by Mary Ellis
During the ride home from the Millers’, he’d focused on the road ahead, ignoring any effort at conversation or her attempts to apologize. She understood he’d been embarrassed and uncomfortable when so many had crowded around, all talking at once. But was that my doing? Who could have known people would be so friendly and eager to make up for lost years? It’s not my fault. I meant well.
Yet the truth remained no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She had forced Isaiah into a situation he neither wanted nor was prepared for, and in so doing had resurrected old pain from the past. Abby’s delicious pot roast churned in her stomach. She was to blame… not Sam Miller this time.
If she had some socks to darn, bread to bake, or a story to read to the kinner, it wouldn’t be so bad. But with her schwester back in her role as wife and mother, Catherine found less and less to occupy her time.
Suddenly a shout rang out in the yard. “Abigail!” called Daniel. “Come quick.”
Although the kitchen had been empty a minute ago, Abby emerged from the house by the time Daniel reached the porch. “What is it, ehemann? Is someone hurt?” Her thin face paled with fear.
“Not someone,” he said breathlessly. “It’s Boots. That fool pup stuck her head down a hole in the ground to figure out what was making all the noise. Turned out to be a nest of ground hornets, and she got stung at least a dozen times on her face and paws, everywhere the fur was sparse.”
Catherine jumped to her feet. Abby’s hand grasped her throat. “How is she? Will the dog be all right?”
“I don’t know. Call Doc Longo on your cell phone. His home number is in the book. Tell him we’re on our way to his place in the buggy. Ask him if he could meet us on the road with whatever he gives for allergic reactions. Boots is unconscious and not breathing right.”
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears while Abby flew into the house to find her phone. When Daniel turned to leave, Catherine followed him down the steps. “Please wait a moment, Daniel. I’m awfully fond of that dog too. May I ride with you to the vet’s?” She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage.
He leveled her a patient gaze. “No, Catherine. We’re taking the dog in the back of the two-seater so it’ll be faster.” He hurried down the walkway toward the barn.
She ran after him, grabbing a hold of his shirt. “Please, Daniel. Truth be told, I’m fond of Isaiah too. I’d like to lend moral support, to be there for him in case Boots…”
The word hung unspoken in the air while Daniel’s expression turned pitiful. “I’m aware of that. And I suggested that you ride along after he carried the dog up to the buggy. But he said no and was quite adamant about it.” He made a sideways chopping motion with his hand. “I’m sorry.” He sprinted toward the buggy shed, leaving her rigid on the path.
She knew the meaning of Isaiah’s gesture. He hates me. He despises me for the trouble I have caused. She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to hold back her emotions. Once she regained her composure, she walked inside the house.
Abby was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. “Dr. Longo was home. He’ll meet Daniel and Isaiah with an anaphylactic injection along Route 514. I explained the way they would take.” It was then that Abby noticed Catherine’s face. “What’s wrong? You look as though you are on the verge of tears. Did Boots die before they had a chance hitch up the team?”
Abby’s question tipped Catherine over the edge. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Not as far as I know. I heard the buggy leave just before I came inside.”
“Whew,” breathed Abby with palpable relief. “Then what’s wrong? Dr. Longo is the best vet around. If they can reach him in time, he’ll save the dog.”
Catherine slumped into a chair, awash with despair. “I hope that’s true, but my tears aren’t for Boots. I’m afraid they’re purely selfish.” Shame rose up her throat like acid indigestion. She stared at the wall, sniveling like a child.
“Tell me what’s wrong. It must have something to do with Isaiah. You’ve been moping around the house since I got home, yet I know you’re happy to see me.” She winked at Catherine. “And if I had a dollar for each time you checked the back porch or scanned the cornfield looking for him, I’d have the five thousand dollars to pay Judge O’Neil and never have to midwife again.”
Catherine laughed, despite herself. “Apparently, I’m as subtle as a herd of elephants marching to town.”
Abby set a cold glass of water in front of her. “You have stewed enough. It’s time to tell me what’s happened. You never know, Catherine. I might be able to help.”
And so Catherine began more or less at the beginning and told the story of her short-lived romance with Isaiah. Abby’s eyes grew wide hearing that her sister had entered his remote cabin alone, she blinked several times upon learning about the bountiful berry patch, and she shook her head with disbelief when again Catherine described how she had mounted a horse to ride the pasture on a moonlit night. During the narration, Abby remained quiet until Catherine reached the part at the snack table after the volleyball game. Then she clucked her tongue with disapproval. “Oh, no. Poor Isaiah. He hates not being able to communicate with other people.”
“I know. That’s why I tried to help. But instead I only made things worse.” Catherine took a long drink, feeling the water ease her parched mouth.
“Not on purpose. Your intentions were noble.” Abby patted her arm.
“A candle left to light the way can burn down a house, same as an arsonist.”
Abby shook her head to remove the mental picture. “Let’s not speak of such things. Besides, this conclusion is nowhere near as foregone. Isaiah might simply need time to collect himself.”
“That’s what I hoped, but he refused to let me to ride with them to the vet’s.”
Abby’s expression revealed more than her words. “He might not want you to see Boots die.”
“Please, sister. This isn’t helping. You weren’t there when we came home from the party. I grabbed his hand and tried to talk to him. He yanked it away like I was a rattlesnake. He motioned for me to go the house and glared with his arms crossed until I did. Then he took the horse to the barn and I haven’t seen him since.” Catherine’s eyes smarted with unshed tears. “He hates me.”
“I doubt that. Hate is not an emotion Isaiah knows.”
“Well, he sure doesn’t want me near him.” Her voice cracked.
“Not right now. His ego has been bruised. He is a man, after all.” Abby attempted half a smile.
“I want to make it easier for him to come get his meals. I’ll return home as soon as Daniel can take me or I can get word to our bruder.”
“Oh, Catherine. Let’s not be hasty. Why don’t you—”
“It’s been well over a week. That’s hardly being hasty. Besides, you’re home. This is your family. Your kinner don’t need a nanny anymore.”
“Maybe not, but I still need my schwester.”
“Please, Abby, let me go home,” she pleaded. “I can’t stay here any longer, torturing myself because…I love him. And each day would only remind me of what I cannot have.”
Nineteen
Sunday dawned clear and mild—a good day for new beginnings. Nathan shaved his upper lip and then combed and trimmed his beard. It had been a long time since he’d worn his Sunday best clothes, including his mutza, the Amish vest, and polished black shoes. Iris had used so much starch on his white shirt that it would stand up on its own. The collar chafed his sunburned neck, but he’d be able to tolerate that minor discomfort and a whole lot worse. After all, it was the Lord’s Day. And he was returning to preaching services.
He could hear Iris humming a tune in the kitchen while she fed Abraham his breakfast. The horse, already hitched to the buggy, stood in the shade swishing flies with his tail. With a final tug of the comb through his thick hair, Nathan walked downstairs with a spring in his step. He feared nothing. The decision he’d made after prayers last night had allowed him to sleep soundly for
a change.
“Guder mariye,” said Iris. “Ready to go, I see. Sit down and eat some oatmeal. Otherwise your grumbling stomach will keep the rest of us from concentrating on the sermon.”
He grinned while pouring coffee. He would miss Aunt Iris. He’d grown as fond of her as his own mamm. She certainly had a better sense of humor than his mamm. “All right, I’ll have a bowl.” He carried his cup to the table where Abraham tried to capture dust motes in the streaming sunshine. “Good morning, son. How goes your day so far?” He spoke to the child in Deutsch because children didn’t usually learn English until they started school. The boy giggled.
“Strawberries or bananas?” asked Iris. When he indicated the latter, she added a heaping pile to his oats.
“What do you think about the church service at your own home?”
Iris sat down to finish her own breakfast. “All I have to say is my daughters-in-law had better be wearing running shoes if that house isn’t spick-and-span.”
He glanced up to find her eyes twinkling. “You would chase after them with your broom?”
“If need be, but I’m not too worried. They are good girls.”
“Are you anxious to get back to your family?” When the question caught in his throat, he gulped down some coffee.
“You’re my family too, Nathan, you and Abraham. Don’t you forget that.” She wiped her mouth and then pulled her apron over her head.
“I don’t think I will ever stop being grateful.” He scraped the sides of his bowl with his spoon.
“For what? For taking care of this little angel?” She lifted the baby from the highchair, making all the appropriate noises, and hugged him to her chest. “This child is a gift from God.” Abraham gurgled while reaching for a kapp ribbon.
“That he is, but we’d better be off. I don’t want to be late.” He carried his bowl to the sink and carefully positioned his black hat on his head.
“Are you nervous?” she asked, wrapping a lightweight quilt around the boy’s legs. “These are just Plain folk, nephew, and no different than you or me.”
“They might wonder why I’ve stayed away after everybody was so nice at the funeral.” He picked up the hamper of pies she had baked yesterday for the lunch table.
She emitted a dismissive snort. “Nonsense. Many of those folks have walked in your shoes. You’re not the only one to suffer sorrow.”
So like Iris to put things in perspective. “In that case I’m as ready as I ever will be.” He opened the door for her and they walked into glorious sunshine, perfect for a day to give thanks.
Neither spoke much during the drive to the service except for the requisite comments about the weather. Once at Iris’ home, they had to park quite a distance from the house. Nathan hefted the heavy hamper while she carried the infant. Because the bishop hadn’t yet summoned people inside to worship yet, many milled around in the crisp fall air.
“Oh, my,” called a voice. “Nathan has come with mamm, and they have brought the little one!” Iris’ eldest daughter-in-law, Mary, ran toward them. “How he has grown and put on weight since I last saw him. Mamm Fisher is quite an expert with doing that.” Mary slapped a hand on a well-rounded hip.
But Iris wasn’t listening. She was studying the windows of her house, cocking her head to catch the reflection of sunlight on the glass. “Did you wash the windows this past week? You had plenty of notice about this service.”
Mary exchanged a sly look with Nathan. “Jah, with vinegar and old newspapers, just how you taught me. Let me take that boppli to show around. People will be itchin’ to see him.” She pulled Abraham from Iris’ arms and began bouncing him on her hip.
Iris was itching to see the inside of her home. “You go on ahead. I’m going in for a moment.”
Mary chuckled under her breath. “Welcome back, Nathan. I’ll show off your son while I hide from my mother-in-law, just until she finishes her inspection. Her other sons’ wives are inside in case something needs last-minute polishing.” Mary strode off toward the knot of women, while Nathan walked to the menfolk. The bishop, minister, and deacon stood within the group.
“Guder mariye,” he said, sweeping off his hat.
Those who hadn’t seen him approach pivoted, their expressions registering surprise. But in a moment they had surrounded him with warm welcomes, queries about his harvest, and complaints about the overly cool nights. He felt as though he’d been drawn into an Amish cocoon.
When the minister announced it was time to begin the service, the bishop placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up a moment,” he ordered. Nathan peered into the elder’s lined face and swallowed hard. The bishop waited until everyone else had filed into the house before speaking. “I’ve been wondering when you would return. If you didn’t come back after the harvest, I was going to pay you a visit. Iris told me you needed some thinking time.” He studied Nathan as though he were a peculiar bug on the windowsill. “You do your thinking, son?”
“Jah, sir, I did.” He met the older man’s gaze without blinking. “I’m sorry if—”
The bishop held up a palm. “You owe me no apology. You might owe Him some kind of explanation if you wandered too far from prayer.” He turned his face skyward where clouds scuttled by on the high breeze.
“I’ve set things right in that department.”
A slow smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Wunderbaar!” he boomed. “Then let’s see what the minister has in store for the first sermon.” His hand tightened on Nathan’s shoulder as though he half expected him to bolt for the buggies.
But Nathan wasn’t going anywhere. As the two men entered the front room, his heart swelled with hope as he heard voices lifted in the first hymn. He might still be in Ohio, but for now, it felt like home.
When Catherine approached the kitchen that Sunday morning, the room was so quiet she thought it must surely be empty. Instead, all four Grabers were in various stages of breakfast. Jake and Laura were eating cereal and milk with heads propped up with their hands. Daniel sipped coffee, reading something in the German Bible, while Abby was filling another bowl with Cheerios. She didn’t look up when Catherine entered the room.
“Hi, Aunt Catherine,” said Laura. “Mamm says you’re leaving soon. Is that true?” Her face expressed her opinion on the subject.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Daniel. “Why not wait until the harvest is in and all the garden produce canned. We still need your help.” He stared over his reading glasses.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into her. I’ve had no luck,” muttered Abby, shutting the cupboard door with a clatter.
Catherine chose the child to answer. “Jah, little one. Your grossmammi might need me for a while. But maybe I can return for a Saturday or two if your mamm can’t manage without me.”
“I want you to stay.” Laura dropped her spoon into the bowl.
She patted the little girl’s head. “Danki, I would if I could. I’ll miss you too.”
“You are being hasty and impetuous. Typical Catherine Yost behavior,” declared Abby.
“I am not. I’ve thought the matter through.” Catherine set down the coffeepot and narrowed her gaze across the room.
“Ladies, ladies,” said Daniel. “It’s the Lord’s Day. At least postpone this discussion until after preaching.”
Abby’s face turned rosy pink. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Daniel is right.” She carried two bowls of cereal to the table, handed one to Catherine, and then bowed her head in silent prayer.
After a few minutes, Catherine spoke. “There really isn’t much to discuss. I’ve finished packing. My suitcase is in the hallway. If Daniel can take me home after the service, I’d be much obliged.” She poured milk into her coffee.
Abby’s head snapped up from her breakfast. “And miss his lunch? A man has to eat! It wouldn’t hurt for you to eat a little something too, as you’ve lost your fondness for my cooking.” She took a long gulp of coffee.
“That’s not true, schwester. I’
ve simply lost my appetite in general.”
Daniel put his hand over his wife’s and squeezed, but he focused on Catherine. “I’ll take you home after we eat, but why don’t you just ride home with your parents?”
“Because they will stay all day. I’d like to go home as soon as possible.”
“All right, it’s settled.” He returned to reading the Bible passage.
Catherine ate a handful of dry cereal for something to do, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “How is Boots?” she blurted. “Does she continue to recover?”
“You know where Isaiah’s cabin is,” said Abby. “You should have walked down to check on the dog yourself.”
Daniel rose from the table. “Why don’t you help me carry the food out to the buggy? The team is already hitched. I’m afraid if you stay in here any longer, my wife might start pulling your hair, Sabbath or no.”
Catherine put the box of cereal away, picked up a roaster full of sliced beef, and followed him outdoors. The September breeze felt good on her overheated skin. After they had stowed the food behind the seats, Daniel turned to face her. “Boots will make a full recovery. As I told you when I got home, Doc Longo injected her with medicine to counter the toxins in her system and then cleaned the stinger wounds. Her respiration had improved by the next morning. He put her on some pills to help her breathe easier, plus antibiotics twice a day to fight infection. The pills make her sleepy, and Doc says that’s a good thing. She’ll recover faster if she’s not trying to run around. Isaiah has that big dog sleeping on the foot of his bed.” He shook his head. “Big dog, big man—must make for cramped sleeping.” He walked toward the house twenty paces.
“And how is Isaiah?” she asked, trailing one pace behind him.
“He’s fine, Catherine. Just shook up by the ordeal.” Daniel halted, put his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Abby, time to go. Get the kinner loaded up.”
“Thanks for telling me and for saving me from a hair-pulling.” She stepped around him to help Abby carry anything else needed for the noon meal, and then she climbed into the backseat to ride to preaching. Sitting between her niece and nephew, Catherine wouldn’t see Abby pouting and could therefore concentrate on what to do with the rest of her life. Maybe she would look for another job watching other people’s children because having her own had grown unlikely.
