Becoming Bea

by Leslie Gould

  “But you didn’t see each other for fourteen of those months.”

  “True,” she said. “But we wrote to each other.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded and then chuckled. “Mostly I wrote. Martin isn’t good at corresponding—but he’d send short letters in response to mine. But he was thinking about me all that time.” She added the detergent to the tub and turned on the agitator. “You and Ben are so lucky.”

  “How’s that?”

  She began dropping the dirty spit rags into the tub. “You grew up together. You’ve known each other all these years.”

  “Oh, that just made it worse.” I chuckled. “We tormented each other all that time. And we still can’t seem to figure things out.”

  “You will,” she said, dropping more spit rags into the tub. Funny how she was doing them one by one instead of a handful at a time. “And the thing is, you truly know each other.”

  That was true. Warts and all.

  “Are you worried you don’t know Martin?”

  “That’s the odd thing,” she said. “I feel as if I know him better than anyone I’ve ever met. I feel like I could marry him tomorrow. I’m sure he’s the right one for me.”

  “The two of you really do make a great pair,” I said. “I can see you getting married—give it some time, though.”

  “But I don’t want to go back to New York,” she said.

  “Nan is going to need help for quite a while. I don’t think they’ll be sending you home anytime soon.”

  “Jah,” she said. “But my Dat said a month to start with. That will be up soon.”

  “Have Nan or Bob leave a voicemail for him.”

  “They’d have to write a letter.”

  “They’d do it.” I picked up the basket of laundry again, sure each load grew heavier, to carry up the stairs.

  She dropped the last spit rag into the tub. “What are you going to do this afternoon?”

  I looked over my shoulder as I crossed over the cement. “Go to the bookstore.”

  “With?” she asked, a teasing look on her face.

  “Guess!” I reached the bottom step and turned around. “What are you going to do?”

  She blushed. “Go to the Mosiers’ farm.”

  “With?”

  She grinned. “Guess,” she retorted. Then she added, “We’re going to visit with his parents.” I knew she’d met Amos and Eliza Mosier at church but that was all.

  “That sounds pretty serious,” I said.

  “Jah,” she answered. “It is. That’s why I don’t want to go back to New York. Not ever.”

  “You’d rather get married here?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I like it here. Everyone is more relaxed.”

  I wanted to laugh but didn’t. Relaxed, with three babies in the house and a high-risk pregnancy?

  She continued, “Plus, I feel part of the group here. I never felt that way back home.”

  I nodded. “I understand what you’re saying,” I said. “I’m feeling that too—for the first time, even though I grew up here.” The basket of laundry was about to break my back. “See you in a few minutes,” I said as I started up the stairs.

  I only got as far as the kitchen when I heard babies crying upstairs. I held the basket for a moment, torn between dashing out the door and hanging the wash as quickly as possible or running up the stairs. Going upstairs won. So I put the basket on the floor and hurried to help Nan.

  By late morning, Doris arrived to take Cate and Pete to the doctor. And then after dinner, Doris returned for Nan, Bob, and the babies. Hope and I helped carry the babies, in their car seats, out to the van. Bob asked if Doris had any word on Cate.

  “They were going to do some tests,” Doris said. “They told me to check after I drop you off.”

  As excited as I was to go off with Ben for the afternoon, Doris’s report gave me pause.

  “They’re still at the doctor’s office,” she said. “If things were bad, they would have sent them to the hospital.”

  Bob exhaled. “That’s a good insight,” he said.

  Hope and I stood to the side, watching as Bob and Nan fastened the car seats to the bench seats. Then Nan crawled into the back of the van and Bob sat up front with Doris.

  As soon as the van pulled away, the boys poured out of the shop, while Hope and I ran into the house and up the stairs. Hope giggled as I sped past her on the landing.

  I envied her. She knew exactly where Martin stood. I wasn’t sure with Ben, but I’d been trying to be pleasant and not put him on the spot. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could manage not to be blunt.

  Kurt had spit up on my shoulder and Hope had spilled rhubarb juice on her apron. We changed as fast as we could, then took turns in front of the mirror, re-pinning our buns and adjusting our Kapps. After we grabbed our shawls, we hurried back down the stairs. When we reached the yard, Martin and Ben had their buggies lined up, waiting for us.

  Ben helped me into his, and then we followed Martin and Hope down the long drive to the highway. When we reached the stop sign, they turned right and we turned left. My unsettled feeling continued to grow. I needed to know what Ben’s intentions were but still didn’t feel comfortable asking.

  “When does your Mamm come home?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” I answered.

  Ben pulled the buggy as far onto the shoulder as he could to let a car pass. “But you’ll stay at the Millers’?”

  “Jah, as long as they want me.”

  “Gut,” he said, “and they will, for a long time.” He took the reins with one hand and reached over and patted my knee with the other, his hand lingering for a moment—long enough to make me shiver. We continued on in silence.

  I focused on the beautiful day. Tonight it would be downright cold, but the bright sunshine still warmed the world. The blue of the sky over the trees—gold and red deciduous mixed in with the evergreens—brought tears to my eyes.

  Ben glanced my way as I swiped at my cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Jah,” I answered. “Just a bit of dust, I think.”

  “It certainly is a beautiful day,” he said.

  I swallowed hard, wishing he’d bring up the topic of “us.”

  “The weather is supposed to hold through the weekend. After that they’re predicting rain,” he said.

  It was early November. The Indian summer couldn’t stick around forever.

  Ben turned onto a back road, on a lane I’d never traveled before. Ahead was a forest of trees, their leaves fiery red and orange. “Oh, my!” I said.

  Ben grinned at me. “Isn’t it amazing?”

  “It’s like a tunnel,” I said, as we rolled under the canopy of leaves. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” The sun burst through at the end of the trees, casting beams of light across the pavement, which was littered with dry leaves.

  A few moments later, the buggy popped out of the trees, only to roll onto a covered bridge. I gasped as the wheels thumped over the wooden planks. When we reached the other side, I looked behind us at the bridge framed against the fiery forest. “That was amazing,” I said.

  Ben stopped the buggy. “Want to get out?”

  A minute later we stood gazing at the bridge, the glorious trees all around it. I couldn’t help bouncing up on the balls of my feet, feeling as if I might be able to walk on air. Ben’s hand brushed against mine, but he didn’t take it. “We should be on our way,” he finally said.

  Once we were back in the buggy, the image of the bridge and changing leaves stayed in my mind as Ben turned onto the highway and then a few minutes later into the Olde Book Shoppe parking lot. He pulled up to the hitching post and tied his horse to it.

  I jumped down. The sunflowers alongside the brick wall of the building tilted to the west, toward the afternoon sun. Purple mums filled the flower beds in front of the store. Had they been there a couple of weeks ago? I couldn’t remember. Probably so.
Everything seemed so cheery. It was as if the entire world had come into focus for me, complete with brighter colors and textures. Unless I’d misread Ben’s intentions. . . .

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stopped in front of the flowers and stared down at them.

  Ben stepped to my side. “What’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t keep silent any longer. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Us,” I managed to squeak.

  He placed his hand on my elbow, barely touching it, and then stepped closer to me, his body against mine. He paused a moment and then sighed. “Ach, Bea. Let’s go inside. I promise we’ll talk—soon.”

  I stood firm and shook my head.

  “I promise,” he said. “Before we get back to the Millers’ today, we’ll talk things through.”

  He held the door open for me. After a long pause, I finally stepped inside.

  Albert and Willa were both at the register, and they greeted me warmly, but when Ben came through the door their faces nearly exploded into smiles. At first I thought it was at seeing him, but then I felt his hand on my elbow. Was the couple responding to seeing us together?

  “What brings you in?” Albert asked.

  “We both have the afternoon off,” Ben answered.

  “And you chose to come here?” Willa clapped her hands together, the way Hope often did.

  “Of course.” Ben stopped at the counter, and so did I, grateful that he was able to be friendly. I found myself feeling shy.

  “We’re going to browse.” Ben pointed toward the back of the store and then led the way. I smiled at the couple and followed him.

  “Oh, good,” Ben said. “They have some new—I mean, old—books in.” The shelves were packed with small volumes of hardbacks, most without their jackets.

  “Where do they get the books from?” I asked, sinking to my knees.

  Ben kneeled beside me. “Estate sales, garage sales, flea markets—and some people bring them directly here.”

  “Do Albert and Willa go to the sales?”

  “Some,” Ben said. “I’ve gone to a few for them. Also to some thrift shops. It’s amazing what families give away.”

  I couldn’t imagine.

  We browsed for quite a while, pulling out books and flipping through them. Novels. Guidebooks. Devotionals. Biographies. And a couple of poetry books.

  I found one book I wanted to buy and kept it in my hand, excited to make my first purchase.

  “Who’s the author?” Ben nodded toward the volume.

  “William Butler Yeats,” I said. “The poems are easier than Shakespeare’s.”

  “But are they as good?” Ben countered.

  “We’ll have to read them and find out,” I teased.

  On the way to the cash register, he took the book in my hands from me. “I’d like to buy it for you,” he said.

  “I finally have my own money. I was going to get it,” I said.

  “I know. But let me.” His eyes met mine. “Please?”

  I let him take the book.

  After Ben paid, as we walked to the door, he asked if I’d like to get a cup of coffee at the shop a couple of doors down.

  “Sure,” I answered, anticipating we’d finally have our talk.

  The coffee shop was busy, without any open tables, when we arrived, but by the time we had our coffee and the blueberry muffin Ben had ordered, a table in the back had opened up.

  After we sat, Ben divided the muffin between us and then asked if he could look at my book. I pushed it across. He leafed through it, reading bits here and there as I sipped my coffee. Music with no words played in the background.

  “I’m ready to talk,” he said.

  I sighed.

  “First, let me explain what happened last year.”

  I braced myself. “When you dumped me?”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t dump you.”

  I slumped against my chair. “What would you call it then?”

  “We weren’t ready,” he said. “Your Mamm was ill. We were young.” He blushed. “I’d been watching Levi and Betsy for the last two years and knew getting married before you were set could be a challenge. The doctor and hospital bills for the babies. The medicine and formula. Plus, I couldn’t figure out where we’d live. My folks’ house was too crowded. I couldn’t imagine us living at your Mamm’s place, not with Molly and Leon there.”

  It was my turn to blush. He had a point.

  He shrugged. “I’m used to chaos, but I figured you’d need a little more peace and quiet.”

  He was right about that too.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this? Instead of disappearing like you did.”

  He blushed even more and then spoke in a hushed voice, “Well, wouldn’t it have seemed a little presumptuous, on my part?”

  He had a point about that too.

  He shrugged a second time. “You’re right. I’m not very good at communicating.”

  I crossed my arms. I could only imagine the scowl spreading across my face.

  He leaned forward across the table. “Bea, I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  His words caught me off guard.

  “I’m going to try to communicate better, starting right now.”

  I sat up straight.

  “This is very important,” he said, his voice serious without a hint of teasing.

  I leaned toward him, my arms crossed on the table.

  “I want to court you,” he said. “I’ve known for years that I cared about you, since we were scholars together. There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with than you. I figure I can make enough money to support us. We’ll never be rich . . .”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Wait.”

  “But I’ll do my best—”

  I squeezed his arm. “Stop.”

  He froze, his eyes on mine.

  “Go back,” I said.

  He closed one eye, as if it might help him remember what he’d said.

  I smiled just a bit. “To the part about courting . . .”

  He nodded. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? The singing. The talks.”

  “This is the real thing?”

  He nodded.

  I exhaled. “You’re positive? You won’t change your mind in a day or two?”

  He grabbed my hand.

  Part of me wanted to pull away—I didn’t feel comfortable being seen in public holding hands—but as my heart began to race, and this time not out of fear, I held on to him.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in all my life,” he said. “I C-H-E-R-I-S-H you, Bea Zook.”

  The background music grew louder.

  My entire world shifted. Ben wanted to court me. He was serious.

  H-A-R-M-O-N-Y. I’d never felt it so intensely, not in all my life. In those few moments, my fear vanished. He cherished me.

  Our eyes locked.

  Neither of us moved. Over the hum of the shop, Ben said, “It’s true that I’ve cared for you since we were kids. You were so smart.” He smiled. “And sassy, but in a quiet way.”

  I shook my head, wanting more than anything to be honest with him. “I was awful.”

  “No, you were great. You were the best part about school.”

  “I was critical and judgmental.”

  He shook his head. “You were honest—and still are. I’ve always appreciated that about you. And you were so pretty.” His eyes lit up. “But you’re not anymore.”

  I swallowed hard.

  He grinned. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful girl I know.”

  My face warmed. “I have my own confession to make,” I said. “I’ve been prideful—first I was competitive and then I was prideful.”

  Ben’s eyes shone. “I think we were even on the competitiveness,” he said. “But you didn’t seem prideful to me, just honest, like I said. And very Bea-ish.”

  I laughed. “Well, who else would I be?”

  “Y
ou’d be surprised,” he answered. “How about if we forgive each other?”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “And ourselves?”

  I took a deep breath. That meant not bringing it up again—especially to myself. If Ben could forgive me, I could too. “Done,” I said. I let go of his hand and pulled away until just our fingertips still touched. Tears stung my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I laughed through my tears. “It’s just that I feel so—” I needed a word that expressed more than harmony. “So jubilant!”

  He grinned. “As in great happiness?”

  I nodded. It had been on our fourth-grade spelling list.

  “As in exultant, exuberant, and elated.” He leaned forward over the tabletop, his face inches from mine now.

  I shivered. “Exactly,” I whispered. The background music swelled.

  “Ach, Bea,” Ben whispered, clasping my hand—just as Albert came through the door, looking a little frantic.

  “There you are,” he said, stepping around the other customers to our table.

  Ben let go of my hand.

  “Bob Miller just called the store.” Albert looked straight at me. “He asked if I’d send you on your way to their place as soon as possible. They need your help.”

  We stood to our feet and hurried to the door, leaving our coffee and muffin behind.

  Chapter

  14

  I felt sick to my stomach the entire ride home, afraid of what might have happened. Had Cate lost her baby? Had something happened to one of the triplets? I tried to pray silently but worry kept interrupting me.

  Finally, as we neared the lane to the Millers’ farm, Ben said, “It’s probably not as bad as Albert made it sound. He was in a hurry to get back to the bookstore. And Bob probably didn’t tell him much.”

  I nodded. But I didn’t think Bob would call the bookstore if he wasn’t desperate. Perhaps Cate was in the hospital and Bob needed to go be with her and Pete. It would be hard for Nan, not to be available for Cate. . . .

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I said to Ben. “How long do you think you’ll work for Bob?”