by Marta Perry
Susanna loved the auction. She liked to watch the English tourists and she loved to poke through the dusty tables of glass dogs and plastic toys in the flea market. Today, Susanna had made a real find, an old Amish-style rag doll without a face. The doll had obviously had many adventures. Somewhere she’d lost her Kapp and apron, but Ruth promised that she would sew Dolly a new wardrobe and assured her sister that this doll was Plain enough to please even the bishop.
Today had been a slow day. They hadn’t sold everything, and it was long past lunchtime. Now it was clouding up in the west, and it looked to Ruth as if they might get an afternoon thunderstorm.
Across the way, Aunt Martha and Cousin Dorcas were already packing up their baked-goods stall. Ruth was just about to suggest to Miriam that they leave when, suddenly, there was a loud rumble.
Heads whipped around as Eli Lapp came roaring down the driveway between the lines of stalls on a battered old motorbike. Ruth almost laughed in spite of herself at the sight of him on the rickety contraption. Even she could see that it was no Harley motorcycle, as Aunt Martha had claimed. It was an ancient motorized scooter, hand-painted in awful shades of yellow, lime and black.
Susanna’s mouth opened in a wide O as she pointed at the motor scooter. Miriam called out and waved, and to Ruth’s horror, the Belleville boy braked his machine right in front of the Yoder stall.
“Hey!” he shouted, over the clatter of the bike. “Ruth, good to see you again.”
Ruth’s eyes narrowed as she felt a wash of hot blood rise up from her throat to scald her cheeks. Aunt Martha and Dorcas were staring from their stall. Even the English were chuckling and ogling them. Or maybe they were looking at the ugly bike; she couldn’t tell.
“Want a ride?” Eli dared, grinning at Ruth.
She was mortified by the attention. Eli Lapp was not only riding a ridiculous motor scooter, he wasn’t dressed Plain. He was wearing motorcycle boots, tight Englisher blue jeans and a blue-and-white T-shirt, two sizes too small, that read “Nittany Lions.”
“Ne. I do not want a ride,” she retorted. “Go away.” She thought she spoke with authority, but her voice came out choked and squeaky, and Miriam giggled.
“It’s perfectly safe, teacher’s girl,” he said. “I’ve even got a helmet.” He held up a red one, almost as battered as the bike.
“Ne,” Ruth repeated firmly, avoiding eye contact, even though he was staring right at her.
“If you won’t, I will,” Miriam cried, throwing up both hands.
And before Ruth could utter more than a feeble “Ne,” her sister scrambled around the table, hitched up her skirt and apron, and jumped on the back of the scooter.
“I want a ride, too!” Susanna declared, bouncing up and down.
Ruth cut her gaze to Miriam as she watched her boldly wrap her arms around Eli’s waist. “Miriam,” she ordered, “get off—”
Eli winked at Ruth, and the motorbike took off down the drive, out of the auction and onto the street, leaving her standing there looking foolish and Susanna jumping up and down for joy.
“Oh! Oh!” Susanna clapped her hands. “Did you see Miriam ride?”
“Help me load the rest of our things into the buggy. She’ll be back in a minute,” Ruth said, a lump in her throat.
She told herself she was upset that Miriam was doing something she shouldn’t be, but she knew in her heart of hearts it was that boy again. He was making her feel this way. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
As Ruth walked to the buggy, trying to look casual, she glanced in her aunt’s direction. Aunt Martha had her head close together with Dorcas, and the two were talking excitedly. That was definitely not good. Miriam’s poor decision would be all over Kent County by supper time. And there would be no doubt who would be held accountable. Ruth would.
She was the oldest left at home. Susanna and Miriam were her responsibility. They had not been baptized into the church yet, but she had. She should have known better than to let Miriam do something so foolish, so not Plain.
Ruth was just checking the horse’s harness when she heard the growl of the motorbike as it grew closer again. Stroking the old mare’s broad neck, she turned to see Eli and Miriam riding straight at her. A moment later, her sister was holding three ice-cream cones in the air and trying to get off the scooter without showing too much bare leg. Eli was laughing and talking to her as if they were old friends.
“He bought us ice cream.” Miriam licked a big drip of chocolate off her cone and handed the vanilla one to Susanna. “What do you say, Susanna?”
“Danke,” Susanna chirped.
“And here’s one for you.” Miriam had a twinkle in her eye as she held out the ice cream to Ruth. “I know you like strawberry.”
“No, thank you,” Ruth said stiffly. “I don’t want any.”
Miriam shoved the cone into her hand. “Don’t be such a prune,” she whispered. “Eat it. Mam wouldn’t want you to waste food.”
Ruth glared at Eli as she felt the cold cream run down her fingers.
“I see Miriam got back in one piece,” Dorcas called as she hurried across the driveway toward Ruth. “Mam saw her and—”
“Here.” Flustered, Ruth handed her cousin the ice-cream cone. “You like ice cream. You eat it.”
Eli looked right at Ruth, laughed and roared away on his noisy machine.
Chapter Three
Ruth glanced at Mam and then turned her attention back to Blackie, their driving gelding, and eased him onto the shoulder of the busy road to allow a line of cars to pass. Blackie was a young horse, and Ruth didn’t completely trust him yet, not like she did old Molly, so she liked to keep a sharp eye out for traffic.
“So why did you wait so long to tell me about Irwin?” Her mother’s soft voice carried easily over the regular clip-clop of Blackie’s hooves on the road and the rumble of the buggy wheels. The rain, which had held off all day, was coming down in a spattering of large drops.
Miriam had gone ahead with Anna, Susanna and Johanna and her children to the quilting frolic at Lydia Beachy’s house in the big buggy, leaving her and Mam to follow in the smaller courting buggy. Dat had brought this single-seat carriage from Pennsylvania with him twenty-six years ago. It was just the right size for two, perfect for private conversation. Ruth had counted on being able to voice her concerns about Irwin, and she wanted to tell Mam about this afternoon’s incident with Eli Lapp and his ridiculous motorbike before anyone else did.
“Ruth?” Mam pressed.
“I meant to, but…” An ominous roll of thunder sounded off to the west, and she flicked the reins to urge Blackie into a trot as she pulled back onto the road. “But Samuel came last night and then there was no chance to talk with you alone and today we were both gone all day.”
“I see. Well, Irwin wasn’t in school today.”
“He wasn’t?”
“I asked three of Irwin’s cousins why he wasn’t there and got three different excuses,” Mam said.
Ruth sighed. “I don’t want to accuse him. I just thought it was strange that he’d run away like that. I suppose he could have seen the fire and been trying to put it out.” She hesitated. “But since Irwin is always making mischief…”
“Losing his whole family in a fire, coming to Delaware to live with people he hardly knows, it’s no wonder he acts out.” Mam folded her arms in a gesture that meant no nonsense. “I won’t judge him until we know the truth, and neither should you.”
Ruth didn’t want to argue with Mam, but neither was she going to hold her tongue when she had something to say. “He did set Samuel’s outhouse on fire last month. He gave Toby a black eye and you sent him home twice from school for fighting this month.”
Mam frowned. “The boy has a lot of anger inside. He needs love, not accusations and false judgments.”
“But if he makes a habit of playing with matches…”
“Where’s your charity? In my experience, the wildest boys turn out to be the most dependab
le men.”
Ruth winced. “You know I don’t mean to be uncharitable. I just thought you should know what I saw with my own eyes.”
“And rightly so.” Mam nodded. “Now that I do know, I’ll handle it.”
When Ruth didn’t comment, Mam continued. “The school can be repaired, but if people start talking about Irwin, the damage to a child’s soul may not be so easy to mend.”
“You’re right, but what if he’s a danger to others?”
“Have faith, Ruth. I’ll do my part, the Beachys will do theirs, and God will do the rest.”
“What will you do?” Her heart went out to the boy, as unlikable as he was, but they had to think of the other children’s safety, too. As much as she valued her mother’s judgment, she had to be satisfied that they weren’t taking unnecessary chances to protect Irwin.
“I’ll talk to him privately.” Mam pursed her mouth. “Last night, Samuel confided that he suspects his twins know something about the fire, something they were afraid to tell.”
“What made him think that?”
“Samuel said it wasn’t what they said—it was what they didn’t say.” Mam squeezed her hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Not to worry.”
She glanced at her mother, wanting to believe her, wishing her own faith in others came as easily as it seemed to come to Mam. “You always say that.”
“And it’s always true, isn’t it? Things usually work out for the best.”
Her mother smiled at her, and Ruth was struck by how young and pretty she still was at forty-six. Tonight, she was wearing a lavender dress with her black apron, and her black bonnet was tied over her starched white Kapp. No one would guess by looking at Mam’s waistline that she’d given birth to seven children. “You must have been a beautiful bride, Mam.”
“Why, Ruth Yoder, what a thing to say. I hope I was properly Plain. Vanity is not a trait to be encouraged.”
Ruth suppressed a smile. Mam might not admit it, but she cared about her appearance. It was Ruth’s opinion that on her wedding day, her mother must have been just as beautiful as Leah. Hadn’t Dat always said he’d snapped up the prettiest girl in Kent County? “No one could accuse you of Hochmut, Mam. You never show a speck of self-pride.”
“Not according to your grossmama. It took a long time for your dat’s mother and family to accept me after we married.”
“Because you grew up Mennonite and had to join the Amish Church to marry Dat?” That was something of a family scandal, but once she had joined the church, no one now could ever accuse Mam of not being properly Plain in her demeanor or her faith.
“Maybe, or maybe it was that your dat was her only son.”
“And we were all girls.”
“God’s gifts to us, every one of you.” Mam squeezed her hand. “Believe that, Ruth. Your father never blamed me that we had no sons. He always said he got exactly what he prayed for.”
Ruth’s throat constricted as she turned Blackie onto Norman and Lydia Beachy’s long dirt lane behind the Troyer buggy. “I miss Dat.”
“And so do I. Every day.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to marry Samuel?”
Hannah chuckled. “If I were to consider such a thing, wouldn’t it be wiser to settle that matter with Samuel first?” She patted Ruth’s hand again. “Mind your own mending, daughter.”
As Blackie’s quick trot drew the buggy toward the house and barn, Ruth realized that she hadn’t had time to tell Mam about Miriam’s ride on the back of Eli Lapp’s motor scooter.
As the buggy neared the rambling two-story farmhouse, Ruth saw several of the Beachy children in the yard taking charge of the guests’ horses. As she reined in Blackie, she spotted Irwin coming out from behind a corncrib to take hold of the horse’s bridle. “A good evening to you,” she called.
Irwin winced and took a firmer grip on Blackie. The horse twitched his ears.
“We missed you at school today, Irwin,” Mam said mildly.
He mumbled something, fixing his gaze on his bare feet.
Ruth climbed down out of the buggy and gathered their quilting supplies. “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, noticing a soiled bandage on the boy’s left hand.
“Ne.” He tucked his hand behind his back.
“It’s all right, dear.” Mam smiled at him as she picked up the Blitzkuchen Anna had baked. “No need to explain. I’ll talk to Lydia about it.”
His eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t do that, teacher.”
“Then we’d best have a private talk. Come in early tomorrow morning.”
“But that’s Saturday. There’s no school on Saturday.”
“I need help to move some of the desks around to make room for Roman to do the repairs.” She paused. “And, Irwin? Don’t be late.”
“Be careful with Blackie,” Ruth cautioned. “He’s easily spooked.”
Irwin nodded. “Ya, I will.” He led the horse a few steps, then glanced back over his shoulder. “You won’t say nothin’ to Cousin Lydia, will ya?”
“After we have our talk, I’ll decide if there’s anything Lydia and Norman need to know.”
“I don’t mean to make trouble.” He shrugged. “It just happens.”
“Sometimes trouble finds us all,” Mam said as she started up the steps to the house. Ruth hurried ahead and opened the door for her.
Inside Lydia’s kitchen, Hannah and Ruth greeted several neighbors. From the next room, where everyone had gathered, Ruth could hear the excited buzz of voices as members of the community caught up on the latest news. One of Lydia’s girls took their black bonnets and capes, and Lydia turned from the stove to welcome them.
Lydia was a tall, thin, freckle-faced woman with a narrow beak of a nose, a wide mouth and very little chin. “I’m so glad you could all come,” she said with genuine warmth, deftly sliding a pan of hot gingerbread onto the counter. Lydia’s voice came out flat, evidence of her mid-western upbringing. “After yesterday’s fire, I didn’t know if you’d feel up to joining us.”
Ruth couldn’t help noting Lydia’s rounded tummy. Another baby on the way. God was certainly blessing the Beachy family. Lydia was a true inspiration to Ruth. She hadn’t hesitated when Irwin’s family had been lost, and she had welcomed him into her family.
“It smells wonderful in here,” Mam said, glancing around at the pies and cakes set on the table and counters. “You know we wouldn’t miss your frolic. The quilt money will help with the school repairs.”
Ruth looked around for her sister Johanna. The community quilting project to support the school was her idea. Johanna had sketched antique quilt patterns and carefully chosen the fabrics and colors. Everyone contributed to the cost of the material, and at each quilting night, every woman would sew one or more squares. Later this summer, they would assemble them in a daylong effort.
Ruth wasn’t nearly as talented with a needle as Johanna, but she loved the chance to get together with friends and neighbors, especially when they were all working for such a good cause.
Lydia’s crowded kitchen, smelling strongly of cinnamon, ginger and pine oil, was pandemonium as always. Both the woodstove and the gas stove were lit, and the room was overwarm. A large, shallow pan of milk, covered with a thin layer of cheesecloth, sat waiting for the cream to rise beside a spotless glass butter churn. On the counter and in the big soapstone sink, the last of the Beachy supper dishes stood, waiting to be washed. Without being asked, Ruth rolled up her sleeves, took down a work apron from a hook and went to the sink.
Four small giggling children, one of them Johanna’s three-year-old son Jonah, darted around the long wooden table chasing an orange tabby. The cat leaped to a counter and dashed to safety, barely missing a lemon pie piled high with meringue, and headed for a direct collision with the unprotected pan of milk.
Lydia juggled a pitcher of lemonade in one hand as she snagged the cat with the other. Without hesitation, she then separated two toddlers tugging on the same stuffed toy. “Out,”
she commanded, shooing the children toward the sitting room. As the last little girl’s bonnet strings passed through the doorway, Lydia turned to Mam with a look of despair.
“A long day?” Mam asked.
“I hate to complain, Hannah.”
“Complaining is not the same as sharing our woes.”
“It’s that boy. I’m at my wits’ end with Irwin. I try to be patient, but—”
Ruth turned back to the sink full of dishes and tried to give them a little privacy even though her mother and Lydia were only a few feet away.
“I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, Lydia,” Mam supplied.
“He is. He and our Vernon scrap like cats in a barrel. At twelve, the boy should have some sense, but…”
“He’ll come around,” Mam soothed.
Lydia lowered her voice. “It’s what I tell Norman, but he says we can’t trust the boy. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“No one doubts that you and Norman have been good to Irwin.”
“We try, but he’s late for meals. Remiss in his chores. He let the dairy cows into the orchard twice.” Lydia sighed. “I hope we haven’t made a mistake in opening our home—”
A baby’s wail cut through the murmur of female voices from the other room. “Is that your little Henry?” Mam asked.
“Go, get off your feet and see to him, Lydia,” Ruth said, turning from the sink. “You, too, Mam. I can finish up here.” The dishes clean and stacked neatly in a wooden drying rack, she dried her hands on a towel. She was just reaching for the can of coffee when she heard her aunt Martha’s strident voice.
“Hannah, here you are.” She bustled into the room, letting Lydia pass, but blocking Mam. “I wondered where you were.”
Ruth forced a polite greeting. Aunt Martha was more trouble than a headache. According to Dat, his older sister’s hair had once been as red as his. Now the wisps of hair showing under her Kapp were gray, and the only auburn hairs were two curling ones sprouting on her chin. She was a tall, sparse woman with a thin mouth and a voice that could saw lumber.
