Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  “I did. I was baptized in the church. I believe in the New Testament.” Nathan slapped at mosquitoes that chose that moment to dive-bomb him. The latest version of the plagues. “I can marry in the Lord.”

  Freeman dropped the papers on the table. “You were not baptized in this church so you cannot marry in ours.”

  “One thing at a time.”

  “You deny your desire to join our faith springs from your interest in Jennie Troyer?”

  Darren had been talking about more than his farmhand’s penchant for mishaps with the equipment. Nathan had nothing to hide. “It’s one aspect of several. I want to belong.” A mosquito bit him. He smacked it and drew blood. “I want to find a way to be closer to my God.”

  “You cannot do that without first resolving your problems with your family.”

  Freeman was wrong. Nathan could find his way without them. “They have no bearing on my feelings for God.”

  “You resent Him for taking them from you for His work.”

  “Not true.” He stopped. Being combative with Freeman would not serve his purpose. Only the truth would. “I resent them for not finding a way to do both. I don’t resent a perfect and holy God. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

  Which made it hard to argue a point with Him. Which didn’t keep Nathan from trying.

  Freeman removed his glasses and wiped them on his faded blue cotton shirt. “Why didn’t they take you with them when they first decided to go on mission trips? Kinner go.”

  Something else Nathan didn’t want to think about, let alone share. “I was sickly.”

  “Lots of kinner are.”

  “I had leukemia. They wanted me to have the best of care.” The basketballs had been cruel. His aunt and uncle didn’t see that. A theme for a sport he didn’t have the strength to play. “They wanted me to stay in the states because of the doctors. They didn’t want me exposed to germs when I was at risk for infection. They had good reasons.”

  “It’s hard to imagine a mother leaving a sick child.”

  “You don’t know my mother. She loves her children, but she loves God more. She wrote letters. She came for visits, when she could. When I was in the hospital having my tonsils out, she stayed for a month. But when the call came, she went. As she should. Scripture is clear. Jesus told the disciples to leave their families behind.”

  “Yet you sound bitter.”

  “I’m an imperfect man.” Who had no business telling others about faith. Surely God could see that. “I figure sooner or later I’ll grow up.”

  “I need to get to Jennie’s.” Freeman plopped the glasses on his long nose, stood, and stretched. “Come back next week and be ready to talk about the Holy Supper and the washing of feet.”

  Feeling as if he’d passed some sort of test, Nathan stood. “I appreciate your time. Don’t worry about me doing something stupid. I know my place—for now.”

  “Worry is a sin. I’m doing my job. I drew the lot, but I don’t know any more than the next man. It’s all in Gott’s hands.” Freeman waggled his finger at Nathan. “And don’t be in a hurry to change your life. You might find yourself in these discussions. You might find out who you really are.”

  “I know who I am.”

  “We shall see.”

  They would indeed. Nathan slapped his hat on his head and tromped down the steps. A dusty blue van plodded toward them. “Expecting company?”

  “Nee, but that doesn’t mean much when you’re the bishop.”

  The van stopped, gears grinding.

  The passenger door opened. A tall, lean man with auburn hair stepped out looking eerily similar to the one Nathan saw every morning in the mirror when he shaved.

  “Nate! I tracked you down. Finally.”

  Only family called him Nate.

  His brother grinned at him. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” His grin broadened. “Are you wearing suspenders?”

  Ignoring Freeman’s inquiring gaze, Nathan strode into his brother’s hug. “Shut up.”

  NINETEEN

  Putting a new roof on a barn required more elbow grease than carpentry skills. Leo stretched and craned his neck from side to side, careful to balance on the beam ten feet off the ground. He surveyed the scene. Rain-cooled air was a thing of the past. Heavy clouds hung close, but the sun broke through crevices, creating a stifling humidity. At least the storms had not returned. About thirty men wearing tool belts swarmed Jennie’s barn. At this rate, the new roof would be in place in a few hours.

  The frame was set, planks in place, and the pop-pop of dozens of hammers on nails against the tin sheets sang a syncopated song. Aidan and Timothy shimmed up the ladder with more tin sheets. Below, the women appeared in a steady stream, setting up the noon meal on picnic tables brought in from other homes.

  Jennie stood near the barn, away from the others, talking to her oldest, Matthew. He gestured, his mouth wide, his shoulders stiff and set with anger. She took a step back, one hand on Francis’s shoulder as if holding the little boy there. Probably trying to keep him out from underfoot. Matthew, who towered over her, took a step forward, both hands in the air now.

  Leo waited until his brothers passed, then scooted along the beam until he could haul himself onto the ladder and climb down. He only had to take a few steps to hear their raised voices. That meant others heard as well. The look on Freeman’s face didn’t bode well. Nor that of her brother-in-law Darren.

  “Nothing happened.” Matthew’s voice held distain one didn’t usually hear when a Plain boy spoke to his parent. “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about it.”

  “You’re too young to be sneaking out at night.” Jennie let go of Francis, but instead of escaping, he burrowed into her skirt. “Your rumspringa doesn’t begin for another two years.”

  “Why are we talking about this now?” Matthew jabbed his finger toward the barn. “I should be up there working.”

  “Because you’ll sneak away again and I won’t get a chance.” Her voice rose. “Where are you going so late at night? What are you doing?”

  Leo edged closer. “We could use some help getting the sheets of tin onto the frame.” He jerked his head toward the barn. “Younger bodies, stronger muscles.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “Can I go?”

  “Now you ask?” Her forehead wrinkled. She frowned, her face red in the heat. “Make yourself useful, but this conversation is not over.”

  Matthew took off like a dog after a rabbit.

  “Sorry.” Jennie dabbed at her damp face with her apron. “I shouldn’t have confronted him here for the whole world to see and hear.”

  “Not the whole world.” He studied the spot of mustard on her dress and waited for Cyrus to trudge by with his load of tin. “He’s leaving the house at night?”

  “I don’t sleep through the night much so I get up and wander around—check on the kinner now and again.” Her face went a deeper scarlet. Her hand went to her mouth. “I mean—”

  “I don’t sleep much either.” Leo shrugged. She need not be embarrassed on his account. She hadn’t revealed something about women he didn’t know. They slept too, in beds in bedrooms. “Bad dreams.”

  Dreams of the dead and dying.

  She nodded. “I found his bed empty.”

  “The older kinner, the ones on their rumspringa, they go to the tavern in town to play pool and watch TV some nights.” Somehow Matthew had gotten it in his head that he could start his running around early. A rare problem in these parts. “One of them probably gave him a ride.”

  If Leo figured out which one, he’d give him a talking to.

  “I’m not ready for rumspringa yet. I thought I still had time.” She smoothed Francis’s curly hair and glanced around as if to see who might be watching them talk. “He’s not old enough to go into a tavern.”

  “It’s a tavern and grill.” The tourists frequented it because it was one of the few places open after dark in Jamesport. They surely got a kick out of seeing the girls
wearing their dresses and aprons—but no kapps—in there. He’d gone in once for a late burger and found himself embarrassed when he ran into kappless girls he’d known since they were toddlers. “If he buys a BLT, they don’t care.”

  “Where does he get money to buy a sandwich?” She took a whack at a mosquito that buzzed away unhurt. “Why would he start doing this now? He’s so restless.”

  Because he had no father to keep him in line and he knew it. His size kept Jennie from taking him to the woodshed. Leo had experienced the same feelings of free falling, no one to catch him. Aidan and the others in his extended family had tried. “He’s spreading his wings.” Leo studied the boy, now halfway up a ladder, dragging a tin sheet behind him. Barely contained anger boiled below the surface. What Matthew had to be angry about, Leo couldn’t fathom. His mother was a sweet, kind, hard-working woman. “I could give him work to do and keep him busy.”

  “Why don’t you go play with the other little ones.” Jennie gave Francis a nudge. He grinned up at Leo and didn’t budge. “You don’t have time.”

  “I know what time I have.” He tickled the boy’s cheek. Francis giggled and hid his face. “I could use a helper, if it doesn’t cause Darren or Peter a problem.”

  “They have their boys, plus Micah and Mark.” She hesitated. “But I need him on the farm. I don’t like to always ask for their help.”

  “He can do both.” Work him hard and long. “Between the two of us, we’ll wear him out.”

  “Gut plan.” She studied the ground for a second, her fair skin turned a deeper red. “You talk to him. If he knows it was your idea, he’s more likely to be accepting. He suddenly doesn’t do as he’s told. I’ve never had that problem with the others.”

  “Something’s chewing him up inside.”

  “He’s growing up too fast.”

  A bang followed by jeers and cheers made them both jump and swivel toward the barn. Someone, Isaac maybe, had dropped a sheet from atop the frame to the ground. Everyone stopped to rib him. Jennie laughed. Leo joined her. He nodded at Francis. “And this one. Is he growing up too fast too? Does he need a job?”

  She smiled for the first time and shook her head. “The opposite. My bopli refuses to turn into a little boy. He won’t even talk.”

  Aidan walked by. He grinned at Leo and winked. Leo glared at him. “A boy after my own heart.”

  “You don’t like talking much, do you?”

  He put his hand to his forehead and peered at the sky. “Doesn’t accomplish much.”

  “It lets people know what’s on your mind.”

  Did she want to know what was on his mind? He’d come close to saying something in the basement, during the tornado. The thought of her endangered by the storm had propelled him through wind, rain, thunder, and lightning to her house. The moment had come to say something, to declare his feelings, but the storm had ended first. And he had been relieved. To say the words aloud was to give them power to hurt. Him and her. Sharing his heart with another meant accepting life’s fleeting nature.

  Could he do that?

  Jennie had improved with age, and she was a sweet, pretty girl in school. Getting too close to her made his hands shake and his heart do a strange two-step that made it hard to breathe. Getting closer might make it stop all together.

  “I better get cracking. You’ll have your new roof in a couple of hours.”

  “I should get back to the kitchen.” She glanced at the picnic tables. “The food is ready. Wouldn’t you like a sandwich?”

  A sandwich would stick in this throat. He shook his head. “The others first.”

  “I’ll save you one.” She inched a step toward him. He caught her scent. She smelled like cinnamon, like cookie. Like a woman should smell. Sweet, yet spicy. “Ham or bologna?”

  “Ham.”

  “Peanut butter or oatmeal-raisin cookies.” The way she said it felt as if she were making a list she’d pore over later and memorize. He studied her face. She had a tan now. Her cheeks were red. She smiled. Everything about her said she could be trusted. “Or snickerdoodles.”

  He swallowed and forced a breath. “One of each?”

  “You’re as bad as Francis. One of each then.”

  Feeling warmer than the summer heat warranted, he started toward the barn.

  “Doo-doo.”

  What? The voice was high and small, too small for Jennie. He looked back. “Did you call me doo-doo?” Francis gave him a sly grin and held out a grubby fist. He smiled at the boy. “Are you giving me something?”

  Francis’s head bobbed. Leo held out his hand, palm up. Francis deposited the wooden pig on it. The one Leo had carved for him. “Nee, I made that for you.”

  Francis shook his head.

  “Your pig will miss you.”

  Francis giggled. “You.”

  The boy didn’t talk much, but he made himself understood. “Okay, my turn for now.”

  Francis nodded. Leo smiled and turned.

  “Leo, wait.”

  Once again, he looked back. Jennie ducked her head. “He talked to you. He never talks to anyone except his bruders and schweschders. Not even me.”

  Leo shrugged. “He sees someone like him, I reckon.”

  “Someone he can trust.”

  “I reckon.”

  “Do you remember that buggy ride, the only one you and I ever took?”

  It had been quiet and awkward. The silence dragged on and on. He searched his mind from one corner to the other and couldn’t come up with a single topic of conversation. She looked so pained. Like she had a toothache. “I do.”

  “Why didn’t we take another ride?”

  At first, he hadn’t asked again because he’d been afraid she would turn him down. The first ride had seemed so short and miserable. Then his life turned into a dark void. The light went out. Voices ceased to speak. Nothing seemed to matter much. “Daed died.”

  “I was so sorry. I wanted to tell you that, but I never had the chance.” She eased closer. Her hand came up, then dropped to her side. “I always thought eventually you would come back, but you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  He couldn’t break away from her gaze. Her eyes were dark with emotions he recognized. Loneliness. Sadness. Longing. Did she think he could assuage her feelings? He couldn’t even find his way through the morass of his own feelings. Her arms tightened around Francis. He thought she would say more, but she didn’t.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Her middle brothers, Silas and Luke, trudged by, their looks curious. All her brothers were spitting images of her dad. Blond hair, blue eyes, thick through the chest. Jennie looked like her mother. This wasn’t the place. Jennie ducked her head. Her cheeks turned scarlet.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “Me too.” She turned to the closest picnic table. Francis took off at a run and threw himself at Leo’s legs.

  He nearly tumbled back but caught himself in time. “You are a stinker.” He grabbed the boy up in his arms and whirled him around in a circle, his little body flying, two times, then set him back on the ground, careful to make sure his feet connected with earth. “See how you walk now.”

  Francis chortled, took two wavering steps, and plopped down on his behind, crowing with laughter. “Again.”

  The boy could talk if he chose to do so. “Later.”

  “Later.”

  Leo had found a kindred spirit and he was four years old.

  What did that say about Leo?

  TWENTY

  Nathan gritted his teeth, leaned back in his chair, and waited while the waitress in her pink flowered dress set two tall plastic glasses of iced tea on the Formica-topped table. Here he sat with Blake at the Kramer Family Restaurant, instead of putting a roof on Jennie’s barn. He wanted to show that he cared and wanted to help. Leo was probably there right now taking care of business. Showing off his big biceps while he single-handedly replaced her roof.

/>   The aroma of chicken frying and brownies baking mingled in the warm air, making his mouth water despite his desire to be somewhere else. A desire to not be sitting across from a brother he hadn’t seen in three years, who’d shown up without warning and who had made small talk on the ride over instead of answering questions about what he was doing in Jamesport.

  “Are you going to look at the menu or what?”

  Startled from his peevish reverie, Nathan glared at Blake and took the menu from the waitress. “Give us a minute, would you, please?”

  She smiled and backed away. Avoiding his brother’s gaze, he sipped his tea. It was fresh brewed and tangy from a juicy slice of lemon. Still, it did little to quench his dry throat. His brother looked so at ease, so happy to see him, so oblivious to the emotions that his sudden appearance evoked.

  Not even Blake, with all his happy-go-lucky nonchalance, could be that dense. Nathan dove in. “What are you doing here?”

  “The waitress is cute as all get-out.”

  “She’s not Mennonite.” The simple truth was that they made more in tips from tourists if they dressed the part. “She goes to the Methodist church down the road.”

  Disappointment suffused Blake’s face. Except for a few sun lines around his eyes and the sprinkle of silver in his auburn hair, he hadn’t aged much. He was a year older than Nathan, but looked younger. He had Nathan’s wide smile, blue eyes, and perfectly aligned nose. As kids they’d been mistaken for twins. “She’s not the only one who isn’t what he appears to be.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You haven’t tried to be a part of our family in a long time.”

  “That’s difficult to do when you’re halfway across the country.” He softened his tone. He had no desire to argue with a brother he hardly knew. Blake had gone with his parents on the mission trips because he had a knack with people. He had a photographic memory and could spout Scripture, book and verse, at the drop of a hat. People loved that in a young, barefoot boy with a gap-toothed grin and freckles. “Or halfway across the world as the case may be.”