“A real pain,” Isaac repeated. “I wished I’d had earplugs.”
“We didn’t have to come,” Beth said quietly.
Isaac clamped his mouth shut.
Beth sighed in resignation and stood. If Toby was to eat dinner, she would have to be the one to fix it. Treva wouldn’t expect anything else. And despite how Treva protested, Beth was an adequate cook. She’d never be as good as Moses’s wife, Lia, but she usually had more success than Mammi did. Most of what she made was edible. Her son would never go hungry, and that was all she cared about.
First she’d have to make the kitchen fit to eat in. She pushed up her sleeves and cleared the dishes from the sink.
“Don’t use the yellow soap for the dishes,” Treva said from the comfort of her recliner.
Beth nodded as if Treva had given her a piece of very helpful advice, even though Treva had given her the same instructions every day after Amos died. She also knew what came next. And don’t use too much of the green dish soap.
“And you don’t need to use a lot of the green soap. It’s concentrated.”
Beth had to smile, but her back was turned so Treva couldn’t wonder about it. Poor Treva. The minute details of life were all she had left to hold on to. Beth tried to have pity on her mother-in-law. Her lonely life was much of her own making. Her daughters seldom visited her because she was petulant and critical when they came. Isaac rarely helped around the house because he’d been indulged as a child. Treva had no friends because she was so wrapped up in her own misfortunes.
The dishes were soon taken care of with the help of a constant stream of instructions from Treva. Isaac lounged on the sofa reading The Budget as if the floors weren’t in need of a good scrubbing or the furniture didn’t require a thorough dusting. Was it any use to give him a little training?
“Isaac, will you dry the dishes for me,” she said, adding a little sweetness to the tone of her voice.
He flipped the paper down so he could see her over the top of it and considered her request.
“Jethro didn’t do one dish in his whole life,” Treva said, with indignant pride. Jethro, Treva’s husband, had died when Amos and Isaac were sixteen.
“My dawdi does dishes all the time,” Beth said. “He says a gute husband should be willing to help his wife around the house.”
This didn’t seem to impress Isaac. His frown deepened.
“We’ve got to redd up this kitchen before I fix dinner. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Isaac slowly set his paper aside. “All right then.” He stood with a groan. “Give me a towel.”
Once the dishes were put away, Isaac ambled back to his sofa and plopped himself down as if he’d done something really hard. Beth wiped the cupboards and set some water to boil. Then she peeled potatoes and chopped onions and carrots. Corn chowder was quick and easy, and Treva had everything in her cupboards that Beth needed for the recipe. While the potatoes boiled, Beth whipped up a batch of cornbread. The floors would have to wait until later. The family needed to be fed.
Treva made sure Beth did not ignore her. “What are you doing in there?”
“Are you using red potatoes? Don’t be careless and let them sit without stirring or they’ll burn.”
“That’s the wrong spoon. You’ll scratch my pan.”
“I could use a glass of water. No ice. You always forget I don’t like ice.”
“I want one with ice,” Isaac said.
Beth brought Treva her water, but Isaac would have to go thirsty. He had two good legs. Beth would insist that he use them.
At three minutes after five, Beth pulled the cornbread out of the oven. “Isaac, I am going to wake Toby. Please set the table.”
“I’ll fetch Toby,” Isaac said. That probably sounded like the easier job.
Beth raised an eyebrow. “And change his diaper?”
Isaac scowled as if Beth had tricked him into something. “I’ll set.” His expression would have made her laugh if there hadn’t been menacing anger behind it.
Toby was understandably grumpy and disoriented when she woke him. He fussed and grunted his displeasure as she carried him into the main house.
Treva’s eyes grew wide. “What happened to his face?”
The warmth traveled up Beth’s neck. If Treva needed a shred of evidence that she was a bad mother, this was it. “He fell,” she said without offering any other explanation.
Treva frowned. “You’re careless. I always told Amos you’re careless. My poor grandbaby,” she cooed, spreading her arms to hold him.
Beth reluctantly set Toby on his mammi’s lap. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but Treva couldn’t have been more pleased. “This could be twenty-two years ago, he looks that much like his dat.”
As Beth expected, Toby struggled in Treva’s arms as she tried to kiss him and force him to hold still. “Sit and let Mammi look at you,” Treva insisted, but the more she tightened her grip around his waist, the more violently Toby tried to break free.
Beth finally snatched Toby from her and bounced him up and down while patting his back. He wouldn’t let Beth console him either as he went right on fussing in her arms. She set him on the floor, and he sank to his hands and knees, then rolled over onto his back and cried as if his heart would break. It had been a very long day.
With a sneer on her lips, Treva stared at him as the lines of her face deepened into gullies. “What have you done to my grandson? You’ve ruined him.” She glared at Toby. “Stop it, you little brat.”
Beth felt the mother bear come alive, and her insides roiled around like waves on a stormy lake. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the anger back. What else would she have expected from Treva?
Let it pass.
Tyler had said she was a gute mother. The memory of him cradling Toby in his arms calmed her. Tyler would never belittle her son. Oh, how she longed to see him again!
“It’s okay, Treva. Sometimes, he just has to cry it out.” Sitting on the floor next to her inconsolable son, she began gently stroking his back and whispering words of comfort. “It’s okay, Toby. Hush. Mamma is here. Hush now.”
The tantrum slowly wound itself down. Toby didn’t have the energy to put up a ferocious fight. Whimpering, he stood and wrapped his arms around Beth’s neck. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s okay, Toby.” She retrieved a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped his face.
“Nose,” Toby said, sniffling as she wiped it again for good measure.
Isaac and Treva stared at her as if she were doing it all wrong. She didn’t care as long as they didn’t interfere. When she finished, she picked up her son and cheerfully gazed at her in-laws. “Shall we eat?”
With Toby propped on her hip, she brought each dish to the table one by one. Isaac sat down and didn’t budge from his spot, even if it meant a delay in dinner, because Beth had to set everything on the table herself.
They had no high chair or booster seat, so Beth pulled a large saucepan from the cupboard and turned it upside for Toby to sit on.
“Would you like to eat over there?” Beth asked Treva.
Treva made quite a show of getting to her feet. “No, I’ll sit at the table. I want to be close to my grandson.”
Once Treva sat down, they bowed their heads for silent prayer. Even Toby knew how to do that.
Beth served Toby his chowder last so she could blow on it before he ate it. He liked to try to feed himself, so Beth gave him a fork to skewer his potatoes. Food only ended up on the ground when he ate with a spoon. Between bites of potato, she fed him the broth with a spoon.
Treva drenched her cornbread in honey. “You didn’t add enough baking soda,” she said between hearty bites. Beth didn’t feel too bad. Treva seemed to be enjoying it fine.
Toby became the favorite grandchild once again. Treva watched him manage to stab a potato with his fork and put it in his mouth. “Oh, look how smart you are,” she said, in baby talk that sounded more like gibberish than any recognizable
language. “He is Amos’s boy for sure. Both Amos and Isaac had that curly hair. And I think he’s got a dimple right where Amos’s dimple was. Amos was such a handsome man.”
Pretty is as pretty does, Beth thought.
Real sorrow flashed in Treva’s face. “I miss that boy,” she said. She cupped her hand to Isaac’s cheek. “At least I got you with me still.”
“Will you have more corn chowder, Treva?” Treva held out her bowl and let Beth give her another ladleful. “It’s not bad even if it’s too salty.”
Beth grabbed Toby’s arm before he could throw a potato at Isaac. He must have been finished eating.
Treva pointed her spoon at Toby. “Oh, he’s a Hostetler, all right, no argument about it. No one could guess who his mother is if they didn’t know.”
Of all the things Treva could have said, this might have stung the most. Toby was as much a Beachy as he was a Hostetler. That first day at Huckleberry Hill, Tyler had said that Toby had Beth’s eyes.
“When he gets a little older, I’ll take him hunting,” Isaac said.
Beth rebelled against that notion. She didn’t want Isaac taking her son anywhere, as if he had a right to. As if he wanted to be a substitute father. Her mouth tasted like chalk dust. Unless that was God’s plan. She took a gulp of water. Would she ever be able to stomach such an idea?
After supper, Beth did the dishes, making sure not to use the yellow soap, while Toby opened every cupboard he could reach to see what was inside.
Treva wasn’t as interested in Beth’s activities as before dinner. She sat upright in her recliner as she and Isaac leaned their heads together and spoke to each other in hushed tones. Eagerness animated their features, as if whatever they discussed caused them great excitement.
As Beth tidied the kitchen, their conversation became an oppressive weight on her shoulders. No doubt, they were planning her future, but she wasn’t as sure of her future as they seemed to be. Right now, she couldn’t bear to think beyond getting Toby to bed and scrubbing the kitchen floor. She trusted God to handle the details.
Treva leaned back in her chair so that she was nearly horizontal. Isaac laid an afghan over her legs, and she thanked him by patting him on the arm as if she lacked the strength to speak. “Beth,” she called feebly, “come here.”
Beth wasn’t fooled. Treva often used the dramatics of illness to her advantage. To be sure, she hadn’t suddenly grown weak from criticizing Beth all afternoon.
Beth picked up Toby and unenthusiastically trudged to Treva’s chair. Isaac stood on the opposite side of the chair and faced Beth as if they were standing before a bishop about to take vows.
“Put Toby down,” Treva said.
Though Beth wouldn’t have obeyed merely to please Treva, she knew it would be better to get this over with without Toby wiggling in her arms. She placed Toby on the sofa and pulled three books from his keavli, or diaper bag. They wouldn’t occupy him for long, but they would have to do.
Treva took Isaac’s hand. “Give me your hand, Beth.”
Beth reached out her hand as if Treva might bite it off. Treva took her hand and placed it into Isaac’s. Isaac smiled bashfully and held on tight. Beth had never seen that particular expression on Isaac’s face before. It was definitely an act.
Beth wanted to snatch her hand away as if she’d touched a snake. But she willed her skin to quit crawling and decided to let Treva have her moment. Resistance would only aggravate both Treva and Isaac.
“This is my second Christmas without my dear Amos,” Treva said, her voice catching at the mention of her son. She wrapped her fingers around the hands clasped in front of her. “This is my balm of Gilead, seeing you two together like this. Amos would not have begrudged your relationship. He would have wanted Isaac to carry on in his place.”
Beth pressed her lips together to keep a sharp denial from escaping her throat. Let Treva have her say.
Isaac increased his pressure on her hand. She winced. Was he trying to make her cry uncle?
He frowned at Beth as if daring her to argue. “Amos would have wanted us to be together. He wouldn’t have wanted Toby to grow up without a fater.”
Tears trickled down Treva’s cheeks. Unlike Isaac’s insincerity, Treva’s pain was real. Beth couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to lose a son. “Beth, you cannot be so heartless as to refuse my dying wish. Even you must agree that I deserve a little happiness before I pass from this life.”
Instead of arguing, as she would have done with Tyler, or letting the guilt paralyze her, as she had always done with Treva and Amos, Beth said a silent prayer.
What would You have me do?
Isaac squeezed still harder. “I deserve a little happiness too,” he said.
Do I deserve a little happiness as well?
Beth felt a spark inside her as if someone had lit a match.
Studying the lines of Treva’s face, Beth thought of her own son and how she loved him, and she felt as if she were seeing Treva for the first time. She recognized an old woman, unloved and frightened, grasping at anything she thought might possibly be within her reach.
A flicker of sympathy glowed in Beth’s heart until it flamed into an overpowering feeling of love. Afraid of showing weakness, Treva had found it impossible to give and receive love from her family. She had pushed them away from her, until her own actions had molded her lonely life. After losing her husband, she had let the grief rule her until she couldn’t see God’s love through the bitterness festering in her heart.
Most importantly, Beth could finally see that through it all, God had not abandoned Treva. She was his daughter. He loved her.
Beth felt as if she glowed with the fervent heat of understanding. God loved her as much as He loved Treva, and she knew without a doubt that He wanted her to be happy.
She saw Tyler in her mind’s eye. If she could talk him into marrying her, he would make her laugh everyday, and she would make him smile. She would get irritated and argue with him, and he would shrug his shoulders and apologize but never change his ways. He would always insist on protecting her, and she would give in and let him. He would cook bacon pancakes, and she would sew shirts and trousers. And God would smile upon them and open the windows of Heaven and pour out blessings.
Just as she knew in her very bones that she loved Tyler, she knew that God wanted her to be deliriously, overwhelmingly happy. Wasn’t that what every parent wanted for his child? But must she ensure her happiness at the expense of Treva’s? Was only one of them allowed to be happy at a time?
With sudden insight, Beth knew what to do. Her spirit soared to the ceiling, and she laughed out loud at the pure joy of God’s tender mercies.
Isaac eyed her suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m so happy.” The look on Isaac’s face could have curdled cottage cheese. Trying to subdue her mirth for Isaac’s sake, she pried her hand from his and laid an affectionate kiss on Treva’s forehead. She’d never done that before. The corners of Treva’s mouth drooped glumly while the irritation on Isaac’s face grew.
“I love you, Mamm Hostetler,” she said and meant it. “I don’t want you to worry. All things work together for good to those who love God. All things.” Feeling as if she’d shrugged a heavy load off her shoulders, she said, “And I really believe that now.”
Mammi had been right. She had become a better person, a stronger person, because of Amos. Her sorrows had forced her to seek God. She lifted Toby from the sofa. “I must put Toby to bed now.”
She was halfway out the door before Isaac recovered from his surprise enough to speak. “Beth, what do you say? About you and me?”
She tried to let him down easy, even though he had never wanted to accept her refusal, subtle or blunt. “You must not expect it, Isaac.”
He clenched his teeth as the anger that came naturally to him flared in his face. “You’re so ungrateful, Beth. After all we’ve done for you, and you’re still thinking of what you can get out of us. W
e let you stay in the dawdi house without paying rent. I painted your walls blue.”
Treva reached out and squeezed Isaac’s wrist. “Hold your tongue, Isaac. She said everything would work out for us.”
Isaac’s rage simmered to irritation as he pursed his lips and knitted his brows together. “Think about it, Beth. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
Beth gave him a tired, indulgent smile. Too exhausted to argue with him tonight, she said, “I will give you an answer next week.”
And then she’d go home for good.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beth lit the red pillar candle on the table and adjusted the greenery centerpiece. On Saturday, the day after she and Toby had arrived in Nappanee, she had bundled Toby in his snowsuit and taken him with her to cut pine boughs and other greenery for the house. She had dragged him on the sled behind her, and he had pointed out every bird and squirrel he saw. Four-footed animals were “dogs” or “dahs,” as Toby said it, and he had started referring to birds as “up-up.” She had cut enough pine boughs to decorate the dawdi house as well as the main house.
Beth’s mamm draped pine branches over the doorframes and around the banisters every Christmas. The smells of pine and cinnamon always reminded Beth of Christmastime spent with her family, making cookies, exchanging gifts, and attending school Christmas programs.
Treva’s house had needed a little sprucing up, and when Beth hung her boughs on Saturday afternoon, she’d hoped the smell of fresh pine would invoke good memories for Treva and inspire thoughts of the babe in a manger who had come to save His people. Perhaps the festive touches would help Treva feel more kindly towards the whole world. If there was anything the Hostetler house needed, it was some Christmas cheer.
Now, Beth glanced at the bird clock in her little kitchen in the dawdi house. She had timed Toby’s nap so that he would be asleep when Amos’s sisters came. They should be here any minute. Of course, Martha never showed up on time for anything, and all three of the sisters had acted a little suspicious when Beth had invited them to a Monday afternoon Christmas tea.
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