by Leslie Gould
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ruby blurted out, realizing as she did she should have kept quiet.
Duncan gave her a questioning look.
Ruby’s face grew warm. “It’s just that your mother said last night she needed to trust the Lord with you. . . .” She wouldn’t add that Mary had regretted asking Jane to supper.
Duncan’s face relaxed a little. Finally he said, “Perhaps there’s hope, then.”
Ruby couldn’t guess what he hoped for. Maybe just to make his own decisions in life. She wondered what that would be like. From the time she was young, it was assumed she and Paul would marry. If she didn’t marry Paul, she absolutely needed to marry someone else in her community—and there weren’t that many choices. Especially not now. It was also assumed she’d go to Canada because that was what Hans had dictated, and she was his responsibility, since the moment their father died. No wonder he was anxious for her to marry Paul.
She didn’t believe Zachary felt the same way, though. She didn’t feel as if she were a burden to him. He’d already guessed she didn’t love Paul. And he’d guessed she had feelings for Duncan.
She turned her head toward the window and stared out at the landscape passing by, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach by the calf. She couldn’t have survived the last few months without Duncan’s help, and yet she regretted ever meeting him, ever allowing him to become her friend. Knowing him, caring for him . . . jah, all of it had tangled her life in a way she didn’t know how to unwind.
Ruby turned toward Duncan. “Tell me—or at least Zachary—what we owe your father, for however he arranged for the army to let you go.”
Duncan shook his head. “I have no idea what he did, and I don’t plan to ask.”
“Please,” Ruby said. “We don’t want to be beholden to you.”
Duncan rubbed the bridge of his nose and said. “Should I feel I must compensate you for sounding the alarm about Isabelle last night?”
Isabelle grinned. “Or should we compensate you for bringing Duncan back from the deep, deep darkness of his—”
Duncan elbowed his sister and the two began to laugh. Ruby decided to let Zachary speak to Duncan when he had the chance—clearly he wasn’t taking her seriously.
Duncan, Isabelle, and Ruby spent the night again in the inn and then arrived the next day in Lancaster. From there, Duncan hired a driver in an open buggy to take them to their farms. He instructed the driver to go to the Bachmann farm first and drop Ruby off. They sat close together on the back bench, Isabelle in the middle, trying to stay warm in the late-February cold. The temperature had dropped as they traveled, and the dark clouds looked as if another snowstorm was on the way.
As the driver turned the horses and buggy toward the Bachmann house, Ruby gulped for air. Their old wagon was there.
Hans had returned.
She felt for sure as if the calf had kicked her.
“Who’s here?” Duncan asked.
“My brother,” she answered. “Hans.”
A cloud passed over Duncan’s face. “From Canada?”
She nodded.
“Then you’ll be leaving soon?”
“Perhaps . . .”
He reached across Isabelle and grabbed for Ruby’s hand. “I need to speak with you before you go. Please. In private.”
She wanted nothing more than for him to keep a hold of her hand, to never let it go. Tears stung at her eyes.
“Ruby?” She turned toward the voice coming from by the corral. The speaker wasn’t Hans.
It was Paul.
18
Jessica
Aenti Suz smiled at me and then pointed to her window. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky. “I think I’ll rest for a while after all,” she said. “Even though it’s so late.”
“What about the story?”
“It will have to wait,” she said. “I’ll finish it tomorrow, before you leave.”
I would have rather she continued, but I respected her need to rest. She’d had a hard week, like all of us. I thanked her for the story so far, and then left her little house, stopping on her porch. I could empathize with Ruby. She cared for two different men, as I did.
Ruby had to make that decision years ago. And I’d made that decision too. I had loved Silas, more than I realized. But that didn’t mean he was the man I should marry.
I exhaled, as if blowing my worries away, and then headed back to the house. The late afternoon breeze sent a chill right through me. Before I reached the back door Leisel, Marie, and Gail came out, dressed in their capes and bonnets.
For a moment, I visualized Ruby walking along with them, the hem of her plain dress drawing attention to her hand-knitted socks, her wool cape flowing out around her. But then I was back in the present, watching my sisters and Gail march toward me.
“We’re going to the singing,” Leisel called out, her voice pleasant. “Want to come with us?”
I shook my head. That wouldn’t go over well with Bishop Jacobs. “Is Mamm around?”
Leisel nodded. “She’s in the living room, reading.”
I told them to have a good time. Marie nodded as she passed by me, Gail smiled, and Leisel gave me a quick hug.
Then I continued on inside. Mamm sat in her rocking chair, the family Bible in her hands. She’d always been tall and lanky, but I noticed how thin she looked. Had she been eating? She continued reading, and I stepped to the bench near the door where I’d left my bag.
Then I returned to the living room and said, “Mamm.” She glanced up with a surprised look on her face. “Do you mind if I sit in here with you?”
She pursed her lips together, but then said, “Go ahead.”
I sat down on the end of the couch closest to her, remembering how I used to sit on her lap when I was young, usually jockeying for position with Marie and Leisel, too, but because I was the oldest she’d ask me to stand. She would read to us—the Little House books were what I remembered the most. It was so easy to imagine the Ingalls as Amish with their horses and wagons and old-fashioned farming and quaint ways and sayings.
I took Dat’s address book from my bag. “I found Amos’s phone number in here.”
She nodded as she closed the Bible and left it to rest on her lap.
I handed the book back to her and she took it. “I shouldn’t have kept it,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She pursed her lips again.
“I noticed addresses from Vietnam. Aenti Suz told me last week that Dat lived there for a year. And then began corresponding with people from there about twenty years ago.”
Mamm’s face clouded.
“I wish he’d told us about it.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t want him giving you ideas.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about him, though,” I said.
“You know the most important parts.”
I had to agree with her. At least I hoped I did. He’d poured those parts into me. Dedication to the land. Care for others. Faith in God.
I sighed. I doubted I’d ever get more information about my father’s life from my mother. “I plan to go back to Harrisburg tomorrow,” I said. “Milton is doing well with the farm, and with Arden coming home, I think it’s better that I leave.”
She nodded, hugging the book to her chest.
“But Mamm, if you have any influence over Arden, could you discourage him from selling off the woods? And from allowing fracking on our land?” I wouldn’t mention the dangers of fracking as far as the well water. I honestly felt the less defensive I made them all feel, the better.
Mamm shook her head. “Arden isn’t considering fracking.”
“No, he is.”
She pursed her lips together. “He told me he wasn’t.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d seen the paperwork. But I didn’t want to get in a power struggle with her.
“Well, Milton would like to have land left to farm, to earn a living when he’s grown.” If I left it t
hat Milton needed a livelihood someday, I figured she might be more receptive.
For the longest time, Mamm didn’t respond, but finally she said, “I’ll think about what I can say to him.”
“Denki,” I said and then, “I need to speak with you about something else.”
She lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips again.
I quietly said one word. “Amos.”
Her expression collapsed into a frown.
“He’s carried a heavy burden all of these years. Perhaps Dat told you.”
She nodded. “He told me what Amos claimed.”
“But you didn’t believe he was telling the truth?”
She shook her head again. “That would mean Arden was lying.”
“Jah,” I whispered. “It would.”
She put the address book on top of the Bible, resting both in her lap. “Jessica, don’t do this again.”
“Do what?”
“Try to stir up trouble. Bishop Jacobs warned you once.”
I exhaled slowly. “Arden does lie,” I said. “He lied about Rebecca. He lied about Amos. He won Vi’s affection based on his lies. And he is pursuing fracking.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What makes you hate your brother so much?”
“I don’t,” I answered, doing my best to keep my voice calm. “But I do love our family and our land. I think it’s time we seek the truth.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You have no proof.”
“Not that he lied about Rebecca,” I said. “But I do about the fracking.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, he told both your Dat and me, just last month, that he wasn’t considering any such thing.”
“Come out to the barn with me,” I said. “I’ll show you.” I hoped the plans were in the cupboard, as Silas indicated.
She complied, placing the Bible and the address book on the table and then putting on her cape and bonnet. She followed me out the door and trudged beside me to the barn, completely silent.
I remembered what Amos said about feeling sympathetic toward her, for all she’d gone through. I didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, to have two others leave, to lose my husband. I prayed for compassion, to see her hurts and disappointments.
I held the barn door open for her and then led the way to the office. I hurried behind the desk and opened the cupboard, kneeling down. There were a couple of boxes filled with tax records. I pulled out the boxes. Up against the back of the cupboard was a cardboard tube. I took it out, imagining that Milton had stashed it back there after he saw me looking at the plans. I took off the lid and pulled out the paperwork. Bingo.
“Arden left these here,” I said, turning around to my mother and then spreading the plans on the desktop.
She bent down and scanned the papers for a few seconds and then looked up at me. “Maybe these don’t belong to Arden.”
I concentrated on not rolling my eyes. “Who would they belong to? Amos?”
“Don’t be sassy,” Mamm snapped.
“Don’t be in denial,” I replied.
She crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, disappointed that I hadn’t been more gentle, even after intending to. “Mamm, these absolutely belong to Arden.” I held up the side of the tube with the address. “Look. This has Arden’s name on it. And the postmark was nearly four months ago.” I held it up so she could read it.
She did and then struggled around the desk and sat down abruptly in the chair.
“What is it?” I asked.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Finally she managed to say, “That was the week after your Dat was diagnosed with cancer.”
The next morning Milton and I did the milking with Luke and Leroy’s help. I’d decided I’d done all I could to stop Arden—the rest would be up to Mamm. I could go back to Harrisburg knowing I’d done my best.
The children, except for Milton of course, were all returning to school that day, and right before we finished, Vi came out to tell Luke and Leroy it was time to eat breakfast and get ready for school.
“You go along, too, Milton,” I said. “I’m going to go run an errand, but I’ll come back and help you get started with the plowing.”
The boys ran across the field to their home as I started toward the big house, but Vi asked me to wait a moment and then said, “May I speak with you?”
I stopped. I knew Mamm hadn’t told her about Arden’s lies, but I still felt anxious about all of it. Did she suspect that he’d lied to her?
“I have a driver coming to take me up to the hospital as soon as the children leave for school. Leisel is going with me.”
I nodded. That sounded like a good plan. “I’ll tell you good-bye now.” I doubted seeing me would be good for Arden, and I certainly had no intension of confronting him about his lies. I’d leave that up to Mamm. “I plan to leave by early afternoon.”
“I suspected you would leave today.” She shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat. “We all appreciate your help this last week, even Arden.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “It was good . . .” My voiced trailed off. Good to see everyone? Good to be back? Good to be shamed and shunned? I didn’t say any of that. “Tell Arden I hope he’ll heal quickly.”
She smiled, just a little. At one time, she’d been a big sister to me. Now I struggled to see her as a friend and not an enemy.
“Take care,” I said, squinting into the rising sun.
“You too.” She turned and walked away slowly, as if every step were an effort. But then she turned and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first arrived. And that letter I sent after you left. Well, it was required of me. . . .”
I nodded. I imagined either Bishop Jacobs or Arden insisted she write it.
She took a few steps toward me and then I walked toward her, meeting her halfway.
She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “It was helpful for me to see Amos, to remember what I was like at your age.”
I tilted my head and then smiled at her. “I remember. You were kind and generous. And good to me.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered, “Denki. I needed that.” She opened her eyes. “I need to be reminded that perhaps I can be that way again.”
I reached for her hand, and she let me take it. It wasn’t as cold as I expected it would be, considering the frosty morning. “What’s going on, Vi?” A shiver ran through me.
Her face grew pale. “I don’t want to say too much, but somewhere throughout the years I got caught up in Arden’s negativity. It started with how critical he was of Amos. Then it jumped around to various people through the years—your Dat’s leniency, then you, then Silas.”
“He was critical of Silas?”
She nodded. “His recent negative talk has made others in the community suspicious of Silas. He implied Silas was courting Gail to get back at you.”
“Oh” was all I could manage to say.
She frowned. “And I never said a thing to him. Never. Not about Amos, whom I knew was a better man than Arden ever admitted. Not about your Dat or you or Silas. At first, I believed Arden was the man I needed to marry, the one who would care for me. And then I figured no husband was perfect and there were simply things I needed to put up with. So instead of asking him to stop criticizing others, I joined him.”
I squeezed her hand in support. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?”
She nodded. “Your Dat dying. Having you return. Seeing Amos. Arden’s heart attack. All of it hit home for me. I knew I needed to stand up to Arden, but I couldn’t do it while he was in the hospital.” She sighed. “But I will. In the meantime, will you forgive me?”
“Of course.” I squeezed her hand again. Her words had lifted part of the cloak that had been clinging to my soul for the last three years.
“Don’t give up on Silas,” she said.
I let go of her hand. “Pardon?”
&nb
sp; “I regret Arden and I weren’t more supportive of the two of you when you started courting.”
“You weren’t unsupportive. . . .” Actually, come to think of it, they were. Arden was so critical of me and my “unladylike ways.” And even back then he was weirdly critical of Silas, implying he wasn’t strong enough to stand up to me and that sort of thing.
When I didn’t finish my sentence, Vi said, “I hope you’ll give him another chance.”
I shook my head. “That was all so long ago. Water under the bridge . . .” Again my voice trailed off.
She smiled a little. Was she thinking of Amos? My much kinder, gentler brother. My brother who was actually a lot like Silas. I shuddered and spoke quickly to interrupt my thoughts. “Thank you,” I said, “for talking with me. I hope things will go well for you when you speak with Arden.”
She smiled again, this time a little broader, and then turned her head back toward the field.
I knew her children were waiting for her. “Go,” I said.
She did. I watched as she walked away. Vi had been passive, beginning when she chose a lie over the man she loved. But she was determined, now, to do what she could to right her course.
I decided not to go into the house for breakfast. I was grateful for my encounter with Vi, but I wasn’t ready for more drama with Marie and Gail. I decided to go to the Stoltz farm instead, without changing out of my milking dress. Hopefully John Stoltz had decided to share his story as a cautionary tale to others, my brother included.
As I started up my car, Leisel rushed out onto the porch. I rolled down my window. “Come tell me good-bye,” I called out, as I pulled around in front of the house and put the car in Park.
I climbed out and gave her a big hug. “Hopefully I’ll have a chance to give you a second good-bye this afternoon, but if not, come see me sometime,” I said.
She hugged me back, then pulled away, and wrinkled her nose. “Can you imagine how that would go over if I just took a trip to Harrisburg?” She shook her head. “Not well.”
I hugged her again and then, choked up, climbed back in my car and sped away. I’d expected coming home would be hard, but I hadn’t anticipated the pain I’d feel at leaving again.
