by Jan Drexler
Jonas chuckled, his face hidden in the darkness. “I don’t imagine you will.”
“Lydia, did you hear about Young Peter Lehman and Margaret Stuckey?”
Elizabeth froze as Salome Beiler’s voice drifted into the front room from the kitchen. She was Bishop Amos’s wife, but where Amos had grown in his tact and wisdom since becoming bishop a couple years ago, Salome was as thoughtless in her comments as she had ever been.
“I know they’ve been keeping company.” Mamm’s words were quiet. She never liked to listen to Salome’s gossip.
“I heard a wedding will take place this summer.”
Mamm didn’t answer and Elizabeth continued tidying up the front room.
“Isn’t it about time your Elizabeth married again?” Salome’s voice took on the wheedling tone that set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “She’s been a widow far too long.”
“I’m not concerned,” Mamm said. “The Good Lord knows what Elizabeth needs, and he will provide.”
“Now that she has repented of her unfortunate marriage to that outsider and has joined the church, my Levi might consider marrying her.” Salome sniffed. “The Good Book instructs widows to marry, and your daughter has many good childbearing years ahead of her.”
Elizabeth sank into the chair she had just straightened. The front room was empty now that nearly all the community had returned to their homes. The night was growing late. Elizabeth longed for her own bed and a good night’s rest, but Salome had insisted on staying while Mamm cleaned the kitchen. Elizabeth wouldn’t leave when there was still work to be done, but with Salome in the kitchen, Elizabeth was stuck unless she wanted to face the gossip head-on. Surely the woman knew that she was in the next room, able to hear every word of her conversation. But that had never stopped the busybody before, and it wouldn’t now.
“Abraham and I will let Elizabeth make her own decisions concerning her future.” Mamm’s voice had an edge to it that told Elizabeth she was trying to hold her temper.
Salome grunted. “You should have reined that girl in years ago, before she ran off and married that reprobate. If she was my daughter—”
“She isn’t your daughter, Salome,” Mamm broke in.
Another grunt. Elizabeth leaned over far enough to see Salome cut another slice of cornbread for herself, then smooth the dish towel over the pan on the table. Mamm was facing the window and didn’t see part of tomorrow’s breakfast disappearing.
“I think Amos is ready to leave.” Salome’s chair scraped across the wood floor as she rose from the table. She stood, tying her bonnet. “I’m happy for your sake that Jonas is finally home,” she said, moving toward the back door. “The past three years haven’t been easy for you with your son off in the outside world, doing who knows what.”
Mamm pressed her lips together as she moved a chair out of Salome’s way. “Denki, Salome. We are very thankful to have him home with us again.”
Elizabeth joined Mamm in the kitchen as Salome left. Mamm took a handkerchief from her apron waistband and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.
“That woman.” She turned back to the sink to finish washing the dishes while Elizabeth picked up the dish towel. “Every time she visits, I’m happy to see her go. But then I have to repent of my uncharitable thoughts.”
“She is horrible,” Elizabeth said, drying a plate and setting it on the shelf above. “I don’t see why you let her talk to you that way.”
Mamm sighed, then smiled at her. “Now you need to repent. Salome isn’t horrible. I don’t think she knows how hurtful her comments can be, but she can be caring and helpful at times.”
“All right. I’m sorry. But she’s as prickly as a porcupine.” Elizabeth wanted to add more to her description of Salome but didn’t. Even though the woman was part of their community and the bishop’s wife, Elizabeth couldn’t forget the years Salome had acted as if she didn’t exist, only because she had married outside the church.
“Salome did bring up a valid concern, though.” Mamm didn’t look at her as she immersed a stack of bowls in the dishpan. “It’s been two years since Reuben died. Have you thought about marrying again?”
Elizabeth swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Even though Reuben had left to join the Confederate army nearly three years ago, she still had nightmares about him. She couldn’t imagine willingly putting herself at the mercy of another man.
“I am content now, Mamm. I don’t really want to marry.”
“What about children? A family?”
Elizabeth’s head pounded. She forced herself to pick up the next bowl to dry and watched her hand rub the dish towel over the wet surface. She had never told Mamm about the baby she had lost. That baby would have been five years old now, nearly the same age as her nephew Ezra, Gideon and Ruby’s son.
“I don’t think the Good Lord wants me to have children.”
Mamm was silent as she finished washing the bowls and turned to the big pot Elizabeth had brought the ham and beans in.
“We never know what he has planned for us.”
Mamm’s voice was soft, but sure and steady. Elizabeth wished she could have even half of her mother’s faith, but she was sure her future didn’t hold the pleasures of a family and her own little ones. The Good Lord might bless others in that way, but not a woman like her.
After the kitchen was cleaned up, Elizabeth said good night to Mamm and took her empty pot out to the pony cart. Datt had seen her coming and was hitching up Pie. Jonas’s friend Aaron sat on the edge of the porch, his crutches next to him. He scooted away from the steps as Elizabeth went down them.
“It was nice to meet you, ma’am,” Aaron said.
With the light from the kitchen window behind him, he didn’t look as much like Reuben as Elizabeth had first thought. His words were drawn out and slow, nothing like the Englischers Elizabeth was familiar with.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth paused, trying to think of what Mamm would say to him. “I hope you feel at home in Weaver’s Creek.”
“Yes, ma’am, for the time I’m here.”
“You don’t plan on settling here, then?”
Aaron rubbed his leg, the one that ended just above his knee. It was an unconscious motion, as if the leg often pained him.
“I don’t know yet what I’m going to do.”
Datt tied Pie to the hitching rail and took Elizabeth’s pot from her.
“There’s a place for you here,” he said, setting the pot in the cart. “There is always room for a Zook in the community.”
Aaron didn’t answer. Elizabeth untied Pie’s reins as Datt went back to the barn.
“Wait.” Aaron rose and took a step toward her. “What did your father mean? Is there something special about my last name?”
“It’s a common name among the Amish. Datt meant that you would fit in here easily, if you wanted to.”
“Grandpop was raised in Pennsylvania. He never had a good word for his Amish family.”
“Then you are Amish.”
He shook his head. “I’m not Amish. I’m not anything.”
“But if your grandfather’s family was Amish, then—”
Aaron pushed back on his crutches, turning toward the porch steps. “I’m not Amish. I don’t care what Grandpop’s family was.”
He swung up the steps and into the house, leaving Elizabeth standing alone with Pie. She stroked the pony’s neck, then climbed into the cart and started for home.
She had thought Aaron was just another man like Reuben when she first met him, but Reuben, as hard as he was, never let her see any weakness. Reuben couldn’t admit any vulnerability. But in her brief conversation with Aaron, she had caught a glimpse of a sad and lonely man.
2
On Monday morning, Aaron stayed behind in the barn while Jonas went to work with his father and brother. The men would spend the day walking behind the harrow or cultivator as they drove teams of horses back and forth across the fields. A man needed two good legs for work like that.
It was no good feeling useless, though. Once he was alone, Aaron found a broom to sweep out the aisle in front of the horses’ stalls where some grain had spilled. He leaned on one crutch and grasped the broom with his other hand, but the result was an awkward drag of the bristles through the dust.
Ineffectual and helpless. The familiar feeling had dogged him day and night for the last eight months.
Setting his crutches firmly under his arms, Aaron grasped the broom with both hands and pushed it from right to left, creating a satisfying track in the layer of dust and grain. Several sparrows that had been picking at the grain scattered, fluttered between the barn rafters, then settled on the barn floor again, well out of reach of the broom.
“That’s right, little birds.” Aaron moved to his left, set the crutches, and prepared to make another sweep. “Stay out of the way. I’m armed and dangerous.”
Two of the birds hopped closer as he grasped the broom again, then flew away as he set the bristles for the next pass. But he reached too far and lost his balance. He remembered to twist his body to take the impact on his shoulder and rolled in the dust. He ended up facedown on the dirt floor, his crutches careening in opposite directions as he fell. The birds flew up to the rafters in a flurry of fluttering wings and panicked cheeps.
Aaron rose up on his elbows and brushed the dirt from his beard. He wasn’t going to lie here feeling sorry for himself. No one had witnessed that dunderheaded move. He reached for the broom and leaned it against the stall gate. Next, he grasped the crutch that had fallen near his head, then used his foot to bring the other crutch close. Setting the crutches upright, he pulled himself up until he stood again, his arms quivering from the exertion. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and started again.
He put the crutches in their places under his arms and put his weight on his foot. Once he got his balance, he picked up the broom again. Little sweep. Adjust the crutches. Little sweep. Adjust the crutches. This simple chore was going to take all day. The birds peered at him from above, waiting for another chance at the spilled grain.
What he wouldn’t give for a rifle and a day tramping through the western Tennessee woods. Alone and free. Dependent on no man.
With two good legs.
Adjust the crutches. Sweep.
“Is my datt in here?”
The woman’s voice startled him as it echoed in the empty barn and he took another dive onto the dusty floor, landing on his shoulder.
Groaning, he rolled onto his back. Elizabeth stood over him, a frown on her face.
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
Aaron frowned back. “I lost my balance, is all.”
“Let me help you,” she said as she reached for one of his crutches.
“Leave it.” His voice sounded harsh to his ears. Like Pa’s voice. He took a breath and started again. “Leave it. I don’t need your help.”
Elizabeth stepped back. He picked up the broom and leaned it against the stall gate, then the crutches, one at a time. He sat up, then pulled himself to a standing position again, looking away from the young woman’s face. Her soft and vulnerable face.
“Your pa’s working in the fields with the others.” Aaron leaned on his crutches as rivulets of sweat ran down his back. “What do you need?”
She chewed on her lower lip. Aaron stared at the floor to keep from meeting her eyes. In the short few weeks since he had left the hospital, he had learned to avoid eye contact. Most folks either looked at him with pity or revulsion, and he couldn’t take either one. Especially from a woman as fine as this one.
“Something got into our henhouse last night and I need to close off the hole it made.”
“You lose any chickens?”
“Four.” She glanced at him, then lowered her gaze to the floor as if the sight pained her. “Whatever it was only carried off one and left the rest behind.”
“Probably a weasel. They kill for sport.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. Or maybe a fox. And it will come back again if I don’t get that hole closed off.”
Aaron drummed his fingers against the handles of his crutches. If he had two good legs, he’d know what to do. Fixing a hole in a chicken coop was easy.
He gazed out the barn door, then at the woman beside him.
“How far is your house?”
“Just up the road a piece, less than a mile. An easy walk—”
Her voice broke off as she glanced at his crutches. Her face turned pink as Aaron gripped the handles to hide the exhausted shaking in his hands. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at his leg.
“Maybe I should wait for Datt or Jonas.”
Aaron’s face burned at the dismissive tone of her voice. “I can do it. I don’t need both legs to fix a chicken coop.”
A frown brought her pale brown eyebrows together. Her eyes reminded him of Ma. He looked away again.
“I can’t ask you to do it. You might hurt yourself.”
Hurt himself? All thoughts of her vulnerability fled at that challenge. He would fix her chicken coop if it killed him.
Aaron tilted his head toward the back of the barn where the wagons were stored. “We’ll drive Jonas’s wagon. And I’ll need to borrow some of your pa’s tools.”
Doubt still filled her gaze, but she gave a swift nod. “I’ll tell Mamm we’re taking the horse and wagon. Datt keeps his tools in the workroom over there.”
He found the tools he needed, and using one crutch, he was able to carry them to the spring wagon. Elizabeth wasn’t back from the house yet, so he let himself lean on the wagon wheel long enough to get his breath back.
Maybe Jonas was right. Heading into the wilderness of the West was hard enough for a man in good condition. Somehow, he’d have to learn to use his one good leg and build up his strength at the same time. Starting with the chicken coop.
By the time Elizabeth returned, her expression still wary, Aaron had retrieved the crutch he had left in the workroom and managed to bring in Rusty, Jonas’s driving horse. The harness had been beyond his ability, though.
“Couldn’t you find the harness?” Elizabeth asked.
“I was just getting to it,” Aaron said. He started toward the wall where the harness hung on pegs. He might be able to get it down, but he knew he didn’t have the strength or balance to toss it onto Rusty’s back. His shoulders ached just thinking about it.
“Mamm said you might have trouble with the harness.” Elizabeth stepped past him and lifted it off the hooks. “I can do this.”
“I can’t stand by and let you do the work.”
She glared at him. “You think I can’t harness a horse?”
He glared right back. “You seem to think I can’t.”
She shifted the weight of the harness in her arms and walked toward Rusty. As she tossed it onto the horse’s back, the straps tangled, leaving a messy heap. Rusty turned to look at her.
But she had gotten the awkward weight up there. That was more than he could have done.
Aaron watched her pull on one strap, and then another, but the horse’s back was above her head. She was such a short little thing that she couldn’t see what she was doing. That didn’t stop her, though. She squared her shoulders and tried again.
“Do you want some help?”
Those firm shoulders slumped, then she nodded. “I guess I could use another pair of hands. I can’t seem to get it straight. This horse is much taller than my driving pony.”
Aaron went to Rusty’s off side. He would need two hands for this task, so he leaned his crutches against the post behind him. His good leg was aching from the unaccustomed work already, but it held him up as he straightened the harness and arranged the straps so Elizabeth could fasten them from the other side.
By the time Elizabeth had backed Rusty into position in front of the wagon, Aaron could hardly stand. He put the crutches into the wagon, then readied himself for the jump and pull up to the wagon seat. Eliza
beth was climbing onto the seat from the other side, so if he failed to make this jump, she would witness everything. He grasped the handles Jonas had installed on either side of the wagon seat and jumped up, trying to make the clumsy maneuver look as smooth as he could.
But he couldn’t stop panting once he reached the seat and twisted himself around to face the front. His face burned, but was it from exhaustion or embarrassment? From the corner of his eye, he could see Elizabeth’s frown.
What he didn’t expect was her question.
“How long has it been since you lost your leg?”
“Eight months.” Eight long months of constant pain and bed rest.
“So you’re still getting accustomed to it.”
“I suppose so.” Aaron leaned his crutches against the seat and rubbed his bad leg. “The trip out here took more out of me than I thought it would.”
“Have you ever thought about getting one of those wooden legs? I saw a soldier in Millersburg with one a few months ago. If he hadn’t been limping, I never would have noticed it.”
A wooden leg. Sure, he had seen them. The men who had gotten them looked whole again. The muscle on the side of his jaw began to twitch.
“Union soldiers can get them from the government, but they won’t give them to us Rebs.”
Elizabeth picked up the reins and clucked to Rusty. She was silent as they drove over the stone bridge and onto the road. Then she turned to him again.
“Why do you have to have someone give you one? Why not make your own?”
He stared at her, ready to say . . . what? One of the other prisoners in the hospital had talked endlessly about how the Federals owed the Rebs something for leaving them crippled like this, but he knew Washington didn’t owe him anything. He was a casualty of war, that was all.
Aaron turned away from her and stared into the trees. A casualty that left him only half a man. The war had stripped him clean, but he wasn’t going to crawl into a hole and wait to die. Elizabeth’s suggestion rang in his ears. Why not make his own leg? Then nothing could stop him from standing on his own two feet.
