by Ruth Reid
“Sometimes our big farmhouse felt lonely . . . just the two of us.”
“I understand.” The farm’s empty rooms represented unfulfilled dreams of a big family. A sad reminder of how empty their lives had become. He understood that all too well. Thomas squeezed her a little tighter. “I’m sure the bishop wouldn’t mind if we stay longer.”
“Ach, no.” She lifted her head. “I’m looking forward to our new home—starting over. Besides,” she said, motioning to the stacked boxes, “it’s going to get cramped quickly when the members start donating furniture.”
He forced a smile, hoping it’d mask his disappointment. It would have been much easier to tell her a few minutes ago about having to put the rebuilding on hold. “I should go. I promised Levi I would help pick pumpkins.”
“Oh, okay.” She stepped out of his embrace and swiped her hand at a wrinkle on her dress. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
He opened his mouth, but lost his nerve. “Did you want to ride along and visit Rebecca and their new boppli?”
“Nay, I was hoping to consolidate some of these boxes today. At least clear a pathway to the bedroom.”
He wouldn’t rush her. Lately, she avoided newborns. Noreen probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. The older she became, the more she found excuses not to visit new mamms and babies. Her biological clock wasn’t ready to expire, but Noreen thought so, and even though she never complained, he sensed her pain.
“I’ll be back by supper.” Thomas weaved around the boxes in the sitting room and grabbed his hat at the door. Before going over to Levi’s, he planned to finish the tree swing he’d promised Noreen he would build when they first were married. Fifteen years was a long time to wait to sit together under the big old maple. With all that had happened, he hoped the surprise would spark a new hope.
“I have errands to run, so will you leave me some money before you go?”
Thomas pretended not to hear the question and slipped out the door. He didn’t have any money to leave. The errands would have to wait.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Present Day
LIVELY CHATTER FILLED ALICE’S SITTING ROOM AS THE women’s sewing bee continued into the late November afternoon. Noreen always enjoyed participating in the frolics, especially when they were all gathered together to help a family in need, but she wasn’t used to this much attention and the experience was humbling.
“The most yardage of material is green,” Sadie announced, kneeling on the floor with the measuring tape. “I hope you don’t mind your curtains green.”
“I’ll be just happy to have mei windows covered,” Noreen replied.
The womenfolk laughed, awakening little Eli from his nap. Rebecca lifted him up from the wicker basket and checked his cloth diaper.
“It’s hard to believe he’s already two months old,” Noreen said.
“I can’t wait until he sleeps through the nacht,” Rebecca said, yawning.
“Even better is when they’re able to feed and dress themselves,” Patty chimed. “I was beginning to think I’d never get Matthew out of diapers. I’m so glad those days are over.”
A pang of regret stabbed at Noreen’s heart. If only she had something to add to the conversation—in the experience of motherhood. The women’s voices blended together as Noreen’s thoughts drifted to the time when she and Thomas had first learned she was pregnant. Had their son survived, he would be thirteen. Seemed like yesterday. Then again, so did the two miscarriages in the years following. “Nothing is impossible for God,” Patty used to say, encouraging her to remain hopeful. But over the years, Noreen learned to discard any bud of hope before it bloomed.
“Is he still feverish?” Sadie asked.
“It finally broke Sunday nacht,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t like missing service, but I didn’t want to risk anyone else getting sick either.” She gazed fondly at her infant. “Levi wasn’t thrilled about Eli and I being home alone. Hearing about the vandalism and stolen livestock had him rattled.”
“Did anyone else hear that the police have connected the slaughtered livestock with another crime?” Sadie asked.
“Slaughtered livestock!” Noreen stuck her fingertip with the needle and jerked her hand away. “I never heard about any of this,” she said, examining her finger. “When did it happen?” The finger stick began to bleed so she shoved her finger into her mouth, her gaze traveling around the room, unsure what to make of the women’s blank stares.
Alice jumped to her feet. “Who would like more kaffi?”
Noreen set aside the shirt she’d been working on for Thomas and stood. She didn’t want more coffee, but she could use a break. Focusing all afternoon on tiny stitches had made her stomach queasy. “I’ll help.”
Patty rose. “I’ll join you.” She leaned closer as they exited the room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m a little tired. Alice and I peeled, cored, and mashed three bushels of apples into applesauce yesterday.” Noreen wasn’t complaining. The past couple weeks canning with Alice had been a joy.
“I was talking about the stolen pigs and vandalism,” Patty said.
Alice clanged the kettle holding it up to the faucet. “Patty,” Alice said, narrowing her eyes. “Will you get the bowl of sugar down from the cabinet?”
“How many places were broken into?” Noreen continued the conversation.
Patty glanced at Alice. “I only heard of one.” She faced the cabinet.
Noreen reached in front of her and removed the glass sugar bowl. “What are you nett telling me?”
Again Alice and Patty exchanged glances.
“Your complexion looks a little washed out. I thought maybe you were coming down with something,” Patty explained.
This wasn’t about how washed out she looked. Sure, when the robberies had occurred in so many Amish homes in their community, she’d been fearful. But so had all the womenfolk.
“I thought you were a little pale when we were doing apples yesterday,” Alice added, her attention focused on pouring coffee into the mugs.
“I might need glasses,” Noreen admitted. “Yesterday focusing on peeling apples and today mei eyes are giving me fits trying to sew. It’s made me nauseated.”
“When mei vision started to change, I used to get headaches.” Alice set the kettle on the stove.
“I get them when I’m feeling stressed,” Patty said.
Perhaps stress was the reason. Not knowing if their new house would be finished by winter was stressful. Nay, it isn’t about the house. She and Thomas were spending more time together like they had when they were newlyweds. If anything, the house fire, losing everything, had brought them happiness.
Noreen caught a glimpse out the window of a buggy. Excitement fluttered her insides as her husband’s buggy rolled to a stop next to the daadihaus. Thomas had finished early, which meant if the debris pile was cleaned up, they could start building soon. Perhaps they would be moved in before winter after all. She could hardly wait to be in their own home again.
“Someone kumm in the driveway?” Alice rose to her tiptoes and peered out the window over the sink.
“Thomas. He’s home early.”
Her husband climbed out of the buggy slowly. His posture hunched, something was wrong. “He’s limping.”
“You better go to him.” Alice made a shooing gesture with her hand.
Noreen grabbed her wool cloak from the coatrack and hurried outside. She rushed across the yard and came up beside Thomas, who was hobbling on one foot. “What happened?” She placed her arm around his waist.
“I stepped on a nail and it shot through the sole of my boot and into my foot.” He cupped her shoulder. “How’s the frolic going?”
“Gut. We’ve been busy sewing all morning.”
He grimaced, taking a step.
“You’ll probably need a tetanus shot.”
“Jah, but I’ll worry about that later.” He hobbled inside with her assistance and plopped down onto
a wooden chair.
Noreen knelt beside him and unlaced his boot. The way he winced as she removed his boot indicated he hurt worse than what he was letting on. Blood had soaked through his wool sock and marked the bottom of his foot. Even though the puncture wound had stopped bleeding on its own, the skin was red with jagged edges. No telling how deep the nail had penetrated. “What size nail?”
“A rafter spike.”
“No wonder you’re limping.” Noreen stood. “I’ll make a salted foot bath.” She filled the kettle with water, placed it on the stove to heat, then prepared a soapy rag to clean the wound.
The wound already looked bruised around the puncture. “How deep do you think it went?”
He shrugged. “It felt like I was passing a kidney stone when Jonathan removed it.”
“You for sure are going to need a tetanus shot.”
“I’ll soak it in kerosene and salt.”
She shuddered, recalling the time she had spilled lamp oil on a paper cut and how much it burned. The water was heated by the time she cleaned his foot. Noreen added a large amount of salt, then placed the basin on the floor in front of him.
Dipping his toes in, he flinched.
“Is it too hot?” She bent down and touched the water. Warm.
He submerged his entire foot, gritting his teeth and clenching the edge of the chair with a white-knuckle grip. “Don’t you want to get back to the frolic?”
She glanced up and frowned. “Thomas King, are you trying to get rid of me?”
He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “Nay, silly.”
Noreen pushed off the floor. “Be right back. I’m going to get supplies.” On a mission, she grabbed a towel from the linen closet, a clean pair of socks from the bedroom, then hunting through a small tote of first-aid products, found a Band-Aid. Living out of boxes with everything in disarray was tedious. She liked things in their place. Noreen’s thoughts skipped to the women’s conversation about the vandalized home. She returned to the sitting room. “Why didn’t you tell me about the break-in?”
Shock registered on his face. “Wh-what did you hear?”
“That livestock were stolen, possibly slaughtered, and . . .” Noreen cocked her head. “Whose place was it?”
Thomas closed his eyes briefly.
“Ours?” Unease trickled down her spine.
He nodded. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Apparently Patty and the others didn’t know how to break the news either.
“The piglets were . . . stolen.”
Or slaughtered? Noreen’s stomach roiled. As an acidic taste landed on her tongue, she clamped her hand over her mouth and rushed out of the room. She was vomiting when Thomas appeared at the bathroom door.
He leaned against the doorframe, water puddling at his foot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”
“You shouldn’t be on your foot.” She leaned over the basin and vomited again.
Instead of leaving, he hobbled to the linen closet, removed a washcloth and hand towel, and handed them to her.
“Danki.” She wet the cloth with cold water.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said, sheepishly bowing his head. “The money I’d been saving—the money for building the haus—was stolen.”
She dropped the washcloth in the sink. “When?”
“Last month, when the barn was vandalized. I should have remembered to bring the tin box when we moved in here.”
“The tin box our letters were stored in?” The tin box he went back into the flaming house to get.
Thomas nodded. “When the robberies started a year ago, I put our savings into the envelopes with the letters, assuming the money would be safe.” He slapped his thighs. “We lost everything.”
Things were making sense. “So that’s why you hurried out of the haus when I asked for spending money?”
“I have some to give you nau. I was able to sell scrap metal I found in the fire waste.”
“I don’t need it nau.” Noreen moved past him and down the hall. She needed air. Vomiting had left a foul taste in her mouth, or maybe the bitterness was from being the last one to know that it was their place that had been vandalized. She grabbed her cloak hanging on the hook by the door and slipped outside.
Voices trailed across the yard as the women’s frolic let out. The dozen or more women and children flocked to their buggies, going home to prepare the evening meal. Noreen should be getting supper ready too. Instead, she ducked under the pasture fence, too nervous to look behind her, worried someone might spot her and want to talk. She needed a few minutes alone.
The first heavy snow flurries of the season came down sideways in the wind. She grasped the neck opening of the cape to keep the draft from entering. Had she not asked Thomas about the robbery, would he have blamed the frozen ground for why they couldn’t build?
Noreen followed the cow path down to the creek. The irony-orange current was swift, washing over the shallow rocky bottom. This was a popular place for the neighboring children in the district to play after helping in the garden on a hot summer day. Noreen especially loved the sound of rushing water. She sat under a nearby tree, trying hard to concentrate on something other than the house, but it was no use.
It isn’t about the house, she insisted. She’d been perfectly content these past weeks living in the bishop’s daadihaus. Up until a few minutes ago, she and Thomas had gotten along well, or so she thought. Now she wasn’t so sure his attentiveness wasn’t a wild attempt to keep her from finding out the truth. A horse snorted and she whirled around.
Thomas climbed off Biscuit, favoring his injured foot, and ambled toward her. “I should have told you.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t. And don’t say you wanted to spare me from the gruesomeness because the womenfolk knew. It was a matter of time before one of them slipped.”
“I was wrong.” He sat beside her and leaned against the tree. “I messed up everything.” Thomas positioned himself to face her. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
Noreen’s heart grew heavy. “You didn’t fail me.”
“I promised your father I would take care of you always.”
She reached for his hand. “And you have.”
“But I don’t know when we’ll be able to rebuild. I spoke with Bishop Zook about us staying through the winter, but we might need to stay even longer.”
He tilted his face up, but his watery eyes still gave him away. She hadn’t seen him this torn up in years. Not since she miscarried and he blamed himself. For a while she had blamed him too. For owning an ill-tempered cow, for leaving her alone when he went for help. She could have prevented the heartache from lingering. The accident wasn’t his fault. Neither was the house fire or the thieves stealing their savings. She wasn’t about to let guilt consume him or what remnant remained of their marriage.
Noreen lifted her head. “I’m happy living in the bishop’s daadihaus. We’ve had a chance to grow closer . . . It feels like home.”
He rubbed his eyes and smiled. “I think so too. But I want you to have your home.”
“I love you, Thomas.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I love you too.” He pulled her into a hug and after a moment of holding her tight, he released her. “Do you want a ride home?”
“You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
The lines on his forehead deepened. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
Noreen nodded. “I need a few minutes alone to pray about something.” Please don’t ask what it’s about.
Thomas hesitated briefly, then stood. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then?”
“Jah.” She waited until he mounted the horse and rode away before bowing her head. “Lord, I don’t understand why mei stomach is so queasy. I’ve had this flicker of hope before and . . . and for whatever reason, You didn’t find me fit for motherhood at the time. Please, have mercy. If I’m with
child, please help me accept the outcome. And if this is just a flu bug”—her throat tightened—“I’ll accept Your will.”
Noreen leaned her head against the tree, eyes closed, and relaxed to the sound of the babbling creek. Within minutes, the nausea was gone, replaced by an indescribable sensation of peace. Noreen remained seated several minutes, not wanting to lose this sense of wellness in her soul.
The sun was close to the horizon when she finally trekked back to the house. Several buggies lined the bishop’s driveway. Surely the women hadn’t decided to stay longer. Perhaps Bishop Zook had called a meeting. She climbed the porch steps and opened the door to the daadihaus. The room was flooded with men and multiple pockets of conversation going on at once.
She scanned the room, surprised so many could fit in the cramped space.
Thomas weaved through the crowd. “Noreen,” he said, smiling wide. “Bishop Zook has offered to give us the daadihaus. We can move it to our property.”
“What? Really, it’s moveable?”
“It won’t be easy, and it’ll take multiple teams to pull it.” Excitement bubbled over him as he turned to Jonathan. “But we can do it, jah?”
His brother nodded. “I don’t see why nett. The horses pulled big loads of logs without much problem. Of course that was in the winter using sleigh runners.”
“That’s wunderbaar,” Noreen said.
Thomas agreed, but was quickly pulled into another conversation about how they would dig under the foundation to secure the straps. The bishop suggested detaching the porch and if necessary, the back bedroom, and hauling them separate.
Noreen caught a glimpse of Alice leaning against the kitchen’s entry wall, arms folded and smiling. Noreen made her way through the crowd. “Are you sure you’re all right with this?”
“Other than missing you in mei backyard, I’m thrilled the old place has a purpose again.” She bobbed her head toward the kitchen. “I’ve put the kettle on. Let’s have a cup of tea while the men plan the move.”
Noreen’s stomach rumbled. “A cup of tea sounds gut.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
