by Jan Drexler
Chapter Seven
After Samuel had unloaded the lumber and cages of the White Leghorn hens into the barn, where they would be protected, and taken Esther and Judith home, Ida Mae and Mary fixed a light supper of canned bean soup and some lettuce from the garden.
Sadie sat at the kitchen table, watching them work. “You didn’t need to buy those hens.”
Mary sighed. Some days Sadie required all the patience she could muster. “We’ve talked about this. Ida Mae and I need those hens to lay the eggs we’re going to sell to Mr. Holdeman.”
Her aunt muttered something as she picked an invisible piece of lint off the sleeve of her dress.
Ida Mae set the table with bowls and plates. “What did you say?”
“I said those white hens are evil. The speckled ones we have are good chickens.”
Ida Mae sat next to Sadie and took her hand. “They aren’t evil. Don’t you think they’re pretty with their white feathers?”
Sadie gestured toward Mary. “What is she doing here? We don’t need someone cooking for us. You’re the only cook we need, Martha.”
Ida Mae looked at Mary, and then back at Sadie. “Who is Martha?”
Sadie laughed. “Don’t be silly. You’re my favorite sister, you know that.” She leaned toward Ida Mae. “Don’t tell anyone else, but your cakes are the best around. Be careful, or that fellow from Holmes County will steal you away from us.” Her finger, slender and slightly crooked, shook in Ida Mae’s face.
Mary gripped the edge of the counter. “She thinks you’re our grossmutti, Martha.”
Ida Mae left Sadie at the table and stirred the pot of soup. “What are we going to do?” Her voice was a whisper, but Sadie heard her.
“Do? We’re going to eat supper, that’s what we’re going to do. Send that other girl away and call the boys in from the barn.” Sadie stood on shaky legs and walked to the silverware drawer. “I’ll finish setting the table. You know the boys will be hungry when they come in.”
Mary drew close to Ida Mae. “Let’s just play along with her. We’ll have supper, and then she’ll be ready for bed. She’ll be better in the morning.”
Ida Mae nodded at Mary’s suggestion, but she still wore a worried frown.
“The boys aren’t eating here tonight. It’s just us girls.” She steered Sadie away from the drawer and back to her seat. “Mary is going to eat with us.”
Sadie nodded and sat at the table, her expression vague once more.
She stared at the tablecloth while Mary dipped soup out for each of them and Ida Mae put the bowl of wilted lettuce on the table. The spicy vinegar smell of the dressing soothed Mary’s nerves, and Sadie was quiet all through the meal. Perhaps the trip to Shipshewana had been too much for her aunt, but today had been a difficult day for her all around. When Sadie had eaten about half of her soup, she set her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap.
Mary nudged her sister under the table with her foot. “Why don’t you go ahead and help Sadie get to bed while I do dishes? I want to get the chickens settled in before it gets dark, too.”
“I think I’m going to go to bed right after Sadie,” Ida Mae said as she rose and helped their aunt to her feet. “It’s been a long day.”
“It was fun to go to the sale again,” Sadie said. She took Ida Mae’s arm and her eyes were bright once more. “I don’t think we’ve gone to the sale since we were girls, have we, Martha?”
“Sadie, you can call me Martha as long as it makes you smile.” Ida Mae leaned down and kissed the top of the older woman’s kapp as they headed toward the stairs.
Mary cleaned up the dishes in a few minutes, then went out to the barn. The sun was nearly gone, but the sky still held its light. She lit the lantern next to the barn door as she entered and peered into the stall that had been converted to a chicken coop. Sadie’s hens clucked at the light, and peered out through their wire fence at the cages holding the new white chickens. Both groups started clucking at the disturbance Mary made in the quiet barn.
According to the extension bulletin, she would have to introduce the new chickens to the older ones gradually, or they would fight. Samuel had suggested lining the empty stall next to the chicken coop with chicken wire so the hens could see each other, but couldn’t reach through to peck at the strangers. They had picked up some of the fencing at the lumberyard, and Mary rolled it out and started on the task.
As she worked, she thought of her soft bed and clean sheets. Ida Mae was right. It had been a long day. Mamm had taught her to take some time each evening to think of the worst part of each day, and ask the Good Lord for help with it. And then to think of the best part, and give thanks for it. As she hammered the staples into the wood to keep the wire fencing in place, she went over the day’s events.
The worst part was easy. It was the crowds of people. Ever since... She stopped and reset the hammer. Ever since the attack, she had hated crowds. Especially crowds of strangers. It had been worse at home, before she and Ida Mae had moved here. There, she imagined she saw... She reached for more staples and braced the fencing again. Harvey. She whacked the staple with the hammer and positioned the next one. Harvey Anderson could be around any corner. The staple sank into the wood. If only she could make Harvey disappear as easily. Whack, whack, whack. Three staples in a row, and it was time to turn the corner.
The best part. What was the best part of the day? She hammered in a staple to hold the top edge of the fencing.
Buying the new chickens? Twelve new chickens to start building up their flock. That was a good part of the day. But was it the best?
She finished fastening the fence along the top rail of the stall, and then started the bottom row.
Samuel. The look in his eyes as he stared at her hands. As if... She straightened her back and stretched. As if he wanted to hold them.
Mary shook her head and hammered in five staples in a row. Her thoughts had no business dwelling on Samuel and what he might want to do. He was Judith and Esther’s brother, that was all. A helpful friend. A man she could feel comfortable with.
The hammer slowed and she sat back on her heels. But this change in him... Lately he had been kind rather than gruff. And he had asked if someone had hurt her. How could he have known? She hadn’t told anyone her secret. No one knew. And yet Samuel had asked.
She couldn’t tell him. Not that shameful secret. She couldn’t tell anyone.
Her eyes pricked as she fought to hold back the tears. Harvey Anderson had taken everything from her. Her future. Her dreams. She wasn’t fit to be a wife to any man.
She swallowed the knot that was growing in her throat and dropped the hammer onto the dirt floor of the stall. She had tried to convince herself that she could spend her life as Sadie had, unmarried but still a blessing to her community...but would that ever replace the life that had been stolen from her?
* * *
Samuel left the wagon in the center of the barn floor, still loaded with the sacks of seed corn he had bought at Holdeman’s Feed Store. The two sows had brought in enough to buy the corn he needed, but just barely. He still didn’t understand why they hadn’t sold for more. They were in their prime, and had a few years left to produce litters of piglets.
He rubbed down Tilly and let her into her stall. The door to her pasture was open, and she walked out to the grass and rolled before settling down to graze. Samuel leaned on the stall gate watching her. Her coat gleamed in the rosy light from the setting sun and the chestnut color contrasted with the deep green of the grass. He rubbed his nose, letting the scene soak into his mind. Beauty. He had never thought of his farm being beautiful before. Work. Hard work. Care. Worry. Dirt. But not beauty.
By the time he reached the house, Esther and Judith had supper ready. After the usual moment of silence, Samuel reached for the biscuits.
“We had so much fun in Shipshewana today,” Esther said. She set a glass of water at his place and poured one for Judith. “I hope we can go to the sale again sometime.”
“I’d like to have more time to shop. Did you see the glassware in the window of the department store?” Judith said.
She took the biscuits as Samuel crumbled one on his plate and reached for the bowl of gravy.
He looked at her, the gravy spoon in midair. “You’re not thinking of buying new dishes?”
“Ach, ne. That would cost too much money. But I do like to look at them. They are so pretty.”
Pretty. He looked around at the bare kitchen cupboards and gray, sooty ceiling over the stove. No one could call this kitchen pretty. Not like Sadie’s kitchen, with the white cabinet doors to keep the dishes clean and the scrubbed floor.
“Perhaps you’ll receive some dishes like that for a wedding present.” Esther’s voice held a smile.
Samuel looked from Esther to Judith. “Who is getting married?”
Judith looked down at her plate and Esther’s smile disappeared. “No one, Samuel. I was only saying when the time comes for Judith—”
“That time will never come.” Judith cut a bite of her biscuit covered with gravy with the side of her fork. She shrugged. “No fellows will come here to court one of us.”
Samuel looked at them again, the steaming food on his plate forgotten. “Why not? Katie and Annie both found husbands.”
He didn’t remind them of how hard it had been for both of their older sisters to go against Daed’s—and his—wishes. They had disobeyed, sneaking out to attend Youth Singings in neighboring districts, meeting boys.
Judith pressed her lips together, making him wonder if she had ever thought of sneaking away to a Singing.
“But their beaus never came to the house.” Esther pushed at her food with her fork. “No one wants to come here.”
“There’s no reason why a boy shouldn’t stop by.” An unsettled feeling rumbled in Samuel’s stomach. “I mean, if he’s the right type of boy.”
He stuck his fork into a biscuit. As far as he was concerned, no boy would be the right type for one of his sisters.
Esther and Judith exchanged glances. “It’s the hogs.”
Samuel had just taken a bite and he let Esther’s words sink in as he chewed.
“What about the hogs?”
Judith wrinkled her nose. “They smell.”
He let out a short laugh. “Of course they smell. They’re hogs.”
Esther leaned forward. “But they don’t smell good. They smell terrible. The neighbors complain about it.”
“Not to me they don’t.”
His sister bit her lip, as if she was afraid to go on.
“Why don’t I hear the complaints?”
Judith squirmed in her seat. “They know what a short temper you have.”
He felt his face heating and he gritted his teeth to keep his voice even. “I don’t have a short temper.”
The girls glanced at each other, but didn’t say anything.
“Who said I have a short temper?” The words came out as a bark, but Samuel didn’t care. He hit the table with his fist to make them look at him. “Who said it?”
Judith’s face mottled pink as she ran from the table and up the stairs. Esther dared to glance at him.
“Sometimes...” Her voice was quiet and her face was as pink as Judith’s. “Sometimes you act just like Daed.”
Samuel stared at his hand, clenched and ready to strike the table again. He swallowed and loosened his fist. Ach, ja. Just like Daed. Why did he even try to deny the rage that boiled inside him?
“Esther...” His voice failed. He cleared his throat. “Tell Judith I’m sorry. Go find her and tell her to finish her supper.”
She sat in her chair on the opposite side of the table, holding her elbows, staring at her plate...the table...anywhere but at him. Looking just like Mamm.
“You’re right.” She raised her eyes at his voice. “Sometimes I’m too much like Daed, and I hate it.”
He left the table and went into the front room. Lighting the lantern on the table, he walked over to Daed’s desk along the wall. It was an ancient piece, with a lid that closed. He unlocked it with the key that was left in the lock and opened the lid, pulling out the supports as he lowered it to make the desk surface. He hadn’t opened this desk since Daed died. Hadn’t wanted to face him or anything he had left behind.
Bringing a chair over, he sat down and reached for a small black book. A diary. Opening it, he saw Daed’s scribbled handwriting.
Worked in the woods today. Got paid ten cents.
Samuel looked for the date. January first, nineteen thirty-five. The year Daed had died.
The next two days were blank. Then the fourth day: Worked in the woods. Ten cents. Went to town.
Samuel flipped forward to May. The month before Daed died.
Sold ten pigs. Paid off note at Harmon’s.
Samuel shifted in his chair. Harmon’s was the store in Elkhart that sold liquor.
Sick today. No work.
The next week was blank. Then: S asked about selling the hogs. Wants to try cattle. Told him to...
Samuel closed the book and buried his face in his hands, elbows on the desk top. He had forgotten that day. Daed had gotten angry when the subject of cattle was mentioned. Took after him with a hay fork and Samuel hadn’t come home until after he was sure Daed was in bed.
He opened a drawer. It was filled with Daed’s diaries. Small leather-bound books, each with the year’s date on it. He flipped through the one dated nineteen thirty-one. The year Mamm had died. He stopped when he got to October twelfth.
Margaret died today. Funeral tomorrow.
Nothing more. The next page was blank. The following one said: Old sow farrowed out of season.
The following pages held sporadic notes about the farm or work he had done, but Daed had written nothing more about his wife of twenty-five years.
Samuel got the old tin waste basket from its place by Esther’s...Mamm’s...rocking chair and dumped the diaries into it. He went through the papers in the cubbyholes. Bills of sale. A mortgage on the farm. Lists of debts. Samuel put the bills that had been paid off into the trash. The mortgage paper went back into the slot it had come from.
When the waste basket was full, he took it out to the burning barrel next to the boar’s pen by the barn. Taking a match from his hat brim, he struck it on the side of the barrel and held the match to the first piece of paper. A receipt from Harmon’s. The fire licked at the edge, then as it caught, Samuel dropped it into the barrel. He added the papers, one at a time. When they were burning, he opened the first diary and tore out the pages. He dropped them into the flames, then threw in the cover. When the diaries were all in the barrel, he turned the waste can over and shook it so that every last scrap went into the flames.
The flames lit the darkness around him.
Scrap wood was next, from the pile he kept next to the barrel. He fed the fire slowly, watching the flames eat up the papers and leather-bound diaries. Watching Daed disappear.
* * *
Mary turned the buggy onto the road and gripped the reins firmly as Chester set off toward town. If only her knees would stop shaking. This was her first time to go to town alone since the attack. But she was only going to Shipshewana, she reminded herself. No need to be nervous.
It had been a week since she and Ida Mae had purchased the new hens, and she had four dozen eggs in her basket. The chickens were beginning to settle into the new chicken coop Dale Yoder had built for them, using the lumber from Enosh Holdeman, and Mary was determined to pay off her debt as soon as possible.
Ida Mae had asked why she didn’t get Samuel to build the new chicken coop and M
ary still didn’t have an answer. She glanced toward the Lapp farm as Chester trotted by, but there were no answers there, either.
It wasn’t that Samuel wouldn’t have done the work for them, but... Mary loosened her hold on the reins as Chester’s pace became steady. But what? Was it because of the expression on Samuel’s face every time she saw him during the past week? It had to be only her imagination that Samuel had guessed her secret.
Perhaps she had asked Dale because then she wouldn’t have to defend her actions to Samuel.
Either way, the new henhouse looked just like the picture in the extension brochure. A roomy building with nest boxes and a large outdoor pen for the hens to scratch and peck all day long. The White Leghorns and Sadie’s Plymouth Rocks had finally learned to accept each other, and the hens lived in as much harmony as sixteen chickens could.
As Mary drew closer to town, she suddenly remembered that Tuesdays were the day for the auction. Dozens of buggies filled the roads, and she had to let Chester pick his way through the crowds to the far side of town and the grain elevator and feed store. She tied Chester to the rail outside the feed store and reached for the basket of eggs.
Facing the door, she smoothed her apron and checked her bonnet. She would do her business with Mr. Holdeman and then return home. Nothing could be more simple.
She frowned at her shaking hand as she reached for the doorknob, and walked into the store. The bell chimed and she took a deep breath.
Mr. Holdeman came out of the back room. “Hello, Mary. Good to see you again. How are those new chickens?”
“They are doing well and beginning to lay eggs.” She set the basket on the counter and took off the towel.
“Then you must be making them feel at home.”
Mr. Holdeman reached for a tray and transferred the eggs, counting as he went.
“Four dozen even.” He opened the cash drawer. “And here are your forty cents.” He laid the money on the counter.
Mary shook her head. “I want to use the money to start paying off my loan.”
