A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  “And that’s why Mamm started bartering milk, cheese, and eggs for meat,” Jonah said. “It was that way for as long as I can remember. Dat used to say that no creature would be harmed on this property.”

  “Remember when the three of us made that bird feeder together?”

  The taut, brittle quality seemed to drain from Jonah’s body as he sat down in a chair. “Dat was always excited to see birds coming around to share the land.”

  The memory of their father, his eyes narrowed to observe the birds flitting at the edge of a field, helped to ease the tightness in Adam’s chest. “He got a kick out of that birding book. And when he found that vividly blue bird … what was it?”

  “The indigo bunting,” Jonah said.

  “Right. The indigo bunting convinced him that God meant for our land to be a safe haven.” Adam shook his head. “Dat loved the notion that the farm was a haven for all living things. I guess that’s why I can’t reconcile the idea of him heading out with a rifle that day.”

  “I think it was because this one had an interest in weapons,” Jonah said, nodding toward the boy sleeping in Adam’s arms. “It was Dat’s idea to quench the fire of curiosity by teaching Simon some gun safety and letting him do some target practice way out in the back fields.”

  “Is that where Juniper Road is? At the back of our property?” The location of the murder scene was not familiar to Adam, who didn’t recall all the back roads in the area.

  Jonah nodded. “Near the plot of land Dat bought from the Muellers years ago. I think they went out there with some rusty cans. Not sure what Mamm was doing … maybe visiting someone, though I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

  Adam felt a pang as Simon turned his head and burrowed his face against his chest. “He’s a good boy. It’s tough to watch him go through these night terrors.”

  “In the beginning, when he was so sick with grief that he couldn’t speak, I feared that we had lost him.” Jonah rubbed his eyes. “It was good to hear him talking again, good to see him getting involved in things, playing in the haymow.”

  “He’s come a long way,” Adam agreed, “but he still does not feel safe. He’s got all this fear pent up inside, and it just bursts out when he’s asleep.”

  “The night terrors seem to be getting worse. Maybe this problem is too big for us to handle. I pray that he’ll recover, but he still clamps up with fear.”

  “I pray for him, too.” Adam’s voice was hushed, not wanting to wake Simon. “God is the only one who can heal him.”

  “True, but we are God’s instruments. That’s why I think you need to talk to Bishop Samuel. Maybe have Simon talk with him.”

  “Simon is afraid of him.”

  “Simon is afraid of many things right now. But he needs help. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. These nightmares are torture.”

  “The doctor said they should stop eventually,” Adam said.

  Jonah shook his head. “I know you, Adam. You think you can handle this alone. You think you can counsel him, but you’re making it worse. By forbidding Simon, forbidding all of us, to talk about our parents’ murders, you are covering wounds that need tending to. It’s like bandaging the hoof of a horse when all you really need to do is get in there and pick out the dirt, manure, and rocks.”

  “But I’m taking direction from Bishop Samuel.” Adam let his tired eyes close a minute. “We must move ahead. Leave the pain and sorrow behind.”

  “And do you think Simon is able to do that? Is he able to forget that someone or something killed our parents? Even left Mamm dead atop him?”

  At the graphic image, Adam’s eyes opened and fixed on Jonah. “What can I do?”

  “Go to the bishop.” Jonah stood and brushed off his hands. “Do it for Simon. And tell everyone in the family they are free to talk about this. A bandaged wound is slow to heal.”

  “Don’t you understand? As it is I’m on shaky ground with our church leaders. After the murders, I don’t think they really wanted to allow us to stay together. Although I returned, no one was happy about my time away.”

  “But you did return, Adam. You got back here as fast as you could. You and I made coffins for Mamm and Dat with our own hands. You took your solemn vow, and since then you’ve been living in submission to the Ordnung. You can’t live your life looking over your shoulder, expecting to be chastised for every misstep.”

  “You weren’t around when they came to see me last Sunday.”

  “Gabe and I had to finish the fence, but I heard you held your own.” Jonah folded his arms across his broad chest, his head dipping wearily. “The time for shame is over, Adam. Whatever happened on your rumspringa is past, and I don’t think the bishop is going to take the little ones away from you for a few small mistakes. Talk to the bishop about Simon’s nightmares and the things he’s remembering. Samuel is a wise man. He will counsel you.”

  Adam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Isn’t this an expanded version of advice you gave me recently?”

  “So you have been listening. It’s hard to tell, with the way you move ahead without looking behind you.”

  “But I do value your opinion. Jonah, this place wouldn’t run without you. You inherited Dat’s skills and patience. Me … I got all the good intentions without the experience.”

  “So if we combine our efforts, things will work.” Jonah touched Adam’s shoulder. “That’s the Amish way.”

  PART TWO

  Home Is Where the Heart Is

  Keep me as the apple of the eye,

  Hide me under the shadow of thy wings.

  —PSALM 17:8

  TWENTY-FOUR

  he morning sun painted a swath of pale yellow over the winter grass as Remy drove slowly behind a gray carriage drawn by a trotting horse. She could see how Amish life forced a person to slow down—literally. But she didn’t mind the slower pace, now that she was close. And she hoped the cloud break was a sign for the day ahead.

  A meeting with Adam. It sounded so formal for two people who’d shared their hopes and fears. A friendship, of sorts. In her dreams they had a future, but then dreams were the notions you turned to when reality let you down, and Remy had been through her share of disappointments.

  She’d been worried about making the drive out here, worried that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to the Kings’ house among the sparsely marked farm roads and miles of dormant fields.

  Fortunately, those proved to be useless worries. The sight of the familiar cluster of buildings that comprised the Kings’ farm brought her a surprising feeling of release … as if she’d just come home after a long time away. Or maybe it was relief that the drive had been smooth and uneventful. Not even a trace of the strange weariness or tingling that usually warned of a coming seizure.

  As she turned onto the unpaved road leading to the Kings’ farm, she recalled Arlene’s admonitions. “Go on the record,” her boss had said. Bottom line, Remy had to let Adam know she was writing a story about his family. No squirming around the topic, the way she’d done in the Reading Terminal Market.

  Even Sadie’s statements wouldn’t be printable without Adam’s permission, and she could forget about quoting anything Simon had told her. Right now Adam was the key to her story, and Remy was convinced that soliciting his cooperation was similar to a diplomatic mission. It couldn’t be rushed or minimized.

  She would have to take it slow and easy, like the horse and carriage in front of her car. She would have to wait for Adam to open up, the way you waited for a bud to unfurl in the spring.

  Although the concept of patience was not something she wanted to explain to the Post’s editor in chief. At this morning’s editorial meeting, Arlene had been insistent that she head out to Lancaster County immediately. She had even excused Remy from her office tasks for the rest of the day.

  “I thought I made it clear that you have an assignment,” the older woman had said, her beady eyes stern. “What did you not understand about that?” When Remy had t
ried to explain that she thought she was supposed to research the story on her own time, Arlene had shooed her toward the door.

  “Go. Research. Interview. Write. Remember the four Ws? Who, what, when, where.”

  Passing the stand of bare beech trees, she pulled up beside a horseless carriage, cut the engine, and climbed out of the car. A cold wind rustled the hillside and licked at her hair as she considered the simple white house, its two blue-curtained windows on the top story peering down at her like a long-lost friend. Should she go to the mudroom door, or knock on the front door, which the family rarely used?

  The question was answered for her when the door to the mudroom flew open and Mary stepped out, her white apron pinned neat as could be, a dish towel in her hands.

  “Remy?” She smiled a welcome. “I thought I heard a car, and the milk truck has already come and gone. But what happened to your long white car?”

  “That was just a hired car. These are my wheels … my car.”

  “And you’ve driven all this way just to visit us?” She cocked her head to one side, a gesture of concern. “Are you feeling better? No more seizures?”

  “Not since the last time I was here. I’m okay to drive, and I promised Sadie I would come visit. Plus I need to talk with Adam.” Remy pulled her coat close, her fingers squeezing a wide button. Despite Mary’s welcoming smile, awkwardness niggled at her. “Are they home?”

  “Not right now.” Mary shook her head as she folded the towel in her hands. “Sadie is at the hotel—her job in town. And Adam is in Paradise, taking Susie to the clinic.”

  “Oh.” Remy fought disappointment; she had hoped Sadie and Adam would be available. “Would it be all right if I wait for them? It’s important.”

  Mary’s hazel eyes seemed to absorb the situation. “I don’t expect them back for a few hours, but of course you can wait.”

  A few hours … Not wanting to disrupt Mary’s day, Remy considered driving back into Halfway to kill time at the Olde Tea Shop. It would certainly help to avoid the awkwardness of spending hours with a stranger. “I can come back,” she said. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

  Mary laughed. “You wouldn’t be a bother. But let me warn you, I might put you to work.”

  “I’d love to help.” She welcomed a chance to get to know Mary a little better. Besides, after Adam gave her permission to run with the story, every smell, sound, and sight of this house would help add texture to her piece.

  “Kumm, before you catch cold.”

  “Thanks.” Remy stepped into the mudroom, encountering the wide eyes of the two children peering out from the open kitchen door.

  “We were just throwing together a stew for dinner,” Mary said. “Hello,” Remy said cheerfully. “Are you helping your big sister today?”

  Both children nodded, their round, dark eyes studying her curiously as she stepped into the warm glow of the kitchen, where smells of browning meat, garlic, and onions mingled.

  “Smells delicious.”

  “Sam has been a very big help.” Mary tousled his dark hair as she moved past him, toward the sink.

  “I peeled the potatoes,” Sam reported. “Every last one. But not Katie. Katie plays with her dolly all day long.”

  Not yet two years old, Katie resembled a doll in her tiny gown, apron, and white kapp. Although her hair was pulled back, translucent strands of baby hair feathered over her forehead.

  “She’s still little,” Remy told Sam, leaning down so that she was face-to-face with him. “Give her a few months and she’ll be helping you out.”

  As if on cue, Kate scampered over to the daybed, retrieved a cloth doll, and tucked it under her arm.

  “Does your doll have a name?” Remy asked.

  The little girl blinked up at her through wisps of downy golden hair.

  “Katie doesn’t talk yet,” Sam said. “She’s a baby.”

  “But she’s learning,” Mary said from the counter as she scraped a mound of chopped carrots into the stew pot.

  Remy straightened. “What can I do to help?”

  “The stew will simmer for a few hours,” Mary said as she rinsed items in the sink. “Gabe and Jonah are out working in the barn. Simon, too. I was just going to get him in to watch the little ones, but if you don’t mind, I’ll start the laundry while you go through a few books with them.” She dried her hands on a towel, adding, “Katie usually dozes off this time of day.”

  “Katie takes naps,” Sam said. “She’s still a baby.”

  “I can read to them,” Remy said, picking up a worn copy of Pat the Bunny. “In fact, I have a gift for you out in the car. A big bag of books, if that’s okay.” She had struggled to think of a family gift that would be appropriate, and when she’d learned that reading was a popular hobby of the Amish, she picked up some of her favorites at a downtown bookstore.

  “New books! Well, this is an exciting morning, isn’t it, Sam?”

  He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, skeptical, until Remy returned with two bulky bags.

  “Don’t forget to say thank you,” Mary told the little boy.

  “Denki,” he said with a curt nod.

  “Have you ever read Hop on Pop?” Remy asked as she held up three Dr. Suess books.

  Sam nodded, breaking into a grin that revealed two missing teeth in front. “Can we read it now?”

  “Of course, but there are some other good ones here.” Remy dug through the bag, searching for Mother Goose Fairy Tales.

  “I’ll just be out on the porch.” Mary nodded, her smile a mixture of approval and amusement as she headed out.

  As soon as Remy sat on the daybed, the children nestled on either side of her, their doughy faces soft and attentive. She opened the stiff book and immediately the cartoon illustrations captured the children’s interest. Katie pressed against her for a better look, and Sam’s dark eyes opened wide in expectation. When she smoothed back the page and began to read, Remy’s voice was a bit scratchy from emotion at the unfamiliar feeling of being needed. As Sam giggled over the rhymes, sweet tenderness covered the three of them like a warm blanket.

  She cleared her throat and continued, hoping to remember this moment for a long, long time.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  here was nothing like a good session with the laundry to free up the mind. While Mary’s hands scrubbed and fed clothes through the wringer, she allowed her thoughts to wander to her future with Five, to the days when she would be washing his trousers, along with tiny pants and dresses for countless little ones.

  She wondered if their first child would be a girl or a boy. And what would they name it? Would Five want to call their first boy John Beiler, after himself and countless other relatives? She wouldn’t mind another John Beiler, but it might be fun to go with something more original like Kevin, or Caleb, or Gideon.

  Dropping a wet, clean gown into a bucket, she realized what a folly this was, naming children when she wasn’t even married to her beau yet. And each day that Adam stayed in his bachelor shell was a day longer that she would be obliged to stay here to manage Mamm’s duties.

  Oh, dear God, there has to be a way through this, she prayed as she threaded another dress through the wringer. A way for Five and me to marry without abandoning my family …

  “Mary?” the Englisher girl called from the kitchen, interrupting her prayer.

  A good and kind girl, that Remy, though Mary was worried about Remy’s motives for driving out from the big city today. “Did they sit still for you?” Mary asked.

  Remy paused in the doorway, hugging her arms to her chest. “They’re great listeners. I went through the book three times, and before I finished they both dozed off.”

  “Even Sam?” Lately her youngest brother had begun to resist afternoon naps. “Sounds like you have a gift for storytelling,” Mary said, working a pair of pants out of the wringer.

  Remy moved closer, eyeing the washing machine curiously. “I was wondering what the noise was out here. You have an auto
matic washing machine? I didn’t think electricity was allowed.”

  “It’s powered by gas, and it’s almost automatic.” Mary didn’t mind explaining the machine that Mamm had so appreciated. “We have to feed clothes through the wringer, but it’s a wonderful help.”

  “With laundry for eleven, I bet it is.” Remy glanced from the moving rollers to the basket of damp clothes. “Do you want help with these? I might as well make myself useful. Where is the dryer?”

  Mary laughed as she crossed the porch to the door. “The dryer is a clothesline beside the vegetable garden.” When she peered outside, the sky had an opaque wash, like a bucket of milk. She didn’t trust it. “But since it looks like rain, we’ll have to hang the clothes inside.”

  “I don’t think they predicted rain.” Remy pulled a small, slender rectangle from the pocket of her jeans and ran her fingers over the face of it.

  “One of those portable telephones?” Mary asked.

  “A BlackBerry. I can bring up the forecast on it, and … let’s see. No rain until tomorrow.”

  “Ya?” Mary didn’t want to offend Remy, but such gadgetry was not a part of the Plain life, and she couldn’t place her trust in an object the size of a cookie. “Well, just to be sure, we’ll hang the clothes in here.” Looping rope through the hooks that were installed in the corner of the ceiling for days like this, she strung a clothesline through the mudroom. “Why don’t you hang the clothes while I finish washing?”

  “I’m on it.” Remy lugged the basket of wet laundry and clothespins to the end of one line. “You know, I was thinking that, since I have my car here, I could go pick the kids up from school.”

  Mary did not look up as she fed a shirt into the wringer. “That’s very kind of you, but it’s not necessary. The school isn’t far, and the children don’t mind walking.”