by Leslie Gould
My face began to burn. I dreaded Cate’s answer.
One of them opened a cupboard door and there was clanking of one dish against another. “Well,” Cate finally said, “she could change. Perhaps she hasn’t found her true self yet. I know I was far past her age before I learned enough about myself to be able to love Pete.”
I took a raggedy breath, grateful for Cate’s belief in me.
“Personally,” Hope said, “I think Don’s a better match for her.”
I shook my head.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Cate said. “I think being a childhood friend gives Ben the advantage.”
Hope giggled. “Jah, I guess I can see that. He truly knows what he’s getting into—and I mean that as a compliment to Bea. I doubt Don could ever appreciate who she truly is.”
When neither said anything more, I tiptoed back to the stairs and up a few steps. I didn’t blame Hope for her words. She was just being honest.
I bounded back down the last few stairs, trying to be as loud as possible, and then rushed down the hall, saying, “Asher needs a bottle,” as I entered the kitchen, proclaiming it as if I’d just arrived, hoping to interrupt them if the conversation had continued.
“Oh.” Hope had a look of panic on her face.
Cate pulled a bottle from the pan. “Here you go. It’s just been warmed.”
I took it from her and said, “Denki,” as kindly as I could. “I’ll be back down to finish cleaning up as soon as the babies are fed.”
“We’re fine down here,” Cate said. “Take your time.”
I wondered if Cate and Hope felt I’d been critical of them too. My face warmed at the thought. I hoped not.
When I reached Nan’s room, I found her dozing but still holding the bottles in Leah and Kurt’s mouths. Both of them had also fallen asleep. I took the bottles out and put them on the bureau. Then I lifted Asher, who was fussing, from his bassinet and changed his diaper and put a clean sleeper on him. After I washed my hands, I took him to the nursery so he wouldn’t wake up his siblings and settled down in the rocking chair. I cooed at him as I did, saying in a singsong voice, “It’s all right. Here’s your bottle.” A week ago I would have been mortified at talking in such a babyish way, but as Asher latched on to the nipple and relaxed against me I realized baby talk served a purpose.
I continued. “Asher, do you find me critical and overbearing?” Cate and Hope hadn’t actually said Ben thought that—but I could only surmise he did. And yet he saw through me and thought I had some sort of quality that made him crazy about me.
“No,” I said to Asher. “I don’t think it’s true.” Perhaps someone—named Ben—had a trick up his sleeve, determined to humiliate me one more time.
The lamp cast a shadow over Asher’s face, but still the baby’s inky eyes met mine.
“I don’t think he would ever love me,” I clarified, rocking harder. “I do think he finds me critical and overbearing.” I sighed. “Do you think people can change?” I asked the baby. “Like Cate said?”
He hiccupped but then kept on sucking. A moment later he closed his eyes.
I turned my head to watch the shadow against the wall. The flame of the lamp sputtered and the shadow leapt. A sense of Shohm—shame—overtook me. I hadn’t meant to be that critical. It started small, over those spelling bees, and grew through the years. I suppose Molly was right. The bickering was annoying.
I didn’t truly feel critical of Ben until he jilted me. True, it wasn’t as if we’d grown serious even though half the district thought we would eventually marry. But couldn’t he have at least communicated something to me?
Oh, God, I prayed. Was Molly right all along? Am I a horrible person? Was that why Ben had rejected me? Tears stung my eyes. Asher drained the last of the bottle and pulled his head away, arching his back and then relaxing again. I shifted him to my shoulder to burp him. Here I’d been so proud of what a good girl I was. Not going to parties. Not gossiping. Not ignoring my family to spend time with others.
But I’d been petty and meanspirited. That wasn’t how Christ had wanted me to live.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Asher stirred and then wiggled closer to me.
I knew that I was sinful. It was part of our theology, taught to us our entire lives. Had I forgotten? Here I’d tried to convince myself that I wasn’t prideful, but I had been. I’d been hurt by Ben and I’d lashed out at him. Hohchmoot. Pride. It was to be avoided at all cost.
I had failed.
Tears blurred my vision.
“Forgive me,” I prayed and then inhaled deeply, holding my breath and then releasing it slowly. Asher stirred again.
A peace settled over me. The baby wasn’t mine, but I had come to love him. I was God’s, I knew I was, and he loved me even more.
I rocked Asher for a few more minutes until I heard Leah whimpering—funny how I knew each of their cries from the first little sound now. I stood and placed Asher in his bassinet. Then I hurried into Nan’s room and scooped Leah up from the bed along with her bottle, putting her in the nursery. I’d finish feeding her in a minute. I returned for Kurt, not wanting him to wake Nan.
But she was awake and rolled toward me. “Where’s Bob?”
“Still out in the shop,” I said. “Go back to sleep. The babies and I are doing just fine.”
It was true. We were. And it wasn’t because the Bopplis had changed. It was because I had changed. God was working in me. My eyes misted over. Perhaps he could change me in other ways too.
After I finished, I headed back downstairs. The lamp had been turned down to its low setting, and there was no sign of Cate or Hope.
My guess was Cate had gone to bed and Hope had sneaked outside, hoping to catch a few minutes with Martin. I sighed, deciding to go to bed myself and get a head start on a night’s sleep that would soon be interrupted.
I’d started toward the hallway when a bark stopped me. The Millers didn’t have a dog. Thinking it was a neighbor’s, I kept going. The dog barked again, but in a welcoming tone.
Curious, I headed to the kitchen door, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I stepped down to the walkway. But then the dog barked a third time, over by the picnic table. Ben was there too, stooped over. A yellow tail wagged, hitting Ben’s leg.
I made my way toward the pair. “Is that Love?”
It was. At the sound of my voice she turned toward me. “What are you doing here, girl?”
She barked again and waved her tail frantically. Ben let her go, and she bolted toward me.
I bent down and hugged her neck. “Did you come all this way in the dark?” Through the fields and not along the highway, I hoped. “Edna will be worried.” I looked up at Ben, trying my best not to be critical of the dog, or him, or anything at all.
He smiled, kindly. “Edna might not realize Love’s gone until morning.”
That was true.
“Mervin and Martin can take her back tomorrow. You can leave a message for Edna. Cate won’t mind if you use the phone.”
That was a good idea. “Come on, girl,” I said to Love and headed toward the office. Ben started walking too, catching up with me. “I’ll keep you company.”
He had a funny expression on his face—not his usual sarcastic look. Could what Cate and Hope said possibly be true? Love drifted away from me—and closer to Ben.
I couldn’t help but smile. “How’s the order going?” I asked.
“We’re done with our part. Bob and Pete are finishing up the paperwork.”
“Great,” I said.
“Jah. We could all go home tonight, but it’s a long ways . . .”
It was for Ben. Not so far for Mervin and Martin. And not far at all for Phillip. He could easily walk home—Don did it every day. But they would all leave soon enough.
As we approached the shop building, Pete stepped out. I explained that I wanted to use the phone to let Edna know about Lov
e and then asked if it would be okay if Love stayed until the twins could get her home the next day.
Pete assured me that was fine and said there was a water dish in the barn I could use for her and a bag of food. “It belonged to our last dog,” Pete said. “Things have been too chaotic to get a new one just yet.” Then Pete asked about Cate.
“She must have gone to bed,” I answered.
He tipped his hat at me and hurried toward the house.
Ben held his arm wide for me to go through the door first. Love stayed outside. Down the hall, in Bob’s office, a light was on. I stepped into Cate’s office, sat in her chair, and quickly dialed while Ben leaned against the edge of the desk, staring at me.
I swiveled away from him a little, my face growing warm. Finally Molly’s voice came on the machine, and I left the message for Edna. I doubted she would check, but if she noticed Love was missing, she might phone to see if the dog had turned up at a neighbors’ before she started searching.
When I hung up the phone, Ben said he’d walk me to the barn.
“Denki,” I said. “That’s very kind. But only if you’re sure.”
“It’s no trouble.” He grinned. “Honestly.”
My heart pounded as we walked along. Afraid if I said anything it might be critical—habits were hard to break—I decided not to say anything at all.
As we neared the barn, there was a rustling from the side—then a giggle. I hoped it wasn’t Hope with Martin. Surely she knew better. But who else would it be?
Whoever was there started walking away from us, farther around the barn.
Ben quickened his step, and I followed his lead. When we reached the barn, he opened the door, holding it wide. “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll find what you need.”
Love seemed torn between following Ben and remaining with me, but when Ben told her to stay, she did. I peered into the cavernous barn after Ben entered. It was so dark I didn’t see how he could possibly see a thing.
A moment later he yelped, “Ouch!”
“You okay?” I called out.
“Jah—it was only an encounter with a rake.”
I heard another rustling and thought it must be whoever had hurried behind the barn. Love stepped closer to me. But then someone, who was whistling, came from the other side of the barn, from the direction of the Dawdi Haus.
“Bea?” It was Don, approaching quickly.
“Beatrice,” I corrected.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Whose dog?”
“Mine.”
He reached down to pet her, but she darted around me to the other side, pressing herself against my leg. It wasn’t like her to be unfriendly.
“Ach,” he said, “she’s shy.”
“Not usually,” I answered.
“Would you—and your dog—like to go for a walk?” Don asked.
“Not tonight,” I answered.
Before I could give my excuse, Ben yelled again and then added quickly, “I’m fine. I just made contact with an aerator.”
Don crossed his arms. “What’s he doing in there?”
“Looking for dog stuff—Love is spending the night.”
Don shook his head, pulled a flashlight from his pocket, and headed into the barn. “Look on the right side, by the bench,” he called out to Ben.
A few minutes later they both reappeared, Ben carrying the bag of dog food and the chain while Don carried two stainless-steel dishes. He reached out for the bag.
Ben didn’t give it to him, saying, “Pardon?”
“I’ll help Bea—”
“Beatrice,” I said.
“—get the dog situated.” Don turned away from me toward Ben. “Go along. Do whatever you were doing.” Don thrust his shoulders back. “Wait. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Ben ignored the last comment and said, “What I was doing—am doing—is helping Bea.”
“Beatrice,” Don corrected.
I shook my head, so only Ben could see. Then I smiled at him, bouncing to the balls of my feet. I wasn’t a bouncy person, until tonight.
He grinned and then turned his attention back to Don, squaring his shoulders.
“There’s no need for you to help now,” Don said. “I’m here.”
“Love knows Ben,” I said. “We’re doing just fine.”
Don turned around, waving the flashlight behind me, casting an eerie light, and said quietly, “He’s just a boy.”
Pretending I didn’t hear what he’d said, I blurted out, “Thank you for your help.” I reached for the dog dishes, taking one in each hand.
“Suit yourself.” He turned away abruptly and headed toward the sycamore grove.
Ben and I stood, frozen, until the beam of the flashlight had totally disappeared. Again there was a rustling along the other side of the barn. Perhaps a cat.
Once Don had completely disappeared, I said, “That was awkward.” Don had seemed so pleasant before, but there was something unsettling about him tonight. “I wonder what he’s doing, out by himself in the dark.”
“He’s not so bad.” Ben started toward the house. “He means well.”
I aimed to be pleasant—not argumentative—with Ben, so I didn’t question his statement. Instead, as I walked beside him, I asked, “Do you think that people can change?”
“Jah,” he said. “Of course. Isn’t that what life is all about?”
I pondered that as we reached the oak tree. We all stopped and Love inched toward me, her tail thumping against my leg again. Ben put down the bag of food and took the bowls from me, putting one on the ground. He headed over to the spigot with the other. I expected Love to go with him but she didn’t.
I filled the dish with food and then Ben returned with the other, putting it beside the first.
Love drained the water dish.
I rubbed her head. “You’re so thirsty. You shouldn’t take off like that.”
“She must have really been missing you.” Ben reached down to pet the dog, our hands touching as he did. I almost jerked my hand away out of habit but caught myself. We both stopped petting the dog, our hands side by side.
“I feel bad,” I said. “There’s enough going on around here without adding a dog to the mix.”
Ben chuckled and grinned.
My heart melted at his schoolboy look. “What?”
He shook his head. “Why did you ask me if people can change?”
I shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking about that . . . lately.” I looked up at him. Under the dim light from the stars I couldn’t make out the expression on his face.
“I’m going home tomorrow,” he said.
“After breakfast?”
“Jah.” He stepped away from the dog. “I know you’re not fond of singings, but I was wondering if you’d like to go with me tomorrow evening. It’s at the Funks’ farm. They’ve made a corn maze.”
I inhaled deeply, fussing with the ties of my Kapp.
He smiled. “Only if you’d like to. . . .”
I exhaled. “I would. I’d like that a lot.”
“Gut.” He wrapped the chain around the tree. Once he had it secured, he clipped it to Love’s collar. When he stood, he said, “You’d better go on inside.”
I nodded.
I expected Love to whine as I walked away, but she hardly noticed because Ben stayed at her side. He was still with her when I glanced out the landing window. When I reached our room, I was surprised to see Hope sitting on her bed in her nightgown, brushing her blond hair.
“I thought you were”—I pointed toward the barn—“out with Martin.”
“I was. We were talking. I just came in.” She grinned. “I saw you and Ben headed toward the barn.”
“With Love,” I answered.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“She’s my dog,” I explained. “Her name is Love.”
Hope smiled. “That’s so sweet.”
“My Dat named her that because he wanted the mockingbirds to repeat her name.�
�� It sounded corny.
“Did it work?”
“Jah,” I said. “It did. And they still do.” I couldn’t explain how nice it was to have the mockingbirds calling out “Love!” It was a gift from Dat.
“So . . .” Hope put her brush on the bedside table. “Are you and Ben getting along better?”
I couldn’t help but think about what she’d said, that she planned to warn him. Obviously she hadn’t yet.
“Maybe,” I answered, trying my best to be pleasant.
Hope slipped beneath her quilt.
I quickly changed the subject. “How’s Martin?”
“Gut,” she said dreamily, looking across the room at me with her blue eyes. “I can’t wait for the singing tomorrow night. There’s going to be a maze.”
I nodded. “So I heard.”
“And a hayride,” she said. “And a couple of uninterrupted hours with Martin.”
I pulled my nightgown from the top drawer, glancing back at Hope. She was on her back, one arm above her head. I stepped closer. Her eyes were already closed.
I shook my head. She fell asleep faster and slept more soundly than anyone I’d ever known.
That left me thinking about Ben and all the time I’d known him. During our school years, he was who I looked forward to seeing every day, although I’d never admitted it to him or anyone else. I’d barely admitted it to myself. Every morning, as soon as I arrived, I’d locate him. Usually he was chopping wood or feeding the fire. At recess, he was always the one organizing a game. Everyone wanted to be on his team, including me, although I never made it obvious.
During class, he was the first to raise his hand to answer a question—unless I beat him to it. I pretended he annoyed me—and more often than not, he did—but secretly I loved every minute of it. I didn’t have a best friend that was a girl. But it didn’t matter. Ben was my best friend.
I was heartbroken when eighth grade ended. I wished so badly our days as scholars could continue. We both loved learning. We both loved, I was sure, the camaraderie. Even though the other girls flirted with Ben, which I’d never dream of doing, it was my approval he sought. That was obvious, even to an awkward girl like me.
