With Winter's First Frost

by Kelly Irvin

  “Hey, Tamara!”

  The sweet, lilting tones of Molly Hershberger’s voice floated between them, taking with it the bitter animosity that had threatened to separate family from family.

  Tamara wiped tears from her face with the back of her mitten. “Molly, you look like you’re about to pop.”

  Not something a Plain person said.

  It was as if Tamara had fled her life already. Laura bit her lower lip to keep the words prisoner. Only acrimony would result from any more talk. Better to let time heal the wounds of their heated exchange.

  Molly would be a good antidote. She didn’t have a mean or complicated bone in her chubby body. She had been Tamara’s closest friend until she married Anthony Hershberger. “There you are.” She waddled their direction, her two little ones following along like babies after a penguin mom. “I was afraid I’d missed you.” She waved at Laura, but her gaze returned to Tamara. “I know you’re helping out at Rosalie’s, but I thought maybe they could spare you for supper tonight.”

  “If you’re making your chicken and dumplings, then I might be able to sneak away.” Tamara smiled blithely as if they hadn’t been discussing decisions that would affect this life and the next for not only herself but Hannah. “You don’t mind, do you, Groossmammi?”

  Laura shook her head. Molly clapped. She was like that. A sweet woman with no artifice and a mind only for family and friends. Lovely in her uncomplicatedness. “Gut. My cousin Emmett Bays has come to stay with us. He’ll help Anthony farm in the spring. I want to introduce you.”

  Ha. From Laura’s lips to God’s ears. She couldn’t help herself. She joined Molly in clapping. Tamara’s face darkened. “I don’t know. Mary has had a cough since yesterday and Mia is congested.”

  “Nee, no backing out now.” Laura nudged her toward Molly. “I’ll make a steam bath for them. Rosalie and I can handle everything for one evening. You go have fun. Meet Emmett.”

  “Groossmammi.”

  “Tamara.”

  Tamara scowled. Laura scowled back. They’d always done a lot of that, simply because of all her granddaughters, Tamara was the most like her. Laura had never seen this as a bad thing—until now.

  “Fine.” Tamara trudged toward Molly. “But you’ll have to give me a ride back to Ben’s after dinner.”

  “No problem. Emmett might want some fresh air.”

  “Nee. I’m not taking a ride alone with a man I’ve just met.”

  “Wait until you see him. You’ll change your mind.” Molly’s smile broadened and her eyes sparkled. “And I’ve known him all my life so I can vouch for your virtue and his.”

  Who knew she was such a matchmaker? And this Emmett, was he tall and blond, with blue eyes and big hands and a deep voice?

  From Molly’s lips to God’s ears.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE SCENT OF BAKING GINGERBREAD MINGLED WITH THE tantalizing aroma of popcorn and something else . . . caramel. The smell of Christmas in the making. Zechariah caught himself humming “Away in a Manger,” as he scooped up his binoculars and stuffed them in his knapsack.

  The women must be in the kitchen rustling up some Christmas treats. That Laura was making a determined effort to throw off her sadness over her great-granddaughter’s six-week bann was apparent, but the confession earlier in the week had been brutal for all those involved. The children’s play was in two days and he had spent several evenings listening to Christopher practice.

  Ben had said nothing to Zechariah, but he’d overheard his grandson speaking to his wife. Something about after Christmas. After Christmas he would be shunted off to Michael’s. In the meantime he intended to enjoy the season—and his proximity to Laura. He hadn’t found the gumption—the bravery—to approach her. How did an old man not allowed to drive a buggy court an old woman?

  How indeed? The dilemma gave a deliciousness to his day that had been missing for a long time. That feeling of anticipation. He hadn’t known how much he missed it until it reappeared. It felt so much like hope.

  A question to be pondered while he enjoyed the annual bird count. Live today and let tomorrow worry about itself. He could ask her along. No. Abel would think Zechariah had gone around the bend. Maybe he had. He glanced out his bedroom window. The thundershowers had cleared. The break in winter weather with temperatures edging up toward a balmy forty degrees would be perfect for the bird count.

  Abel better not be late. The old coot sometimes forgot things. Who could forget the annual bird count? Abel Danner for one. He might be younger, but his memory was going before Zechariah’s. “Hah.”

  Zechariah chuckled to himself. Having something over on his friend made a good day even better. Even if it was small compared to his inability to drive a buggy or climb stairs down to the basement. Zechariah tugged on his rubber boots over his work ones and clomped down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  Ben stood at the door. He wore his black pea jacket and tall rubber boots. He was supposed to be at Jacob’s helping with the addition they were building for his growing brood with his fraa, Iris.

  “Did you see Abel out there? He’s supposed to pick me up.”

  “Nee.” Ben shifted from one big foot to the other. The man had giant feet, considering he stood under six feet tall. “I told him not to come. He doesn’t feel gut, and his fraa was nagging him to stay home. It’s best for both of you.”

  Rosalie, who’d been in the middle of telling Laura and Tamara something about a customer at the Combination Store, quieted. The steady pop-pop-pop of the kernels in a huge cast-iron pot on the stove provided a backdrop to several beats of silence. The familiar, enticing aroma mingled with unspoken, startled thoughts.

  “Why would you do that? The bird count is today. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I reckon we’ll see sixty, seventy species this year. We’re meeting Aidan Graber and the others there. I’m looking for a yellow-rumped warbler and a pileated woodpecker. Abel says he saw them both last year, but I didn’t get a peek—”

  “You can’t go, Groossdaadi.”

  “What do you mean I can’t go? I’m dressed. I put on an extra pair of wool socks to keep my feet warm and dry. I’ve got my binoculars.” He patted his knapsack slung over one shoulder. “I packed my guide. I go every year.”

  “Not this year. I talked to Aidan since he’s organizing the group going this year. We agreed you’re too unsteady on your feet to be tromping around the lake in the mud. You’ll slip and fall and getting you out of there in a buggy would take too long. They’d have to call an ambulance.”

  “You’re creating a problem out of thin air, suh.”

  Laura moved the pot from the flames and set it down on the counter with a bang that might have been punctuation for his statement. He glanced her way. She frowned, her eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her peeved expression suggested he had support in the room.

  “I’ll be careful. Abel will be with me. He might act half-witted sometimes, but he’s strong as an ox.”

  “Abel is sick or he has a headache. Some kind of bug. Jessica is keeping him home too.”

  Abel’s wife didn’t tell him what to do. She might argue with him, but Abel had the last word. Until now. “Are you ordering me to stay home?”

  If this could be called home.

  “I’m saying it’s for the best.”

  “As my grandson or as my bishop?”

  Ben’s pained expression deepened. He turned and grabbed the doorknob. “This is a family matter, not a church matter.” His head bowed, shoulders hunched, he cleared his throat. “We’re worried for you, that’s all.”

  “You’re consumed with worry about me. Worry is a sin. Have you talked to Gott about that? I haven’t gotten this far in life by sitting at home by the fireplace.”

  “You never had a disease like this before. You’ve never let a chimney fire get out of control.” The pleading tone deepened as did the gruffness of Ben’s voice. “Groossmammi’s gone. We’d like to hang on to you a bit longer, Gott
willing.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Zechariah plowed forward. “Except to the bird count. I’ll drive myself.”

  “It’s wet and rainy out there. You’ll catch Abel’s cold.” Rosalie spoke up. “You could help the kinner make the popcorn balls and decorate the gingerbread men. They’d like that.”

  Exasperation blew through Zechariah. The smell of the popcorn turned his stomach. He snorted. “You’d have me sit in the kitchen decorating cookies? I’m not an old woman.”

  “Excuse me?” Umbrage written all over her frowning face, Laura waved a wooden spoon at him. “Us old women like working in the kitchen.”

  Ben didn’t move. His hand stayed on the doorknob. “It’s for the best. We’re looking out for you. You’ll be fine here. After the holidays, we’ll get you moved to Michael’s. In the meantime, stay warm and dry. Just don’t start any fires.”

  Zechariah stared at Ben’s face. No sign he understood that he was turning his grandfather into a child one decision at a time. No more chopping wood. No more driving a buggy. No more riding horses. No more helping in the fields. No more birding. No more building fires.

  No more work. If a man didn’t have his work and he didn’t have his fraa to love, he didn’t have his hobbies. What did he have?

  So much for that sense of anticipation. That sparkly hope. “The wood is getting low. I’ll bring in some more.” He laid his knapsack on the table. Ben didn’t move. “Don’t worry, I won’t mess with the fire.”

  Ben’s gaze burrowed into Zechariah’s. Finally, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Just enough for this afternoon. Christopher can bring in more when he gets home from school.”

  By then Zechariah might be dead of boredom. Or disuse. Or pure self-pity. He squared his shoulders, lifted his head high, and marched past Ben out into the damp air that did nothing to cool his burning face.

  Watching a man stripped of his joy left a woman hard-pressed to find her Christmas spirit. Laura pulled another pan of gingerbread men from the oven. Their sad, blank faces matched her frame of mind. Even Delia’s high, breathless rendition of “Joy to the World,” or “Yoy to the Vorld” as she pronounced it, did little to restore Laura’s earlier zeal for making popcorn balls for her fifty-plus grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

  “He only wants what’s best for Zechariah.” Rosalie whipped white powdered sugar frosting with more vigor than necessary. “He wants him to be safe.”

  “Funny way of showing it, if you ask me.” Tamara held up the gingerbread man she was decorating. He had cinnamon dot eyes and a frosting suit with collar and buttons. “Old people have feelings and hopes and dreams too.”

  “Number one, no one asked you.” Laura tried to tamp down the asperity in her voice. The look Rosalie gave her indicated she failed miserably. “Number two, how do you know, Miss Barely Twenty-Two?”

  “I watch you.”

  Nothing fazed this young woman. Lessons in humility were lost on her. Even so, Laura found herself in need of a bit of humility herself. Tamara was smart and she saw the insides of people, not just what they said but what they felt. If Tamara got that from Laura, that was a good thing. Wasn’t it, Gott? “I have no dreams that haven’t been fulfilled in this life. Gott has given me all I need or want.”

  “Nice try.” Tamara scooped up a dollop of frosting and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back. “Yum. You make the best frosting.”

  Delia, who had smeared her cookie with enough frosting for three gingerbread men, climbed into Tamara’s lap and opened her mouth wide. Tamara popped in another dollop of frosting.

  “Pure sugar. How can you go wrong with pure sugar?”

  “It can rot your teeth.” Rosalie shooed Delia back to her own chair. “No more frosting, little girl. You’ll be bouncing off the walls instead of taking a nap.”

  “You can’t tell me you don’t still have hopes and dreams.” Tamara smacked her lips and licked her finger. “I see it when you look at Zechariah.”

  “You’re delirious. And delusional.” Had her feelings seeped out on her face? A grown woman didn’t go around looking moonstruck. “You’ve been reading so much Englisch stuff, you’ve turned into one.”

  “So you never think about getting married again? You never miss having a mann?” Tamara’s airy tone said she found both statements impossible to believe. “You never want a special someone around late at night when the wind blows and the tree branches scratch against the windows and you feel all alone?”

  “That sounds like something you’ve been thinking about, something a young, single woman such as yourself should be considering for herself.” Rosalie finally came to the rescue. She shook her finger at Tamara. “Stop eating the frosting and antagonizing your groossmammi. She raised her kinner. She had a wonderful mann. Gott was gut. She should be content with her lot this late in a long, healthy life.”

  Rosalie was right, but somehow her summary of Laura’s life stuck in Laura’s craw. Mary Katherine had a long, happy marriage to Moses. She raised her kinner. Now she had a new, happy marriage to Ezekiel. She had her dream of a bookstore where she spent her days reading stories to kinner and introducing them to the joy of books. Bess had Aidan and her babies. Even Jennie had found the courage to love again with Leo, despite a disastrous first love and marriage to a man meaner than a wild hog. Jennie had a wonderful second marriage and the Combination Store.

  That left Laura. She knew exactly how Zechariah felt. Slightly less than useless. That was it. Until she took his hand in hers and he gave her a look that sparked a fire that smoldered someplace under her breastbone.

  A look she saw every time she lay down in her bed at night and closed her eyes. The way he rubbed his finger along the edge of her thumb. The hoarse hum in his throat. The wanting in his eyes.

  Since that day of the fire, she’d felt a steadily increasing sense of anticipation until she might explode from waiting for him to say something or do something.

  To break the silence, to touch her, and to let their unspoken thoughts melt together again.

  The sound of wood smacking against wood floated from beyond the doorway. Zechariah must’ve come in the front door. Likely he didn’t want to face the women who’d watched Ben dismantle what little dignity he had left in this life.

  With a deep breath Laura wiped her shaking hands on the dish towel and slid two cookies onto a saucer. “The caramel is ready. Start shaping the popcorn balls, will you, before it cools?”

  “What are you doing?” Tamara’s curiosity matched the threeyear-old’s across the table from her. “Who are the cookies for?”

  “Is that one of the babies crying?” Laura filled a chipped brown mug—Zechariah’s favorite—with coffee and added a tablespoon of sugar and a dash of milk. She was nothing if not observant. “You should check on them. Rosalie can start the popcorn balls.”

  “Laura has a special friend.” Tamara sang the words like a jingle as she stood. “Laura has a special friend.”

  Rosalie joined in. “Laura has a special friend.”

  They giggled. Her face puzzled, Delia, never one to be left out, giggled with them. Tamara grabbed the little girl around the waist and hoisted her in the air. They danced about like silly geese, singing their silly song.

  “You’re ridiculous.” With all the dignity she could muster, Laura settled the treat on a tray and strode from the room. “All three of you. The babies are crying. The popcorn is getting cold. The caramel is getting hard.”

  Breathless and laughing, they kept singing.

  Easy for them to sing and laugh. They didn’t live Zechariah’s life. Living past the point of usefulness. Or maybe it only seemed that way. God had a plan and He was waiting for them to smarten up and figure it out. She marched into the front room. Zechariah dropped an armload of logs onto the stack next to the fireplace. “Don’t worry. I didn’t touch the fire.”

  “I’m not worried—not about you.” Laura brushed back a lock of hair that had escaped her kapp.
She’d never been concerned with her appearance before. She had caramel on her apron and powdered sugar on her dress. Her hands were waterlogged from washing dishes. “I thought you could try the cookies and see what you think. I might have overdone the ginger.”

  “So now I’m the taste tester.” He put his hand on his back and winced. “I suppose that’s a job for an old man.”

  “The cookies tend to sweeten sourpusses, in my experience.” She set the plate on the table next to the checkers. “I thought you might be cold so I brought some coffee.”

  “Sourpuss.” He sputtered for a few seconds, then plopped into the rocking chair. “I’m a sourpuss? My grandson is telling me what I can and cannot do.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “You have an answer for everything.”

  “I do. What are you making for your grands for Christmas?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “They might like popcorn balls and gingerbread men.”

  “From me?”

  Laura settled into one of the rocking chairs. “Why not? If it’s from the heart, they’ll like it.”

  “I’m not cooking.”

  “Nee, decorating. You can make them manly gingerbread men.”

  “You’re a silly woman.”

  “You’re a silly, proud man.”

  “I’m as humble as the next Plain man.”

  “Are not.” She pulled the checkerboard toward her and realigned the red checkers. “We should finish that game.”

  “I’m too tired.”

  “Are not.”

  “Am too.”

  “I’ll spot you a king if you’re afraid of being beaten by an old woman.”

  He pulled the checkerboard toward his side of the table. “I don’t need to be spotted.”

  She grinned. “I move first.”

  He picked up one of the cookies. “I can’t eat both of those. You might need to help.”

  He took a bite. She reached for the other cookie. His hand shot out and swatted hers away. “Changed my mind.” The words were muffled by a full mouth of cookie. “Gut. Not too much ginger.”