“That’s good to hear. I had a very unpleasant experience with a goat once.” M.K. nodded in solemn agreement.
Ira put the handkerchief back in his vest pocket. “If the milk agrees with the baby’s digestion, I thought it’d be easier to have a goat here, rather than having to keep sending M.K. trotting over the hill for fresh supplies.” He led the goat off the wagon and handed the rope to M.K.
“Take her to that far pasture,” Amos said. He turned to make sure M.K. was headed to the right pasture and was surprised to see her losing a game of tug of war with the goat. The goat had dug in its heels and wouldn’t budge, despite M.K.’s efforts to pull it forward. Amos went over to help her and M.K. thrust the rope in his hands, scowling.
“I never did like goats.” Suddenly her attention was riveted to the wagon where Fern and Ira were standing. “Would you look at that? Who would have believed it?”
“What?” Amos looked to where her eyes were fixed.
“Why, Ira Smucker’s ears are burning up red. Redder than a beet.”
Ira sneezed again and honked into a handkerchief.
“Well, maybe he’s sick,” Amos said.
“Oh no. It’s just like Gid. His ears go as red as a tomato every time he gets around Sadie. Like father, like son.”
They locked the goat into the pasture and M.K. went skipping off to the house. Amos turned back and watched Fern and Ira talking. She was laughing at something he said. What could he have said that would be funny? Ira wasn’t funny. Not funny at all. Rather serious and somber, especially since his wife passed on. It would appear that Ira was smitten with Amos’s housekeeper. The thought nettled him. He walked over to join them.
Ira swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Would you mind if I saw the baby?”
Amos’s mouth dropped open. Snapped shut. Since when was Ira Smucker interested in babies?
Fern lifted her chin to Ira and narrowed her eyes. “Are you catching a cold? You shouldn’t be around the baby if you’ve got a cold.” She lowered her voice. “Or Amos, for that matter. He shouldn’t be exposed to a cold. With his heart trouble and all.”
Amos stiffened. Fern treated him like he was a six-year-old!
“No,” Ira said solemnly. “Hay fever. I get it every year about this time.”
“A farmer with hay fever?” Fern frowned. “Never heard of such a thing.”
“Runs in my family,” Ira said sadly.
“Well, since it’s allergies, I suppose it would be fine to see the baby.” She turned to Amos. “Would you mind bringing in those milk containers while I show Ira to the house?”
And off the two of them went, with Fern chattering away to Ira all about the baby as they walked. Amos was left to haul in the milk containers.
He reached to pick up a container and hoist it to the ground, feeling strangely left out. And just what is that all about, Amos Lapp? he asked himself. Are you feeling like a scorned teenager because you think you might have had a claim on Fern Graber? Do you honestly think you stood a chance with her? Well, think again.
Amos knew he wouldn’t exactly be a woman’s dream man. What woman would want to marry a man who took twenty-seven pills a day to keep his body from rejecting his heart. It always, always came back to that.
Sadie was at the end of her rope. The baby seemed to be in agony. He stiffened, his back arched, and let out a whopper of an ear-piercing scream which sent M.K. flying out of the house to find Will Stoltz.
Sadie was a little annoyed that M.K. kept fetching Will from his important bird business whenever the baby started to holler, but he didn’t seem to mind. He would arrive at the house with a pleased grin on his face, head straight to Sadie, and take the crying baby out of her arms. And the baby would settle right down, relieved, as if he knew he was in the hands of a professional. Sadie was relieved too. Will had a knack for soothing this baby.
All morning long, Sadie had been walking the baby around the family room, through the kitchen, and back again. A big circle, around and around, trying to lull him to sleep. When she made a pass through the kitchen, she noticed Fern and Ira heading toward the house. As Ira drew closer to the house, Sadie saw his head jerk up in alarm as he caught the first sound of the baby’s screech. Ira doubled over and Sadie thought he was going to drop to the ground in horror, but then she saw he was merely overcome by a big sneeze. Then another and another. It was quite a dramatic fit of sneezing. Finally, he wiped his nose with his handkerchief and strode a few steps to catch up with Fern.
Sadie pushed the squeaky kitchen door open with her knee and handed the baby to Fern, completely exasperated. “I can’t do a thing with him.”
“Ira brought some fresh goat’s milk to try,” Fern said, talking over the baby’s wail.
Ira remained on the porch, gripped by another sneezing fit.
“Hay fever,” Fern said, letting the door close. “He’ll come in when he’s ready.”
Sadie watched him for a while. “Gid gets hay fever like that too.” She tilted her head. She went into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, took out a container, and opened it. Inside was a chunk of honeycomb from one of M.K.’s hives. Sadie picked up a knife and cut off a section of honeycomb. She put it on a napkin and took it outside to Ira.
“Chew this,” she said, handing him the napkin. “Some folks say that chewing honeycomb every once in a while will relieve hay fever and stuffy noses.”
He sneezed again, honked his nose again, sneezed, honked, and decided to give the honeycomb remedy a try. Sadie watched him earnestly as he chewed. And chewed. And chewed.
“Do I spit out the wax or swallow it?”
“Chew and chew, then spit out the wax.”
Behind him, Amos climbed up the porch with the goat’s milk container and handed it to Sadie. She went to the kitchen and took out a clean bottle, filled it with the warm goat’s milk, capped the bottle with a rubber nipple, and held it out to Fern. She shook her head and handed the baby to Sadie.
Sadie sat down in the rocking chair and fed the baby. The baby gulped and coughed and spit at the strange taste, but then he settled down to suck. Sadie looked up at Fern.
“Don’t get too hopeful,” Fern said. “It’s not the eating part that troubles him. It’s the digestive part.” She turned to Ira. “Would you like some coffee? I can brew a fresh pot.”
“Thank you, Fern, but I should get home.” Ira walked up to Sadie and put his hands on his knees to bend over and peer at the baby. “Well, with that coloring, there’s no doubt who he belongs to.”
Sadie looked up to ask, “Who?” just as the baby took in too big of a mouthful and started to choke. She held him up against her chest, the way Will had shown her, and jiggled him, patting his back. Dandling, Will called it. When the baby stopped sputtering, she tucked him back in her arms to feed him.
Ira clapped his hands on his knees and straightened up. “Amos, would you mind walking me out? Something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Sadie opened her mouth to ask Ira who he thought the baby resembled, when he spun around, his face brightened. “Why, Sadie Lapp! I haven’t sneezed once since you gave me that honeycomb!” He scratched his head.
“Chew on a little each day and see if it helps,” Sadie said.
“My sister sent me some honeycomb from Indiana,” Ira said. “I’ll give hers a try.”
Sadie shook her head. “It needs to be local honey. It’s the pollen that you’re allergic to. I’ll give you a chunk to take home.”
“I’ll get it,” Fern said, hurrying to the kitchen to wrap up the honeycomb. “I always said Sadie was a born healer.” She put the honeycomb in a Tupperware container and handed it to Ira.
In a low voice, Ira said to Fern, “I’ll see you on Saturday, then,” and she nodded and smiled in return.
Sadie wondered briefly why her father was scowling at Ira, but then the baby started to choke and sputter again. She blew air out of her cheeks. Fern was right. Babies were a heap of trouble.<
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Amos walked Ira out to his wagon, chatted for a while, waved goodbye to him, and practically bumped right into Fern as he turned around to head to the house. Where had she come from? A gust of wind swept in and knocked his hat off. As he bent to pick it up, he remembered something he hadn’t thought of for a long while. As a child, he thought of the wind as a person with many different voices, somebody you never quite got to know very well because it would arrive without warning and then leave just as suddenly. A lot like Fern. “Oh, didn’t see you there. Sorry about that.”
“What did Ira want to talk to you about?”
Amos frowned. “Fern, if Ira wanted the world to know what was on his mind, he would’ve just stayed in the kitchen.”
She ignored him. “Was he asking about Gid and Sadie?”
Amos lifted his eyebrows. “How did you know that?”
“He’s talking about Gid and Sadie getting married, isn’t he? And soon.”
How did Fern seem to know things without being told? It was unnerving. Nailing shingles to a twister would be simple compared to understanding Fern Graber. “Maybe.”
Now it was Fern’s turn to frown. “Well, Gideon Smucker better have himself another think.” She turned and looked at the house. Will was following M.K. up the porch steps and into the farmhouse.
Amos was annoyed. Fern thought she knew his own daughter better than he did. “Sadie is too young to be thinking about marriage, but Gideon Smucker is a good fellow. He’s crazy about Sadie. Always has been. And last fall, Sadie didn’t seem to mind having Gid around here.”
“That was then and this is now,” Fern said enigmatically.
Amos sighed with the old frustration of this conversation. It bothered him when she spoke in puzzles. Why couldn’t women just say what they meant? Be clear and to the point. Instead, he often felt like he was chasing a tumbleweed on a windy day.
She turned and looked right at him. “What kinds of things were you going to have the bird boy do around the farm?”
“The bird boy? Oh, you mean Will. Plowing, mostly. Help with chores, I suppose.”
“He doesn’t have any farm experience.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His hands. Too soft. They’re not even calloused.”
Amos looked down at his own hands. Rough, large, a few small scars.
“You’ve got to get that bird boy busy.”
“He is busy! M.K. keeps dragging him into the house to settle down the crying baby. And he seems to be the only one who can do it.”
“That’s not the kind of busy I mean. You’ve got to keep him outside, away from the house.”
Amos heaved a stretched-to-the-limits sigh. “Fern, what exactly are you getting at?”
“Have you seen the way he looks at Sadie? He’s paying too much attention to her.”
No, Amos hadn’t noticed that. A more mismatched pair than Sadie and Will would be hard to imagine. He hardly knew Will—he had given his permission to let him stay at Windmill Farm solely because of the game warden’s request. But he didn’t think Will was untrustworthy, the way Fern assumed all English to be. Maybe a little immature and misguided, according to what Mahlon Miller had told him, but not a bad apple. And as for Sadie having more than a casual interest in Will? Well, Amos had faith in his daughter’s judgment. “Sadie has a good head on her shoulders. Surely, she wouldn’t be drawn away by this boy.”
Fern gave him a look as if he were a very small child. She spoke slowly and carefully. “Have you seen the way she blushes when she’s around him?” She shook her head. “Sparks are starting to fly.”
“What?”
“Whenever you see a person’s face turn red, you know something is up.”
Would that also pertain to Ira Smucker’s ears? he wanted to ask. And what did Ira mean about seeing you on Saturday?
The kitchen door opened, squeaking on its hinge. Their attention turned to see Sadie and Will, laughing over something.
Fern stepped forward, arms akimbo, like a teapot with two handles. “Keep that bird boy busy.”
Could Fern be right? She usually was. He worried suddenly that Sadie might have so little experience with men that she would be easy prey for somebody like Will. He would have to keep an eye out. But then again, she might be misreading the situation. He knew Fern was suspicious of all English folk. Maybe she was just overreacting. Amos watched Fern pass Will, talk to him for a brief moment, point to Amos, then head to the house.
Will walked up to him. “Fern said you wanted to talk to me.”
Amos blew air out of his mouth. Ah, Fern. She had a way of making things happen. “Will, have you ever plowed? With a horse, I mean. Not with a tractor.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Plowed? Uh, no. Not with a horse. Not with a tractor, either.” His smile drooped.
Amos put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, Monday morning, first thing, you are going to learn. Meet me at the north pasture at dawn. The soil will be just right after last night’s drenching rain. Moist, but not too wet.”
“Dawn?” Will scratched his head. “That’s actually the time of day that’s best for birding. The game warden wants a list made up of all invasive birds on the property.”
Amos nodded. “As soon as you’re done with your bird list, you come find me and we’ll get you started.” He patted Will on the back and strode off to the barn, enjoying the startled look on the boy’s face. If Will Stoltz thought his Sadie was a girl to pursue, he needed to think again. Then his grin faded as he pondered Fern’s comment that Sadie would turn down Gid’s interest. And that she might be growing sweet on this English boy. Why were women so complicated?
It was a miracle. As soon as the baby drank his first bottle of goat’s milk, he stared at Sadie as if he couldn’t quite believe she had taken so long to figure that one out, then he finished the bottle, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep, restful sleep. Sadie gazed at the sleeping infant—the perfection of round cheeks, peach fuzz on his head, minuscule ears. She touched the bottom of a tiny foot, and the toes curled. “Really, he’s a beautiful baby when he’s not doing all that wailing.”
“I made another list of name suggestions, Sadie,” M.K. said, coming over to Sadie with two still warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies in her hand.
Sadie broke off half of one cookie and took a bite. “No more palindromes.”
M.K. shook her head. “Even better. Onomatopoeia—call him Ono. Allegory—we can call him Al. Hyperbole—shorten it to Hi.”
“Joseph,” Sadie said decidedly. She reached out to break off another piece of cookie.
M.K. tilted her head. “Menno’s middle name?”
Sadie took another bite of cookie. “We can call him Joe.”
M.K. put the cookie in her hand on the table and stooped down to peer at the baby in the basket. “Joe sounds too old. Can we call him Baby Joe? Or Joe-Jo?”
Sadie put a hand out to grab the cookie and Fern covered her wrist, holding it there until she released it.
“Joseph it is,” Fern said. “And now, Sadie, you need to get back to work. Whenever you start eating nonstop, it’s your stomach’s way of telling your brain that you are fretting and need more on your mind.” She pointed to a stack of books on the counter. “M.K. and I picked those up from the library. You’ve got to keep up your healing work. You don’t want to forget all that you learned from Deborah Yoder.”
Ever since Sadie had helped cool down an overheated girl at a barbecue, Fern was convinced that Sadie was a natural healer. Gifted, she said, and Fern didn’t hand out compliments like candy. Sadie was less convinced of her talent. She had loved working beside Deborah, helping people with discomfort or ailments. She was fascinated by the use of herbs to help people. It seemed to Sadie that God had planned all along for plants to provide gifts of healing, and he was just waiting for someone to discover those secrets. But there was so much still to learn, and being responsible for others was always a worry.
But sh
e couldn’t deny that she needed more on her mind. Since the moment she had returned home, she was forever eating or thinking about eating. It wouldn’t be long before she gained all of that weight back. Over the last year, she had worked so hard to keep food in the right place in her life—she knew it was a good thing in the right portions, meant to nourish her body, but her mind needed a different kind of nourishment. Fern had helped her to see the difference. Sadie had made such improvements in her eating habits—eating only when she was hungry—yet here she was, right back to fretful snacking.
Sadie ran a finger along the book titles: Home Remedies, Common Sense Cures. She slid into a chair and opened one of the books to a page about kidney stones. “Fern, do you think I’m capable of learning all there is to know?”
Fern leaned toward Sadie, her expression serious. “I know you are. But what’s more important, Sadie, is for you to know you are. Nix gewogt, nix gewunne.” Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Swallowing, Sadie offered one slow nod.
“Ira Smucker didn’t sneeze once after you gave him the honeycomb. Early this morning, Orin Yoder saw me at the phone shanty and asked if I knew what to do with canker sores. He said he suffers from them continually. I told him I’d ask you if you had a cure.”
“I do, actually. Old Deborah taught me how to treat them. Just make a paste of alum and put it on the sore.”
“Well, Sadie. What are you waiting for? I think you have your first client.”
A slow exhalation shivered out of Sadie. Ready or not, her healing work was about to begin.
Will felt as if he had been waylaid, a crosscut blow from the front, a kick from the back. He was minding his own business, walking out of the house, and the housekeeper trapped him into attending church. He had barely recovered from that blow when the farmer commandeered him into plowing fields. The invitations were loaded with obvious intention. Will knew the drill. Hadn’t he spent years trying to avoid both? Hard work and church.
The Haven Page 9
