Kate’s Song

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  Try not to freak out. This is not your fault.

  Jared’s mother keeps calling me. On Monday she came to my apartment and wanted to see Alex. I told her no. I was afraid she would take him. She said she is Alex’s grandmamma so she has a right to take him.

  I wish you were here to tell me what to do. Mama is in Chicago, and I can’t go there without losing my job. I will wait to hear from you.

  Maria

  Kate sagged against the fence post and clutched the letter to her heart. The morning after the horrible encounter, she had been so terrified and confused that she’d hopped on the first bus to Apple Lake.

  Jared in a coma? How could that be? Guilt wrapped tentacles around her throat. She knew she had hurt him badly.

  He’d stormed into the apartment, kicking the door open with those big boots he always wore. Kate could still remember the screaming. Some of it must have been her own.

  “Don’t think you can break up with me! I’ll kill you first!”

  It only took two blows from his bony fist to send Maria to the floor, where he would have kicked her to death if Kate hadn’t hurled a book at his head. Swearing, he closed in on Kate and grabbed her by the neck.

  Even two hundred miles and three weeks away from that terrible night, Kate put a hand to her throat and relived the panic of slow suffocation. Struggling fiercely to free herself, she had been seconds away from passing out when Maria attacked Jared from behind and he turned his rage on her. And so it went on for what felt like an eternity, when in reality it could only have been a minute or two as the two girls tried to fight off the violent drunk who was a good half foot taller than either of them. At one point he lunged toward the screaming baby, but Kate had flailed her arms wildly, sometimes hitting her target, and backed him away.

  Knowing how ashamed her people might be if they found out, Kate still did not hold back. In one frenzied surge of terror, she threw herself into Jared with all her might, knocking him off his feet. His whole body went slack as he slammed his head into the corner of the kitchen counter. He slumped to the floor, and she landed on top of him, dazed and spent. As soon as she got her wits about her she jumped away, but he didn’t move or open his eyes. Blood had slowly pooled on the floor around his head.

  Kate studied the letter again as her chest heaved up and down, and she began to shiver uncontrollably. Would Jared die? She had never even considered the possibility. Was this God’s punishment for her wickedness?

  He commanded nonviolence from His People—even for self-defense. Nonresistance was Article Fourteen of the Confession of Faith. Better to die than to lift a hand against an enemy. She bowed her head and silently begged God to spare Jared Adams’s life. Begged Him with every thought, every breath, every bit of strength she possessed, to make the man whole again, to not lay this thing to her charge. How could she ever live with herself or her community if she had blood on her hands?

  Aaron is right. I am wicked.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there pleading with God, tears watering her despair, before four words came to her mind.

  “Thy will be done.”

  The crux of everything. As the Lord wills, so will be. This idea, which permeated the very heart of the Amish way of life, sunk irrevocably into Kate’s own heart. She had been seeking her own desires. She must put all her trust in the Lord.

  Thinking back to that night and her split-second decisions, Kate knew that she would not have acted differently. She wouldn’t have run away while Maria and the baby were in danger. Who was she to question whether it was the Lord’s will to put her at Maria’s apartment that night or to give her the strength to fight a drunken brute so he would not kill someone?

  Lord willing, Jared would live. As the Lord wills, so will be.

  “Be still, and know that I am God.”

  Kate dried her eyes, folded the letter, and slid it back into the envelope. She felt like a piece of taffy, pulled in two directions and stretched impossibly thin. Should she go back to Milwaukee to be with Maria? Should she stay here and uncover her destiny?

  The answer glowed brightly in her mind. God had placed her here, and here she would stay until He nudged her another way.

  Maria had slipped a photograph of Alex between the folds of the letter. On the back she had written, “He has your eyes.” Kate smiled through her tears. She and Maria used to joke that Kate spent so much time caring for Alex that she was his second mother.

  “Kate, are you all right?”

  Kate turned around. Ada and her sister, Sarah, gawked at her from the other side of the fence. One of the disadvantages of having her older brother and his family live next door was that few things in the Weaver household were safe from Ada’s keen eye. Kate wiped her face and nodded. “Hello, Ada. Hello, Sarah.”

  Ada looked at the letter in Kate’s hand. “Bad news?”

  “Just a letter from a friend in Milwaukee.”

  Ada clucked her tongue. “You miss that place right much, don’t you? Some girls are suited for that type of thing.”

  Kate didn’t answer.

  Ada reached out and straightened a crease in Kate’s apron. “You are looking healthier, Kate. Relaxation has worked wonders for your complexion.”

  “Denki,” Kate said, doing her best to keep from frowning. She marveled that Ada could make a compliment sound like an insult. Jah, Kate’s relaxation today had consisted of milking the cows, planting peas, mopping the floor, and baking four loaves of bread.

  “Sarah came to help me get my spring cleaning caught after,” Ada said. “You will watch my boys while we work, won’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, Ada. Mamma went to visit Aunt Erla, and I promised her I would finish piecing the quilt.”

  “I can’t see how it is any trouble for you to tend to my boys while you quilt. There are always grandchildren running around over there. I am not well. My health prevents me from keeping up with those boys all day like you and Mamm can.”

  “Oh, jah, little boys can sure be a handful.”

  “It will be all right, Ada,” said her sister. “I’ll keep an eye on the boys and help redd up at the same time. We wouldn’t want to interfere with Kate’s plans. I will stay until we are done, even if it’s late. I promise. We’ll make do,” Sarah said, a sigh of forbearance escaping her lips.

  “We will do no such thing,” Ada protested. “I’m sending those boys over, Kate.”

  Kate tightened her fingers around her letter, reducing it to a crinkly ball.

  “You can work on the quilt while you are tending. If it’s not too late, Sarah will drop by after cleaning and help with your quilt. She’s as good a quilter as our mamm ever was. Just the other day Nathaniel King saw a quilt Sarah made for Luther and was amazed at how tiny and even her stitches are.”

  “Oh, stop, Ada,” Sarah said, fixing her eyes on Kate.

  “Stick me with a pin if I’m lying. Nathaniel has said more than once what a good homemaker you are, Sarah. It’s no secret he admires your skills.” She turned to Kate. “The skills a good Amish wife needs.”

  Biting her tongue on a tart reply, Kate smiled and turned her face toward home. “Sarah is wonderful gute with a needle. That stitching she did for your wedding was exquisite. I know it’s wrong, but I have always envied your ability to make tiny stitches,” Kate said. “My fingers are too thick. Good milking hands, Elmer says.”

  Sarah giggled. “They are not too thick.”

  “They are gute strong hands too, because when Elmer insults me like that, he usually gets punched.”

  “Jah, I have hit my brothers a time or two when they act ugly,” Sarah said.

  “I do not suppose you’ll need to know how to quilt at the academy. So it’s just as well you aren’t very good at it,” Ada said.

  “Just as well,” Kate said. She turned and walked quickly down the lane toward the house, saying, “Send the boys over. I will teach them some songs to pass the time.”

  Kate took one moment to enjoy the look on
Ada’s face before turning her back and striding toward the house.

  I shouldn’t have said that. Time to go home and repent right-quick.

  Chapter Eight

  Nathaniel ran his hand tenderly along the unfinished block of walnut, one of the most expensive pieces of wood he had ever purchased. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the earthy scent of wood fresh from the lumber mill. This was a special piece, one he would take great care in shaping.

  The small room in which he stood served as his private workshop, where he made cradles, tables, and other furniture for family and friends. The larger rooms next door housed his cabinet business, employing a dozen men and taking in more orders every month. Amish workmanship was highly sought after by the Englisch, and Nathaniel was glad for it. The more business he attracted, the more men he could employ—men working to keep their farms and homes, and care for their families.

  Meticulously, he made the measurements, looked at his drawings, and checked the measurements again, determined that not one mistake, not one imperfection would mar his efforts. Even at the risk of being proud, Nathaniel wanted this work to be his finest ever. For her.

  The door opened behind him, and he turned around to see Mamm, hands on her hips, surveying the room. “You have not worked here for a long time,” she said.

  “Jah, I have been occupied with the business. And Dat,” he said, putting down his pencil and smiling at his mother. “Did the baby come along well?”

  “Feet first, kicking all the way. A fighting, fit, gute son for the Yoders. But if I had known the child was wrong-side down, I would have sent Rosanna to the hospital. Too much can go wrong in such a delivery.”

  “You are a good midwife, Mamm. The mothers trust your skill.”

  His mother approached his worktable and touched the block of wood on top. “Walnut. Very expensive. What are you making?”

  “A rocking chair.”

  “Who is it for?”

  Nathaniel hesitated. “I think I will give it to my future wife, if the Lord God sees fit to grant me one.”

  “Oh, my son,” Mamm said, coming near and placing her hand on his shoulder, “it is no mystery who you took home from the singing on Sunday. But only I know why you haven’t been to one in more than two years.”

  “I suppose you do,” Nathaniel said, reluctant to hear what else he knew she would say.

  “Kate Weaver has wings on her feet. She will not be here come autumn time.” Mamm cradled his chin in her hand. “Why do you want to break your heart again?”

  “She never even knew me before, Mamm. This time is different.”

  “Is it?”

  “For two years I have waited for the day when she would return. Now that she is here, can you blame me for hoping?”

  His mother ran her thumb over his cheek. “I would never blame you. You deserve everything the Almighty blesses you with. I blame her. What happens when she flies off to Milwaukee and never returns?”

  “It will be some consolation knowing I wore myself out trying to win her.”

  “Will it? When your dreams lie on the floor like a pile of wood shavings, will you be glad you gave your heart to her?”

  Nathaniel stood and pulled his mother into an embrace. “I cannot give up chasing after happiness simply because there might be pain down the road. For the joy of having her as my wife, I am willing to do this. I know the risk, Mamm. I want to take it.”

  Mamm pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. “And what of her life out of our community? The women are whispering about almost nothing else. How much trouble did she get into there? What kind of a girl is she, really? She is not one of us.”

  Nathaniel gave his mamm a sharp look. “Who is talking about almost nothing else? Gossip is a sin, Mamm.”

  Mamm lowered her eyes. “You are right. Not everyone is talking. But my sister says—”

  “Why do you listen to the tongue-wagging?” Nathaniel said, sitting and ostensibly studying his drawings.

  “You know very well you could have your pick of any Amish girl in Wisconsin. And there is not one mother in the district who would not want you as a son-in-law.”

  Nathaniel chuckled. “Now you exaggerate.”

  Mamm did not give up. “Oh, Nathaniel, are you blind? Kate Weaver has tasted the pleasures of the world and will never be content with a simple life.”

  “I have already told you,” Nathaniel said mildly, “I know the risk.” Without looking at her, he caught his mother’s hand and squeezed it lovingly. “Please do not worry, Mamm.”

  “For as long as I am your mother and you are my only child, I will worry and hope and pray for you. Do not ask the impossible.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Then I ask you to let me choose my own path.”

  Mamm’s expression changed, and she walked slowly around the table and took a closer look at Nathaniel’s wood. “You are a gifted carpenter. It will be a beautiful rocker. I hope the girl you make it for is worthy of such fine work.”

  “She is. More than you know.”

  “I hope so,” Mamm said. “With all my heart.” After giving him one solemn look, she walked to the door of the workshop. “I’m going to read to Dat for a few minutes. Then will you put him to bed?”

  “Jah, I will be right in.” Nathaniel laid his hand on the piece of wood and looked up at his mother. “I love you, mei mutter.”

  “I love you, too, Nathaniel.”

  Mamm closed the door, and nothing but the hissing of the propane lamp interrupted the silence. The stillness amplified Nathaniel’s thoughts. He was fully aware that his heart galloped far ahead. What if Kate had succumbed to the temptations of the outside world? How well did he know her, really? Was she still the girl he fell in love with, or did he only think he loved her?

  No, Nathaniel could not bring himself to believe that Kate was anything but the lovely, virtuous girl he had dreamed about for so many months. A simple change of location on her part could not change the person she was. In such a place as Milwaukee, she had experiences Nathaniel probably couldn’t even imagine, but he was certain deep in his soul that Kate had not cheapened herself in any way.

  He carried his piece of wood to the saw table and began, carefully, to cut it to the size he needed.

  Greater concerns tormented Nathaniel. His chance of failure was great. What if Kate chose another young man? Even though she was considered somewhat of an outsider, her beauty and kindness won over even the most hardened skeptic. The proof was blatantly evident at the gathering, where boys surrounded her all night. With so many eligible young men, Nathaniel was unsure of his ability to win Kate’s heart. But he could only be the person the Lord God intended him to be. If Kate couldn’t love him for the man he was, then he couldn’t see sharing a life with her.

  His worst fear was that Kate would decide to return to the academy, leave the community, and be lost to him forever. The very thought of such a possibility threatened to drag him down into deep despair. His hopes had skyrocketed on the day of Kate’s return, but, as his mother warned him, he might be as worthless as a pile of wood chips come autumn. In spite of everything, he was determined to pursue a life with Kate Weaver until she chose differently.

  But what if God chose differently?

  Chapter Nine

  “No one has ever taken me to the dairy on a date before,” Kate said. She sat under an ancient willow tree with Nathaniel, a small bag of cheese curds cradled in her lap. Even in mid-May, it was nice enough to sit outside. The lawn in front of the dairy store was starting to green up from winter dormancy, with plenty of room for tourists or locals to picnic. A footbridge straddled a small stream meandering through the grass, and more than one willow grew along its banks.

  Nathaniel stretched out his long legs. “What? None of your Englisch boyfriends were clever enough to plan an outing to the dairy?”

  Kate tapped her finger to her temple. “Let’s see. Since I can count the number of Englisch boyfriends I had on zero fingers, the answer is no. Just
when did you develop this passion for cheese making?”

  “I have always had a fascination for mold.”

  Kate laughed then offered him her bag of curds. “These were worth the entire trip. My newly discovered favorite food: jalapeño cheese curds.”

  Nathaniel made a face. “No, thanks. I feel like I am chewing rubber.”

  Kate plastered him with an indignant eye. “I never would have let you buy these if I had known. I cannot eat the whole bag.”

  “You are doing a gute job.” Nathaniel chuckled as Kate cuffed him on the shoulder.

  Kate motioned toward the gift shop attached to Eicher’s Dairy. “We are the only Amish folk here,” she said. “The tourists are gute business.”

  “Jah, I think the sign attracts them.”

  Kate read the large billboard standing above the dairy entrance. “‘Eicher’s Dairy. Monroe County’s only authentic, organic Amish dairy. Always smooth, always creamy.’”

  “It is wonderful-gute how many adjectives you can pack into one advertisement,” Nathaniel said.

  Kate kept reading. “‘Milk, cheese, curds, cider, venison jerky, and quilts.’ Cider from the Weavers’ apples, I’ll have you know.”

  “Jah, of course. I don’t eat anything but Weaver apples.” Nathaniel rolled onto his stomach, propped his chin in his hand, and gazed at Kate until his piercing eyes compelled her to look away. “Can I show you something?” he said.

  “Of course,” Kate said, glad to be able to reply with some semblance of composure. What was it about Nathaniel’s stare that knocked her breathless and sent her head spinning into a jumble of random thoughts?

  Nathaniel jumped to his feet and jogged in the direction of his buggy. Kate smiled at his boundless enthusiasm.

  He returned carrying what looked like a small wooden box. When he came closer, Kate could see it was a miniature house complete with windows and a tiny front door. Without a word but grinning from ear to ear, he laid the house in her lap and sank next to her on the grass.

  “Oy, anyhow!” Kate ran her fingers along the individually crafted shingles on the detailed roof and peeked inside the shuttered windows.