Plain City Bridesmaids

by Dianne Christner

  Even though a nurse’s station was ten feet to her right and a hospital hallway stretched out to her left, Lil found it hard to accept that Mom had tried to commit suicide. It hurt to think she was that miserable, that her family wasn’t important enough for her to fight to survive.

  With grief thickening her throat, Lil replied, “No. But Dad said Brother Troyer might make a house call. I think it’ll be kept hushed. I’m hoping the staff here will call her psychiatrist and then discharge her.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  Lil’s gaze darted around the sterile hall. How could Michelle help with her active little ones who needed constant care? When her gaze rested on a clock, she gasped. “Oh no. I forgot to call Riccardo’s. Beppe will be mad.”

  Michelle replied, “He has to allow for family emergencies. Do I need to bring Mom some clothes or anything?”

  With irritation, Lil brushed back a fringe of bangs and repositioned her bobby pins. “I can’t think right now. Beppe claims I’ve already had too many family emergencies. I’ve got to call the restaurant. I’ll call you back later.”

  “Okay,” Michelle’s hesitant voice insinuated what they both knew—that nothing was okay. “Call me.”

  Lil ended their call and quickly punched in her speed dial.

  “Riccardo’s.”

  “Hi, Beppe. I’m sorry I’m late.” She tucked her hair behind her left ear.

  “You know there’s a baseball game tonight. It’s going to be busy.”

  “I had an emergency. My mom’s in the hospital. She took an overdose of aspirin. I’m not going to be able to come in tonight.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “I’m surprised to hear that. Didn’t think your people—Look, I’m sorry about your mom. But this restaurant has to operate regardless of personal problems.”

  Lil glanced back at her mom’s room. “Fine. I can be there in an hour. But I don’t have my uniform.”

  Suddenly his tone became overly sympathetic. “Maybe you need a leave of absence. Just wait to come back until things settle, and meanwhile, I’ll hire somebody else to fill in.”

  Panicking, Lil knew that once she was replaced, the door to Riccardo’s would be forever closed to her. “No! I’ll be there,” she cried.

  Ending the call and stuffing her phone in her purse, Lil ducked her head into her mom’s hospital room and motioned for Dad to come to the hallway.

  He stepped into the hall beside her, his brows creased in worry. “What is it? Did the doctor speak with you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I have to go to work. I’m already late. Call me if Mom gets discharged. Otherwise, I’ll come straight back here.”

  “But you can’t go. You know all about her depression stuff. I don’t know what to tell that shrink.”

  “I have to go, Dad. Otherwise I’m losing my job.”

  “You don’t even have your car.”

  “I know. I need to borrow your truck.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed in anger. He glanced into the hospital room and back at Lil. “You can’t be in two places at once. You cannot ride the fence any longer. It is time to quit your job and help your family. It is the right thing to do.”

  “You sent the boys home to work. I have work, too.”

  “Yes. To help with your mom.”

  Lil stilled. Her job was her last grasp for freedom. She loved both her parents, but she couldn’t give up her job. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll call someone then.”

  “Don’t go. We need you.”

  “I know. It’s just for a few hours.” Lil had never truly accepted the path her parents had chosen for her life and had become accustomed to continually scrapping with them. They usually gave in pretty easily, as they weren’t nearly as strict with her as they had been with Michelle or Hank. But with the recent turmoil that had entered her parents’ lives, she found it painful to add to their burdens. She bit her tongue and turned her back to him.

  Her dad remained silent.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, she walked away before she changed her mind and somehow ended up forever trying to fill her mom’s shoes at home—the very shoes that had led her mom into a bout of depression.

  She started running. She punched the elevator button. It would take Michelle too long to come for her. Her brothers were busy, and her friends were out of town. Mustering every bit of courage to keep her job, she decided to ask one of the hospital clerks how to call a cab.

  After her shift, Lil took a cab back to the farm, eating up more than her night’s wages. Beppe had been hard to please, and her emotions were frazzled. Bone-tired, she trudged toward Jezebel, intending to go straight to the hospital. Curiously, her dad’s truck was parked in the driveway. Turning, she went into the house.

  She hurried through the mudroom and kitchen to the hall. Her parents’ bedroom door was closed. Not knowing if her mom had been released or if her dad had come home to sleep, Lil would have to wait until morning to unravel it all. She would rise early and make a good breakfast to appease her dad’s anger for going against his wishes.

  But the next morning, Lil’s special waffles and raspberry syrup did not mollify him.

  “I suppose hamburger gravy is too plain for you to make?”

  Lil was taken aback. Her dad had never once complained about her cooking. Nobody had. He knew he was the luckiest man alive to have married into the matriarchal line of Mennonite potluck queens. Hurt, she swallowed. “I’ll remember next time.”

  He shot her an angry glance and then looked back at his plate. “You’d better go through the medicine cabinet and make sure your mother won’t find any more pills.” The tips of his ears pinked, and Lil knew he was shamed that his wife would seek such a route of escape. He probably blamed himself for all the troubles at the Landis farm.

  “Is she here? Did they discharge her?”

  He looked up again. “Now why else would I be sitting here eating your fandangled waffles?”

  “Maybe because you like them,” she quipped, her eyes mirroring his. “Just maybe they’re the best waffles you ever tasted.” Lil tried one of her mom’s tactics from before her depression. She had been an expert at making Dad laugh when times were tough.

  “And maybe you need to get your nose out of the air. I never thought my own daughter would be too proud to wear her covering.”

  Stunned at his out-of-the blue dig, Lil steadied her hand against the countertop. “I didn’t know it bothered you.” The church had recently changed the ordinance allowing women to have the freedom of choice when it came to wearing the covering outside of worship services. She had quit wearing it when she lived at the doddy house. She had been living on her own at the time and hadn’t thought to ask her parents’ permission. They had never spoken of it.

  He didn’t reply, just finished eating.

  Hurt, Lil tried to reason with him again. “I had to go to work. It’s the only thing left of my—” She broke off. He would scoff at her dreams. Her dad seemed broken. How long would it be until she was broken, too? “We’re a lot alike, you and me. Matt is like us, too.”

  “That’s not much to brag about,” he replied. “By the way, you might have to help with the chores come Saturday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Matt’s dragging us to some farm seminar.” He stuck a warning finger in the air. “I’m allowing him his chance. But if this doesn’t work, well let’s just say there might not be any chores for any of the Landis clan in the future.”

  “I’m glad you’re open to new ideas, Dad. But sometimes one chance isn’t enough. I imagine it will take plenty of hard work, too. You’ll have to give it time. It’s only fair.”

  He shook his head and rose from table, then stepped into the mudroom and plucked his straw hat from the yellow peg shelf. As she watched, he squared his shoulders. “You should know by now that one thing I never shirked was hard work.”

  His presence filled the small mudroom. She watched the broad shoulders of
his plaid shirt slouch again beneath his worn overalls. One sleeve was rolled higher than the other, exposing a tan forearm and sun-freckled hand. It clasped the screen door, and he was gone.

  She looked up at the ceiling and, falling into a Dutch accent, demanded, “Do You see what’s happening here, God? Do You even care?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Fletch looked out the passenger window of Vic’s white Chevy pickup at the low, sleek facility with neatly trimmed hedges. Strong winds strewed lavender phlox across the rolling green lawns that made the property an appealing place for a farm seminar. A row of newly planted trees bent low to the onslaught. The country feel of the landscape would aid in setting the farmers at ease, allowing them to be more receptive to new ideas and equipment.

  The concept of attending a farm seminar to drum up work was something he hadn’t considered as part of his future job description. They pulled into the parking garage, and Fletch asked, “How many of these do you attend in a year?”

  “Depends on how busy I am.” They exchanged glances, and then Vic said almost grudgingly, “Three this year. The kids have to eat.” Since the accident, Vic had remained in a sour mood.

  “Did you get the car fixed yet?”

  “It’s in the shop. Britt’s driving a rental. Has to take the boys to school and all their activities.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” It wasn’t as if Fletch had been a careless driver, but Vic had made it plain that he regretted allowing Fletch to drive his wife’s car.

  “I shouldn’t have bought that car anyway.”

  Fletch felt it was better to let that comment alone and focus on the seminar.

  Inside the entry, they followed signs to a room designated for the meetings. A brunette in a trim, chic suit handed him a packet of material and a name tag that he stuck to his button-down, short-sleeved shirt. Vic had warned him that the farmers didn’t show up in suit coats or even long sleeves in summer, and they needed to fit in with the farmers, present themselves as people who could be trusted and even befriended. He pointed out that in a small community like Plain City, businesses treated their clients like family.

  Several dividers had been opened to make one room large enough to display various types of farm equipment for differing livestock, such as mechanical devices to facilitate the feeding, reproduction, and nursing of hogs. The usual computerized units for temperature control, including sample misting equipment, also were being exhibited.

  When Fletch looked at the equipment, most of which had been set up the day before, he wasn’t thinking about profit and convenience; he was thinking about how it would affect animals’ health and well-being.

  Fletch helped Vic set up their booth, which consisted of one large banner representing the practice, a table, two folding chairs, some flyers, and a notepad to take down names and phone numbers. By the time they were finished, the farmers were trickling in for the workshops that would be starting within the hour. Fletch enjoyed observing the farmers.

  “How long have you been practicing?”

  Fletch turned left to see a man who looked faintly familiar. He had a sun-freckled face and the rough hands of a farmer. He wore a graphic T-shirt under a pale-blue, button-down shirt, and some bold lettering that Fletch couldn’t quite read showed through the fabric. He tilted his head inquisitively.

  “Vic’s been practicing for almost twenty years. I’m his assistant.”

  “The vet we always used just retired. We’ll be expanding soon and will be looking for somebody new.”

  “What kind of livestock do you have?”

  “Hogs.”

  “Vic’s really good with all animals. Why don’t you take one of our flyers?” Remembering Vic’s comment that clients were treated like family, he said, “By the way, my name’s Fletch Stauffer.”

  “I think I’ve seen you at my church. That’s another reason why I stopped at your booth. I haven’t been going to Crossroads Mennonite that long.”

  “Me either. I’ve only been going there since I enrolled at OSU, and it took me a while to find a church.”

  “Matt L—” The young man’s introduction was cut off as another man carrying an insulated John Deere mug stepped up to join them.

  “There’s a great buffet over there. Too bad Steve’s not here. Dad’s saving us some seats.” The newcomer motioned to the far side of the room.

  “This is my brother Hank.”

  Both men looked familiar, though Hank was darker than his brother, but Fletch didn’t recall seeing either of them at his church.

  Hank picked up one of Vic’s brochures and placed it on top of a flyer he had on pressure washers.

  Matt turned his attention back to Fletch. “What kind of classes are you taking?”

  “Oh, didn’t I say? I’m going to veterinary school.” Fletch finally caught the wording barely visible through Matt’s shirt: hog heaven. He bit back a smile.

  Hank had been thumbing through his brochures. “You familiar with the slatted flooring? These pressure washers?”

  “Yes. I understand they work best when the waste is flushed out of the building into a lagoon and later spread over the fields.” Fletch was pleased to share the information he’d learned in one of his agricultural classes. The way this was going, he might be drumming up some new customers for his employer. “Vic’s giving a workshop about antibiotics. It might be worth your while for one of you to attend, especially if you’re expanding.”

  Matt tapped Fletch with his brochure. “Thanks for the tip. We’re all taking different workshops. I’ve already decided I’m taking the one on contract growers and integrators. How about you, Hank?”

  “All?” Fletch asked, curious now. “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Just two. More than enough.” He pointed to a farmer who was headed their way. “And that’s my dad, Will Landis.”

  Landis? At the name, Fletch stared at the farmer who was now extending a hand toward him. Landis? His mind scrambled. As in Lillian Landis? No wonder Matt and Hank looked familiar. This was Lillian’s family! He clasped the older farmer’s hand. Gripped it solidly in hopes of making a good impression.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Landis.” More than ever, he didn’t want to lose this customer. Special customer. God hadn’t prompted Vic to send Fletch for more Italian food, but to the One who made the universe, there was more than one way to answer a prayer.

  “If you register with us today, Vic Fuller, the owner of the veterinary practice, will give you a discount on his services or even on vaccinations.” When he saw interest in the farmer’s eyes, he quickly grabbed the notepad off the table, supplying him with a pen as well.

  As Mr. Landis scrawled his name, he said to his sons. “I found us some seats next to the coffeepot so Hank can stay awake.”

  Hank shrugged. “Coffee is my best friend most mornings.”

  “Wait until I tell Sara that,” Matt teased.

  “She already knows, blabbermouth.”

  Fletch watched the farmers leave his booth, almost dumbstruck that God had brought Lillian’s family to him. A future encounter with her might happen naturally, not with him playing the part of a lovesick fool who stalked her at her place of work.

  Even if the Landis men did not seek Vic’s veterinary services, Fletch now had her address. This changed everything. Instead of spending his time daydreaming about how to contact her, he needed to embrace the likely possibility and consider the consequences of pursuing a Conservative girl. Matt Landis had left the Conservative Church. Would his sister be willing to do the same? Fletch had to have one more look at Lillian Landis.

  Lil literally blew into the mudroom. She swiped her hair out of her eyes and spit grit from her parched lips as she removed her barn shoes. It was the kind of dry wind that downed wheat and damaged fields. This time of year, wind could be real trouble for farmers.

  Now midmorning, she’d already put in a full day’s work. She’d risen early and rearranged her schedule to help with the c
hores since her dad and two of her brothers were at the farming seminar. But she was glad to do it if it helped them find a solution to the farm’s financial woes.

  Lil went to the kitchen to wash her hands and halted with surprise. “Mom? Hi.”

  “You got up early. What’s going on?”

  A pang of resentment shot through Lil that her dad remained so secretive with her mom these days. Intuition told her it was only adding to her mom’s depression. “Dad had some farm business and asked me to do some extra chores.”

  Mom dipped her head. “I’m sorry everything falls on you. I wish the doctors could find out what’s wrong with me. I’d like to do my share around here.” Then she tilted her face and studied Lil curiously. “Why, you have your covering on. I didn’t think you were wearing it anymore.”

  Lil shrugged, unwilling to make any commitments, and pulled out a chair across the table from her mom. She wondered if the medication had given Mom the desire to get out of bed. Aside from the overdose incident, she hadn’t been complaining or sleeping as much anymore. Lil searched her mind for something enjoyable to occupy her mother’s time. “I do have something you could do for me. Michelle’s zucchini are starting.”

  Mom actually smiled. “And so the battle begins.”

  They both knew that keeping up with a zucchini crop took plenty of ingenuity. “Anyway, she lost her relish recipe. Maybe you could jot it down for her again, along with any other good zucchini recipes.” Lil raced to the drawer that held their recipe cards and plunked a couple down in front of her mom. Stephen’s wife, Lisa, had gifted Mom with some special-order cards that read ROSE’S YUMMY RECIPES.

  Mom tapped a pencil on the table. “Yes, I believe I know it from memory.” She started to write, glancing up at Lil. “And the men love your chocolate zucchini cake.” She became totally absorbed in the zucchini project until the sudden chime at the front doorbell announced a potential visitor. She instantly paled. “Quick, Lil! Help me back to my room.”