by Linda Byler
The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, and birds twittered and trilled their various songs as they made their way up the small grade that led across the bridge. The waters of the creek sounded like a “fussy little song,” as Emma put it.
The girls stopped, balancing on their tiptoes to peep across the thick stone wall. Lizzie always had a feeling of delicious fear, thinking of jumping off that stone wall. How would it feel if she just jumped right off and landed with her feet in the rippling water below? But the only trouble was, she couldn’t be sure of landing on her feet. Suppose she would slowly do a flip and land on her head? At any rate, her stomach felt too full of butterflies to even think about it, so she just stared at the water and was so glad she was safely behind the wall.
There was a tin gallon jug with a swinging handle on the wagon, packed into a cardboard box. Grandpa Glicks had a dairy farm with a herd of black and white Holsteins providing milk. So whenever Mam’s container of milk was almost gone, Emma and Lizzie were allowed to walk to Grandpas to fill the tin jug. They never had to take money, because Grandma wrote it on the tablet which hung beside her refrigerator in the kitchen, and Dat would “settle up” every month.
Lizzie was so happy because they were allowed to stay for an hour and play with Marvin and Elsie. Marvin was a few years older, but Elsie was about the same age as Emma.
Elsie was actually Emma’s aunt, which seemed different, but Grandpa Glicks had a large family of fourteen children. Dat had explained to Emma that since he was the oldest, he married Mam, and they had Baby Emma, and Grandma’s last baby was Elsie. So it was a really neat thing, Lizzie always thought, because she loved to go to Grandpa Glicks’ house to play with Marvin and Elsie.
Emma hopped off the ledge that ran along the stone wall of the bridge.
“Ready, Lizzie?”
“Yep!” Lizzie jumped down. Each of the girls put one hand in the curved handle of the wagon and were on their way. Down the small hill, around the bend, and they came to the mailbox that said “Samuel Glick”.
Pink and purple flowers were planted neatly in a little area surrounded by stone. The mailbox was painted bright silver and was supported on a thick white post. Everything on Grandpa Glicks’ farm was kept very neat. The buildings were painted a fresh coat of white paint, the lawn trimmed to precision, and the gravel drive was properly raked every Saturday, so no straw or hay was strewn across it.
Emma and Lizzie were always a little in awe of Grandma Glick. She was a friendly grandma, who always smiled at them and was glad to see them, but usually didn’t stay still very long. She was always working, her hands busy baking bread, shelling peas, washing dishes, or some other important task.
So when Emma and Lizzie reached the yard, they plopped down the handle of the wagon and ran up the sidewalk, eager to see Grandma Glick.
The wide porch floor was painted dark gray, and there was a neat black rubber mat that said “Welcome” in front of the door.
They could smell some wondrous smell coming from the oven just inside the door.
Emma opened the door a little and said, “Grandma! Are you home?”
Lizzie hopped up and down on the rubber mat because it tickled her bare feet.
Grandma came rushing to the door, wiping her hands on her gray apron. Her hair was still dark brown with very little gray in it, and her brown eyes crinkled as she smiled at the girls.
“Come in, Emma—you don’t have to knock! Come in, Lizzie! How are my girls this afternoon?”
“What are you baking, Grandma?” Lizzie asked.
Grandma’s hearty laugh rang out. “Ach, Lizzie, you are more concerned about what’s in my oven than saying hello to me! You’re getting just as plump as a little partridge, too.” She reached down and patted Lizzie’s soft stomach. “Does Mam make you good things to eat?”
Lizzie smiled up at Grandma, self-consciously shrugging her shoulders. Her thick, dark lashes swept her cheeks and she blushed a little girl pink color.
“Yes, Grandma, she does.”
The door opened and Marvin and Elsie burst through, their clothes covered with hay dust and their faces streaked with sweat and dirt.
Marvin had reddish-blond curly hair, with an old torn straw hat smashed down until his ears turned down slightly at the top. His nose was funny looking. Instead of being straight along the top like other people’s, it had a bump that made his nose look like he had run into a brick wall. But crooked nose or not, Lizzie loved Uncle Marvin, and would go to great lengths to impress him.
Elsie was small, with curly hair, too. But her hair was rolled back tightly, like all little Amish girls, so it had little plastered-down waves. She had gray eyes and was dressed in a navy blue dress made from one of her older sisters’ dresses.
She smiled at Emma and Lizzie, looping her arm through Emma’s. “Hi! Guess what Marvin and I are doing?”
Lizzie hopped up and down. “What? What?”
Elsie stood up straight and took a deep breath. “Why, we’re—”
“Jumping in the haymow!” Marvin’s loud voice interrupted Elsie.
“Marvin! I was going to say it. Lizzie, we’re just about—”
“Hey,” Marvin cut in again. “Hey! We stacked all the bales around to form a huge tunnel. And at the—”
“There’s a huge room,” Elsie chimed in, “with even a window and a hole in the roof, to let the air in.”
“Or out,” Marvin said.
“G-oo-oody!” Lizzie clapped her hands and squealed. “That sounds like so much fun! Let’s go!”
Emma, always the practical one, remembered the time Dat had told them to come home.
“But, Lizzie, we really can’t stay too long. Dat said we may stay for one hour, and then we have to take the milk home. Mam needs it for supper.”
Marvin and Lizzie were already out the door and running across the porch. Elsie was in hot pursuit, and Emma glanced hurriedly at the kitchen clock, but she really couldn’t tell time anyway. A hurried thought of telling Grandma what time they were supposed to be home entered her mind, but she saw Elsie dashing after Marvin and Lizzie, and Emma was soon flying down the porch steps after them.
Four little figures went racing down the gravel drive, past the buggy shed and the kerosene tank, and into the milkhouse. The milkhouse was cool and damp, painted a clean white on the top, with the bottom painted a pale blue color. Stainless steel milking machines hung on a metal rack and a deep trough made of concrete held dozens of steel cans of milk. You couldn’t open those cans unless you used a special hammer and tapped under the lid. If you tapped on one side too much, the other side wouldn’t budge. But if you tapped lightly all around the lid, it would pop off. Lizzie often wondered why this was so. And why the cold water in the trough stayed so cold. She was too little to know that the diesel engine that went “putt-putt-putt” on a hot summer day provided the power for the refrigeration.
So Lizzie always thought the water came up out of the ground in the milkhouse.
Marvin put their little metal jug carefully beside the rack of milkers. “Now, when it’s time for you to go home, there is your jug,” he said.
Emma looked worried. “But, Marvin, how are we going to know when an hour is up? Dat said we’re allowed to stay for only an hour, because Mam needs the milk.”
Marvin rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “But then we have to go look at the clock too often. And when we’re in the hay house, it’s a long way out through the tunnel.”
“We can just play awhile, and after it seems too long, we’ll go look,” Lizzie said.
“Okay!” Elsie smiled happily. “Let’s go!”
That seemed to settle the matter of time quite efficiently and they all ran up the gravel drive that went to the barn hill. The called it the “barn hill”, but it was actually only a slight grade up to the big barn doors where the hay was kept. It was in the back of the barn, so the front was open where the cow stable was. It was always hard for Lizzie to understand the barn. T
he cows had to be lower because they threw the hay down the “hay hole.” But there was only a little hill up to the haymow, and it didn’t seem like the haymow was on top of the cows, but it was.
The door to the haymow had a round wooden peg that you slid back to open it. Then you had to step over a heavy board because the small door was actually part of a huge swinging door, one that even Marvin was not allowed to open. Grandpa had said so, and Marvin and Elsie listened when Grandpa spoke sternly.
Today the sun shone through the cracks in the wooden siding, creating beams of light that held millions of little dust particles. The prickly hay bales were piled high, but Lizzie was surprised that the haymow was so empty.
“Marvin, where is all your hay?” she inquired.
“It’s time to make hay again this week,” Marvin informed her. “It’s about all gone because the cows and horses ate it over the winter.”
“Oh yes, I suppose so.” Lizzie said.
Elsie and Emma were already at the entrance to the tunnel. “Wow! This is really a long tunnel,” exclaimed Emma.
Elsie beamed. “It sure is. Who wants to go first?”
Lizzie yelled, “Me! Me!”
“No, you can’t, Lizzie. I have to go first, ’cause I know the way. Sometimes you have to crawl up and sometimes it drops down, and you won’t know where you’re going, ’cause you were never in the tunnel,” Marvin told her.
So Marvin ducked and lowered himself to all fours. “C’mon. C’mon in after me, but be careful!”
One by one the girls followed Marvin. The hay scratched their knees and hands, and the pungent odor of it stung their nostrils. But it was so exciting, going around corners and sometimes up steps made of bales.
Just when Lizzie was giggling with delight, Marvin suddenly disappeared. Elsie followed and yelled up, “Here is a hole. Do you want us to catch you?”
Lizzie shivered with fear. This was getting a bit scary, really. But when Emma tumbled down and Marvin and Elsie giggled, Lizzie supposed it couldn’t be too bad. So she just pushed forward and fell into a little hole, landing on top of Elsie, who yelled, “Ouch, Lizzie—get off of me!”
Lizzie tried to get off, but there were arms and legs everywhere.
“Ow, Lizzie! If you wouldn’t be so fat, it wouldn’t be so full of people in this hole,” Elsie said.
Lizzie puffed and pushed and really tried to get off, but there was absolutely no place to go.
“Ow!” This time it was Marvin. “Lizzie, get out of this hole. I can’t even breathe with you in here!”
Suddenly Lizzie was angry. The hot anger coursed through her little veins and she shouted, “Stop blaming it on me, you big babies! I hate playing in the haymow and I hate your dumb tunnel! It’s hot in here and it itches! And who in the world was stupid enough to make this big hole?”
Emma squeaked tiredly, “It’s not a very big hole, Lizzie!”
Elsie gasped, “Somebody has to get out of here. I can’t breathe anymore!”
Marvin started to laugh. “If Emma would get her elbow out of my eye, and if Lizzie would get off of my foot, I could probably get out.”
Elsie giggled helplessly, followed by a loud sneeze. Emma sneezed, too, and they promptly collapsed into a helpless fit of giggling. They sneezed and coughed, spluttering and laughing until Marvin decided it wasn’t funny anymore and untangled himself.
The rest of their journey through the tunnel was quite uneventful, except for an occasional sneeze.
When they came to the actual hay house, Emma and Lizzie were thrilled. Marvin and Elsie had made furniture from hay bales, and had blankets spread on the hay sofa, even having a thermos of water, cookies in one container, and pretzels in another. It was quite the cutest thing Lizzie had ever seen.
So they all decided Marvin was the Dat, Emma the Mam, and Lizzie and Elsie were the children. They lived in an imaginary world of poor people who lived in hay houses, and the pretzels were squirrel meat. The water was milk from the only cow they had, and the cookies were pieces of deer meat from a deer that Marvin would have shot.
They were brought back to reality quite sharply when Marvin said, “Shhh!”
They all sat motionless and listened. From far away came the sound of someone calling them.
“Uh-oh,” Emma said. “I bet it’s much later than an hour. We forgot all about the time.”
“It isn’t an hour yet,” Lizzie snorted.
“I bet it is.” Elsie’s eyes were big and worried. “We’d better go.”
Marvin was already out the hay house door and running through the haymow.
After they all got out to the barn hill, they saw Dat come striding up to the barn. He looked very, very worried and also very unhappy.
“Do you know what time it is, Emma?” He looked directly at Emma with his piercing eyes.
“N-n-no,” Emma stammered.
“Well, it’s over two hours since you girls left, and Mam is so worried. Why didn’t you come home when we told you to?”
“I … we … I mean, we didn’t have a clock,” Lizzie said, looking at the dandelions at her feet.
“That’s a very poor excuse,” Dat told her. “You could have kept checking with Grandma, to see what time it was. You are not showing any responsibility or obedience. Mam is just worried sick.”
Emma and Lizzie stood in abject misery while Dat filled the little tin gallon jug with milk. Dat’s disappointment would have been more bearable if Marvin hadn’t been standing there holding back a scornful laugh.
Lizzie wished Marvin would fall down the hay hole and the heaviest cow would fall on top of him.
chapter 5
Whose Fault?
It was Saturday evening and the Glick family would not be having church services in the morning. Amish people have services every two weeks, which allows for more ministers to visit other districts.
Lizzie always looked forward to these in-between Sundays. They were allowed to sleep as long as they wanted, and they ate a late, extra-delicious breakfast. Mam had all forenoon to prepare it, so they had bacon or sausage, and homemade pancakes or French toast. Sometimes she made sausage gravy with homemade biscuits and jelly, which Lizzie just loved.
After Dat helped Mam with the dishes, he would read a Bible story to them. Emma loved Bible stories, but some of them really scared Lizzie. Like David killing Goliath with a pebble—suppose she accidentally hit Mandy with a pebble on her forehead and she would fall over dead? It was too frightening to think about, so sometimes she wished Dat wouldn’t read those kind of stories, because Lizzie just worried too much.
On this Saturday evening, when Mam called Lizzie and Emma into the kitchen, Lizzie just knew what she wanted. It was time to have their neck and ears scrubbed in the kitchen, before they took their Saturday night bath.
Mam had a basin of warm soapy water, and she did Emma first because she was the oldest. Emma grimaced while Mam scrubbed her ears, clucking her tongue at the dirt behind them.
“Emma, I think you girls roll around in the dirt like little piggies,” she said, scrubbing at the side of Emma’s neck. “You get so dirty playing outside.”
Lizzie watched and said, “Mam, we could wash our own ears now. We’re old enough.”
Mam pushed Emma away, and patted the table. “Your turn, Lizzie.”
Lizzie covered her ears and groaned. “I wish you’d let me wash my own ears.”
“Not till you’re a big girl, Lizzie dear,” smiled Mom, and she proceeded to scrub Lizzie’s ears till Lizzie thought they must surely be bruised. Lizzie did not like to have her ears scrubbed like that, but the side of her face that was held against Mam’s soft stomach felt comfortable. She loved being close to Mam. It was just the way she smelled, so safe and comforting in Lizzie’s world filled with all kinds of real and imagined fears.
“There,” and Mam gave Lizzie a little shove, with a pat on her shoulder. “Emma, you get the bathwater started and I’ll wash Mandy’s ears.”
“I’ll
do it, I’ll do it!” yelled Lizzie, and she propelled herself forward to race Emma to the bathroom. Emma turned and raced after her and they both collided against the bathroom door.
“Lizzie, stop it! Mam said me, not you. Go away!” shouted Emma.
“I can if I want to!” Lizzie yelled back. “Get away from this door!”
Mam watched from the kitchen, unsure if she wanted to yell above all that noise, or if she wanted to wait and see what the outcome would be. That Lizzie could surely be feisty for as scared as she was of everything and its shadow.
It all happened so quickly, Mam wasn’t even sure what exactly occurred. Somehow, Emma tumbled through the bathroom door first, and with all her chubby little might, she slammed the door on Lizzie’s two fingers. The door was almost closed, except for the fingers smashed between the wood.
Lizzie had never felt such pain. It exploded through her hand and up her arm, and her initial reaction was to scream as loud as she could. Great big wails of sheer terror tore out of her throat. It hurt so badly, she didn’t remember Mam coming to scoop her up and sit on the sofa with her.
“What in the world did you do, Emma? This poor girl’s fingers are absolutely smashed.” Mam blew on them, rocking her back and forth, while Lizzie howled, sobbed, yelled, and hiccuped.
“Shh, shhh, Lizzie, poor baby,” crooned Mam, her face filled with consternation, as she examined the chubby little fingers. The fingernails were slowly turning purple and blue as the blood rushed into the pinched areas.
Emma sat down on the other side of the couch and cast sidelong glances at Lizzie. She thought there was no way on earth those fingers were pinched that badly. Lizzie just loved to scream so she got lots of pity and attention, which she sure was getting at the moment, with Mam looking so worried and calling her “baby.” Lizzie was a baby. Mam had told her to turn on the bathwater, not Lizzie, and it served Lizzie right.
And still Lizzie kept sobbing. Mam got ice cubes and put them in a bag, holding them against Lizzie’s fingers, but her yelling only increased, so Mam put them away.
