Probably not in ten minutes.
Even if Sadie puffed him up, Fern would be able to cut him down to size. It was what she did best. Reuben didn’t realize how blessed he was to have a friend like Fern King around.
At eleven o’clock, the knitters packed up their yarn and needles. Everybody but Eva, Dorothy, and Anna seemed to have an ear to the door, even though they stood several feet away from it. Fern jumped, actually jumped, when Sadie came strolling back into the room. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either.
They all stared at Sadie with unconcealed curiosity.
“Well?” Lorene said. “What happened?”
“He’s digging a trench,” Sadie said. A smile crept slowly up her cheeks. “And he has muscles.” She glanced at Anna in a moment of contrition. “I hope you don’t mind that I talk about your grandson that way.”
Anna waved her hand in the air. “Felty has muscles too. It’s one of his best qualities. I’d have to be dead not to appreciate them.”
“Go on, Sadie.”
“I introduced myself, and he smiled and told me he was very happy to meet me.” Sadie cooed. “I think I’m cheering him up already.”
Fern bit the inside of her cheek. Reuben hadn’t smiled at her once since she’d been to Bonduel. What an aggravating boy! He was punishing her, of course, for being related to John, but more than that, he couldn’t stand that she was poor and redheaded and persistent.
Well, let him be as unfriendly or as charming as he wanted. Fern could see right through him. Reuben Helmuth’s pride was smarting, and even deeper than that, he was hurting. He thought Linda Sue and John had made a fool of him. His own embarrassment made him believe that he wasn’t the most important and well-liked boy in Sugarcreek anymore. It had to hurt.
“I can’t wait to come again on Friday,” Sadie said.
“It’s my turn on Friday,” Esther said.
Sadie turned up her nose at her best friend, grabbed her knitting from the sofa, and stuffed it into her bag. She and Esther hooked elbows and sashayed out the door as if they’d never been arguing over who got to lay eyes on Reuben Helmuth next.
“Can I be next in the rotation?” Lorene said.
Dorothy stayed long enough to unravel everything Esther had done on her blanket and roll the yarn up into a tight ball. She sighed and smiled at Anna in resignation. “I hope Esther is better at cheering people up than she is at knitting. Some people were just not meant for handicrafts.”
When everyone had gone, Fern replaced the kitchen chairs under the table and sat down on one.
Anna sank into the chair next to her. “The knitting group takes more out of me than I thought it would,” she said. “Oh, the worry of making sure everyone does their stitches right.”
Fern patted Anna’s hand. “Don’t worry about that. You’re the head of the knitting group. It’s your job to knit. Dorothy, Eva, and I can supervise.”
Anna placed her other hand on top of Fern’s. “I’ll do my part. We’ve all got to make sacrifices for the good of my grandson. I just hope Esther’s blanket will do her proud. What if the hospital refuses to take it? It would be a definite stain on our knitting group’s reputation.”
“I don’t think we have a reputation.”
“Only because they haven’t seen Esther’s blanket yet.”
One of the advantages of being in charge of the knitting group was that Fern got to stay at the Helmuths’ as long as she wanted after the rest of the girls had gone home. She didn’t have to put herself into the rotation, and she didn’t have to justify herself to Esther. She didn’t intend to squander the time.
Reuben was digging trenches, and Fern didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t help him. She was plenty strong for a girl. It came with working a pig farm. Fern carefully took off her kapp and laid it on the table. She pulled a plain blue scarf from her pocket and tied it quickly around her head. The work outside was too dirty to wear a kapp.
Even though she would rather have gone without shoes, it was hard to thrust a shovel into the dirt without them. Fern had learned that the hard way when she was five. “Anna, do you think I could borrow your boots to help Reuben dig trenches?”
“What a nice girl you are. Of course you can wear my boots, but I don’t know that they’ll fit.”
Fern was seven or eight inches taller than Anna and no doubt had much bigger feet. Anna was just a tiny thing, not more than five feet tall, but maybe Fern could squeeze into her boots. They stood on the mat next to the door. Fern tried to slip her feet into them, but they pinched something wonderful, and that was before she’d even shoved her feet in all the way.
“Do they fit?” Anna said.
Fern shook her head. “You have tiny feet.” She’d have to settle for no shoes at all. Even though Reuben would most likely scold her for going barefoot on such a brisk day, it wouldn’t do to ruin her good pair of shoes. With no source of income in sight, Fern was living off the kindness of the Schmuckers and the Helmuths. She had only enough money to buy a bus ticket home and couldn’t spare it for anything so expensive as a new pair of shoes.
“Felty’s boots are on his feet at the market,” Anna said, “but you could wear his galoshes. There are plenty of puddles out there to splash in.”
Galoshes would be better than nothing. Fern found Felty’s black galoshes in the closet and slipped her feet into them. Felty was tall and lanky, like his grandson, and Fern felt like she was wearing canoes on her feet. “Where can I find a shovel?”
“Out in the toolshed to the left, behind the barn. The door sticks, so be careful. Our grandson Titus pulled it too hard once, and the door smacked him in the forehead. It was a truly lovely goose egg.” Anna retrieved four cookies from the cookie jar. She had served a plate of them to the knitting group earlier, and Fern had to concentrate hard not to shrink away in fear. Anna’s ginger snaps were strong enough to clear out your sinuses. “Here,” she said. “Take Reuben a cookie. Two for you and two for him.”
In her oversized galoshes, Fern shuffled to Anna and took the nice, round balls from Anna’s hand. They wouldn’t crack if she pitched them against the pavement. Those cookies could clear out your sinuses and break all your teeth. “Denki, Anna. I’m sure Reuben has worked up an appetite.” She put on her sweater and slipped the cookies into her apron pocket.
Anna threw up her hands. “Ach, one more thing.” She went to the long closet where Felty kept his galoshes and pulled out a furry navy-blue scarf. “I crocheted this,” she said, “but don’t tell the knitting group. They’ll think I betrayed them.” She slid it around Fern’s neck. “It will keep you from getting a cold. Nothing brings on the chills faster than a cold neck.”
“Denki, Anna. It’s very soft.” Fern wasn’t used to something as extravagant as a scarf. “I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”
“You keep it. That scarf will either save your life or get you a husband one day. Mark my words.”
Fern smiled. She didn’t see how a scarf could do either, but it was definitely worth a trial. She tromped down the porch stairs and out to the toolshed. It was slow going. She was in danger of tripping over her feet with every step.
After finding a shovel, she surveyed the farm in an effort to locate Reuben. He could have been digging trenches just about anywhere. Dragging her shovel behind her, she doddered behind the barn and to the other side, where she spotted Reuben digging at the edge of a small orchard of peach trees.
She shouted and waved to get his attention, as if she were in a big crowd and he couldn’t possibly see her unless she jumped up and down and flailed her arms like a windmill. Unfortunately, she nearly lost her galoshes every time she jumped, so she couldn’t be as enthusiastic as she wanted to be. Still, Reuben got the idea.
He glanced up, then looked again, and amusement traveled across his face before he replaced it with a barely contained scowl. “Playing in the rain?”
She tromped toward him, being careful not to lose her galoshes. S
he’d have to butter him up, since he was determined to push her away. She reached into her pocket and took out all four of Anna’s cookies. Only after she pulled them out did she realize that maybe the golf ball–sized pebbles might make him grumpier. They were nearly inedible.
Well, it was too late now.
“A gift from Anna,” she said, holding them out to him. She half expected him to snatch them from her hand and throw them at her. They would definitely hurt.
“That’s very nice of Mammi. She knows how much I love her cookies.”
Fern studied his face for a hint of annoyance or even teasing, but she didn’t see either emotion. It was impossible that he actually liked Anna’s cookies.
“Don’t you want one?” he said.
“Nae. Denki.”
He must have seen the involuntary wince that accompanied her answer. “You don’t like ginger snaps?”
“Well . . .” She shifted her feet and nearly pulled one of them out of Felty’s boot.
“Well, what?”
“Anna’s cookies are too hard to chew or swallow. And . . . nobody likes them.” She said the last sentence quickly, just in case it offended him.
Reuben frowned in puzzlement. “I like them. Mammi isn’t afraid to use her spices.”
Fern bit her bottom lip. “Everybody loves your mammi, but I’m afraid she has a reputation as not a very gute cook.” It was one of the first things Fern had heard when she came to Bonduel.
“Just don’t tell my mammi that. It would break her heart.”
“Ach, of course not. I would never in a million years hurt her feelings, but you asked. I thought I should be honest.”
“You always are.” She got the feeling that he didn’t think her honesty was such a good quality. “I don’t mind if you don’t like Mammi’s cookies. That just leaves more for me.” He took all four from her—leaving her very happy that she would not have to eat them—and stuffed three in his pocket and one in his mouth. She could hear his teeth scrape against the hard cookie and the loud crack when he finally chewed the thing in half. Lord willing, the sound was the cookie and not one of his teeth.
She waited until he swallowed. She almost wished she could take a drink of milk on his behalf. “Sadie said you’re digging trenches.”
His face lost any hint of good humor. “What did you tell her about me?”
“Who?”
“Sadie. Did you tell her that your brother made a fool of me?”
“My brother didn’t make a fool of you. Linda Sue broke your heart. It happens to everybody.”
Reuben seemed to catch her words and chew on them painfully and with more effort than he chewed on Anna’s cookies. “Everybody knew but me, and they were laughing at me behind my back. You can’t begin to understand my embarrassment.”
Poor Reuben. He cared so deeply about what other people thought of him. “I didn’t tell Sadie a thing about John and Linda Sue.” She’d only told the girls that Reuben needed a little cheering up, and maybe he didn’t need to know that.
His lips twitched. “She doesn’t know I left Sugarcreek in disgrace?”
Fern wanted to growl. Was he purposefully refusing to see the truth? No one in Sugarcreek thought of it as a disgrace. “She is giddy that you shook her hand. Most girls think you are wonderful handsome. They would never in a million years guess that you had been disgraced.” Fern didn’t mean to let the sarcasm creep into her voice, but for sure and certain Reuben was thick sometimes.
Reuben nodded thoughtfully. “And you won’t tell her, will you?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t dare spill such a deep and horrible secret.”
Her exasperation was lost on him. “Denki. I want people here to like me.”
If he’d quit frowning so hard, they’d like him just fine. If he would let go of his grudge and forget his heartache, they’d fall in love with him. Reuben was a magnet that drew people to him. Certainly he’d have no trouble winning over the entire knitting group if he wanted to.
Fern furrowed her brow. She wasn’t altogether comfortable with the thought of the knitting group fawning over Reuben Helmuth. He needed friendship, not admiration.
Her galoshes made a squishing sound as she walked toward the orchard and encountered some mud. “I’ve come to help you dig.”
Was it her imagination, or did his face relax a little? Maybe it was the galoshes. Nobody could hate a poor girl in clumsy, too-big-for-her galoshes. “I don’t need help.”
“I am a gute digger. Remember when I helped you and John dig post holes?”
“You drove sticks to mark where we were supposed to dig. You didn’t even pick up a shovel.”
Fern thumped her shovel into the dirt to show him she knew how to handle it, then crossed one foot over the other. The shovel went about an inch into the ground. She and Reuben both stared at it. An inch deep wasn’t going to convince him of anything. She lifted the shovel again and drove its sharp edge down with all her might. Two inches was an improvement. He had to concede that it was an improvement.
He almost smiled. Almost. Probably just her imagination playing tricks.
She propped her free hand on her hip, just to look more determined. “I’ve shoveled a lot of manure in my day, and you know that when I want to tag along, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Your mamm is in Ohio. You can’t run tattling to her if I say no.”
“I can whine. I know how you love my whiny voice.”
He snorted. “I’ve really missed hearing the dogs howl when you screech.”
“I haven’t screeched for years.”
“Oh really? The memories haunt me every night.”
Fern laughed at the mischievously tortured expression on his face. Even as unhappy as he was, Reuben was an incorrigible tease. “So,” she said, “why are we digging trenches?”
He didn’t even try to argue. “You think you can be of much use in my dawdi’s galoshes?”
“Of course. Digging is more about arm strength than the size of my boots.”
He rolled his eyes. “You always think you know more than you do.”
“Ach, vell. We have something in common.”
His eyes were going to roll out of his head if he wasn’t careful. “See that puddle over there?”
Fern looked to where he was pointing. Four peach trees stood in a slight depression in the ground, and water pooled at the base of each tree.
“It’s only an inch or two deep,” Reuben said, “but standing water like that will kill the roots as sure as drought. I think one of the trees is already dead. I’m digging a trench to see if I can get some of the water to drain off and save the rest of those trees. They’ll be in bloom in a few weeks unless there’s a late frost.”
“Does that happen very often?”
“Jah. Mostly nobody tries to grow peaches this far north, but Mammi loves them so Dawdi planted this orchard for her. They don’t usually get much fruit unless the spring is mild. In bad years, Dawdi pulls out the smudge pots. Sometimes they help. Sometimes they don’t.”
She pointed to the good-size trench he’d started several feet away from the orchard puddle. “You’re digging up to the water.”
“So it’s not such a muddy job until the very end.”
“I’ll start on the wet end,” she said.
He opened his mouth to protest.
“I’ve got galoshes,” she said. “And we’ll knock into each other if I start at your end.”
“That’s why it’s a one-man job.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I want to help.”
Fern sloshed into the shallow puddle and started digging so her trench would eventually meet up with Reuben’s. It was a wet, almost futile job. As soon as she shoveled out a little dirt, muddy water moved in to take its place. Soon not only were Felty’s galoshes covered with mud, but the bottom four inches of her hem were soaked. She didn’t mind the dirt—she’d had worse on the pig farm—but Reuben kept glancing at her.
Huffing in exasperation, he stopped digging, took off his work gloves, and handed them to her. “Here. You’re going to get a blister.”
“So are you.”
“My hands are calloused. I don’t get blisters anymore.” He gave her a partial smile. “A girl with hands soft enough to knit needs a pair of gloves.”
Fern put on Reuben’s gloves, not because she needed them, but because it made him happy to do nice things for her. It had been that way ever since she was a little girl. They soon fell into an easy rhythm, shoveling dirt out of the trench and depositing it on the low ground of the orchard where the water was starting to dwindle. “Denki for fixing my bike the other day,” she finally said, unwilling to let a perfectly good opportunity for chitchat go to waste.
“How is your ankle?”
“I’ll have a scar I can brag about.”
“Next time, wear shoes,” he said, before pressing his lips together. Reuben knew very well why Fern didn’t wear shoes most of the time. At least he knew enough to be embarrassed about his slip of the tongue, but he hadn’t hurt her feelings. So Fern’s family was poor. There was no shame in that, even if Reuben thought there was.
Suddenly, he hissed and shook his hand as if he’d touched something hot.
“What happened?” Fern said.
He grimaced. “Nothing. I got a sliver from the shovel handle.”
She leaned her shovel against one of the trees, hung her gloves at the V of two branches, and slogged toward him. “Let me see.”
He shoved his hand into his pocket. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“I feel responsible because I was wearing your gloves.”
He took a step backward. “It’s a little sliver. It’ll work its way out yet.”
Fern scrunched her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. “You’re such a baby.”
“I am not.”
“I remember when you got a hangnail and wouldn’t let anyone so much as touch it. Then you got an infection and had to see a doctor,” Fern said.
“You made me cookies.”
“I’m not making you cookies for a sliver.”
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