by Marta Perry
Eli stepped aside to let them pass. Had they been talking about him?
“It’s time your Ruth was married, and the next two as well,” Martha went on as they walked by. “They come and go as they please.”
Eli hurried out onto the porch, eager to get away from the disagreeable woman, but not before he heard her add, “You’re treading on thin ice, Hannah. You’ll be lucky if you’re not reprimanded by the bishop for running such a loose household.”
Hannah’s soft voice carried through the open window. “You mean well, sister, but you’re too quick to judge.”
“Are you accusing me of…”
Eli took the porch steps two at a time and let out a breath of relief when he saw Tyler coming across the yard. “Hey,” Eli called to him. “Take these cookies inside and the strawberries to the milk house. Reuben is waiting on me.”
“Cookies? Sure.” Tyler motioned toward the side of the house. “The guys are all over by the windmill.”
Eli headed in that direction. He’d take Ruth’s wagon home later, once the work was done. Nothing would get him back in Martha’s house tonight, or ever again, if he could at all help it. In the distance, he heard male laughter and the sound of hammering. Feeling guilty about the harm he might have done to Ruth’s reputation, he quickened his steps.
* * *
It was almost eleven when Eli approached Ruth’s back porch with the wagon. Only one light was burning up on the second floor, so he tried not to make any more noise than necessary. A few yards from the house stood an old-fashioned, covered well with a winch and bucket and a peaked cedar roof that extended out about three feet. Eli stowed the wagon there. It had clouded up and looked as though it might rain before morning. He didn’t want to leave the wooden wagon where it might get wet.
He was still feeling guilty about the confrontation he’d overheard between Hannah and Martha, so he wasn’t concentrating on where he was going. As he turned to go, he stumbled over a second bucket in the dark. “Ouch!” he cried.
“Clumsy,” came a female voice from the darkness.
He turned and squinted toward the dark house. “Ruth?”
“Did you hurt yourself?” He spotted movement. She was sitting on the porch swing.
“Ne.” He had slammed his shoulder into the brick wall surrounding the well, but he was too embarrassed to say so. “I thought you’d turned in.”
“Shh. Mam and my sisters are already asleep.”
He went to the porch, resting one foot on the first step, but made no move to join her. “How’s the dog?”
“Jeremiah. I’m going to call him Jeremiah.”
“More name than dog.”
She laughed, and she patted the seat beside her on the swing. “Want to see?”
The dog lay curled in her lap, fast asleep.
Knowing he was probably making a big mistake, Eli crossed the porch and sat on the other end of the porch swing. Though old, it was a nice swing. Well built. He wondered if her father had made it. Roman said Jonas Yoder had been a solid craftsman, well respected by both the Amish and English. “I think I might have caused trouble for your mother tonight.”
“Aunt Martha?”
“How did you guess?”
Ruth gave the swing a push.
“I don’t want to cause trouble for your family.”
“Aunt Martha doesn’t think Mam should have Irwin working for us. She made such a fuss at the bee that Lydia started to cry.”
“So it wasn’t me?”
“My cousin Dorcas did tell Mam that you were working at our stand on Tuesday. Luckily, Miriam and I had already told her.” Ruth’s voice flowed as sweet as honey in the soft darkness of the moist evening air. She held out a towel-wrapped bundle. “I gave him a bath. He smells a lot better.”
Eli took the dog awkwardly. “I don’t think your uncle likes me much, either.”
“Uncle Reuben? He’s all right. He takes being a preacher seriously, but he’s not mean. And sometimes his sermons are good. Too long, but good. You’re lucky. Sunday, we have a guest minister from Virginia. He’s visited before, and he doesn’t preach nearly as long. And he’s funny. He always works jokes in. But you remember the stories he tells from the Bible. His name is David Miller. Do you know him?”
“Ne. At home, we mostly had visitors from Lancaster. Bishops and preachers, that is. Regular visitors from all over the country.”
“Same here,” Ruth said.
The puppy whimpered in his sleep, and Eli petted him. You could feel every bony little rib, but his belly was extended and warm. “He ate good?”
“Mam said I gave him too much, but he was so hungry.” She gave the swing another push. “Are you fooling with me, Eli?”
He swallowed. “What?”
“Tell me the truth. I thought you liked Miriam.”
“Ne. I mean, I do, but not like that. Not as a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Her voice was thoughtful, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“I thought you did,” she said.
“It’s you I like, Ruth.” He watched her in the dark, surprised by his own boldness. He was taking a chance being honest with her, telling her how he felt, but he needed to say it. “Just you.”
She didn’t answer.
He stroked the sleeping puppy. “A lot. I like you a lot.”
“But you always talked to her.”
“Miriam’s fun. Why shouldn’t I talk to her? Besides, you wouldn’t talk to me.”
She was quiet for a minute, and he could tell she was thinking. That was something he liked about Ruth. She was smart. She thought before she spoke, unlike him. It always seemed as if he was saying dumb things.
“You scare me, Eli. I don’t know what to think.”
“Ya,” he agreed. “You scare me, too.”
Chapter Eleven
Eli reached for her hand, but she drew it away.
“Things are too complicated.”
“Because of what people say about me?”
She drew in a long breath.
The air was warm. Frogs and insects chirped and buzzed in the soft night. The air smelled of flowers and newly mown grass. Eli felt as though he would fly apart at any second, burst into splinters. He wanted this girl more than anything, more than he’d wanted his mother when she sent him away as a child…more than he wanted to fashion beautiful furniture out of seasoned hardwood. “Ruth.”
“Shh, hear me out,” she murmured. “You have to understand. I can’t be selfish. I have to do what is right.”
“Maybe us meeting is right…is what we are supposed to do.” She was so near. He felt big and clumsy. His palm ached to enfold hers. All he wanted was to touch her hand. “I’ve done things I shouldn’t have. But I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I have to think, to decide what is best.” She toyed with the undone string on her Kapp. “If I did leave Mam…leave my home…it could only be with a baptized man who shared my faith, who could give his life to God, who could follow our rules. Do you understand?”
“I wish I was as sure of God’s will as you are,” he admitted.
“I wish you were, too.” She rose to her feet. “I have to go in.”
“Can I see you again? Can we walk out together?”
“I don’t know, Eli. I have to pray on it. It’s a big step. I’ve always thought to stay with Mam and Susanna. I can’t just change my mind without considering what that would mean.” She took a few steps and then turned and reached out for the sleeping puppy. “I’d like to be your friend, no matter what.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if that’s possible, if I could be just…just your friend. Or…” A weight crushed his chest. “Or, if I can ever find the faith you have.”
“Pray on it,” she advised. “It always helps.”
“I’ll try.”
She cradled the dog in her arms. “Jeremiah is just the right name for him, don’t you think?”
He didn’t
answer, and she slipped into the house, leaving him alone on the porch swing. He sat there for nearly an hour, wishing he could be the man she wanted, wishing she was still here beside him in the soft spring night.
* * *
“You should have been there,” Anna said, mounding a deep bowl of flaky pie dough into a ball. “Aunt Martha made such a fuss about Irwin.”
“Enough of such talk,” Mam warned. “She only means the best for us. Her heart is good.” It was late on Friday afternoon, and they had gathered in the kitchen to bake pies and prepare food for the school picnic. Even Johanna had come to help, bringing three-year-old Jonah and the baby.
“You think everyone’s heart is good, Mam,” Ruth said.
“Amen to that,” Miriam agreed. The rest of them laughed.
Mam had received letters from Rebecca and Leah today. Leah’s letter was short and funny, but Rebecca had filled them in at great length on all the doings at Grossmama’s house and in the church and community. It was easy to see why she was a regular contributor to the Budget.
“Be careful,” Susanna said to Jonah. She was rocking Baby Katie and keeping a watchful eye on Johanna’s son as he petted the puppy. “You have to be gentle with him.”
“I am,” Jonah declared. “I am, isn’t I?”
“You are, and I’m proud of you.” Johanna beamed at Susanna. “You’re so good with both of them,” she said. “I wish I had you at my house all the time.”
“She has the touch,” Anna said, as she tore off a section of dough and dropped it onto a floured board.
Ruth passed her sister a rolling pin. Her own piecrust was as flat and round as she could get it. The dough had already torn twice, and she knew that she’d probably make it worse when she tried to get it into the pie pan. She could make decent biscuits and muffins. Why was pie always a disaster for her? Her crusts were so tough that even Mam teased her that they could patch the holes in the orchard lane with them.
“What’s this I hear about someone sitting on our porch swing in the wee hours of the night this week?” Johanna asked. She looked especially sweet today in a lavender dress and white apron. She’d left her shoes on the porch and was barefoot like the rest of them.
“It wasn’t someone,” Susanna said. “It was Eli. He was on the porch with Roofie and Jeremiah. They were swinging.”
“Talking,” Ruth corrected. “We were talking.”
Anna giggled. “Wouldn’t Aunt Martha love to know that? She’d scorch your ears after church.” She wiped floured hands on her apron. “Ach! Mam, the pies. Are they burning?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Mam said. “More chatter than work, I’d say.”
Ruth grabbed a towel and used it to shield her hands from the heat as she opened the oven door on the woodstove and began to remove Miriam’s and Mam’s pies. “Perfect.”
“Don’t say that yet,” Miriam warned. “You haven’t tasted them.”
The kitchen door opened, and Irwin stuck his head in. A battered straw hat with an Ohio-style brim hid his pale face. “I got eggs.”
Mam waved him in. “Put the eggs on the table. Let me see what you have.”
Eyes downcast, Irwin ventured into the warm kitchen and did as he was told. For the past two days, he’d come after school to help with the outside chores, but as far as Ruth was concerned, the boy was lazy. The only thing he’d shown interest in was eating and staring at the new puppy. “Did you clean out the chicken waterers and fill them with fresh water?” she asked. Yesterday he’d forgotten, and she and Miriam had had to do it.
Irwin nodded and nudged Jeremiah with one dirty foot. The trace of a smile skimmed over his thin lips before vanishing behind an expressionless mask. “Can I hold him?”
Ruth blinked as she deposited the last pie safely on the stovetop. Irwin never spoke to Mam unless he was forced to. “Jeremiah’s not strong enough to play yet,” she said. “Maybe when he’s put on some weight and his cuts have healed.”
“I know about dogs,” Irwin said. “I had me one. Her name was Gretel.”
“Where is she?” Susanna asked. “I love dogs.”
“Smoke got her.”
“Smoke?” Susanna’s freckled nose wrinkled. “How did smoke get her?”
“Was it the fire that killed your family?” Ruth asked.
“Yep. Would have got me, too, but I wasn’t home that night.” He crouched down and stroked the skinny pup. “Gretel was a smart dog. She followed me to school every day. She could sit up and beg and roll over. Better than your dumb dog.”
Irwin’s thin voice cracked and lower lip quivered.
It was all Ruth could do to keep from weeping. This boy had lost everything in one terrible night, and she’d been less than charitable toward him. He was as damaged inside as Jeremiah was on the outside. No wonder Irwin acted out.
“I think we could use your help in training Jeremiah,” Mam said brusquely. “We haven’t had a puppy in a long time, and most dogs will learn quicker from a man.”
Johanna turned her face away and stifled a giggle. Mam glanced at Ruth, and she understood that her mother was slicing the truth thin to soothe Irwin’s pride.
“You may hold Jeremiah, if you are careful,” Mam added. “After you’ve finished with the eggs.”
“Wash your hands,” Ruth said. “Take these eggs back on the porch and clean them with the vinegar rag. Put the cracked ones aside in the tin bowl, so Miriam can cook them for the pigs. Dry the perfect eggs and put them in the cartons.”
“I break stuff,” Irwin said. “Maybe somebody else should wash the eggs.”
“No,” Mam said. “We all learn best by doing. I’m depending on you to do your best. The egg money is important to us. When you’re done, you can take care of the puppy. We’re busy today, and I think he needs the attention.”
“Me want to help Ir’n!” Jonah scrambled to his feet. “Me can wash eggs.”
Miriam rolled her eyes. Ruth chuckled as she wondered how many dozen would survive to make it to market next week. “I’m going to watch to see you do it right,” Ruth said. She thought Jonah and Jeremiah would be safe from Irwin’s mischief, but she was going to keep a sharp eye out for trouble.
“So…you sat on the porch swing with the Belleville boy,” Johanna said, when Jonah and Irwin had left the kitchen. “Anything more we should know?”
“Ne,” Ruth said, more sharply than she intended. She didn’t want to think about Eli, let alone talk about him in front of Mam and her sisters. She didn’t know her own mind yet. “We’re just friends.”
Anna chuckled. “Where have I heard that before?”
Mam watched through the screen door as the boys washed and dried the eggs. How many were lost, Ruth didn’t want to guess, but Jonah seemed none the worse for wear when they returned to the kitchen.
“I can hold Jeremiah now,” Irwin said.
“You can,” Ruth agreed. “Gently.”
“Gentle,” Jonah echoed. He stared up at Irwin with all the awe of a small boy for a bigger one. “He little.” And then, he repeated, “Jeremiah little.”
“I know.” Irwin’s whining tone belied the gentle expression that came over his face as he cuddled the puppy. Jeremiah squirmed and squeaked as he nestled into the boy’s lap. Irwin ran dirty fingertips over a ragged tear in the dog’s skin. “Briars got him,” he said.
“Yeah. Briars got him,” Jonah repeated. He wiggled as close to Irwin as he could, imitating the older boy’s stiff posture.
Mam smiled. “Looks like Jeremiah has made a new friend.”
“Guess I could help, if you want,” Irwin offered. “Take him out to do his business. Dogs like it outside.”
“They do indeed,” Ruth said. “I think you’ll be good for Jeremiah.”
“Me, too,” Jonah joined in.
Ruth took a glass down from the cupboard and poured a tall glass of cold milk for Irwin and a tin cup, half full, for Jonah. She sliced a hardboiled egg onto a plate, added three fried chicken legs
, two buttered biscuits, some cheese wedges and a handful of strawberries. She placed the food on a clean dish towel on an old three-legged milking stool beside the boys. “In case you need something to tide you over until supper.”
Jonah nibbled at the cheese and ate a strawberry. Irwin swigged down the rest of the milk in less time than it took Ruth to spread her piecrust in a deep dish and fill it with sour cherries from last August’s bounty. From the corner of her eye, Ruth saw Irwin dipping his index finger in the empty glass and letting Jeremiah suck drops of milk. Some of her uneasiness seeped away. Maybe there was hope for Irwin Beachy.
“We’ll have a light meal tonight,” Mam said. “We have that chicken-and-corn soup, chicken sandwiches and fresh salad. Stay for supper, Irwin.”
He nodded. “Guess I could.”
Anna went to the icebox and took out cold ham, applesauce and a plate of deviled eggs. “If we’re having company, I think we’ll need more than soup and sandwiches, Mam.”
Ruth and Miriam looked at each other. “A lot more,” Ruth said, sending them both into fits of giggles. Even Susanna and the boys laughed, although it was clear they hadn’t gotten the joke.
Ruth leaned on the counter and glanced around the kitchen at her family. This was where she belonged. This was where she was happiest. It was silly to think of ever leaving home or Mam and Susanna. This was where she was needed most, and it would be selfish to consider anything else, wouldn’t it?
She sighed. Making hard choices was part of her faith. She had to do what was right, but how did she know what was right? Why did thoughts of Eli plague her so, and why did she remember every word he’d ever spoken to her? A small lump rose in her throat as she remembered how it had felt when he lifted her in his arms and carried her away from the burning schoolhouse. For an instant, she’d felt safe, safe in a way she hadn’t since Dat had passed away.
But thinking of Eli in that way only made dandelion fluff tumble in the pit of her stomach. Moisture gathered in her eyes, and she blinked it away. Eli Lapp was not for her. He was trouble, and the less she had to do with him, the better. She was right; she knew she was right, so why did the clean male scent of him linger in the dark corners of her mind?
