by Ruth Reid
Stephen darted into the kitchen with his shirt untucked and wearing only one sock. “Can you do this?” He held up his other sock.
“Let me help you,” Faith said.
Stephen climbed up on the kitchen chair beside Faith and placed his foot on her lap. “Can I have a kichlin? Can I, Mamm, please?”
“One.” She pushed off the chair, removed a peanut butter cookie from the bakery box, then handed it to him. Jonica didn’t usually allow him to eat sweets before supper, but given that she hadn’t started to prepare the meal, she would make an exception. She didn’t even stop him when he took off running into the other room.
Jonica closed up the box. “It might be cancer,” she said, not finding the strength to turn around.
“I’m sorry, Jonica. I’m so sorry.” Faith came up beside her and wrapped her in a hug. “We serve a mighty God, and Stephen is in His hands.”
Although Jonica struggled to believe God wanted to help someone like her, the words were comforting. “The information I read said some blood disorders are caused from some sort of a genetic mutation.” The matter-of-fact tone rang eerie to her own ears.
“What does that mean?”
“I might have been the one who passed a bad gene to mei sohn.” She plucked a tissue from the box on the counter and blotted her eyes. “It’s mei fault.”
“Nay.” Faith shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself.”
A knock sounded at the front door, forcing Jonica to pull herself together. She dabbed the wadded tissue against her eyes once more, then rounded the corner as Stephen was opening the door.
“Caleb!” Stephen squealed. “Are you here to take me fishing?”
Caleb knelt on one knee. “I haven’t forgotten about mei promise, but nau that it’s snowing, we have to wait for the pond to freeze over.”
“Do you want a kichlin?” Stephen showed off his half-eaten treat. “It’s peanut butter.”
Caleb’s gaze lifted to hers and he stood. “Maybe later, Stephen. I need to talk with your mamm.”
* * *
Caleb’s initial relief at finding Jonica and Stephen home morphed into renewed concern once he noticed Jonica’s puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Had she received bad news from the doktah? He closed the distance between them. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
The wadded-up tissue she was holding told him otherwise. He turned to Stephen. “Will you get me one of those cookies?” Once Stephen tore off to the kitchen, he redirected his focus on Jonica. “I went into town to find you.”
“You did?”
“Jah, I was worried.” Still am.
“Jonica, did you give Stephen permission—?” Faith rounded the corner and took in a sharp gasp when she spotted them together. Her brows arched as she looked at him, then Jonica, then back to him.
Caleb took a step back, his mind searching for something to say. Darleen and Faith hadn’t been close friends, not that it should matter since Darleen was the one who ended their courtship, but he was quite certain by Faith’s expression that he’d somehow overstepped his bounds with Jonica. Perhaps his wanting to comfort her was written on his face.
Stephen returned and thrust the cookie at him. “You like peanut butter?”
“I certainly do. Danki.” Caleb accepted the cookie, grateful he had a reason not to have to talk. He took a bite.
“You like it?” Stephen asked.
Caleb shielded his mouth with his hand to hide the food he was chewing. “It’s the best.”
Faith moved toward the door. “It’s getting late and I need to get supper on the stove.”
Jonica followed. “Danki again for the ride home.”
Faith smiled. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Drive safe.” Jonica closed the door, but she took a few seconds to turn around.
Was she praying? Crying? Caleb’s throat dried and he had to swallow hard to push the cookie down.
When she did finally face him, her eyes were dry and she appeared composed. She rubbed her arms. “Burr. It’s getting colder out.”
“That was nice of Faith to bring you home.”
“Jah, we would probably still be walking had she not—”
“Did you get bad news from the doktah while you were in town?” He eased closer.
She sidestepped him, moving farther away.
“Something’s wrong. You’ve been crying. Unless you were peeling onions.”
“I haven’t heard anything more. I was planning to go to the doktah’s office while we were in town, but the weather turned bad. I didn’t make it there to inquire.”
“I went by the office to look for you, but the sign on the door said they were closed. Apparently, they’re only open until noon on Saturdays.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You don’t have to walk the next time. I’ll be happy to take you into town for doktah’s appointments, groceries, for anything.”
Her lips formed a thin line in an unreadable expression. “Who was working your field?”
Jonica was good at changing the subject. “I cleared some rocks earlier in the back field.”
“That wasn’t you in the wheat field?”
“Nay, the seed wouldn’t survive if I planted it nau.”
Her brows crinkled. “It was your horse.”
Nay, Anchor was . . . tied to the fence. He’d been in such a hurry to find out if Jonica and Stephen made it home that he hadn’t even checked on Anchor. “You saw mei horse in the front field?”
“Jah. You need to check on your plow horse and make sure everything is okay.” Jonica practically shooed him out of the house.
“Danki for the kichlin.” Caleb snapped off a bite on his way out the door. As he trekked across the snow-covered yard, he replayed the conversation he’d had earlier with Mr. Jordan when he’d offered to put Anchor in the barn.
Caleb increased his pace. Entering the barn, he rushed to the stall. Wearing his winter blanket, Anchor had been bedded down for the night, his water trough full, and plenty of hay in the feeder. Out of curiosity, he checked the area of the barn where he stored his seed. The bags were gone.
Chapter 14
Jonica placed the last supper plate on the drying rack. She untied her apron and hung it on its designated hook. The ache in the soles of her feet crept up her calves. It had been a long day.
She walked into the sitting room to find Stephen curled up on the couch asleep and Aenti snoring in the rocking chair. “Aenti Edna, it’s time for bed.” Jonica touched her aunt’s shoulder to wake her up.
Aenti put her knitting in the basket next to her chair and stood. “Tell your onkel to hurry to bed.” The older woman left the room while Jonica stared. Uncle Bob had been dead ten years. Maybe Aenti was dreaming.
Maybe—it was something more.
Jonica drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. As soon as she got the results of Stephen’s tests, she’d insist Aenti go for a physical. Maybe a doctor would be able to prescribe something to help her memory or suggest dietary changes that would improve her brain.
She picked up Stephen, carried him upstairs to his bedroom, and gently laid him on the bed.
The boy stirred and rubbed his eyes. “I like Caleb,” he murmured, half awake as she helped him into his pajamas. “He’s going to take me fishing.”
“Jah, I know what he said.” She wished Caleb hadn’t made a promise he couldn’t keep. Spring was a long time away to keep a boy waiting, and Stephen wasn’t about to forget. For some reason Caleb had made a big impression on her son. Jonica couldn’t help but wonder how much different their life would have been if Peter had wanted to stay Amish—wanted them.
Stephen crawled under the covers. “Do you like Caleb?”
“Close your eyes and geh to sleep.”
“But do you?”
“Jah, of course I do.” Maybe more than she should. Maybe more than she had any right to. She liked the concern Caleb had shown when he’d realized she’d b
een crying. And how he’d searched town for them. But mostly, she liked his kindhearted nature toward her son.
Stephen’s eyes closed. Seconds later, he was asleep again. Jonica pushed his hair from his forehead. He looked so much like his father.
Her thoughts drifted to the day she’d shared the news about the pregnancy with Peter. He’d been mucking out the horse stall when she slipped into the Schulmann barn. The pungent aroma of manure had never bothered her before, but the moment she entered the stall, her stomach roiled.
Peter jumped when he finally noticed her. He removed his earbuds, boisterous music continuing to play. “What brings you here?”
“I, ah . . .” A wave of queasiness washed over her. Her mouth watered as remnants of undigested breakfast filled her throat. She fled the stall, making it to the compost pile outside the building before she emptied her stomach. Bacon grease coated the back of her throat and no amount of swallowing would rid her of the vile taste.
Peter leaned against the stall post and crossed his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”
“The scent of manure got to me.” She swiped her mouth with her sleeve. Lately, nothing agreed with her stomach.
Peter chuckled. “Never knew you had such a weak stomach.” He pushed off the post and resumed shoveling.
“Jah, lately, certain aromas and food bother me because . . . I’m pregnant.”
It took him a long moment before he turned to face her. “You’re what?”
“I’m—we’re—going to have a boppli.”
His Adam’s apple dropped to the base of his neck and he cringed.
Jonica nodded. “I took one of those tests you buy at the drugstore.”
He shook his head.
“The test was positive, Peter.”
Silence.
She cleared her throat. “I thought—”
“That I would marry you? We.” He gestured with his hand to her, then to himself. “You and I agreed. That nacht was a mistake.”
“I know.”
Peter removed his hat and ran his hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. “What are you going to do?”
Jonica shrugged. Hopes of him doing the right thing evaporated like morning dew.
“I’m leaving Posen,” he said. “I don’t want to join the church—I don’t want to be Amish.” Frustration hardened his tone. “I was honest with you, Jonica. I told you about leaving before—”
“I know.” She shifted her attention to the straw-matted floor. Lord, what am I going to do?
Five years seemed an eternity ago. She peered down at Stephen and smiled. Motherhood was worth every moment.
Jonica tiptoed out of Stephen’s room. She went downstairs and added a few more logs to the fire, then adjusted the damper on the woodstove so the slabs of oak would burn slowly throughout the night. Taking the lantern with her, she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, exhaustion causing each step to feel like a weight was attached to her ankles.
The lantern dimly lit her bedroom. Jonica undressed and slipped into bed. The cold sheets chilled her. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. She’d forgotten to pray. Maybe God would forgive her for praying in bed tonight.
No, God had been too good to her. She flipped back the covers and knelt next to her bed.
“Lord, thank You for this day. Thank You for watching over me and Stephen. Please keep Aenti Edna under Your protective wing. Don’t let Mr. Jordan take advantage of her kindness.” Caleb’s kind blue eyes came to mind. “I also thank You for Caleb and ask that You bless him.”
Jonica climbed into bed, then extinguished the lantern flame. Though she tried to fall asleep, images of Caleb kept her awake. He seemed grounded in his faith—nothing like his brother. Should she tell him that Stephen was his bruderskind?
After several minutes of tossing and turning, she sat up and relit the lamp. Then she removed a tablet of paper from the drawer of the bedside stand and started a letter to Ephraim.
Ephraim,
How are you? The weather turned bad today. We got more snow than I’ve ever seen for this time of year. Did it snow in Cedar Ridge too?
We had a bit of a rough time. My return trip will be delayed. First, Stephen cut his hand on a knife and needed stitches. The bleeding was profuse—even with holding pressure on the wound. I didn’t think it would stop. He had blood work done, and I need to wait for the results. The doktah will discuss treatment, if any, after he reviews the labs. Stephen will also need his stitches removed in a few days. I still haven’t taken care of the paperwork for my Aenti Edna to sell the farm. I’m not even sure how to geh about it yet. Because of all these things, I cannot say when I might return. I hope this delay does not cause you much difficulty.
Please tell the kinner hiya for us.
Jonica lifted the pen to her lips. Love, Jonica didn’t seem like the right way to close the letter. Thinking of you wasn’t exactly the truth either.
Her thoughts had been scattered for sure—her son, her aunt, the farm, Caleb, even the redheaded man . . . but the one thing she hadn’t thought about was Ephraim. She signed the letter Sincerely, Jonica and folded the paper. But even as she addressed the envelope, it was Caleb who was on her mind—interrupting her thoughts like a rude child.
* * *
Caleb led Nutmeg into the barn stall and removed her halter. He filled a beat-up, old coffee can with oats, emptied it into the feed trough, then filled the other feeder with hay. He took the bucket outside, tossed the murky water, then headed to the well. The iron pump handle squawked as he thrust down with more force than needed. Water gushed from the spigot, filling the pail with a few hard cranks. Careful not to slosh water over the sides of the bucket, he returned to the barn. Once the mare was fed and watered, he grabbed an old towel from the wall peg and wiped down the horse, something he did every night as she ate.
Nutmeg lifted her head. Her ears perked and she whinnied.
Caleb patted Nutmeg’s neck. “Easy, girl.”
Daed came up to the stall and rested his arms on the half door. “You going to be around on Monday?”
Caleb hesitated. He’d already planned to take Jonica into town. If she were to receive bad news from the doctor, he wanted to be with her. She didn’t need to be alone.
“Did you hear mei question, Caleb?” Impatience coated Daed’s tongue.
“Jah, I’ll be around. What do you need help with?”
“Your fieldwork is finished, then?”
“I still have a few acres over at Edna’s to clear before . . .” Winter. His father compressed his mouth into a narrow line. He’d made it clear he wasn’t really interested in Caleb’s farming attempt. Daed firmly believed in developing other trades. His parents had moved from Pennsylvania where land was expensive and scarce, and though his father farmed enough to feed their own livestock, he thought farming for resale was too risky.
Daed had pushed Caleb at an early age to become a builder and wanted Peter to fit that same mold. His father had been right about the many pitfalls in farming. Unpredictable weather this season had ruined Caleb’s winter wheat.
“Jack Pulloski is bringing his truck and trailer over on Monday to pick up some of the cattle for the auction.” Though Daed hated farming land, he continued to raise cattle. Easy money, according to him. “With the ground covered in snow, I can’t afford to keep them all.”
Thinning the herd every fall was a way to cut down on the cost of winter feed. This year, with the ground snow-covered earlier than normal, it would be difficult enough to keep the horses, milk cows, and yearlings fed.
Caleb folded the dirty part of the towel to the inside and moved to Nutmeg’s opposite side. He rubbed her neck. “What time is Jack coming?”
“Shortly after daybreak.”
“Okay.” Growing up, Peter had always been the one who looked forward to helping Daed round up the cattle from the back pasture. Six years younger, his brother had begged to help at an early age. Riding and roping came natural
ly for Peter. During his rumspringa, he spent a good share of his time helping at the livestock auction house where his skills came into use. A job Daed still blamed as the reason Peter extended his rumspringa to the point where the bishop and elders came to discuss their concerns with Daed.
Caleb moved down the horse’s back with the towel, massaging her muscles in a circular direction. After a few moments of silence, he glanced toward the half door, assuming his father had said what he needed and left the barn. But Daed was still standing in the same spot, staring up at the rafters as if searching for understanding.
Caleb stopped rubbing the horse and studied his father’s aging features. His pure white beard washed out his complexion, and his hooded eyes were void of the optimistic hope he once had. Years of working in the sun had wrinkled his face, and now, for a man in his fifties, he looked haggard and frail, wallowing in grief he shouldn’t have to face.
Peter had taken more than his own life—he’d taken the hearts of those who loved him.
When Daed caught Caleb watching him, he cleared his throat. “Let’s make sure we have the herd ready. I don’t want to keep Jack waiting any longer than necessary.” He turned and walked away.
Last year Peter had overslept and they were late getting the herd trailered. His brother complained about feeling tired all morning. But Caleb dealt with Peter’s grumbling on a regular basis when he worked on Caleb’s construction crew. Not a day went by that Caleb didn’t have to nudge him for something. Caleb figured Peter’s lack of interest had something to do with his discontent with the Amish way.
After living in the world for a time, Peter returned home. He followed through with baptism and joined the church, but he never married or fully embraced the plain life, always talking about saving enough money to leave. Caleb suspected Peter had a girlfriend outside of the district, but Caleb didn’t make it his business to find out. He respected Peter’s privacy and figured when he was ready, he would share the news.
Caleb covered Nutmeg with a winter blanket to block the draft. He secured the barn door and headed toward the house. The scent of supper met him at the mudroom door. He breathed in the tasty aroma of the beef, tomato sauce, and noodle mixture as he kicked off his boots.
