Through the Autumn Air

by Kelly Irvin

  “Wooden cows and horses.” Leah handed him a napkin. “Hush, little one. Wipe your face and let the men talk.”

  Liliana, Kenneth’s youngest sister, banged her fork on her wooden high chair as if agreeing. Caleb, a shy three-year-old, was busy stacking his green beans and tomatoes with his fat fingers. Leah shook her head and removed Liliana’s fork with a gentle tug. “Sorry, she’s a rambunctious little girl.”

  Burke handed his roll to Kenneth. “You’re a growing boy. Have my roll.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I’m full.”

  “He shared his roll,” Kenneth crowed. “I like him.”

  “I like you too.” Burke pushed his green beans around on his plate. “You’re a good boy.”

  “You’ve been out of work for a while then?” Freeman manhandled a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. He speared a green bean and let it hover in the air while he posed the question. “Whereabouts did you work before?”

  Burke leaned back in his chair. “For a while. Here and there.”

  Freeman’s gaze hardened. “You’ll have to be more specific when you fill out the job application at the Purple Martin.”

  “It’s all right—”

  “Nee, it’s not.” Freeman shook his fork at Ezekiel. “My youngest granddaughter is a waitress at the Purple Martin. Your grands help out. We need to know who we invite into the midst of our kinner.”

  He was right, but that was no reason to treat a man like a criminal. Ezekiel shot Burke an apologetic look. Burke shrugged. He laid his napkin next to his plate. “I’m from back east, Virginia. Not originally, but that’s where my last real address was.”

  “Where?”

  “Norfolk. I was a Navy chaplain.”

  “You’re a man of religion?”

  “Worse than a criminal, you’ve let a preacher into your midst.” Burke’s smile held no mirth. “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call myself a man of religion these days.”

  “What denomination?”

  “Presbyterian. But chaplains have to be able to accept all faiths and minister to those who have beliefs different from their own.” Burke plucked another roll from the basket and began to tear it into small pieces he tossed one by one onto his plate, still full of macaroni and vegetables. “I did that for eight years, then I resigned my commission. You don’t have to worry. I won’t try to convert your little ones.”

  “What qualifies a man to be a chaplain? Is it like a preacher who goes to seminary?”

  “A graduate degree in theology. Officers’ school. A willingness to be deployed and not carry a gun.”

  That was a lot of book learning. Ezekiel couldn’t help himself. He jumped into the conversation, which was more like an interrogation. “You joined the military, but you didn’t bear arms?”

  An oxymoron if Ezekiel ever heard of one.

  “I’m not a fan of guns.”

  “But you were in the military.”

  “Because I wanted to minister to men and women who were serving our country and putting their lives on the line for us.”

  “It must have been a rewarding occupation,” Freeman interjected with a grim glance at Ezekiel. “I doubt it was easy to get this commission you had. Why stop?”

  It wasn’t Freeman’s business—it wasn’t anyone’s business. Ezekiel stuck an entire tomato slice in his mouth to keep from speaking again.

  “That’s a story for another time.” Burke pushed his plate away. His tone was firm, his expression neutral. His gaze met Freeman’s. “Someday.”

  His forehead wrinkled, Freeman shook his shaggy head. “Where did you lose yourself?”

  “Who says I did?”

  “You’re here.”

  This was far too much for the supper table. They would all end up with indigestion. Ezekiel searched for a way to break tension so tangible he had trouble swallowing. Or maybe it was the size of the tomato grown in Leah’s garden. “The casserole is gut, Leah. I might have to use that recipe at the restaurant.”

  Kenneth coughed. He inhaled and coughed harder. His face turned red and his hands flailed.

  Burke shot from the bench. He slapped the boy’s back. His cough was gut wrenching. Burke held his glass of water to the boy’s lips. “Can you take a sip?”

  Kenneth obliged. He coughed a few more times, then belched so loud Liliana and Caleb giggled.

  “Better?”

  “Went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Kenneth shrugged. “I think I’m done eating. Can I go outside? I want to check on my frog out by the creek. He’s my pet, but Mudder says he has no business being in the house. I think he’d like my room.”

  The boy’s enthusiasm and his desire to have the men take his side made Ezekiel stifle a smile. “Won’t Boo eat it?”

  “Nee, he’s not fast enough.”

  Ezekiel could see that. The dog was a tad on the tubby side. “Still, a creek seems like a gut home for a frog. He’s probably pretty set in his ways.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Leah stood and squeezed past Liliana’s chair. “The grass is high down by the creek and the path is rocky.”

  “Maybe Burke would like to meet Kenneth’s friend.” Ezekiel wanted Burke out of Freeman’s reach for now. He’d shared all he needed to share. “You have all these dishes to do.”

  “He doesn’t need to be waited on hand and foot.” William cocked his head toward the kitchen. “I know you made a pie for dessert, Fraa. Don’t you want some, Suh?”

  “Nee.” Boo at his side, Kenneth tucked his crutches under his arm and swung toward the door. “It’ll be too dark soon.”

  “Would you mind my company?” Burke dropped his napkin by his plate. “I ate too much. I sure could use a walk.”

  “Do you like frogs?”

  “I sure do. Used to have a frog named Hopalong when I was a kid.”

  “You did?” Kenneth took in this bit of information with an enthralled look. “My frog’s name is Nate.”

  “Good name.”

  “We’ll be back, Mudder.”

  Leah nodded, but her fingers tugged at a strand of her blonde hair as her gaze followed Kenneth, who was shuffling out the back door.

  “They’ll be fine,” Ezekiel assured her, although no words had been spoken. “It’s a short walk.”

  “He’s fallen twice in the last week. He skinned his nose the second time. It swelled up so much I thought it was broken. We’re blessed he didn’t break his glasses. We’ve already replaced them once. He’s so rambunctious.”

  “He’s a boy. All boys fall down.”

  She ducked her head and began clearing the table. Freeman applied a toothpick to his teeth. Ezekiel exchanged looks with his son-in-law.

  “A chaplain.” Freeman dropped the toothpick on his plate. “For the Navy.”

  A religious man in the military.

  Ezekiel had a hard time fitting those two pieces together in the same puzzle. Plain folks didn’t believe in bearing arms or going to war.

  A religious man should accept that God was good and His plan was meant to prosper, not harm him. Freeman couldn’t know how hard it was to walk that walk. He hadn’t lost his wife. “His fraa and dochder both died. It might be he lost his way for a time.”

  “He should know Gott took them home when He saw fit.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Ezekiel bit his tongue. This fact did not make the grief any less potent. Or the sudden fits of anger. After ten years, his still kept him up at night. “Maybe hard work and a few people he can call friends are the prescriptions he needs to be cured of his melancholy.”

  Freeman wrinkled his nose. He tapped his fork and then his knife in an absentminded, off-kilter rhythm. “You’re right.”

  Ezekiel nearly fell out of his chair. William smothered a grin behind his hand.

  “How is Kenneth doing aside from the falling down?” Freeman seemed unaware of their reaction. “He’s a cheerful boy.”

  William’s smile disappeared. He took a long
sip of water and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He is cheerful. He doesn’t complain about the physical therapy. He doesn’t complain about his muscles hurting. The doctor has suggested we take him to Kansas City. They may do an operation to help him walk better. We’re still praying about it. He sees the other boys hunting and driving the wagons in the fields and he keeps smiling. He tries hard to do for himself when he can.”

  “His attitude is gut.” Ezekiel rescued his son-in-law. Leah and William tried hard to be good examples for their three children. They tried to be cheerful believers, but their oldest boy’s cerebral palsy broke their hearts. “He keeps me company at the restaurant some days. The customers get a kick out of his jokes.”

  Kenneth was blessed to have no learning problems. He had seizures but was a bright boy who kept up in school.

  “A special gift from Gott.” Freeman nodded. He smiled at Leah, who placed a saucer of pecan pie and a cup of kaffi in front of him. “You’re blessed.”

  “We are.” Her thin shoulders bent, she took his dirty plate and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “How did Burke’s dochder die?”

  “Leukemia.”

  Freeman squinted as if looking at something beyond the house’s walls. “Hmm. And his fraa?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Hmm.”

  Whatever wheels were turning in the bishop’s head, he apparently decided not to share. Instead, he dug into the pecan pie without another word.

  In the absence of a statement to the contrary, Ezekiel decided this meant he had a new cook. One who had some unique qualifications and who needed more than a job. Burke needed mending. Mary Katherine had seen this. She brought Burke to Ezekiel for a reason.

  He excused himself and went in search of his new project.

  TWELVE

  The Combination Store’s goods spilled out onto the grounds with the Grabers’ latest venture—gazebos and fort playscapes that took up a chunk of land that had been mowed for that purpose. Mary Katherine admired Jennie’s arrangement of pumpkins, mums, and gourds around wooden house facades on the porch. Very nice. Homey. She pushed through the door and inhaled the smell of wood shavings, scented soaps, and aromatic candles. A bell tinkled. Laura and Jennie, who stood behind the counter, turned to look, then waved wildly as if they hadn’t seen her in a month of Sundays.

  “You’re here. I’m so glad.” Arms outstretched, Jennie trotted around the counter and met Mary Katherine halfway with an enthusiastic hug. Her mauve dress was perfectly pressed and her white kapp crisp with only a few tendrils of her graying sandy-blonde hair showing. She looked younger than her thirty-eight years and seven children should allow. “I hope you’re happy to be working here. I know you wanted to do other things.”

  “I guess Freeman stopped by—or Cyrus—with the news. I’m happy to help out. It’s for the best. You’ve done a gut job of arranging things.” She smiled at Laura over their friend’s shoulder. “What are you doing here, Laura?”

  “Helping out.” Laura pointed at the canned goods lining the shelves in the middle of the room. Pickles, tomatoes, green beans, peaches, cherries, and more, all neatly displayed in careful rows. “I might not be able to wield a needle with my fat fingers anymore, but I still can pickle with the best of them. And those are my fry pies over there.”

  Even at seventy-plus years of age, Laura could still do most things with the best of them. Her arthritis pained her too much for sewing, but her baking skills hadn’t suffered in the least.

  “The store looks beautiful.” Mary Katherine took a moment to let her gaze roam the expanse of goods. Everything imaginable. A true combination store. Leo had remodeled part of the barn and moved his tools into his new shop, giving them this space with its windows and light for their new store. Hickory rocking chairs, an oak desk, coatracks, dressers, and cradles filled the area to her left, with wood shelves and shadow boxes hanging on the walls, all samples of Leo’s exquisite handiwork.

  Shelves on the other side held Jennie’s work, including embroidered tablecloths, knitted sweaters, and crocheted pot holders. They displayed full-size quilts made by other members of the community, as well as Iris Kurtz’s crib quilts on a series of dowels under the windows. Her husband Mahon’s framed drawings hung on one wall. Jennie’s jams and canned vegetables took up more space by the door. Everything neat and tidy in its place. The sight reminded Mary Katherine so much of Amish Treasures, her heart lurched and then settled back into a more sedate rhythm.

  “It’s a labor of love.” Jennie squeezed Mary Katherine’s arm. “I know it’s not your dream. It’s strange how things work out. You encouraged me to work at Amish Treasures. You got Leo and me started. I’m so thankful for what you’ve done for us.”

  “Gott’s plan. We’re silly if we think we know what it is.” The words stuck in Mary Katherine’s throat. She loved her friend and she was thrilled for Jennie’s newfound happiness. She’d played only a small role in it. God did the heavy lifting. “Things will work out in the end. I need to learn to be patient.”

  Not her strong suit.

  “They will. I know they will.” Jennie glowed. There was no other word for it. “Gott is gut.”

  “He is indeed. We simply have to get out of His way.” Mary Katherine followed Jennie back behind the counter and settled her bag on top. “I’ve come for my schedule and I brought my contribution to the sewn goods. Some dresser scarves and some cute little girl sweaters in pink that I knitted.”

  “Those will go fast.” Jennie touched one of the sweaters that lay on top of the pile. Her smile disappeared. She sighed. “So sweet.”

  Mary Katherine patted her arm. “Another thing that must be left up to Gott.” Jennie wanted to share more with her new husband. A baby. It was written all over her face. At thirty-eight it was possible, but with each passing month, it seemed less probable. “How are the kinner doing with you working here now?”

  “Celia and Cynthia have it covered.” The doorbell dinged and Jennie moved that direction, still talking over her shoulder. “And now that you’re working, I’ll be able to spend more time at home with Elizabeth and Francis.”

  Soaking up the sweet moments of motherhood that might not come again.

  Jennie greeted the customer, a tourist from the looks of her clothes, without missing a beat.

  “She’s gotten over her shyness, hasn’t she?” An abusive first marriage had left Mary Katherine’s friend with a dearth of self-confidence. Life with Leo had changed that. “I’m so happy for her. And for Leo.”

  “She’s a different person. She loves her life.” Laura’s gaze followed their friend. “I pray Gott’s will on the other thing.” It was delicate. They didn’t talk about it. “Have you spoken to Bess?”

  “Nee, not since the break-in at their house. How’s she doing?”

  “Still a little shaken. To come home and find that someone has pawed through your things would be enough to shake anyone.” Laura’s expression became grim. “Aidan is her protector, though. She needn’t worry. Her mann will take care of her and little Joshua.”

  “A crib quilt. Who would take such a sweet little memento?” The tumbling blocks quilt had been made by Bess’s great-grandmother. “Why pick on us?”

  “I don’t know.” Laura shook her head. “We’ll leave that to Freeman, Cyrus, and Solomon.” Her words hung in the air. “I know this wasn’t your first choice. You wanted the bookstore, didn’t you?”

  “I did, and I hate to let Dottie down.” Mary Katherine tried to keep the disappointment from her voice but failed. “I haven’t told her yet. I know life isn’t fair. It seems as if we should do what we feel called to do.”

  “Called to do? That sounds awfully grandiose.” Laura tempered the criticism with a gentle smile. “It’s a bookstore, not a church. And we don’t get called to anything. Only Gott knows His plan.”

  “I know. But sometimes He gives us gifts. Don’t you think He expects us to use them? I just want to use my gift of w
riting and the love He gave me for books.”

  “I’m going to take our visitor out to the barn so she can see Leo working on a double rocker.” Jennie interrupted as she walked by with the customer, a dark-haired woman dressed in paisley-print leggings and a lilac smock. “She’s a newlywed. Like me.”

  That explained everything. She wanted to sit in the rocker with her new husband. Eventually there would be babies to rock.

  Laura watched them go, then turned back to Mary Katherine. “He also gave you the gift of kinner and a whole herd of grands.”

  “I know.”

  “Next you’ll stamp your foot.” Less gentleness in that prediction, but still Laura smiled. “I think I know this story. Widowed groossmammi doesn’t like bishop’s instructions. Feels sorry for herself. Runs away from home in a snit. You’re blessed that Thomas didn’t get his way. You get to stay in your home, even though it would be more sensible to let Dylan and Samantha move in with her folks.”

  “You’ve forgotten what it feels like, then?” Mary Katherine’s temper ran away from her. If anyone knew what this felt like, Laura did. “To leave the home you made with your mann?”

  “Don’t get your dander up with me. I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to wake up on Christmas morning and realize my mann has died on Christmas Eve, in our new home, our dawdy haus, next to me.” Laura didn’t raise her voice. Her playful tone didn’t change. But her green eyes misted. “I may be old, but I’m not senile.”

  “I’m sorry. That was small-minded and mean of me.” Mary Katherine swallowed the lump in her throat. She rushed to close the space between them, reaching to give Laura a hug. “You’re a better person than I am. I don’t know why I find it so hard to let go. It’s just a house. A bunch of Sheetrock and wood and old furniture.”

  “It’s not the material things you’re hanging on to. It’s the memories.” Laura’s return hug enveloped Mary Katherine in forgiveness. “You don’t have to give it up yet, but it will be easier if you make the decision to do it—for everyone. Then Thomas won’t have to feel bad about making you do something he knows you don’t want to do.”