by Judy Clemens
“Yes,” I said. “She’s a good dog.” I patted my good dog on the head while she gazed up at me with an expression of canine ecstasy.
Lucy and I left our boots at the door, checked our clothes for displaced manure, and found our way to my kitchen, Tess following closely. I pulled some shaved turkey out of the fridge, as well as whatever condiments I happened to have. Miraculously, I found a new bag of chips and had a full pitcher of instant iced tea, which I poured into three cups.
“You stick with the Mennonite brand of chips, I see,” Lucy said, pointing at the blue Herr’s bag.
I popped one in my mouth and talked around it. “I like them the best. And the guy on the back looks friendly.”
“Like Grandpa,” Tess said, and Lucy smiled briefly.
The Lucy that looked at me across the table radiated confidence and strength, and the satisfaction in her eyes had only increased since that morning. Nothing like pushing cow poop around to give you zest for life. If the amount of mayonnaise she put on her sandwich was any indication, the woman had a metabolism the size of my largest cow’s—and cows have four stomachs. She ate half the bag of chips and asked sheepishly if she could have another sandwich.
“You been starving yourself?” I asked.
“Just tired of McDonald’s.”
“Not me!” Tess said.
Lucy made a face. “It was right down the road in Lancaster and way too convenient.”
“Sure,” I said. “Chips and processed lunchmeat are much better. Eat another sandwich.”
Ten minutes later she was ready to get back to work. If she kept on like this, I would soon be able to take a week’s vacation without anyone knowing the difference.
While Lucy finished scraping and Tess galloped around the yard with Queenie, I took some of the newspapers my neighbors had dropped off and ran them through the shredder. We were running low, and I was sure we’d get through our supply when we cleaned out stalls after the evening milking. Newspaper’s cheaper than straw, and works almost as well. And if we can do a little recycling in the process, why not?
I was shredding the last batch when Lucy trotted over to say she was finished, and what did I want her to do next?
I wiped sweat off my forehead, suddenly aware how worn out I was. “Why don’t you go ahead and move into your apartment. You want to feel comfortable sleeping there tonight.”
She put her hands on her hips and stretched her neck. “I guess I could use a break. I’ll find Tess and get our stuff up there. We don’t have that much to move, but it would be good to get it done.”
“You might’ve seen before, I left a bunch of stuff up there. Books, kitchen stuff. If there’s anything you don’t want, let me know and I’ll take it out. And,” I added, the lump back in my throat, “Howie’s truck can sit out. I’ll pull it into the drive and you can park your car in the garage.”
She studied my face. “You sure? I don’t mind leaving the car out.”
I nodded. “I’m sure. Let’s just do it.”
I got the key to Howie’s truck and parked it in the lane, trying to ignore the grief bouncing around in my chest. I contemplated what all I could do to distract me from someone taking over Howie’s space, but couldn’t come up with anything that would work.
So I swallowed my pain and offered to help carry things up to the apartment.
Chapter Six
Ten minutes later their car was unpacked and I felt like a third wheel. I walked down the apartment stairs and headed back to my house, where I could have a little time to sort out my emotions, which were being held tightly in check. I also needed to sit down and rest for at least a couple of minutes before my ribs came bursting out through my skin.
I’d just stepped inside when my phone rang. I walked carefully across the kitchen floor, hoping I wasn’t tracking too much dirt onto the Linoleum.
“Royalcrest Farm,” I said.
“Stella Crown?” The voice was a man’s.
“That’s me.” I leaned down to take off a boot, my ribs protesting the position, and tossed it toward the door. Dirt splattered on the kitchen floor, and I swore under my breath.
“Am I to understand you hired Lucy Lapp to work for you?”
I stood up, my second boot in my hand. “Who is this?”
“A concerned party.”
“Concerned? About what?”
“Your well-being and that of those around you.”
I looked at my boot, then threw it to join the other one. “What’s this about?”
“I suggest you check into your new hire’s past before you let her get too involved in your business. Go back about two and a half years.”
“Now look here,” I said, but I was talking to a dial tone. I depressed the flash button and dialed star sixty-nine, but the number was described as a private one. “Dammit,” I said out loud. What was that about?
Two and a half years ago. According to Lucy, and to Martin Spunk, her reference, that was when Lucy’s husband took ill. Or had his accident. What exactly was the caller implying?
I thought back on the morning and my interview of Lucy the day before. The only thing that had thrown up a red flag was the discrepancy in what had caused her husband’s death. An illness or a fall down some stairs. Other than that, Lucy was fantastic. A bit strait-laced and morose, but a hard worker. I sank into a kitchen chair. If only I had Howie to discuss it with. He’d be the voice of logic. But of course if I had him to talk to, Lucy wouldn’t be on my property or my payroll.
I didn’t regret hiring Lucy. It obviously would take a while to get to know her, but something about her felt right. And real. I couldn’t imagine there was anything to this anonymous caller’s warning. And how credible could he be, not even giving me his name?
But I went to the door and put on a clean pair of boots. I needed to talk with Lucy again, calm my doubts.
I knocked on the apartment door, and Tess yanked it open. “Mom! It’s Stella!”
I stepped inside, and Tess bounded away toward the computer, where she was already playing a game involving little vegetables that talked. I closed the door behind me and looked at the items Lucy had placed around the room. Centered on the shelf above the computer was Martyr’s Mirror, one of the thickest books I’d ever seen, which I knew compiled a history of Anabaptists killed for their beliefs. Ma Granger had one just like it on her coffee table. Leaning against the sofa, waiting for its place on the wall, was a hand-painted fraktur with a quote from Menno Simons—a founder of the Mennonite church. “We are people of God’s Peace.”
Lucy appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, a framed photograph in her hand. “You need me for something?”
Again I was struck with Lucy’s air of sincerity, and I felt like a heel for doubting her. The last thing I wanted to do was question her about her husband’s death, no matter what the cowardly caller had implied. I changed tacks.
“I was wondering if you want to know anything about the Mennonite churches around here, or if you’ve already decided where you’d like to go tomorrow.”
She indicated the sofa. “Here, have a seat.” She moved the fraktur to the side and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “You said you have good friends who go to Sellersville?”
“The Grangers. You’ve already met Zach and Abe. Their whole clan goes to Sellersville Mennonite, but I’m not sure if it’s the kind of congregation you want.”
Her eyes lit up, and again I wondered at the amusement. “I think it’s exactly what I want.”
“You know about it already?”
“Gosh, yes. It’s quite the gossip back in Lancaster.”
She placed the photo on the sofa beside her. In the photo were Lucy, a much younger Tess, and a man I had to assume was her late husband.
“Your husband?” I asked.
She touched a finger to his face. “Yes, that’s Brad. Before he…. About three years ago. Handsome, wasn’t he?”
He was.
; “Anyway,” she said, “the past ten years we’ve attended the Mennonite church where Brad grew up. My parents are Mennonite, too—my maiden name’s Ruth—but Brad really wanted to stay where his roots were, and my family didn’t move to Lancaster and attend a church there until I was already a teen-ager.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t like his church all that much, but it was important to him.”
“And his congregation doesn’t like Sellersville?”
She laughed harshly. “If you want to put it that nicely. Yoder Mennonite is ultra conservative. Very traditional. The thought of a woman behind the pulpit gives them hives, and gay people? Might as well not even visit. No reason to get involved since you can’t become a full-fledged member. The church seems to think once you put your mind to it you could stop being gay if you really wanted to.”
I snorted. “There are plenty of those churches around here, too. Sellersville isn’t one of them, which is one of the reasons the Grangers like it. As for the women, Ma’s about as strong a one as you can get, and while she wouldn’t want to preach a sermon herself, she’s glad to hear a female up there once in a while. The minister is a man, but one who’s open to women in ministry.”
“And from what the folks at Yoder say, Sellersville accepts homosexuals?”
“They aren’t officially a ‘welcoming’ congregation, seeing as how you get kicked out of the conference for that, but there are gay people who go there and who are members. It’s one of those sad things that kind of gets swept under the rug. At least for now. I know Ma’s doing her best on that front to change things.”
I thought of Jordan, Granger son number three, who, in his late thirties, was still unmarried. Those of us close to him didn’t care, or even think it was our business, but there were those in the community who seemed to think they needed to know why he was still a bachelor. Somehow, no one ever dared to ask Jordan or anyone else who might actually know.
Lucy glanced toward the computer, where Tess was driving a car around a town, picking up characters of the vegetable persuasion. Lucy stood and walked toward the kitchen, gesturing that I should follow. I did.
“And a single mother?” Lucy asked, her voice quiet. “Will there be lots of questions?”
“I doubt it. But if there are, can’t you just tell them the truth?”
A shadow flickered across her face. “The truth. If only….I hate having to talk about it all the time.”
Didn’t I know it. The last thing I felt like doing was what the doc wanted me to do. Talking about Howie was like pounding on a continuously bleeding wound. But it had been a year and a half for Lucy, and I wondered why she’d hesitated when I’d mentioned the truth.
“I don’t think you have to worry about nosy-parkers,” I said. Other than myself, and I was already feeling creepy about it. “Ma will fend off the worst of them for you.”
Again she looked amused. “I’m looking forward to meeting this paragon.”
I headed for the door. “I’m going back to work. Come on out when you feel like it. Make yourself at home.”
She stepped over and grabbed the door, holding it open for me. “We already have. Thanks.”
I made my way carefully down the stairs. I hadn’t gotten any answers, but I was even more sure of two things.
I liked Lucy a lot.
And there was something about Brad’s death she wasn’t telling.
Chapter Seven
We were in the middle of the evening milking when Queenie jumped up from her corner and ran outside, barking. I went to the window as a dark blue Buick pulled into the lane. Zach had gone to see a movie with his friends, and Abe was spending the evening with Ma, so I wasn’t expecting anyone. I didn’t recognize the car.
“Someone you know?” I asked Lucy.
She straightened up to look and flushed red at the sight of the Buick. She closed her eyes briefly and set her towel on the rim of her bucket. “Excuse me for a minute. Tess, stay where you are.”
Tess, who had been sitting with Queenie and writing in a notebook, immediately disobeyed and ran to the door to see what we were looking at. Lucy gently pushed her back into the barn and walked outside.
A good-looking man, about Lucy’s age, stepped out of the car and stood gazing around at the farm. He brightened considerably when he saw Lucy approaching him. His brightness dimmed quickly, however, once she got within spitting distance. I was soon convinced Lucy was okay, and while I really wanted to know who the guy was, I got back to work. If Lucy wanted to introduce me, or wanted my help, she would let me know. Besides, Queenie was out there, and I knew nothing would happen without her being in the middle of it.
Tess stood on a hay bale, watching through a window.
“You know that guy?” I asked her.
“Sure. He’s from church. He and my mom are friends.”
“They do things together?”
She plastered her nose to the glass. “A few times, I think. I didn’t go along.”
Hmm.
A minute later I heard raised voices, and when I glanced out the window Queenie was standing at attention. The man was leaning toward Lucy, his arms reaching for her. I didn’t like his posture, even though Lucy was standing firm, and Queenie didn’t seem to, either.
“Stay here, Tess.” I set down my grain bucket and walked outside. “Is there a problem here?”
The man stopped talking and dropped his arms to his sides.
“No problem,” Lucy said. “Noah was just leaving.”
Noah and I took each other’s measure, and while I didn’t relish the thought of removing him forcibly from the farm, I figured I could do it. I guess he figured that, too, because he stepped back.
“Noah Delp,” he said. His hand twitched like he wanted to hold it toward me, but a quick glance at Queenie kept him from following through. “There’s no problem. I’m just making sure Lucy’s okay here.”
“I told him I’m fine,” Lucy said. “He doesn’t need to check up on me. And he won’t again.”
I looked at Noah. “I guess you got your answer. Anything else you need?”
“Is that dog going to do something?” He glanced at Queenie, who stood quivering next to Lucy.
“Does she need to?” I asked.
“Goodness, no. I only wanted to be sure Lucy was all right. Honest. And Tess.”
“Then the dog will leave you alone.” I looked at Lucy. “Lucy? What do you want me to do?”
She pinched her lips together. “Give me a few minutes, please?”
“Sure. We’ll be right inside. Come on, Queenie.”
Queenie reluctantly followed me into the parlor, where I went back to filling feed bowls. Tess still stood on the hay bale, but she was out of hearing range of the conversation outside. Noah and his Buick soon left, and Lucy returned.
“Mom,” Tess said. “How come Noah was here? How come I couldn’t say hi?”
“He came to see where we’re living.” Lucy’s voice was tight. “If he ever comes again and talks to you, I want you to tell me right away, okay?”
Tess looked confused. “Why?”
“I just want you to. All right?”
Tess jumped down from the bale and settled in beside Queenie, who was back in her corner spot. “Okay. We’ll tell her, right, Queenie?”
Queenie sniffed the girl’s face, then looked at Lucy as if to say she needn’t worry about Tess. Lucy walked over and patted Queenie’s head.
“You okay?” I asked.
Lucy didn’t look at me. “I’m fine.”
“Noah’s not a problem I need to know about?”
Lucy’s back stiffened. “No.”
I watched her for a moment before turning back to the feed cart. Lucy seemed convinced Noah wouldn’t be bothering us anymore. I decided to take her word for it.
But if he did come back, I’d be ready for him.
Chapter Eight
“Hey Ma,” I said when she answered the ph
one. Lucy and Tess were in their apartment, and I’d already brushed my teeth, taken a Motrin, and climbed into bed. “Got a minute?”
“I always have a minute for you, sweetheart. How are you? Are you sleeping? Resting those ribs? Abe told me your doctor wasn’t pleased with you today.”
Gee, thanks, Abe. “I’m fine, Ma. I hired a farmhand.”
“Yes, Abe told me. And how do you feel about that?”
Typical Ma. Straight to the heart of it.
“It feels…good, I guess. Strange, and uncomfortable, if I let myself think about it. Which I don’t.”
“You like her?”
“I do. And I think you will, too. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. She’ll probably be coming to Sellersville tomorrow. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lucy Lapp. And she has an eight-year-old daughter, Tess.”
“How wonderful. Should I pick them up?”
“Don’t think you need to do that, but if you’d save a spot for them on your pew I’d appreciate it.”
She was quiet for a moment, then thought aloud. “If I move Jordan and Abe to the row behind me, and Jethro doesn’t whine about being a mite squished, I think that would work. The Bishops have been sitting in my row for thirty years, so I don’t think they’d appreciate moving, but my boys can squeeze in with some of the others.”
“Pew politics,” I said.
“Oh, it’s a serious business, and I try to abide by it. Don’t upset the apple cart if you don’t want apple butter, I always say.”
“Something else, Ma. Lucy’s a single mom. Lost her husband a year and a half ago, and doesn’t want to have to explain it to everyone tomorrow.”
“I hear you, and I’ll take care of it. No one will bother her.”
“Thanks, Ma. I knew you’d be up to the challenge.”
“Now where is Lucy coming from?”
“Lancaster. Some church called Yoder.”
Ma clucked. “Oh my. And she wants to come to Sellersville?”
“So you know it?”
“Yoder has been a thorn in the side of progress for years, as far back as I can think. Why, I remember Pa saying if he wasn’t a Mennonite he’d go show those Lancaster Yoder folks a thing or two.”
