by Ruth Reid
“Denki.” She clutched the quilt so tight around her neck that her knuckles lost their color.
The warm milk must not have worked. She was shaking. He should have gotten her out of the sleet the minute it started. He set the bowl on the lamp table and grabbed the empty glass. “Do you want more milk?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Warm or cold?”
She shrugged.
“You don’t have to be timid around me.”
“Cold, please.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurried to the kitchen and poured a glassful of milk, then brought it to her.
“Denki,” she said.
“You’ll want to keep this door open.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“The temperature dips down at nacht and it gets kalt. If your door is closed, you won’t get much heat from the woodstove.”
“I sleep better when it’s kalt.”
Josiah shrugged. He had a feeling warm or cold, they both had a sleepless night ahead of them.
Chapter Four
A soft touch tickled Lindie’s head, pulling her from sleep. She forced her eyes open and blinked as daylight filtered through the curtains. It took a moment before she could focus on the child standing at her bedside. Lindie cleared her throat. “Guder mariye. You must be Hannah.”
The stone-faced girl stared.
Remembering Josiah had said his daughter was deaf, Lindie wasn’t sure how to communicate. She exaggerated her smile, but the universal gesture of friendship did nothing to alter the girl’s expression.
The dark-eyed child pivoted on her heel and left the room.
Lindie flipped the wool quilt back and climbed out of bed. The wood floor, cold against her bare feet, sent a shiver straight through her. She should have taken time last night to find her wool socks in her belongings. She hunted down her stockings and hurried to pull them on. Josiah had been right about the drop in temperature. Hard to believe this was only November. Compared to Ohio, it felt more like the middle of February. She felt a pang of homesickness.
Lindie put on a black dress and pinned the front closed. She certainly didn’t feel like a fraa. She hadn’t even told her friends she was leaving Ohio to get married. A marriage in name only was hardly what she’d dreamed about. In her dreams, she would be married to Moses.
Lindie touched her belly. Flat. If it wasn’t for the sickness, she wouldn’t have suspected she was pregnant. She had prayed that wasn’t the case, but the lot she’d been given proved that her prayers were in vain.
She slid down the wall to sit on the drafty floor. Alone. Married to a stranger. Living in a settlement where she didn’t know a soul. Only a few months ago she and Moses had spoken privately of marriage. Tears welled. She wouldn’t ever escape the consequences of her rash decision on that night—her womb would soon swell with the constant reminder.
“I don’t even know what to pray, Lord,” she choked out.
Thy will be done. She had prayed that before and look where it got her. She couldn’t very well pray for God’s will again if she wasn’t willing to accept it.
God, you didn’t answer when I begged you to set me free of the anguish. Vomit rose in her throat. She pushed off the floor, shot out of the bedroom and down the hallway.
“Guder mariye,” Josiah said as she raced past the kitchen.
Lindie propelled herself out the front door, bent over the porch railing, and vomited across the snow. The muscles between her ribs spasmed. Soaked in sweat, Lindie shuddered as the hard wind penetrated her core.
God, can’t you see that I need help?
The screen door creaked open, then snapped shut.
Footsteps stopped behind her.
Josiah draped her cape over her shoulders.
“Denki.” She forced a smile.
“You must be starved after sleeping through yesterday.”
“What?” She’d never even slept in late, let alone missed an entire day.
“I figured you were exhausted after your long trip.”
A stiff breeze flapped the wool cape and gave her chills. She tugged on the corners of the heavy material as a shield from the next gust. If only she’d slipped on her boots. The porch boards, wet from melting snow, were cold against her stocking feet. She balanced her weight on her right foot and lifted her left, then switched.
Josiah peered down at her feet and smiled. “The winter dance.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. In her district, people weren’t allowed to dance. The elders had even forbidden some of the traditional youth games due to too much body movement.
“You better kumm inside where it’s warm.”
Jah, this dancing, as he called it, wasn’t helping her stomach settle. She followed him into the house.
Hannah peeked around the kitchen corner and he communicated something using hand movements. The child disappeared behind the wall without responding.
“How old is your dochder?”
“Eight.” He led her into the sitting room and over to the chair next to the woodstove. “Have a seat.” He grabbed the iron poker, turned the handle on the firebox, and opened the cast-iron door.
She eased into the rocking chair and looked down at her folded hands. “Don’t you want me to start breakfast or something?” She still couldn’t believe how long she’d slept. Josiah must think he married a woman with idle hands. She hoped the nausea passed soon so she could show him she wasn’t lazy.
He stirred the hot embers, then reached for a piece of wood. “Hannah and I ate a bowl of cereal. You can make a bowl or there are eggs in—”
The young girl poked her head around the wall, then snapped back.
“Excuse me.” He latched the fire opening, then crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later he reappeared in the sitting room with Hannah clinging to his side. “This is mei dochder, Hannah.”
“Hiya,” Lindie said.
Josiah bent down to Hannah’s eye level and signed while talking. “This is”—his hands stopped, and the girl’s brows crinkled—“Lindie. Show her where things are in the kitchen, please.”
Lindie wondered if he would introduce her as his wife.
Hannah stared at him for a moment before turning her chocolate-colored eyes to Lindie. She turned back to her father and signed.
He shook his head. “Not today. I want you to stay inside and help.” He rose from his squatting position and placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her away from him and toward Lindie. “She reads lips,” he said.
The girl wiggled out of his hold and stomped toward the kitchen.
Josiah stopped her before she left the room. His face hardened and his hands moved rapidly. He paused a moment, then repeated the same hand gestures.
Hannah’s brows knitted.
Josiah pointed to a wooden paddle hanging from a nail over a rolltop desk, then signed something else.
Lindie wished she could crawl under the rug. She scanned the room. Its contents were simple and sparse. She stole a peek at Josiah, who was still speaking with rapid hand movements. She turned her attention to the wooden desk and chair next to the door. It took up most of the space on the wall opposite her. Off to her right, a wooden bench adorned with two small patchwork pillows sat in front of a large window.
To avoid embarrassing Hannah, Lindie continued to scan the objects in the room. Across from the bench were a lamp table and another rocking chair that matched the one she was sitting in. A worn braided navy rug took up the center of the room and was a mismatch to the forest-green curtains covering the window.
Lindie watched as Hannah passed by, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor as she walked toward the bedrooms.
Josiah mumbled something under his breath and returned to the woodstove. He tossed in a piece of oak, scattering the fiery embers. “You should be warm in a minute.”
“Denki.” Lindie looked down at her wet stockings and wiggled her toes.
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��Mei dochder challenges mei patience.” He gazed at the empty hallway.
“Be thankful you only have one.”
His head snapped up, eyes narrowed. One harsh word and she would dissolve into tears. A heavy knock diverted their attention.
Josiah didn’t move.
An elderly man entered. He eyed Lindie, then directed his words to Josiah. “I heard the truck going over the bridge. It should be here any minute.”
“I’ll get mei coat.” Josiah turned to her. “This is Simon, mei father-in-law.” He looked at the man. “This is Lindie”—he cleared his throat—“mei fraa.” He walked to the door, grabbed a pair of work gloves from the wall shelf and his coat from the hook.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
Simon nodded, his expression stiff. He pinned his son-in-law with the same look before turning to the door. “I’ll wait for the truck.”
Josiah lowered his head. His shoulders rose and his chest expanded as he drew in a breath. The door closed behind Simon, and Josiah exhaled.
“I left a sign language book on the table. You’ll need to study it in order to communicate with Hannah.” He shoved one hand into a leather glove. “I sent her to her room. See that she stays in there for an hour.” He opened the door, but paused. “And when the hour’s up, make sure she doesn’t go outside unsupervised.”
Josiah was pleased to see the truck pulling into the yard. He didn’t want to discuss his marriage to Lindie with Simon yet.
His father-in-law slowly made his way over. “I expected you to tell me last nacht that you got married.”
Josiah swallowed. “You knew?”
“Last week the bishop told me of your plans.”
Josiah continued to the lumber barn and, once there, unlatched the door. He wasn’t going to ask Simon for more details on that conversation. Instead, he shoved the wooden door across its track and waited for the truck to back into place. Even though he pretended not to be interested, he couldn’t help but wonder if everyone in their district had been made privy to the details of his marriage. Not that he had told anyone, including the bishop, the exact details.
“I am one of the ministers.” Simon broke the silence.
He kicked at a wood shim and it skipped over the snow. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you myself.” He wished the bishop had told him that he and Simon had talked. Another reason to keep closemouthed about his and Lindie’s arrangement.
“Well, given your situation . . .”
Josiah understood that his father-in-law was unable to continue. He didn’t want to talk about his situation either. Josiah waved at Hal as he climbed out of the truck cab.
Hal, a stocky man in his late sixties, ambled to the back of the rig where Josiah and Simon stood. A much younger version of Hal, his teenaged grandson, leaped down from the passenger side.
Josiah wished Hal would cut the engine while they compared paperwork. The truck’s exhaust fumes irritated his throat. He turned and coughed into his gloved hand.
Hal handed Josiah the paperwork. “They wanted me to tell you this was a partial shipment. Apparently Badger Creek had some bad weather and couldn’t get to the trees.”
“I heard talk of the ice storm and wondered how it would affect them.” Badger Creek was another settlement, sixty miles north. They supplied the pine lumber he used to build pallets and the maple, oak, and ash he used to build furniture. He usually ordered enough in November to get him through the entire winter.
“They said it will be at least another week.”
“That’s fine. I have an order of Christmas wreaths to finish anyway.” Josiah scanned the invoice. Everything appeared in order.
“That works fine for me too. I’d just as soon recline in my easy chair and watch U of M.”
Josiah assumed Hal was talking about football, but up in their neck of the woods, most Englischers talked about hockey. Not that Josiah was a fan of either sport, though he found it interesting when Hal would arrive with the radio blaring a football game. Hal had been squawking about retiring and sitting in his recliner since Josiah and his father-in-law started the mill ten years ago.
Hal’s grandson opened the rear of the trailer and dropped the ramp. A few minutes later he drove a mini-forklift out with the first pallet of wood stock. With Simon showing where the wood should be stacked, the order was unloaded in minutes.
Josiah signed the invoice and handed it to Hal. He coughed again into his hand.
“Catching a cold?”
“No, it must be something in the air.”
Hal shrugged. “You have anything to send out?”
Josiah shook his head. “Not until after Christmas. But I picked up a new account. Is Ohio too far for you to drive?”
“Depends how often. I still want to retire one day.”
Josiah smiled. “Probably four times a year.”
“Oh, that ain’t nothing. Me and the boy can handle that run,” he said, heading to his rig.
“Gut.” Josiah figured it wouldn’t be a problem when he arranged with Eli to supply wood for his banister business.
Hal shot a wave out the window as the truck rolled out of the drive. Josiah coughed hard to clear his lungs.
“Maybe you’re catching a kalt.” Simon slid the barn door shut.
He shook his head, although he had been feeling run-down the past several days. Stress. And the night before last he noticed a rash had broken out on his chest. He’d attributed most of that to Lindie’s arrival. At least he’d prayed it was only stress. Now he wasn’t so sure. Three times this week he had woken up with night sweats.
Josiah coughed again. “I need something to drink. Do you want kaffi?”
“Nay, denki.”
Josiah didn’t just need something to wet his throat, he wanted to check on Lindie and Hannah.
Lindie couldn’t restrain her curiosity. The envelope Eli had handed Josiah at the bus station lay in plain sight on the kitchen table propped up against the saltshaker. Dare she count what it had cost to marry her off? The sign language book rested on the table also. She should work on learning how to communicate with Hannah. But she reached for the envelope instead and flipped it over. Sealed. Its thickness conveyed a large sum of cash. Money her brother perhaps had to borrow. She wished more than ever that she’d never tried to attend that singing. But wishful thinking couldn’t turn back time.
The door creaked open and Lindie dropped the envelope and stepped away from the table just as Josiah entered the kitchen. He coughed into the crook of his arm as he crossed the room, then pulled a glass from the cabinet.
She breathed easier. He didn’t seem to notice that she’d been inspecting the envelope.
He gulped the water, draining the glass. “Where’s Hannah?”
“She hasn’t kumm out of her room.”
Lines deepened across his forehead and he darted toward the hallway.
Lindie followed as far as the kitchen entrance, stopped, and craned her neck around the wall.
Josiah continued toward the bedrooms and disappeared into the child’s room.
Lindie wrung her hands. She hoped she hadn’t said anything to get Hannah in trouble with her father.
A few moments later Josiah exited the room, his facial expression relaxed. He smiled as he approached Lindie in the hall. “Hannah’s fine.”
“Were you worried about her being alone in her room for so long?”
“I was worried she’d slipped out of the house unnoticed. She doesn’t handle change very well. I thought maybe she went off to the woods.”
“Alone?” The hair on Lindie’s arms stood on end at the thought. “You need to tell her that’s dangerous.”
Josiah gave her a less than enthused look, but said nothing.
“She’s okay to stay in her room?”
“She’s fine. She’s drawing a picture.” He grabbed the envelope from the table, then turned to leave.
“What do you want me to make for lunch?”
“I�
��m nett fussy. If you don’t find what you need in the pantry, canned goods are in the basement, and meat is in the icehaus,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.
She inched toward the sitting room. Hiding behind the wall, she caught a glimpse of him seated at the desk.
Josiah opened one of the drawers with a key, placed the envelope inside, then relocked the drawer. He sat there a moment, his elbows resting on the desk and fingers massaging his temples. Then he pushed back the chair and looked toward the kitchen.
Lindie spun around and leaned against the wall. As his footsteps drew closer, she scurried over to the sink, grabbing the glass off the counter. She was filling it when he entered her peripheral vision.
Josiah’s mouth twisted as he scanned the counter.
Either her hands had turned clammy or the glass was sweating, but it nearly slipped from her grasp. “Thirsty?” She handed him the glass and grabbed the dishrag. The counter was clean, but she wiped it down anyway. She would do anything to exhaust some of her nervous energy.
“I haven’t met your mother-in-law yet. Do they live close by?”
“Mei mother-in-law is deceased, and Simon lives in the grossdaadi haus, which is attached to the back of the workshop.”
“It must have been hard for Hannah to lose her mamm and mammi.” Lindie was a teenager when her parents died. If she hadn’t been so close to her sister-in-law, despair might have overtaken her. Lindie was grateful that Eli and Margaret had taken her in.
“Jah, Hannah has had a lot to cope with.” His face grimaced and he looked away. A moment later he said, “I suppose I better get back to work.”
“Jah, me too.” She continued cleaning the counter until he left the kitchen. Curious if she could see the grossdaadi haus, she stepped to the window. Black smoke billowed from two stovepipes extending from the roof of the workshop. The farthest pipe must be the woodstove in Simon’s place. From where she was standing, she couldn’t see anything that indicated a house was attached to the barn. She started to move away from the window when a woman driving a buggy came into view.
