When M.K. was satisfied that everyone’s attention was on her, she whipped off the blanket to reveal the cradle. Sadie gasped, and Amos jumped up out of his seat to see it.
Holding her cereal bowl in one hand, Sadie came over to look at it. “Gid made it? Why, it’s beautiful!”
M.K. pushed one side of the cradle, to show Sadie how it could rock, but didn’t realize how close Sadie was standing to the cradle. When it knocked Sadie’s knee, her cereal bowl dropped into the cradle. The bottom of the cradle fell out, clattering to the ground. M.K. grabbed the side of the cradle to hold it in place, but the top rail came apart in her hands. One by one, the dowels popped out like springs. They watched, amazed, as the entire cradle began to collapse, side by side, piece by piece.
Amos bent down and examined a joint. “He must have forgotten to glue the joints.”
“Glue?” M.K. said in a small, squeaky voice. “It needed glue?”
“Forgot to glue them?” Sadie shook her head. “I doubt it. Oh Gideon. You have sunk to a new low.”
Fern blew air out of her cheeks. “That boy. He needs to shake the snowflakes out of his head.”
Two days later, all four eggs in the clutch had hatched. Will called Mr. Petosky to give him an update.
“That’s good. That’s very good news. Have you told the game warden there are four?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don’t tell him.”
“I don’t have to. There are ten avid bird-watchers staked out who’ve already spotted them.”
Mr. Petosky sighed. “Look, I’m going to need two of them.”
“What?! But you only said one. One is reasonable. It won’t raise any red flags. We always talked about one.”
“That was before we knew there were four viable eyases. It’s not a big deal. The game warden will never get suspicious. I’ll get you the bands this week so you can just switch them out with the warden’s bands. You know as well as I do that the chance of all four eyases making it to the fledgling stage is very unlikely.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Stuff happens in nature. All the time. He knows that.”
Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t deny that truth.
“That’s what happened to me. Nature took a swipe—just like it took on you with that nasty DUI. I’m just trying to recoup.” The hard edge of Mr. Petosky’s voice softened as he added, “Look at it this way, Will. This is good for the falcons. A very good thing. To take a falcon chick or two from the wild and allow it to breed in captivity—it strengthens the entire species. This is a good thing for the falcon, it’s good for my breeding stock, and it’s good for you.”
Will heard the click of Mr. Petosky’s phone as he hung up. What was it he had learned in an ethics class last fall? Opportunity + pressure + rationalization create a fraud triangle.
Of all the lawyers Will could have found, he had happened upon a falconer. That fact had come up when the lawyer had called Will to tell him his credit card payment had been declined—the very day he had started his internship and discovered the falcon pair. Mr. Petosky had called Will as he was out stocking trout in the creek near Windmill Farm and recognized the shrieking sound of the falcons in the background. They had a very nice conversation about falcons and that was when Mr. Petosky told him not to worry about the legal fees. They could work something out.
And so he did.
The next day, Mr. Petosky showed up at the game warden’s office. Will walked him to his car, away from Mahlon Miller’s listening ears. Mr. Petosky told Will that he had thought of a way to help Will. He had a little side business of falcon breeding. This spring, a virus had run through his hatchery and wiped out his stock. He just needed a little bit of help to rebuild. A fledgling here, one there, and he would be able to supply his customers and stay in business. Will knew how ethical falconers were—it was a cardinal virtue. And the offer from Mr. Petosky came at a moment when Will was desperate. Mr. Petosky offered to take care of all of his legal bills associated with the DUI. Down to the penny, he said. “The entire unpleasant business will go away, like it never happened.” He snapped his fingers to illustrate his point. “You’ll be back on track. I’ll be back on track. Everything can get back on track.” By June 16, the day Will was due in court.
Gid loved this time of day. It was after four and the last scholar had finished up and gone home. A satisfying day of teaching, followed by the gentle slant of the sun as it reached the westward facing windows. The last thing he needed to do was to erase the blackboard. He picked up his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, stood, stretched, and started to wipe the board clean.
“Gid?”
Sadie Lapp was standing three feet away from him.
The tips of Gid’s ears started to burn. “Sadie, what a nice surprise.” Could she hear his heart? Because it sounded like a bongo drum was in his chest. Bah-bum . . . bah-bum . . . bah-bum . . .
Sadie had a way of holding her hands at waist level, close to her body, fingers tightly interlaced. She stood that way, just a short distance from Gid’s desk, and took a quick breath as if to say something, but stopped. She shook her head and frowned.
Something was on her mind to say and he thought he might as well help her out. He had to lick his lips because they were so dry. “Did you know that penguins don’t have ears?” Oh smooth, very smooth, he told himself. Rule number one, whenever you can’t think of the right thing to say, just start spouting pointless trivia. That should warm the heart of any woman.
Sadie looked confused. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh. Mary Kate did a book report on that very thing today. About penguins not having ears. She wondered if they realized that they have wings but they can’t fly. That they were birds . . . but not really. That got an interesting discussion going in class . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught the baffled look on Sadie’s face. Let’s try this again. “Did you like those little cakes?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Like them?”
“Was it . . . too hard to understand?” Maybe Mrs. Stroot was right—maybe Sadie didn’t know what “mea culpa” meant. He shouldn’t have used Latin. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did he have to make things so complicated?
“Oh no. You were very clear.”
This wasn’t going well. Sadie was looking at him as if he were an ax murderer. What had he done wrong? Let’s try this again. “Did the baby fit in the cradle?”
“How could he?” She put her hands on her hips and looked—well, an awful lot like her housekeeper, Stern Fern. “Have you completely lost your mind? Why would you try to hurt a baby? An innocent little child?”
“What?!”
“The cradle fell apart. Like dominoes.”
Gid was stunned. He thought he had tested every piece of that cradle. He should have held off another day, just to make absolutely sure all of the glue in the joints had dried. He had been so eager to take it to Sadie on the night of the gathering that he didn’t want to wait. He never would have given Sadie a cradle that wasn’t sound. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She frowned at him. “The other night, you aimed that volleyball right at Will’s head. Don’t tell me you didn’t. You’re much too athletic to not have controlled that serve.”
How could he defend himself against that? It was true. Sports had always come naturally to him, and generally, he always held back a little, even as a child on the school playground. But he had never considered himself very competitive. Until now.
She folded her arms against her chest. “And besides, I saw that evil look in your eyes just before you served it.”
That was also true. When Gid saw the cowboy kiss Sadie, he was surprised at how suddenly and violently his anger was aroused. When the opportunity presented itself to wallop Will Stoltz in the head with the volleyball, Gid took it.
It was a warm afternoon, thick with humidity, and Gid suddenly felt so closed in that he wasn’t sure he could even frame a complete sentence.
He blinked twice. “But I thought—” He had tried so hard to get it right! Why were they horrible little cakes?
“What kind of a message is that: ‘You lie.’”
What?! But that wasn’t the message he had left for her! How could this have happened? Confusion swirled through his head like gray fog.
Sadie’s controlled calm was gone as her voice snapped like a twig. “How dare you say something like that? Why would you do such a thing?”
A protest sprang to his lips. “But that’s not . . . ! Someone must have rearranged the—”
“Oh sure . . . blame others.”
His mind, so nimble in front of a classroom of twenty-five scholars, was absolutely paralyzed. He needed to let his mind stop racing long enough to relax, so that he sounded like a normal person, but there was no time! He couldn’t seem to string two words together. All that ran through his head was how hurt Sadie must have felt when she saw the little cakes. They were horrible! No wonder she’s been avoiding me.
She was mad now, really steaming. “I thought . . . I thought I knew you, Gid.” Sadie’s blue eyes were boring into his, glowing with anger, waiting for a reply. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
He had plenty to say for himself, but it was hard to get the words organized when she was staring at him as if he was the scholar and she was the teacher. I’m so sorry, Sadie. For not trusting you. For misunderstanding. For being a clumsy oaf. For everything. The words were in his mouth, smooth and round like marbles, but what came out was this: “You let him kiss you.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. A slow flush creeping up her throat to her cheeks was the only indication that she might have heard him at all. “I didn’t let—”
“I saw it, Sadie. You were at Blue Lake Pond, and he kissed you.”
“I . . . he . . .” She sighed. “Yes, he kissed me. I didn’t expect it.”
“You didn’t seem to dislike it.”
Between collar and hairline, her neck turned rosy pink. “I was . . . surprised by it.”
As fast as a comet streaking across the heavens, Gid’s holy outrage passed. She was so lovely; of course another man would court her. He couldn’t blame Sadie for seeking someone else. He hadn’t trusted her.
But he didn’t know how to say all of this to Sadie, and she was growing impatient with him.
“It’s none of your business who I kissed or who I didn’t. You and I might have kept company in December, but that’s all it was. Just a few rides home from youth gatherings now and then.”
That’s all he was to her? A ride home now and then? That was the sum of what he meant to her? Gid felt as if he was suddenly smaller, deflated. “Not any of my business? None of my business?” For some reason Gid couldn’t stop there. Words kept pouring out. “Sadie, ever since you got back from Ohio . . . it seems like you’re slipping away.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she went to the door and brought back a bag of books. She set it on a desk. “These are all the poetry books you sent me while I was in Ohio. I know you wanted me to read them. I’m sorry to tell you this, but I didn’t read any of them.”
“Not one?” All of those little notes he had placed so carefully in the margins?
She shook her head. “The truth is, Gid, I don’t like to read. Not unless I have to. I know that’s a disappointment to you. I know you’ve wanted me to be a person who liked stories and poetry and enjoyed long discussions about them. But that’s not me.” She gave Gid a long look. “I’m just not sure where what you want for me ends and what I want for me begins.”
Those words hung between them, suspended, waiting for Gid to respond. Struck dumb by her lengthy, emphatic speech, he could only gaze at her in wonder. She’d always been pretty to him. Now, with the sun pouring through the window, gilding her skin and reflecting off her hair, her looks held something more, something deeper than beauty—strength. He read it in her broad cheekbones and determined chin, the firmness of her mouth and set of her shoulders.
A bead of sweat rolled down his back, awakening him from his stupor. As Sadie turned toward the door, his mind struggled frantically for the right words, the ones that would free his speech.
“Sadie, I didn’t send you these books because I wanted you to be a different person. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Not a thing. You’re yourself, and that’s what I love. What I’ve always loved. I wish I had learned long ago how to put into words the feelings that I have for you. Instead, I’ve only known how to use what others have written. I sent those books to you so that they could tell you what I couldn’t—to tell you how much I care for you. That I love you. Just the way you are.”
But by the time he got the words out, it was too late. Sadie was already halfway down the road to Windmill Farm.
The thing about a rainy day that Amos liked was that it gave a man a chance to catch up on indoor chores. Amos had been hammering new boards in Cayenne’s stall after the horse had kicked holes through the wall. He wondered if he should consider selling that hot-blooded mare. Fern and Sadie wouldn’t get near her. He and M.K. handled her well, but it didn’t seem right to have a buggy horse that took such serious managing.
“Amos?”
Amos spun around to find Ira Smucker standing behind him. “Ira? What brings you here?”
“My love for Fern. It brings me here.”
Such a revelation didn’t surprise Amos. It was clear that Ira Smucker was very interested in Fern. Amos still felt the shock of it, though, that Fern, whom he thought was a mature, intelligent person, seemed to be responding quite warmly to Ira’s poky and cautious method of courtship. Here was just more proof of the great mystery—how could you ever figure women out? He was fifty-one years old and he still didn’t understand women.
Then Amos chastised himself for thinking uncharitable thoughts about his friend. A minister, to boot! It’s just that Ira was so deliberate in pace, so measured and careful—identical to Fern’s nature—that Amos was certain nothing so seemingly passionless could qualify as real love.
Amos looked at his friend. “You love Fern.”
“Yes. I do. I would be a happy man to have her as my wife.”
Amos’s stomach tightened. “Have you asked her?”
“No.” Ira’s chin lifted. “I thought I should be asking you.” His eyes turned to a barn swallow, flitting from rafter to rafter. “There was a time when I thought you might be fond of Fern, yourself. I would never take her from you, Amos. I’m asking you plain, are you wanting Fern for yourself?” Ira searched his face.
Amos looked away. What could he say? If Fern wanted to marry Ira, he would never stand in her way. He couldn’t answer Ira’s question. “So, you’re asking me for Fern’s hand?”
“No.” Ira shook his head. “I’m telling you I’m marrying her. I’m seeking your blessing, though.”
Will couldn’t sleep. He threw the covers back and went outside to look at the moon. It was full tonight, pocked with craters. He listened for a while to the sounds of the night: the howl of a coyote, the hoot of an owl.
He couldn’t wait to tell Sadie about the hatched chicks. Imagining her catching a breath and looking so pleased when he told her there were four eyases now, all hatched out and healthy. It crossed Will’s mind that he was thinking about Sadie again. He shut down the conversation in his head as soon as he realized what he was doing. It wasn’t like him to have his mind linger so long and so often on a girl.
Unsettled. That’s how he felt after he spent time with Sadie. He remembered what he thought when he first met her—that if he walked into a room, she wasn’t the one he would have noticed. But oddly enough, long after he left the room, she was the one he kept thinking about. She was quiet, more of a mystery; her strengths sneaked up on him instead of smacking him front and center.
It amazed Will to see the knowledge Sadie had of healing herbs. H
er education was, for the most part, limited to the four walls of a one-room country schoolhouse. And yet, she seemed to have an intuitive sense of what ailed a person.
Earlier today, he had found her out in the enormous vegetable garden, tending to her herbs. “I envy you,” Will had told her when she stood to greet him, brushing dirt off her hands.
She looked at him, surprised. “Whatever for?”
“Your healing work.”
“But you’re the one who is going to be a doctor.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. Besides, even if I were able to talk my way back into medical school, it would only be a vocation. For you, it’s a calling.” He stood up straighter. “I guess that’s how I would describe my father’s passion for medicine.”
Somehow, Will realized, conversations with Sadie wound their way back to his father, even though he didn’t intend them to. “He was always at the hospital, never present for any of the events in a kid’s life where you’d want a father to be. Not for school plays or birthday parties. We couldn’t even count on his appearance on Christmas morning.”
“Is he that important of a doctor?”
“Sadly, yes. How can a kid complain about that, either? The guy was out saving lives.”
“But a family is important too.”
Will shook his head. “I’m only important to him as long as I do everything he wants me to do and wants me to be. The minute I step outside of that line, I’m cut off.”
Sadie was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “You need to forgive him.”
That was the last thing he wanted to hear. Shouldn’t his father be apologizing to him and asking for his forgiveness?
Softly, she added, “Will, I’m sure you’ve hurt people too. We all have. You need to be forgiven by others. Why shouldn’t you extend forgiveness to your father?”
Sadie’s words stuck with him all day, like a burr under the saddle. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was having trouble moving on because he wouldn’t let his father off the hook. Leaning against the porch post, he said out loud, perhaps to God, perhaps to himself, “Okay. I forgive my dad. I am responsible for my own life. I will stop blaming him.” Nothing dramatic happened. No lightning, no thunder, no warm feeling that he had done the right thing. A little disappointed, Will went back inside to try to sleep.
The Haven Page 19
