“Plowing this way, the way your husband is learning, it’s tried and true. Many in the world still farm this way.”
Jeanette replaced her glasses and peered through them across the fields before finally looking back at him. “Why? I understand you have religious reasons. I’ve researched that. But why would Tim want to?”
“I can’t explain his heart,” Aaron said softly. “I can tell you that plowing this way makes the soil more receptive to water. In Indiana we offer classes for university students to come and study our methods.”
Jeanette sat up straighter. “I didn’t realize…”
“Ya. Some, like your husband, are turning back to the old ways. Go walk out there. See how it exposes the soil to nutrients—”
“Fertilizer.”
Aaron laughed. “We use everything on the farm. Saves money and makes gut sense.”
“Thank you, Aaron.” Jeanette stood. “Tim’s had his share of struggles. All of my family have. Problems that we hope a change of lifestyle will help. I’m praying this will…this will be what we need.”
Aaron nodded, thanked her again for the plate of cookies, and walked home. He felt better for having spent a few hours away from the cabins. After all, he wasn’t an innkeeper, at least not permanently.
Miriam walked Rae out onto the front porch. “Are you sure you can’t stay any longer?”
“I wish I could. Our visits always go by too fast.” Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and she had a dark tan, even though the weather was just now warm enough to spend the day outside.
Miriam could hardly believe they were the same age. In some ways Rae appeared so carefree—no husband, no babies, no home to tend. In other ways, though, her job with the newspaper was far more demanding than what Miriam had to handle each day.
“It seems we’ve known each other for years,” she said as they continued towards Rae’s small car. “Hard to believe we met over Drake’s project.”
Rae opened the car door and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. “At least one good thing came of his plowing through town.”
“You still don’t like him.”
“I don’t. Now he’s moved farther north, and he’s attempting to do the same thing—only those communities aren’t standing up to him. They’re trying to ignore him, and we both know that won’t work.”
Miriam reached forward and straightened the collar on Rae’s blue jean jacket. “You worry about our communities, but each district has to make their own decisions. All you can do is make gentle suggestions and report the news for your paper.”
“I know. You’d think after all these years I would have picked up on some of your glassenheet.”
“Gelassenheit.” Miriam covered her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh at her friend.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Nein.”
“You need to teach me, Miriam. Soon Rachel will speak better Pennsylvania Dutch than I do.”
Rae was in the car and buckled when Miriam remembered to ask her about the local assignment covering burglaries.
“Don’t worry about that. There’s been nothing close to Cashton.”
“What’s being stolen?”
“Anything they can sell, apparently. They tend to hit places without surveillance.”
“Which is—”
“Video cameras, security, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds as if Amish places could be a target.”
“A few have been.” Rae stared out through the front window of her car and seemed about to say something. She shook her head, as if she could shake the worries away. “Whoever is doing this has hit a few churches—different denominations and even a couple of the small outlying schools. The police aren’t saying if the incidents are connected at this point, but my instincts tell me they are.”
“You’ll be careful?”
“I will.”
As she drove away, Miriam realized how grateful she was for her Englisch friend. She’d printed out several articles on Abigail’s disease, which Miriam could read through later this afternoon. And she’d offered to pray for her.
Rae’s faith wasn’t so different from her own. They might attend different churches, but they prayed to the same God. They believed the same truths, and they would often laugh when one or the other brought up a verse from Scripture—because it was familiar. It was as if their spiritual roots were the same.
Certainly, God had brought Rae Caperton into her life.
Miriam would pray for Rae’s safety as she went about her daily chores. Rae’s job was important to the Plain community, though they preferred to think they didn’t need representation in the Englisch paper—and perhaps they didn’t. But Rae had convinced her Amish communities were going to be dealt with on the printed page whether they wanted to or not. At least with Rae and others like her on their side, they had a chance of being dealt with fairly.
Rae also said she’d try to stop by the cabins in the next few days and see if she could do an article on the improvements Aaron and Lydia had done. It wouldn’t hurt to give them a little publicity. First, though, she had to run down her lead on the burglary piece.
As Miriam cleaned up their lunch dishes, she prayed that God would keep Rae Caperton out of harm’s way. She prayed the person doing this terrible thing would be stopped, and she prayed that God would find a way to use the work of their hands.
Chapter 28
Lydia set out for work earlier than usual Friday morning in spite of Clara’s complaining. Aaron had spent the night with David because all of the cabins were rented. He’d be riding into work with Seth. She wanted to arrive before her normal time so that she could open the office and have kaffi and breakfast prepared for any of the guests who were early risers.
Everything was off this morning.
Clara was crankier than usual, and Stephen hadn’t been himself at all.
The sun had barely lightened the horizon when her brother pulled Tin Star out of the barn, hitched to the buggy. Stephen had dark circles under his eyes and hay stuck to his hair from sleeping in the hayloft. Why had he slept in the barn? Stephen had only shrugged when she thanked him. He had frowned at the ground and walked away without a word.
“Do you think Stephen is doing all right? He seems somewhat sullen.”
“Who wouldn’t be at this hour of the day? You’re getting him up earlier than he would have to be for his normal chores.”
“But I didn’t get him up.” Lydia pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Though it was late May, the morning temperatures were still brisk. “This morning I went to his room and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. So I dressed quickly and went to the barn to see to Tin Star myself. I found Stephen there, asleep in the loft.”
“Maybe he was tired of sleeping in a house full of girls.” Clara curled into the corner of the buggy, yawning and trying to make a pillow of her arm.
“Why would he prefer a scratchy bed of hay? That makes no sense.” Lydia reached over and shook Clara’s arm.
“What? Are we there already?”
“Do you think Stephen’s in trouble?”
“How would I know? I barely know where I am. One minute I’m sleeping, the next you’re waking me. It seems to be your mission in life to wake me whether I’m in bed or in a buggy!”
“You shouldn’t be sleeping in a buggy. It’s not proper. Where did Stephen go after dinner last night?”
Instead of answering, Clara sat up straighter and focused on straightening her kapp, smoothing out her apron, and checking that their lunches hadn’t tipped over on the floor of the buggy.
“You know something,” Lydia said.
“Why would I know something?”
“Because you didn’t say that you don’t know something.”
“That’s the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“Tell me you don’t know where Stephen was last night.”
“You’re the one who said he was in the
hayloft.” Clara became suddenly interested in the passing scenery.
“You know I mean before that, Clara. I’m sure he was late coming in because when I went to fetch Martha, Amanda, and Sally Ann from playing on the porch, the barn door was still open and Tin Star was still gone. Do you know where he was?”
“It’s not my job to keep up with our bruder.” Now she studied her fingers, holding them out in front of her in the early morning light. “I was busy using some of the lotion I bought to try to smooth over the rough spots on my hands. Don’t you think Aaron should reimburse me for that expense?”
Lydia didn’t bother responding.
Where had her brother been so late the night before? If her mother had noticed, she hadn’t said anything about his behavior. Perhaps because she’d been busy herself. It had been a rough night for Lydia’s father—Menno’s condition often worsened when the days grew warmer, perhaps because so much pollen was in the air. Last night her mother was busy making a herbal plaster for Menno’s chest. Lydia had cooked dinner, but Stephen had never shown up to eat it.
“He definitely slept in the barn last night. You saw the hay in his hair, and he was still wearing yesterday’s clothing. He didn’t look very happy, either.”
Clara sighed heavily, as if explaining things to her older sister was a burden far too heavy to bear. “I suspect he was unhappy because he needed another hour of sleep. Our bruder is on his rumspringa, Lydia dear. You probably don’t remember what that’s like because you never had one.”
How could she have indulged in a time of running around? There had been no bridge between childhood and adulthood for Lydia. No, she’d gone to sleep one night a child and woken the next day an adult. She knew what day it had been too—the day her father had been diagnosed with farmer’s lung. Soon after that the farm had been sold. Her mother had become his nurse, and she had become a mother to her brothers and sisters.
Lydia swallowed the answer Clara would never understand. Instead, she focused on the road that Tin Star trotted down. She barely needed to guide him at all. He knew the way so well, and there was little traffic this early in the day. The sound of Pebble Creek, running beside the road, soothed her nerves from the morning, but she couldn’t completely lose the feeling that something was wrong. Something else was wrong.
Why would that be?
Her dat was dying.
Her sister complained constantly, except when she was flirting with Seth, who was the worst example of a godly young man Lydia could imagine.
Her own brother was suddenly evasive and had a haunted look in his eyes.
And Aaron was avoiding her as if she had been proclaimed contagious.
Yet all of that wasn’t enough. It was a beautiful summer morning, but she had the strongest feeling that something else was wrong.
They were hurrying toward the cabins, which were all occupied—every single one, and she didn’t feel at all happy about it.
Why was that?
What was the matter with her? Perhaps she did need a rumspringa.
Clara sat cornered on her side of the buggy, head cradled once more against her arm, eyes closed. Resting awkwardly, even she looked more content than Lydia felt.
Lydia allowed her some peace as they traveled the last of the way to the cabins. Pulling into the parking lot, as Tin Star began to slow, she reached over and nudged Clara.
“Wake up.”
“What do you want?”
“You’ll have to take care of Tin Star.”
“Me?”
“Ya, you. I need to start breakfast for the guests.”
“Why me?” Clara sat up, patting her kapp into place. “Aaron always takes care of our horse.”
“Aaron stayed with David last night. Remember? Now take care of Tin—” The words fell away as she caught site of the front door of the office.
“I don’t see why I have to do it. I can cook as well as you can. I believe you enjoy bossing me around, Lydia, and it’s not fair—”
“Stop talking.”
“What?”
“Hold these.” Lydia tossed the reins at her sister and jumped out of the buggy. She could hear Clara still complaining, questioning her, but as soon as her feet touched the ground, she raised the hem of her dress and began to run toward the front porch of the office.
Grace hurried from her room, through the sitting room, and into the kitchen. She slipped into her chair at the table without making a sound.
Today was the day—the day mammi was going to the medical center in Eau Claire. She had remembered the moment her eyes had popped open, remembered and said a prayer for her safety and healing. It was an important day for their family.
But mammi wasn’t what had caused her to dress hurriedly and make a beeline to the kitchen. No, she’d finally made peace in her prayers over her grandmother, her illness, and what was to happen today.
Daddi Joshua had been right. A little more time studying her Bible had helped. Gotte would take care of her grandmother. She could trust Him. Grace would still be glad when this day was over, glad when Doc Hanson said the meds had worked—if they worked. She sure hoped and prayed they would, but as daddi had said—God loved them more than that heifer loved its calf. She didn’t need to be afraid. He would take care of her and daddi and mammi.
What had sent her hurrying down the hall was the dream which had plagued her all night long. It seemed as if she had dreamed it again and again, like a song from church stuck in her head—except this was a picture, something she’d seen and tried to draw.
She needed to fix the drawing she’d started last Saturday. If she fixed it, maybe the dream would leave her alone. She flipped through her sketchbook as she sat in her usual place at the breakfast table. This one picture had been bothering her.
It was unfinished.
Finding the picture that was on her mind, she bent over the page. Pencil in hand, she set to work adding the details from her dream before she forgot them, shading in the trees that crowded the banks along Pebble Creek between the cabins and the river.
Miriam walked into the room, baby Rachel in her arms. “You’re up early this morning.”
“Ya. I woke up thinking about something I’d seen.”
“Is that so?” Miriam moved toward the stove, where she’d already heated kaffi for Gabe. Grace had smelled it as soon as she’d walked into the kitchen. The room was warm and cozy even though it was big. It also smelled nice—not so much because of the kaffi, but because of the hot biscuits in the oven.
Things like that were better since Miriam had married her dat—less burned food, for instance. Lots of things were gut again. Grace sure was glad Miriam had said yes when her dat had put the Valentine’s Day note in her teacher’s lunch box. She loved her first mother, but she also loved her new mother. She remembered how it felt not to have one. It felt bad, and for more reasons than the ruined meals.
Not having a mamm felt lonely. Was Miriam worried about that now?
Grace put her pencil down, twisted around in her chair, and studied Miriam.
“Are you okay?”
Miriam turned from the stove, Rachel crooked in her left arm. “I’m gut, Grace. Danki.”
“You’re not sad or worried about mammi?”
“I was, but I’m better now. Still a little nervous, maybe. But I’m glad today is the day.”
“Ya. I want her to start feeling better.”
“Me too.”
Grace ran her hand over the back of the chair. “When do you leave?”
“They’ve hired a driver. She’ll pick up your grandparents first and come by for me about nine.”
“And you’ll take Rachel? Because I could stay home and watch her.”
“I think Rachel will be a good distraction for your mammi, but it’s sweet of you to offer.” Miriam walked over to the cradle she kept in the kitchen and placed Rachel in it.
Grace peeked at her sister, who smiled back at her. She seemed content to lie there, sucking on her fingers.
“Will mammi have to stay overnight?”
“Nein. We’ll be home by the time you’re out of school.”
Grace nodded, satisfied that things were finally moving along. She turned back around in her chair and focused again on her drawing, on the forest, and on what she’d seen there.
“I only need to make hot cereal for breakfast. We still have a few minutes before your dat will be here. Would you like some juice or milk to drink?”
Grace held the drawing at arms’ length, and then she bent to add more darkness to the woods.
“Honey…”
“Ya?”
“Juice or milk?”
“Oh.” Grace glanced around the kitchen, confused at first by the question. Of course she’d heard Miriam talking about breakfast, but it had been like the sound of the wind in the trees—background sound. “Milk would be gut.”
She returned to her drawing.
“You’re focusing awfully hard.”
“Ya. I had a dream about this picture. Do you think that’s odd, mamm? To have a dream about a picture?”
“I don’t know. I used to have dreams about teaching, or sometimes about a novel we were reading. I suppose it’s not so unusual.”
“That’s a relief. I was worried maybe I was becoming narrisch.”
At that moment Gabe clomped into the mudroom. “Did I hear someone in my home is acting narrisch again?”
Miriam smiled and moved to the stove to heat their oatmeal.
“He has some gray in his beard, but he still hears well,” Grace murmured.
“I heard that!” her dat hollered.
Some of her tension from the dream drained away—some, but not all of it. What had troubled her so much? It wasn’t as if anything from the woods could reach her here. She was safe at home, and besides, she was no longer a baby who should be frightened by a dream.
But there had been something threatening, something dark—
“What a beautiful sight this May morning. Three lovely gals in the kitchen and the smell of hot kaffi and fresh biscuits.” Gabe walked to the stove, poured a cup of kaffi, and kissed her mamm.
Grace knew not all parents were as affectionate as hers. She’d asked Lily and Sadie. Lily never saw her parents kiss, and Sadie had only walked into a room and surprised hers once or twice. Grace’s parents kissed often.
A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) Page 20
