by Reid, Ruth
Ben’s lips formed a tight, straight line. “Like I said, I’m sure they will turn up. But thanks all the same.”
She couldn’t really blame him. The barn boots stank. The first night neither he nor Toby seemed overly eager to sleep in the barn. She remembered Ben burying his nose in the pillow and blankets he was carrying.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Danki for looking for me.”
Her nephew directed his thanks to Ben and Toby, but Grace could not have been prouder if Mitch were her own son.
“And danki for pulling me out of the water.” Mitch’s gaze shifted from Ben to Toby, then back to Ben.
“I didn’t pull you out.” Ben looked sideways at Toby. “Did you?”
“Nay.” Toby shook his head. “I found you under the tree. Asleep.”
Mitch held a blank stare.
If he had gone into the water, he would be like Ben—unable to warm up . . . or worse. Not alive. Grace moved closer to her nephew and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you were dreaming?”
“Nay,” he said. “I went to the river to find mei daed.”
Grace motioned to Ben’s clothes draped over a kitchen chair next to the woodstove. “Mitch, your clothes were dry. How did you nett get your clothes wet if you had been in the river?”
“I don’t know why mine are dry.” He touched his shirt. “The last thing I remember was being in the water and sinking to the bottom.”
She was going to have a talk with Mitch’s mamm when she came to pick him up. Nothing good came out of a lie.
“I’m telling you the truth, Aenti Grace. A man grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me out of the river.”
Grace folded her arms across her chest. She probably should let his mother pump him with questions, but Grace hoped if he were cornered in his lies, he would change his story and admit the truth before Susan came to pick him up. “So, what did this man look like?”
Mitch searched Ben’s face, then studied Toby’s as if silently expecting one of them to come forward and confess. But both Toby and Ben looked as puzzled as Grace. Her nephew sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how to describe him. I never really saw his face.”
Ben understood Mitch probably better than anyone else in the room. The boy had gone to the river with intentions to cross, but changed his mind. And not wanting to be viewed as a coward, he made up an elaborate story. Ben had sure told his share of stories at Mitch’s age—swimming with alligators was the one he remembered the most clearly.
Grace stood, much like his mother did when she demanded answers, with her hands on her hips and her eyes piercing the boy’s soul. “Tell me again what happened.”
Ben sat up straighter in the chair. This is where his stories always grew. He hated to be quizzed over and over.
But Mitch repeated the story—without expanding or deleting any of the details—and while maintaining constant eye contact with her.
Ben deemed the boy convincing—but judging by Grace’s rigid posture, she didn’t think so. Ben coughed into his hand. “Grace, do you think I could have more tea?”
“Jah, of course.” Grace took his cup and left the room, giving the boy a reprieve. A few moments later, she returned with another steaming brew. She placed the cup on the lamp table, then turned to face Mitch. “I think LeAnn can use your help with checking the sap buckets.”
Mitch nodded.
“And, Mitch,” she said, halting his step. “What did you do with the groceries you took from the buggy?”
The boy lowered his head. “I never went to the buggy.”
Grace’s face fumed. She stared hard at her nephew, but instead of accusing him of lying again, she shooed him outside. The door closed behind Mitch and she released a weighted sigh, shook her head, and walked back to them. She peered into the bucket that Toby was soaking his foot in. “How is your ankle?”
“Numb.” Toby lifted his foot, splashing water from the pail. “What do you think? Has the swelling gone down?”
“Maybe a little, but I think you should let it soak longer.”
Toby grimaced, but he dipped his foot back into the water.
Despite the hot tea and being wrapped in a wool blanket, Ben couldn’t get warm. Surely the water wasn’t as cold as Toby made it seem. Not as cold as the river. Ben would have called him on it if he could stop his teeth from chattering. His lips were probably still purple and he might never regain the feeling in his toes. So far he didn’t have much to like about Michigan. If he ended up with pneumonia, maybe his father would regret sending him away.
Chapter Twelve
Ben’s ribs throbbed from coughing and the breathing spasms had left him hoarse. Grace warned him that his cough would move into his chest if he didn’t drink more tea, but after four days he couldn’t stomach another cup of bitter-bark extract. Even if she offered to spoon-feed him. Not that it was an option. Grace had brought the brewed concoction over to the bishop’s house in a gallon jar with special instructions for how often he was to drink it. She didn’t stay to keep him company, although he wouldn’t have been much company. Whatever was in the tea made him sleepy.
Sitting up in bed, Ben peered inside the cup and cringed. He couldn’t drink it and couldn’t stay in bed another day. He tossed the covers aside.
Mary, the bishop’s wife, was at the stove stirring something in a kettle when he entered the kitchen. “Ben,” she said, “are you feeling well enough to be up?”
“I feel okay.” Certainly not normal, with his head spinning and his ears ringing. He pulled a ladder-back chair out from the table and sat. He hoped that once he ate something solid, the dizziness would pass.
“You must be hungry. I’ll make some eggs.” She removed the long wooden spoon from the pot and set it on the counter. “Do you want kaffi? Or maybe you’d rather have a cup of tea?”
“Nay—I mean . . .” He cleared his throat. “Kaffi sounds gut, danki.” He never wanted to see another cup of tea—unless it was plain black tea.
The bishop’s wife reminded him of his mammi. Only his grandmother was humpbacked from osteoporosis, and because of her stooped posture, she had lost several inches in her height over the years.
Mary set a mug of coffee on the table along with the cream and sugar containers. “This should get you started. I’ll have the eggs ready in a few minutes.”
“Kaffi is enough. You’ve already done so much.”
She smiled. “Nay, kaffi is nett enough. I won’t have any of mei guests hungry.” She removed a cast-iron fry pan from the lower cabinet and set it on the stove. “We’ve all been worried about you,” she said, cracking an egg into the pan. “This is the wrong time of the year to be in the river.”
“Jah, I found that out.” He took a sip of coffee.
“We’re all thankful that you made it out okay.”
Even Grace? He dared not ask. Instead, he took another drink.
She placed a few biscuits on a cookie sheet. “I made these earlier. They’ll only take a few minutes to reheat,” she said, slipping them into the oven.
His stomach growled. Four days without substance had angered his stomach. Anything other than chicken broth would taste good. Within a few moments, the kitchen filled with the smell of cooking food, teasing his senses. His mouth watered as she placed the biscuits and eggs on a plate.
Someone knocked on the door as she set the food on the table. He picked up his fork but paused. His mother never appreciated anyone eating without permission. The moment Mary waved her hand and told him not to wait, he took his first bite. The eggs seemed to dissolve in his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d practically inhaled the two eggs.
Mary invited the caller inside. Footsteps trailed into the kitchen. He lifted his eyes from the plate as Grace came into his peripheral view.
“I see you’re up. Are you feeling better?” Without giving him time to answer, she motioned to the glass jar in her hands. “I brought some more tea. Do you want me to pour you
a cup?” She set the container on the counter.
“Nay,” he said too quickly.
She eyed him over her shoulder but said nothing.
“I-I’m better.” He tilted his empty plate her direction. “I’m eating nau.”
“See, Ben? I told you we’ve all been worried.” Mary placed her arm around Grace’s shoulder and gave her a motherly squeeze. “Grace has stopped by every day to check on you and to bring you tea.”
Grace’s face turned a rosy shade. “I’m just the delivery person. Mattie made the tea using herbs from her greenhouse.”
“Well,” Ben said, “you can tell Mattie that the tea stimulated mei appetite. So it must have worked.”
“Jah, I’ll be sure to tell her.” Grace turned to the bishop’s wife. “I should get back to the mill. I received several more orders for dog beds in the mail today.”
“That’s wunderbaar. Oh, that reminds me.” Mary’s eyes widened, looking at Ben. “You and Toby both received letters in the mail today.” She grabbed the envelopes off the counter and handed one to Ben.
Ben recognized his mother’s handwriting and decided to read it later. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Did you say you were going to the watermill? If you don’t mind, I’ll walk down to the river with you. I’d like to look for mei shoes.”
“I’m nett going to the river.”
“Oh . . .”
Grace smiled. He must not have masked his disappointment. “The watermill hasn’t been in use in over a decade,” she said.
Of course it hadn’t. The building was boarded up.
“But I’m sure Ben would like to get some fresh air,” Mary said. “It’s okay if he walks with you, right, Grace?”
“Jah . . . if he wants.” She retied the string of her winter bonnet.
Not much of an invitation. He should apologize for the inconvenience. Acknowledge how much he would miss her charming company, but insist on finding his own shoes. He opened his mouth to speak just as the bishop’s wife thrust more envelopes at him from the top of the mail stack on the counter.
“Since you’re going to the sawmill, could you take these letters to Toby? He’s working there today.”
“Sure.” Ben glanced at the letters. He assumed the one from Pinecraft was from Toby’s mamm, but who in Indiana knew he was in Michigan? “Danki for breakfast,” he said, following Grace out of the kitchen.
“Your boots are next to the door.”
They weren’t his boots. They belonged to Grace’s brother. But Ben slipped them on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear these again.”
“Emery won’t be home for a few weeks.”
Mary rounded the corner. “Here’s a warmer coat you can use.”
“Danki.”
“I plan to do laundry today. Are your and Toby’s dirty clothes in the basket?”
He shook his head. The wet clothes he’d been wearing when he jumped into the river he tossed on the line to dry, but that was four days ago. He left his other clothes, clean and dirty, piled in the corner of the bedroom.
“Well, I’ll figure out what’s clean and what’s dirty. You run along and have fun.” The short, grandmotherly woman returned to the kitchen.
Grace waited for him to shove his feet into the boots, then pushed open the screen door.
Ben shoved his arms into the coat sleeves and hurried outside. He took in a sharp breath of cold air and coughed. The clear blue sky meant nothing in Michigan. The temperature hadn’t risen above forty all day. He rubbed his arms. “When does it warm up around here?”
She peered up at the sky. “This is warm.”
“Warm, you say?” He laughed.
“Yup.” She drew in a long breath much like he often did of the salty air at the beach, then blew it out—a white puff of cloudy breath.
“Did it get colder over the last few days, or am I imagining that I can see our breath?”
“It’s colder. But there shouldn’t be too many more cold snaps.”
He exhaled again just to watch his cloudy breath linger in the air.
“This is nothing. In the winter, ice will form on your eyebrows.”
“Can’t wait.” He kicked at a clump of mud that didn’t move, and Grace pretended not to notice. She unlatched the gate of the horse corral and closed it once he had entered. The horses loitered around a water trough and didn’t seem to mind their presence. The ground was hard, at least the layer of muck he was most concerned about stepping in.
Grace took a cow path across the pasture, which led them up a hilly incline. At the top, he paused for a moment and gazed across what looked like miles of rolling meadows. “You’re right. This is nice.”
“Jah, it sure is.” Her eyes held a sparkle as she looked at the scenery. “You should have seen it this morning. The frost-covered fields practically glittered at dawn.”
“You make it sound poetic.”
She studied the ground a moment and when her eyes met his again, they had lost their sparkle.
“You don’t see much pastureland where I’m from in Florida.” He waited for her to go down the hillside. “It’s overly populated. Lots of tourists. Nothing . . . poetic.”
She paused at the bottom of the hill. “That’s nett how you made it sound to LeAnn. You painted a vivid vision in her head about the ocean.”
“Maybe yours too?” He smiled, but she didn’t return it.
She turned away, limping a little after coming down the hill. “That’s why I left you in town. So you could return to Florida.”
“Because I made you visualize the ocean?”
“Because you made LeAnn want to leave. She’s talked about jumping the fence before. She certainly didn’t need two fence-jumpers from Florida encouraging her to go.”
“I’m nett a fence-jumper—I haven’t left the church fold.”
She lifted her brows as if wanting to challenge the statement.
“I haven’t been baptized yet—but I love God—and the church.” It wasn’t like him to testify so boldly about his beliefs, especially since he was still trying to sort out some of his ill feelings toward his home district, mostly toward his father and Neva’s parents.
“So short-sleeve shirts are allowable in your district?”
“Ah, jah. It gets hot in Florida.”
“They’re viewed as immodest here.”
“That’s nice to know.” Neither the bishop nor his wife had mentioned anything to him. He only owned one long-sleeved shirt.
“I’m sure you won’t want to stand out,” she said.
“Your Ordnung must state something similar about vanity.”
“It does.”
He eyed the bottom of her dress. Although plain in material and in a bland, dark-green shade, it fanned out at the bottom and its hem dragged on the ground. It seemed more showy than practical. “I didn’t notice any of the other women wearing long gowns.” He lifted one brow. “Kinda sets you apart from the rest, jah?”
Grace went silent over several minutes and Ben didn’t press her for a response, nor did he apologize even though he didn’t truly believe she was vain at all. She was, however, different. More so than anyone he had ever known. Different from Neva in so many ways. Neva laughed more—a lot more. She loved the beach, the call of the gulls, the ocean. Her eyes used to light up much like Grace’s did when she gazed over the pastures.
“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “You never said when it really warms up.”
“August.”
His jaw went slack. “Nay.” He couldn’t wait for August to feel his toes again.
She chuckled quietly to herself.
“August. Really?”
“Sometimes it gets hot by July.”
They came to a split-rail fence that separated the pasture from the woods. Grace crawled between the rails. “When does it get warm in Florida?”
“I thought you weren’t interested in Florida.” Ben winked.
She furrowed her brow.
>
Ben bounded over the fence and nearly tripped. The borrowed mucking boots slowed him down and made for a clumsy stride. He ducked under a low-hanging oak branch and spotted Grace near a cluster of birch trees.
“Florida is warm year-round, or at least you don’t need a coat. Well, some days I suppose it’s kalt enough to wear one. But I—” A thick pine branch she’d pushed out of her way snapped back and hit him in the chest. He dodged multiple other prickly branches as they trekked deeper into the woods.
They didn’t seem to be on any trail. For all he knew, she was leading him deep into the forest to leave him to fend for himself. He looked around, trying to get some sense of direction. Trees blocked the sun and the splotches of light made erratic patterns on the ground. Some of these fallen logs looked familiar—if that was possible. He had a sneaky feeling she was leading them in a large circle. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“The sawmill.”
“Mmm . . . I can’t imagine Bishop Yoder taking this route.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the scenic route. You’re nett still afraid of wolves, are you?”
He underestimated her wry sense of humor. “I’m flattered you would want to spend this much time with me.” His comment caused a bright cherry-red tint to spread over her face and neck like a bad rash. Ben winked. “I see I’ve gotten under your skin.”
“Like a festering splinter.” She tromped between a stand of jack pines, leaving a wave of prickly limbs floundering in her wake.
After he was slapped in the chest a few times with pine needles, Ben hung back a few feet. A careful observation of the side of the tree the moss was growing on explained why they didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She’d taken them in a circle. He jogged up to her on the trail. “So, how much farther?” Not that his endurance was waning. He just didn’t like the idea of wandering in the woods at night.
“Oh . . . probably another . . .” Her lips twisted and she lifted her face toward the sun and squinted.
He would let her ponder their course. They still had plenty of daylight and he rather enjoyed her company. “So, did you really kumm by the bishop’s haus every day to check on me?”
