Becoming Bea

by Leslie Gould

  I smiled at her. At least one of my sisters was positive about this next step in my life.

  Chapter

  4

  That afternoon, while Edna took a nap, I walked down to our pasture and then along the highway toward the creek. The changing leaves of the poplar trees across the field fluttered cheerfully in the breeze, but the gray sky cast a sense of foreboding across the farm, replacing the sense of anticipation I’d felt the week before. All seemed changed without Molly in the flower field, Leon in the corral, and Mamm in the kitchen. Not as bright. And much too quiet.

  In the distance, an Amish man hurried along the creek that acted as our property line and then climbed through the fence and cut across to the Mosiers’ farm. It wasn’t Mervin or Martin, I was sure. They were off hunting, and the man appeared taller. I thought he wore a beard, although it could have been the shadow from his hat. Brush along the fence soon hid him from my view.

  As I walked, a few cars slowed, as if looking for the farmers’ market, but then sped on by. One driver stopped and asked me directions to the market as Love barked. The driver seemed unduly disappointed when I informed him that the last day for the year had been the previous Saturday.

  As I came to the corner of our property, another vehicle slowed. I expected another tourist, but when Love didn’t bark, I turned around. It was Doris’s van, with Ben Rupp in the passenger seat. The boys hadn’t left yet.

  She grinned at me as Ben hopped out. “See you in a minute,” she said to him, but she waved at me.

  Love wagged her tail at Ben as he stepped toward me.

  “I thought you’d already gone hunting.”

  “We’ve been delayed,” he replied.

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “Phillip and his brother are going with us. But when Doris and I stopped by their place, Don wasn’t there. We waited for a while, but Phillip finally told us to go ahead. There seems to have been a mix-up in our departure time.”

  I crossed my arms. “So you’re going on without them?”

  “Phillip said they’ll hire their own driver and meet us in the mountains.”

  “So why did you stop here?” I unfolded my arms and swept them wide.

  “Doris’s going to pick up Mervin and Martin and then return for me.”

  I tilted my head. “But why did you get out of the van?”

  His face reddened.

  “To torment me?”

  When he still didn’t answer I said, “I guess torment is too strong a word considering you’re off to kill a deer.” It was a stupid thing for an Amish girl to say. Most of our men hunted at least sometime during their lives.

  He crossed his arms. “It’s the course of nature. Besides, we’re using muzzle-loaders. We’ll be at a disadvantage.” He grinned. “I’ll bring you a venison steak.”

  “I won’t eat it,” I answered.

  “Then I won’t waste it on you,” he countered, shifting his gaze toward the flower fields. “So I take it Leon and Molly got off this morning.”

  “And my Mamm.”

  “So if they decide to move to Montana, will you go too?” He kicked at a rock.

  Molly would never agree to that. I chuckled. “That’s not the plan. They’re only visiting.”

  He met my gaze. “Really?”

  “You just made that up—didn’t you, Ben Rupp? To see if you could get a reaction from me.”

  “Are you O-V-E-R-W-R-O-U-G-H-T with fear?” he asked and then grinned. That had been on our fourth-grade list of words.

  “You have nary an inkling of my emotions,” I said to Ben. It was an old English word I’d picked up in my reading.

  “Ach,” he said. “That’s a good one. Do you have any more to try on me?”

  “N-A-U-G-H-T,” I said.

  A puzzled expression passed over his face, and then he said, shaking his head, “You always did have to have the last word.”

  To prove him wrong, I remained silent, meaning that—technically—he’d had the last word. I was tempted to go on home, but what would I be proving then?

  He shifted his gaze toward the fence line. At the crest of the hill stood the man I’d seen earlier.

  I was thankful for the diversion. “Who is that?” I asked.

  Ben shaded his eyes, which was unnecessary considering the day was overcast.

  The stranger sauntered toward us.

  Ben took a long step toward him. “What are you doing here? Phillip’s beside himself.”

  “I came over to get some things from the market—for our trip.” He took off his hat and jogged down the hill. “I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be open.”

  The man—Phillip’s brother, I assumed—was the stranger I’d seen at the market the week before. He did have a beard, a sign he was married, which no one had mentioned. He was tall, broad shouldered, and much older than Ben and even Mervin and Martin, who were both Molly’s age.

  He looked somewhat like his younger brother Phillip but more handsome.

  “I told you we’d be by at one to pick you and Phillip up.”

  The man shook his head. “You said three.”

  Ben squinted. “I know that’s what you said to Phillip, but I told you one.”

  The man cocked his head. “Believe me, I’d remember. You’re the one who has it wrong.” He didn’t sound angry or even frustrated. Just matter-of-fact.

  On the other hand, Ben’s frustration was growing. “I wouldn’t have told Doris one if I’d told you three.”

  The man shrugged. “Well, let’s get going. Where’s the van?”

  “Doris will be back in a minute,” Ben said, seemingly resigned to the situation. He motioned toward me, saying, “This is Beatrice.” Then, glancing at me, he added, “This is Don Eicher.”

  “You were probably just a youngster when I left Lancaster,” Don said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Perhaps I was,” I answered. “I don’t remember you.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the smile spreading across Ben’s face. His earlier frustration seemed to have disappeared. “Jah, Don’s an old man,” he teased.

  Don elbowed Ben and said, “Well, I am a man.”

  Ben grinned in a good-natured way and then said, “Beatrice is going to be helping the Millers.”

  Don’s face brightened even more. “I’ll see you when I get back from hunting, then. Bob just hired me to work in the shop.”

  I shaded my eyes. “Is that right?” Phillip worked there now. It only made sense Bob would hire Don too. After all, he was the bishop’s son.

  Ben cleared his throat. He started to speak, but then the sound of the van coming over the crest of the Mosiers’ drive distracted him. He waved and pointed at Don.

  As the van came to a stop beside us, Martin, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses, jumped out of the passenger seat. Love darted around to greet him.

  Mervin piled out too, wearing a matching pair of glasses. “There you are,” he said to Don. “Now we just need to go get Phillip.”

  “Jah,” Ben said, climbing in after Mervin. “Let’s get going.” He waved to me as he sat down, and then he called out, “See you soon.”

  I doubted it.

  Don tipped his hat to me and grinned again. “See you at the Millers’.”

  My hand fluttered. Was he, a married man, flirting with me? Flustered, I called out to the dog, “Come on, Love.” My face grew warmer as Don stopped in the middle of the lane and turned toward me.

  “What?”

  “The dog,” I barked. “Her name is Love.”

  “Oh.” He strolled around to the other side of the van, and after he got inside both sliding doors slammed shut at once.

  Doris had her window down. She smiled as laughter came from the back of the van. I couldn’t see the person it came from, but I knew it was Ben. I used to enjoy the sound of his infectious laugh—not that I would admit it to anyone—but now it riled me.

  I had to call Love a second time before she obeyed. She seemed to be drawn to
the din. I grabbed her collar and stood holding her as the van pulled away. Doris waved, and I returned the gesture, my face growing warmer by the minute as Ben’s laughter welled up again.

  The van turned onto the highway, and Love and I resumed our walk. When we returned to the house, Edna sat on the front porch, wrapped in her cape to ward off the chill. She held a mug in her hand. As I walked up the stairs, she asked me if I wanted a cup of tea.

  “I’ll get it in a minute,” I said, sitting down on the chair beside her.

  I stared at the highway.

  Edna leaned toward me, gripping her cup. “Is something the matter?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  “What is it?” she cooed, as gently as the pigeons in the barn.

  “Do you remember Bishop Eicher’s son Don?”

  Edna sat up straight. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just met him.”

  “Jah, I remember him—I heard he was back. He had a reputation for being wild. I think the bishop was relieved when he left for Ohio.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Oh, twenty-nine. Maybe thirty.” She took a sip of tea.

  “Oh,” I said. “How long has he been married?”

  “He’s not, at least not that I know of,” Edna answered.

  “He wears a beard,” I said.

  She nodded. “His is a sad story.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can’t remember the exact details,” she said. “But he was married, for a short time.”

  I leaned forward.

  “Maybe just a couple of days—I can’t remember for sure.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died. In a buggy accident.”

  A wave of empathy washed over me. I could be harsh, but I wasn’t heartless.

  “Jah,” Edna said. “That was years ago. He wasn’t even twenty, I don’t think. It was soon after he moved to Ohio.” She paused a moment, most likely remembering her own sad story of losing her husband after a buggy accident.

  I wondered why Don’s beard was so short. Ten years was a long time. It should have been longer. He must have trimmed it, which certainly wasn’t unheard of.

  “Poor Don,” Edna finally said.

  I nodded in agreement, forgetting the beard issue. I hurt for him. For what he’d gone through, he seemed content. But also, with this new information, a bit of a mystery. Why hadn’t he married again? And why had he come back to Lancaster County? I wished I’d been kinder to him when we met.

  Edna and I spent Sunday in much the same way we did Saturday: quietly. By the time Monday morning rolled around, I missed Mamm, Molly, and even Leon. Edna was wonderful, but there wasn’t much conversation and with her there was certainly no drama, which Molly guaranteed me every day of my life.

  After breakfast, I finished my packing and then hitched Daisy to the buggy. Edna came out the back door, wearing her cape and black bonnet. I pulled the key from my apron pocket, locked the back door, and handed it to her.

  “Denki,” she said, slipping it beneath her cape. As we walked toward the barn, I called for the cats, hoping to tell the gray kitten good-bye. Three cats came running, but not the kitten. However, when we reached the buggy, we found her curled up on the seat. I scooped her up, rubbing her soft fur against my face and settling her against my neck. She purred loudly. “Keep an eye on her,” I said to Edna.

  My sister nodded and took the cat from me, dropping her inside the barn door.

  Edna climbed onto the bench and tucked the blanket around her legs, and I urged Daisy forward as Love barked out a farewell to us. She’d be surprised to have Edna return without me.

  With a lurch the horse took off, but soon she was only plodding along. Fog hung along the field across from our pasture. But as I waited for a line of cars to go by before I turned left, the low clouds lifted, revealing a pale blue sky.

  “Oh, my,” Edna said. “Perhaps the weather is changing.”

  Daisy picked up her pace. A flock of geese flew high above us, in perfect formation. My parents had loved watching birds, a passion I didn’t share. But I appreciated the migratory patterns of the geese, the predictability of their lives, and the way they traveled together—so strong and sure.

  We passed the willow tree on the left side of the road. Its leaves had turned a gentle yellow but hadn’t fallen yet. They fluttered like thin curtains in an open window.

  Edna sat straight with her hands in her lap, unusually quiet.

  “I hope taking care of the little ones won’t be too hard,” I said.

  She exhaled. “It won’t be bad,” she predicted. “Many hands make light work.”

  “Bob said the little girl should be able to come home this week.” I turned my head toward Edna as I spoke.

  Wistfully, Edna said, “What a blessing.”

  I’d never thought about her disappointment in not having children. It surely wasn’t what she had planned. And then she lost her husband. After the car hit his buggy, he lived for several months. It seemed, by the time he passed away, that Edna was relieved. Not that he’d died but that he was no longer in pain.

  But I don’t think that relief lasted. She seemed lonelier all the time. I couldn’t imagine her ever remarrying—but I couldn’t imagine her staying single either. She was one of those people, unlike me, who was meant for marriage.

  When Ivan and Nell married six months ago, I noted a pained expression on Edna’s face after the service. I know she was thrilled for our brother, but it seemed the pain of her loss was still very real for her.

  She clasped her hands tighter. “Those Bopplis are so tiny,” she said. “You’re taking on a big responsibility.”

  I nodded as I thought of holding little Asher, who was the biggest of the three but still so small. Daisy had slowed around a curve in the road, and I urged the horse to go faster. “How big was I?”

  “Close to eight pounds,” Edna answered. “Your Mamm had you at the hospital because she was older.” Some women in our community had homebirths, others in the hospital. It all depended on what the woman felt comfortable with and what her healthcare needs were. “We went to see you,” Edna added.

  I usually didn’t mention him, but as I imagined her and Frank in their early twenties, I asked, “How long had you two been married then?”

  “Three years . . .” Her voice trailed off. Most Amish couples would have had one baby by then, maybe even two.

  “The night you were born, the stars were so bright it seemed I should be able to pluck one from the sky and take it to the hospital, like a flower.”

  I smiled at the image. I’d been born the first day of autumn.

  “And you were such a happy baby—and a happy little girl too.”

  “Really?” No one had told me that before. I’d suspected I’d always been a little cynical. “What happened to me?” I pondered.

  Edna laughed. “Oh, you’ll be happy again. You’ve had a rough couple of years is all. You’re just coming into your own. It takes a while. I remember being your age.”

  I couldn’t imagine Edna ever being anything but kind and giving.

  We’d reached the Millers’ lane, and I pulled the reins to the left. To the right, cows grazed in the field. On the other side of the road, a flock of sheep—probably belonging to Bob’s brother-in-law, Cap Cramer—huddled under a shelter.

  As we plodded along, I prayed that I’d be up to the tasks ahead of me. It was a stretch for me to leave home and become part of another household. If living with three people drove me crazy at times, what would it be like to live with eight, three of them infants? I prayed I would be able to focus on others first, a concept I’d been taught my entire life but sometimes had difficulty putting into practice.

  The sun grew warmer as we approached the Millers’ place. First the showroom came into view, with the shop behind it. Then the garden to the side of the house, and finally the three-story home, with the Dawdi Haus behind it.

  I pulled Daisy to a sto
p by the hitching post in front of the showroom. “Want to come in with me?” I met Edna’s gaze.

  She shook her head. “Not now—I’ll wait until Nan has had more time home with her little ones.”

  I nodded. Edna would stay at our house until next Sunday, when Martin and Mervin would be home and ready to take over the chores. Maybe she would come by after that. Or she might wait longer. She wouldn’t want to intrude.

  “I’ll come back to your house the Saturday your Mamm, Molly, and Leon return,” she said. “I’ll make supper. Don’t you think you could take that evening off and join us?”

  “I’ll ask Nan.” Bob had said I could have some time off—I didn’t think it would be a problem. I climbed down from the buggy, retrieved my bag from the back, and headed toward the path that led to the house as Edna pulled the buggy around. I waved to her and hollered, “Denki.”

  She blew me a kiss and kept on going.

  A voice from above called down, “Bea!”

  I stopped and shaded my eyes. Hope hung out of a second-story window. “I’ll be right down,” she called out.

  By the time I reached the back door, she’d opened it. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave me a hug, her blue eyes bright, and then ushered me into the kitchen.

  Nan sat holding a baby in the rocker next to the wood stove. On the other side was an empty playpen. The house was warmer than it had been the last time I’d stopped by—too warm. This time the dishes were done and the big oak table cleared.

  “Willkumm,” Nan said. She wore a blue scarf on her head instead of a Kapp. Dark half moons hung under her eyes, and her skin was pale.

  I greeted her, but when I realized she was nursing the baby I stopped.

  “Hope, show Bea where to put her bag,” Nan said, pulling the little one to her shoulder. It looked like Kurt.

  As Nan burped him, I followed Hope to the front of the house and up the big open staircase.

  “We’re sharing a room,” Hope said. “The back one. Pete and Cate have the third floor now. The babies are in the nursery—one of the spare rooms, really—or else in with Nan and Bob. She’s trying to feed both the boys but is also using some bottles. It will be harder when Leah comes home. We’ll have to help in the middle of the night then. I’ve had to do a few of those feedings already—it’s not so bad. Are you a sound sleeper?”