. He had burdened the wagon with paint cans, new saws, chisels, hammers, steel sheathing and roof tar. He carried an ice block wrapped in newspaper and set in sawdust for the icebox. He clutched in his fist a list three pages long of supplies ordered for the farm. Ice and bread would be delivered twice a week, milk and eggs every two weeks until the farm could produce its own. But no purchase or prize in town could compare with the introduction to the newly arrived Otto and Harold Kiser.
Eveline could not stay idle and was washed, dressed and presentable. Her hips and pelvis ached, but the discomfort was still less than when the twins had pummeled inside her womb. When Wilhelm returned, found her sitting in the rocking chair cradling his new sons, he was no longer a man fired from the railroad or displaced into a corroding farmhouse; he was a man who had sired four sons.
“I’ll drive back to town tomorrow and bring up the doctor,” Wilhelm promised as he held the tiny boys bundled in Edgar’s old baby blankets.
“No need.” Eveline stretched and stood, placed her hand at her lower back out of habit, pleased the shooting nerve pain was gone. “Thank goodness for that Lily Morton.”
“Shouldn’t have left you,” Wilhelm said curtly.
“Left me?” Eveline touched one of the tiny hands that opened and closed in a feeble fist. “The poor girl delivered our babies! Should have seen the look on her face when she left. Think the labor was harder on her than it was on me.”
“It’s not the girl.” Wilhelm’s lips were tight. “I shouldn’t have left you.” His eyes flowed across her face and then down to the babies. “What if she hadn’t been here?”
“Then Andrew would have a good story to tell his grandchildren.” She rubbed her deflating belly. “He would have taken care of it. He’s delivered enough animals in his life to know what to do.”
“Doubt that.”
She stopped then, recognized the bitter, drawn look. “Did something happen in town?”
“Know they’re renaming all the German foods? Thought it was just in the city. Took the boys to supper and the menu listed hamburgers as liberty sandwiches, changed sauerkraut to liberty cabbage.” He chuckled wryly and without humor. “They’ll be making us change our name before we know it.”
“It’s just food, Wilhelm.”
He didn’t hear her, nearly spoke on top of her last words. “But figured out why Frank Morton was so pleased to give me a ride.” One of his arms squeezed Otto too tightly and the baby let out a cry. Wilhelm handed the child to his wife and she rocked him until he hushed.
“Man made me look the fool, Eve.” He tensed again but made sure the pressure did not reach the sleeping Harold. She rocked Otto back and forth, kept her ears alert to Wilhelm’s speech.
“Morton showed us around, all right. Paraded us to the post office, the butcher, the brewery, to Campbell’s store. Talked up about the new tractor, my investments.” She watched her husband carefully, not sure where he was going.
“Then started the talk.”
“What talk?”
“The war talk, Eve! What do you think?”
“Don’t get terse with me,” she warned. She had just birthed two babies with the sheer strength of her will and body and she would not take that tone.
“Sorry.” The corners of Wilhelm’s mouth drooped regretfully. “It’s just that before I knew it, I had half the town asking me how many Liberty Bonds I’m planning on buying. How many Postal Savings Stamps. How much I’m giving to the Red Cross. Giving me a look like I’m feeding the Germans instead of the Allies.” He handed the other baby to Eveline. “Frank set me up.”
Men. Eveline blustered, “Frank Morton helped you, Wilhelm Kiser! He was kind enough to give you and the boys a ride to town and put in a good word for you. You should be thanking him instead of cursing him.”
“No.” He looked coldly ahead. “I’ve seen men like that before, Eve. Always trying to work an angle.” He laughed then. “But he didn’t get the reaction he thought. Should have seen their faces when I didn’t need credit from the store. Put them in their place quick, I did.” His pupils flickered as he muttered, “Liberty sandwiches. I’ll be damned.”
CHAPTER 21
Lily started the two-mile journey before the sun awoke. She was so grateful the Kisers had moved in. Liked them right away. Hearing those babies, holding their little hands and feet in her fingers, made her want to bury her face in their skin and nibble on their toes.
She hurried down the Kiser lane and hoped the family hadn’t started breakfast yet. A light was on in an upstairs window and she entered the unlocked back door to the porch. The house was quiet and she went straight to the kitchen, loaded wood into the large stove and lit the logs with a match. She found the food supplies in the pantry and started the coffee in the black pot. She brought down two cast-iron skillets from the hook and unsheathed the bacon for frying while she mixed the batter for buttermilk pancakes.
“My word, child, what are you doing?”
Eveline’s sudden voice in the kitchen startled her. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Kiser. I wanted to surprise you with a nice breakfast and a clean kitchen.” She pushed a stray hair from her eye. “I felt terrible leaving you the way I did yesterday,” she said mournfully. “Had no right walking out on you after you had those babies.”
Eveline looked at the fire, stunned, her housecoat wrapped tightly around her waist. “What time did you leave your house?”
“Four thirty. I milk early. Cows get so full. Like to relieve them as soon as I can. Gets painful for them otherwise.”
Eveline sat down, stared at the kitchen in confusion. Lily stirred the batter slower and slower. She had thought she was doing a nice thing for the woman, but now she realized she might have acted improperly. She didn’t know. The air bubbles popped in the yellow mixture. Seemed she never knew what was right and what was wrong; she wished she’d had a mother who could have taught her manners and etiquette.
“Suppose I should have checked with you first before barging into your house,” Lily said. The shame lowered her voice. She felt the fool. She had no right intruding into the Kiser home and the realization hit hard.
The woman laughed, laughed so heartily that she rocked in her chair. She finally stopped and smiled at the young woman. “Lily, I think this is about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“I’m glad.” Lily let out a sigh of relief, took to ladling the griddlecakes into the hot pan with renewed vigor. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than when I was pregnant.”
“And the babies?”
Eveline leaned back, the fatigue settling in dark circles under her eyes. “Can’t say any of us slept. Twins cried most of the night.”
“I was thinking that maybe . . .” Lily paused, kept the spatula hovering over the pan. “Well, it’s just that if you need some help, I’d be happy to watch the little ones for you. Now and then, if you want.”
As if on cue, a small cry wafted from upstairs followed by a second, the cries accelerating and feeding off one another. “Dear Lily,” Eveline said as she pulled herself up from the chair. “
I think you might have been sent straight from Heaven.”
With breakfast over and the family well fed, Lily scraped the pans and washed the dishes in the boiled water, then took over with the twins while Eveline unpacked the rest of the house, still piled high with boxes from the move. Lily took the twins outside, bundling them up tightly and carrying them like two brown grocery bags against her shoulders. And their little bodies warmed her just as she warmed them, and together they explored the farm in a cozy embrace.
She turned near the barn and saw Mr. Kiser and Andrew repairing a corncrib, tightening the bolts that would keep the metal frame compact for the day when it would be bloated with corn shucks and cobs. The older boys, Will and Edgar, scattered in the yard, picking up sticks and drying them in the sun for kindling.
Lily parked on a rock under the great apple tree and peered up through the canopy of reddening apples. She had sat in those limbs whining for weeks about the Kisers coming and now she could have sung with the bluebirds. As she cradled the babies, she turned her attention back to the men at the barn—to Andrew—and tried not to look like she was staring. The young man must have been her age, probably a bit older. She watched the way he worked with the one arm, saw the set features harden when he struggled to gain a grip or was pushed aside from his uncle. She looked at her own arm, pondered what it would feel like to only have one.
Baby Otto scrunched against her breast and let out a loud wail. Both men looked up. Andrew laid his wrench on the ground and walked toward her. Suddenly shy, she wanted to run away, whispered to the baby to hush even as she angered at her own hammering pulse. She scurried off the rock and turned to head back to the house.
“Nice to see you armed with babies instead of apples,” Andrew quipped from behind her.
She turned and her body stiffened, nearly calcified with the strong voice. She wanted to flee. She didn’t know why, grew anxious and nervous as her sister.
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