Forevermore

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Jakob now watched as Hope and Emmy-Lou walked hand in hand toward him. Their arms swung with exuberance back and forth in an exaggerated pendulum’s arc.

  “I don’t believe my eyes!” Phineas gave Jakob’s shoulder a shove. “You’re smiling! I thought you’d forgotten how.”

  Jakob shrugged. “Look at my daughter. She’s happy. A man wants his child to be happy.”

  “Daddy! Miss Hope says I gotta ask you. Can we go see Milky and her kitties?”

  “Ja.”

  Emmy-Lou curled her fingers through the hammer loop on his overalls and gave it a tug, just as certainly as she’d tugged on his heartstrings earlier that day. “Daddy, I want you to take me.”

  “I’ll go yonder and take a Sunday stroll.” Hope gazed at him directly, making him know she’d ease away so he could have time alone with his girl. “Hattie’s winking at me and her ears are a-twitchin’ howdy, so I reckon I’ll take her ’long.”

  Jakob rested his hand on Emmy-Lou’s head and felt her soft curls coil about his fingers. “Would you like a saddle and halter?”

  “Thankee, but no. Well, maybe a rope halter. Hattie follows me just like your cat Fleck used to tag after you.”

  She’d remembered that? Jakob covered his surprise by turning to fetch a length of rope. As she and her mule walked off, Jakob scooped up Emmy-Lou. “Let’s go see the kittens.”

  Now that he’d taken a closer look, Hope’s everyday dress was the only brown thing he’d seen that day that didn’t carry a scrap of charm or beauty. Faded from repeated washings, the small checks looked drab as could be. A stingy one-inch ruffle made from the same fabric as the dress stood up to form a collar and V-eed down the bodice. Emmy-Lou was right—Hope’s everyday dress went beyond ugly; it was hideous. Many years ago, his grandmother would have nodded and pronounced Hope’s dress practical. It wouldn’t show dirt. Dim praise indeed.

  I’ll talk to Annie. She can give Hope some feed sacks to make herself another dress. No . . . maybe I’d better not. So many other chores are in dire wont of doing. The last thing Hope needs is another project to distract her from the essentials. When she leaves—that’s when I’ll give her the sacks. It’ll be a little something extra.

  “Daddy, when I go to school, do I getta ride a horse?”

  Jakob halted midstride and looked down at the precious child he held in his arms. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. The very thought of her going away each day made his blood run cold. She’d come close to being buried alive when she fell into the test hole for the new well. Going off to school . . . anything could happen, and he couldn’t bear to lose her.

  “I know how to ride a horse. You let me ride on Josephine sometimes.”

  Only when he was by her side or she rode in his lap—never alone. He resumed his path toward the cat. Keeping her home from school wasn’t an option, but he’d do everything he could to assure her safe transit. “Liebling, you’re too small to go such a long way all by yourself. The Smiths—they have so many children, they take a wagon to school. When the time comes, I’ll walk you to the road, and you can go with them.” As much for himself as for her, he added, “It’ll be good for you to be with your friends, ja?”

  “Miss Hope could go with me. We could learn to read together.”

  Jakob shook his head. “No.”

  Her little hand came up and patted his chest. “Daddy, you promised I getta keep one of Milky’s kitties.” When he nodded, she clenched her fingers, balling his shirt into her little fist. “I’m not gonna. I wanna keep Miss Hope instead of a kitty!”

  Jakob set Emmy-Lou down and knelt beside her. “You can’t keep Hope, but I will let you have a kitty.”

  Ignoring the playful, fluffy litter, Emmy-Lou leaned close and peered into his eyes. “Why can’t I keep Hope?”

  Pain burned in his chest. How am I to explain this, Lord? She’s too little to keep losing the ones she loves. In her short life, his daughter had already lost her mother and brother; then her cousin Miriam left, as well. She needs to know Hope won’t be here long so her heart isn’t broken again. “We didn’t keep Cousin Miriam. Remember? She just came to help for a while, then she left. It’s that way with Hope, too—only her stay with us will be much shorter.”

  Distress streaked across her little features. “Auntie Annie isn’t going to go away, is she?”

  “Nein. She will stay with us. You can be sure of that.”

  The certainty of his tone erased only a portion of Emmy-Lou’s upset. “But, Daddy, why can’t we keep—”

  “People aren’t like kittens, to be kept or owned. You can’t keep Hope.” The forlorn look on his daughter’s face tugged at his heart, but Jakob knew he had to be firm. He couldn’t foster his daughter’s fantasy; doing so would only hurt her more when Hope left.

  Six

  I have something for you.” Leopold Volkner didn’t bother to dismount; he simply handed a gazette and an envelope to Konrad Erickson.

  Konrad accepted the mail. Though he could have gone to town today, he’d stayed home specifically because he knew the letter would arrive. Jakob was like that—dependable. Stolid and predictable. There wouldn’t be a letter inside. Only money. But no one else had to know that.

  Invariably, a neighbor would bring by the envelope. It made everyone believe Annie was corresponding with him, and the envelope served as a not-so-subtle reminder to neighbors that Konrad sorely lacked a woman’s assistance. Occasionally, someone would bring by a covered dish or a baked treat the day after the letter came. He’d send that person back with the most recent “news” Annie’s letter supposedly contained.

  He straightened his left arm and tucked the gazette into his left hand—a seemingly casual move. The last two fingers of his left hand were missing, and Konrad had perfected such moves so that no one would notice it. Pressing the envelope from Jakob to his chest with his right hand, he gave Volkner a sheepish smile. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but getting these letters from my Annie . . .” He cleared his throat.

  Leopold Volkner chuckled. “My sister—she’ll be glad to know Annie is well. You’ve been apart a long time, haven’t you?”

  Forcing a smile, Konrad shrugged. “Not so long, really.” Pride forced him to pretend all was well. “You know how softhearted my wife is. She’s just what Jakob and his little girl need—their grief is horrible.” He shook his head. “God forbid, but when we have a family, I’d be vewustet if Annie and our baby son died.”

  “Ja. It is terrible. You show great mercy to your brother-in-law, allowing your wife to help him.”

  Covering for Annie’s absence grew harder all the time. At first, everyone called him kindhearted, but as the months passed, Konrad knew people were talking. As their sympathy for him waned, so had the invitations for meals. The thought of food made Konrad’s stomach rumble. He rubbed it and smiled ruefully. “I change my mind. It’s been forever since my Annie left. Of course, I started saying that the second day she was gone. I’m a horrible cook.”

  “Come next Sunday for supper.”

  “I will.” His smile broadened. “I’ll give you all the news Annie wrote.”

  Volkner nodded. He squinted at the fields around them and let out a sigh. “Your wheat—it looks good. I should have planted wheat this year. The greenbugs got all my sorghum.”

  “Mine too. Crop’s ruined. If the weather holds good, the wheat might be enough to save me.”

  “I’m glad for you.” Volkner took off his straw hat, raked his fingers through his wavy blond hair, and slapped the hat back on. “For me—the loss is too much. I’m going to go south and hire out to help with harvest. By the time the crops there are in, your field will be ripe. I wanted you to know so you can still rely on my help.”

  Konrad nodded curtly. “Thanks. If you go to Jakob Stauffer’s farm, be sure to tell my Annie I miss her. When do you leave?”

  “Day after tomorrow . . . but don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell everyone at home that you’re coming to Su
nday supper.”

  Konrad watched Volkner ride off. The exchange went as well as it could, considering everything. It wouldn’t be hard to make up a story or two about Annie and Jakob’s kid. In fact, Konrad considered himself a skilled storyteller. So what if his words were lies?

  He looked down at the envelope and opened it with one savage rip. Cash slid out. Five dollars. Five paltry dollars a month. That’s what Jakob sent to keep him away. It wasn’t enough, but Konrad couldn’t leave now. He had no one to mind his crops.

  Rage filled him as he strode toward the house. Konrad was the one who had worked the land these last six years, toiled under the scorching sun to bring in each crop. That, and he’d married Stauffer’s mousy daughter. Everything had been going according to his plan until two years ago, when the old man died. Oh, Konrad planned on his dying. In fact, Annie babied the old goat and kept him alive far past what anyone expected. Konrad played his part well, too. More than once, the old man had said he was just like a son. In the end, it was all easy enough. He’d sent Annie to bed and done away with the old man by simply holding a pillow over his face. No one ever suspected anything, and Konrad knew all he’d ever wanted now belonged to him.

  Or so he had thought.

  A son ought to inherit—but after the funeral, at the reading of the will, Konrad learned he’d been cheated out of everything he’d planned on, sweated for, and expected. The house should have been willed to him, but Annie’s father hadn’t bothered to see the attorney and change the paper work. His will left the farm to be split evenly between his sons—but with Bartholomew dead, that meant Jakob inherited everything. Everything—the house, the barn, the animals, the land—all went to the sole surviving son.

  Jakob didn’t need it; he had a farm of his own. Even more, Jakob didn’t deserve it. But Jakob wielded his ownership of the farm in a way Konrad never anticipated.

  Jakob unexpectedly whisked Annie away one afternoon. Left on the table was a scrawled note. The words burned in Konrad’s memory and soul: Work the land. Keep the profit, but stay away from my sister.

  He’d dared to leave such an order—as if Konrad was still a hired hand instead of the man of the house and the one who ran things.

  A wry smile twisted Konrad’s mouth. He refused to stand for such an order. The money in his hand proved he’d fought back and won. He’d fired off a letter that resulted in Jakob sending funds each month.

  Now Konrad wished he’d demanded more money. A farmer earned about twenty dollars a month, a hired hand got about ten. Women weren’t worth as much as men, but Stauffer might have paid another dollar each month. Maybe even two.

  Women tended the garden and put up food—but Annie wasn’t here. That forced Konrad to buy expensive canned goods at the mercantile. If Annie were here like a good wife would be, he wouldn’t be dealing with that problem. She had no business leaving him. Jakob shouldn’t have taken her away. A woman belonged with her husband. Belonged to her husband. Yet for seven months now, Jakob had been benefiting from her labors.

  The five dollars crinkled in Konrad’s fist. Annie owed him her labor and care, yet she’d abandoned him. And why? He was a good husband to her. Far better than she deserved.

  Her thoughtlessness provoked him. She’d deserved his irritation and earned his anger, but he was sorry for having been stern with her on occasion. To his credit, each time after he’d had to discipline her, he always went out of his way to be kind. Unfortunately, Annie was slow to learn, and she’d inevitably do things wrong and earn his wrath yet again.

  Hadn’t he told her repeatedly not to starch the collar of his Sunday-best shirt so much? And when they ran low on raisins, she’d put a stingy scoop of them in his oatmeal—then had some herself. Annie should have planned better and deserved to go without until she got to the mercantile to buy more. Well, she’d learned. After that episode, she always gave him plenty of raisins and ate her own oatmeal plain.

  She’d gone to town without once asking permission. Even spent the egg money on buttons for a dress for herself. He’d made her take them back and give him the money. She’d vowed to honor and obey him the day she became his wife; she’d done neither. He’d had to train her, and after a year he still found her sadly lacking.

  Nevertheless, he needed her. A few weeks more—then he’d get her. Once he brought in the wheat, Konrad decided, he’d go south and fetch his wife. He’d say whatever was needed to convince Jakob that Annie belonged alongside her husband.

  Only Jakob was a stubborn man.

  Konrad slowly fingered the bills as he considered the problem and concocted a plan. The best way would be to show up on Sunday and say something in the churchyard after the service about how he’d tried to be understanding all this time, but the Bible said no man should pull asunder what God had joined together. Folks would side with him.

  Of course, he’d also say that he’d missed his darling Annie, but they’d chosen to be apart this long because Jakob promised to sign over the deed so they’d be able to call the land their very own. Yes, that’s what would happen. Annie was so mealymouthed and mousy, she wouldn’t dare tell a single soul that it was all a lie. A smirk tilted Konrad’s mouth. Jakob wouldn’t like it, but he’d sign the deed—otherwise he’d be branded a liar and cheat.

  The thought of that victory calmed Konrad. Annie would be a better wife, now that she missed him. She’d come home and behave. Even give him sons. Yes, several sons. Sons to work by his side and make him both rich and proud. Strapping ones who would inherit the land and take care of him in his old age. But first things first. He’d bring in the harvest. Then he’d get his wife and farm.

  Seven

  Hope cast a look at the bushel baskets she’d set at the end of every other row in the garden. Placed on the far side of the garden, those baskets weren’t visible from the house or the path toward the outhouse. She made a habit of traversing a different row each time she went outside for something. As she passed through, she’d harvest the ripe vegetables into the skirt of her apron, then slip them into a basket. Mrs. Erickson didn’t know, and Hope wanted it to stay that way.

  Carrying a large crock to the back porch, she called out, “Emmy-Lou, please open the door.”

  Little feet pattered, and the door burst open. “What’re we gonna do now?”

  “We’re gonna fill this here crock with watermelon pickles.”

  “My brother . . . ” Mrs. Erickson sounded almost apologetic. “He likes the pickles made of the fruit itself and dill.”

  “So do I!” Hope grinned. “We’ll pickle the fruit with dill and the rind with sugar, cinnamon, cloves and vinegar. That way, nothing goes to waste. Does that sound about right to you, Mrs. Erickson?”

  “Ja.” Mrs. Erickson gave her a timid smile. “I call you Hope. You should call me Annie.”

  Knowing Annie was as timid as could be, Hope acknowledged her act of friendship without making a to-do about it. “Well, then, Annie, we’ll be gettin’ a lot done here, won’t we?”

  Annie looked concerned as she set aside the sock she’d been darning. “I should have cleaned the crocks.”

  “Of course you could have, but them socks there would still need darnin’. I’m fixin’ to tote in a passel of melons. If’n you finish the socks, might be good for you to slice up a few cabbages. We could salt the shreds and start up a batch of sauerkraut.”

  Much later, when the men came in for supper, Emmy-Lou galloped over to her father as he stopped at the washstand. Straddling the broom, she giggled. “Daddy, watch me! I’m riding a horsey, and my horsey is cleaning the floor.”

  “Too bad her horse can’t pull a load.” Phineas waited for his boss to use the pitcher and bowl first.

  A grimace creased Mr. Stauffer’s face.

  Hope wiped her hands on the hem of her apron. “Something happen to one of your beasts?”

  “Josephine is fine, but Nicodemus took exception to something and kicked in his stall. Didn’t break anything, but I mudded and wrapped his le
g. The last thing I need is a lame horse at harvest.”

  “What’s the first thing you need, Daddy?”

  He rinsed his hands, then knelt by Emmy-Lou as he dried them. “I got you, so I can’t complain.”

  “Hattie and Josephine are of a size.” Hope turned back to the stove and opened the warmer up top to take out a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. The sharp, creamy fragrance filled the air. “Wouldn’t be the first time Hattie worked with a horse.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  Hope gave her boss a startled look. “Why? That would make me like a dog with a stranger.”

  “I think you mean dog in a manger,” Phineas said as he washed up.

  “You got things turnt about. ’Twas Jesus in the manger. A dog with a stranger—there’s a critter what ain’t sure he wants to allow anyone near his property.” She turned her focus on her boss. “Well, we ain’t strangers, and I wouldn’t mind a bit. Josephine’s been weanin’ her foal. Since he’s been keepin’ Hattie company out in the pasture, he’s carried her scent back to his mama. I reckon all it’d take is bribin’ them with half a peach in the mornin’, and they’d stand for bein’ harnessed together.”

  “I’m obliged.” Mr. Stauffer inhaled appreciatively as he moved so she could set the hot bowl on the table. “Does Hattie prefer right or left side?”

  “Left, but she’ll do right if you need her to.”

  Mr. Stauffer’s shoulders eased down a bit more. “Left is good. Josephine—she likes the right. Emmy-Lou, your hands are dirty.”

  “I’ll see to her.” Annie scurried over.

  Emmy-Lou yanked on the broomstick and did a little sideways hop. “Whoa, horsey!” She lost her balance, and her father caught her, but the broom went the other way. The tip of the handle struck the sampler, which in turn jarred the photograph. Hope watched, helpless to stop the Stauffers’ wedding picture as it slid down the wall and crashed, shattering glass all about.