by Jo Ann Brown
A boy ran over to be the first on the wagon. He halted, and Nathaniel recognized him from the scab on the corner of his mouth. It was the legacy of the punch Benny had taken from Jacob Fisher last week.
“Gute mariye,” Nathaniel said with a smile.
The boy watched him with suspicion, saying nothing.
“How’s the lip?” Nathaniel asked. “It looks sore.”
“It is,” Benny replied grudgingly.
“Have your mamm put a dab of hand lotion on it to keep the skin soft, so it can heal. Try to limit your talking. You don’t want to keep breaking it open.”
The boy started to answer, then raised his eyebrows in a question.
“A day or two will allow it to heal. If you’ve got to say something, think it over first and make sure it’s worth the pain that follows.”
Benny nodded, then his eyes widened when he understood the true message in Nathaniel’s suggestion. Keeping his mouth closed would help prevent him from saying something that could lead to a fight. The boy looked at the ground, then claimed his spot at the very back of the wagon bed where the ride would be the bumpiest.
Hoping what he said would help Esther by preventing another fight, Nathaniel walked toward the school. He was almost there when she stepped out and closed the door behind her. Today she wore a dark blue dress beneath her black apron. The color was the perfect foil for her eyes and her hair, which was the color of spun caramel.
“Right on time, Nathaniel,” she said as she came down the steps. He tried to connect the prim woman she was now with the enthusiastic kind she’d been. It was almost impossible, and he couldn’t help wondering what had quashed her once high spirits.
“I know you don’t like to wait,” he said instead of asking the questions he wanted to.
“Neither does anyone else.” She put her arms around two of the kinder closest to her, and they looked at her with wide grins.
He helped her get the smaller ones on the wagon where they’d be watched by the older scholars. He wasn’t surprised when Jacob found a place close to the front. The boy sat as stiffly as a cornstalk, making it clear he didn’t want anyone near him.
Esther glanced at Nathaniel. He could tell she was frustrated at not being able to reach the kind. He’d added Jacob to his prayers and hoped God would bring the boy comfort. As He’d helped Nathaniel during the horrific rounds of chemo and the wait afterward to discover if the cancer had been vanquished.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he whispered.
“Me, too.” She smiled again, but it wasn’t as bright. After she made sure nobody had forgotten his or her lunch box, she sat on the seat with him.
He’d hoped to get time to chat with Esther during the fifteen minute drive to his farm, but she spent most of the ride looking over her shoulder to remind the scholars not to move close to the edges or to suggest a song for them to sing. Her assistant and the two mamms who’d joined them were kept busy with making sure the lunch boxes didn’t bounce off. As they passed farmhouses, neighbors waved to them, and the kinder shouted they were going to see the alpacas.
“Nobody has any secrets with them around, do they?” Nathaniel grinned as the scholars began singing again.
“None whatsoever.” Esther laughed. “It’s one of the first lessons I learned. I love my job so I don’t mind having everything I do and say at school repeated to parents each night.”
“It sounds, from what I’ve heard, as if the parents are pleased.”
A flush climbed her cheeks. “The kinder are important to all of us.”
He looked past the mules’ ears so she couldn’t see his smile. Esther was embarrassed by his compliment. If the scholars hadn’t been in earshot, he would have teased her about blushing.
Telling the kinder to hold on tight, he turned the wagon in at the lane leading to his grandparents’ farm. To his farm. This morning, he’d received another letter from his mamm, begging him to return to Indiana instead of following his dreams in Paradise Springs. He must find a gentle way to let her know, once and for all, that he wanted to remain in Lancaster County. And he’d suggest she find the best words to let Vernita Miller know, as well. He didn’t intend to marry Vernita, no matter how often the young woman had hinted he should. She’d find someone else. Perhaps his gut friend Dwayne Kempf who was sweet on her.
He shook thoughts of his mamm, Indiana and Vernita out of his head as he drew in the reins and stopped the wagon near the barn. Like the house, it needed a new coat of white paint. He’d started on the big project of fixing all the buildings when he could steal time from taking care of the animals, but, so far, only half of one side of the house was done.
“There they are!” came a shout from the back.
Jumping down, Nathaniel smiled when he saw the excited kinder pointing at the alpacas near the pasture fence. He heard a girl describe them as “adorable.” Their long legs and neck were tufted with wool. Around their faces, more wool puffed like an aura.
The alpacas raced away when the scholars poured off the wagon.
“Where are they going?” a little girl asked him as he lifted her down.
“To get the others,” he replied, though he knew the skittish creatures wanted to flee as far as possible from the noisy kinder.
Esther put her finger to her lips. “You must be quiet. Be like little mice sneaking around a sleeping cat.”
The youngest scholars giggled. She asked each little one to take the hand of an older child. A few of the boys, including Jacob, which was no surprise, refused to hold anyone else’s hand. Esther told them to remain close to the others and not to speak loudly.
“Where do you want us, Nathaniel?” she asked. “By the fence is probably best. What do you think?”
“You’re the expert.”
She led the kinder to the wooden fence backed by chicken wire, making sure the littler ones could see. “Can you name some of the alpacas’ cousins?”
“Llamas!” called a boy.
She nodded, but motioned for him to lower his voice as the alpacas shifted nervously. “Llamas are one of their cousins. Can you tell me another?”
“Horses?” asked a girl.
“No.”
“Cows?”
“No.” She pointed at the herd after letting the scholars make a few more guesses. “Alpacas are actually cousins of camels.”
“Like the ones the Wise Men rode?” asked Jacob.
Nathaniel saw Esther’s amazement, though it was quickly masked. She was shocked the boy was participating, but he heard no sign of it in her voice when she assured Jacob he was right. That set off a buzz of more questions from the scholars.
The boy turned to look at the pasture, again separating himself from the others though he stood among them. The single breakthrough was a small victory. He could tell by the lilt in Esther’s voice how delighted she’d been with Jacob’s question.
The scholars’ eager whispers followed Nathaniel as he entered the pasture through the barn. He’d try to herd the alpacas closer so the kinder could get a better look at them. His hopes were dashed when the alpacas evaded him as they always did. They resisted any attempt to move them closer to the scholars. If he jogged to the right, they went left. If he moved forward, they trotted away and edged around him. He could almost hear alpaca laughter.
“Let me,” Esther called. She bunched up her dress and climbed over the fence as if she were one of the kinder. She brought a pair of thin branches, each about a yard long. As she crossed the pasture, she motioned for him to stand by the barn.
“Watch the kinder,” she said. “I’ll get an alpaca haltered, so we can bring it closer for them to see.”
Curious about how she was going to do that, he watched her walk toward the herd with slow, even steps. She spoke softly, nonsense words from what he could disc
ern.
She held the branches out to either side of her. He realized she was using them like a shepherd’s crook to move the alpacas into the small shed at the rear of the pasture. He edged forward to see what she’d do once they were inside. He’d wondered what the shed with its single large pen was for. He hadn’t guessed it was to corner the alpacas to make it easier to handle them.
She lifted a halter off a peg once the alpacas were in the pen. She chose a white-and-brown one who was almost as tall as she was. Moving to the animal’s left, she gently slid the halter over its nose and behind its ears. The animal stood as docile as a well-trained dog, nodding its head when Esther checked to make sure the buckled halter was high enough on the nose that it wouldn’t prevent the animal from breathing.
Latching a rope to the halter, Esther walked the alpaca from the shed. The other animals trotted behind her, watching her. Esther stayed on the alpaca’s left side and an arm’s length away. The alpaca followed her easily, but shied as she neared the fence where the kinder stood.
One kind pushed closer to the fence. Jacob! The boy’s gaze was riveted on the alpaca. His usual anger was fading into something that wasn’t a smile, but close.
Nathaniel wondered if Esther had noticed, but couldn’t tell because her back was to him. Again she warned the scholars to be silent. Their eyes were curious but none of them stuck their fingers past the fence.
Esther looked over her shoulder at him. “You can come closer. Stay to her left side.”
“You made it look easy,” Nathaniel replied with admiration.
“Any task is easy when you know what you’re doing.” She winked at the scholars. “Like multiplication tables, ain’t so?”
The younger ones giggled.
“Be careful it doesn’t spit at you,” Nathaniel warned the kinder.
“It won’t.” Esther patted the alpaca’s head as the scholars edged back.
“Don’t be sure. When I put them out this morning, this one started spitting at the others. She hasn’t acted like that before.”
“Were the males in there, too?”
He nodded. Before he’d gone to the school, he’d spent a long hour separating the males out because he feared they’d be aggressive near the kinder.
“Then,” Esther said with a smile, “my guess is she’s going to have a cria.”
“A what?”
She laughed and nudged his shoulder with hers. “A boppli, Nathaniel.”
The ordinary motion had anything but an ordinary effect on his insides. A ripple of awareness rushed through him like a powerful train. Had she felt it, too? He couldn’t be sure because the scholars clapped their hands in delight. She was suddenly busy keeping the alpaca from pulling away in fear at the noise, but she calmed the animal.
“I’m going to need you to tell me what to do,” Nathaniel said, glad his voice sounded calmer than he felt as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.
“There’s no hurry. An alpaca is pregnant for at least eleven months, but she’ll need to be examined by the vet to try to determine how far along she is.”
As she continued to talk about the alpacas to her scholars, he sent a grateful prayer to God for Esther’s help. His chances of making the farm a success were much greater than they’d been. He wasn’t going to waste a bit of the time or the information she shared with him.
No, he assured himself as he watched her. He wasn’t going to waste a single second.
* * *
Esther walked to the farmhouse, enjoying the sunshine. The trees along the farm lane were aflame with color against the bright blue sky. Not a single cloud blemished it. Closer to the ground, mums in shades of gold, orange and dark red along the house’s foundation bobbed on a breeze that barely teased her nape.
She’d left the scholars with Nathaniel while she checked the alpacas. Though he didn’t know much about them, he’d made sure they were eating well. She’d seen no sores on their legs. They hadn’t been trying to get out of the pasture, so they must be content with what he provided.
Hearing shouts from the far side of the house, she walked in that direction. She hadn’t planned to take so long with the alpacas, but it’d been fun to be with the silly creatures again. Their fleece was exceptionally soft, and their winter coats were growing in well. By the time they were sheared in the spring, Nathaniel would have plenty of wool to sell.
She came around the house and halted. On the sloping yard, Nathaniel was surrounded by the scholars. Jay, the oldest, was helping keep the kinder in a line. What were they doing?
Curious, she walked closer. She was amazed to see cardboard boxes torn apart and placed end to end on the grass. Two boxes were intact. As she watched, Nathaniel picked up a little girl and set her in one box. She giggled and gripped the front of it.
“All set?” he asked.
“Ja!” the kind shouted.
Nathaniel glanced at Jay and gave the box a slight shove. It sailed down the cardboard “slide” like a toboggan on snow. He kept pace with it on one side while Jay did on the other. They caught the box at the end of the slide before it could tip over and spill the kind out.
Picking her up again, Nathaniel swung her around. Giggling, she ran up the hill as a bigger boy jumped into the other box. His legs hung out the front, but he pushed with his hands to send himself down the slide. Nathaniel swung the other box out of the way just in time.
Everyone laughed and motioned for the boxes to be brought back for the next ride. As the older boy climbed out, Esther saw it was Benny. He beamed as he gathered the boxes to carry them to the top. Nathaniel clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
She went to stand by the porch where she could watch the kinder play. She couldn’t take her eyes off Nathaniel. He looked as happy as he had when they were kinder themselves. He clearly loved being with the youngsters. He’d be a wunderbaar daed. Seeing him with her scholars, she could imagine him acting like her own daed.
Her most precious memories of Daed were when he’d come into the house at midday and pick her up. They’d bounce around the kitchen table singing a silly song until Mamm pretended to be irritated about how they were in the way. Then they’d laugh together, and Daed would set her in her chair before chasing her brothers around the living room. If he caught them, he’d tickle them until they squealed or Mamm called everyone to the table. As they bent their heads in silent grace, their shared joy had been like a glow around them.
Watching Nathaniel with the kinder, she wanted that for him. Too bad she and he were just friends. Otherwise—
Where had that thought come from? He was her buddy, her partner in crime, her competitor to see who could run the fastest or climb the highest. She had told him she’d marry him when they were little kids, something that made her blush when she thought of how outrageously she’d acted, but they weren’t kinder any longer.
When Nathaniel called a halt to the game, saying it was time for lunch, the youngsters tried not to show their disappointment. They cheered when he said he had fresh cider waiting for them on a picnic table by the kitchen door.
They raced past Esther to get their lunch boxes. She smiled as she went to help Nathaniel collect the pieces of cardboard.
“Quite a game you have here,” she said. “Did you make it up?”
As he folded the long cardboard strips and set them upright in one of the boxes, he shook his head. “Not me alone. It’s one we played in Indiana. We invented it the summer after I couldn’t go sledding all winter.”
“Why? Were you sick?”
“Ja.”
“All winter?”
“You know how mamms can be. Always worrying.” He gathered the last bits of cardboard and dropped them into the other box. Brushing dirt off himself, he grimaced as he tapped his left knee. “Grass stains on my gut church clothes. Mamm wouldn’t
be happy to see that.”
He looked very handsome in his black vest and trousers, which gave his dark hair a ruddy sheen. The white shirt emphasized his strong arms and shoulders. She’d noticed his shoulders when she tumbled against him at school.
“If you want,” she said when she realized she was staring. “I’ll clean them.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” He carried the boxes to the porch. “You’ve got enough to do keeping up with your brothers.”
“One more pair of trousers won’t make any difference.” She smiled as she walked with him toward the kitchen door. “Trust me.”
“I do, and my alpacas do, too. It was amazing how you calmed them.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“I don’t know if I can convince them to trust me as they do you. It might be impossible. Though obviously not for Esther Stoltzfus, the alpaca whisperer.”
She laughed, then halted when she saw a buggy driving at top speed along the farm lane. Even from a distance, she recognized her brother Isaiah driving it. She glanced at Nathaniel, then ran to where the buggy was stopping. Only something extremely important would cause Isaiah to leave his blacksmith shop in the middle of the day.
He climbed out, his face lined with dismay. “Esther, where are the kinder?”
“Behind the house having lunch.”
“Gut.” He looked from her to Nathaniel. “There’s no way to soften this news. Titus Fisher has had a massive stroke and is on his way to the hospital.”
Esther gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth.
“Are you here to get the boy?” asked Nathaniel.
“I’m not sure he should go to the hospital until Titus is stable.” Isaiah turned to her. “What do you think, Esther?”
“I think he needs to be told his onkel is sick, but nothing more now. No need to scare him. Taking him to the hospital can wait until we know more.”
“That’s what I thought, but you know him better than I do.” He sighed. “The poor kind. He’s already suffered enough. Tonight—”
