by Leslie Gould
Still, I couldn’t help but groan. Not surprisingly, Hope didn’t notice.
Monday I expected Cate, or maybe Bob or even Nan, to call me. But no call came. Nor on Tuesday. Perhaps they weren’t as desperate as Cate made it sound. But I still asked Mamm if I could stay home if I found a job. She said if I did, she’d allow it.
On Wednesday morning Molly came into the house as I swept the kitchen floor. “You have a message on the phone,” she said.
I thought she spoke to Mamm, who sat at the table finishing her tea.
“Bea,” Molly said, her hand on her hip.
I stopped sweeping. “I have a message?” Just when I’d given up hope. . . .
Molly nodded. “From Bob Miller.”
I tried not to appear too excited as I asked, “What did he say?”
“Go listen to it,” Molly answered.
She left the kitchen as I finished the sweeping. Once done, I headed to the greenhouse. Love darted to my side, leaving Leon, who worked with one of the horses he trained in the corral. Later, he’d help Molly cut the last of the mums from the field to take to the market. Mervin and sometimes Martin used to work for us, but now they worked for Bob in his cabinet shop.
Once Molly and Leon married we didn’t need to hire employees. Leon’s help plus his work training the horses turned our finances around, mostly. Molly’s ingenuity had done the rest. She’d hosted dinners for Englisch people, rented out one of our bedrooms for up to a week at a time, and peddled her herbs to bed-and-breakfasts and restaurants throughout the area. I appreciated the extra income, but did not like having strangers in our home. Thankfully, she held the last Englisch dinner in August—I did the cooking for all the dinners and then disappeared while Molly did the serving—and the last overnight guest stayed the first week of September. Molly had assured me that she was done with all of that, at least for the time being.
When I reached the greenhouse, Love ran back toward Leon, and I stepped inside to find Molly at the desk, with an accounting ledger in front of her.
I stepped to the other side and pushed the Play button on the machine. “This is Bob Miller with a message for Bea. Cate said you might be interested in helping at our house. Could you come by sometime today so we can discuss the possibility? I’ll be home—or perhaps in my office.”
When the message stopped, Molly put down her pencil. “Maybe they’ll still need help in a few weeks. Call him back.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the door.
“Bea,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“To hitch up Daisy.”
“To go talk to Bob Miller in person?”
“Jah,” I said.
“Don’t be so stubborn,” she said.
“Don’t be so bossy,” I responded.
“You’ll have to tell him you can’t start until next month.”
“First I’ll find out what they need.” If they wanted me right away it would be the perfect excuse not to go to Montana. Surely Mamm would agree to let me stay.
I didn’t bother to say good-bye to Molly. Instead I firmly closed the door behind me, went back to the house to tell Mamm I’d be back soon, and then hitched the horse to the buggy and headed down the lane.
Love ran alongside but stopped abruptly and whined as I turned onto the highway. Except for an occasional trip to the bookmobile or bookstore, I rarely left the farm by myself.
I’m not sure why my parents hadn’t pushed me to be more independent, but I think they were relieved that I, in comparison to Molly, wasn’t such a gadabout. They weren’t very social beings either, by far preferring to stay home. Because I took after them, at least in that, they had one less thing to worry about. Until it became obvious I barely went out at all.
I kept as close to the side of the road as I possibly could as a car whizzed by the buggy. Daisy kept steady, plodding along. We passed the willow tree and then the crossroads. In the field to my right, a group of men worked together to harvest the corn, using a thresher pulled by mules. The next farm was a dairy, where the cows grazed peacefully in a pasture. In front of the house, a woman stood in the middle of the garden beside a child, who held a small gourd.
A few miles later, I turned Daisy into the Millers’ driveway. To the right was the showroom for their cabinet business and then the shop. To the left was the house and behind it a Dawdi Haus that Bob Miller had built for himself before he knew God would bless him with a second marriage and more Kinner of his own.
I parked the buggy in the showroom parking lot, tied Daisy to the hitching post, and contemplated whether I should go around the back to Bob’s office or enter through the showroom. Finally I decided on the latter, easing open the door, expecting Pete to greet me, but the room was empty.
Not sure what to do, I walked through the room to the door that led to the offices. I opened it, calling out a hello. No one answered.
I stepped into the hall. In the distance, the power tools in the shop hummed. Perhaps Bob was in there. I’d just started toward the double doors at the end of the hall when Mervin came crashing through them, wearing a bandana tied around his head and steel-toed boots.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I was expecting a customer.”
“Bob asked me to come talk to him—about a job.”
“In the shop?” Mervin joked.
I simply shook my head.
He exhaled. “That would be good for you to help out with Nan and the babies—then maybe Bob could spend a little time down here. And Pete and Cate too.”
“I take it they’re in the house now?”
He nodded.
“Denki,” I said, determined not to get in any more of a conversation with Mervin.
“Brace yourself,” he said as I walked away. “It’s as if a tornado touches down every few hours up there.”
I didn’t respond to his exaggeration. How bad could it be? There were just two babies there right now, until the little girl came home. And five adults, counting Hope. I couldn’t imagine why they’d need my help at all. But I was happy to give it, especially if it meant not going to Montana.
As I neared the house, I debated whether to go to the front door or the back door, but when the back one flew open I hurried toward it. Cate stood in the doorway, a basket of laundry in her hands.
Pete was right behind her. “Give me that,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not—” He stopped when he saw me.
As Cate said hello, he grabbed the basket. “You talk with Bea; I’ll take care of the wash.”
I stared after him. It wasn’t that an Amish man would never hang laundry on the line, but it wasn’t something I saw very often.
“I can do that,” I said to Cate, nodding toward Pete as he rushed across the lawn, easily handling the basket.
“Do you mind? He really should get back to work. We’re falling behind.”
“I’m happy to do it.” I headed toward Pete.
“Come in when you’re done,” Cate said. “I’ll let Dat know you’re here.”
Pete protested, but when I told him Cate wanted him to get back to work in the shop, he agreed. As a car turned into the parking lot he thanked me and hurried on his way. Diapers—the tiniest I’d ever seen—filled the basket. I picked up the first one, inhaled the bleach used to whiten the cloth, and pinned it to the line, repeating the process over and over, wondering how long it had been since they’d done the wash. The two baby boys hadn’t been home long, not even a week.
I kept pinning, wishing Hope would come out to keep me company, wondering what she was doing that kept her in the house. It seemed Cate would have her doing the wash. When they first married, Cate and Pete had done editing for his uncle’s publishing business, but I’d heard they were too busy now with Bob’s business and the growing household to keep up with that too. Things certainly did seem chaotic at the Millers’.
I inhaled, taking in the scent of roses. To my left was a flower bed. One yello
w bloom outshone the dying red ones, which should have been clipped days ago. Clearly the diapers weren’t the only things piling up. I shaded my eyes and looked toward the garden. It hadn’t been cleaned up either. Weeds and dead vines cluttered the ground, brightened by a crop of pumpkins.
They definitely needed more help.
When I finished pinning the last diaper, I picked up the basket and returned to the house, opening the back door and calling out a hello as I entered. No one responded. The Millers’ kitchen was much bigger than ours and much, much nicer. A window over the sink was like a fishbowl—three-sided with views of the lane, the shop, and the backyard and even a corner of the Dawdi Haus.
Beautiful cabinets lined the walls, but the breakfast dishes filled the sink. Their huge oak table sat in the middle of the kitchen—with folded towels stacked on one end and two little tubs on the other. I couldn’t help but notice the collection of old kerosene lamps, washboards, and antique crystal vases displayed on top of the cupboards. Obviously someone—Nan, I guessed—liked old things too. Decorations were usually sparse in Amish homes, but the items didn’t seem pretentious.
A baby cried. Perhaps everyone was upstairs. But then I realized the sound came from the sun porch Bob had added a few years ago. I put the basket on the table. The cry turned into a frantic wail as I headed down the hall.
The door was partway open, so I pushed on through.
“There, there,” Cate chanted to the baby that was screaming. Hope held the other. Both babies were small and red, their faces scrunched and wrinkled with jutty chins and worried foreheads. They looked more like wizened old men than babies. There was nothing plump or soft or round about them.
“Oh,” Cate said, “I forgot to tell Dat you’re here. Hold on.” She paused for a moment and then extended the baby to me. “Would you take him? I don’t want to disturb Nan.”
I reached for him. Except for our kittens, I’d never held a living thing so tiny in my entire life. Cate scooted him into my arms and I took him, not sure what to do. Cate was down the hall before I could ask her.
Hope must have noted my dilemma because she said, “Sway—like this.” She leaned from side to side with the baby she held. I imitated her, although not nearly as gracefully. It seemed to work though, because the baby calmed down.
“What are their names?” I asked Hope as I sniffed the top of the little one’s head, taking in the scent of mild soap.
“This one,” she said, dipping her chin down, “is Kurt. The one you’re holding is Asher.”
“How about the little girl?”
“Leah,” Hope answered, and then smiled.
Asher let out a sigh and closed his eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re going to help out here,” Hope said. “For all sorts of reasons.”
“We’ll see what Bob says,” I replied.
“Oh, he’ll hire you.” Hope smiled again. “Trust me.”
Cate returned. “I thought Dat was upstairs with Nan, but he’s not. Head down to the basement—he’s working down there.”
That seemed odd to me, but maybe he’d set up an office in the house. I slipped Asher back into her arms and made my way back through the kitchen to the basement stairs, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light as I descended.
“Bob?” I called out as I reached the bottom. In the distance a motor hummed. Maybe he did woodworking in the basement, although it didn’t sound like a saw. I walked toward the source of the noise—the laundry room. Puzzled, I opened the door. Bob stood at the wringer washer, feeding a sheet through the roller.
“We keep getting behind on laundry,” Bob said. “My goal is to get caught up today.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage to say, wondering why women from the district weren’t at the house. Then I remembered the flu that had been going through a lot of the children and mothers. The last thing they’d want would be to have Nan and the babies exposed.
“So,” Bob said, his eyes on the sheet, “we’re barely making it all work, even though we’ve had help with meals and things like that.”
So they had had extra help.
“I think we can make it until next week. However, once Leah comes home from the hospital, we’re definitely going to need more assistance. Can you start next Monday?”
“Jah,” I said, anticipating how Molly would react when I told her.
“It’s a lot of work.” Bob dropped the sheet into a basket and pulled another from the tub. “Diapers. Feedings. Walking babies. Cooking. Cleaning. Gardening. Are you up to whatever we need you to do?”
I nodded. “Jah,” I said again.
Bob tugged on his beard. “You’ll have to be on your toes. This is much harder than just chores. There’s plenty of that, but the safety of the babies is the most important thing.”
I nodded. They were awfully tiny. I knew I’d have to be really careful. “I’ll do my best,” I said.
Bob inhaled. Perhaps he was looking for a different answer from me. Finally he said, “Nan thinks it’ll be good for Hope to have another Youngie in the house.” He chuckled. “Nan also says you remind her of Cate a few years ago.” He grew more serious. “But that’s not reason enough to hire you. I need to know you’re serious about the job.”
“Jah,” I said. “I am.” There was no reason to tell him I was intimidated. Most Amish girls grew up taking care of babies—but not me.
“Come prepared to stay here for a long stretch, but we’ll make sure you get some time off too.”
“What if I don’t want any time off?” I asked. “I mean, what if I don’t want to go home at all for a couple of weeks?”
He shot me a questioning look as he eased the rest of the last sheet through the wringer.
“My family is going to Montana. No one will be home—well, except Edna, at first.”
“Ach, I forgot about that.” Bob pulled another sheet from the tub. “And you don’t want to go with them?”
I shook my head.
“Under other circumstances, I’d try to talk you into it,” Bob said. “But as things are, I’m grateful for your help.”
Feeling awkward, I thanked him quickly and headed back up the stairs. I was acquainted with Nan from way back when she used to drive the bookmobile, and we’d gotten to know each other a little better over the last year, since she and Bob married. But there wasn’t anything about me to remind her of Cate, I was sure.
And there was nothing about me to make her think I’d be a good caregiver to her babies either. I was pretty sure Bob would agree with me on that.
Chapter
3
Mamm stood at the kitchen sink scrubbing potatoes when I returned home. “How did it go?” she asked.
“I start next Monday.”
She didn’t look happy but said nothing.
“You said if I . . .”
“I know,” she answered. “I just didn’t expect you to find anything. Molly isn’t going to be pleased.”
“She should be. It’s what she’s wanted for the last—”
Mamm’s disappointed look stopped me.
“Sorry,” I said. “She’ll get over it.”
That only deepened Mamm’s worry wrinkles around her eyes.
Mamm told Molly the new plan as we put dinner on the table.
“Bea,” my sister said, “how could you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I told her she could stay if she found a job,” Mamm said.
It was as if Molly hadn’t heard her. “We’ve never been on a family vacation before, besides camping. This might be our only chance.”
Again, I didn’t answer. There was no reason to tell her that, though I loved them, I had no desire to go on a trip with my family.
“Mamm,” Molly said. “I can’t believe you’re letting her get away with this.”
“She’s twenty-one,” Mamm said. “She’s allowed to make her own decisions.”
When Molly started in on me again after the prayer, Leon put his hand on top of
hers.
“What?” Molly snapped at him.
He didn’t say anything.
She’d been extra wound up lately. Why would I want to spend two days on a train with her? And then another two weeks in Montana dodging her moods? I didn’t enjoy traveling—I never had. I said that out loud.
“How would you know?” Molly asked. “You’ve never been anywhere.”
I’d been to the Poconos. That was far enough.
“She’ll be a big help to the Millers,” Mamm said. “It’s important work to help a new mother. Taking care of babies is the most important job in the world.”
It wasn’t unusual for a family to have twins, but triplets were rare in our community—or any community, for that matter. Nan had been on bed rest for two months before they were born. The babies had come six weeks early, and the little girl’s lungs hadn’t fully developed. That was why she’d had to stay in the hospital.
Our district and others around had all prayed for Nan and the babies. We’d all felt a part of it.
That afternoon, I headed to the bookmobile with the book Mamm had returned to me. I hoped the librarian had another old volume of poetry waiting.
As Daisy pulled the buggy down the highway, I sat straight, my head high, again anticipating something. Once again, I wasn’t sure what it might be, but I felt some adventure was on the horizon. Not a journey to a new place—although I was going to the Millers’—but a journey somewhere inside myself.
The bookmobile was parked across from the Englisch school, as always. I returned my book of poetry.
“I don’t have any more today,” the librarian said. “Sorry. I’ll see what I can find next time.”
“That’s all right,” I answered, but I felt disappointed as I left.
When I came to the crossroads, I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I turned left instead of right. I hadn’t stopped by the bookstore in a couple of weeks.
I turned down a lane lined with stalks of corn, urging Daisy along. A car passed me, and then a camera popped up in the back window. Most likely tourists. Even though not as many visited our farmers’ market as autumn progressed, the season never truly ended in Lancaster County. I kept my face stoic and stared straight ahead.
