We left the kitchen after the prayers concluded. Anna and I shared the larger bed, while Ruth slept in the single bed against the wall. I could hear my parent’s talking in the next room, although their voices sounded muffled. Abe cried once during the night, while Molly came and went, her nails scratching against the wood floor. In the morning, Mam shook me awake, well before five, and, although I felt tired, I slid from the bed and dressed quickly, needing to help her in the kitchen. I let my siblings sleep a little longer, but then they would have to milk the cows.
Ruth and Anna went to school, but Jacob, being only five, wasn’t old enough yet. While Mam made breakfast, I watched the baby. Dat had been in the barn, returning to the house to eat, while I brought out the dishes. We had all gathered in the kitchen now, sitting at the table, listening to David read a chapter of scripture. Then we knelt before our chairs, while Dat read from Christenpflict.
He finished by saying, “O Lord God, please watch over us today, and keep us safe from sinful influences such as pride, superstition, and disobedience. Amen.”
“Amen,” I said, getting to my feet.
We each ate a slice of egg casserole with bread and bacon, Mam having churned butter earlier, which had been kept in the cellar on a block of ice. Dat and David tended to the farm, dressed in barn-door pants and galluses, while Jacob would go out soon to pick Everbearing strawberries in a nearby field. Dozens of chores would keep everyone busy the entire day.
I walked my younger sisters to school most mornings, but today I had been sent on a special errand, bringing several jars of preserves to an elderly lady who lived near the schoolhouse. With this in mind, we hurried to ready ourselves, tying our black bonnets neatly beneath the chin, while my sisters carried lunchboxes, the metal containers swinging at their sides.
To save time, we wandered through the cornfield to the forest, intending to walk on a well-known path that shaved more than ten minutes off the journey. It felt unbearably humid, even at this hour; the storm from the previous afternoon had dampened the ground, our boots sinking into mud nearly to the ankle in places. Little black bugs flew in the air, annoyingly, sometimes hovering overhead.
Anna and Ruth chatted happily, while I gazed at the greenery, the trees not as dense here, because the sun sprinkled light upon the trail. I played in these woods often as a child, exploring the path to the creek and beyond. The forest was vast, the trails thinning, disappearing, and disorienting a casual wanderer. I would not return this way, since I refused to be here alone, fearing what might lie further in the darkness—hiding in the bushes. Far braver than I, David and Dat explored these woods while hunting, but I lacked the courage to linger, only using the trail as a shortcut.
Once through, we emerged onto a neighbor’s farm, following the path towards the schoolhouse, with its whitewashed siding and barren yard. Too many boots over the years had ruined the grass. A black buggy had been left beneath a tree, which belonged to the teacher. I bid my sisters farewell, and they ran off to meet their friends. Several interested faces turned my way, mostly the older boys, who observed my departure with interest. They saw me as a grown, mysterious woman, and it amused me, wondering what they might be thinking.
I arrived at Evelyn Miller’s farm shortly after. A kindly old woman, she had lost her husband a few years earlier. As I approached the house, I noted signs of disrepair: rusting farm equipment, the tilting barn roof, and the weeds that had taken over the gravel driveway. Mam had said Evelyn would be better suited living in a Dawdyhause—a small house attached to another dwelling. Several families came during the month to help with things, but the size of the farm proved challenging.
“Do come in and have some tea, my dear,” she said after I had arrived. Wisps of gray hair escaped the confines of her white kapp.
“I’m in a hurry. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s a shame. I don’t have visitors very often.”
“I’ll tell Mam, and perhaps we’ll come in a day or so.”
“That would be kind of you.” She smiled, the skin crinkling around her mouth and eyes. “I’ve been rather lonely since my daughter’s husband moved the family to Indiana. I’m considering joining them, but I’d have to sell the farm.”
“Being without family is a hardship.” I gave her the package of preserves. “Here you are. I hope you enjoy them. We canned the strawberries not that long ago.”
“They look lovely. Thank you.”
“Have a good day, Mrs. Miller.”
“You as well.” She peered out the door. “It’s so pretty. I might do some work in the garden.”
“Better do that sooner than later. It’s getting dreadfully hot.” I waved to her, as I hastened down the steps.
I avoided the woods on the way home, choosing the longer route, wandering by the roadside. I regretted not staying and having a drink, because the sun seemed to burn through the material on my shoulders. Perspiration lined my forehead, and I yearned for a glass of fresh water.
Several homesteads thrived among the rolling hills. The Stoltzfus farm stretched out for miles, the family owning many acres of fertile soil. All the men worked now, for I glimpsed them in the fields. A buggy passed, and I waved, recognizing the family within. I spied the roof of our house in the distance, although it would be a while before I reached it.
The rattling of wheels slowly came up behind me. To my annoyance, it wasn’t a buggy, but a wagon of hay driven by Daniel Stoltzfus, who, unfortunately, had slowed. My spirits plummeted at this unexpected and unhappy event.
I don’t want to talk to him.
“Good morning, Rebekah,” he said, his features shaded by a straw hat.
“Good morning.” I continued walking, not wanting to encourage further conversation, yet this did not prevent him from clucking to the horse, the animal keeping up with my stride.
Oh, do go away. I don’t want to talk to you.
“Might I have a word?”
No. No, you dreadful man.
“I won’t ask to court you again, if that’s your worry.”
I stared at the dirt beneath my feet, wishing he would go away.
“Rebekah.”
Something in his tone stopped me, and I chided myself for the weakness. “Yes?” I faced him then, the wagon grinding to a halt.
“You won’t tell me why you loathe me. You deem me unworthy for some reason.”
Then your memory is quite short, isn’t it?
“I wish you’d tell me why, but I can see you won’t.” He reached for something beside him on the wooden bench. “Will you at least accept these?” He held a bushel of flowers wrapped in a wet cloth to prevent wilting.
Stunned, I gazed at the offering, not knowing what to say.
“Here, take them.” He leaned towards me, forcing me to step closer.
“Please, don’t give me things,” I murmured softly.
“It’s too late. They’re yours.”
I did not want to, but I held the flowers, marveling at how lovely they were. I planned to throw them away as soon as he left. “Thank you.” I would not be impolite, but I did not want to linger, as he had taken that opportunity to stare boldly.
He smiled wistfully, murmuring, “Sie sind schön.”
Dat had used those same words Dat to describe Mam, calling her beautiful, but I did not want to hear them from Daniel. Ignoring this, I turned, hurrying away, although he had already urged the horse forward, passing within seconds. A deluge of unwelcome emotions raced through me. I wanted to feel anger and indignation, for he had dared to compliment me, even giving me flowers, but I wasn’t able to. He should not have done this, because we were not courting. Instead of anger, I felt utter confusion, my brows furrowing in thought.
What on earth had just happened?
Chapter Three
When I returned to the house, I helped Mam in the kitchen, washing the multitude of dishes from breakfast, while Abe fussed. Dat and David toiled in the field and Jacob had been sent into the garden
to pull carrots. I could see him from the window, crawling on his hands and knees, tossing the vegetables into a nearby bucket.
Lunchtime was upon us before we knew it, and Mam and I made pork and Sauerkraut, placing dishes and cutlery on the table. Dat and David came in a while later, their faces shiny with perspiration. Before eating, we knelt to pray, Dat reading from Christenpflicht.
After we had taken our seats, Mam asked, “Did you find many carrots, Jacob?”
He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing. “Hum…hum…”
Mam smiled. “I think that’s yes.”
“He’ll help fork the wheat bundles into the threshing machine after lunch,” said Dat.
Concern lined my mother’s face. “Isn’t that dangerous? None of my brothers did this so young.”
David shrugged. “I did. He’ll manage just fine. We’ll keep a close eye on him.”
The late harvest was underway, and the work was never ending. “That should tire him out nicely,” I said. Molly had ambled into the room, coming up to my leg and sniffing me. “Hello, girl.” I patted her head.
“I can do it,” declared Jacob confidently. “I want to help Dat and David. Pulling carrots is for girls anyway.”
“I’ll give you a ride in the hay wagon later,” said David. “We can go over the north field. It’s bumpier.”
Jacob grinned, exposing a missing tooth. “Ja! Please!”
“Only if we have time. The threshing will take hours.” Dat sat back in the chair, his mouth opening in a yawn. “I need a nap.” Everyone typically slept after lunch for an hour before resuming work.
While I helped Mam tidy the kitchen, my brothers went upstairs to rest. I considered confiding in her about what Daniel had said, but I decided against it. Being of no consequence to me, discussing him seemed irrelevant. My father slept with Abe. I wasn’t as tired, but after the dishes had been put away, I lay down as well. The quiet lasted for an hour and then the house came alive with the sounds of doors slamming and talking. Mam and I sat at the table sewing, while the men worked in the fields. My sisters arrived home after three, carrying empty lunch pails.
Anna found me in the bedroom, where I had gone to spend a quiet moment reading. “So, I must tell you the news,” she said, approaching, although her attention fell upon a bundle of flowers I had placed in a vase. “Where did these come from?” The flowerbeds in the garden sported an abundance of azaleas and rhododendrons, but we did not have mountain laurel.
“I …” I glanced at the flowers, which I had meant to throw away. “I …picked them.” I did not wish to discuss meeting Daniel this morning, so I said, “What news do you have? You were going to say something.”
“Those didn't come from our garden, Rebekah.”
Oh, gracious. She wasn’t going to drop it. “Um … no. I suppose not.”
She sat on the bed next to me. “Where did they come from, and why are you being so coy?”
I glanced at my hands, noting several ragged fingernails. “Well … I … someone gave them to me, but I meant to throw them away.”
“Ah-ha!” Her smile grew. “I knew it. You’re hiding something. What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Who gave them to you?”
I sighed in defeat, knowing she would hound me until I confessed. “Daniel Stoltzfus came upon me this morning. The flowers are from him.”
Her mouth fell open. “Did he ask to court you again?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“But he gave you flowers.”
“So it seems.”
“And you didn’t throw them away?”
“I … ” I eyed the lovely blooms. “Um…no. They were too pretty.”
She leaned nearer, whispering, “You like him.”
“No!” I replied, emphatically. “Most assuredly not. You know why I loathe him. You know why I could never feel anything for him other than contempt.” We’d had this discussion many times before. “And don’t quote scripture to me. I’ve forgiven him. I just choose not to forget.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so stubborn, Rebekah. That was so long ago. He’s been baptized. He’s confessed, as we all must when we give ourselves to the church. His conscience is clear.”
“Well, good for him.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It must be nice not have to pay for your transgressions.”
“Let’s not argue about this again.” She eyed the flowers. “It’s peculiar you kept them.”
A spark of anger flared, propelling me to my feet. I wanted to deny her thinly veiled accusations, and I would. I wrapped my hands around the white porcelain pitcher. “Here’s what I think of Daniel Stoltzfus.” I went to the window, which was open, tossing the contents into the air. The batch of colorful flowers landed in a heap in the yard. “There.” I smiled smugly. “All finished now.”
“That was rash.”
“No, I should’ve thrown them away earlier. I thought they were pretty. They mean nothing to me.”
Anna got to her feet. “I beg to differ, but I see you’re in a fine mood today.” She untied her kapp, leaving it on the bed. “So, I was going to tell you the news.” She washed her face in a bowl of water that sat on the dresser. “It’s vastly entertaining.”
Relieved we had moved on to another discussion, the tension lifted from my shoulders. “Yes, do impart what you know. I so seldom get out to see people.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder, while using a cloth on her face. “Katie Wenger and Mark Landis are now courting, but her parents object strenuously.”
I believe I knew why, although it was unfortunate. “They’re upset because Mark’s older brother married that ‘English’ woman.” He had been shunned ever since.
“Ja.”
“Well … ” I sat on the bed. “This shouldn’t taint Mark, although it did bring scandal to the family. He’s certainly not the first to leave the church.” But, unfortunately, it was all everyone talked about at the moment.
“She’s worried she won’t be allowed to attend the singing on Sunday, the poor girl.”
“She isn’t much older than you. She’s a bit young to court seriously, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but from what she says, she’s ready for marriage, although her parents will make her wait at least another year.”
I felt relieved that the subject of Daniel Stoltzfus had passed now, replaced by idle gossip. The offending flowers were gone, although, after I had spoken to my sister, I found myself in the yard, retrieving them from the ground, but they had begun to wilt. While Anna and Ruth helped Mam with supper preparations, I pressed the blooms between two sheets of parchment. Then I placed them within the pages of Martyrs Mirror, a heavy, thousand-page book. I slid the volume back onto the shelf in the parlor, confident I had done the right thing. It was a shame to lose such beauty, wasn’t it?
***
We knelt for prayer before supper, Dat saying, “Our kind and merciful Father. We thank you for your guidance today, for our health and welfare, and for all the gifts you so gladly bestow upon us.” He hadn’t read from the prayer book, although he would later for the evening prayers. “Lord bless David and Jacob for all their help today and Ruth and Anna for going to school and learning writing and arithmetic. Bless Rebekah for watching over Abe and helping her mother, and bless meine Frau for having the presence of mind to marry me.”
I glanced at Mam, noticing she tried not to smile. He finished with the Lord’s Prayer, and we sat to eat, while Molly loitered beneath our feet, waiting for table scraps to fall on the floor. After supper, Ruth and Anna and I helped to milk the cows, sitting on wooden stools while encouraging them to spray the insides of a bucket. After finishing their chores, Dat and David wandered down to the pond, having a swim, washing off the dust and sweat from a hard day’s work.
While Mam and Ruth washed dishes, Anna and I and Jacob took Molly for a walk, meandering through rows of cornfields, which smelled of moist earth and manure. The rains h
ad brought out earthworms, the slimy-looking creatures burrowing deeper, seeking sanctuary.
“I’m finding a stick,” said Jacob, rushing off for the woods that spanned the edge of the property. He had brought a metal bucket in case we came upon wild berries.
“Don't go too far,” I called.
The dog, sensing a longer walk might be in the offering, darted into the trees, disappearing from sight within seconds. We frequently took this path, an easy walk that led to the creek. The sun would set within an hour, and I did not wish to be caught in the woods then, because, without light, the trees looked eerie. I would never dream of lingering after nightfall.
Anna said, “That boy has no fear.”
“Molly will direct him home.” I glanced over my shoulder at our house. The sloping gables of the roof and dormer windows were on the third floor, but they would soon be out of sight. Mam kept crates and boxes and things we did not use in the attic. “I suppose we can walk for a while, although I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
“When you spoke to Daniel this morning, did he say why he gave you the flowers?”
Oh, no. Not this conversation again. “No.”
“He was just waiting by the road, hoping to find you?”
“He drove a wagon of hay.”
“I see.”
We neared the edge of the tree line. I could hear Jacob calling to Molly, but I could not see either of them. “Daniel knows I walk that way in the morning. He must’ve been waiting.”
“And he said nothing to you. He handed you the flowers and drove off?”
“It doesn’t matter what he said.” She seemed determined to press the issue.
“Ah, so he did say something.”
“Not much.”
“What did he say?”
The path we followed wasn’t the same as in the morning; this one led to the creek, where it seemed Jacob had gone. “He said … I was beautiful.” No one had ever complimented me in such a way, not even my parents. I felt flattered, which satisfied my vanity, but such a thing was verboten. Was it my pride that had compelled me to press the flowers to preserve the memory of the event for all posterity? Or … was it something else? Anna was perplexingly quiet, and I could not help wondering what she thought. “I was polite enough to him. I didn’t chide him or encourage him. I only took the flowers.”
Thrown to the Wolves (The Faith in Peril Trilogy) Page 3
