Ivy lowered her eyes and continued walking down the hall toward the stairs. Arlan pulled the door closed and followed her.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. His hands were in his pockets, and he didn’t look tired in the least. “Why are you up so early?”
“I’m up to work. You’re going out to milk, right?”
“Ya, but you can rest. You and Magda are our guests.”
“No. I’m a dairy farmer too. I’m up at this time or earlier every morning. Show me how you milk, and for as long as I’m staying with you, I can give you and your Mamm the mornings off. It’s the least I can do.”
She didn’t want to make him feel bad, because his offer sounded sincere, but how could a Swartzentruber man know how to work the milking machines and be able to follow the guidelines to sell grade A quality milk?
“Um, we’ll see.”
Doc Jules had said it’d be best if Magda could stay here two weeks. Magda’s ultrasound showed that she was near the end of her first trimester, and in two weeks she would be in the second trimester. Most women started feeling a lot better at that point.
When she walked into the kitchen, Mamm was at the sink, rinsing fresh fruit.
“Morning, Mamm. Our guest said he was going to help me milk.” She glanced at Arlan. Did she want his help? He’d yet to tell them what was really going on and why he and his wife were hiding from their own people.
Mamm dusted some flour off her apron. “Good morning. It’s Arlan, right?”
Arlan nodded.
“Maybe you caught my name last night when I said it, but I’m Betty Zook.”
“Denki for your hospitality, Betty.”
Mamm smiled and nodded, but she didn’t look at them. Was she avoiding making eye contact with Ivy?
“Arlan, if you could take my place in the milking parlor this morning, I’ll stay in and finish breakfast.” Mamm wiped her hands on a dish towel, never glancing in Ivy’s direction.
How on earth could Ivy move into her new apartment without completely breaking her relationship with Mamm? There had to be a way, didn’t there? They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other since Ivy divulged her plans four days ago. In Ivy’s estimation there was no cause for friction. She was her own person, and wanting to be someone different than what her Mamm and the community expected of her wasn’t intended to insult or harm Mamm.
“Ya, I’d be grateful to step in and help the farmhands in your stead,” Arlan said.
Was Mamm avoiding being in the same room with her?
“Coming.” Holly’s voice preceded her as she hurried down the stairs. “Sorry. I studied until nearly one, and then I overslept.” She rushed into the kitchen, still in her nightgown and housecoat. “I’m desperate for coffee first, though.” She caught a glimpse of Arlan and gasped. “Ach.”
“Your morning has just taken a turn for the better,” Ivy said. “Arlan is helping. Get some sleep before you have to go to work.”
Holly breathed a sigh of relief. “Bless you.” She smiled at Arlan and turned to Ivy. “You sure?”
Her sister deserved to sleep. “Go, sleepyhead.”
“You’re the best sis ever.” Holly yawned and left the room much slower than she’d entered it.
Ivy looked at Mamm. “Remind her of that the next time I make her mad.”
“Ya?” Mamm said. “When will that be, October?”
Mamm’s jab was uncharacteristic. Ivy stifled a sigh and walked outside with the lantern in hand. The night sky was a deep purple as the sun grew closer to peeping over the horizon. The brightest of stars were still visible. A whip-poor-will sang and crickets chirped. If time allowed, she’d love to take a cup of coffee to her and Mamm’s favorite sitting spot and welcome each new day. Being up this early could be a blessing. Milking cows…not so much.
She went to the side of the barn, and Arlan followed close behind.
Before she could set the lantern on the ground, he took it from her and held it up, studying her. “Are no menfolk coming to help?”
His question made her heart sting. “No.”
“But…”
“My Daed died eleven years ago this October, and my brother, Red, lives and works in Rocks Mill.” Her family was odd compared to most Amish. They were the smallest family she knew of, and three women were breadwinners and tended the farm. “There’s no money to hire dairy hands, but on the upside we only have ten cows, and of those there are eight to milk. We hire men to sow and harvest the hayfields. Other than that the women run the farm. Can we get to work now?”
“Ya.”
She pointed. “We have three generators. The one used for cooling the milk tanks stays running all the time, and it has a backup, because without refrigerated milk tanks, we lose our ability to sell it as grade A. We sell to Troyer Yogurt and Cheese, a booming business that makes specialty items. The milk must be grade A because they advertise it as such.” She flipped the On button of the smallest generator. “This one only runs during milking times.” She pulled the choke. “It powers the milkers and pumps the milk into the milk tank.” She pulled the starter handle, yanking the cord toward her, and the generator came to life.
Then they walked into the barn. It was weird being in this familiar place with a stranger, especially a man.
“Okay”—she held up a set of milkers—“this is how things work, and every step is important, either for the cows’ health or the quality of milk.” She gave him a rundown of the milking process. He listened in silence, not asking so much as one question. Should she insist he go back inside?
She gestured at the row of milkers connected to the piping that led to the milk tank. “Have you ever used milking machines before?”
“Many times. The machines aren’t so hard. Way easier than doing it by hand.”
Huh. Which was the bigger surprise from this Swartzentruber—pulling out a driver’s license at the wreck yesterday or having used generator-powered milking machinery?
“Well, gut. Let’s get started. You can begin by climbing into the haymow and tossing down a few bales of straw. I’ll get a pitchfork and start spreading it into the stalls before the cows come in.” Maybe she didn’t need to tell him that part, but dairy barns were similar to women’s kitchens—each one was run differently, based on equipment and personal preferences. “Then toss down bales of hay for feeding.”
He moved fast, and soon the first four cows were in their milking stalls.
They went through the usual process—cleaning the teats, drying them, and connecting the milkers. Despite how quickly he moved, he was skilled at calming the cows, and he followed her instructions carefully.
As they began working with the second set of cows, Arlan cleared his throat. “I just want to say thank you.”
She was on a milking stool, attaching a set of milkers. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Ya.” She couldn’t make herself tell him he was welcome. The words wouldn’t form. “You needed help, and that’s my family’s thing—not ignoring people in need.”
“I’m glad.” He gave her a half smile before turning back to the cow.
She grabbed the milking stool and tub that held the cleaners and drying cloths. “For someone who’s been raised Swartzentruber Amish, you’re quite comfortable with this kind of milking system.”
“Ah, that.” He patted the cow he’d just finished attaching to the milkers and stood. “There were years when my older brother and Daed were all the hands our farm needed, so I brought in money by working for various Englisch and Old Order farms.”
Why hadn’t he told her that before she explained how everything worked?
“So why’d you and your wife leave?” Ivy should mind her own business, but she just couldn’t.
He didn’t respond.
Ivy moved to the next cow. “It seems odd that
you slept on the floor.”
“Are all Old Order Amish women as intrusive as you?”
“Definitely not.” She rubbed the side of Daisy Mae’s udder. “Good girl,” she cooed. “But maybe they should be.”
Were Arlan and Magda even husband and wife? Once the milkers were attached, she stood so she could see Arlan. “Are you…in love with her?”
“No, ugh!” He shuddered and made a face like he’d smelled spoiled milk before he regained his composure.
Suddenly the pieces clicked together. They were related, maybe brother and sister. Thinking about it, she realized the two looked a bit alike. They had the same brown-and-gold eyes. “And so she’s your…”
He sighed. “My sister.”
Ivy had no idea if she liked what she’d just learned. It was easier to think of them as husband and wife than to realize Magda was pregnant and on the run from someone.
Blue Bonnet mooed loudly, a clear indication she wasn’t relaxed or comfortable.
He went to her and rubbed her sides. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth. But the less everyone knows, the less chance it can get back to our parents. There are only a few Swartzentruber families left in this area.”
They were running from their parents? A shiver ran through Ivy. Then Dora and Eva came to mind. “I know. I’m a friend with two Swartzentruber girls, ones I can’t afford to offend.” If Mamm stayed upset with Ivy, Mamm would need someone to help her clean houses. “If I were caught hiding you or Magda, it could cause my family to lose that relationship.”
He crouched and removed the milkers from Blue Bonnet.
“And this?” Ivy pointed at his lower face.
“I don’t know.” He touched his chin whiskers. “It made sense a few days ago to let it grow out as if I was a married man, just in case we still looked Amish when we checked into a hotel or something. Most Englisch seem to know that when a couple is married, the man has a beard.”
“You didn’t think the car would give you away?”
“Beachy Amish drive cars, and I don’t figure most Englisch can tell one sect of Amish from another.” He moved to the last cow.
That seemed quite true.
“Look.” Ivy passed him the milking stool. “You don’t have to worry about me or anyone else in my family passing information about you and Magda to other people. But maybe you’re going at this all wrong.”
He put the milkers back on the cow and stood, facing Ivy. “You might think you know a lot about our order, but until you’ve lived it, I doubt you could understand. Leaving home is all we can do for now. If this gets back to our parents, they’ll come for Magda and it will break her.” He grimaced, and she saw pain in the lines on his face. “And I can’t allow that.”
Then why not just leave your order? “No one wants that. No one.”
“Denki.” His shoulders seemed to relax. “I’m glad to hear it. Really glad.”
“You don’t need to continue sleeping on the floor in the same room as your sister. There’s a mattress in the back bedroom upstairs. We currently use that space for storage, so it’ll take some organizing.”
“I saw that you have a room above the carriage house. Could I use that?”
“Sure.” It didn’t have any running water, but apparently that was within his comfort zone.
“I appreciate it.” He sounded relieved. “Nothing has worked out like I thought. And your home is so different—with the running water and the gas-powered appliances.” He grabbed a pitchfork and began mucking an empty stall. “I hardly slept last night for feeling as if I was in a fancy Englischer home.”
“You say that as if it’s sinful.”
He paused and studied her. Did he disapprove of her? Not that she cared. It was just annoying.
He removed the stool and left the stall. “A lot of work needs to be done around here.” He hung the stool on a peg on the wall and grabbed the pitchfork. “I can milk and mend what’s broken and—”
“Sure. Fine. I could stand two weeks of not needing to milk cows, muck stalls, or climb into that haymow.” She set the rags and cleaners in their holder on the barn wall. “Actually if I never milked another cow, it would be too soon—with or without all possible modern conveniences.”
He stared at her again. “But your life here is so easy…and worldly.”
Worldly? She’d stick to the topic of easy for now. “Easy? You think because we have indoor plumbing and generators to help out in our barn that our life is easy?”
His eyes flickered with hardness before he set aside the pitchfork and removed the milkers from Cutie Pie, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to.
Ivy couldn’t budge. “You think I’m a horrible sinner because the Old Order are okay with more modernization than the Swartzentrubers are, but I’ve got news for you. I think entirely too many of our Old Ways are unnecessary. So judge that.”
He stood there, early morning light now pouring through the dirty windows and various knotholes and between the boards that made up the wall of the barn. Particles of dust that always hung in the air were easily visible now, and it reminded her of how much unseen murkiness and haze were between any two people.
Still, he could finish by himself. Ivy strode out of the barn.
Eight
Holding a wide paintbrush, Holly gazed at the beautiful white farmhouse in the distance that stood tall and welcoming, despite needing a good coat of paint. That would have to be a future painting project. But today she and Josh were painting the Daadi Haus, a home that Josh’s Mamm and Daed would move into right before Holly and Josh’s wedding.
Holly clutched her paintbrush and dipped it into the tray of white paint. She could hardly wait to live on this chicken farm as Josh’s wife. Some of his chickens were near them in the yard, milling about. The rolling hills were lush with the verdant green of summer. She loved this place. A moment later thoughts of her sister pushed in. Something was weighing on Ivy, something she was keeping from Holly. That alone said a ton. And there was tension between her and Mamm, but why?
“Hey, Holly, think fast.” Josh flicked paint her way.
Holly laughed as she dodged the splatter of white paint. “Josh Smucker, don’t you dare! You know that I’m going to work after this. Jules will be here any minute.”
He grinned. “I saw you looking at our future home.” He slapped the brush against the clapboard house.
She chuckled and pressed the brush against the house. “I was admiring it while painting on this small home for your folks.”
They were finishing a section of outside wall. Since they weren’t hiring someone to do the painting and they both worked, they only did small sections at a time. His Mamm seemed pleased with the adorable cottage so far and was even more excited about the wedding. The late-morning sun was getting hotter, so it was probably good that they’d have to pause this project soon. But thanks to Arlan’s help on the dairy farm the last ten days, Holly was more free to be here with Josh, getting this homestead ready for when they would begin their life together.
She swiped the brush horizontally along the clapboard. “Ivy’s on my mind again.”
“Ya, I know. I can see it in those gorgeous eyes of yours, but she’ll confide in you before long.”
“I hope so.” Holly moved the paintbrush up one board.
“You could threaten to paint her clothes with your handprints.”
Holly’s cheeks burned. “Joshua Smucker, you shush.”
He dipped his brush back into his paint tray and wiped off the excess on the sides. “You know I’ll have to walk by my parents when I go back in the house, and it’ll look like you were trying to grab—”
“Hey,”—Holly put both hands up in the air, with one still holding her brush—“it was a total accident! I tripped, touched the painted wall on my way down, and then grabbed the closes
t thing so I didn’t fall into the paint bucket. It just so happened to be you. Tell him, Becky. You were there.”
The yellow Buff Orpington chicken turned her head toward Holly and then went back to foraging the area for bugs.
“Sure, sure.” Josh winked.
She still felt butterflies in her stomach when she looked at him, even though he was messy, sweaty, and covered in paint. In about six months they’d be husband and wife. Over-the-moon elation and uncertainty mixed together like white and black paint.
As excited as they both were, they weren’t home free yet. Amish women didn’t work outside the home after marriage, at least not until the youngest child was in school. Produce stands were allowed. Sometimes women were allowed to clean a person’s home or to have a cottage industry that included baking, sewing, or handmade crafts. But an Amish woman couldn’t have a career with set hours that kept her away from home. It was a hard-and-fast rule she’d known since she was small. But she’d worked so hard to become a bridge that linked modern medicine to the area’s Amish communities, first by working as a pharmacy tech at Greene’s and then one day, God willing, by being an LPN. Holly was so thankful that her bishop valued her work and, after a heartfelt conversation, was happy to approve of her marriage to Josh. With the living arrangements on the Smucker family chicken farm, a successful business Josh had worked hard to build since he was a teen, someone would always be nearby to help with any future children, even with Holly continuing to work. But she’d never met Josh’s bishop. Word had it that Bishop Stephan was a stickler for tradition.
Josh swiped another broad brushstroke on the wall. “You have that lost-in-thought look again. What’s on your mind? Plotting your next paint crime?”
Holly shook off the worries like shedding a heavy coat and grinned. “You know it.”
“Aha, so you admit it now.”
She narrowed her eyes, but before she could come up with a good retort, tires crunched on the gravel driveway. Jules was here.
She set her paintbrush next to the rest of the supplies and pulled off her painting apron. She’d be back tomorrow to help again. “Next time, Smucker.”
A Christmas Haven Page 6
