Mending Fences

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Aha! He knew it. Something was brewing. Well, that wasn’t why he was here. “I’ve been reading about Abraham, and Isaac and Jacob. Of Joseph in Egypt. And then a lot about Moses. Quite a lot.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  “Moses is why I’m here.”

  “Moses?”

  “Moses made a mess of his life—and it was a pretty sweet life he’d been handed. He killed an Egyptian soldier, was found out, and ran for his life. Even then, God hadn’t abandoned him. Just the opposite. It seemed like God kept waiting for him to get his stuff together.” He knew he had to come to his point soon; he could tell he was losing Alice’s attention. “Each one of them, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, and Moses . . . especially Moses . . . they were all called by God to leave their comfortable life and go someplace.”

  Alice froze.

  “Hold on, Alice. Stay with me. I’m almost done. I promise. I just want you to think this through—God called those Bible guys to get out of the house, each one, and he never let them down.”

  Her eyes were glued to the table, on those going-nowhere-jigsaw-puzzle kind of lines. Her lips set into a tight line. This wasn’t going well.

  “Those Bible guys, they were full of fear. Especially Moses. Look at how he tried to talk God into using someone else . . . right in front of that burning bush. I mean, that is a man hobbled by fear. Imagine telling God that you’ll pass on what he’s asking.” He leaned forward. “Alice, you can have a story that ends like Moses’s. You can trust God at his word and go out in the world. Even if it’s uncomfortable and hard to do.” He finished off the glass of lemonade. “That’s what I came to say today. That’s all.” He rose. “Oh, and thank you for the lemonade.”

  Outside, he reached down to pick up the scooter, troubled by the look on Alice’s face when he’d left her at the table.

  Her face was drained of color. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  On Sunday, church was to be held at Mattie and Sol Riehl’s farm. Luke still felt awful about Alice. That look on her face, so shocked and troubled, it haunted him. He wondered what Teddy would have to say to him today. Chew him out, was his best guess. He was pretty sure he’d messed everything up and set Alice back. Again.

  During breakfast, he could feel Izzy’s curious glances in his direction, sensing something was off with him. Normally, her interest would make him sit up and take notice, but not this morning. He kept his eyes on his plate.

  He was silent on the drive to the Riehls’, replaying that talk in the kitchen with Alice over and over. Things had been moving along pretty well. Why did he put pressure on her? David and Amos had told him, numerous times, that he was not qualified to act as a counselor. What was he thinking?

  But I thought I heard you, God. I thought it was you.

  More likely, it was indigestion.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Amos said, turning his head to look at the back seat. “Fern, honey, would you look at that.”

  “Oh my,” Fern said. “I never thought I’d see this day again, but lo and behold, there it is.”

  Luke was concentrating on turning the horse into the Riehls’ driveway. Boys were running up to meet them, to take the horse and buggy. It was when Bob came to a complete stop that he realized what Amos and Fern were staring at. Right in front of them was Teddy Zook’s buggy. Teddy stood beside it, helping Alice Smucker climb out.

  A gasp burst out of Luke, then his eyes filled with tears as he watched the two of them walk toward the house together. Lord, his heart prayed, you didn’t give up on Alice Smucker.

  All through church, his whole being felt a growing sense of awe, like a campfire that was gaining strength. He couldn’t even look in Alice’s direction without his eyes filling up again. He hardly spoke to the men on either side of him during the fellowship lunch. He didn’t trust himself to carry on a conversation. He felt—oh, what was the word? euphoric!—so much so that he worried if he tried to speak, he might break out in a song of thanksgiving, and that would be weird.

  Even on the drive back to Windmill Farm, Luke remained silent. Fern and Izzy chatted quietly in the back seat. Amos sat beside him, glancing at him now and then.

  “So,” he said, as they neared the road that led to Windmill Farm, “Teddy Zook gave you credit for getting Alice to church today.”

  Luke swallowed. He felt his eyes well up again. He didn’t dare look at Amos.

  “David and I, we’ve been trying to get her to come to church for well over a year now.” He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what you said or did, but whatever it was, it was the right thing.”

  That big gentle hand on his shoulder, affirming him, wiped Luke out. The tears dripped down his face. He wiped them away with his coat sleeve, but they kept coming. He pulled Bob to a stop in front of the house so everyone could climb out. Amos went first, then Fern, then Izzy. Luke kept his hat brim down, head turned to the left, hoping Izzy didn’t realize the state he was in.

  He heard the buggy door slide shut behind Fern and Izzy. He flicked on the reins to get Bob turned toward the barn. He kept telling himself to hold it together, but as the buggy pulled over in the shade of the barn, before he knew it, he was doubled over the dashboard, sobbing so hard that his chest hurt. It took a few minutes before he could calm down and take in some deep breaths.

  “Here, you big baby.”

  His head jerked up. Izzy stood beside his open window. She gave him a look that was for once not a smirk but one of real sympathy, and she handed him a little package of tissues.

  eighteen

  Windmill Farm was hosting the August quilting bee, so Jenny came over on Wednesday afternoon to help get things ready. Fern and Jenny and Izzy made chicken salad with grapes and slivered almonds, bread sticks, and plenty of other good things. While they worked, they talked and talked. The kitchen had grown so warm that as soon as they finished their baking for the day, they sat on the porch and drank iced tea. Izzy and Jenny did, anyway. Fern never sat. She filled two glasses with iced tea and stood in front of them, the pitcher dripping with frost. “You girls sit here for a spell. I’m going to the basement to finish ironing tablecloths for Friday.”

  Izzy looked up in surprise. “Fern, it’s so hot. You can’t iron in this heat.”

  “Basement is cool.”

  “I’ll help you later. Sit and visit with us.”

  “Can’t. Too much to do.”

  Izzy started out of her chair to stop Fern until Jenny put a hand on her arm. “You won’t be able to change her mind.”

  “But it’s much too hot to iron.”

  “Maybe. I don’t think that’s what’s on her mind. She’s giving us time alone to talk.”

  Izzy sat back in the chair. Jenny knew Fern and Amos much better than she did. She wasn’t completely clear on Jenny’s story, mainly because she didn’t ask any questions. It’s not that she wasn’t interested in others, she was, but she didn’t want questions asked in return. She listened, though. From what she could figure out, Jenny and her brother Chris had inherited a nearby home from their grandfather, a man named Colonel Mitchell. Chris had worked for Amos as a field hand and later married his daughter M.K. They lived in Ohio now, where Chris raised horses. Jenny had slipped into Fern’s life like a favorite niece, shadowing her every move. Where Chris and Jenny’s parents happened to be—that Izzy did not know. No one discussed them. She understood that.

  “So . . . what’s it like having Luke Schrock live here?”

  Izzy’s eyes widened in surprise. “He doesn’t. He lives in the barn.”

  Jenny frowned. “You know what I mean. What do you think of him?”

  “Nothing.” That wasn’t exactly true. She had trouble keeping Luke out of her thoughts.

  “Well, do you think he’s handsome?”

  “I think he thinks he’s handsome.” And he was. She had seen girls cast their eyes in his direction at church.

  “Does he act like a gentleman?”

 
“No,” Izzy said. Sometimes, she thought.

  “Does he talk much?”

  “Yes. Too much.” It seemed that Luke just filled up a room with himself.

  “Does he make you laugh?”

  “Maybe.” Totally. Sometimes he meant to and often he didn’t. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking so many questions about Luke Schrock?”

  Jenny leaned over to whisper. “Because I think that Luke Schrock is smitten with you.” She sat back in her chair with a grin. “So what do you think of that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “One thing I know,” Jenny said with certainty, “if a man can make a woman laugh, then he is worth paying attention to.”

  What? Izzy had never heard of such a thing. “Is that in the Bible?”

  Jenny laughed. “No, but maybe it should be.”

  “Jesse makes you laugh.” Izzy had often observed them together.

  Jenny’s eyes grew soft around the edges. “He always has. You and Luke . . . you remind me of Jesse and me, before we stopped pretending we disliked each other and started courting.” She swept the yard with a glance, as if to make sure no one was listening even though no one was around but Fern, and she was down in the basement. Then she leaned in close to whisper, “Jesse wants to marry me.”

  “When?”

  Jenny put a finger to her lips to hush her. “This fall. That’s when the weddings happen. Jesse says he’s going to talk to Amos soon.”

  “Why Amos?”

  “He’s the deacon. That’s the way it’s done. The deacon is the go-between. Amos’ll talk to David about it, since he’s Jesse’s father. And then”—she shrugged—“I guess he’ll have to talk to Fern about it. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother.” She smoothed out her apron over her skirt. “And then it’ll be published, two weeks before the wedding happens.”

  “Published?”

  “Announced in church. That’s the way things are done.” She glanced at Izzy. “You won’t say anything, will you? It’s supposed to be a secret until it’s published.”

  “Of course not. I won’t say a word to anyone.” Izzy took a sip of her iced tea. So, here was another set of traditions she hadn’t considered. Weddings. A nameless longing filled Izzy.

  “I’d like you to be my bridesmaid.”

  Izzy was swallowing her iced tea and practically choked on the swallow. “Me?” Me?

  “Yes, you. You’re my best friend.”

  Izzy’s eyes filled with tears. She’d never been anyone’s best friend.

  Jenny reached out and squeezed her hand. “I hope you’ll say yes.”

  Izzy couldn’t get the word past the lump in her throat. Instead, she gave a short nod.

  Then Fern came back out, one hand holding a freshly ironed tablecloth, and the other hand holding a fresh pitcher of iced tea. “Kitchen’s cooling down,” she said. “We need to start on pies soon.”

  “Fern Lapp,” Jenny said in a firm tone that sounded just like Fern’s. “Sit down with us and rest for a moment.” She poured her a glass of iced tea and made her sit down in a rocking chair.

  “Maybe I will just sit a spell.” And the talk turned away from weddings and laughter and on to whether adding vinegar to a piecrust made all the difference in flakiness. It turned away from Luke Schrock and did not go back to him. Izzy was glad. And yet, she thought of everything Jenny had said, about Luke being handsome, and that he was smitten with her. And how he made her laugh.

  No. Jenny was wrong. So so wrong. Luke was unpredictable and bad-mannered and then there was his terrible reputation that followed him everywhere. No, no, no. Too risky, that one.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, as if to force him out of her mind. And yet he persisted, as if he was right there on the porch with them.

  As Luke walked up the porch steps to the house, the kitchen door was propped open and he heard Izzy laughing with someone. It surprised him, he hadn’t heard her laugh much. Once or twice, she had laughed at him, but mostly, she frowned around him.

  As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw Jenny and Izzy standing side by side, rolling out dough into piecrusts. They were giggling over something silly, and for a split second, they seemed oddly alike. And then the moment passed and he saw how very different from each other they really were—Izzy, tall and shapely, olive skinned and brunette, while Jenny was fair, almost elfishly small. Jenny, blue-eyed as a summer day, while Izzy’s eyes were dark as coffee beans. Still, something in their profiles struck him as remarkably similar. Maybe it was the way they laughed. If he closed his eyes, they sounded one and the same.

  Jenny spotted him first. “Hi, Luke. I’m teaching Izzy how to make piecrusts. Can you believe she’s never made one? Not one time.”

  “Nor have I,” Luke said, letting a broad smile escape. “But I’ve eaten plenty and will be happy to give you my humble opinion.”

  Jenny threw a lump of pie dough at his face, but he caught it midair. “There’s nothing humble about you, Luke Schrock.” She went back to rolling the dough. “By the way, Hank Lapp stopped by earlier to offer more raccoon trapping tips.”

  “Should I be worried? Did you let him in the barn?”

  “No. He just stayed in the kitchen and sampled our baking.”

  “And provided rather a lot of unasked-for advice,” Izzy added.

  Luke took a bite of the raw pie dough and spit it out. “Jenny, did Izzy tell you she’s signed up for baptism class?”

  “Of course she did.” Jenny grinned at him. “So I suppose you signed up right away.”

  “I believe I was first to sign up.” That, actually, was the truth. He had put his name on the list on that very Sunday David had announced that classes would start soon. “Izzy signed up after me.” He exhaled a dramatic sigh. “Like most women, I suppose she just can’t get enough of me.”

  “See what I mean?” Jenny shook her head. “There’s nothing humble about you, Luke Schrock.”

  Izzy ignored their banter and kept her attention focused on rolling out the pie dough until it was paper thin. Her face, he happened to notice, had turned a crimson red.

  What was that about? The kitchen was warm, but not that hot.

  An afternoon hush lay over Stoney Ridge, pushed in by a hot spell that hovered over the town in late August, triple digits and high humidity, so hot that Amos told Luke they needed to work early in the morning and late at night, but not during the middle of the day. Luke decided to head to the marsh and see if he could figure out where Teddy’s elusive rattlesnake might be hiding. He scootered over, looked for Teddy in his carpentry shop but couldn’t find him, so he went down to the marsh alone.

  Marsh. That was a kindness. It was a stinking swamp. The smell was rank, with pond scum hanging on to the surface of the water. The air was noisy with the music of insects: dragonflies, whirligigs, water striders, and, of course, mosquitoes. He walked along the edges, his boots slipping in the muck. Then around one bend he found a flat area of grass and there was Rudy Miller—Abel and Carrie’s son—lying on his back, his hat covering his face, hands behind his head as a pillow. Luke watched him for a while. He was barefoot, with a fishing pole held between his knees, snoring lightly. Quietly, Luke crept up to him. He yanked a few times on the fishing pole’s string until Rudy jerked awake. He blinked a few times, then jumped to his feet and grabbed his pole.

  “You!” His eyes went wide. “It’s you.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Fishing.”

  “Looked like you were sleeping.”

  He yawned. “Both, I guess.” He stretched.

  “Does your mom know you’re here?”

  “She sent me to get something at a neighbor’s. I’m just taking my time getting home.”

  Luke swallowed a smile as he sat down on the grassy spot where Rudy had been caught snoozing. “So, is fishing your favorite thing?” It was a nice spot the boy had found for himself. Quiet, peaceful, with a widened area for the water to
pool. It was still a stinking swamp, but this part was better than the rest of it.

  “Yup.” The boy puffed up his chest. “I usually bring home dinner from this spot.”

  Luke doubted that. He hadn’t seen any sign of fish in this murky water. But it was a nice, cool, shady place to be on a hundred-degree day, and he was amused by the boy’s bravado.

  Rudy sat down next to him. “You want to try to catch something? You can use my pole.”

  “Thanks, but I’m looking for something.”

  “What? Maybe I can help.”

  “A rattlesnake.”

  Rudy’s eyebrows shot up. “Most folks stay clear of rattlers.”

  “Yeah, that’s good advice.” Luke stretched himself out, hands clasped behind his head, ankles crossed.

  “Were you really as bad as they say?”

  Luke opened one eye, then shut it. “Sometimes.”

  “Hank Lapp calls you the Jesse James of Stoney Ridge.”

  “Hmmm.” Sounded like something Hank would say.

  “Who’s Jesse James?”

  “He was an outlaw.” It was so quiet, so still that Luke found himself drifting off. And then he woke with a gasp to the smell of smoke. Rudy sat beside him, trying to light a cigarette. “What are you doing?”

  “Having a smoke. Want one?”

  “No. How long have you been smoking?”

  “Oh, years now.”

  Luke had to bite his lower lip not to burst out laughing. Rudy had trouble lighting the match and dropped the cigarette twice. The boy kept nervously glancing over at him. Finally, it lit, and he took in a deep draft of smoke, first one, then another, and coughed so hard that he doubled over, scrambled to the edge of the scummy pond, and gagged. Luke’s shoulders were shaking with quenched laughter, but he didn’t want to risk injuring Rudy’s tender pride. He knew all about tender pride.

  Had he been like that as a boy? Probably.

  The cigarette floated off into the pond scum. Rudy leaned back, his knees folded under him. He didn’t dare look at Luke.

  “Rudy, do you know much about this . . . marsh?”