Return to Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  “That’s because you don’t understand how people really see you.”

  A heavy weight pressed against Fern’s chest as if Reuben had shoved her against a wall and held her there. “How . . . how do they see me?”

  Reuben growled as if frustrated with himself, took off his hat, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “What I mean is, if it hadn’t been for you, Sadie and Matthew and Aaron might have wanted to include me with their friends instead of thinking I’m a nobody who can only make friends with other nobodies.”

  His words stung as if he had lashed her across the face with them. “You think I’m a nobody?”

  He shook his head, and resentment saturated his expression. “Befriending John has brought me nothing but grief.”

  Fern took a shallow, shuddering breath. She was a nobody, and all the wishing and smiling and kindness in the world would not change that fact. Or change the way Reuben saw her.

  Her family was poor and they kept smelly pigs and worked in the mud and slop all day long, but they gave as much as they could to the church and tried to be gute Christians. Her mamm was always called upon to tend sick babies, and more than once her dat had helped raise a barn or bring in someone’s crops.

  Her parents were gute people, and she’d never heard an unkind word from her siblings, even John, who as a boy had found Fern very tiresome.

  Surely Reuben didn’t think ill of her family. It was Fern herself he couldn’t stand. He thought he lowered himself by even talking to her, and she couldn’t contradict him. Who was she compared to Reuben Helmuth or Sadie Yoder? She was a pig farmer’s daughter who lived in a barn, cleaned toilets, and didn’t even have enough money to keep herself fed.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Reuben. I didn’t know.” Didn’t know how much her presence had hurt him. Didn’t know how ashamed he was to have her as a friend. Didn’t know how much he despised her.

  He kicked the gravel at his feet. “Go home, Fern, and leave me in peace.”

  Putting his hat back on, he turned away from her and walked slowly down the road, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. She didn’t try to stop him. She couldn’t have moved in his direction if she’d wanted to.

  He was so much better off without her.

  Her heart felt as if someone had scrubbed it raw with a steel wool pad. She finally admitted the truth to herself. Reuben didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her. How foolish to have let herself hope.

  She took one last look at Reuben as he put more and more space between them. She would always love his unrestrained smile, the playful tease of his voice, and the way his eyes flashed with fire when he got angry, but she couldn’t be responsible for his happiness anymore. She was holding him back from the person he could be, from the friends he could make.

  No wonder he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

  Fern stumbled down the road as if someone else was doing the walking for her. Every breath felt like a sledgehammer to her chest, every heartbeat a slash with a very sharp knife.

  She would fetch John, and they’d ride the bus home together. They’d done all they could have done to gain Reuben’s forgiveness. She’d given him fifteen pounds and two months of her life. He certainly didn’t want her to give any more. Besides, Mamm needed her home. They had John and Linda Sue’s wedding to help plan and bridesmaids’ dresses to make. She didn’t have time to nurse a broken heart.

  Her hands felt like ice and her cheeks were clammy and moist by the time she walked back into the Millers’ yard. Everyone had gone inside except one person sitting on the porch gazing earnestly in her direction.

  Johnny Raber. Was he waiting for her?

  She still couldn’t seem to catch her breath as she forced her feet to carry her across the lawn and up the porch steps. “Johnny,” she said. “You didn’t have to wait.”

  “I wanted to make sure you got back okay. Reuben sometimes leaves you behind.”

  Jah. He sometimes did that.

  This time, he’d left her behind for good and left her heart in tatters at his feet.

  Her vision went fuzzy, and her knees buckled. Johnny reached out his hand as the blackness overtook her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reuben sat in the barn on a prickly bale of hay cradling his head in his hands while the propane lantern hissed at him like an angry mob. He’d walked the six miles back to Huckleberry Hill and had been too agitated and hot to go into Mammi and Dawdi’s house. The barn was cooler, but Iris the cow wasn’t much for conversation, and he didn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts. They were admonishing him sorely for his pride.

  He’d made a complete mess of everything tonight, and he didn’t know how he would ever make it right. He should have known better than to fall for Sadie’s dirty trick, but he’d been so eager to be accepted by her friends that he hadn’t thought it through very well, and he hadn’t expected Sadie to be quite so vindictive. She was the bishop’s daughter. Hadn’t she been taught better than that? Mammi said that her brother Tyler was the best of men. Maybe Sadie would turn out all right in the end, but she certainly had some growing up to do.

  He’d ruined his chances with Sadie, but surprisingly, that didn’t seem to matter all that much anymore. Sadie was well liked by die youngie, but why would he want to be friends with someone who was so nasty to sweet Fern King?

  Reuben pressed his fingers into his forehead. How could he find fault with Sadie for treating Fern badly when he had been more than hesslich, ugly to Fern himself? He ached to unsay every cruel word he had said to her tonight. The second he’d said them, he had wanted to snatch them back, but his all-important pride had gotten in the way. He hadn’t wanted to humiliate himself more than he already had.

  But Fern hadn’t deserved his anger or his harsh words. What had she done but stand by his side and help him through his grief? What had she done but be his friend even when he hadn’t been very likable? He’d called her a pig farmer’s daughter as if it were an insult. Oh, sis yuscht. He’d been wonderful mean tonight.

  He needed to apologize. Now. Fern shouldn’t go one more minute without knowing how deeply sorry he was for what he’d said. He stood up and almost as quickly sat back down. It was getting late, and he had no transportation but his legs. If Mammi and Dawdi got home soon, he could take the buggy to the Schmuckers’ house. Or he could start walking now. He had to talk to Fern—had to make her smile, had to hear her reassurance that she was still his friend.

  He caught his breath with the sudden realization that Fern’s friendship was the most important of his whole life.

  Reuben gazed up at one of the barn’s high windows. It was pitch dark outside. Even if Mammi and Dawdi came home right now, Fern and the Schmuckers would be in bed. No matter how desperate he was to talk to Fern, he’d have to wait until morning.

  A half smile curled at his lips. Fern didn’t work on Mondays. He’d show up at the Schmuckers’ house first thing in the morning and take her to McDonald’s for a Sausage McMuffin. She loved Sausage McMuffins. He’d said things to her that he wouldn’t have said to his worst enemy. He’d buy her two Sausage McMuffins so she knew he was sincere.

  A twinge of anxiety pulled at his gut. What if she didn’t want to go with him anywhere? What if she refused to talk to him?

  He shook his head. Fern would forgive him in a heartbeat. She knew what a headstrong, stubborn boy he was, and she persisted in being his friend. She’d probably forgiven him already.

  Reuben heard the muffled thud of horse hooves on gravel. Mammi and Dawdi were finally home. He frowned. He’d have to apologize to Mammi too. He’d insulted every woman who’d ever picked up a pair of knitting needles.

  A sprinkling of raindrops fell on Reuben’s shoulders as he pushed the barn door open. Mammi slid from the buggy, waved and smiled at Reuben, and tromped into the house while Dawdi drove the buggy into the barn. Maybe Reuben didn’t need to apologize to Mammi after all. She seemed as cheerful as ever.

  Dawdi gave him
a grunt and a nod, and in silence they unhitched the buggy together. Reuben led Rhubarb to her stall, kind of hoping that Dawdi wouldn’t mention the singeon or the fact that Reuben had missed it because of a temper tantrum.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t make the singeon,” Dawdi said, raising an eyebrow as if he were getting ready to scold his short-tempered grandson, “especially after you were specially invited by Sadie Yoder.”

  Reuben took the brush from the hook in the stall and started brushing Rhubarb’s neck, hoping Dawdi would appreciate his thoughtfulness and maybe not be so cross about his inexcusable behavior. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, Dawdi. As soon as I brush Rhubarb, I’ll go in and apologize to Mammi. I know I hurt her feelings.”

  “Not tonight,” Dawdi said. “You can tell her you’re sorry in the morning.” With the wrinkles deepening around his eyes, he pointed at Reuben. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Dawdi left the barn, and when he didn’t come back right away, Reuben decided to finish brushing the horse. Dawdi might have gone into the house and forgotten that he’d left Reuben in the barn.

  Once he finished the horse, Reuben decided to muck out the stall. Might as well make hay while he had nothing better to do. He had a lot offences to mend, and after Fern, Mammi and Dawdi were next on the list. They had been so kind to him, and he’d been grumpy and surly and hard to live with. The guilt squeezed his chest like a vise. He couldn’t have made a bigger mess if he’d planned it.

  He didn’t get very far mucking out before Dawdi came back into the barn carrying a pillow, two blankets, and a plate of cookies. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep here in the barn tonight,” Dawdi said.

  Ach, du lieva. Reuben propped the shovel against the wall and took the pillow from Dawdi. “I’m sorry. Mammi must be wonderful upset.”

  Dawdi waved away Reuben’s apology. “Ach. Your mammi has forgiven you already. She knows you only lashed out because Sadie Yoder is a pill.”

  “I never meant to be disrespectful about Mammi’s knitting.”

  Dawdi nodded. “She’d just as soon let you sleep in our house for the rest of your life. But I can’t allow anyone to treat my sweetheart like you treated her tonight. I want you to sleep in the barn and think about how a boy should talk to his mammi.”

  Reuben already felt terrible, but Dawdi’s words knocked the wind right out of him. He had never felt more ashamed in his life. He thought he had sunk pretty low when Linda Sue broke up with him, and even lower when Sadie had humiliated him in front of die youngie tonight at the singing, but this . . . this was truly his lowest point. After months of moping because John and Linda Sue had embarrassed him, it had taken a smack upside the head with Dawdi’s wisdom to make him realize. What other people did to him could never bring him as low as what he did to other people.

  Why had he not understood this months ago?

  “In the morning, I’ll expect an apology for your mammi and a change of heart for Gotte,” Dawdi said. “The measure of a man isn’t how popular he is with his friends, but how he treats those who have nothing to give him.”

  Reuben bowed his head. He had crammed his heart into a tiny little space, trying to make himself fit in a place that left no room for anyone but himself and his own selfish desires. He stumbled to the hay bale and practically fell into it. “Ach, Dawdi. I don’t even deserve to sleep in the mud.”

  Dawdi chuckled. “Now, now, there. You’re not as wicked as all that. You haven’t a lazy bone in your body, and you praise Annie’s cooking to the sky.”

  “I love Mammi’s cooking. That doesn’t make me a gute man.”

  “Nae, but you finish chores before I even know they need to be done. You bring me back a little gift every time you go to the market, and you made a valiant effort at knitting because you knew it would make your mammi happy.” Dawdi stroked his horseshoe beard. “And then there’s Fern.”

  Reuben’s heart leaped at the sound of her name.

  “You watch out for her like she was one of your sisters. You’ve fixed her bike four times, taken her to McDonald’s, and given her rides home from gatherings.”

  Not as many rides home as he should have. “Who wouldn’t do nice things for Fern? She’s always doing something for someone else. She never thinks of herself.”

  “Sadie Yoder wouldn’t. Or Esther Shirk. They think Fern’s an underling.”

  Reuben nodded, unable to speak with the lump sitting at the base of his throat.

  “What do you think?” Dawdi said, pinning Reuben with an intense blue-eyed gaze.

  “I . . . I think Fern is wunderbarr.” And thick-skinned. And pretty. And smart and feisty. He adored feisty girls.

  “Even though she’s a pig farmer’s daughter?”

  Reuben’s heart pounded an uneven rhythm. “Even though.”

  Dawdi gazed at Reuben as if inspecting his soul for damage. “Then maybe a change of heart isn’t far away.”

  It was as far away as ever. Reuben had too many flaws, and Fern was painfully aware of every one. But his weaknesses never seemed to bother her. Why else would she keep coming back for more?

  Dawdi laid the blankets beside Reuben on the hay bale and ambled backward. “If you get cold, come in for another blanket, but it looks to be a warm night yet.”

  “I’m wonderful sorry.”

  Dawdi thumbed his suspenders. “I know. You’re forgiven. But could you do me a favor and not tell your mamm I made you sleep in the barn? She wouldn’t understand, and I’d rather not offend my daughter-in-law.”

  “I’m as silent as the grave.”

  Dawdi left, and Reuben hung the shovel on the hook. He’d finish mucking out tomorrow when he wasn’t so weary and when it wasn’t the Sabbath. Even though Reuben was bone-tired, as if he’d worked the fields all day, he wouldn’t sleep a wink. He had too many sins to think upon.

  The propane lantern still hissed like so many people scoffing at him, but this time they were chiding him for being proud and hotheaded. Reuben pulled five hay bales from the stack and laid them in a row, long sides together. It would be a prickly bed, one to remind him of his mistakes every time he rolled over.

  Someone knocked on the barn door, and for a second, Reuben’s heart soared at the hope that Fern had come to check on him. He could apologize and maybe make her smile. He longed to see that smile again.

  The door creaked open, and Fern’s brother John stepped hesitantly into the barn. Reuben’s first impulse was to scowl, but then he remembered that what other people had done to him wasn’t as important as what was in his own heart.

  Fern would have wanted him to open his heart to her brother, and Reuben owed Fern a lot. He’d do it for Fern’s sake.

  And for his own. He’d been holding on to a grudge for far too long.

  With wide, uncertain eyes, John took a few steps into the barn, obviously unsure of the welcome he’d get, if he got one at all. “Felty said you wouldn’t mind if I came out here. I hope he wasn’t joking.”

  John had always been skinny. As a teenager, he’d been a collection of long limbs, hands too big for his arms, feet that arrived at church five minutes before he did. He had filled out a little since Reuben last saw him, but he still had the same playful, good-natured cast to his expression, as if every day were a new adventure and every stranger was a friend waiting to be made. His eyes were like Fern’s, soft brown and kind, with a hint of mischief at the corners.

  “I know it’s late,” John said, “but I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  Every muscle in Reuben’s body tensed as John walked farther into the barn as if he planned on staying for a while.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the singing. I wouldn’t have gone if I had known what Sadie was going to do.”

  Reuben nodded. “I know you better than that. You never would have knowingly agreed to shaming me.”

  John raised his gaze with a hopeful light in his eyes. “Do you? Because Linda Sue and I never wanted things to turn out the way they did.
We never wanted you to leave Sugarcreek or feel like you’d been betrayed by two of the people you love the most. It happened so quickly that we didn’t rightly understand it ourselves. We never meant to hurt you.”

  “Whether you wanted to or not, it hurt just the same.”

  John scrubbed his hand down the side of his face like he always did when he was upset. “I know. I’m sorry, Reuben. I love Linda Sue to the bottom of my soul. If someone stole her from me, I don’t know that I would ever be able to breathe again, and that’s what makes me so ashamed. I’m a hypocrite to be asking your forgiveness, because I could never forgive you if you did the same to me.”

  Reuben studied John’s face. Up until five months ago, seldom a day had gone by without Reuben and John seeing each other. Their houses were not half a mile apart, and John often came over for dinner or dessert, while Reuben had gone to John’s house more than once to help with the hogs or to bother one of John’s younger siblings, usually Fern. He had loved that John was always game for anything. They had fished and hunted, dived into swimming holes they had no business diving into, and played softball and volleyball in Reuben’s backyard. Almost every gute memory Reuben had included John and Fern.

  Reuben closed his eyes and let the memories wash over him like a soothing balm. He’d been away long enough to gain some valuable and painful perspective—with Fern’s help. Thank the gute Lord for annoying, persistent Fern King.

  Ach. He’d been so proud, and his love for Linda Sue had been as flimsy as tissue paper. He hadn’t loved Linda Sue as much as he’d loved the idea of her and what she could do for his standing in the community. He hadn’t left Sugarcreek with a broken heart so much as wounded pride.

  Reuben’s heart pounded against his rib cage as if it were trying to escape. John King was his best friend.

  And Reuben wasn’t mad at him anymore.

  He gasped as the weight of five months sloughed off his shoulders like scales off a snake, and he found himself wishing he hadn’t held on to it for so long. His embarrassment didn’t matter. It was in his own head and nowhere else.