Through the Autumn Air

by Kelly Irvin

  The aroma of frying meat, bell peppers, and onions wafting from Leah’s open kitchen window teased Ezekiel’s nose. His stomach rumbling, he picked up his pace toward the back door of his daughter’s house. It smelled like chili, venison chili, his favorite. It was an excellent choice for a cold fall Sunday evening. His daughter was a good cook, like her mother. The thought of Lucy floated in the air, then dissipated like an iridescent bubble embraced by the breeze.

  His head cocked, Ezekiel halted on the steps. The vague feeling that he’d forgotten something tugged at him. His hand went to his chest. To his heart. The long-standing ache that had accompanied him for the past ten years felt different. More of a gentle, almost nostalgic hug.

  Did that mean he could retire and sell the restaurant? Retire and do what? Fish. Play volleyball with the grandchildren. Good pastimes, both, but not enough to fill endless days between now and when God called him home. Diabetes did not mean he was on his deathbed. Even if giving up strawberry-rhubarb pie made him want to wail.

  A shabby blue-and-black motorcycle sat next to the steps. It leaned precariously on a kickstand. He stopped. None of their Englisch friends drove motorcycles. The machines usually drove around buggies with careless abandon and frightened the horses with their noisy engines.

  Laughter—the high, breathless giggles of a child and the deeper guffaw of a man—spilled through the screen door. Kenneth. And Burke.

  Ezekiel shoved through the screen door, steeling himself against the desire to swipe a cookie for himself. “Hey, Leah, whose motorcycle?”

  No Leah. Burke stood at the woodstove, a stained apron wrapped around his waist and a wooden ladle in his hand. A huge cast-iron pot sat on the burner. Its contents sizzled and crackled. Kenneth sat on the counter, his legs dangling, feet bare. They both looked up and grinned.

  “Mine.” Burke sounded rather surprised at the fact. “Can you believe it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s like a mechanical horse, Groossdaadi. Mudder says I can’t ride on it.” Kenneth’s face turned woebegone. “Not even with Burke. Not even with a helmet.”

  “Your mudder’s right. Plain people don’t ride motorcycles any more than we drive cars.” Motorcycles were dangerous and annoying. “Where did you get it?”

  “A guy advertised it on Craigslist. I can’t keep mooching rides.”

  “You’ll end up roadkill. Especially when winter comes and the roads get icy.”

  “It came with a helmet. Two wheels are cheaper than four.” Burke’s abashed look reminded Ezekiel of his boys when they put their money together to buy a two-seater for courting. “It was all I could afford. Besides, I like the idea of wind in my face, the open road ahead of me.”

  “More like bugs in your teeth and rain on your head.”

  “Spoilsport. Look at it this way. Your cook will be more available and less of a burden.” Burke slurped soup from a wooden spoon, closed his eyes, and hooted. “Now that’s a spicy chili.”

  “You are not a burden.” More of a friend. Surprising as it was. Ezekiel glanced around. No Leah in sight. “What are you two doing in the kitchen making chili?”

  “I’m teaching Kenneth to make my world-famous chili.” Burke waved the ladle with an extravagant flourish. “My recipe was handed down from my grandmother. It has a secret ingredient that I may or may not share with Kenneth. This recipe won the chili cook-off at my dad’s church three years running.”

  “We’re also making corn bread. Mudder said it was okay.” Kenneth broke off a chunk of peanut butter cookie and tucked it in his mouth. He swung his feet, which were exceedingly dirty. “Even though she says Plain men don’t cook much. Just for weddings and such.”

  “Again, she’s right.” Ezekiel poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on the counter. He leaned against the cabinets so he could watch the proceedings. “Unless you own a restaurant like I do.”

  “How did you learn to cook, Groossdaadi?”

  “Yeah, Groossdaadi, how did you learn to cook?” Burke grinned. “And how come you haven’t imparted that skill to Kenneth?”

  “I learned because I wanted to earn a living for my family after your groossmammi died. I taught myself. Mostly trial and error. I remembered what I’d seen Groossmammi Lucy do. I threw more than a few of my creations in the trash.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Mudder to show you?”

  “She was young and she didn’t know yet. Groosmammi didn’t have time to teach her everything before she had to go.”

  Again, no razor-sharp pain. Only a nostalgic feeling that ached with the perfectness of the memories. Lucy pulling a tray of gingersnaps from the oven. Lucy kneading bread dough with a steady shove, shove, turn, fold, shove, shove. Lucy chopping the vegetables for stew with an amazing rapid-fire accuracy. “It never hurts to know how to do something, whether everyone is doing it or not.”

  Burke ladled a spoonful of soup from the huge cast-iron pot and offered it to Kenneth. His forehead furrowed, expression serious, Kenneth sipped and frowned. “More salt. More chili powder.”

  “You like it spicy.” Burke’s vigorous nod said he did too. “You want to try it, Ezekiel?”

  He sipped. “I agree. Maybe some cayenne and oregano. I always use a little oregano.”

  “Yeah! Cayenne. You like it spicy too.”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  Burke dumped a generous amount of chili powder into his concoction, followed by some cayenne pepper and oregano. The lines around his mouth and eyes disappeared. His movements were measured, relaxed. He set the oregano aside and grabbed the salt. His gaze connected with Ezekiel’s. He shrugged. His eyebrows rose and fell. “It seemed like a good day for chili.”

  “Do you put beans in your chili?”

  “No way.”

  “What kind of meat?”

  “Today it’s venison—cut in cubes, not ground—because that’s what’s available. Leah was kind enough to give me a big jar of it. It’s still strange to me to think that meat would be canned.”

  “It’s gut.”

  “So she says. Kenneth is my new language teacher. Did I ever tell you I speak four languages? Spanish, Italian, French, and English. I figured I should learn another one while I’m here.”

  “Jah, he knows jah, gut, Gott, bopli, mudder, daed, and hund.” Kenneth shoved his glasses up his nose and nodded. “Now we have to put them in sentences.”

  “But first we need to start on the corn bread.” Burke put his hands around Kenneth’s waist and gently settled the boy’s feet on the floor. He handed him his crutches. “Can you get the cornmeal? I’ll get the bowl.”

  His face determined, Kenneth ambled toward the long shelves that lined the opposite wall. His legs scissored, knees bent in, toes out, in the gait he’d employed since he was old enough to drag himself through the house.

  Burke pulled a mixing bowl from an upper cabinet and set it on the table. “I caught him headed out to the creek again.” His voice was low. He glanced toward Kenneth, who balanced on his crutches and examined the contents of his mudder’s pantry. “He said he was thinking about going fishing.”

  “What’s wrong with that child? Does he want a whipping if his daed catches him out there alone?”

  “He heard Leah and William talking this morning. They’ve decided to take him back to the specialist to see about some surgery.”

  “They were hoping not to do that.” Leah hadn’t said anything, but her silence wasn’t surprising. She was the quiet one, the most likely to suffer in silence. “He’s fallen a lot lately.”

  “This is what I know how to do, so I suggested it. I hope I didn’t act out of turn. Leah seemed surprised, but she didn’t object.”

  “She probably was surprised. She’s not used to men cooking in her kitchen. She would never admit it, but I know she has a hard time figuring out what to do with Kenneth. She wants to give him leeway to be a boy, but she doesn’t want him to kill himself either.”

  The minute
the words were out of his mouth, Ezekiel wanted them back.

  “You got the cornmeal, Kenneth?” Burke turned his back and went to the propane refrigerator. “I’ve got the eggs and the milk.”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay, we also need flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. You’ll do the measuring while I grease the muffin tins.”

  Kenneth hooted as he turned back to the pantry shelves. “I know how many teaspoons in a tablespoon.”

  It couldn’t be unsaid. “I’ll be looking forward to supper.” Ezekiel patted Kenneth’s shoulder as the boy walked by. “Should I run into town and get a fire extinguisher in case the chili’s so hot it starts a fire?”

  “Nee. We’ll throw some cornmeal on it.” Kenneth chortled. “Or a bucket of water.”

  Ezekiel found Leah in the front room sitting at the treadle sewing machine. Caleb played with wooden blocks at her feet while Liliana slept in a nearby playpen. Leah stopped pumping, lifted the lever, and snipped the thread. “I think Kenneth grew a foot this summer. All his pants are too short.” She maneuvered the material to start a new seam and dropped the lever. “How are yours?”

  Ezekiel made a show of looking at his pants. “I think I’m getting shorter, not taller. The stoop of old age.”

  “Are they doing all right in there? No fires?”

  “Kenneth has a new friend.”

  “I know. The other day I found them playing baseball using a beach ball and Kenneth’s crutch as a bat.”

  “Burke has a bit of kinner in him, it seems.”

  “A bit?” She smiled and sighed, which made her look even more like her mother when she’d been Leah’s age. “Gott’s timing, it seems.”

  Ezekiel picked up Caleb and swung him up in the air. The boy giggled.

  “Careful, his tummy has been upset. He might throw up on you.”

  He eased him back on the floor. “Better play down here.”

  He strode over to the playpen where Liliana slept, her dark-brown curls covering her chubby face. She also was a picture of her mother at that age. He brushed back her hair with one finger, careful not to wake her. “Gott’s timing for Kenneth or for Burke?”

  “Both. It seems as if Kenneth is gut for Burke.”

  God’s plan was always bigger and better. Ezekiel had made Burke his project, when the true healing balm for the loss of his child was a little boy on crutches. “That’s what I think. And Burke for the boy. I know cooking isn’t what most boys are doing on Sunday afternoon, but Kenneth isn’t most boys.”

  She nodded, but worry creased lines on her forehead. “Kenneth talks about him all the time. Burke this and Burke that. Burke is a decent man, a gut man, but he’s not from around here. What happens when he leaves?”

  “It’s not as if Kenneth doesn’t have playmates here. The kinner include him.”

  “He’s started turning down invitations to play. He’s started sitting on the sidelines. It’s like he knows he slows them down.”

  “Maybe it’s a phase.”

  “Maybe. What’s going to happen to him when he’s older? How will he be a mann and take care of a family?”

  “Are you borrowing trouble from the future?”

  “I suppose I am.”

  Kenneth’s high-pitched giggles floated in the air like musical notes. “There are many occupations a man can do with his hands that don’t involve his feet.” Ezekiel savored the sound of his grandson’s happiness. “For now, enjoy this moment. Leave the rest to Gott.”

  “If anyone knows that, you do.” She plucked a loose thread from the material and laid it aside. “You set the example for us.”

  His picture of the past ten years was different. A grim, tight-lipped effort to appear content in his fate. “You turned out all right.”

  She chuckled. “High praise.”

  “I hope you have some of those indigestion tablets.”

  “The chili?”

  “It seems we like it spicy.”

  “Like life?”

  “Like life.” He went to the window and stared out at the yard. Dark, puffy clouds lumbered across the sky. The sun hid behind them, taking with it his light mood. “You agree with Andrew and John that I should retire.”

  The thump-thump of the sewing machine treadle began again. He turned. Her head was bent over the material. Her hands guided it along a neat, even hem. Her gaze lifted. The machine stopped. “They asked my opinion.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Gott’s will be done.”

  “We always say that. We mean it. But it doesn’t tell me what you think.”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “I’m asking you for your opinion, Leah.”

  Her gaze went to Caleb, busy building a tower of blocks. He had the hiccups. Every time he hiccupped, he giggled. “I think ornery bulls don’t always know what’s best for them. Working yourself into the ground all these years won’t make you forget. You haven’t forgotten yet.”

  “I enjoy work.”

  “You use it as an excuse to not think. To not feel. That’s why you never remarried. You’re the only one.”

  “Not true. Zechariah is a widower.”

  “His fraa died last year. And Zechariah is seventy-some years old. Not a lot of choices. You have choices.”

  Like Mary Katherine. None of this was his children’s business. “You can’t just replace a fraa like your mudder.”

  “She would want you to be happy.”

  “What do you know about what she would want? You were a little girl when she died.”

  “Exactly. A little girl who needed a mudder.”

  “You had aentis and a groossmammi.”

  “And I was fine. I am fine. Andrew and John want you to be around a while longer. I’m not so concerned with how long you’re around as I am about the quality of that time. To be with someone who cares for you and for whom you care is what makes life on this earth bearable. That and the possibility of eternal life with Gott.”

  Leah was far smarter than her brothers. But he wouldn’t tell them that. Or her. “I’m content. I have my kinner and your kinner. Life is gut.”

  “You may fool others. But not me.”

  “I’m not trying to fool anyone.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Freeman.”

  “Maybe you should hush.”

  “You asked for my opinion.”

  “I lost my head there for a minute.”

  “It’s your heart that is lost, Daed.”

  The sadness in her words curled around his heart. It ached with a loss that was old and refined by time and tears. He had no words that could assuage. He dropped a kiss on her kapp. “I’ll see if William needs any help with the chores.”

  “You know what they say.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You can run, but you can’t hide.” She smiled and cast her gaze on her babies. “None of us can.”

  NINETEEN

  The door didn’t budge. Mary Katherine turned the knob and pushed. Nothing. “Silly woman.” She’d started locking the door after Burke’s foray into her kitchen. She set her bag of groceries on the porch and pulled the key from the flower box where she’d planted the mums she’d purchased at the produce auction the previous week. The door opened. Feeling pleasantly tired after a long day at the store and a quick stop at the grocery store for coffee and a few other staples, she trudged inside. Keeping busy kept her mind off the niggling thoughts in the back of her head. The bookstore. Ezekiel. His wink. Her wink. She wasn’t a teenager.

  Something had possessed her. What, she had no idea.

  “You’re living.”

  Ach, Moses, I’ve been living for almost sixty years.

  “Except for the part where you’ve been pretending to talk to your dead mann.”

  “Bah humbug.” Humming “How Great Thou Art” to drown out his voice, she kicked off her sneakers and padded barefoot into the kitchen. A nice, hot cup of chamomile tea and she would start a vegetable ste
w for supper. Maybe make a pecan pie. What did a woman living alone want with a whole pie? She could take the rest to the store for the customers. Some gingersnaps too. Fill up the rest of her day and evening.

  Halfway across the floor to the prep table, a stabbing pain shot through her right foot. Something sharp gouged her sole. “Ach, ouch.” She hopped on the other foot and managed to set the pots on the table before collapsing in the closest chair.

  She tugged her foot up onto her knee and examined her injury. A jagged piece of glass protruded from the pad just below her big toe. “Ach.” She plucked the offending glass from her foot and stared at it. “Ow. Where did you come from?”

  A quick appraisal of the kitchen floor brought her back to her feet. Glass lay strewn from the midway point all the way to the back door. Someone had shattered the window. The back door stood open.

  Her lungs fought to do their job. Adrenaline kicked in, a heady rush that made her dizzy. What if her intruder was still in the house? She surveyed her kitchen. A cast-iron skillet or a butcher knife? Or a pie? Could she entice them with food the way she had Burke? She had no desire to smack someone with a skillet. Or shed blood. She owned nothing of value. She could run out the back door. Dodging jagged pieces of glass and the less-easy-to-see slivers?

  Likely they were long gone. The house had an empty feel. Like it always did when she came home at the end of the day.

  Breathe. Breathe. She snatched a napkin from a pile on the table and hobbled back to the living room. “Anyone here? Hello, is someone here?” No answer. Somehow it didn’t seem likely a burglar would announce himself. Or herself. “It’s me, Mary Katherine. Help yourself and go about your business. I’ll sit right here by the fireplace until you leave.”

  She grabbed her shoes and plopped into the rocking chair. If she had to make a run for it, she preferred to do so properly shod.

  “Get out of there, Mary Kay.”

  I’m not leaving my own house.

  “Then go get my rifle.”

  They probably ran out while I was in the kitchen.

  “Or they’re hiding in the closet, waiting to jump out when you walk by.”

  You’re no help at all.