by Leslie Gould
Then he began to read,
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds.”
I thought about that as he continued to read. It seemed the author was saying that love must remain constant.
I focused again on what Ben read.
“ . . . it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken.”
He stopped reading and said, “A tempest is a storm.”
I smiled. I knew that. A rustling along the barn caught my attention. I expected a cat—or maybe Love—but it was Don, coming our way.
“Back to work,” he said and kept on walking.
Ben blushed.
My face grew warm too as Don disappeared.
Ben flipped to the back of the book, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. “I copied the sonnet for you.”
“Denki,” I said, slipping the page into my pocket. I’d read the rest of it as soon as I could.
“You’ve been kind to Don,” Ben said as he slipped the book back into his backpack.
My face and neck started to grow even warmer. “I’ve been trying to be kinder—to everyone.”
“Well, it’s working,” Ben said.
I wasn’t sure if he meant it was a good thing. My face grew as hot as the fire I’d made in the wood stove that morning to ward off the chill. “Denki,” I said, “for showing me the sonnet.”
He smiled a little.
“I’ll read the rest of this one—and I’d like to read the others too. Later, of course.”
He nodded and then jerked his head toward the shop. “See you soon.”
He put his pack in the buggy and headed back to work, and I started toward the house. Was Ben jealous of the attention Don paid to me? If he was, that might not be a bad thing. I’d decided not to force Ben to reveal how he felt about me. That would come better from him, in his own time.
When I reached the clothesline, I stepped behind a towel and pulled the paper from my pocket, starting to read where Ben left off.
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
That sounded a little ominous.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I folded the paper and slipped it back into my pocket, shivering even though I wasn’t cold. I couldn’t figure Ben Rupp out. “‘But bears it out even to the edge of doom,’” I whispered out loud. He certainly hadn’t done that when we courted briefly last year. He’d simply disappeared.
One minute I thought he was interested in me again, and the next I had no idea. Ben Rupp was an E-N-I-G-M-A, a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand. It had been a sixth-grade spelling word. That was Ben, for sure.
That afternoon I found Nan crying in the nursery again. She wasn’t making any noise, but tears streamed down her face. She held Asher on her shoulder, patting his back as he screamed.
I froze in the doorway.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, “I’m just feeling a little weepy.”
How could I not mind her? She was a sight.
“Hormones,” she said, her hand dashing from Asher’s back to her cheek and then to his back in one smooth motion. “Or sleep deprivation. Or happiness.”
“Ach, probably all three.” I stepped into the room. “Do you want me to take Asher?”
“Denki,” she said. “I need to take a shower. I can’t remember the last time I had one. Betsy and her kids will be here soon.”
Involuntarily my eyebrows raised.
“Oh,” she said. “Didn’t I say anything about them coming?”
“Not to me,” I answered, as I stepped toward her.
“Ach. Maybe I told Hope.” Nan handed Asher to me. He gulped a breath of air and then continued screaming.
“Will they stay for supper?” I asked, rubbing Asher’s back, holding him firmly against my shoulder.
“I’m not sure. . . .” Nan stood, holding on to the arm of the rocking chair for an extra-long moment. “But probably. Is that all right?”
“Of course,” I answered. We were having a roast, but it was enough for company.”
“I need to get some fresh air today.” She started toward the hallway. “After my shower, maybe we can take the babies out on the porch.” Once she reached the door, she turned back around. “If you weren’t here to help, I don’t know what I’d do.” She’d said that before—she didn’t need to say it again.
“Ach, you’d be fine,” I said.
“Well, I’m glad you think so. But I wouldn’t be. Neither would Bob.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine having more children. Of course if that’s what God has for us . . .” She smiled, wearily. “Although at this point it’s not like Bob and I even have time to hug each other, let alone . . . ” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m babbling. And saying stupid things. I feel like I’ve lost my brain.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I really liked Nan.
She patted the wet spot on her dress where the spit-up had soaked through. “Lovely, isn’t it?” Tears welled in her eyes again. “I mean it is—it’s all so lovely. And exhausting.”
I nodded. “Go get your shower,” I said. “And take your time.”
“The other two are in my room.” She shuffled into the hall.
I sat in the rocking chair and continued to pat Asher’s back. He wiggled a little and then stopped screaming. Soon he stopped crying. A few minutes later, he’d fallen asleep and I slipped him into his bassinet.
Next I picked up the overflowing laundry basket to take to the basement. Even though I’d told Nan she and Bob would be fine on their own, I couldn’t imagine what they would do without Hope and me either. Bob rounded the corner from the hall as I came down the stairs.
“There you are,” he said, extending an envelope to me. “Here’s your pay.”
I said, “Denki,” as I took the envelope and slipped it into my pocket. I’d never had any money of my own before.
“We appreciate you,” Bob said. “You’ve exceeded my expectations as far as your work, and you’ve become a leader with Hope. Plus you have a positive attitude that has, frankly, surprised me—it’s had a ripple effect on all of us.”
My face grew warm at his comments. I wasn’t used to being complimented. It wasn’t the norm for our community—we feared it would lead to pride. But I could see why the boys all valued Bob as a boss. He inspired them to do their best. I certainly felt that way now.
“Anyway,” he said, “God has blessed my family through you.”
“Denki,” I said again and then held up the basket. “I’m headed to the basement.”
He smiled. “And I’m headed upstairs.”
“The babies are all asleep,” I said.
“Gut,” he replied as he reached the stairs. “I’ll just take a peek and then get back to work.”
When I reached the basement, I put the basket on the laundry table and then took the envelope out of my pocket. As I counted the money, a sense of satisfaction unlike I’d ever known overcame me. The thing was, I would have taken care of the babies for free. Not at the beginning, of course—but now I would have.
But now I could buy some books. I tucked the money back into the envelope. Maybe Ben would go with me to the Olde Book Shoppe.
An hour later, Nan, Hope, and I had the babies out on the porch. As the boys trickled out of the shop for their break, they headed our way. All of them were crazy about the babies. And none of them had seen much of Nan lately. It was clear they were all crazy about her too. Except Don. He stayed back at the bottom of the steps
by himself.
As Ben held Asher, I couldn’t help but admire him. He’d had a lot of experience with babies because Betsy and her brood lived with him and his parents. Until the last week, he’d had a lot more experience than I had.
“Hey, little guy,” he cooed to Asher. The baby’s gaze fixed on Ben for a moment, but then he began to fuss. “Ach, none of that,” Ben chided. “Or I’ll have to hand you back to Bea.”
The baby began to cry.
“Ach.” Ben lifted his head, a helpless expression on his face.
Asher began to scream.
“He wants you.” Ben’s eyes met mine. In the old days, he would have followed the comment with a jab, but now, he grinned at me. “Can’t blame him,” he whispered, leaning toward me.
My heart skipped a beat as I took the baby. Our hands tangled for just a moment, the little one wedged between us. I quickly pulled mine, now holding Asher, away. I wanted Ben to communicate how he felt about me—but in private. Not on the porch in front of everyone.
“Hey, Ben, what’s the matter?” Don called out as I drew Asher close to me. “Can’t you handle a baby?”
“Jah, that’s right. I can’t,” Ben answered, looking over his shoulder as I lifted Asher to mine. “But thank goodness Bea can.”
Don smirked a little.
His response surprised me. He hadn’t been harsh before, but perhaps his wife had been pregnant when she died. Bob said he appreciated my positive attitude—a first for me—I wasn’t going to fall back to being critical.
I smiled at Don.
Ben turned back toward me.
“Ignore him,” I whispered.
“Jah,” he answered quietly. “I will.”
Nan, sitting near us in one of the many rocking chairs on the porch, asked Ben if he planned to stay for supper. “Betsy and Levi and the kids are coming,” she explained.
He laughed. “It’s going to be absolute chaos here, then,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up to an invasion?”
Nan nodded, halfheartedly.
“I wish I could,” Ben said. “But I told Albert I’d stop by on the way home. He has a broken bookcase he needs help with.”
Then Nan told me that I’d have the next afternoon off. “Bob and I are taking the triplets to the pediatrician.” She turned her attention to Ben. “And he’s giving all of you the afternoon off too. Because you worked so hard getting that last order filled.”
Ben raised his eyebrows as he glanced at me. “Perfect,” he said, stepping closer, touching my shoulder with his arm as he did.
Over Asher’s head, I asked, “Would you want to go back to the bookstore with me tomorrow afternoon?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes twinkled.
I wrinkled my nose, embarrassed.
“Jah,” he said, this time quietly, “I’d like that.”
Chapter
13
After Ben left and before Betsy and her family arrived, Don approached as I took a load of towels off the line, folding them as I did and dropping them in the basket, enjoying the warm autumn afternoon.
He came toward me from between the barn and the Dawdi Haus, carrying a book in one hand. I folded the last of the towels as he neared.
“What do you have there?” I asked. I couldn’t pass someone who was reading without trying to see the title of the book. My curiosity got the best of me every time.
“Oh, this?” He held the book up a bit.
I nodded.
“It’s a history book—about Colonial America.”
“Oh,” I said. It wasn’t a topic I was particularly interested in.
“Want to borrow it when I’m done?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have much time to read lately.” I patted the sonnet in my pocket. I hadn’t had a chance to read it again. Nor one of Cate’s books on caring for babies.
“Too bad,” he said. “I have a stack of other books back at my folks’ place. Maybe one of those would catch your fancy.”
I shaded my eyes against the sun. I doubted it.
“Well, see you tomorrow,” Don said.
I waved and picked up the basket, wishing I hadn’t asked him about the book, afraid he’d read too much into my interest.
When I reached the kitchen, Hope and Cate were frantically trying to get supper finished. “Help,” Hope said. “The gravy isn’t thickening.”
I stashed the basket of towels in the sunroom and took over at the stove.
Ben was on target when he said having Betsy, Levi, and the kids for supper would be chaotic. It wasn’t that they weren’t gut—they were. It was just that his nephew and nieces were kids. And really close together in age. Robbie was three, going on four, and the baby was one, with their sweet sister Tamara in between the two.
I couldn’t help but dote on them though. I didn’t want to assume they might someday be my nieces and nephew too, but I hoped it might be true. I walked to the garden with the older two, Robbie leading the way. It was the last day of October, and soon the garden would need to be completely cleared, but there was still a crop of squash to use.
“Dawdi and I planted these pumpkins last spring,” Robbie said, skipping along. It wasn’t unusual for families in our community to overlap, for grandfathers to also be fathers of young children, still busy parenting their own offspring; for children to have aunts and uncles close to their ages. But right now to have three little preemies be uncles and an aunt to Robbie was a little hard for me to comprehend. I wondered if he’d call them Onkel Asher, Onkel Kurt, and Aenti Leah.
When we reached the garden, Robbie waded into it, jumping over a few boat-size zucchinis that clung to the vines. Robbie maneuvered around the bean poles, toward the back. “Look at that one!” He pointed to a pumpkin that must have been sixty pounds or so. He tried to lift it and then yelled, “Dawdi!”
I turned back toward the house. Bob held Betsy’s baby in one arm and Asher in the other. The size difference between the two was almost comical.
“He looks a little busy,” I said to Robbie.
The little boy frowned. It must have been hard for him to go from having the sole attention of so many adults to having to share it with five other children, soon six. The Millers had certainly been blessed.
Robbie moved to a smaller pumpkin and wrapped his arms around it, pulling hard. As he lifted, it tore from the vine. Tamara attempted to do the same but couldn’t budge her chosen pumpkin. I directed her to a smaller one and then helped her.
The children started back to their grandfather, walking off-kilter. I kept behind them a few feet.
When he saw them coming, Bob called out, “Look at you big kids! Take those home with you—get your Mamm to make you some pumpkin bread.”
Betsy, who had been sitting on the porch, leaned over the railing so she could see what was going on. “Oh, goodness.”
Levi grinned at his children. “I’ll clean those out and cut them up when we get home. Then your Mamm can make something yummy.”
Betsy shook her head. “Baking is the last thing I want to do.”
Robbie’s face fell.
Levi tousled his curly hair. “We’ll figure something out,” he said quietly. “Your Mamm’s tired—that’s all.”
With their straw-colored hair and wide smiles, Levi and Ben looked like brothers. Both were kind, although Ben had a much smarter mouth than his older brother. And though not necessarily more intelligent, he was quicker. Levi seemed fine following someone else’s lead—mainly Betsy’s.
By the time Betsy and her family left, both Nan and Cate were exhausted. I sent Hope to help with the babies, while I finished cleaning up the dessert dishes.
“Ach,” Bob said as he held Leah, ready to follow Nan up the stairs. “You really earned your wages this evening.”
“They’re fun,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Betsy’s so used to coming over here and having Nan and Cate wait on her that she takes it for granted she won’t need to
help when she’s here.”
That was the closest I’d ever heard Bob Miller come to criticizing anyone.
“She’ll figure it out,” I said.
Bob headed on down the hall. Before I would have been critical of Betsy, but I could see she was learning, just like all of us. She probably never dreamed she’d have her little ones so close together, and now she had to figure out how to make it all work.
That night was another blur of fussy babies. It was becoming so routine, I could practically feed them, change them, and walk them in my sleep. The next morning it seemed as if maybe I’d dreamt it—except for how tired I felt.
This time Cate stayed in bed without coming down to breakfast. Pete seemed worried and took a tray up to her. When he came back down he consulted with Bob over their coffee as I washed dishes. I couldn’t hear what Pete said, but Bob replied, rather loudly, “By all means, call the doctor. The sooner the better.”
Pete hurried out the door. Bob drained his coffee and then followed his son-in-law. I said a silent prayer for Cate and her baby as I continued to scrub the dishes. After I finished, I joined Hope in the basement to help with the laundry. Back home, we only did the wash on Mondays, but at the Millers’, even with using disposable diapers, it was still nearly a daily chore. Spit rags. Blankets. Sleepers. Sheets. Towels. It never ended.
Hope had one load through the wringer and in a basket. As I picked it up, she said, “Do you think it’s possible to know you want to marry someone after having spent just a few weeks together?”
I put the basket back on the table, remembering what Ben had said. I grinned at her. “Why do you ask?”
She smiled. “Why do you think?”
I placed both my hands on the edges of the basket and leaned toward her. “Tell me,” I said.
She twisted the hot-water handle. The hose lurched a little as the water poured into the tub. “We’ve talked about it some. In a kind of roundabout way. And actually, we’ve known each other for over a year, fifteen months to be exact, since Nan and Bob’s wedding.”
