“Let me get this straight. You think I should let it go?”
“Absolutely. You’ll never be the doctor you’re meant to be if you stay out here in this cow pasture, treating uneducated farmers and their bounteous offspring.”
No matter how wrong he was, he was right.
Something had to change between Ed and her. The more time she spent away from him, the more clearly she could see the problems they had.
She tried to keep her voice calm and controlled, though she wanted to smack him. “Ed, have yourself a great weekend in New York City.”
A startled look came over his face. He wasn’t accustomed to being dismissed. He walked to her door and turned back at the jamb. “I will.”
The kitchen smelled strongly of the sour tang of vinegar. Ruthie wrinkled her nose and glanced around, and that was when she noticed Birdy half in and half out of the oven. Her hands were clad in yellow rubber gloves up to the elbow, and she was vigorously scrubbing the interior of the oven with a mixture of baking soda and vinegar.
It hadn’t been easy for Ruthie to relinquish being the female head of the household to Birdy, but she didn’t miss oven cleaning. Or cooking. Or gardening. Or shepherding her little sisters. Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of things that Birdy took care of that Ruthie would never miss.
Birdy craned her head around and lit up at the sight of Ruthie, cheerful as all get-out. How could anyone be so relentlessly cheerful? Wringing her sponge out in the vinegar and baking soda solution, she returned her attention to scrubbing the oven door.
Ruthie hoisted herself lightly onto the countertop. “Birdy, have I ever told you I’m glad you married my dad?”
Birdy froze. She put the sponge down and slowly rose to her full height, 6’2”. Her face started to crumple and Ruthie thought she might be trying to hold back a sneeze—which wouldn’t have surprised her because the vinegar odor was that strong. But no! Birdy’s eyes flooded with tears. She was crying.
“Oh Birdy! I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” Birdy said, wiping tears off her cheeks with her yellow rubber gloves. “These are tears of joy.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me that, Ruthie. You’ve just . . . well, you’ve made my day.” She patted her hand over her heart. Then—back to work!—she took another gulp of air and dove back into the oven to continue giving it a thorough scrub down.
Ruthie sat on the counter, watching Birdy, startled that she was so oddly moved by the compliment. She was so happy, Birdy was. So content. She didn’t have huge goals for herself, other than encouraging everyone to become bird-watchers, but she had the ability to focus on whatever task lay before her. Like now. She was zeroing in on that oven like it was the most important job in the world.
But at the same time, Birdy didn’t force anything. She waited for it.
Let things come to me instead of rushing at them as I usually do.
Patrick’s journal entry danced through her mind, and suddenly she understood what he meant by it.
Birdy let things come to her; she didn’t rush at them. She had a sense about what it would take to be a stepmother, a job that couldn’t be easy. She met each girl where they were, and offered them what they wanted from her. Nothing more. The twins needed a mother, Molly did too. Ruthie didn’t want a mother and Birdy respected that. She never talked down to Ruthie, and gave her the space she needed. Somehow, Birdy seemed capable of absorbing whatever came her way with a gracious acceptance.
A few years ago, Birdy’s brother Freeman—at the time, he was the bishop before the big scandal blew him right out of the job—insisted that she quit her job at the Wild Bird Rescue Center, something she loved, and become a teacher. Birdy had zero desire to teach but she stepped up to the task. It wasn’t easy for her, Ruthie remembered, especially with Luke Schrock pulling pranks in the classroom that were often targeted at Birdy. But she persevered and, in the end, she was beloved.
Birdy didn’t trouble herself with trying to be important or significant. Oddly enough, she was.
“A man’s heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps.” Ruthie thought of her father’s words from their talk the other night. It means that whatever we think might be the right direction for us, the right path, God has the final say.
Ruthie had a sinking feeling. She did not want to teach school next year. She didn’t want to do it.
Not at all.
Early Saturday morning, Dok opened the door to the practice and propped it open with a box to get some fresh air in the waiting room. She had just turned on her computer in her office when a voice called out, “Hey there, Dok.”
Dok walked out to the waiting room. It took her a second to recognize Matt Lehman because he wasn’t in uniform, nor was he in a suit and tie like the one he wore to church. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Normally, he seemed so serious, so official. Today, he looked kind of . . . casual. Kind of cute, actually. “I’m here to build those shelves you said you needed for your supply closet.” He lifted his toolbox in one hand, and in the other hand was a caffè latte. He handed the coffee to her as he passed by, heading straight to the supply room.
She followed right on his heels, assuming he wouldn’t know where she had stashed the shelving kits, but he found them in her office, grabbed them, hoisted them over his shoulder, and walked to the supply closet. He got right to work, tackling the shelving kits she had bought that promised to be easy for a novice to put together, but proved impossible. They worked together companionably for the rest of the morning. She talked about one of the cases she’d had this week—three children with snakebites from running barefoot through cornfields. He told her about the camping trip to Yellowstone he had planned with his favorite cousins. “It’s taken six months of planning,” Matt explained. “We had to get special permits to go camping.”
As she watched him bolt the heavy shelving pieces together, she wondered why he hadn’t remarried after his wife died. And how had she died? She had no idea. Birdy would know Matt’s backstory.
By lunchtime, he had built sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving for her. As he packed up his toolbox, she offered to pay him for his time, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t even press her to go out with him, as she thought he might. He just wanted to help, he said.
Matt was simply the best, truest, most excellent guy.
“Matt,” she said, as he started toward the door. “Come with me to Emily and Lydie’s birthday party this afternoon.”
His grin could have lit the room.
David Stoltzfus chopped the corn off each cob, picked fresh from Birdy’s kitchen garden, and sautéed it in a large frying pan, adding butter and salt, stirring until the corn was tender. David knew that if any male church member arrived at the door and found their bishop standing at the cookstove with an apron pinned around his waist, bushy eyebrows would be raised in alarm. But David liked to cook, was a better cook than all five of his daughters, though Molly showed promise in the kitchen. And quite frankly, he had always liked to be in the kitchen. It was something else he appreciated about his wife: she gave him the space to do the things he liked to do. Some wives would chase a man out of the kitchen. Birdy welcomed him in.
Today, he was making Emily and Lydie’s annual birthday meal, which always coincided with the ripening of the first sweet corn of the summer. The entire meal had a corn theme: sautéed corn, creamed corn, corn fritters, corn pudding. Even a cornbread cake.
His daughters had been talking about it for days and had invited Patrick to attend, as long as he brought Nyna the Mynah. When Patrick arrived, he prompted Nyna to sing “Happy Birthday.” David’s daughters squealed with delight, as ear piercing as Nyna. Patrick said he had just taught it to Nyna that morning. He said he had discovered that her short-term memory was best—she could mimic best what she learned that day. “But if I don’t keep up her vocabulary,” Patrick said, “she loses it.” They practiced every day and Nyna knew over one hundred wo
rds.
Amazing!
But David decided that if he had to spend a lot of time around Nyna the Mynah, he would have to start wearing winter earmuffs. She spewed out constant noise—screeches and whistles and words.
Dok and Matt Lehman had arrived with gifts for the girls, which set off more squeals of delight. As the girls showed off Nyna to Matt, and as David and Birdy finished up with meal preparation, Dok asked Patrick how he enjoyed being around the Amish.
“I quite like it in Stoney Ridge”—and here Patrick turned to look directly at Ruthie—“Everyone’s been so extraordinarily kind to me.”
David turned toward Ruthie, expecting some snappy retort—“See how you feel about being Amish in the middle of a winter storm when you realize your buggy doesn’t have a car heater” or “Talk to me after you’ve handwashed five hundred dishes after a funeral”—but she was preoccupied doing something he would never have anticipated.
Ruthie was blushing.
14
Ruthie remembered Jenny Yoder as a sweet, solemn little girl. They had gone through a few years of school together, and though Jenny was older than Ruthie, she had been small for her age, and there weren’t many girls in that Ohio schoolhouse, so they were knitted tightly together. When Jenny left one summer, without a word, Ruthie keenly missed her.
So when Jesse told her that Jenny Yoder was in Stoney Ridge, living at Fern’s for the time being—and Jesse emphasized that fact, as if she needn’t bother to unpack her suitcase—Ruthie insisted he bring her along to the youth gathering on Sunday evening. She invited Patrick too, with instructions to meet at the Stoltzfus home at 4:00 that afternoon. He agreed to come as long as Ruthie didn’t insist that he speak only in Penn Dutch. Reluctantly, she agreed.
Jenny came over early and the two girls got ready up in Ruthie’s room. She was still astounded to have reconnected with Jenny after so many years apart. As they brushed and repinned their hair, they caught each other up on the last few years. Jenny had left Ohio and went to Stoney Ridge with her brother, Chris, whom Ruthie had never met. When Chris married M.K. and moved back to Ohio, Jenny went along with them. It sounded like they moved to Ohio about the time the Stoltzfus family moved to Stoney Ridge. They crisscrossed.
As she watched her friend brush out her long brunette hair and repin it, Ruthie thought there was no need to worry about her own appearance tonight. There was almost no chance anybody would notice her—not with Jenny Yoder in the same room. Jenny might still be sweet, but she was no longer solemn or little. Still petite, she was a confident young woman, beautiful, absolutely beautiful, in a delicate Dresden china sort of way. In their mirror reflection, Ruthie felt like a common dandelion next to a rare rose.
Through the window, she saw Patrick and Jesse lope up the driveway and hurried downstairs to jerk the door open.
“Wow,” Patrick said, looking straight past her and directly at Jenny, who had paused halfway down the staircase.
They all turned.
For a split second, Ruthie couldn’t remember Jenny’s name.
“Jenny Yoder,” Jenny supplied, smoothly stepping into the awkward void. Jenny had all the social graces Ruthie had momentarily lost. Another change. The Jenny Yoder she remembered was as quiet as a mouse, painfully shy. “So nice to meet you,” Jenny said, shaking Patrick’s hand. “Ruthie has told me about you. She said you want to join the Amish. My brother Chris and I did that very thing. We converted.”
“Really? Ruthie’s been talking about me?” Patrick’s eyes twinkled as he looked from Ruthie to Jenny. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of advice you can give me.”
Advice? Just what had Ruthie been giving Patrick for the last two weeks? Her best possible advice—don’t even think about converting to the Amish—and he didn’t take any of it. She could feel herself bristling, but as always, Jesse said just the right thing.
“De alde Leit ihr Rott sott mer nemme.”
Patrick looked at Ruthie with a question. “Something about an old man?”
“Close. Good for you. Jesse said, ‘If you wish good advice, consult an old man.’”
“With the exception of Hank Lapp,” Jesse quickly added. “Avoid any and all advice he might give you. We’d better get going before Leroy Glick helps himself to the entire barbecue.”
“It’s a little chilly tonight. I left my sweater up in Ruthie’s room.” Jenny turned and started up the stairs. “I’ll run right up.”
“So Jenny’s an old friend?” Patrick said, watching her disappear up the steps.
“A very old friend, all right,” Jesse said, but in an entirely different tone of voice than Patrick’s.
Ruthie reached for her sweater. “Jesse, how come you didn’t mention she was staying with Fern and Amos indefinitely?”
“Indefinitely?” His face fell. “I didn’t know she was even coming until she just showed up.”
“You don’t sound very happy about that,” Patrick said.
“Let’s just say that Jenny and I have history.”
“They were in school together,” Ruthie said. “In fact, I think the two of them made up the entire grade.”
“Three solid years of sharing a desk with Jenny Know-It-All Yoder.”
“People change,” Patrick said. “You might try giving her a fresh start. People rise to our expectations for them.”
That, Ruthie thought, was an interesting piece of advice to consider. Was it possible to expect more out of Luke Schrock and hope he might rise to those expectations? Each time she expected more of him, she was disappointed.
Jenny swept back down the stairs like she was gliding on air. Jesse held the door open for her. As she passed him, she whispered, “You’re missing a button on your pants” before she sailed out the front door to the waiting buggy.
And she was right! A critically situated button was missing.
Jesse looked mortified. It was a very rare occurrence to see her brother’s face turn a scalding red, and Ruthie had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. Patrick’s eyes crinkled with amusement.
When they arrived at the Zooks’, Jesse parked the buggy in the pasture. Ruthie hopped out and turned to wait for Patrick. With one foot still on the booster and one on the ground, he wobbled and almost fell. She reached out to grab his arm and steady him. “Are you feeling all right?” She searched his face. He was pale and a faint line creased his forehead, but his eyes shone more with excitement. A tiny blush of color touched his lips.
“You mean, besides being acutely clumsy?”
She didn’t correct him since it was a true self-assessment, and he didn’t seem to expect an answer. Ruthie had never known anyone as clumsy as Patrick, not even Birdy. He often stumbled over small things in his path. Yesterday, during a tutoring session, his water glass slipped from his hands and spilled over their paperwork. He laughed off his gawkiness, and because he did, she did too. She was accustomed to boys and men who were thoroughly athletic, graceful in their movements because so much of their life was spent doing physical work. She couldn’t even imagine Patrick plowing a field, driving a set of Belgian draft horses to turn over the hard earth.
His gaze surveyed the expansive yard. Three volleyball nets were set up and dozens of Amish teens, boys and girls, were playing. Clumps of girls stood together, chatting and laughing. Some dads manned the barbecue. There was a delicious, smoky smell of chickens on the grill wafting through the air. “Oh . . . this, this is wonderful. Everything I thought it would be.”
“What? The chicken? It does smell good.”
He smiled as though the question amused him. “No. Not the chicken. Not just the chicken, anyway. All of it. All together. A community.” He shook his head. “You just don’t see what you have, Ruthie. You think this is normal. It’s not.”
She looked around. It seemed pretty normal to her.
He looked at her for a while, seeming to be searching for something to say to her. “Sometimes, Ruthie, you seem so unclear. Foggy. No . . . not foggy. Mo
re like . . . fuzzy. I hope you won’t be offended, but you need to get out of fuzzy.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. Uncertainty, confusion, discontent.”
Oh yeah, she thought. That.
“You have to get out of fuzzy and reach for something with your whole heart. Live wholeheartedly. Don’t waste your life. Don’t squander time.”
The problem was that the path to get out of fuzzy was, in itself, so muddled.
Jesse called out to him to join in a rotation of players, so Patrick jogged over to him. As she watched Patrick play volleyball, she found herself shocked speechless. She couldn’t make herself slide away. Patrick was a terrible player. Truly terrible! He lunged for and missed balls that were gently tapped right to him. He managed to jam his elbows into every player’s side, completely unintentionally. If Luke Schrock were here, he would be howling with laughter at the sight. Patrick seemed completely wrong here, as out of place among the other sturdy Amish youth as an orchid blooming in the desert. What was so mesmerizing about him was that he acted as if there was no place he’d rather be.
On Monday afternoon, at the end of the day, Dok made a house call to the Inn at Eagle Hill on the guest in the cottage. The young man, Patrick Kelly, said he was prone to migraines, and he certainly seemed to be suffering. As she left the cottage, she felt a tickle of worry about Patrick. “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow,” she told him, “I’d like you to come in to the office for a checkup.”
He assured her that he would be fine, just fine, with a day’s rest, but she saw a tremor in his hands. Something in the back of her mind struck her as off-kilter.
She drove across the street to her brother’s home. She found Birdy in the kitchen, preparing a recipe from Anna’s cookbook, giving the twins tasks to do as they prepared the dish.
“Dok!” Birdy’s face lit up as she saw Dok. “Somehow, you always have the most perfect timing. Can you read Anna’s handwriting?” She pointed to a word scribbled on the recipe card.
The Devoted Page 15
