by Ruth Reid
A gust of cold air rushed in with Josiah. He held a glass dish, this one smaller, and not empty like the one he snatched off the counter.
“It’s starting to snow,” he said.
“So I see.” She wasn’t interested in the contents of the dish, but his hands needed to be freed so he could remove his coat and hat, both of which were covered with a fine powder of snow. She didn’t want little puddles all over the floor, so she crossed the room and reached for the glass dish. She would have peeled back the foil and looked, but she didn’t want to appear too curious. Whatever it was, it needed heating. “I’ll take this into the kitchen. I suppose you prefer eating this instead of what I have in the oven.”
“Nay,” he said, hanging his hat on the wall hook. Josiah tipped his face up and sniffed. “Chicken?”
Lindie nodded.
He shook his arms out of the coat. “It smells gut.”
“Denki.” She turned and raised the foil slightly, but she still couldn’t decipher what the woman had sent home with him.
“Where’s Hannah?”
“She’s still in her room.” She lifted the dish a little higher as she walked to the kitchen.
“It’s apple crisp.” He passed her and headed toward the bedroom. A few minutes later he returned to the kitchen. He tipped the empty chili bowl in Lindie’s direction and arched his brows.
“Josiah, I couldn’t let her go hungry. Please don’t be upset.”
He gently lowered the dish into the sink. “Denki.”
“You’re nett angry?”
“Do you remember the other day when I told you I would try harder?”
“You asked me to have patience, but this isn’t about—”
“I really do want to work harder to get along.” He stepped closer, his expression somber. “I know this isn’t easy for you either.” He cleared his throat. “But I still need your patience.”
The serenity in his voice warmed her insides. “I, ah . . . the chicken should be done cooking.” She hurried to set the table. “What about Simon? Does he know it’s time for supper?”
“He already ate.” Josiah shrugged. “That’s what he told me when I was feeding the horses and putting up the buggy.”
Her mind raced with thoughts of what his buggy ride might have to do with his changed mood. But she lacked the courage to ask.
“I’ll tell Hannah it’s time to eat.” He left the room, and when he returned, Hannah was at his side. She’d stopped scowling, but throughout the meal, she made no attempt at communicating with either Josiah or Lindie.
Once the meal ended, Lindie stood. “Do you want some apple crisp?”
“Nay.” Josiah slid his chair away from the table. “I think I’ll go to bed early. Church is tomorrow.”
Lindie’s pulse raced. Tomorrow she would finally meet the woman who had sent the food.
Chapter Nine
The buggy rattled over the wooden bridge, jostling Lindie on the bench. Hannah wiggled on the seat, smiling. It was the first time she’d seen the child smile. At least one of them was enjoying the bumpy ride. Lindie might too, if she wasn’t tied in knots over meeting the church members. She didn’t even know the name of the woman who was causing her such stress. Was it too much to hope they would all be friendly like Rebecca?
Lindie wrung her hands. In her former district, the families that lived close to each other tended to have a tighter-knit relationship than those who only saw each other on church Sunday. She hadn’t gone anywhere except the bus station and the bishop’s house since arriving. Josiah had said the district was small. It shouldn’t take her long to get acquainted.
Josiah glanced at her hands. “Don’t be nervous.”
As if she could stop herself. Had he forgotten about yesterday? He left the house with a woman’s clean dish and returned with apple crisp. Did he think they wouldn’t meet today? She intertwined her fingers, trying to hold her hands still.
Even Simon hadn’t offered her much more than a nod. He ate his meals with them, but spoke only with Josiah. What was even more unsettling was how little he interacted with his granddaughter. Today Simon insisted on driving his own buggy, using the excuse that the bishop had asked to meet with him prior to the service.
“Really, you’ll get along fine with everyone.” Josiah smiled.
Lindie wanted to ask if that included his woman friend, but didn’t dare. She studied his smile. In the week and a half since she’d arrived, she’d already learned how to tell the difference between Josiah’s forced smile and his genuine one by the lines that developed—either grooving his forehead or appearing at the corners of his eyes. The trace wrinkles that she saw today should have put her at ease.
She twirled her finger around a loose thread on her cape. “Didn’t you warn me about raised brows?”
“Jah.” He scratched his jaw. “I suppose that’s bound to happen.”
Her hands trembled holding the casserole dish. Bean casserole probably wasn’t a wise side dish to bring. The overcooked beans had turned mushy. She should’ve stuck with peanut-butter sandwiches and a simple dessert. She could have brought the uneaten apple crisp.
Molly trotted up the road’s incline with ease and crowned the hill. Then Josiah turned into the bishop’s driveway and stopped the buggy next to the barn.
In her district, dozens of buggies would line the host family’s yard on Sunday. Today she counted only six. This looked more like a women’s sewing frolic than a church service.
Josiah tethered Molly to the post as Lindie helped Hannah out of the buggy.
Lindie grasped her cape at the neck. Even though the wool material scratched her bare skin, she found comfort and an odd sense of security wrapped in it. A crisp, clean glimmer of freshly fallen snow covered the ground. It would have been colder had the sun not taken an edge off the chill in the air.
“We should get seated. The service will be starting soon,” Josiah said.
Lindie wasn’t sure if he’d planned to arrive at the last minute to avoid a flood of explanations, but she was grateful. She and Hannah walked alongside Josiah to the barn. As was the same custom in her district, benches were arranged so that the men sat on one side of the barn, the women on the other.
As they entered the barn, her cheeks grew hot as all eyes turned to her. Just as Josiah had warned, brows were raised, some higher than others.
Josiah sat on the second row, aisle seat.
She spotted an empty space near the back. But on the aisle opposite Josiah, the bishop’s wife slid across the bench, opening a place.
“Lindie,” Rebecca whispered. “Sit here with me.”
Tapping Hannah’s shoulder, Lindie motioned for her to sit next to Rebecca, then once the girl was seated, Lindie sat on the end, directly across from Josiah.
It wasn’t long before the singing started. Josiah’s baritone voice soothed her frayed nerves. The three-hour service wasn’t much different from those in her district and this comforted her.
Simon stood to read the Scriptures. Now it made sense why Josiah’s father-in-law was asked to meet with the bishop prior to service. Simon was one of the district ministers. She hoped the meeting pertained to the service and not to her. Simon eyed her and Josiah during his short sermon. Lindie reached for Hannah’s hand, which helped disguise the shakiness in hers. At the house, Simon hadn’t attempted to cover his disapproval, and the same held true during the service. He read verses from Hebrews and afterward posed the question, “Are you provoking one another in ways pleasing to the Lord?”
Lindie glanced sideways at Josiah, but his attention was locked on Simon. She prayed silently for Jesus to forgive her for upsetting Josiah yesterday.
The bishop gave the final message, then prayed. But before he dismissed everyone, he asked the congregation to remain seated while he made an announcement.
The bishop cleared his throat. “Will Brother Josiah and Lindie please stand.”
She froze. This wasn’t something her bishop would do i
n their district, unless he was calling someone to make a public confession. She rose from the bench, her knees wobbling under her dress.
Josiah stood. His broad shoulder touched hers.
“Let us welcome Brother Josiah’s new fraa, Lindie. They wedded a week last Monday.”
Had Josiah known the bishop would call them to stand? A deep-pink shade spread up his neck and across his face. He wiped his hands along his pant legs.
She heard murmuring behind them. This was much more than a few raised brows.
“She’s so young. She hardly looks marrying age,” someone whispered.
Lindie silently recited James 4:10. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up. Humble yourselves—
The dismissed congregation stood. Several patted her on the shoulder and welcomed her to their district.
Josiah disappeared into the crowd of men.
“Where is your home district?” one woman asked.
“Middlefield, Ohio.”
“You’re a long ways from home. How do you like it here?” the woman on Lindie’s right asked.
She opened her mouth to respond, but a blond-haired woman chimed in first. “How do you think she likes it? She’s married to Josiah.”
The women laughed. Except one. A dark-haired woman, Lindie guessed to be in her midthirties, who stared with narrow, dissecting eyes. The laundry-folding baker, she presumed.
Hannah tugged Lindie’s dress sleeve. Although Lindie welcomed the distraction, she couldn’t follow Hannah’s quick hand movements.
Lindie craned her neck to where she’d last seen Josiah, but the men had disappeared from the barn. She smiled at Hannah and reached for her hand, then faced the women. “Excuse us, please.” She guided Hannah to the door. If she had to guess what Hannah was saying, she wanted to do so in private.
Once they were outside, she didn’t have to guess. Hannah pointed to the outhouse. Lindie released the girl’s hand and let her run ahead.
Lindie strolled over and waited beside the door. Faint voices drifted from the shed area. She scanned the crowd of milling men and spotted Josiah. The barn door rattled closed and the women walked in a group toward the house. Lindie wished she could hide in the outhouse.
A man’s cough drew her attention. Josiah had turned away from the crowd, his hands covering his mouth. A head taller than all the others, he was handsome. Had he lived in her district, plenty of women would have offered to do his laundry, cook his meals, and be his wife. Women who were more suitable than herself. A woman he deserved.
Josiah captured her with his grin, but then looked down at the ground right away. When he looked her way again, the man standing beside Josiah elbowed him and caused his face to redden. His sheepishness took her by surprise. She stifled a giggle.
He cleared himself of the men and approached her. “Are you getting sick?”
She lowered her hand. “Nay. I was laughing at how cute—I mean red—” Now her face was heating.
Josiah smiled.
“I’m waiting for Hannah.” She motioned to the outhouse door.
He touched his face, then looked down at the snow and shuffled his feet.
“Denki, Josiah.”
He lifted his head. “For what?”
“I appreciate the kindness you’ve shown me,” she said softly. “I know I upset you yesterday when I spoke up about Hannah.”
He reached for her arm and gently gave it a squeeze. “I haven’t treated you like I should. Like . . . mei fraa.” He stepped closer. “It’s going to take some time before everything works out.”
The door opened and slammed against Lindie’s backside, pushing her forward into Josiah. Inches apart, they stared at one another. Lindie’s mind swirled with his last comment.
Josiah stepped back. “Maybe you should take Hannah inside with the others.” He eyed his daughter, who was searching the clouds with a blank expression.
“Gut idea.” During the service, she’d noticed other children about Hannah’s age. They could all play together. First, though, Lindie needed to get the bean casserole from the back of the buggy. She didn’t want to go into the house empty-handed. She reached for Hannah’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, then pointed toward the buggies. “Let’s go—” The girl turned her eyes away without giving Lindie a chance to finish. Hannah’s shoulders slumped as she plodded alongside. Lindie debated if she should try to explain that they weren’t leaving, but until she could sign fluently, it would just frustrate Hannah.
At the buggy, Lindie grabbed the dish of beans. Pork fat skimmed the surface. The beans would need reheating, although more cooking would make them mushier. Maybe she could shove the dish off to the side so it wasn’t as noticeable.
Lindie knocked on the front door. While waiting for someone to answer, she smiled at Hannah, who stood beside her, then looked toward the gathering of men. Lindie silently beckoned Josiah. The first time attending a service was more difficult than she thought. Waiting for someone to answer the front door reminded her that she hadn’t instantly blended in with the new settlement. In her district, there was an unspoken invitation. No one stood on the stoop waiting for the door to open. She hadn’t yet established that level of familiarity. She looked over her shoulder again for Josiah. This time he must have realized something was wrong because he stepped away from the group, then stopped when he saw the front door open.
“Ach, dear,” said the stick-thin woman. She opened the door wider for Hannah and Lindie. “I hope you weren’t standing on the stoop long. With all the commotion in here, it’s a wonder any of us heard the door.”
The woman was right about the level of noise. A mixture of chatter and clanging dishes echoed from the kitchen.
“I’m Sarah.” She reached for Lindie’s hand. “Kumm, everyone will want to meet you.”
Hannah stood close to Lindie. For someone who grew up in this community, the girl appeared as out of place as Lindie.
The sitting room where Josiah and she were married now had large tables placed end to end and benches that took up the length of the room. When the time came for her and Josiah to host the meal, she hoped the weather would permit eating outdoors. Seating would be cramped in their small space.
A child, perhaps a year or two older than Hannah, stood at the top of the stairs and waved at Hannah to join her.
Busy watching the youngsters’ interactions, Lindie flinched when someone touched her arm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The young woman, heavy with child, introduced herself as Ada Fisher. She placed a handful of utensils on the table, then extended her hand. “Wilkom to Cedar Ridge.”
“Denki.”
Sarah tapped Lindie’s shoulder. “This here is Josiah Plank’s Lindie.”
Ada nodded. “Jah, I heard the bishop introduce them before service let out.” She smiled at Lindie. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll show you where to set your dish in the kitchen.” She looped her arm with Lindie’s and guided her toward the kitchen. “It’ll be nice to have someone else here close to my age,” she said. “Our district is small, as you probably figured out during service.” She patted her belly. “I’m doing my part to increase the settlement. This one is number four.”
“Congratulations,” Lindie said as they entered the noisy kitchen. She touched her forehead. Moist. Meeting new people had never been easy for her. So many names to remember at once, she hoped she didn’t mix them up.
Ada rattled off the names and ages of her children. “. . . and this one, William if a boy and Susan if a girl, is due next month.”
Another woman joined them. “Just in time for cabin fever too.”
Ada rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that discussion nau, Naomi.”
But Naomi paid no attention and turned to Lindie. “Anyone tell you about cabin fever?”
“Naomi!” Ada elbowed the other woman.
“She’s married.”
“Cabin fever.” Ada giggled, her face blushing. “
It’s a joke amongst us womenfolk.”
Lindie wiped her forehead.
Naomi jumped in. “Let’s just say it tends to be a productive season . . .” She paused as though expecting some response from Lindie.
Lindie wasn’t about to speak. Especially seeing the shade of pink Ada had turned. The idea that Josiah had already brought up the subject frayed her nerves. Only he described cabin fever as loneliness, and that sure didn’t match the women’s definition.
Not far from them, a small group of unmarried girls chatted about an upcoming wedding. Listening to them talk about the dress color surprised Lindie. Traditionally, at least in her home district, brides wore royal blue. Except Lindie, of course. Her dress was brown . . . and crumpled.
The dark-haired woman Lindie suspected had made the apple crisp approached the group. “What are you all giggling about?”
“Just explaining the cabin fever phenomenon,” Naomi replied.
The woman’s expression soured.
“Hello.” Lindie switched the bean dish to her other arm and extended her hand to the woman. “I’m Lindie Wy—Plank.” The first time she’d used her married name, it felt odd.
“Jah, I know who you are.” The woman shook hands, then introduced herself as Ellen Yoder. “So you’re from Ohio?”
Lindie nodded. “Geauga County.”
Ada nudged her arm. “Kumm, I’ll show you where to set your dish.”
Relieved to have a reason to walk away, Lindie followed Ada as she eased around a few other women. They stopped near the stove. “I’m sorry if Naomi embarrassed you. She shouldn’t have said anything, you being newly married. Around Ellen either, since she lost her husband not long ago.” She leaned closer. “Although Ellen knows all about cabin fever—she has four boys with birthdays in the fall.”
That explained Ellen’s sour expression. A widow with four boys. No wonder her eye was set on Josiah. Lindie lifted the dish. “I probably should warm these beans.” Not that she planned to eat any. Her stomach had turned queasy.
