Shelter in the Storm

by Laurel Blount

  He might lack some manners these days, but his reputation as a woodworker was well justified. The piece was a thing of beauty, and Naomi leaned down to examine it more closely

  “Oh, Joseph!” She stroked an admiring hand along the golden wood. “Look at the spindles! And the carving up the side. Such fine work, and sturdy enough for a dozen babies to use in their turn. Katie will be so pleased!”

  Joseph didn’t look up. “I hope so. She waited long enough for me to finish it.” He shifted the crib a bit more. “This is a tight fit,” he muttered. “I don’t want to scratch the sides.”

  Naomi tilted her head, considering. “Ja, you’ll have to be careful. The metal lock-catch is sticking out on this side of the doorframe, right where the crib is widest. Here. Let me help.”

  “Nee, Naomi, denki. I can manage.”

  “I don’t mind giving a hand. We need to shift it up and to the left. My left, that is. Grab your end. If we lift it just a bit.” Naomi took a firm grip on her side of the crib and heaved it up an inch. “I think—”

  “Du naett!”

  Joseph’s sharp command hit her like a slap. Naomi dropped the crib, which thumped solidly down on the floor, and she took a quick step backward.

  “Ich binn sorry,” she whispered, then immediately wished she hadn’t. What did she have to apologize for? She’d only been trying to help. He was the one who was being rude.

  There was a tense second or two of silence. Then Joseph spoke without meeting her eyes. “The crib is heavy, and it’s too wide to go through the door without damage. I have some tools in the carriage. I will take it apart here on the porch and put it back together in the boppli’s room.”

  Naomi’s cheeks stung, and she knew they must be red as tomatoes. Her good intentions to be kind and understanding disintegrated into annoyance.

  She nodded shortly. “Fine.”

  She waited until he’d edged the crib fully back onto the porch, then shut the kitchen door with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary. Returning to the table, she poured herself a steaming mug of tea. She plunked down in a chair, chose the best-looking cinnamon roll on the plate, and took an enormous bite.

  Eating, it turned out, wasn’t the smartest idea. The bite of spiced bread grew so big in her mouth that it took two sips of the scalding tea to wash it down. After that, she didn’t eat any more. She just sat, trying her best to ignore the sounds coming from the porch.

  She worried a small piece off the soft roll and mashed it flat on the plate. Joseph Hochstedler was surly and short-tempered, and she’d be glad to see the last of him. In fact, if she never laid eyes on him again, that would suit her just fine.

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  “Kumm,” Naomi called without getting up. He didn’t want her help? Fine. He could manage by himself. That included opening the door.

  Joseph leaned into the kitchen. “Will you show me where Katie wants this?”

  Naomi didn’t stir from her seat. “Up the stairs, second room on the right. She’d like it put against the wall without windows, so there’ll be no draft blowing over the baby.”

  “Denki.” He stepped inside, carrying the delicately carved head- and footboards. He nodded at her, then headed through the open doorway to the staircase.

  He had to make three trips. She could certainly have helped him carry the pieces, but she stayed right where she was, drinking her tea and paying absolutely no attention to him.

  Or pretending not to.

  Fifteen minutes after he’d carried his last load upstairs, he reappeared in the kitchen.

  “It’s done,” he said. “I saw the crib mattress leaning against the wall, so I went ahead and put that in, too.”

  “Gut.” The short word sounded so harsh that her conscience pricked her. His rudeness was no excuse for hers. “It really is a wunderbaar crib, Joseph. I’m sure Katie and Aaron will be very pleased.”

  Now leave, she added silently.

  Instead he hesitated, shifting his weight from one scuffed work boot to the other. “Naomi, I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.” The sharp words slipped out before she could stop them. “I was only trying to help, and you nearly bit my head off.”

  “I know. I was irritated with myself for not realizing the crib would be too wide to fit through the door. I should have taken it apart back at the shop, but I’ve been so scatterbrained lately, I—” He broke off. “When you tried to lift it, I thought you would hurt yourself. That scared me, but I should never have spoken to you like I did. Please forgive me.”

  A warm ripple of understanding tickled its way through Naomi’s bruised heart. Of course Joseph would’ve been concerned to see her trying to pick up something so heavy. He’d no idea how her circumstances had changed.

  “Never mind. You are forgiven. It’s a raw day outside. Would you like some tea before you go?”

  He glanced at the door, then back at her. “That would be nice.”

  “Sit, then.” She poured the second mug full and set it in front of him. She collected a clean plate from the dish drainer, plopped a cinnamon roll on it, and slid that in his direction, too.

  He thanked her politely, before lifting the roll and taking a bite. “Katie’s cooking is as good as ever,” he said when he could speak again.

  The thread of warmth expanded. “It is, ja, but I made those.”

  “You did?”

  She laughed at his surprise and picked her own roll up for a bite. It was much easier to chew now that they were back in harmony with each other. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. You always could do more than folks thought you could.”

  “And you always were one of the few who believed that. But now”—she took a deep breath—“it’s true. I really can do whatever other people can do—or at least, I’m learning to. To tell you the truth, this was the first batch of my cinnamon rolls that didn’t get fed to the pig, but I finally got them right.” Her smile widened at his uncomprehending expression. “I had an operation a few years ago, Joseph. That’s why I was able to come here by myself to help Katie, and that’s why I tried to help you pick up the crib. I can do those things now.”

  He studied her, the half-eaten treat forgotten in his hand. “It fixed your heart, this operation? You’re all better?”

  “So the doctor says.”

  His eyes moved over her face. “Ja, I can see it now. Your color is much brighter. Your cheeks are red, even.”

  “Well, right now that’s mostly because you made me mad. But I’m not as pale as I used to be, for sure.”

  He smiled then, really smiled, for the first time since he’d knocked on the door. “I’m glad for you, Naomi.”

  She smiled back. “I’m glad for you, too! So much good has happened for your folks. Your carpentry hobby is turning into a business, ain’t so? Katie says that she could barely get on your worklist at all, it’s so long these days. And Caleb has made such a gut marriage. I was sorry I wasn’t here in time to go to the wedding. Everybody’s talking about it. The most mischievous boy in the community marrying the bishop’s only daughter! They say it is proof that Gott has a sense of humor, but they also say it is a wunderbaar match and that the two of them are very sweet together. Then there is your parents’ new store. I have been in it twice already, and both times it was so busy! Your family has been very blessed. I know you are thankful.”

  “Ja. Of course.” Joseph’s smile faded. He set the last bite of cinnamon roll on his plate and picked up the mug of tea.

  His words were all right, but there was something in his voice . . . Naomi frowned. Maybe Joseph hadn’t been so quick to notice the new spring in her step or the pink in her cheeks, but he wasn’t the only person not paying close attention. Until this second, she hadn’t noticed those new, tight lines around his mouth or the purp
lish shadows under his eyes.

  Something was wrong. She couldn’t imagine what it could be. She’d heard nothing but good news about the Hochstedlers. Whatever Joseph’s problem was, it must be something private.

  He toyed with the scrap of cinnamon roll he’d left on his plate. “I guess you heard that Daed’s leasing our pastures to Aaron next year. We’ve no use for them, now that the herd’s sold.”

  Was that what was troubling Joseph? The fact that his father had shut down the family dairy? That change must have come hard. Folks in Johns Mill joked that Hochstedler men were born with milk instead of blood running through their veins, and even as a youngie, Joseph had been more traditional than most.

  Naomi nodded. “Ja, Aaron mentioned that. He’s thankful for it. There’s such good soil there. He’d rather have bought them outright, but—”

  “They’re not for sale,” Joseph interrupted.

  “That’s what your father said.” Actually, what Elijah Hochstedler had said was, They are not for sale this year. Maybe next, once we are sure that the store is going to work out.

  She decided not to mention that part. “At least now you’ll have more time for your woodworking. That’s a good thing, ain’t so?”

  “I am a dairyman. Woodworking is just a hobby.”

  “Hobbies can become businesses. You could sell some of your pieces in your father’s store, maybe. The Englisch tourists would go crazy for them, I bet.”

  “Maybe.”

  Naomi poured another measure of tea into his near-empty mug. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic about that idea.”

  “I am not sure that catering to the Englisch is how I want to make my living.”

  Naomi laughed. “Why not? Their money spends just as well as anybody else’s, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve made pieces for our Englisch neighbors when they ask, and we’ve done carpentry jobs for local folks sometimes. But luring people into the community by making a spectacle of ourselves seems wrong to me, especially when we only want to part them from their cash.”

  “That’s just business, though. Your family sold milk to Englischers for years. Besides, I don’t think we’re only a spectacle to them. I spent a lot of time among the Englisch when I was in and out of the hospital, and most are nice enough. They’re just curious, and that’s understandable. We’re so different from what they’re used to.”

  “We’re supposed to be different. We’re called to be separate, not that you’d know it around here lately.”

  Naomi frowned. “Are we still talking about your father’s store?”

  “Not just that. I saw Donald Stoltzfus taking money for buggy rides last Saturday. He had so many customers that his horse was in a lather, and he had to stop at his house to switch animals. His mamm sold the Englischers cookies and lemonade and let them wait in her kitchen while he swapped horses. That does not seem so separate.”

  “It sounds like simple neighborliness to me.”

  “We should be kind, surely, but a line is getting blurred in Johns Mill. I’m thinking of relocating to a more conservative district.”

  Naomi’s heart gave a quick, hard pang. “Oh? Whereabouts?”

  “Up in Ohio, where my father’s brother lives. I’m going there soon to help Melvin with his dairy and see how I like it. If it works out, I might stay on. Find myself a wife, get settled in. I’d rather raise my family in a place that’s sticking closer to the old ways of doing things.”

  “Oh.” Naomi swallowed hard. “That seems like a big decision, moving so far.” Especially for Joseph, who’d always loved his home more than most. She’d never see him again, likely. She had no close kin in Ohio, nobody to visit there. The thought made her sad. “Aaron says Isaac is a pretty strict bishop. I don’t think he’ll let the community get far from the straight and narrow, do you? He’s Caleb’s father-in-law now, so he’s family to you. Maybe you should talk to him about this. He might set your mind at ease about what’s happening at Johns Mill.”

  “Isaac sees the money that’s to be made with tourism, and he knows that we can’t make our livings by farming alone anymore, not around here. Almost all of Daed’s family has already moved on, so I’ll not be the first.” He scraped his chair back and stood, settling his hat on his head. Naomi rose, too.

  “Denki-shay, Naomi, for the food and the tea. I went without my breakfast this morning, and it hit the spot.”

  “Du bisht welcome.”

  “I’m sorry again for snapping at you like I did.”

  She waved a hand. “That is forgotten.”

  “I’ll be thanking Gott in my prayers for your good health.” A smile tilted up the corners of his lips but only barely touched his eyes. “A blessing, for sure. I’m happy for you.”

  Naomi started to thank him, but a noise distracted her. She tilted her head, listening. “Katie’s back. I didn’t expect her until after lunch, but I’m glad she came before you left. She’s been so excited about the crib. I know she’ll want to thank you in person.”

  Joseph glanced out the window, and his expression shifted. “That’s not Katie. It’s Rhoda.”

  Naomi tiptoed to peer outside. Sure enough, Caleb’s Rhoda was barreling up the drive in a pony cart. Two things registered in Naomi’s mind at the same time.

  The first was that Rhoda was driving far too fast. The cart was bouncing so hard that she flew off the seat with every jolt of the wheels.

  The second was that Joseph looked at his brother’s wife with such soft, intense concern that Naomi’s stomach twisted into a throbbing knot.

  She suddenly had a pretty good idea what was really behind Joseph’s decision to leave his beloved farm.

  “Something’s wrong. Emma’s not with her.” Joseph was outside and down the porch steps in a flash. Naomi hurried behind him.

  The sullen gray sky was spitting rain. Icy drops chilled the back of her neck as she watched Rhoda yank the horse to a wheeling stop.

  “Joseph!” The other woman leapt out of the cart so quickly that she nearly fell. Joseph reached forward to catch her arm.

  “Vass hot gevva?” he asked.

  “We need to go to town!” Rhoda was as wild-eyed as the heaving horse. Her breath came in gasps, and her face was white as milk. “A policeman came and took Emma away. I came as fast as I could to get you.” She tugged at Joseph’s sleeve. “We have to go now!”

  Naomi blinked. She’d never seen the bishop’s sedate, sensible daughter flustered, not once. Now the other woman seemed nearly witless, almost past talking sense.

  This was bad, whatever it was, to have upset Rhoda so much. Naomi cut a worried glance at Joseph.

  “What is wrong, Rhoda? Is somebody hurt?” Joseph’s voice was calm, but his face had gone pale. “Is it Caleb? Did something happen at his work?”

  “Nee!” Her face crumpled. “It’s your mamm and daed, Joseph. He shot them, that Englisch boy, this morning at the store. Miriam’s been taken to the hospital. I don’t know if he shot her, too. The policeman didn’t say, or if he did, I don’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” Rhoda balled up a fist and scrubbed feebly at her forehead.

  Naomi, who’d been frozen with shock, suddenly came to her senses. Rhoda’s voice had a hysterical shrillness to it, and she looked as if she was on the verge of collapsing right there in Katie’s yard.

  Naomi went to the other woman’s side and put a steadying arm around her waist. “Come in the house, Rhoda, and sit down. You need to catch your breath.”

  “Nee.” Rhoda shook her head. “There is no time! We have to go, Joseph. We have to be with Emma. And we must find Caleb, too. He doesn’t know. We’ll have to tell him.” Her voice shook. “But how? How can I tell him such a thing?”

  Joseph’s lips had gone white. “Mamm and Daed, Rhoda. What did the policeman say about them? Are they bad hurt?”

  “Ja.” Rh
oda began to cry in earnest, helpless, wracking sobs that made the whole of her slight body shake against Naomi’s side. “Bad hurt. They’re dead, Joseph. He’s killed them both.”

  Chapter Three

  Gentle hands reached out to pat his shoulders and back as Joseph threaded slowly through the crowd filling his parents’ home. He kept his head down and avoided eye contact, edging his way toward the front door.

  Emma had slipped upstairs to take her turn sitting with Miriam in her darkened bedroom, and Rhoda seemed to have her grief-crazed husband safely corralled, at least for the moment. Joseph’s head ached, and he felt bone-weary. None of them had slept much these past few days, and though people were talking quietly, the noise level in the house was unbearable. He needed to get outside where he could breathe and try to gather his wits.

  Of course, there was no way he’d be left alone for long. This afternoon the Hochstedler siblings had buried both of their parents, and their community had stood beside them, shoulder to shoulder, as was their habit in times of tragedy. Over seven hundred people had come to the funeral, he’d heard, and it felt like nearly that many were jam-packed into the house.

  They meant well, but for the last few hours, Joseph had felt as if he was suffocating.

  He walked onto the front porch, and the twenty or so men congregated there turned to look at him. Samuel Christner had been leaning against the porch rail, but the bulky man moved to stand between Joseph and the steps.

  “Better you keep to the house, Joseph.”

  “I’ll go back inside in a minute. I need some air, Sam, and a minute of peace.”

  “No peace to be had out here,” Samuel said quietly. “Not right now, anyhow.”

  Joseph looked over his friend’s wide shoulder. Carriages and buggies were parked neatly over the large expanse of lawn, but the two-lane country road running in front of the farm was lined with vans, most emblazed with letters and logos. At least a dozen men with cameras were striding up and down the road, filming the house and the scene. One woman with a waterfall of curly blond hair and a short skirt stood facing a cameraman, talking and gesturing to the Hochstedler farm behind her.