With Winter's First Frost

by Kelly Irvin

  “Gott sets a high standard.”

  “Indeed, He does. One we can never meet.”

  “Not just me?”

  “Nee. Everyone struggles.”

  The struggle apparent on her young face, unmarred by time or circumstance, Hannah took two mugs from the shelf, added teabags, and set a honey bear next to them. The entire time, she shook her head without speaking. She probably didn’t even know she did it.

  “What is it, Hannah?”

  “Nothing.” She glanced up and scowled. “It’s just strange. I thought what I felt for Thaddeus was lieb. Now he’s gone and I feel like gut riddance. He is the daed of my bopli. A few times since Christmas, I’ve thought of Phillip and wondered . . . Is it wrong of me to think of him?”

  The young wanted to do everything fast, everything now. They had no concept of the mistakes that littered a road traveled too fast. “Not wrong. But too soon. Phillip gave you a lovely gift, but he acted too soon. He surely understands that. With time, maybe. But not yet.”

  “It’s silly, I know, but I feel so alone. I’m surrounded by people who still care for me despite what I’ve done.” Her face crumpled. “If I don’t return Phillip’s interest, will there be anyone else? Will I always be alone?”

  Laura brought the girl into her arms and hugged her. “If Phillip really cares for you, he’ll wait until the time is right. He’s been walking around with all these bottled-up feelings. Now he sees a chance to grasp for his happiness. He’ll understand if he’s the man I think he is. You need time to figure out if your loneliness is driving you toward him, or whether you really have feelings for him. Don’t settle for less than true lieb.”

  Hannah drew away from Laura’s arms and straightened. “I’ve learned a lot from what I’ve done. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I’ll be fine, but I think of the bopli and maybe he will be better off with parents who are mann and fraa. The way it’s supposed to be.”

  Laura poured water over the teabags and handed her a cup. “No one in this Gmay will fault the bopli for your mistake. He or she will find only acceptance here.”

  “No one will say anything to his face, but they’ll talk. I know how it is. Whispers behind my back and his back. Looks. And what will I tell him when he asks about his daed? With a family he’d have the chance at a better life.”

  “You still have months to make that decision.” Laura settled into a chair and motioned for Hannah to do the same. “In the meantime, you can spend a few weeks with your parents and then ask them if you can stay here with me. We’ll find plenty to do and you’ll help Ruby at the big house. Life will go on.”

  For them both. If Zechariah never opened his eyes to what was right in front of him, Laura would continue with a life full of family and friends. She’d help her great-granddaughter through this difficult time, and this task would help Laura through her own difficulties.

  God knew what He was doing.

  THIRTY-SIX

  THE VANS AND U-HAUL TRUCKS LINED THE DIRT ROAD, pointed toward the north, ready for the journey. On the other hand, Zechariah was not ready. No way, no how. He tucked his hands under his jacket’s armpits and stared at the slush on the ground. Mother Nature couldn’t decide. Did the first week of February usher in early spring or was it still winter? The northern wind said winter hadn’t given up yet.

  He gritted his teeth to keep from growling. Ivan was making the rounds, saying good-bye to his children and grandchildren. He would get to Zechariah soon. What could he say that wouldn’t spoil a good-bye that made no sense?

  “Let it go, Groossdaadi.” Ben chucked Zechariah’s shoulder with a gloved fist. “They’re going.”

  “You’re the bishop. Stop them.”

  “You know better.”

  Zechariah stared at the horizon where the first hint of sun touched the sky, radiating soft pastels of pink and yellow. “Families should stay together.”

  “We hold tight to our principles, to our way of life, but we also examine every possible change in the light of how it can help our families survive in a world that will change with or without us.” Ben scooped up Delia and nuzzled her head with his chin. She snuggled against his chest. “Our ancestors rubbed up against the world from the time they arrived in this country. We continue to do that today. Yet our way of life has not only survived, we have thrived.”

  “I’m not blind to those facts.” Zechariah held out his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Delia returned the favor and Ben handed her over. Her warm hands patted his face and she grinned. Her sweet breath smelled like cocoa. “I have trotted this move around in my brain over and over. I don’t see how working in factories preserves our way of life. Not in the least.”

  “I consider it an experiment.” Ben’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I also expect them home within the year. But don’t be spreading that around. Daed is a straight thinker. His being there with them will help keep our families on the right track.”

  Something was afoot here. Zechariah kissed Delia’s head. “You asked him to go, didn’t you?”

  “I suggested it might serve us all well to have an older, wiser man in the caravan, that’s all.”

  Ben was a good, if young, bishop. He would only get better with time. That boded well for the Gmay. And Zechariah’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren. God knew what He was doing.

  “When will you realize you can’t fix everything?”

  “I’m already there.”

  “Gut.” Ben clapped his gloved hands twice. “Now you can make yourself useful showing the little ones what it means to be a gut and faithful servant to Gott. It’s an important job.”

  “That it is.” A job that—in his grief and his anger at his lot in life—he hadn’t taken seriously enough. “I won’t let them down again.”

  “I reckon Laura can help you with that.”

  “Don’t meddle.”

  Ben laughed. “A bishop’s prerogative.”

  “You’re still my grandson and I can still take you to the woodshed.”

  He put up both hands and shook his head. “Bishop, remember.”

  “The women have pancakes on the griddle.” Zechariah set Delia on her feet. “Tell your mudder to save some for me. And don’t use all the maple syrup.”

  “I share mine.” Delia trotted away.

  “I need to say my good-byes.” Zechariah craned his neck. Ivan stood with his three daughters who would not be making the move. Waterworks looked imminent. Ivan didn’t deserve to be saved, but Zechariah would throw him a lifeline for old time’s sake. “You go talk to those van drivers, make sure they understand what the words speed limit mean.”

  Still grinning, Ben headed that direction while Zechariah hobbled over to save Ivan.

  Ivan held up both hands. “No need for a last-minute lecture.”

  “No lectures.” Zechariah settled for a quick man-hug complete with back pats. He glanced at the women. “Give us a minute.”

  “We’ll say good-bye to Nadia again.”

  Zechariah waited until they were out of earshot. “You could’ve told me Ben asked you to go.”

  “In the end I made the decision.”

  “A tough one. I respect it.”

  “You would’ve done it if he asked you.”

  “They’ll listen to you better than me.” Zechariah cleared his throat and memorized the mud caked on his boots. “You’ll be missed.”

  “We’ll be back to visit.” Ivan waved at Dineen, one of the van drivers, who tapped her wristwatch and jerked her head toward her minivan. “Weddings, funerals, baptisms. We won’t miss any of the important stuff.”

  “Important stuff is sitting down to supper together, volleyball games after church, and sitting on the porch talking about the weather.”

  Ivan drew a line in the mud with the toe of his boot. “It’ll be a different world in Nappanee, but we’ll still do all those things.”

  “See that you do. Don’t get so caught up in those RV parts that you for
get where you belong.”

  “I’m an old man, stuck in my ways.” Ivan lifted his hat and settled it again. “I’m a lot more like you than you think. I know what’s important.”

  “I know you do.”

  “We need to get on the road. It’s a long drive.” Ivan slapped Zechariah on the back and winked. “I reckon we’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

  Zechariah would hope and pray for their return. “Why is that?”

  “For the wedding, what else?”

  “Whose wedding?”

  Ivan laughed and ambled away.

  “Whose wedding?” Zechariah crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. These young folks thought they knew everything. “Nobody likes a smarty pants.”

  Ivan was a smart man.

  Zechariah, on the other hand, was an idiot.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED. ZECHARIAH set his coffee cup on the table with a deliberate clink. It made sense that Laura hadn’t spoken to him in a long while, what with the babies being sick, then helping with the grands, and then taking Hannah under her wing. But she’d been at church today and had made every effort to avoid him. When he tried to get close, she went the other direction, every time.

  Here he sat at Aidan’s with the after-church crowd, and the one person he wanted to see had gone home as soon as the service ended. He growled to himself. He was an idiot. The fall at Swan Lake had taken him by surprise. Like it always did. Which made him an even bigger idiot. It happened. She didn’t care. She made it abundantly clear that she didn’t care. Why couldn’t he accept that? Accept her grace and her offer of the kind of friendship that could only be had between two people who were real friends, on their way to being more?

  “You looookkkk dddeeepp in ththththooouught.”

  Zechariah scooted over on the bench so Abel could maneuver his walker and plop his hunched body next to him. All things considered, his friend was doing well. His leg dragged and he held on to the walker so hard his hands turned white when he navigated, but he was on his feet. He embraced physical therapy with the enthusiasm and determination of a man intent on winning back his good health. As a result he’d been allowed to return home.

  “Just thinking what a big idiot I am.”

  Abel snickered. His mouth worked. His eyes closed. He so wanted to make every word clear. His speech therapist had been greatly impressed by his improvement in a month’s time. “So whatttt’s new?”

  “Danki. Laura left without saying hello.” He’d already told Abel about his fall at Swan Lake. Abel didn’t laugh at that. He now understood how easily balance could be lost and how hard it was to get it back. Getting a woman back whose affection had been rejected only minutes after one of the best kisses known to an old man was proving to be equally difficult. “She’s still mad and she has a right to be, but I figured she’d want to forgive me. That’s what she’s supposed to do.”

  Abel shrugged. His lips curled. His jaw worked. “Will, but won’t forget.”

  Or something like that.

  “Where’s your fraa?”

  “Fluuuuu. Dochder brought me.”

  The flu had thinned their ranks frequently during this long winter season. Spring, with wide-open windows and breezes to clear out the germs, would be welcome.

  “Zechariah, Abel!” Anna sped toward them, her youngest, Jason, on her hip. Her coat slung over her other arm. “Have you seen Donny? He was here a second ago. Now I can’t find him anywhere.”

  She sounded more perturbed than worried. Donny had a penchant for wandering off. They had to keep a constant eye on him or he’d be in the barn loft sleeping on a bale of hay or “feeding” the hogs Cheerios or stealing eggs from the chicken coop so he could “cook” breakfast for his dad.

  Zechariah glanced around. Folks still visited in thick clusters. The after-church crowd didn’t thin quickly on a winter day, even though a tiny hint of spring floated in the air on this first Sunday in February. The temperatures had climbed to the fifties in the last two days, melting the snow, leaving puddles of water on the roads that splashed under the buggy wheels. Water filled the ditches. He’d even heard bluebirds warbling when he hoisted himself into Michael’s buggy that morning. “He probably followed the other kinner outside to play hide-and-seek.”

  “Or play in the mud.” Anna scowled and hoisted Jason higher on her hip. The boy was getting too big to carry around like that. “If he gets his church clothes all dirty, I’ll tan his hide.”

  What child could resist a puddle or mud? “He’s around here somewhere.”

  “He better be.”

  She strode away, the spitting image of her grandmother when she was headed toward the oak in the front yard to cut a switch.

  “I better go find him before she does.” Zechariah used Abel’s broad shoulder to pull himself to his feet. “I’ll be back. Don’t let them take my kaffi cup.”

  Abel nodded and helped himself to the cup with his good hand.

  “Hey, that’s my kaffi.”

  Abel’s grin was slightly less crooked than it had been only a week ago. Coffee dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He grinned wider and swiped at it.

  Nothing bothered the man. Zechariah could take a tool from his toolbox.

  He hobbled outside. The children ran like crazy people through the front yard, to the corral, and then the barn in a wide game of tag. He grabbed Christopher’s arm as the boy tried to dodge him. “Have you seen Donny?”

  “Nee. I have to go.” The boy’s chest heaved. His face was scarlet and sweat trickled down his forehead from under the brim of his Sunday hat. “Caleb is it and he’s fast.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t seen him?” Zechariah cupped his hand and hollered after his retreating back.

  “He walked down the road.”

  “Which direction?”

  Caleb dashed past Zechariah.

  “Have you seen Donny?”

  “He went that way.” Caleb’s thumb pointed at the dirt road that led to muddy, fallow fields to the east. “I think.”

  Ten minutes later, Zechariah turned around and headed back to Aidan’s house. Anna stood on the porch with her husband, Henry. The looks on their faces made it obvious they hadn’t found their special child. Now, the children were engaged in searching for Donny in all the nooks and crannies a boy could find on a farm.

  If he went for a walk, how far could his little legs carry him? Farther than Zechariah’s old, tired legs. He avoided the front porch and slipped in the back door. Abel still sat on the bench in the living room. Ben and the other men donned coats and filed out the front door in a flurry of activity. They bandied about the words “outbuildings” and “911” and “thirty more minutes.” They were mounting a search before calling the sheriff. If they waited much longer it would be dark, and the search would become more difficult. The sheriff’s deputies would have four-wheelers and spotlights.

  “Do you want to go for a ride with me?” Zechariah laid a hand on Abel’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “I could use company.”

  Abel cocked his head toward the walker. “Me? They told me to sit tight and let them take care of it.”

  His exquisite effort to pronounce each word resulted in an almost understandable sentence.

  “They’d tell me the same thing if I asked.” Zechariah plucked Abel’s coat from a hook by the front door and helped him put it on. “So I’m not asking.”

  Together they tromped out to the row of buggies next to the barn. Abel climbed in Michael’s buggy while Zechariah hitched the horse. They were headed east at a canter when Josiah waved at them from the path trail that led to a small pond. “Where are you going?” he called. “He’s not down at the pond, praise Gott.”

  “We’ll look down the road at Abel’s and by Michael’s and then swing back.” Zechariah kept the buggy moving at a steady clip.

  “But Michael won’t want—”

  “Tell Michael we’ll be back as soon as we find
Donny.” Zechariah didn’t look back.

  “Mad?”

  “I imagine. Keep your eyes peeled on that side. I’ll look over here.”

  Nothing in the mile that brought them to the turnoff to the highway. What if someone picked him up? An Englischer wouldn’t understand a word Donny said. He hadn’t been to school. He spoke no English. “Left or right?”

  Abel hooked a thumb right.

  Toward town. Would Donny know that? Who knew how much knowledge Donny retained? He counted to ten, but he couldn’t make change. He sang hymns in church but couldn’t read from the Ausband. Nor did he know his left hand from his right.

  An innocent wandering around in a world fraught with peril.

  “Most people around here know Donny. If they see him, they’ll bring him home.” The reassurance was more for Zechariah than Abel. “They probably found him already, walking with Michael’s hund, pretending to hunt deer.”

  “Probably.”

  No point in more inane remarks. They rode in silence on a mostly empty highway. An occasional car out on a Sunday afternoon zipped around them. The fields were empty too. The sun dipped toward the horizon.

  They eased around a bend and an eighteen-wheeler came into view ahead of them. Its engine revved and hummed. The gap between them increased as the truck pulled ahead.

  “Maybe we should go back.” Squinting, Zechariah peered into the sun. Despite a cold breeze, it warmed his face. “Maybe they have found him.”

  Abel grunted. “Maybe.”

  “There’s a buggy up ahead coming this way.”

  The truck and buggy passed from opposite directions.

  The horse neighed and strained against the harness. The buggy swayed and lurched. The horse screamed and swerved off onto the shoulder. The buggy teetered and rolled. It disappeared down a drainage ditch.

  The sound of the horse screaming mingled with the long screech of the semi’s brakes.

  Nee. Gott, have mercy.