Huckleberry Spring

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  His frown deepened. “Jah. Plenty.”

  Probably hundreds of beautiful, tan girls who had never tripped over their own feet or even had a clue what fire extinguisher foam smelled like.

  This forced conversation, this fake friendliness between them, was infinitely more painful to Emma than Ben’s surprising appearance at Anna’s front door. He acted as if he’d completely forgotten what they’d been to each other. She leaped to her feet and marched toward the house before she lost her precarious self-control.

  Curse those long legs. He caught up to her in about three strides. “Emma, all I want is for you to be happy.”

  What a lie. He’d rather be far away than see her happy. He wanted Florida girls more than he wanted her happiness. She quickened her pace. The exertion kept tears from forming in her eyes. It also made her voice bounce up and down like a rubber ball. “Well. I will. Be fine. Just fine.” In about twenty years or so.

  That answer didn’t satisfy him. His frown was about as deep as it could go without cutting into the back of his head.

  She walked even faster until she practically ran. She was taking a big risk. She didn’t usually keep her balance when she ran. But Ben wouldn’t let her pull away, determining to reach the porch at the same time she did. “I would feel so much better if—”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted out, which was technically true. She needed a long piece of toilet paper to mop up the tears that were about to burst forth.

  Ben stopped as if he’d run into a brick wall. He knew better than to get between a girl and her toilet needs. It was a dirty trick, but at least he stopped following her.

  She jogged into the house without saying a word to Anna or Felty, ran to the bathroom, and locked the door behind her. She let a silent sob escape her lips as she tugged a piece of toilet paper off the roll.

  There was only one thing to do. She’d hole up in the bathroom until she could slip away from the house without being seen. And yes, she’d square her shoulders, get control of herself, and return tomorrow. Ben’s appearance had taken her by surprise. Now that the shock was over, she was perfectly capable of being around him without dissolving into a puddle of tears. Ben would be satisfied, Mahlon wouldn’t have to worry, and Anna would get her pumpkin.

  As long as everyone else was happy, her feelings didn’t matter one whit.

  She looked down. Without meaning to, she had managed to unroll the entire roll of toilet paper. It sat in a fluffy white heap at her feet. Sighing, she slowly started to roll it back onto the cardboard. She hoped Ben didn’t need to shave or anything. She’d be here for a while.

  Chapter 3

  Mahlon pounded his fist against the table and made her jump. “I can’t stand it.”

  Emma set the jam on the table and studied her twin brother doubtfully. “What’s the matter?”

  “This bread is golden brown,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “I thought I did a gute job on it. You should eat it while it’s still warm. The rest of the family will be home soon enough. You might not get another piece.”

  “You didn’t burn the bread, and not one egg is cracked. Not one.”

  Emma felt herself get warm. “I don’t always burn the bread.”

  “No, you don’t. You only burn the bread when you’re having a gute day. The eggs get cracked when you waltz around the coop with your basket. You haven’t waltzed for months.”

  Emma pretended not to know anything was different. “That’s ridiculous, Mahlon. Maybe I’m becoming less clumsy because I’m not a teenager anymore.”

  “Only last month you started burning the bread again. You spilled potting soil on Mamm’s rug last week. I thought you were doing better. What happened?”

  Emma averted her eyes and spread jam on her bread. After Ben had left for Florida, Emma had kept to her room for three days while Dat took up the habit of pacing back and forth in front of her door and Mahlon had stomped around the house slamming doors and growling like a bear, which he only did when he was deeply troubled about something.

  That’s when Emma realized she had to stop wallowing so Mahlon and Dat would stop worrying.

  August twenty-fifth, a week after Ben decamped for Florida, Emma had pasted a smile on her face and attended every gathering, singing, and frolic she could get to. Her cheeks got sore from grinning. Her throat wore raw from laughing. She encouraged every young man who seemed interested. She canned spaghetti sauce and peaches and made three quilts for the mission fund and hadn’t pricked her finger once.

  It had been exhausting, but Dat had stopped worrying and surely Ben’s family saw a quick recovery. Only Mamm and Mahlon had suspected the truth—that on the inside she had shriveled up like a daisy in the winter. Mamm admonished her again and again to “cancel the pity party.” Mahlon had been excessively concerned about her. He was her twin brother, after all.

  After her embarrassing morning on Huckleberry Hill, she had come home and baked two loaves of bread. Unfortunately, Mahlon knew that since Ben had broken up with her, she had been concentrating very hard on fixing her many flaws. That was why she hadn’t cracked eggs or accidentally set anything on fire for months.

  “When you won’t look at me, that’s when I know it’s really bad,” he said. She immediately lifted her gaze to meet his, and he smirked. “You can’t hide anything from me, Em. I can tell when you’ve had a hard day.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that my eyes are puffy and red?”

  “A dead giveaway.” He scowled. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone to the Helmuths’ today. It’s too soon to be keeping company with the enemy.”

  “The Helmuths aren’t my enemies.”

  “Their grandson broke your heart. They’re my enemies.”

  Emma looked daggers at her brother. “Don’t ever say such a terrible thing, Mahlon. We should feel only forgiveness in our hearts.”

  He slumped his shoulders. “I know. You’re right. But I get so mad for you, and you won’t get mad for yourself. For him to dump you like that after you got engaged—it was heartless.”

  She lowered her eyes and studied the crisscross pattern of the tablecloth. “He had his reasons.”

  “Which I can’t understand.”

  “The wonder is that he ever wanted to marry me in the first place.”

  “How can you say that? Any boy would consider himself doubly blessed to marry you.”

  “Not someone as smart and as good as Ben,” Emma said. “I know how lacking I am compared to him.”

  Mahlon scowled and shook his head. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Emma sighed from deep in her throat, frustrated that Mahlon refused to see it. She counted her faults on her fingers. “I have skinny legs and unruly hair. I’m a mediocre cook, a bad quilter, and although Ben never saw me change a diaper, he must have guessed deep in his heart that I’m not good at it.”

  “As usual, you are talking nonsense.”

  “Admit it, Mahlon. I’m always getting myself into trouble. Ben pulled me through more than one scrape last summer. He must have decided he didn’t want to be babysitting me for the rest of his life.”

  “So you’ve been trying hard all winter on not having one mishap.” Mahlon frowned until his eyes were mere slits on his face.

  “I’m maturing.”

  “You’re hoping Ben will take you back if you never have an accident again.”

  Emma caught her breath in surprise. “Ben is never taking me back. I simply want to prove that I’m not hopeless, like everyone thinks I am.”

  “The nonsense is flowing like a river out of that mouth of yours.”

  Emma grabbed a knife from the drawer and sat next to Mahlon. “I lost one of the cows once. What if I lost one of my own children? No man wants to marry into trouble like that.”

  Mahlon shook his head and grinned reluctantly. “I don’t think so, Em.”

  “I’m a mess,” she said, butteri
ng a slice of bread for Mahlon. Maybe she could distract him into forgetting this whole conversation.

  “Just because you don’t let the small details bog you down doesn’t mean you’re a mess. There’s no one more fun to be with.”

  The words crowded in her throat before tripping clumsily out. “Ben doesn’t think so.”

  Mahlon pounded on the table again. His anger always manifested itself noisily. “Then forget him.”

  Emma’s lips drooped. Mahlon was grumpy enough, but he would be even more unhappy with what she was about to tell him. “That is going to be impossible.”

  “No, it’s not. He’s gone. Pretend he doesn’t exist.”

  She stood up and busied herself at the counter. “I can’t,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone sure to raise Mahlon’s blood pressure. “He’s back.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Back in Bonduel?”

  “He is helping his grandparents on the farm while Felty recovers from surgery.”

  Mahlon scooted his chair from the table and stood up. “I’m going over there right now.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m going to tell him to get himself back to Florida on the next bus and leave my sister alone. After what he did, he’s got no right to show his face here ever again.”

  Emma put her hands on Mahlon’s shoulders and pushed him to sit. “You’ll do no such thing. Ben’s being here is none of your business.”

  “What did he say to you? Did he make you cry?” Realization leaped into his eyes, and he pounded the table yet again. “Of course he made you cry. I should have connected the puffy eyes.”

  Mahlon, who was fiercely loyal to the people he loved, tended to get carried away with his affection. He might have made a lot of noise and blustered like a summertime cloudburst, but he never meant any harm to anyone, even Ben. He simply wanted to be sure Emma knew how indignant he felt for her sake.

  Emma shaped her lips into a scold and let her eyes flash with reproof. “You can take a deep breath and control your temper.”

  Mahlon unclenched his jaw and wilted beneath her gaze. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean it. I’m venting.”

  “Venting is not a very Christian thing to do.”

  “What about throwing eggs at him? I could probably get away with that.”

  She shook her head with what she hoped was an unbelievably stern expression on her face.

  He raised both hands. “Just kidding. Mostly.”

  “It’s not nice, Mahlon.”

  “I know, but if he saw how devastated you were, he would ask me to throw eggs at him.”

  Emma huffed a defeated sigh. “Jah. He would.”

  “You can still avoid him while he’s in town. If he’s here to help while Felty has surgery, he won’t be around long. You don’t have to go to Huckleberry Hill, and you won’t see him at gmay. It will be like he’s not even in Wisconsin.”

  “I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

  Mahlon scrunched his face as if he’d popped a dandelion into his mouth and chewed it up. “What for?”

  “I promised Anna I’d help her plant pumpkins yet.”

  He lifted his fist to pound the table.

  “Don’t,” she warned, almost laughing at the look of annoyance that traveled across his face.

  He pulled back and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you trying to kill me or what?”

  “If I truly want to get over Ben Helmuth, don’t you think it would be better if I faced the problem head-on instead of avoiding it?”

  “Nope. Not better at all.”

  “Then look at it this way. You know what kind of a person Ben is. He would be upset if he knew I still grieve over him.”

  “So? You shouldn’t be the only one suffering. He broke off an engagement, Em. That’s not a small thing.”

  “Believe me, he wasn’t smiling when he did it.”

  This didn’t seem to make Mahlon feel better. His eyebrows were still almost touching. “I don’t see why you need to go up there. Pretend you’re over it from a distance.”

  “I promised Anna.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “Nae, you’re not.” He opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him. “And I refuse to take any eggs with me.”

  “It’s just an idea. You don’t feel like taking them right now, but you might get up there and get the urge to hurl a few at him.”

  Emma giggled. “I won’t.”

  “If you won’t give Ben what for, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

  She glared at him in mock displeasure. “You behave yourself.”

  “Of course I’ll behave myself. I’m only venting.”

  “Venting is unchristian.”

  The rest of the family burst into the house and interrupted the relative calm. Andy and Perry each had several plastic Walmart bags slung over their arms.

  “Hullo, Emma and Mahlon,” ten-year-old Andy said, straining to lift his armload of bags onto the counter.

  “Your arms are going to fall off,” Mahlon said. “Are you too lazy to make two trips?”

  Percy slid his bags onto the counter. “We had to do it all in one trip. We knew you’d be too lazy to help us unload.”

  Emma had three brothers and two sisters. She and Mahlon were the oldest. Their brother Percy was fifteen, Rose had turned thirteen last month, and Lisa and Andy were both still in primary school. Dat hired a van every two weeks to take the family into town to Walmart for shopping. Emma usually stayed home, but the younger ones found it to be a great adventure.

  Lisa and Rose came in the house with one bag each, put them on the counter, and started putting groceries away while Dat lugged in a battery for the new light. In addition to propane floor lamps, the bishop had approved floor lamps that used a regular bulb powered by a large battery. The new lights were much safer than propane lanterns and didn’t hiss like the propane did. Many folks liked the quiet of the new lights, but Emma found the propane-lantern hiss quite comforting on a dark winter’s evening.

  “It smells like fresh bread,” Dat said, passing through the kitchen with his armload. “Mahlon, go help your mater.”

  “Don’t need it,” Mamm said, coming into the house with as many bags slung over her arms as either Andy or Percy had. “Rose, leave the hamburger out. I’m making spaghetti.”

  Emma busied herself helping Rose and Lisa put groceries away. Lord willing, Mamm wouldn’t notice the puffy eyes.

  “How was Walmart?” Emma asked.

  “Busy as ever,” Mamm said. “How did the bread turn out? It doesn’t smell burned this time.”

  “It’s perfect, Mamm,” Mahlon said, with just a hint of disgust in his voice.

  Mamm didn’t seem to notice. “Gute.” She slipped a new bottle of cinnamon into the spice rack. “What did Anna Helmuth want this morning?”

  “Oh,” Emma said. Why did her voice betray her like that? She covered the catch in her throat with a cough. “She wants me to help her grow a giant pumpkin for her grandson.”

  The ploy didn’t work. “Look at me,” Mamm said, propping a hand on her hip.

  Ach, how she wished she had tried cucumber slices instead of plain cold water on her eyes. Edna Fern said cucumber slices made everyone’s eyes look five years younger and completely erased any signs of uncontrollable weeping.

  “Emma, look at me.”

  Hoping to look poised and perky, Emma raised her eyebrows, stretched a smile across her teeth, and turned to face Mamm.

  Insincerity never fooled Mamm, especially not in one of her children. “You’ve been crying,” she said, as if Emma’s feelings were the biggest nuisance of her life.

  “I’m not crying now,” she said weakly.

  Mamm waved away the excuse. “I’m not surprised. When you left for Huckleberry Hill this morning, I knew you’d come back like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your whole life is over.” She shook her head and look
ed away, as if she were too vexed to give her daughter the time of day. “I won’t put up with the wallowing, Emma. Your dat was like to worry himself sick.”

  Emma found Mahlon’s anger vastly more bearable than Mamm’s disgust. Mahlon wanted her to be happy again. Mamm seemed to find Emma’s heartbreak inconvenient to the entire family.

  She didn’t need a lecture, not when her emotions threatened to burst like a dam right here on the kitchen floor. “I’m sorry, Mamm. I’m doing much better. Today was just one of those bad days.”

  “If you ever manage to become someone’s wife, you won’t be able to afford the luxury of a bad day. You have to make every day what you can of it without wallowing.”

  If you ever manage to become someone’s wife. Mamm’s words stung as if she’d been smacked in the arm with a wet towel, the way Mahlon used to do when they dried dishes together as children. Even her own mamm had doubts that Emma would ever marry. As flawed as she was, who would have her?

  “I won’t ever wallow again,” Emma said, which was a hopelessly ridiculous statement but exactly what Mamm wanted to hear.

  “Gute, because wallowing makes your face wrinkly. Boys want someone young and fresh to marry. It won’t help your cause to look old before your time.”

  “Yes, Mamm.”

  “Ben Helmuth is not the only fish in the lake. Be happy he’s gone to Florida.”

  Emma glanced at Mahlon. How would Mamm react if she knew Ben was back? Perhaps it would be better to give her that piece of information when her irritation simmered. Mahlon frowned and raised an eyebrow. He might not like her planting pumpkins on Huckleberry Hill, but he knew better than to say anything like that in front of Mamm.

  Instead, he rescued her. “Mamm, Emma said she’d help me milk the cows before dinner.”

  “Then go,” Mamm said, as if she had closed the door on all of Emma’s problems. That’s how it worked with Mamm. She’d persistently beat a dead horse unless somebody sidetracked her.

  “Denki for pulling me away,” Emma said as they went outside and Mahlon closed the door behind them. “You know how much I irritate Mamm.”