by Sarah Price
“Ja,” she said, her voice soft. And then someone can remove that buggy, she wanted to add but refrained. She had always learned that silence was golden. She certainly did not want to point out the obvious to Samuel Esh or repay his kindness of offering her a ride by complaining.
“Haven’t seen you at any singings recently.”
She wasn’t certain whether that was a question. She glanced at him, surprised to see him watching her with an intensity that made the color rise to her cheeks. Why on earth would Samuel Esh notice if she went to singings? An even better question was, why on earth would he care? After all, he was rumored to be courting Ella Riehl. In fact, many in the community were surprised that their wedding hadn’t been announced during the last season.
When she realized that he was waiting for an answer from her, she merely shrugged her shoulders. “Didn’t feel much like going, I reckon.”
That was an understatement. Between the cold, wintery weather and the dark gloom hanging over her household, the last thing on Kate’s mind was attending a singing! Joy didn’t seem to be a priority for the Zook family. Anyone in their right mind could understand that, she thought.
“I see,” he replied, his deep voice low and compassionate. There was a momentary pause as the horse seemed to slow down. Kate glanced at his hands holding the reins and realized that he was doing it on purpose. “And David?”
Kate clenched her teeth and lifted her chin, staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to answer any questions about David. Not now, not ever. Rather than respond, she turned her head to stare out the window. It was the Amish way. Rather than reply and say something that might cause regret later, they would merely stop the conversation.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he pursed his lips and nodded his head to indicate that he understood her discomfort. She felt relieved to know he would pursue the topic no further.
They rode the rest of the way to her parents’ farm in an uncomfortable silence. It hung between them like the oppressive air of a hot, humid summer’s night, even though the late-March evening was chilly. She knew what Samuel wanted to ask her. The question was as obvious as sun in the sky. Still, out of respect, he remained silent for the answer was equally clear.
When he stopped the buggy in the driveway, she gave him a soft smile to show her appreciation before she jumped down and hurried toward the house, knowing that if her parents saw Samuel’s buggy pulling out of the driveway, they would certainly wonder out loud about how he had happened upon her and what had prompted her to accept a ride with him. Those were questions she didn’t want to answer, not tonight anyway.
CHAPTER TWO
The battery-operated clock on her nightstand read 5:05 a.m. It was Monday morning, the beginning of the workweek. Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she said a silent prayer before collecting her thoughts. It was her morning ritual. Sometimes, in the distance, she would hear the whistle of the train as it approached the station. She knew that if she could hear the whistle, the wind was blowing from the south and it would be a nice day. The previous three days had been delightful, with the temperatures almost hitting the fifties.
Kate favored the mornings, a quiet time of day that permitted her solitude for reflection as she worked in the barn. She loved to be outside when the sun peeked over the horizon, transforming the inky nighttime sky to a pale gray that became a wash of bright colors and ultimately turned radiant blue. Her younger siblings slept in for another hour while Kate dressed in her work clothes and tiptoed past their closed bedroom doors as she headed for the staircase.
“Gut mariye, Daed,” she said when she saw her father standing by the counter, his back toward her. He stared out the window, one hand holding a coffee cup. As she neared him, she saw that his eyes looked but did not see. Daydreams must have captured his mind. “Daed?”
At the sound of Kate’s voice, he shook his head and looked at her. His gray curls remained unbrushed and the whiskers in his beard looked unkempt. The dark circles under his eyes revealed his constant bouts with insomnia. Kate did not need her maem to tell her that Daed wasn’t sleeping at night, spending the darkest hours of each day tossing and turning, sighing, and, from the privacy of his own room, sometimes crying. The walls of the farmhouse were thin. There was little anyone could do to help ease his pain. What was done could not be undone. That knowledge, more than anything else, surely kept him awake at night.
“Still planning to fertilize the back field today, then?” she asked, trying to smile in the hopes that she could elicit some response—any response—from her father.
Every morning she awoke with one mission in her life: to return joy to her father’s eyes. Every night she went to bed knowing that she had, once again, failed. No matter what she did during the day, no matter how hard she worked, there was one thing that she could never do and that was replace David. The realization that nothing she did would ever be good enough for her father left her aching in pain, too aware of the hole in his world, a hole that could never be filled.
He nodded his head. “Ja, ja,” he mumbled. “The back field.” His tired eyes met hers, lingering just long enough to indicate that his mind was elsewhere. These days, it usually was. With a sigh, he blinked and returned to the present. “Best get started with morning chores, then.”
The daily routine established after the accident hadn’t changed in months. Daed and Kate spent the predawn hours in the dairy barn, milking cows for a good hour and a half, before the others joined them for their chores. By then, Miriam and Becca would be awake and dressed, hurrying out to the barn to help muck the horse stall and feed the animals.
No one asked questions or complained. Everyone knew what had to be done. Before the accident, Kate had helped Maem in the kitchen while David worked alongside Daed. Now it was Kate’s responsibility to help with the manual labor. Gone were her days of baking bread and cleaning house, washing clothes and making beds. Instead, she was destined to spend her early mornings milking cows and mucking stalls, her days plowing fields and spreading manure, and her evenings exhausted from working so hard.
She didn’t mind. Not really. It was peaceful working in the barn and the fields. In her younger years, she’d loved the summertime, which brought the chance to stay home from school and work in the fields cutting hay or harvesting corn. She enjoyed being outside, the sun beating on the back of her neck and the dry earth crumbling under her bare feet. The fresh air kept her awake and made her feel alive, and part of her liked it much better than being confined to the four walls of the house.
However, one thing had changed since those earlier years: Daed’s eyes no longer sparkled.
She slipped her arms into her work coat before she followed him through the door that led from the mudroom onto the porch. A vision struck her, a memory of his face when she had arrived home that night with news of the accident. His expression, wide eyes so full of fear, would never leave her. It haunted her.
Shaking her head, she pushed the memory away and hurried after him through the morning darkness as he walked toward the barn. The cows greeted them with anxious shuffling, eager for their full udders to be milked. Kate laid her hand on the rump of the nearest cow, a black-and-white Holstein with a crooked tail.
Unlike some of the church districts in Lancaster County, their bishop permitted the g’may to use diesel-powered milking machines. It made life much easier, and took less time than hand milking almost three dozen cows. Kate remembered when the old bishop died and a new one was chosen by a lot drawing among the men, one tiny slip of paper fluttering from a Bible that Menno Hostetler selected from the table. His face paled at the realization that, for the rest of his life, he would lead the community, guiding their religious beliefs and cultural assimilation with the world around them.
One of his first acts as bishop was to permit the use of the diesel-powered milking machines. Some of the older farmers quietly rebelled,
refusing to switch from the “old ways” to the newfangled technology that many thought belonged only in the domain of the Englische. Kate’s father, however, had eagerly jumped on the bandwagon, installing the system as soon as he could. After all, despite having five children, only two were sons. There were not enough hands to milk cows, not if they were to prosper in the twenty-first century.
“Go throw down the ladder some hay,” Daed told her, as if she didn’t do this every morning.
Obediently, she did as she was told. Climbing the sturdy ladder into the hayloft, she yawned. Like her daed, she now suffered from restless nights. That sleep did not come easy to her was yet another change in her life. Still, she never complained. If God wanted her to toss and turn, remembering the events that led up to the accident, who was she to question Him?
By the time the sun crested over the horizon and spilled light into the barn, Miriam and Becca made their entrance. Kate looked up when she heard the door open, the hinge squeaking. As always, Miriam entered the barn first, her chestnut hair perfectly brushed and pinned back, dressed for the day with a work apron covering her clothing. Her soft doe-like eyes always looked so thoughtful and exuded kindness. At thirteen, she was attending her last year of school before she would complete her education at home until she reached the age of sixteen.
Despite the seven-year age difference, Kate and Miriam’s similar personalities created a special bond between the two of them. Knowing that Miriam looked up to her, Kate tried to be the perfect role model for her—and for their younger sister, Becca, as well. Miriam responded well, learning from Kate and mirroring her demonstration of humility and righteousness.
Ten-year-old Becca, however, was a different story altogether. Perhaps because she was the youngest and the last child, Becca lacked restraint. This was because she’d been overindulged by her parents, at least that’s what Kate suspected.
Childbirth hadn’t been an easy road for Kate’s parents. She always wondered if they still mourned the loss of their two stillborn babies, sons at that. She remembered all too well the pregnancies and the funerals for the small, lifeless brothers that she’d never had a chance to play with. When Miriam had arrived, the relief that she was healthy overshadowed the fact that she was a girl. It meant there was still the opportunity to yet have more children, perhaps boys.
But when Becca arrived, the doctors told her maem, “No more.” The fact that Becca was the last child, even if she wasn’t a son, meant that her parents, especially Maem, pampered and spoiled her in ways that shocked even Kate.
Kate wiped her hands on her work apron as she finished washing the last milk bucket. She smiled at Miriam, and together they walked to the back room where the hay was neatly stacked.
“Beware Becca,” Miriam whispered. “She’s in a wild mood this morning.”
Kate gave a soft chuckle. When wasn’t Becca in a wild mood? Becca was not a morning person. Why should today be an exception? The buttons on her overcoat were not aligned properly and a long strand of hair fell from her bun. She wore nothing over her head and her cheeks bore the marks from her pillow. She barely grumbled hello as she grabbed a pitchfork and started mucking the horse and mule stalls.
“Danke for the warning,” Kate whispered back, unable to hide the teasing tone of her voice.
As Kate and Miriam broke the bales of hay into large flakes for the horse and mules, they could hear Becca grumbling to herself. It took all of Kate’s self-restraint not to giggle at her youngest sister’s fiery personality and ability to make a mountain out of any molehill.
“You’re giving them too much,” Miriam scolded, watching as Becca carelessly tossed fresh shavings into the stall.
“Oh, hush yourself!” Becca retorted, ignoring Kate’s raised eyebrow. “Maybe they’re extra hungry today! Did you ever think of that?” As if to prove her point, she tossed another shovelful of pine shavings into the horse’s stall.
Miriam rolled her eyes.
It was seven when the chores were almost finished and Daed excused the girls. Miriam and Becca needed to change out of their work dresses for school. Kate followed them across the yard as they hurried into the house, Becca outrunning Miriam by a long shot. Kate smiled, wondering why Becca was in such a hurry anyway. If Kate knew her sister, she’d be complaining about having to walk to school as soon as she was out the door.
Inside the house, Kate paused at the sink in the mudroom to wash her hands and kick off her work boots. No sense tracking dirt through the house, forcing Maem to get out the broom. Removing the black knit scarf she had worn for chores, she smoothed down a few stray strands of hair before putting on her head covering, taking a straight pin from the front of her dress to secure it in place.
She greeted her maem with a smile. “Need help?”
“Nee,” Maem responded. The table was already set and plates of food put out. All that was needed was the family to take their places.
Without being asked, Kate removed one of the chairs near the head of the table and set it by the sofa. She didn’t know why they didn’t just leave it there, but Maem insisted that everything had its place and the place for that chair was at the table unless they were eating.
David’s place, Kate thought as she looked around, wondering where he was.
“He’s not out yet, then?”
Maem glanced over her shoulder at Kate, her despondent eyes answering for her. Then she shook her head.
“Mayhaps I’ll see if he needs any help.”
She rapped her knuckles on the closed bedroom door at the bottom of the staircase. Once, twice. When no one answered, she placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Her chest lifted and fell as she took a deep breath before turning it and gently pushing open the door.
“David?” She peered into the room, dark from the drawn shades.
“Go away.”
In the dim light, Kate could just make out his form, still laying in bed. After the accident, Maem and Daed had moved out of their bedroom on the first floor so that David would not have to navigate the stairs every day. Without her parents’ double bed and faded navy quilt, the room looked strange to Kate. Stranger still was the fact that it was occupied by her younger brother now, his disability making it impossible for him to get upstairs anymore.
“Are you still in bed, then?” As always, she tried to sound cheerful as she headed to the window, her hand outstretched to touch the simple green shade.
“Do not raise that!”
She ignored him. Light flooded the room and she turned, just in time to see him dart under the covers. The borrowed wheelchair lay overturned by the far side of the bed. Had he tried to get up by himself and failed? She bent over to pick it up and set it properly on its wheels. “Now, let’s get you up and dressed for the day,” she said, reaching her hand out to take the edge of the quilt and peel it back.
“Why bother?” He managed to flip onto his side so that his back faced her. “To just sit in a chair all day? I might as well stay in bed.”
Kate took a deep breath and reached for his arm. Thankfully, he didn’t fight her as she pulled him upright and into a sitting position. “Shall we start by getting dressed?” She didn’t wait for an answer and turned toward the clothes hanging from pegs on the wall: black trousers and a white button-down shirt. “Let’s go,” she commanded as she handed him the shirt.
He glared at her, his dark eyes flashing. “Now you want to tell me what to do?”
The way he emphasized the word now hurt. She knew what he meant. The implied accusation cut her to the quick. Over the past few weeks, she found herself struggling to fight the urge to avoid him and his hateful words. God wanted her to tend to David. Kate knew this from her private prayers with Him. So whenever David hurled comments full of spite and misery, she pretended she didn’t hear his words and continued fussing about his room as if everything was perfectly normal.
&nbs
p; It wasn’t.
“Looks to be nice out today,” she heard herself say casually, glancing out the window. “Sunny and warm enough to finish melting the snow, I think.”
No response.
She turned around and noticed that he hadn’t moved. “Ja vell,” she said. “I’ll give you some privacy to change and then Daed can help you into your wheelchair.” She forced a smile that she didn’t feel inside of her heart as she walked toward the door. “Five minutes enough?” Without waiting for an answer, she left the room, leaving the door just slightly ajar so that he knew someone would be back momentarily.
The morning ritual of dealing with David wore on Kate’s nerves. The anger that flashed in his eyes mirrored the perpetual guilt that she felt. One decision about one buggy ride had altered so many lives, she often told herself while she lay awake in bed, staring at shadows dancing on the ceiling from moonlight beaming through the window. She rarely found a restful sleep as this thought haunted her, a constant reminder of what her silence had done to her family.
Still, she vowed that she would not fail David or her parents. Even if no one discussed it, she accepted responsibility for her role in the accident and promised herself that she would be there, always, to help tend to David and his needs.
Back in the kitchen, Kate inhaled the familiar smells of Maem’s breakfast. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air and she shut her eyes, savoring that moment. As soon as breakfast began, the day would shift into full gear, and the never-ending seasonal farm chores with Daed would begin.
Kate dreaded fertilizing the fields. Spreading manure was not the most pleasant job, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it needed to be done, especially before planting. While Daed drove the team of Belgian mules, Kate was responsible for clearing any brush from in front of the machinery, an important task since they hadn’t worked in the back field for two seasons, permitting it to have fallow time.
