“I have thought about going back to the farm,” Ruthie acknowledged. “But it wouldn’t be possible to leave all that Joel has made. This is his legacy. I feel so close to him here.” Ruthie found herself watching Kyle’s hands and the handkerchief. “I do go up to the farm often. I’m going tomorrow, as a matter of fact, so it’s good that you came—”
“I wasn’t talking about the farm,” Kyle said, her voice as tight as the handkerchief. “I was talking about . . . about Samuel. Your baby.”
“What about him?” Ruthie’s voice held her bewilderment.
“I have a proposal, a solution to your problem,” Kyle said in a rush. “An idea that would help both of you. You would be free to continue Joel’s work here without any worries about the baby, and little Samuel would be raised—”
“What?” Ruthie had to fight to catch a breath.
“He would be raised with every advantage,” Kyle hurried on. “And he has the same family bloodlines as I do. . . .” Her voice drifted to a stop.
Ruth struggled to speak above the turmoil in her heart. “Kyle—”
“I know you want the best for Samuel, and you can’t possibly give the baby a proper upbringing alone. Kyle pressed on. “Especially here. Think of the danger of disease, and you hardly have enough to live on. But if he were with me . . .”
Ruthie forced her legs to straighten and drew herself upright. “If you mean—mean give up Samuel, you must know I could never do that.” She paused and looked directly into Kyle’s face. “I don’t think I understand. . . . I really must be going.”
Kyle seemed to take no notice of Ruthie’s horrified response. She released the handkerchief long enough to hold out her hand toward Ruthie. “Please, Ruthie, give it some thought before you say no,” she said as her sister-in-law shrank from her touch. “Think of everything I could give him.”
22
THE STORM OF FEELINGS accompanied Ruthie on her trip up to the Miller farm. They darkened the entire journey, isolating her from all but the baby in her arms. Every now and then she felt a rush of panic that there might indeed be a certain logic behind what Kyle had proposed. Then she tightened her embrace of Samuel and the horror rose fresh and strong, leaving her feeling ill to her stomach.
The only reason she ate at all that evening was because the baby needed nourishment. Her family, lovingly conscious of her mood, let her be. After all, she had lost her husband only a few months before.
She rose before the sun, glad to return to the farm’s simple routines and early morning chores. In spite of her distress, she saw the mark of hard times everywhere she went. There were fewer animals, and those still around bore the lean, hungry look of beasts at the end of a long winter.
The family watched her in their quiet way, waiting until she was ready to speak for herself. Ruthie was not sure she should say anything about her traumatic encounter with Kyle. But after an inner debate she decided she had to tell someone, and who better than her family to help her sort it all out?
She waited until after breakfast. Mornings were a good time for sharing secrets. The sun had not yet warmed the earth, and fewer chores clamored for attention than in the summertime. Once the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, the family returned to the big breakfast table for their Bible reading and prayer. And she told them what Kyle had said.
She held nothing back. Not even the doubts that had come to her in the night, the ones which whispered that perhaps Kyle was right. Perhaps she should give the baby to Kyle and let him enjoy all the things she could not give him. Speaking in the Old German tongue helped Ruthie distance herself from the life in Washington and all her worries. It gave her the ability to stand away and observe her situation from a fresh perspective.
When she finished, she felt drained but satisfied. She knew that baby Samuel would stay with her. The doubts that had plagued her the night after Kyle’s visit had no place here in this home. The baby was hers—hers and Joel’s. Samuel would be raised with all the love and care she could give him.
To her surprise, it was not her father who spoke first. Instead, just as Joseph opened his mouth, Simon rose to his feet, moving so swiftly that his chair clattered over behind him.
“Everybody wait right here,” he demanded. “I have something to tell you.” He turned to Sarah, his younger sister, a grave expression in his eyes. “Unless you object.”
She started to speak but stopped and bit her lip. She glanced at Ruthie, then gave her head a shake. No. She did not mind.
Simon left the room. Ruthie’s mother turned to her husband with a troubled expression, but before she could voice the question in her eyes, Joseph raised one hand. Wait.
Simon soon came back, bearing a worn and tattered leather wallet. He pushed it across the table to his father and declared, “This is for Ruthie.”
Joseph picked up the wallet and looked in astonishment at the bills stacked inside. “What is this?”
“Papa, Patience and I, we want to wed.” His voice trembled with the effort of speaking. “The Brueders are . . . are as hard up as we. All winter we have worked, saving up a dowry.”
“I helped, Papa,” Sarah added. “It was fun.”
“My tool shed,” their mother cried. “And all those hours you spent at the markets. I knew it was taking you too long to sell so few eggs.”
Joseph had not touched the money. He looked from the wallet to his son and back again. “What have you done for this money?”
“We dried flowers, Papa. Wild flowers we gathered last autumn. We didn’t want to say anything because we weren’t sure . . .” He had to stop for a breath. “It was Patience’s idea. She heard about it from one of the stores. Sarah made the bouquets with her.”
Joseph stared at him. “So much they pay for dead flowers?”
“Eight hundred and seventeen dollars, Papa. We wanted to use it for planting some acres of flowers this summer. Then maybe in the fall we have our wedding.” He turned to look at Ruthie. “But I want you to have it. You need it. For the baby.”
Ruthie had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat before she could speak. “Simon, I can’t take your dowry.”
“Yes you can. You must. Samuel is your son, Ruthie. He is yours.” He crossed his arms determinedly, showing the strength in his body and his spirit. “I know Patience will agree. The money is yours.”
A shaky breath from the head of the table brought them all around. Joseph’s beard trembled as he struggled for control. He raised a work-worn hand and wiped at the corners of his eyes. Finally he managed, “Such a family I have been given. Such riches.” He looked at his son with shining eyes. “This day you have made me very proud.”
Simon blushed under the praise. “It wasn’t just me, Papa. Sarah is an artist. You should see what she can do with the flowers. And Patience, she—”
“I was not speaking of the flowers. The flowers can wait for another talk.” He gestured at the wallet on the table before him. “I am speaking of your gift. For you and Patience to offer your sister the dowry your own fathers cannot give . . .”
Joseph Miller stopped and covered his eyes with one hand. He sat there for a long moment, utterly still, while they all held their breath.
As they sat and waited, the sun cleared the roof of the barn. Light streamed through the back window and splashed joyfully upon the table. The sudden light brought a sheen of tears to Ruthie’s eyes.
Joseph dropped his hand and said to his son, “Make your wedding plans. I will be speaking to Papa Brueder. Save this money for your planting.”
“But, Papa—”
“Enough, I tell you, enough.” He turned and looked at Ruthie. “You know what you are to do.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said softly. “The baby is mine.”
“Have Kyle come to see me, if she will. It is time for us to talk. She needs help to heal these wounds.” He bent for his crutch, then pushed himself erect. He turned and looked once more at his son and murmured, “The richest man in all the world
.”
23
TO THE CASUAL OBSERVER, Abigail was a picture of brisk and competent composure. She kept up an energetic pace down the Washington street, her chin high, her gaze level. But inwardly she was uncomfortable and ill at ease.
Her interior confusion had nothing to do with the undefined physical malaise that had nagged at her for several weeks now. The day before, Abigail had stopped by Kyle’s home. Kyle had made a polite query over her health, and then she launched into a long description of a charity concert Abigail had missed.
Abigail sat there listening to her daughter and glancing around the room. She had never seen it so tidy—not one item out of place. Cut flowers stood in a vase at the center of the coffee table. Every surface was shining, and the air smelled of polish and cleaner. Every piece of furniture and china was exactly in its place. Even the clock on the mantel seemed to tick with proper exactness.
Her attention returned to Kyle, who had chatted on about the women who had attended the function, the food that was served, the decorations in the room. She made little asides about the outfits a couple of them were wearing. Now when Abigail thought back over the visit, she realized there was not a single instant of silence the entire hour that she was with Kyle.
Abigail continued walking down the Washington street, knowing exactly why the experience at Kyle’s had made her feel so uneasy. She stared idly into one beautifully presented showroom window after another, but in truth she saw very little. Despite the veneer of normalcy, despite her daughter’s animation, Abigail had understood exactly why she herself had remained so concerned. It was the same thing which she had confronted that first time Kyle and Kenneth had joined her for church. The same thing she had noticed in her daughter numerous times since then. With every passing day, Kyle was becoming more and more like herself.
The day before, she had sat and listened to Kyle parrot all the perspectives she was coming to dislike most in herself. Her daughter’s empty words had been grating, both because they pointed at what Kyle was becoming, and because they showed how helpless Abigail was in the face of what she had come to see as wrong, both with herself and with her daughter.
Abigail stopped so suddenly the woman walking behind her brushed against her with a startled apology. But Abigail paid no notice. Her attention was held by the reflection in the window. Abigail stood and stared back at herself, and realized what troubled her even more today. She had never felt so helpless. She knew what the problem was, yet had no idea what the solution could be. It felt as though all the years of mistakes and false pretenses were there in front of her eyes, forcing her to realize just what an enormous error she had made of raising her own child.
All those years of pushing and prodding the child because she was not the proper young lady Abigail desired and demanded—the weight of it suddenly seemed unbearable. She looked in the mirrorlike surface of the window and saw the hollowness underneath her perfect exterior. And she saw Kyle.
If only there was something she could do. Some way to correct all the errors. Some way to make everything better. For herself, and for her daughter.
Kyle felt sluggish and headachy. She had made a feeble attempt at morning prayer and had finally gotten dressed, her thoughts distracted and her soul unsatisfied. Inwardly she told herself that she would pray later when her mind was more at rest. But she knew she wouldn’t. She had made that empty promise on many other days.
She had not slept well. The night before she had tried to reach Ruthie, only to learn that she was still up at the Miller farm. Kyle could not understand what was taking her so long to respond. Every minute seemed to drag as she waited for Ruthie to answer.
Kyle wandered aimlessly to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of coffee would help. Without conscious thought she measured the coffee, added the water, and placed the pot on the electric burner. She wasn’t sure she wanted coffee at all. Wasn’t sure she wanted anything. Perhaps she should go out. Maybe call Abigail. No, Abigail would see her dark-rimmed eyes and probably ask questions. Martha? No. Martha would look at her with all that love and pain in her face. Kyle was in no mood to handle Martha’s loving sympathy. Shopping? Merely the thought of meandering through the stores made her feel worse. Impatiently she snatched open the cupboard and stared unseeing at the array of cups.
She needed to get out. Away. Somewhere. To fill her mind with some kind of coherent activity. Some purpose for making it through another day.
The coffee began to send out its rich aroma, but Kyle hardly noticed as she automatically selected a cup. Her scattered thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Kyle frowned. Who was ringing at this hour of the morning?
She had taken a few steps toward the front door before her mind registered a faint sound . . . almost like a little whimper. She found herself hurrying across the front hallway, drawn by what she did not understand.
She opened the door to Abigail. “Mother! Have I forgotten something? An appointment?”
“No, no . . .” Abigail seemed strangely uncomfortable. “I, well, that is . . .”
“Come in.” In fact, Kyle found herself glad that her mother had stopped by. Since Abigail was walking in unannounced, she would find some excuse for her drawn features. Everybody had bad nights now and then. “I just made some fresh coffee.”
“Kyle . . .” Abigail hesitated on the little front porch. “I was walking by a shop this morning, and I found myself, well, thinking of how much you always wanted a pet.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t know how to say this.” Abigail seemed to search the air above her head. “Oh, I don’t even know what it is I want to say.”
“Mother—” There it was again. The faintest of sounds, a little scratching and a high-pitched whimper.
“Kyle, I wasn’t always the best mother to you. I know that. We both do.” Abigail’s words pushed against one another, as though she had spent the entire journey trying to decide what to say. “But I did what I thought was best at the time.”
“Of course you did,” Kyle said, trying to peer behind Abigail.
“But now, well, I wish I had done some things differently.” Abigail stopped a moment, then managed, “And I was thinking that perhaps—that is, I was recalling how much you wanted a puppy when you were young.”
Finally it dawned on Kyle. “You bought me a dog?”
“I was just passing by the store this morning and there it was in the window. The shopkeeper told me it was the runt of the litter. All the others had long since been bought, and they had put this last one up front so at least it could have the passersby for company.”
Kyle held her breath as Abigail spoke. Yes, she had always wanted a dog as a child. But she was an adult now. An adult whose home should be filled with the laughter of a growing child instead of the emptiness that echoed and followed her from room to room. She started to protest. Surely Abigail did not think that a dog, any dog, could fill the void in her life. Surely not.
Abigail seemed to read her thoughts. “I know you’ve been so lonely. And hurt. And I thought this little dog looked lonely too. Perhaps, well, I just thought the two of you might help each other.” The last sentence came out in a rush.
Kyle felt her sudden irritation melt away. This was so unlike her mother. The words, the thoughts, the effort. It was hard to be upset with her just now. “Where is he?”
“She. It’s a little female. She’s, well . . .” Abigail made a vague gesture behind her. “In that small carrier out by the walk.”
Then Kyle spotted the little screened box and thought she saw a movement inside. She hastened down the steps and along the walk. The tiny whine was clearly heard now.
Abigail followed along behind her. “She’s been all alone in the pen since the beginning of last week. That seemed like such a long time, well . . .”
Kyle bent over the box and lifted the peaked lid. A pair of soulful dark eyes surrounded by soft golden curls stared up at her. “It’s a spaniel.”
�
��Pure-bred cocker.” Abigail stooped beside her daughter. “Quite a pretty dog.”
Kyle was unprepared for the sudden lurch of her heart. It seemed to reach out even before her hand as she moved to stroke the soft curls. “Poor little thing.”
It turned brown pleading eyes toward her and a small pink tongue licked tentatively at her fingers. Kyle lifted the little animal. “She’s beautiful, Mother.”
Abigail opened her mouth, clearly wanting to say something more, but words did not come. She reached one hand out toward Kyle but ended up simply stroking the puppy’s little head. Then she said, “I really must be going. The entire day is off schedule now.” But her attempt at a brisk tone did not cover the softness and concern in her face.
Kyle’s heart went out to her mother. She felt an unbidden surge of tears as confusing emotions and images tried to force their way out. Kyle could only manage a nod. Just a small tip of her head, but it must have been enough for Abigail. She gave a nod of her own, and with a sad smile turned to make her way back up the street.
Kyle stood and watched her disappear around the corner. Later she would need to find some way to thank Abigail. But not just now. She buried her face in the softness of the puppy’s fur and heard the soft whine in response.
24
KYLE WAS REACHING FOR HER COAT when the phone rang. She lifted the receiver to her mother’s “Good morning, dear. How are you today?”
“Hello, Mother. I’m in a rush.” Kyle picked up the phone cradle, pulled the cord free, and walked over to glance through the narrow side window. The street was empty. “I’ve ordered a taxi.”
“This early?”
“I’m going up to the Miller farm.” Finally, finally, the call had come through from Ruthie.
“Isn’t Kenneth in New York for that big meeting?”
“Yes. He left last night. I’m going alone.” She did not bother to say she had organized her own trip to coincide with Kenneth’s absence.
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