Becoming Bea

by Leslie Gould

  But it was a Saturday evening, and they were already closed. They wouldn’t be open tomorrow. Maybe I’d try to go on Monday. Or sometime soon.

  I trudged slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, arriving after everyone else was seated. Leon led us in silent prayer as soon as I’d settled on my chair.

  Afterward, no one spoke. I stared at my plate while the rest of them dished up the stuffed acorn squash I had prepared earlier that afternoon. Molly passed the platter to me. I took it, staring at the golden flesh filled with ground beef, chopped celery, and baked breadcrumbs. When I placed it in the middle of the table without taking one, no one—not even Molly—commented.

  A long moment later, she cleared her throat. “It was my idea to wait to tell you about the trip.”

  I kept my head down.

  “I knew you wouldn’t want to go,” she said.

  “But you didn’t ask.” I raised my head. She remained as pale and drawn as she had been earlier in the afternoon.

  “For good reason,” she retorted.

  “Girls,” Mamm said, pushing her plate aside.

  Leon seemed oblivious to us, gobbling his supper as we spoke.

  I muttered, “I thought Molly was going to apologize.”

  “Pardon?” my sister croaked.

  “Apologize.”

  “For what?” Molly asked.

  Mamm ducked her head as I said, “For not consulting me . . .” Mamm had said Molly wanted to apologize—but she must have assumed it. Silly me for thinking Molly would.

  My sister said, “You’ve never wanted to be consulted before on anything around here.”

  I met her eyes. “A trip to Montana is a completely different issue than how many rows of lilies to plant.”

  “You’re right. How’s this? I wanted all of us to go together, and I was pretty sure you’d pitch a fit.” Molly stared me down. “Bull’s-eye.” She didn’t flinch. “So I figured the longer we waited to bring it up the better.”

  “What did you plan to do? Pack a bag for me and tell me right before it was time to catch the train?”

  “Something like that.” She shrugged and spread apple butter on her biscuit.

  I reached for the squash, knowing it would do no good to cross Molly now. Mamm must have misunderstood how she felt about the incident. Molly wasn’t sorry at all. In fact, she felt absolutely justified in her behavior.

  You would think I’d be used to being treated as an accessory to Molly, as if I were equivalent to her apron or her Kapp, but her attitude still caught me off guard. I’d only stood up to her a few times—I would have to find the strength to do it again. Just not tonight.

  I finished filling my plate as Molly put down her fork. “I’m tired,” she said.

  “Go on to bed,” Mamm said. “It’s been a long day.”

  Leon put his fork down on his empty plate, a look of concern on his face.

  “I’m fine,” Molly said. “I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed with the trip.” Her eyes met mine. “And everything else.”

  Once I finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, I retrieved my books and journal from my room and slipped out the back door.

  I shivered as I hurried toward the greenhouse. The welcomed crisp air of the autumn night filled my lungs. The stars shone above me, and Love, roused from beside the barn, yawned and then followed behind. She stopped outside the greenhouse, familiar with my routine. I slipped inside and lit the Ladann, placing it on the desk.

  I doubted Mamm and Molly would barge into my room at night, but I didn’t want to take the chance that they’d see the book I was reading. I put my journal and Bible down and held the book. The brown cover was old and worn, yet soft and comforting.

  I’d found a similar volume in the Olde Book Shoppe about a year ago and then started looking for old books of poetry in the bookmobile. I suspected the librarian now added them to the collection just for me. True, I liked the words and the emotions of the poems. But I also treasured the age of the volumes. I’d always liked old things—furniture, dishes, and quilts—but I especially liked old books.

  Mamm had been a teacher before she married, and she saw nothing wrong with reading biographies and an occasional novel, but she’d frown on anything that had to do with romance. I doubted she’d approve of the poetry I read.

  I opened my journal. It wasn’t that I wanted to be a writer. I had no delusions that I was talented enough. My writing was for myself. And honestly, it was mostly what I copied from other books—Scripture, lines from poems, quotes, words from my dictionary. Words, Vatts in our language, were what I loved most.

  I folded my hands over my stack of books and bowed my head. I recited the Lord’s Prayer and asked for forgiveness for my trespasses again, in a routine way, mostly out of habit, I admit. The word perfunctorily came to mind.

  What were my trespasses? My only conflicts were with Molly and Ben Rupp. If I didn’t have any contact with them, I wouldn’t have any trespasses. That made me smile. I knew that probably wasn’t true, but it certainly felt like it. I added my pride from earlier and then moved on and thanked God for his blessings. Mamm’s health. The farm. Plenty to eat. The gray kitten who’d brought me joy just that afternoon in a moment of despair.

  God was good. That I knew.

  I opened my journal. It was time to address the Montana problem. Most people I knew would be excited to go. A long train ride. The Wild West. Leon’s family. But not me. I was a homebody. I didn’t like to go anywhere. Staying in Lancaster County with Edna or a neighboring family would be much better than a long, arduous journey.

  I couldn’t fathom what would make Mamm let me stay—unless I got a job. Molly had suggested the idea several times in the last few months, as Mamm regained her strength. My sister didn’t feel there was enough work to warrant my being home all day.

  I started jotting down a list of possible jobs I could find.

  Schoolteacher. Sure I knew the material, but being in a classroom with thirty students day after day sounded daunting. Plus school had started over a month ago. I was too late for this year, whether I could tolerate the work or not.

  Next I wrote down seamstress. Mamm and I had made a wedding quilt for Molly, plus I sewed most of our dresses now, but my work was far from spectacular. It was barely passable, in all honesty. My hems were continually ripping and usually had to be repaired by Mamm.

  Shop worker. I’d have to talk with people, including Englisch people.

  Mother’s helper. That was probably my best bet. I could let my sister-in-law, Nell, know I was looking for some sort of position. She was the best source of advertising I knew.

  I doodled a shelf on the page and then wrote bookstore clerk. That’s what I really wanted to do. Work at the bookstore in Paradise. Shelving books would be my preference, but in a pinch I could talk to an Englisch person if it meant working there. But Albert and Willa Schmidt didn’t need any help. It only took two people to run the place.

  I closed my journal, determined to contact Nell in the morning, and opened the book to the first page, but found myself reading the first line over and over:

  “It lies not in our power to love or hate . . .”

  The words didn’t mean anything to me, and each time I read them my mind wandered. I’d been procrastinating finding a job because I preferred working at home. But now I couldn’t help but wish I’d found a job sooner. Molly wouldn’t be expecting me to go to Montana if I had.

  It was my own fault. It wasn’t that I was lazy—but I certainly did lack my sister’s drive.

  I read the first line of the poem once again, but this time Love’s barking interrupted me. I closed the book with a thud.

  It was probably Molly coming out to harass me. I gathered up my things, arranging the Bible on the top of the pile, and blew out the lamp. I would read my Scripture passage back in my room. As I opened the door Love’s barking grew louder.

  “Who’s there?” I called out. Too frightened to chastise her, I
held my breath as footsteps fell alongside the greenhouse. It wasn’t Molly.

  A man rounded the corner.

  As he pulled off his hat, I realized it was Ben. “Hello,” he said.

  I barked as loudly as Love. “You frightened me!”

  “Sorry.” His expression turned sheepish. “I wanted to see how you were doing, after this afternoon.”

  I took a deep breath, surprised at his consideration.

  “Are you going to go to Montana?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “I mean,” he said, “it could be a lot of fun, and . . .”

  I must have discouraged him with my facial expression, because he stopped talking. In the silence, I noticed his hair had curled along his forehead and the scent of the crisp night air clung to him.

  He smiled then, his eyes shining as he did, and he reached toward me, brushing my arm just as Love barked again.

  Heavier footsteps fell on the gravel around the side of the building. Love growled.

  “Who’s there?” I called out.

  “Bea?” It was one of the twins. “Have you seen Ben?” As he came around the side of the greenhouse, I could see it was Martin, who was a little heavier than Mervin.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said to Ben and then laughed. “Although it was my first guess.”

  Ben didn’t respond. I stepped back.

  “We need to finish going through the hunting gear,” Martin said. “You’re the one who wanted to get packed a week early.”

  “Jah,” Ben said. “It’s better to know what we need now than the night before.” Then he turned toward me. “We’ll walk you back to your house.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Come on,” Martin said, nodding toward Ben. “It means a lot to him.” He grinned.

  Ben bristled. I hugged my books.

  Martin’s grin faded. “It’s the least we can do after barging over like this.”

  There was no reason for me to be rude. I started toward the house. Love followed at my heels, and the boys hurried along behind. Ben caught up, bumping against me. I was caught off guard, and the books tumbled from my arms onto the lawn. Ben scooped them up before I could.

  “I’ll take them,” I said, unsettled that my journal was in Ben’s hands.

  “No, I’ve got them.” He held the books tight.

  Love barked again. As we reached the back door Mamm met us, holding a lamp. “What’s going on?” she said, her eyes focusing on me.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, reaching for my books. Ben handed me my Bible. A peaceful expression covered his face. Then, from the bottom of the stack, my journal. Thankfully, he didn’t open it. He started to hand me the book of poems, but then he pulled it back. I reached for it. He stepped backward.

  “Oh, look,” he said, holding it up. “A Buch of poetry.”

  I grimaced as he flipped it open, stopped, and then read, out loud, “‘It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.’”

  “Bea,” Mamm said, snatching the book quickly, “what sort of foolishness are you reading?”

  “Just a book of poems.” I stared down Ben as I spoke. I couldn’t figure him out. Three hours ago he was insulting me, and then a few minutes ago he seemed concerned about my welfare, only to make an absolute fool out of me now.

  Things never went smoothly when he was around.

  I stepped around Mamm, clutching my Bible and journal.

  “Bea!” Ben said as I hurried on, his voice concerned again. “Wait!”

  I kept going, determined to get as far away from Ben Rupp as possible.

  Chapter

  2

  I replayed the night before as I readied myself for church, tying my freshly pressed apron around my waist and then twisting my hair into a bun, pinning it tightly. Mamm’s concern was unfounded. The book of poems, written hundreds of years ago by Christopher Marlowe, was harmless.

  I pinned my Kapp in place over my bun. One of the things I liked about Marlowe’s poetry was that he wrote in the same century that the Anabaptist movement began. While my ancestors were being chased around Switzerland, he wrote plays, poetry, and prose in London. Not that he didn’t have problems of his own—he was stabbed to death in 1593.

  Molly’s voice singsonged up the staircase. “Beatrice! We’re leaving!”

  Leaving? I hadn’t even had breakfast. Had I daydreamed half the morning away? “Coming,” I called out, slipping my feet into my black Sunday shoes and hurrying down the stairs and out the door.

  Leon drove the carriage with Molly up front beside him, while Mamm and I sat in the back. Mamm stared out at the fields as if intent on the corn ready for harvest. Finally she turned toward me and asked, “Is Ben courting you again?” She spoke loudly. Molly shifted in her seat so she could hear us better.

  I shook my head.

  “Then what was going on last night?” Mamm asked.

  “I’m honestly not sure,” I answered, pulling my cape tighter against the morning chill. “May I have my poetry book back when we get home? It’s not what you think—honestly.”

  Molly gave Mamm a knowing look, but Mamm simply turned her attention back to the fields without answering me. Obviously she and Molly had talked about the book—and me.

  Leon turned the buggy to the right, by the Paradise Stables sign. Church was at the family home of Molly’s best friend, Hannah Lapp. The Lapps raised, trained, and boarded horses on their farm.

  The poplars along the lane swayed in the breeze. A quarter horse in the pasture raised its head as we passed by. Leon had worked for Owen Lapp, Hannah’s Dat, when he first came to Paradise, and I suspected he longed to run a similar business of his own someday. They’d done their best to accommodate horses on our flower farm, but we simply didn’t have the acreage to board many of the beasts. When they first courted, Leon considered moving back to Montana, but Molly had been so adamant about staying in Lancaster County that he’d acquiesced.

  Leon let us off in front of the Lapps’ house and then continued on to park the buggy in the row behind the barn.

  The Lapps’ house was big, one of the largest in our district. The outbuildings had all been recently updated and newly painted. On a weekly basis Molly commented on how nice things were at Paradise Stables. I wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t mention it so often.

  The members of our district gathered on the lush lawn, although attendance was down because of the sickness going around. My brother, Ivan, and sister-in-law, Nell, were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d come down with the flu too. Although it was more likely that they’d gone off on a short trip, taking in the fall colors somewhere nearby. As a childless couple in their late forties with a good income—Ivan worked as an accountant—they traveled more than anyone I knew. I didn’t envy them one bit.

  I scanned the group for Ben but didn’t see him. Nor did I see Mervin and Martin, although their parents, Amos and Eliza Mosier, talked with Cate and Pete and a girl I didn’t recognize.

  Molly and Mamm headed toward them, and I followed. As we neared, I realized the girl was a young woman—about my age. Hope! She was Nan Miller’s niece from New York. I’d met her at Bob and Nan’s wedding over a year ago.

  She saw me the moment I recognized her and squealed, “Bea!” She dashed toward me, her blue eyes shining. She hugged me and then, with her hands still on my shoulders, jumped up and down. If anyone else had done that to me, I’d be annoyed, but Hope’s action made me feel adored, something I didn’t often experience.

  “I was hoping you’d be here,” she said, letting go of me. “I got in last night.”

  “You’re staying at Nan and Bob’s?”

  “Jah,” she said. “I’m helping with the Bopplis. I’ll be here for a couple of months.” She glanced toward Cate. “If not more.” Nan had given birth to triplets four weeks ago. Two of them, the boys, had just been released from the hospital.

&nb
sp; Molly asked Cate how Nan and the babies were doing. “As well as can be expected,” Cate answered, her eyes full of concern. “We’re hoping the baby girl will be able to come home next week. We’re trying to get Nan to do nothing but rest so she can nurse the little ones as much as possible and build her strength.”

  “How’s your Dat doing?” Mamm asked.

  Cate wrinkled her nose and glanced at Pete. Then she said, “He’s worried.”

  It wasn’t like Bob Miller to worry, but then I remembered his first wife had died over two decades ago after giving birth to Betsy, Cate’s sister.

  “Having Hope here is going to be a big help,” Pete said. “It’s unbelievable how chaotic everything’s become.”

  Hope smiled. “But I should still have time for fun. Like going to singings and that sort of thing.” She purposefully bumped into me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t go to those sorts of gatherings.

  “You know, Bea,” Cate said. “We’re looking for another helper. Would you be interested?”

  As Hope clapped her hands together I couldn’t help but feel a ray of hope. Imagine that. Maybe I wouldn’t need Nell’s help to find a job after all. “Jah,” I said. “I would, and—”

  Molly butted in, saying, “But not until after we get back from Montana.”

  Cate tilted her head. “Montana?”

  “Jah, we’re all going to . . .” Molly’s voice trailed off as Hannah approached with Mervin, Martin, and Ben behind her.

  I shook my head. “Molly, you’ve been after me to get a job. This is a perfect opportunity.”

  Molly crossed her arms and pursed her lips into an expression that communicated We’ll talk about this later.

  Cate said, “I see.” Then she and Pete exchanged a smile.

  I grabbed Hope’s hand and pulled her toward the house, determined to get away from Molly, Hannah, and the boys. “Let’s go get a place to sit,” I said. Hope came along a little reluctantly, looking over her shoulder. I followed her gaze and at first thought it landed on Ben. But I was wrong. Her attention was directed at Martin, who grinned in return.