Chapter Six
The rest of the week, Isaac sneaked his books out to the kennel to read. He skimmed through most of the pages to find the chapters that revealed Demosthenes’s secrets to becoming a good speaker. Once he’d finished reading those parts, he reread the article several times.
Because the market stayed closed on Mondays, Isaac usually did a deep cleaning of his kennels and prepared special foods and vitamins for his Labrador retrievers to last the rest of the week. He also had more time to play with his puppies than he did on market days.
Today, though, he tucked a Bible under his arm before he headed to the kennel. He’d rushed through his barn chores to dodge his siblings, who were still finishing up theirs. The last thing he needed was for one of them to spot him.
After scooping up a handful of gravel, he washed it at the outdoor pump near the building. Reluctant to put the stones into his mouth, he carried them into the building and, one-handed, let the puppies out of their cages.
Instead of sitting on the floor to cuddle them the way he usually did, he stood in the center aisle and popped in the handful of gravel. His cheeks bulged, and his mouth watered. How did you swallow the moisture without sucking down a stone? Very carefully.
If nothing else, he’d end up with stronger jaw muscles. Maybe that was part of the secret.
As the puppies tumbled over one another and his feet, yipping and yapping, Isaac opened the Bible. Taking a deep breath, he tried to read. “In the beginning . . .” He attempted to form words.
Glub, glub, glub.
His tongue stuck to the floor of his mouth, weighted down by the stones. He tried to clear his throat and almost choked. At a picture of his brothers discovering him collapsed on the floor, strangled to death by a mouthful of gravel, he spit it out.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. After all, Demosthenes lived more than twenty centuries ago. Things might have been different. Or maybe using pebbles instead of gravel worked better. Pebbles would be smoother and not poke the insides of his cheeks. He debated about giving up altogether.
Then two images flitted through his mind: Mrs. Vandenberg. She’d always been kind and helpful. She wouldn’t have recommended this if she didn’t believe he’d succeed. And Sovilla. If he ever wanted to order a pastry without relying on his brother to speak for him, he had to try.
Focusing on Sovilla’s face gave him courage. He practiced again. And again. And again.
He had to concentrate and work hard to make even one sound, and each one came out slow, painful, and mangled. After making it through one Bible verse, his brow dripped with sweat. He’d used more strength doing this than he did loading and unloading their animals for the auction. He prayed expending all this energy would be worthwhile.
At this rate, it might take years to put together one coherent sentence. By that time, his dream of speaking to Sovilla would have faded. She’d be married and have several children. After all, she already had a boyfriend. Maybe they already had a fall wedding planned. Isaac’s stomach clenched. He had no right to be using Sovilla as an incentive. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
* * *
Wilma had slipped out of the house early on Monday morning without mentioning where she was heading. Sovilla prayed for grace to put aside her hurt. She’d grown up in a house where everyone shared their plans and talked about their activities.
Her aenti had made it clear she’d been living alone since she’d left home at seventeen. All those years of having nobody to talk to or confide in must have made her self-sufficient. Trying to understand Wilma’s viewpoint eased some of Sovilla’s pique.
Sovilla had already grown used to silent meals. At first, she’d attempted to start conversations whenever they sat down to eat. But Wilma ignored her or snorted and shook her head. Even something as harmless as mentioning the weather elicited a glare or a nasty retort. Sovilla also tried not to mind her aenti slurping or scraping silverware during mealtime prayers. Sometimes, though, loneliness overwhelmed Sovilla.
Following the first letter from her mother, Sovilla had heard nothing. Nor had Henry written or called. After the first week of helping at the bakery stand, Wilma hadn’t taken Sovilla to the market. Sovilla had cooked and cleaned, but Wilma never seemed to notice. As her second week in Lancaster passed, Sovilla grew more and more isolated.
When Wilma returned early that afternoon, she called Sovilla into the living room. “Sit,” she ordered, motioning to the couch. She settled onto a stiff wingback chair across from Sovilla and pulled a thick sheaf of papers from a large manila envelope.
Wilma’s eyes bored into Sovilla’s as if trying to discern all her secrets. Sovilla squirmed.
“First of all,” Wilma said finally, “I’ll need you to take over my market stand when I go in for the operation the week after next. I’ve paid for the rent six months in advance.”
“I see. Will you take me with you this week and show me what to do?”
Wilma pursed her lips and blew out a long breath. “I don’t have any choice.”
Like Lloyd’s annoyed looks, Wilma’s put-upon expression shriveled Sovilla’s insides.
“We can talk about that later. Right now, I have more important items to discuss.” She tapped a thick finger on the papers laying in her lap. “I spent this morning at my lawyer’s office.”
Sovilla gulped. From her aenti’s stern expression, Sovilla worried Wilma planned to drag her into court for something she’d done wrong.
“Because I don’t have much faith in surgeons, I made out my will in case they kill me on the operating table.”
Sovilla gasped. “I don’t think—”
“Exactly. You don’t think. The fact that you’re still expecting that unfaithful boyfriend to call makes that clear.”
Pinching her lips together, Sovilla held back a cry—of pain or rebuke, she wasn’t quite sure. She’d been considering writing to Henry one last time to see if he’d respond. He did owe her an explanation. Or did he? She’d been the one who’d left without a word.
“Are you listening to me? Or are you off into ridiculous fantasies?”
“I-I’m listening.”
“I certainly hope so, because my life is at stake here.”
Although Sovilla didn’t believe that, she pulled her thoughts from Henry to concentrate on her aenti.
“I’ve turned everything over to you in my will.” Wilma patted the papers. “The house and all its contents, my bank account, my investments—”
“Me?” Sovilla squeaked.
“Yes, you. Who else do I have?”
“But—but . . .”
“But what? You’re my closest relative. Or at least the only one I can trust. I don’t want this house sold. I’ve put too much blood, sweat, and tears into paying it off.”
When Sovilla opened her mouth again to protest, Wilma cut her off. “If I don’t give it to you, Lloyd will grab it. I know he’d sell it. I don’t want him to get even one penny.”
After the way Lloyd had sold their family house, Sovilla suspected he’d be eager to sell this one as well.
“Those are the two promises you have to make me. Not selling this house and not letting Lloyd get his greedy hands on my money. Do you agree?”
“Of course. But are you sure you don’t want to leave it to someone else?”
“Absolutely not. I know I can trust you.”
Wilma’s certainty took Sovilla aback. The whole time she’d been here, her aenti had treated her with suspicion. Now suddenly, she planned to entrust Sovilla with all her possessions.
“I know you’ll probably have no use for the car. You can sell that or give it to that charity that buys cars. Again, if you sell it, don’t let Lloyd touch the proceeds. Will you promise me that?”
I doubt that anything will happen to you. Sovilla kept that thought to herself. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
Wilma’s guttural laugh came out cynical. “It figures. Dangle money in front
of someone and they’ll grovel.”
That stung. “I only meant I’d keep the terms you’ve asked of me.”
“If I told you I had another condition for getting my fortune, would you do it?”
“First of all, I don’t believe you’re going to die. And second, I’ve agreed to what you’ve asked to ease your mind, not because I want your money. In fact, I’m not sure I do.”
When Wilma’s face crumpled, Sovilla regretted losing her temper.
“I thought maybe . . .” Wilma’s jaw tightened, and she turned away. “I should have known nobody could ever care about me.”
“I do care.” Despite Wilma’s snippiness, the frequent flashes of loneliness and longing in her eyes had touched Sovilla and allowed her to see past her aenti’s crusty exterior.
Wilma kept her face averted. “I bet.”
The fact that her aenti planned to give all her possessions to someone she’d met only two weeks ago made Sovilla’s heart ache. How isolated had Wilma been?
Sovilla longed to reach out, but would her aenti believe her? She had to try. “When I said I didn’t want the money, I was trying to show you that I care about you, not about what I can get from you.”
“Humph.” Head bowed, Wilma shoved the papers back into the envelope.
“And I’m praying the operation will go well. I’d much rather have you get better than have the money.”
Wilma cleared her throat. “You almost sound convincing.” She took a tissue from her dress sleeve and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “My allergies always get bad this time of year.”
Sovilla suspected her aenti’s sudden sniffles had a different cause. What had happened to make Wilma hide her soft heart behind a brittle shell? Would she ever feel comfortable enough to share her true feelings?
* * *
Last week, Isaac had missed seeing Sovilla in the market. Several times he’d been tempted to stop and ask Gideon or Fern if Sovilla would be back. But Isaac didn’t want to start gossip. He could trust Gideon and Fern to keep his request private, but if Nick overheard, he’d trumpet it around the market.
Isaac had even strolled to a spot where he could see Pickle Lady’s stand, pretending Snickers had pulled him in that direction. He hoped her niece would be helping her. But each time he’d passed, he’d come away disappointed. He’d never ask Wilma about Sovilla, not after the Pickle Lady had been so cruel to him when he was a boy. Since then, he’d avoided her.
He’d been tempted to drive by Wilma’s house. He passed her lane on the way to and from work, but he always had his brothers in the buggy with him. Besides, if Wilma spotted him, she’d wonder why he’d turned down a back road that led to a dead end a half mile beyond her place.
So when he returned to the market on Tuesday morning, he avoided Wilma’s stand. Once again, Fern stood behind the bakery counter. Isaac bought a cinnamon bun to hide his real reason for checking out the stand, but not even the sticky sweetness could cure his disappointment.
Head down, he shuffled back to the auction without looking where he was going. Snickers jerked back on the leash, startling him.
“Look out,” a deep voice behind Isaac warned.
Isaac stopped just before he plowed into Mrs. Vandenberg. He reached out one hand to steady her. “S-s-sorry.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Isaac. And thanks to Snickers for being so alert.” Then she waved to the man behind the counter. “Thank you too, Gideon. God has sent many guardian angels to watch over me.”
After Mrs. Vandenberg regained her balance, Isaac bent to pat his puppy. He rubbed her behind the ears. Good job, Snickers.
“Did you want your usual?” Fern called to Mrs. Vandenberg.
“Yes, please, but can you hold it for me? I want to speak to this young man.” She stepped in front of Isaac so he couldn’t take off.
Although he was always happy to spend time with her, he really needed to get back to the auction. Isaac glanced toward the doors, expecting to see his brother coming through to complain about Isaac being so slow. But Andrew was nowhere in sight.
“Did you have a chance to check out Demosthenes?” Mrs. Vandenberg studied him, her expression brimming with curiosity.
Isaac nodded. She deserved more than a head bob. “I-I’m d-doing it.”
“You are? I’m so glad. I have something else for you.” She dug into her large handbag and pulled out an article. “This speech therapist has some tips too, but keep on with the pebbles.”
“D-danke.”
“By the way,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief, “you might want to walk back in that direction.” She waved to her left.
He stared at her with puzzlement. The doors that led to the auction lay on the other side of the market. Isaac had delayed too long already.
But after her kindness, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he rushed off in the direction she’d indicated, planning to veer left at the end of the chicken barbecue counter, where she couldn’t see him. Before he and Snickers reached the turn, though, a white, barrel-shaped kapp caught Isaac’s attention.
He sucked in a breath. Sovilla? She was the only one he knew who wore a kapp like that. He continued heading straight, trying to act casual and disinterested. The pickle stand’s location near the end of the aisle made it awkward. Beyond it, a stand held hanging planters and fresh-cut flowers, followed by a pretzel stand. If he didn’t have a sticky bun in his hand, he could buy a pretzel.
If Wilma and Sovilla spotted him, they’d know he didn’t intend to buy from any of the vendors around that corner—one with fabrics and supplies for quilting or bulk foods, which carried flour and other baking supplies.
Act like you’re walking your dog, he told himself. Snickers needed to stretch her legs sometimes. This could be a perfectly innocent walk. Keep your eyes straight ahead, and don’t look at Sovilla.
Pretending to be nonchalant while sneaking glances from the corner of his eye almost tripped him up. Once again, Snickers pulled him to a stop. With a quick shuffle, he slid around a woman before they collided.
“You should watch where you’re going,” Wilma bellowed.
Isaac sighed. His near accident would have to happen in front of Pickle Lady’s stand. Averting his eyes from Sovilla, he nodded politely to acknowledge her comment.
Before he could escape, Wilma buttonholed him. “Which brother are you?” She peered at him suspiciously.
She couldn’t tell with his dog? Had she asked on purpose to humiliate him in front of Sovilla?
His lungs constricted, making it hard to suck in a breath. Could he walk on, pretending he hadn’t heard her question?
As if guessing his intention, Wilma advanced on him threateningly. A low rumble in Snickers’s chest warned Pickle Lady not to come closer.
“If that dog bites me, I’ll call the authorities to have it destroyed.”
“Ach, no!” Sovilla cried. “It’s only a puppy.”
Wilma turned on her. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
Sovilla shrank back, and Isaac’s chest swelled at the injustice. “Sh-she h-has a r-right to t-talk.” He always avoided talking when angry or nervous, because it made the stuttering worse. Now he’d shamed himself in front of Sovilla, but he couldn’t let Wilma get away with bullying.
* * *
Sovilla couldn’t believe Isaac, the short-tempered guy who’d snapped at her for petting his puppy, was defending her. She warmed to him, especially after his cheeks darkened to match the potted fuchsia geraniums in the next booth. His stuttering must embarrass him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t talk to her.
Also, now that she looked closer, she could read the printing on the side of the dog’s harness: Happy Helpers. When she’d bent to pet the puppy before, she’d only seen the yellow padding from the front and assumed the puppy wore a coat or raincoat. Snickers must be a guide dog. No wonder Isaac hadn’t wanted her to pet the puppy.
Wilma took a step back from the dog, but her frown
drew her eyebrows so close together, they formed an angry V. Her tone cruel and mocking, she confronted Isaac. “Spit it out, why don’t you?”
Sovilla gasped. “Aenti, I can’t believe you said that.” She stepped closer, trying to insert herself between Isaac and Wilma. Sovilla’s face burned with rage and shame. “I’m sorry, Isaac. I’m sure she didn’t mean that.”
“I most certainly did.”
“You didn’t.” Sovilla faced her aenti with a pleading expression, silently begging her not to contradict the comment.
To her surprise, Wilma subsided. She even appeared a little ashamed.
His back stiff and his jaw set, Isaac wove around Wilma. “I n-need to g-go.”
Sovilla waited until he was out of earshot. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I’m sure Isaac can’t help his stuttering.”
“You’re defending a stranger over your own flesh and blood?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Or isn’t he a stranger? You know his name and which twin he is.”
“I’ve met him before.” To Sovilla, the twins had distinct personalities that made it easy to tell them apart.
“Mm-hm. Sure.” Wilma examined her with a critical eye.
“Just to be clear, I’m not picking sides—Isaac over you. I only meant that it isn’t right to mock someone for something they have no control over. That’s how God made him.”
“Pah. If there really is a God, He’s made a lot of mistakes.”
“God doesn’t make mistakes, and Isaac certainly isn’t one of them. God’s ways are perfect. He had a reason for how he created Isaac.”
Wilma went into a diatribe about all the mistakes God had made with Isaac.
Finally, Sovilla interrupted her aenti’s ranting. “God knew what He was doing. He has a plan for Isaac’s life.” She softened her tone. “And He has a perfect plan for you too.”
Wilma shook her head. “He really messed up badly with me.”
“Neh, he didn’t. God has a reason for everything that happens. But you need to give Him control of your life.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t lived through what I’ve endured.”
An Unexpected Amish Courtship Page 5
