Woodland Miracle (9781401688332)

by Reid, Ruth

  “Oh, that’s for me? I really shouldn’t stay. It’s late and I have to take mei mamm to her doktah appointment tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind watching the boys after schul again.”

  “You know you don’t have to ask. They’re always welkom.” Grace winked at Jonas.

  Susan sighed. “I have six sisters and they’re all busy tomorrow.” She went to the door and grabbed Jonas’s jacket off the hook. “Tell Aenti danki,” she said, helping her youngest son get his arm into the sleeve.

  “Danki,” the six-year-old said as he yawned.

  Her sister-in-law and the boys were out the door and gone before the thought occurred to Grace that Susan could have given Toby and Ben a ride to the bishop’s house. She supposed it was just as well. Even the bishop wouldn’t want strangers showing up on his porch at this late hour.

  Chapter Four

  Ben hugged the stack of blankets tighter against his chest and trudged alongside Toby and Grace toward the barn. His insides felt bloated like a dead dog lying in the heat. He shouldn’t have taken seconds, even though the roast and mashed potatoes were the best he’d eaten.

  “It sure is dark.” Ben lifted his gaze. Faint light from the cloud-covered moon wasn’t enough to see farther than an outstretched hand. Eerie. The ground crawled with fingerlike shadows of nearby branches. Like the old horror movie he’d watched at the downtown theater during his rumschpringe. At the time, he mocked the madman who stalked the woods with a machete in search of unsuspecting campers to slaughter. Ben picked up his pace—because he was cold—no other reason.

  “It does seem darker here than in Florida,” Toby said.

  He forgot colder.

  “It’s even darker in the forest.” Grace snickered. “Hope the howling wolves don’t keep you awake all nacht.”

  “Wolves?” Toby’s voice cracked.

  The woman had a sense of humor, even if it was odd. She walked at a snail’s pace, a slight teeter in her step. Maybe she’d snuck into a horror movie or two. Ben might have teased Toby about his high-pitched squawk, too, had Ben known for sure he could keep the quiver in the back of his throat from escaping. No sense in them both sounding like maedels.

  Ben stopped at the cedar-shingled shed with the stovepipe extending from its roof. Small for a grossdaadi haus, but he wouldn’t complain. His feet ached.

  “The barn is this way.” Grace continued past him with Toby practically tethered to her hip.

  At second glance, he noticed the cabin didn’t have any windows. Odd. Why the stovepipe? The lantern light faded as Grace and Toby continued toward the barn. A dog howled close by. Ben rushed to catch up. “Was that a wolf?”

  “Nay, that was Rusty. He must have heard us coming. His dog-house is behind the barn.”

  Ben motioned to the shed with the stovepipe. “What’s wrong with sleeping in that place?”

  “That’s the smokehaus. You wouldn’t get much sleep hanging from a bear hook.”

  “Nay, I suppose nett.” This night was reminding him more and more of a movie. He vowed never to sneak off to the theater to see horror shows again.

  Grace yanked on the barn door. “Sometimes it sticks.” She jerked again before Ben shifted the blankets to free his hand. This time the door opened. Grace lifted the lantern higher and entered first.

  Something flapped over Ben’s head and he jumped.

  “That’s just a bat,” Grace said.

  “Are there many of them?” Toby asked in an uneven voice.

  “I’ve never taken time to count. They hang from the roof rafters.” She lifted the lantern a little higher and led the way.

  Sleeping on a bear hook was starting to sound rather comfortable. Ben sniffed. Not sure about the scent, but decomposing, whatever it was. He burrowed his nose into the blankets.

  She guided them through the milking area, past four horse stalls, the goats or maybe they were sheep, and a pen of sleeping pigs. It seemed the only activity tonight was the flapping of the bats, and if he looked near the grain barrels—which he wasn’t about to do—he’d probably find that a busy family of mice was the source of the scratchy sounds.

  She stopped at a wooden ladder leaning against the wall, grabbed a rung, and climbed the worn slats one-handed while toting the lantern in her free hand.

  Ben glanced at Toby. “You can go up next.” Even low light didn’t hide his friend’s grimace. “Or I will.” Ben shrugged.

  Grace leaned over the opening and swung the lantern, her face spotlighted with a yellow hue. “The loft is up here.”

  Jah, where the bats hang from the beams.

  Ben tucked the blankets under his chin, grasped the smooth rung on the ladder, and ascended. Reaching the top, his foot landed on the straw-covered hardwood floor, and a creature flapped somewhere overhead. Suddenly he wasn’t so worried how low the temperature would dip tonight—he might just move his bed to the porch.

  “Maybe the light’s bothering them,” Grace said. “I’m sure they’ll calm down after I leave.”

  He willed himself not to panic—or at least not to sound panicky. But his heart refused to steady itself. “You’re taking the only light?”

  Toby surfaced from the opening as Grace tailored a lecture as if talking to a child about how a tipped-over lantern could cause a barn fire.

  “You never know,” she continued, shaking her finger like one of his least favorite schoolteachers had when she wanted to make a point. “A critter might knock it over while you’re asleep.”

  Who’s going to sleep? he wanted to argue, but instead held his tongue.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to find a place to spread out your blankets.”

  What was she going to do, tuck them in? Follow them to the outhaus? His mamm wasn’t even this hen-ish.

  The boards creaked under Ben’s feet as he made his way to the loose mound of hay. He tossed the blankets in a heap, then met her at the opening. “Would you like me to walk with you back to the haus?”

  “Why would I want you to do that? I just walked you out here.”

  He groaned. “I thought being a maedel and all, you’d like . . .”

  “Company? Nay, danki.”

  Ben straightened his shoulders. “I was thinking protection.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  Most women appreciated his escort, but she drew out her reply like a song.

  Toby chuckled.

  “I think I can manage,” she finally said, then clambered down the ladder. The loft darkened.

  Of course she could manage. She didn’t even flinch at the swooping bats.

  “Breakfast is at sunrise,” Grace called from the bottom of the ladder. A few moments later the barn door rattled closed.

  “Fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Toby said.

  “You can’t blame me that your onkel’s gone.” Ben crept across the plank floor to the pile of hay. He spread the blanket, then flopped down. His body sank into the prickly hay. “This isn’t so bad.”

  Toby huffed as he arranged his bedding.

  Ben intertwined his fingers and cupped the back of his head. Strange how well hay insulated an unheated barn. At the end of March, no less. In Florida, his hankie would be soaked from mopping sweat. Here, his teeth might wear down to the gums from all the chattering he’d done since he arrived. “At least it’s sort of warm.”

  “I suppose.”

  Ben flipped to his side and propped up on an elbow. “Maybe the bishop will loan us enough money to buy a bus ticket out of here.”

  “And when we arrive home, we say what? Surprise, your prodigal sohns have returned? Something tells me neither one of our daeds is standing at the end of the driveway waiting to see us cross the horizon.” Toby’s voice deepened. “Fraa, select the fattest chicken. Mei sohn has returned.”

  Theatrical, but Toby had a point. Ben’s father probably had Mamm roast a chicken when he left. “I wasn’t thinking about going home,” he said. “When I leave here I plan to find Neva and set things straight. Althou
gh I have no idea where I’ll look for her first.”

  “It’s been a year. Give it up.”

  “There’s more to it than you know.” How could Toby understand? He hadn’t made the mistakes Ben had made. Toby had his father’s respect.

  “All I’m saying is you’ve turned this . . . thing with Neva into . . . a conquest. You wrecked her reputation that nacht at the beach, and you’ve been trying to save it ever since by wanting to marry her.”

  “How do you know about the nacht at the beach?” Ben hadn’t breathed a word. Neva wouldn’t have either. Besides, her parents sent her away almost immediately.

  “Ah . . .”

  “That’s what I thought. You know nothing about that nacht.” Ben rolled onto his back, folded his hands behind his neck, and closed his eyes. An image rose up of Neva on the beach with her dress hiked to her shins and her toes buried in the sand.

  A horse’s neigh pulled him back to the sharp reality that they were homeless—sleeping in a barn.

  Toby tossed. “I don’t know how I’m going to get any sleep between the stench and all the livestock noise.”

  Ben wished he hadn’t run the batteries down on his transistor radio during the bus trip north. Outside of an occasional horse’s neigh, the “livestock noise” was mice, maybe rats. “Well, when you do return home, you’ll be able to say you slept with the pigs.”

  “Don’t remind me. I almost gagged when we entered the barn.”

  Ben, too, but he hadn’t wanted to give Grace any pleasure of knowing it. Although she’d probably guessed by the way he had covered his nose. Might be why her tour included the entire barn. He closed his eyes again. This time instead of seeing Neva, an image of Grace invaded his mind. Wonder if those bent brows were permanent. She was really too young to have those lines between her eyes.

  Grace ambled from the barn to the house at a slower pace and with a more pronounced limp than usual. Fire fed her nerve endings. Her feet burned where her stockings had torn and her tight shoes rubbed against raw skin. Escorting the men out to the barn was foolish when her feet already felt like the size of watermelons and her hip sockets throbbed. Grace rebuked her prideful spirit with every step. Why did it matter so much to appear normal tonight? The strangers would board the next bus headed south and she would never see them again.

  Aenti Erma looked up from her steeping tea when Grace entered the kitchen. “I thought a cup of tea would help you relax. Care to join me?”

  Grace wanted to relax—in bed with her legs elevated on a stack of pillows—but instead smiled. “Danki.” She placed the pot on the stove to reheat the poultice and soak the rags. “This stuff is going to stink once it’s reheated.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Where’s LeAnn?”

  “She went to bed.” Aenti tapped on the chair next to her. “Kumm sit down and rest.”

  Grace sat and let out a long breath.

  “Did you get Toby and Ben all settled in the loft?”

  “Jah.” Her aunt accepted the strangers like the stray dog she’d fed, watered, and made a bed in the barn for last summer. These two strays tonight might not be flea-infested, but they ate like the hound. “I don’t like them staying here.”

  “It’s just temporary.”

  Grace would make sure they were on the bus back to Florida tomorrow. The way LeAnn had gawked at them, she was probably already dreaming up a plan to tag along with them. Grace wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Aenti Erma sipped her tea. “This is gut. I used it from the baggy marked Relaxation.”

  “That’s one of Mattie Diener’s new herbal blends.” Grace peered inside the cup at the pinkish shade. “But don’t ask what’s in it. I think she just mixes together whatever she has. Her teas are almost never the same.” Grace hadn’t had a chance to sample the tea since Mattie brought it over the other day when she dropped off the ingredients for the poultice. Grace inhaled the aroma and smiled. Lavender.

  Aenti lifted her cup and wiped a ring of moisture off the table with her hand. “Has LeAnn made comments before about your leg?”

  Grace frowned. “It’s okay.”

  “Nay, it isn’t.” Aenti Erma reached for Grace’s hand and gave it a pat. “While I’m here, there will be no such talk. I’ll see to it.”

  No such talk. Same words her mamm used to say. Her mother taught the boys to look out for their little sister and, to this day, her brothers never teased her. LeAnn received the same instruction, but sometime during the five years since their mother’s death, she’d forgotten simple kindness. This year, LeAnn waited until the men left for camp before unleashing her pent-up emotions. Grace wasn’t sure what fanned her sister’s flames, but more and more LeAnn talked about being dissatisfied living such an isolated life.

  Jah, Grace had to get the Florida men back on the southbound bus. Tomorrow. Their presence would only entice LeAnn’s free spirit to fly the coop. Daed would be heartbroken.

  Steam rose from the pot. Grace pushed off her chair.

  “I can take care of—”

  “Nay. I’m more than capable.” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted the sharp tone. Grace removed the pot from the stove, placed it on the wire cooling rack, and returned to the table. “I’m sorry for snapping, Aenti.”

  “You’re tired. It’s been a long day for both of us.” Aenti Erma took another sip of tea. “Nau, tell me about the maple sap you’ve collected this season. Have you made much syrup?”

  “A few gallons. We tapped more trees this year, and on warmer days, the sap runs steady.” Grace and her aunt chatted about a new maple syrup recipe, the upcoming berry season, and how much canning they hoped to do. By the time they had finished their tea, the poultice had cooled.

  Aenti Erma yawned as she collected the empty cups. “It’s so gut to be back. This place feels as much like home as mei little place in Ohio.”

  The hundred-acre farm her aunt inherited from her parents wasn’t so little. Grace recalled walking every inch of the property the spring she helped her grossdaadi plant corn. “Maybe you should extend your stay.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that your father would like that. Reuben is a very private man.”

  “Even so, you’re part of the family.” Grace removed a pair of tongs from the drawer and used them to lift the medicated cloths out of the pot and place them on a plate.

  “Jah, but we both know I remind him of your mother. He isn’t ready for me to extend mei stay.” Aenti Erma yawned again. “I think your friend’s tea blend is already working. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Grace hugged her aunt. “Gut nacht, Aenti. I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “Me, too, child.”

  Grace lowered the lamp wick on the kitchen table, extinguishing the flame. She carried the plate of warm cloths into her bedroom and set them on the stand next to her bed. Soothing relief came a few minutes after layering the cloths over her legs. She closed her eyes as rain pattered on the roof. Her thoughts drifted to Toby and Ben in the barn. Would the bats keep them awake?

  Chapter Five

  Ben woke to the ping of raindrops against the tin rooftop. Eyes closed, his brain tricked him into thinking he was in Florida, then a shiver ran down his spine and the scent of hay registered. He opened his eyes and blinked. A hazy film of dust in his eyes made it difficult to focus. Barn living wasn’t for him—he was freezing.

  Something clanged. Voices murmured. Clanged again. After a moment, he identified the voice in the distance. Toby. Ben flipped to his other side. Toby’s blankets lay neatly folded. Ben shuffled to his feet, shoved on his hat, and shimmied down the ladder. The cold cement floor seeped through his socks and sent a chill through his body.

  “You might want to put your shoes on.” Grace walked past him with a pitchfork of hay.

  Ben glanced at his feet. Dummkopp.

  Toby entered the barn, a bucket of water sloshing over the rim. “Okay, who’s next to be watered?”

 
“Jasper, he’s in the second stall,” Grace replied.

  Ben wasn’t about to look like deadweight compared to Toby. But he would heed her advice and put his shoes on first. He scaled the ladder, then kicked around the hay next to his bedding until he located his shoes. Then, without taking time to lace them, he descended the ladder, skipping the last two rungs.

  He scanned the dimly lit area, but they were nowhere in sight. It hadn’t taken that long to find his shoes. “Grace? Toby?” Ben peeked into a stall. A chestnut horse lifted its head from the water trough and snorted.

  Ben called out again. “Toby?”

  No response. Grace didn’t seem like someone who would play hide-and-seek, but he’d play along with Toby. Ben checked the goat pen, then sucked in a breath and quickly passed by the pigs. Usually he was the one hiding with the maedel. Finally, he found Grace in a small tack room in the center of the barn. He snuck up behind her. “Great place to hide. Is Toby in here with you?”

  She pivoted around, eyes large. “Excuse me?”

  “I, ah . . . I thought you two were playing a joke on me.”

  She cocked her head and squinted at him as if the idea of playing a joke were something foreign. “There’s nay time for childish games.”

  He grimaced. “What would you like me to do?”

  Grace reached for the harness on the wall hook, removed it, and slung it over her shoulder. “First, lace your shoes. Then go eat.”

  Ben followed her to the stall. “Don’t you need help?”

  She stopped at the stall and turned to face him. “Can you hitch a buggy?”

  “I’ve never tried.”

  Grace unlatched the gate and slipped inside with the horse. She shut the gate before Ben could enter. “It would be safer if you don’t kumm in.”

  Ben bent to one knee and laced his shoes. He glanced up as the horse stuck its head out of the stall opening. The creature knocked Ben’s hat off and nuzzled his neck, whiskers tickling his skin. Ben shooed him away so he could finish tying his shoe. “Ouch!” Ben grasped his shoulder. “He just bit me.”