by Leslie Gould
I nearly bolted over the front of the buggy. “You mean we’d come back here?”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“We’ve already been—”
“My Mamm likes having you here.” His mouth twitched in a near smile.
I took a deep breath and turned my head, pretending to be intent on the farm to my right. The windmill stood statue-still in the heat. A cow switched her tail in the pasture. A Plain boy and girl sat on the porch steps, both barefoot.
Finally Pete asked. “What, no argument?”
“I thought we’d be leaving—”
He didn’t allow me to finish. “How about doing what’s best for your family?”
“What family?” I crossed my arms.
We rode on in stony silence, finally turning off the main road. By the time a recently whitewashed barn and house appeared I was sticky with sweat. As we approached the porch, an old man who had been sitting in a rocking chair stood. He looked like Walter except heavier and younger.
“Uncle Wes!” Pete called out, setting the brake, jumping from the buggy, and bounding up the steps. I followed him to the porch.
It seemed too good to be true. The uncle who was in the publishing business was visiting Bert and Livy.
The man enveloped Pete in a bear hug and then slapped him on the back, hard, three times.
“And who’s this?” Wes stepped back, grinning at me.
“Cate,” Pete said.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
I blushed, dreading what was coming next. “I’m from Lancaster County.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Near Paradise.”
He nodded. “Wonderful place. Great sales around there.”
“I can imagine.” Although the tourists clogged the roads during the summer months, their spending helped support families all through Lancaster County.
He grinned. “Yep, I got into the business at the right time. Besides the books, I print a map and brochure of authentic Amish sites. It’s one of my biggest sellers.”
“Uncle Wes is in the publishing business,” Pete said.
I nodded. I remembered.
“I’ll be right back,” Pete said. “I’m going to unhitch the horse. Tell Livy I’ll be right in.”
“I’ll go with you,” Wes said to Pete. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the last year.” He laughed. “You’ve been a little hard to track down.”
That was when I noticed the black car on the side of the house. It had to be Wes’s.
Uncle Wes, Bert, and Pete told one story after another during dinner. I was pretty sure, if it weren’t for Esther, that Walter would be like his brother. A kick in the pants and then some. Instead Walter was a man walking on eggshells.
Livy joined in the laughter, clearly amused. I found myself smiling and laughing a few times too.
After dinner, the men went outside to the porch while I helped Livy clean up. We chatted as we worked, of course, mostly about her children and grandchildren, who all lived nearby. Most of them were even in their district. She went down the list, describing each individual. It was clear she was a loving, doting mother and grandmother. After we’d finished, she made us iced coffees. They had a fridge and a freezer, although small, and even vanilla creamer. Their lifestyle wasn’t anywhere near as austere as Pete’s parents’.
As we sat at the table, I asked her how long they’d lived on their farm.
“Oh, thirty years now,” she said. “It belonged to my grandparents. They let us make payments to them. Pete used to come out a lot when he was little.”
I cocked my head, encouraging her to say more.
“Esther wasn’t well. We’d take him for stretches at a time. Sometimes as long as a couple of months.”
I risked asking what had been wrong with Esther. Thankfully Livy didn’t appear to mind.
“At the time I didn’t know. Looking back, though, I would say she was depressed.” She lowered her voice. “Pete was a big surprise, if you know what I mean. It would be like me having a baby now, almost. And she’d lost a baby a few years before him. A little girl, stillborn. It broke Esther’s heart.”
I gasped.
Livy continued. “All those boys and finally a girl, only to have her die the day before she was born.”
Tears stung my eyes for Esther as I wrapped my warm hands around the ice-cold glass. How tragic.
“She poured herself into John after that. He clearly became her favorite. Not that it mattered to Bert or the older kids, but it was pretty obvious to Pete over the years. Maybe if he’d been a girl, she would have been different. But as it was, she resented him.”
Livy took a long drink of her coffee and then said, “Pete had a mind of his own from the beginning. She hated that.”
She paused for a moment, but I didn’t comment, hoping she’d say more. My waiting paid off. She lowered her voice, “He’s never said anything negative about her, though. Never complained. Not even after . . .”
“After what?”
She wadded her hands in her apron. “There I’ve gone, saying too much.” She lifted her head, catching my eye.
I shook my head, wanting her to know I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
“Pete hasn’t told you anything?”
“No.” I could say that with assurance.
“He hasn’t said anything about Jana?”
I shook my head again as an icy sensation grew in the pit of my stomach.
“She’s three years younger than Pete, but they went to school together.” She took a deep breath. “I think I’ve had too much caffeine today. This is my third cup.”
“No,” I said, afraid she’d stop talking. “Go on.”
“Then they courted,” she said. “From the time she was seventeen or so. All of us thought they would marry. Pete worked like crazy at the dairy, but Esther and Walter took every cent he made, even after he turned twenty-one.” She drained her coffee. “Then last fall, quite a while after the annual family reunion, we heard John was interested in Jana. The next thing we knew Pete had left—it was well into October—without telling any of us good-bye.”
I took a deep breath.
“Although he did tell the bishop—said he wanted to look at other settlements. And then in December, John and Jana got married.”
I shook my head, puzzled. “What happened?”
“None of us know, but Esther told me before the wedding it was for the best, that she knew all along Jana was right for John, not Pete. And the thing was, John had always treated Pete badly. He was constantly after him right up until when he stole Jana.” Livy’s face reddened. “Not that she didn’t have a say.”
I remembered Pete saying John had always been a bit of a sneak, but it was hard for me to imagine John as mean, because he seemed so complacent, but maybe he’d stopped once he got what he wanted.
“So if Jana and Esther are so close, why don’t John and Jana live on the farm?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Livy said. “Jana and Esther had a falling-out right before the wedding. That’s when John rented the house they’re in.”
“Which is where?”
Livy gave me a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“Where exactly is their home?”
She had a puzzled look on her face. “Across the highway from Jana’s grandfather’s land . . . which is next to Esther and Walter’s place. . . .”
I tried to swallow but instead I choked. The woman talking to Pete along the fence—waving at Pete from her yard—was Jana? She was the woman he had loved? And still did?
“Are you okay?” Livy put her glass on the table.
I shook my head as I tried to say, “Jah.” Instead it came out as, “Nah.” I took a drink of my coffee, but it went down the wrong pipe, and I started to cough.
Livy patted my back and said, “There, there.”
If only that could have really made everything all right.
When Pete
and I left late in the afternoon, the humidity was even more oppressive. I stole a glance at Pete. His hat rested back on his head. His bangs curled a tad in the heat, and a trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. He swiped at it and then wiped his hand on his pants.
But he hummed as he held the reins. Thinking of Livy’s story I felt compassion for him. It must have been hard for him to return to the farm. Doubly so with Jana married to John and living across the highway.
Getting away to Bert’s and seeing his uncle seemed to have lifted his spirits, though.
“Tell me about Wes,” I said, wiggling on the bench to try to get my dress unstuck from my sweaty legs, trying to put the thought of Jana out of my head.
Pete didn’t answer immediately. I sighed, certain he was giving me the silent treatment, but then he said, “I was just thinking about him, going over what we talked about.”
“Which was?”
“He has a New York City publisher interested in buying his business but keeping him on as the executive editor.”
“That’s great.” I took a deep breath. It sounded as if Uncle Wes had successfully carried out my dream. Maybe it was easier as a Mennonite.
“Except he wants to cut back.”
“Oh.” My brain was twirling.
“He wanted to know if I was interested.”
I sat up straight. “In working for him?” In my excitement, I thought, for a split second, that maybe we could be partners in a publishing business, that I could work alongside Pete.
“Jah.”
“And with the New York City publisher too?” I couldn’t imagine living in New York City.
Pete nodded. “Something like that.”
“Oh.” I didn’t see how that would do us any good. “What kind of books does Wes publish, besides the tourist maps and brochures?”
“School curriculum, devotionals, histories, biographies. Stuff like that for Plain people. But with more Englisch people interested in Plain topics, his distribution and sales are up.”
A car honked behind us, and Pete pulled the horse as far over on the shoulder as he could, letting the car pass. “Although the print industry is changing with electronic books, it won’t have the same impact when it comes to the Plain market.”
That sounded promising. “When did Wes leave the Amish?”
“He never joined. My grandparents became Mennonite about the same time. They were in one of those districts where almost everyone did. Dat and my Mamm had already married by then, though, and were in a new district—she wouldn’t consider leaving.”
Pete stopped at a crossroads and then turned left. “Mamm always thought I would leave, even after I joined the church. Turns out she was sure I had when I took off like that.” He stared straight ahead. “Even though I talked to the bishop before I left.”
I swallowed hard. “Livy told me about Jana.”
He tipped his hat so I couldn’t see his face.
“Pete?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. I, too, knew what it was like to have my heart broken—twice.
A stretch of downhill was in front of us, and the horse began trotting. A thick patch of evergreens rose to the sky on one side of the road and a field of knee-high corn spread wide on the other. The countryside didn’t look familiar.
“Did we come this way?”
He shook his head. “I’m taking the scenic route back.”
I couldn’t help but notice he’d said back not home.
“Where does Wes live?” I asked.
“In Maryland, not far from Baltimore.”
I turned toward the corn. I’d hate to live there too. Maybe even more than on a farm in New York with an outhouse and an icehouse and a tub in the pantry. I remember my grandmother saying, when I’d complain, that “Things could always be worse.” My new life proved it.
The horse slowed on the upside of the steep hill. I could see a building at the top. As we finally reached the crest, a firehouse, probably the one Pete had mentioned earlier, was ahead of us. Just as we reached it, a siren went off. The horse startled. Pete clucked his tongue and called out, “Giddy up.”
I was pretty sure he wanted to get as far down the road as he could before the fire truck went barreling by. But it ended up turning the other way.
We plodded along, silently. I had no idea where we were. About a mile later, we came to the crest of a smaller hill. To the left was a house. It took a split second for me to realize it was Jana and John’s home. They were sitting out in the yard in lawn chairs. Jana waved. Pete kept his eyes on the road. I don’t know what came over me, but I stuck my head behind Pete’s and waved back as we passed, a big smile on my face. Jana’s hand froze in midair. And John began to laugh—the first time I’d seen him do so since I’d met him.
Pete stared straight ahead.
Four days later, on Thursday morning, I sat shelling peas in the shade of the willow, a midweek load of laundry flapping on the line a few yards away, thinking about Jana, wondering what she was up to. Why was she so friendly with Pete when she’d obviously chosen his brother? Did she regret her decision? It wasn’t like it could be undone.
I grimaced at the irony. Maybe being trapped was something Jana and I had in common.
I chided myself. I was speculating. I didn’t know a thing about her. Maybe she was just friendly. Maybe she thought, all along, she and Pete were just friends. Maybe he’d been the one who had blown things out of proportion. Although I doubted it.
A movement from over by the pasture caught my attention. Pete was vaulting the fence, much like he had back in Lancaster when he wiped out in the gravel. This time he landed perfectly and sprinted to the house. I squinted into the hot sun, surprised to see him.
He didn’t notice me under the willow, and I didn’t say anything. I continued shelling the peas. After a while I could see a figure through the window of the pantry. I was pretty sure it was Pete. Something was up if he was getting all spiffy.
I finished the peas and was tossing the pods into the compost at the edge of the garden when a black car came into view. It was Wes. He parked, and I called out a hello as he got out.
“Is Pete ready to go?”
“I’m not sure.” I didn’t want to admit I didn’t know what was going on. “Come on in. I’ll check.”
He looped his fingers in his suspenders. “I’ll wait out here. Thanks.”
I told him to sit in the shade. “It’s going to be another scorcher.”
He nodded.
When I reached the kitchen, I knocked on the pantry door. “Wes is outside.”
“Denki!” Pete’s voice was full of cheer.
Then I went to find Walter. He often disappeared during the day, going upstairs to nap, I presumed, but this morning he was in the living room, dozing in his chair.
“Wes is here,” I said.
He didn’t stir.
“Your brother.” I touched his shoulder.
He didn’t respond.
“Wes is outside,” I said.
Walter smiled slightly, and then his eyes flew open. “What’s he doing here?” Walter scooted forward in his chair.
“Seems he and Pete are going somewhere.”
Walter struggled to his feet. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, heading for the back door. I followed, wanting to see the two brothers greet each other.
I stood on the top step as Walter limped across the lawn, his arms outstretched to Wes, who was making his way to his brother. They embraced, clapping each other on the back, and then holding on to each other in a tight embrace, rocking back and forth as one.
Tears filled my eyes. I missed Betsy.
Pete’s voice startled me. “I hope they don’t knock each other down.”
“They’re so sweet,” I said.
Pete chuckled. “And sour.”
“How long since they’ve seen each other?”
“Ten years? Maybe more.”
&nb
sp; “Why?”
“I’m not sure. . . . At least not entirely.”
The two old men finally stepped away from each other and fell into conversation.
I walked down the steps and looked back up at Pete. He wore his nicest pair of trousers and a clean shirt. His muscles had bulked up even more in the last couple of months, and his beard was filling out nicely. He held Dat’s black hat in his hands.
“Look at you, all gussied up,” I said.
He pulled the hat onto his head, shading his tanned face. “Want to go with us?”
“Where?”
“To meet with the publisher Wes has been talking with.”
I tilted my head. If Pete really wanted me to go, it seemed he would have asked me sooner, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. “Sure,” I responded.
“Ready?” Wes called out.
“Jah.” Pete hurried down the stairs.
“Missus coming?”
Walter appeared surprised as he turned and looked past me at the house.
Wes laughed. “The new missus, I mean.”
Walter chuckled.
Pete nodded his head.
Breathless, I called out, “Give me just a minute.” I dashed back into the house, determined to be as fast as I could. The publisher must be staying somewhere nearby. I imagined him at the Chautauqua compound, less than an hour away. I’d read about it over the years and imagined the publisher vacationing there with his family, taking in the lectures and the nearby recreation. Or perhaps he was in Jamestown, which wasn’t far either.
I ran up the stairs, pulled off my apron, grabbed a clean one and a fresh Kapp and two pins, slipping them between my lips. I hurried back down the stairs, pulling off my kerchief as I did, nearly knocking Esther down at the bottom, where she stood with her hands on her hips.
“What in the world is going on?”
“I’m going with Pete,” I said through the pins, darting past her. “Ask Walter.” I skidded through the living room and on into the kitchen, tightening my bun and then pulling my Kapp on my head as I banged through the back door. By the time I reached the car, where Pete was standing in a huddle with his uncle and Dat, I had my Kapp secured.
