This new awareness was Fern’s doing, of course. Everything came back to Fern. She’d been working on him for weeks, prying the lid off his pent-up emotions, teaching him how to breathe again. And Reuben had barely even noticed.
John stood with bowed head and rounded shoulders beneath the light of the propane lantern.
“I want my best friend back,” Reuben said, reaching out and pulling John in for a bracing hug.
John resisted momentarily—probably expecting Reuben to throw him to the ground and stomp on his head—then he wrapped his long arms around Reuben and squeezed the air out of his lungs. “But do you forgive me?” John said, with that cocksure tone that Reuben had sorely missed.
Reuben chuckled. “You better hope so, because your wedding won’t be half as fun if I decide not to come.”
John grew momentarily serious. “We do want you to come.”
“I’ll try to clear my schedule.”
“Fern will be glad. She’s always had the worst crush on you.”
Reuben’s gut clenched. Fern had long since grown out of her girlish crush, but what must she think of him tonight? For the hundredth time, he wished he could go back and make it right. Maybe he could. “John, are you staying at the Schmuckers’ with Fern? Do you think she’s still awake?”
John grinned sheepishly. “I’m staying with the Yoders.”
“Sadie’s house?”
“Jah. I wanted to surprise you and Fern, so Anna and Felty got me in touch with Sadie’s bruder Tyler. He’s married to your cousin.”
“Jah, I know.”
“The Yoders are a wonderful-nice family,” John said. “Even Sadie was nothing but welcoming when my bus arrived last night. I should have been suspicious that she was so happy to see me.”
Reuben smiled wryly. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I’m sorry,” John said. He would have been more believable if he hadn’t chuckled softly. “There’s no one quite so clever as a girlfriend out for revenge.”
Reuben raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be so smug about it. My relationship with her wasn’t how she made it out to be.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“But did you see Fern home after the singing? Do you think she’s still awake?”
John frowned. “Didn’t Felty tell you? She wasn’t feeling well and went home before the singing started. I don’t wonder that she went right to bed.”
“Wasn’t feeling well?”
“She fainted before she even crossed the threshold of the house.”
Something heavy settled in the bottom of Reuben’s gut. “Fainted?”
“Jah.”
Reuben tried hard to suck in some air as his throat tightened painfully. She’d taken ill right after she’d tried to talk some sense into him, right after he’d yelled at her and called her a pig farmer’s daughter as if it were a dirty word. “What happened?” he said. “Is she okay?”
“A boy—I can’t remember his name—Johnny somebody, caught her and lowered her to the step before she fell. She wasn’t out but five seconds, but it shook us all up pretty bad.”
Reuben did his best not to scowl. Fern should take better care of herself, and she should know better than to faint in front of Johnny Raber. He’d get his hopes up.
“She’s wonderful skinny, Reuben. Has she been eating enough?”
“Probably not.” Even though he took her to McDonald’s occasionally and bought her a tub of peanut-butter-chocolate drops every week. Reuben wanted to kick himself into next Sunday. For sure and certain Fern hadn’t fainted because she was hungry. She had fainted because Reuben had been hesslich and mean. “Did you drive her home?”
“Johnny—I wish I could remember his last name—offered to take her home, and since I didn’t have a buggy and don’t know how to get to the Schmuckers’ house, I thought it would be okay. She was white as a sheet, but she wouldn’t let me come with her. She wanted me to enjoy the singeon, though after the spectacle Sadie made, I wasn’t in any kind of mood.” He furrowed his brow. “I should have gone with her, but she was pretty adamant.”
Reuben wanted to give John a stern lecture about having more care for his sister, but he had no right to admonish anybody about anything. Hadn’t he been the one to snap at Fern and tell her to leave him alone? Hadn’t he been the one to insult her and give her a piece of his mind whenever he felt like it? Hadn’t he been the one so oblivious to Fern’s needs that he had no idea when or if she’d been eating?
Reuben was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He didn’t even know where Fern worked or if she made enough money to support herself. How much money was she sending to her family? How many times had she walked because her bike broke down on her? He should have been taking better care of her. He needed to apologize immediately and convince her that he hadn’t meant a word he’d said tonight. He’d been so angry, he could barely remember what he’d said, but it hadn’t been nice and he’d seen nothing but devastation in Fern’s eyes. Making things right with Fern suddenly took on an urgency Reuben had never felt before. “We need to go to the Schmuckers’ house right now and make sure she’s all right.”
John never worried about Fern the way Reuben did, even when they’d been children. “It’s Fern,” John said. “She can take care of herself.”
“Like that time she almost drowned?”
John shrugged. “Johnny took her home tonight. He seemed happy to do it, and they’re not going anywhere near the water.”
Reuben ground his teeth together. Of course Johnny Raber was happy. He had a crush on Fern, and Fern was too nice to put a stop to it. “I don’t care,” he said. “I need to talk to her.”
John’s eyes flashed with surprise, and he studied Reuben’s face as if he were trying to read something in high German. “Why?”
“I said some cruel things to her. I need to take them back.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Reuben kicked a hay bale and pieces of hay flew into the air. “Nae, it can’t wait. It can’t wait another minute.”
“It sounds serious.” Reuben couldn’t tell if John was humoring him or just as concerned.
Humoring him. To John, Fern was a little sister who tagged along with the boys. To Reuben, Fern was so much more, but he couldn’t even begin to explain it to John. He couldn’t begin to explain it to himself.
“Are you going to come with me or sit here in the barn twiddling your thumbs?”
One side of John’s mouth curled upward. “Okay, bossy pants. I’ll come with you, but it’s a waste of time. Fern is already in bed dreaming of nice boys like Johnny Raber.”
“She is not. Fern isn’t interested in Johnny Raber.”
John nodded, his lips twitching with an aggravating tease. “Of course she isn’t. Why else would she fall into his arms at the singing?”
John always knew how to cut Reuben’s confidence down about four notches. “I can always leave you behind.”
“You don’t want to have to hitch up the horse again when I’ve got the Yoders’ buggy right outside.”
Reuben stuck his hat on his head and followed John out to the Yoders’ open air buggy. The rain was coming harder now. “We’ll be soaked before we even get down the hill,” John said. “Let’s just wait until morning. She won’t be awake anyway.”
“I’m going,” Reuben said. “You can cower in the barn until I get back if you want.”
John raised a very cynical eyebrow. “Cower? I’m not afraid. I’m smart enough to know I don’t want to get wet. I’ll catch a cold.”
Reuben jumped up into the buggy seat and took up the reins. “See you later, smarty pants.”
John groaned as if Reuben had stuck him with a pin. Resting his hand on the muddy wheel, he studied Reuben’s face as if seeing him for the first time. A deliberate smile tugged at his lips, making Reuben slightly irritated at the delay. “Don’t get all bent out of shape,” John said. “I’m coming.” He climbed up next to Reuben, snatched the reins from h
is hands, and rolled his eyes. “The things some people do for love.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Reuben awoke with a crick in his neck and a piece of hay sticking to his cheek. It was as dark in the barn as it had been at midnight, but he could feel the sky outside the window preparing for light. Amish farmers woke before the sunrise because of that feeling. It was as if everything in the world took a collective breath right before the start of the day.
John lay on a bed of hay bales a few feet away looking as if he’d had as bad a night as Reuben had. Hay stuck out from his hair in eight or nine places and a line was tattooed into his cheek from something hard and uncomfortable he had slept on. A ball of yarn lay at his feet as if waiting for him to wake up and play. Reuben curled one side of his mouth. He’d be happy to never see a skein of yarn ever again.
He’d been very irritated last night having to admit that John was right. They’d gone to the Schmuckers’ house only to find it dark and closed tight like a prison. Reuben had wanted to knock and wake up the household, but John had talked him out of it. If Fern really was sick, Reuben would only make it worse by interrupting her sleep.
They’d come back to Huckleberry Hill, Reuben more downhearted than he’d ever been. He needed to talk to Fern. Nothing in his life would be right until he saw her.
They had unhitched the Yoders’ horse, brought him into the barn, and fed him some good oats, then John had gone to the house for dry clothes, extra blankets, and Reuben’s knitting. Reuben had decided that if he wanted to make amends to both Mammi and Dawdi, he’d have to finish his hopeless blanket. He and John had stayed up until three this morning knitting something that would pass for a baby blanket. He could never actually give it to anyone, but Mammi would be thrilled that he had been practicing his knitting, and Dawdi would be pleased that Reuben had tried to make things right.
Reuben had taught John how to knit—it was the blind leading the blind—and John had knitted half the blanket, further proving to Reuben that John was the best of friends. What other boy would stay up late to help a friend soften his mammi’s heart?
Reuben sat up and pressed his fingers to his forehead. Who knew that knitting could produce such a headache? He glanced over at Dawdi’s workbench. A slightly lumpy, misshapen baby-pink blanket sat on top, folded as well as could be expected from two bleary-eyed Amish boys in the early hours of the morning. Mammi would love it. At least Reuben hoped so, because he was never going to pick up a pair of knitting needles again.
Reuben pulled out his pocket watch. Five o’clock. How long should he wait? Surely Fern would be up by five thirty. Or six. He’d wait no longer than six. First he’d milk the cow like lightning and shovel in some breakfast, then ride down the hill in Dawdi’s buggy like a madman. Nae. He’d go horseback. That was faster. He’d rattle all the windows at the Schmuckers’ house when he knocked on the door. He wouldn’t even feel bad about waking them up. He’d waited long enough.
Reuben sat up and searched the floor for his boots. John stirred and yawned loudly enough to make the horses stir. “You should be grateful I’m such a gute friend. My back will never be the same.”
“You owe me,” Reuben said, lacing up his boots.
John nodded. “I suppose I do.”
Reuben retrieved a galvanized bucket from the shelf and set to milking the cow. John fed the horses and turned them out to pasture, which was a small, fenced-in area behind the barn. Not enough room for the horses to run but enough to stretch their legs.
After milking, Reuben handed the full bucket to John, squared his shoulders, and picked up the blanket. Time to face Mammi and eat several pieces of humble pie.
Mammi stood at the stove stirring what looked like purple scrambled eggs in a frying pan. She looked over her shoulder, and her face brightened as if someone had turned on a whole sky full of stars. “Reuben! It’s about time you came in. I was worried sick all night, but Felty said you were right as rain.” She threw out her arms and marched toward him, leaving her steaming eggs still hissing in the pan. “I hate for my grandchildren to sleep in the barn. It’s moist in there. I’m always afraid you’ll catch cold.” She looked at John and smiled. “And it’s not just my grandchildren. I don’t like anyone sleeping in the barn unless they can help it—Fern’s brother especially. Oh, look! You milked the cow. Felty will be so happy.”
“We did fine in the barn, Mammi. I fixed the roof in March, so there are no leaks,” Reuben said, laying his bad excuse for a blanket on the table and taking Mammi’s hands. “And it was only fitting that I sleep there after how I treated you last night.” He squeezed both her hands in his. “I am very sorry about what I said, Mammi. I was angry, but not at you or your knitting.”
Mammi nodded. “Sometimes when we are hurt, we lash out at the things and people we love the most. I never doubted your love for knitting.”
He picked up the blanket and handed it to her, cringing when he saw a strand of yarn sticking out from the center of it. How did that get there? If he pulled on it, it was possible the whole thing would unravel. Lord willing, Mammi wouldn’t be so unwise as to pull it and find out.
She acted as if she’d just gotten the news of seven new grandchildren. “Ach, du lieva, Reuben. Did you make this?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of my sins.” And the thousand pieces of hay stabbing into his back.
Mammi gave him her warmest smile, as if there were no better person in the world than Reuben Helmuth. “Now, now, dear. Don’t say another word. You are my grandson and a very gute boy. This blanket proves it. The children at the hospital will love it.”
Reuben wanted to warn Mammi not to give it to the hospital, but he just couldn’t, not with the way she was smoothing her hand over his rough and holey knitting. John’s side was even worse. Surely someone at the hospital would see the wisdom of keeping this particular blanket as far away from the children as possible. Maybe they could remake it into a beanie.
Mammi set Reuben and John’s blanket on the small table next to the sofa. “I’m so proud to think I have a grandson who knits. Today is a wonderful-gute day.” The purple eggs, or whatever they were, bubbled on the stove and finally got Mammi’s attention. She grinned. “Ach. I almost forgot breakfast.” She bustled to the stove and picked up her spoon. “It’s a new recipe I’m trying out. Blueberry Egg Hash. With cinnamon. Do you like cinnamon, John?”
The expression on John’s face was much like the one Fern wore when confronted with Mammi’s cooking. Reuben could never figure it out. Mammi might make some unconventional dishes, but they were always full of flavor and plenty of imagination.
“That sounds delicious, Mammi,” Reuben said. As much as he wanted to get to the Schmuckers’ house, he’d have to make time for breakfast. Mammi would be devastated if he skipped out on Blueberry Egg Hash. John looked as if he was thinking of running away as fast as he could. Reuben draped a hand over John’s shoulder. “You’ll love it, John. Mammi is the best cook in the world.”
John swallowed hard and nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Well, gute maiya,” Dawdi said, coming into the room with his milking boots already on his feet. “How did you sleep last night?” He smiled at Reuben as if all was forgiven—which it was. He’d told Reuben so last night.
Reuben smiled back. “We stayed up sort of late to finish Mammi’s blanket, but what sleep we got was adequate.” Reuben liked “adequate.” He didn’t have to lie or tell Dawdi that he ached in about twenty different places.
Dawdi seemed satisfied. “A night in the barn is as gute a way I know to clear your head.”
Mammi set the platter of purple eggs on the table along with a huge bottle of cinnamon. They said silent prayer and then Mammi divided the eggs evenly among the four of them. Reuben looked at John’s plate with regret. John was not going to enjoy those eggs near as much as Reuben would have enjoyed eating John’s portion. Reuben picked up the bottle of cinnamon and shook it vigorously over his plate.
>
John’s eyes widened in surprise, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. He picked up his fork, scooped up a hearty bite of eggs, and shoved them into his mouth. He took a huge gulp of milk to wash down his eggs, no doubt hoping to finish them off in four bites and not have to linger over them any longer than he had to.
Reuben stifled a chuckle and took a bite. The cinnamon and sweetness of the blueberries melted together in his mouth. He sighed with pleasure. Mammi had done it again.
“Oh, dear, John,” Mammi said. “You’ve finished your eggs already. I knew I should have made more. You are a growing boy. You need nutrition.”
John forced the last of his eggs down his throat with a gulp. “Nae, Anna. I am so full I couldn’t eat another bite even if Reuben held my mouth open. Denki. It was a delicious breakfast.”
Considering John had cleaned his plate in less than three minutes, he probably hadn’t the time to actually know whether it was delicious or not. “Do you want some of mine?” Reuben said, giving John a teasing smile.
John didn’t seem to see the humor in it. He coughed. “Nae, denki, Reuben. I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
Reuben finished off his eggs more slowly than John had, but he still ate quickly. He needed to see Fern. He didn’t want to waste one more minute of time. He half groaned, half rejoiced when a knock came at the door. If it was Fern, he’d see her that much sooner. If it was someone else, he’d be irritated at the delay.
He was irritated. Dawdi answered the door, and Reuben gripped his fork so tightly, he thought it might warp in his fist. Sadie Yoder stood in the doorway, a tentative—almost humble—smile on her face, her pretty yellow hair mostly hidden beneath a black bonnet, a black shawl draped around her shoulders. “Is John King here?” she said in her most timid-sounding voice. Sadie knew how to be coy, friendly, indignant, or lovable at just the right time. She had a sense about such things, and Reuben couldn’t help but admire how astute she was.
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