“There you are.”
Cousin Lillian. Gloria had forgotten about Lillian.
“We could go see Mrs. Wyse,” Lillian said. “She will have news of her niece’s new babe.”
“Marlin has said you’re free to use a buggy whenever you like,” Gloria said. Lillian only drove if someone else hitched the buggy. Gloria would do it for her if it meant a reprieve from Lillian’s presence.
“Surely you’d like to go with me,” Lillian said.
“Thank you, but I need a day of rest.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Lillian scooted an empty chair closer to Gloria and sat down.
Gloria considered her options.
“How long will Mr. Edison be with us?” Lillian asked.
“He can stay as long as he likes,” Gloria said.
“An English visitor for so long? Are you not afraid of his influence on your children?”
Gloria refused to let this conversation consume her Sabbath afternoon. She stood up. “I believe I’ll go for a walk. You don’t mind staying close to the house, do you? Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Just in case,” Gloria repeated. “I won’t leave our property.”
Lillian nodded and settled into her chair. “That’s wise.”
Gloria ambled up the lane, welcoming the breeze and looking for a place—out of sight of the house—where she might sit and let her mind drift. At the top of the hill, where the lane met the road, a path would take her to the distant side of the pastures and into the orchard.
She didn’t get that far.
The Swain truck screeched to a stop along the side of the road just as Gloria stepped onto the path. Minerva got out and marched toward Gloria.
“Hello, Minerva.”
“I came to talk to you.”
Gloria didn’t like the edge in Minerva’s voice. She rarely did.
“It was nice to see Mr. Edison in church again today,” Minerva said.
Gloria nodded, wary. “I’m glad he feels free to practice his faith while he is in Lancaster County.”
“In a spirit of Christian charity, I have come to speak to you directly.” Minerva pulled her gloves off her hands and held them in one fist. “I’ll get right to the point. We are neighbors, and our husbands are friends, but I must ask you to respect the natural lines.”
Christian charity? Natural lines?
“What are you talking about, Minerva?”
“I had hoped not to be blunt, but I want you to mind your own business.”
Gloria’s jaw fell slack. She was fully occupied with her own business, with little time to spare worrying about anyone else’s. That was Lillian’s hobby, not Gloria’s.
“Please do not stick your nose in things you don’t understand.” Minerva’s shoulders were pinned back, her voice carrying an especially obstinate edge. “The next time Rose comes over here, please send her straight home.”
“The day you came to get her,” Gloria said, “I did send her home with you.” Rose could have ended up anywhere that day, but she had gone home with Minerva at Gloria’s urging.
“She returned the next day for more than six hours, and she was over here at dawn again yesterday.”
“Marlin tells me Rose has been a big help with the tomatoes,” Gloria said.
“I don’t want her over here at all.” Minerva moved one foot to widen her stance.
“Have you discussed your reservations with your daughter?” Gloria glanced down the path. She should have been halfway to the orchard by now. “Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile.”
“That is none of your business,” Minerva said. “I must insist that you cease your encouragement of Rose’s fieldwork.”
“She saw our need and offered to help,” Gloria said. “I’m sure she would tell you that it was her idea, not mine.”
Minerva’s face pinched. “I do not need you to tell me what my own daughter would say.”
“I have no wish to interfere between the two of you.” Gloria sought words to defuse the conversation and let her get back to a peaceful Sabbath.
“Then send Rose home.”
“I just said I would not interfere,” Gloria said. “I will leave it to you to sort things out. If Rose doesn’t come, I will understand why. But if she does come, I will not turn her away.”
“That will only encourage her, which is what I am specifically asking you not to do.”
Gloria turned her palms up. “Minerva, your daughter has a sweet, generous spirit. I would think you would find this a trait to nurture.”
Minerva roiled. “I’ll thank you to keep your judgments to yourself. And while I’m at it, keep that boarder of yours away from my daughter.”
“Mr. Edison?” Gloria said. “Only a few minutes ago you remarked it was nice to see him in church again today.”
“I’m sure he has admirable qualities,” Minerva said, “but he is not the right sort for my daughter.”
Right sort? Gloria’s patience with this conversation—thin to begin with—collapsed.
“Minerva,” she said, “go home and talk to your daughter.”
The bushes rustled and Lillian popped out.
“Cousin Lillian!” Gloria’s address to Lillian bore the aggravation of the entire conversation. Just when she had decided the best thing was to turn and walk away from Minerva, before she lost her own sense of Christian charity, Lillian turned up. This would only make things worse.
Minerva eyed Lillian and tightened her jaw.
“Lillian,” Gloria said, “I thought you were going to stay close to the house. Just in case.”
“I can see the house from here.” Lillian pointed. “I thought it would be nice to pick some wild berries.”
There were no wild berries in these bushes, and Lillian knew that. She hadn’t even bothered to bring a basket to support her guise.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Lillian said.
Especially when eavesdropping was your intent. If Lillian could see the house from this far up the lane, looking in the other direction she could also see Minerva standing at the edge of the road from the front porch. She must have begun creeping along the bushes as soon as Minerva got out of the truck.
“I must say that I can see Minerva’s point,” Lillian said. “You have a houseful of children of your own. They need your guiding hand. Why should you involve yourself with someone else’s daughter?”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” A smirk crept across Minerva’s face.
Gloria considered walking away from both Minerva and Lillian and leaving them to their own nonsense talk.
“And Mr. Edison’s presence is certainly curious,” Lillian continued. “He’s been here almost two weeks, and he and Polly spend a lot of time together.”
“Sometimes the English drive the Amish around in their automobiles,” Gloria said. “Why should we not return the favor when needed?” Later, when they were alone, Gloria would speak frankly with Lillian about how her nosiness only served to worsen a difficult relationship. First Gloria would need a long, brisk walk in which she would repeat to herself all the Bible verses she knew about controlling the tongue.
“Still, it does make a person think,” Lillian said.
“It certainly does.” Minerva’s agreement was swift. “Thank you, Lillian, for your insightful understanding.”
“I am always happy to help,” Lillian said. “If you would ever like to discuss how you might discipline your daughter with a firmer hand, I would be happy to do so.”
Minerva’s eyes bulged with more indignation than Gloria had ever seen gathered into one moment.
“You don’t even have children,” Minerva said.
“But I have known so many young women,” Lillian said, “and so many mothers. I have always thought myself a keen observer.”
Everyone else thought Lillian a busybody. Gloria sighed. Lillian left her no alternative to speaking in Minerva’s defense.
/> “Minerva has raised three children to adulthood,” Gloria said. “She is a loving mother who has always sought what is best for her children.”
“That’s right,” Minerva said. “Gloria understands, and I’m sure she has the same care for her own children.”
In forty years, Minerva and Gloria had not argued the same side of any debate. Lillian’s nosiness had aligned them at last. Gloria half expected the ground to shake beneath them.
“The two of you were arguing,” Lillian said.
“We’re not now,” Gloria said. “Why don’t you go back to the house, I’ll have my walk, and Minerva can enjoy her afternoon.”
Now Gloria did turn and started down the path to the orchard. If either of the women she left behind spoke again, she would pretend not to hear.
Polly wondered if God would understand that she was relieved this was not a church Sunday. Was it sinful not to want to go to church and imagine why Thomas would ask Lena to take a walk? To sit beside her sister, both of them watching the same man across the aisle?
Polly sat in her chair under the maple tree as the afternoon waned. Whether in church or not, the same question persecuted her.
Lena was off visiting her friends. Maybe Thomas was with the same group of friends. They could all be having a picnic along the creek, or playing softball on someone’s fallow field. Lena had not even asked if Polly wanted to go visiting. Maybe Thomas wasn’t with Lena. He might yet turn up on the Grabill farm, but who would he be looking for? He would claim to be there for Yost, but which sister would he hope to run into during his visit?
If his best friend married one of his sisters, Yost would be overjoyed. It wouldn’t matter which sister. But Thomas had never shown interest in Lena before. It was Polly he took home from the Singings. Had he thought Lena too young? Had he only just realized that Lena was a good cook and never hesitated with the livestock?
Polly picked up a stone and threw it as far as she could without standing up on her one good foot. It wouldn’t have made a difference. She couldn’t even throw a stone as well as her sisters.
CHAPTER 24
Mondays had always been Maude’s wash day. Minerva stared at the empty space where a washing machine should be. The new double tub had been carted back to wherever it had come from. Ernie crated it up himself before standing over her as she made the phone call to arrange the return. The company made no guarantee about locating the old one. Drivers were under strict instructions to deliver what they hauled away to any one of several scrap yards. The representative on the phone could do no more than give Minerva the names of the yards where her washing machine might have ended up, but her chances of finding it still in one piece were slim.
Maude was gone, and two baskets of soiled laundry crowded Minerva’s feet. Instead of a tub and wringer, Minerva saw a cracked wall and copper pipes leading to an idle spigot. Minerva was tempted to turn the handle above the spigot and let water flow into the laundry room. Then Ernie could see the consequence of his decision.
Ernie’s steps approached from behind. Minerva refused to turn her head. The best thing Ernie could do was walk out the back door. “I have an old trough in the barn,” Ernie said.
Fire burned through Minerva’s face. Still she did not turn to face him.
“I’m sure I have some hose,” he said, “and when it’s time to drain you can just pull the plug and let the water go down the floor drain.” Minerva swallowed. A horse trough. He’d better scrub it before he brought it in or he would soon find himself out of clean shirts.
“I’ll get it,” Ernie said. “It won’t take long to set it up. I may even have a bench to set it on so you won’t have to bend over.”
How thoughtful that Ernie was suddenly concerned with her back. Minerva pivoted, pushed past her husband, and went into the bedroom. The latest catalogs were under the mattress. It couldn’t hurt to look.
Ernie made three trips in from the barn. The bench scraped the floor as he put it in place. The trough clanged when it hit the bench. When Minerva heard him knocking the spigot with a wrench, she knew he had carried in his toolbox and would soon finish.
Then she waited. She wanted Ernie out of the house when she was reduced to washing clothes by hand. When they married, they agreed to run a modern farm. It wasn’t fair that Ernie changed his mind.
At least the water was running hot when Minerva started the flow. The removal of the old washer—and the new one—had not disturbed the plumbing Ernie had installed so long ago when they bought a secondhand washer. Minerva donned her oldest apron, added soap to the tub of rising water, and selected the longest kitchen utensil in the drawer. With the trough half full, she began with the cotton dresses she and Rose wore during the week. One by one they absorbed water and lost their buoyancy. Minerva immediately saw that she would have to agitate with something more than a long ladle.
Like her arms.
She let out a cry at the thought of plunging her arms into the wash water and trying to shake loose the evidence of their farm existence.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
What a ridiculous question. The answer was in plain sight. Rolling up her sleeves, Minerva rotated her torso toward her daughter.
“I thought you were gone,” Minerva said. She would have preferred that Rose said she had been to see her friend Sally, but Rose had been gone before breakfast. Only picking tomatoes at the Grabill farm made her leave the house that early.
But Rose said, “I haven’t been to the Grabills’ yet. I went for a walk to think.”
Minerva waited.
“I know you don’t have Maude,” Rose said. “I can help more around the house and still help the Grabills, too.”
Clearly Rose had more thinking to do, but this was a start. At least she wouldn’t be at the Grabills’ all day. And the tomato harvest wouldn’t last much longer.
“I’ll help.” Rose stepped to the tub. “If we work together, we can come up with a system for washing, rinsing, and wringing.”
Minerva restrained herself from admitting aloud that with two people the process went more quickly than she had imagined. Before doing Ernie’s soiled overalls, Minerva stripped the beds and they wrangled the sheets together.
“You heard from Richard again, didn’t you?” Rose spoke without meeting her mother’s eye.
Minerva did not want to speak. If she didn’t form the conundrum into words, she could still believe there would be a solution.
“Are you going to send him money?” Rose gripped the edge of a sheet and began twisting the water out of it.
“It’s what he needs.” Minerva would send her son every penny she could wring out of the household.
“But how?” Rose asked. “If Pop finds out you have any cash—”
“Don’t worry about Pop. I’m going to start pinning these things.” Minerva picked up a basket of sopping clothes. The lines would hang heavy today. Trying to wrest water out of laundry without the benefit of a wringer was absurd. Why had they even tried?
A few minutes later, Rose appeared in the backyard with the basket of sheets. Minerva tugged the lines on the pulley, bringing open space to where they stood, and fastened the wet linens to the lines.
“I’ll go now,” Rose said.
“I wish you wouldn’t.” Minerva dropped an unused clothespin into the canvas bag hanging on the laundry pole.
“I know.”
Rose was spending every spare minute with the Grabills. And since she had loaned her bicycle to Agent Edison, she was confined to foot travel.
“I’ll see you at supper.” Rose kissed her mother’s cheek and headed for the road.
Sitting in the cart at the edge of the field was as close to the tomatoes as her mother would let Polly get, and she was sitting next to Henry, but at least she was away from the house and away from the chair under the maple.
“How much longer will they be picking?” Henry asked.
“I’m sure Daed would like to finish next week,” Polly sa
id, “but it’s been a bumper crop. We—they—keep finding more tomatoes on the vines than Daed imagined when we planted.”
“Your father must be quite the farmer.”
“He is,” Polly said, “but in this case it has to do with the warmer, drier weather than usual. God is the wise farmer.”
Henry jotted notes in his file. “Can you estimate how many tomatoes you’ll have?”
“The number of bushels is what matters. Or pounds.” No one counted individual tomatoes.
“And will you can everything you can’t eat fresh?”
“Goodness, no. We could never keep up. Mrs. Rupp probably told you she has a roadside produce stand.”
Henry nodded.
“She doesn’t grow tomatoes, so she sells ours and keeps a bit of the price. And Mamm will take quite a few into the general store in town for them to sell in exchange for store credit.”
“That tomato pie Lena made for dinner yesterday was delicious,” Henry said.
Polly winced. She could have done without the reminder of Lena’s superior culinary skills.
“My grandmother would have liked it.”
He used the past tense.
“Has she passed on?” Polly asked.
“I’m sure she’s happy in the presence of the Lord.”
Henry said so little about his family. Maybe the moment would come when Polly would know him well enough to ask.
“There’s Rose,” Henry said.
Polly followed his gaze, certain it reflected the pleasure in his voice. She was glad Rose had turned up. After Cousin Lillian’s report of the encounter between their mothers, Polly hadn’t been sure Rose would come back.
“Hello, you two.” Rose leaned on the side of the cart and grinned up at them.
“I’m sure everyone will be glad you came today,” Henry said. “Mr. Grabill tells me you’re one of the fastest pickers he’s ever seen.”
“No wonder the wagons are only half full,” Rose said. “I’m here now. We’ll get up to full speed now.”
“No doubt.”
“What’s your excuse for sitting around enjoying the sunshine?”
Polly startled. Her excuse was well known. Then she realized Rose’s eyes were fixed on Henry.
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