Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  Don’t. Don’t do it.

  She forced herself to breathe, in and out, in and out.

  A gaggle of girls cut in front of her, laughing, hands entwined, racing for the homemade ice cream station manned by Atlee’s brother, Darren Troyer. Their gazes connected over the sea of white prayer kapps. He had that same dark, curly hair as his brother, but his was washed through with fine silver strands that stuck out from under his straw hat. His salt-and-pepper beard curled in just the same way as his brother’s. The same steely blue eyes cut through her. Jennie swerved left.

  A sudden chill ran through her despite the humid air that warmed her damp face. She wrapped her arms around her middle and ducked her head. Her gaze landed on the bruise on her wrist. She’d hit it on the gate the day before, trying to corral the horses. The ugly black-and-blue mark mesmerized her.

  Atlee grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face him. “You’ll do as I say and you’ll do it now, fraa.”

  Pain ripped through her arm and shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disagree. I only meant—”

  “You don’t know your place. You never have.” His fingers tightened in a painful grip. His other hand came up and wavered in the air overhead. It dropped. “Go on. Get in the house. The laundry won’t do itself.”

  She stumbled back, afraid to look away, even though he rarely hit her. Not like that. He used words like fists. They hurt far more.

  “What’s going on, Ms. Jennie? You look perturbed.”

  Jennie flinched, jumped, and stifled a shriek. Her sisters-in-law—all three of them—looked up at the same time from a whispered conversation that surely involved a critique of her widow’s life. Jennie shrugged and smiled. She turned to greet Nathan Walker, itinerant book salesman, who always managed to arrive at these gatherings while food still prevailed in abundance. “Nee, no, I’m not worried.”

  It had been four years, and still, those moments came. Not as often, but just as heart-stopping. She schooled her voice to halt the tremble. “I’m looking for Francis. It seems he’s wandered off.”

  Nathan shoved his red St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap back on his head, revealing a tan line across his forehead. His damp auburn hair was plastered to his skin. He wore his usual white short-sleeve cotton shirt, khaki pants, and Nike sneakers. He dressed like a man who didn’t worry too much about what he put on in the morning. “Want me to track him down for you?” His broad smile warmed blue eyes with a slight tinge of lilac in them. A color that bemused Jennie every time she saw him. What exactly did a person call it? Something outlandish like periwinkle? “He can’t have gone too far on those little legs.”

  It was her job alone to keep Francis safe. It had been since he was six months old and Atlee had left her struggling to care for seven children. No matter how hard it was, she couldn’t shake a sneaky feeling of relief.

  It had been fifteen years of never knowing what might set him off, never knowing what angry load he would decide to dump upon her the second he set the buggy in motion after a lovely, yet egg-shell fragile day. Guilt married relief. He was gone.

  No one knew her guilty secret. But God knew. God knew because He let it happen.

  Her dream of being a wife and mother became an increasingly menacing nightmare with each passing year and each new baby. What kind of monster did it make her that she had longed for sweet release and it had come—in the form of her own husband’s death?

  Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

  “Jennie?”

  She started.

  Nathan stared, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Jah, yes, I mean. You’d be surprised.” She swallowed against the bitter taste of bile in the back of her throat and perused the yard where the men had set up a trampoline. Several children took turns bounding into the air.

  Think. Think. She wouldn’t put it past Francis to try to skinny up the pole. No, he wasn’t there. Nor had he convinced one of the younger mothers to push him in the tree tire swing. “Last week, I found him beating a path down to the pond on his own when he was supposed to be helping in the vegetable garden. I’m not sure if he intended to go for a swim or fish. He has no fear.”

  Francis also didn’t seem to find it necessary to tell her about his adventures. He might be the spitting image of his father, but he didn’t share Atlee’s affinity for endless proclamations and angry tirades. In fact, he barely spoke a word. Probably because he couldn’t get one in edgewise with six older brothers and sisters.

  “He’s all boy, that’s for certain.” Nathan laid his ever-present backpack of books on a picnic table bench. Not that he would sell books at the picnic. These were books he read. The man always had one at the ready in case he had a free moment. He turned and strode toward the schoolhouse, his long legs pumping. “I’ll check inside if you want to look in the outhouses.”

  The thought of the trouble a four-year-old could get into in an outhouse curdled the food in Jennie’s stomach. She broke into a trot and headed first to the boys’ building. Empty. Fighting the urge to pinch her nose against the odor of bodily functions heated by a brilliant sun, she called Francis’s name. No answer. “Anyone there? Francis, are you in there?”

  No answer. She did a quick peek. Empty. No one in the girls’ outhouse, either.

  Where had he gone? Two purple martins scolded her from their perch on the bird apartment house the boys had constructed. Neither seemed willing to share her son’s whereabouts.

  She whirled and tromped through overgrown dandelions and scraggly grass to the school. Nathan bounded down the steps. “Empty except for Nellie and Sue Ann botching. I told them they should go outside and enjoy the day.” He jerked his thumb toward the fence and the open field on the other side dotted with rows of corn stalks just breaking through the soil. Small leaves fluttered in the lackadaisical breeze. “Any chance he took off exploring on his own?”

  Nathan’s use of the German name for the clapping game made Jennie smile. He spent a lot of time playing games with the kids. “With Francis anything’s possible.”

  Her blood pulsing in her ears, hands sweaty, Jennie gripped a fence post. Surely the gazes of her brothers, their wives, Atlee’s family, and even Bishop Freeman were upon her. How did she get over the fence with its barbed wire without ripping her dress, or worse, falling?

  Smiling, Nathan knelt and stretched apart the bottom wire and the second one. He smelled good. Like spicy aftershave. She tried not to notice, but a person couldn’t help what her nose decided to do, could she?

  She crawled through the space and straightened. Despite herself she looked back. Freeman frowned. The tribe of in-laws stared. His sisters had those same icy-blue eyes and the same black hair peeking around their kapps. It was as if Atlee peered at her wherever she went, following her, taunting her, accusing her.

  “Are you all right? Aside from Francis taking the fun out of the picnic?” Nathan wiggled through the opening, an intricate feat given his six-foot frame, which appeared to be mostly legs. “You look . . .” He paused as if searching for the right word. “Tired.” His expression said that wasn’t the word he sought.

  No one, besides Mary Katherine and Laura, ever commented on how Jennie looked. She started forward, careful not to step on the plants. She let her gaze roam to the other side and the tree break that divided the field from another filled with sprouting rye. No sign of her son. “I’m fine. No reason to complain.”

  None whatsoever. Which didn’t keep a body from doing it. It was human nature, Mary Katherine would say.

  “If you need help with anything, I’m available.”

  This Mennonite traveling salesman wanted to help her? “How long will you be in Jamesport?” Not the proper response at all. She should’ve said thank you and let it go. “I mean, don’t you have work to do?”

  “Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I was looking for you—”

  “Please don’t do that.” Fear thrilled through her. She quickened her step toward the heart of the field.
“Francis, Francis! Are you out here? If you are, you better come back now.” No answer. She didn’t want Nathan thinking about her at all. She didn’t want any man thinking about her.

  She glanced over her shoulder again. In the distance, Leo Graber hitched his horse to his buggy. He probably intended to leave the picnic early. Not unusual for a man who wasn’t much for socializing.

  “Why would you be looking for me?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Nathan’s sunburned face turned a deeper, burnished red to match his hair. “I only wanted to say, well, nothing, I guess. I mean, just say hello, I guess.”

  His arm swept out, forcing Jennie to halt.

  “What—?”

  “Look.” He whispered the word and then put a finger to his lips.

  She followed his gaze. A sleeping Francis, his straw hat clasped in his dirty hands, his curly brown hair wet with sweat, lay sprawled under an inkberry bush sprouting below the farthest oak trees in the windbreak.

  Just beyond him, curled up like a garden hose, lay a rattlesnake enjoying the shade on a soft cushion of weeds.

  TWO

  Jennie stopped breathing. Her lungs protested. She didn’t want to move, not even to let them expand and contract. Silly snake facts spouted by her son Micah when he wanted to make her shiver presented themselves. Snakes can’t sweat so they avoid the afternoon sun. They take naps during the day and come out when it’s cooler and dark. This one would likely stretch at least four feet long, not including its rattle. Its skin glowed brown and golden with a darker stripe down the back.

  Jennie’s mouth went dry. Her stomach chose that moment to heave. The hot dog did not want to stay down. Purple spots dotted her vision.

  “Cottonmouth?” Nathan whispered. He stood motionless at her side. “Poisonous?”

  “Rattler.” She tried to speak without moving her mouth. “Rare here, but you see them. Obviously.”

  “Don’t move.” His voice barely audible, he took one step, stopped. “I’ll grab Francis and we can hightail it out of here.”

  “Nee. You’ll startle him and he’ll holler.” Her fear of snakes might be big, but her fear of one of her children being hurt was greater. She searched the ground. Not a single rock big enough to dispatch the viper. “Don’t. Move.”

  Leo could help. If anyone could help it would be Leo. He’d know what to do.

  He was a man who never flinched. He’d been through the worst. Since that terrible day, he’d taken everything in silent stride.

  She turned slowly, carefully, tiptoeing at first, ridiculous as it must look, and then ran.

  Her sneakers sank into the rich, dark soil, impeding her progress. The scent of sweat and grass and dirt assailed her nose. She needed to run, faster, faster. Gott, help me. I know we’re not on the best of terms, but please, Gott, help me.

  Leo had the reins in his hands when she reached the fence. She slammed to a halt. “Help. Snake. Rattler. Francis.”

  He dropped the reins and reached behind the buggy seat. A long, lean, deadly looking brown rifle emerged.

  Rifle in hand, he hurtled over the fence like a boy half his age. His straw hat plummeted to the ground. His legs were much longer than Jennie’s, but fear and adrenaline that tasted like metal on her tongue propelled her in his wake.

  Leo slowed, slowed some more, halted, then stepped forward with a balance and ease that spoke of a much smaller man. He raised the rifle, took aim, and sent the snake on its way in an explosion of sound that made Jennie jump even though she knew it was coming. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air and burned her nose.

  With a blood-curdling scream Francis rolled over, hopped to his feet, and ran straight into Jennie’s open arms. She scooped him up and hugged him hard, despite the urge to take him to the woodshed for a “talk.”

  “Danki.” She spoke the single trembling word to Leo but let her gaze encompass Nathan. He was willing to do more. He simply hadn’t known what to do. “Francis thanks you too.”

  A spark of something indefinable in his amber eyes, Leo nodded and set off across the field, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his gait loose and easy. Taking it in silent stride, just the way she knew he would.

  Francis wiggled, trying to break free. “Snake.”

  “Nee. That’s a poisonous snake. Dead or not dead, stay away from snakes.”

  “Gut. Micah says.”

  “Your bruder knows I’m afraid of snakes and he likes to tease me. Besides he’s talking about garden snakes, not rattlesnakes. Not to mention you’ve caused enough trouble already.”

  His expression perplexed, Nathan’s gaze swung from Francis to Leo’s receding figure. “He carries a rifle around in his buggy?”

  “Turkey season opened last week.”

  “He didn’t have much to say.”

  “It’s rare he says anything.” Jennie corralled Francis with a tight grip on his arm. He smelled of little boy sweat and cookies, an aroma like cologne to her discerning nose. Others might not understand Leo, but she did. He lost something valuable and he didn’t know how to get it back. “He walks to his own beat.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “His daed dropped dead in front of him when he was young, and a few years later, his mudder passed. It hit him hard. He never quite got over it.”

  “He doesn’t believe in God’s plan?” Nathan looked pained. “Or he doesn’t like the one God has for him?”

  “He was baptized same as the rest of us, but it seems he skips out on church services more than most.” Jennie would never dream of doing such a thing, but she understood the desire. How could God’s plan include falling in love with a man who took her breath away with his romance before the wedding and took her breath away with his anger after it? How could God let a father die in front of his young son, leaving him to feel the guilt and pain of not being able to rescue him? “He has his reasons.”

  “I’m surprised the bishop allows it.” Nathan made as if to pick up Francis. “He’s heavy. Let me carry him for you.”

  “Nee, he’s capable of walking.” She held on tight to Francis’s arm. For some reason she couldn’t seem to let go. The bishop had been with Leo after his father died. He’d been there when Leo’s mother followed. Freeman understood and made allowances. They all did, hoping Leo would be healed of his malaise. Jennie had prayed for it all those years ago, prayed Leo would see her and seek her out. She’d seen him looking at her in church or at frolics, a strange, pained look on his face. But he didn’t. Atlee did. “Freeman and Solomon Weaver talk to him pretty regular, but his cousin Aidan’s the only one who can really reach him.”

  Aidan Graber and his bride-to-be, Bess, who thought match-making between his cousin Leo and Jennie a good idea.

  Not a good idea. If Leo had been interested, he would’ve come to the singings. He would’ve asked her out for a second buggy ride after that first, awkward one. But he hadn’t. He’d disappeared into his own little world, leaving Atlee to step in.

  “You can let people help you.” Nathan’s tone took on a tinge of defiance. “There’s no shame in it, especially for someone who has seven kinner to raise on her own.”

  “I have all the help I need.”

  “You don’t want my help you mean?” Nathan’s arms went slack at his side. He glanced at the buggy receding in the distance. “Is it Leo?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man was a little too perceptive. She’d given up on Leo a long time ago. “You were kind to help me look for Francis today. I appreciate it.”

  “I always want to help.” Nathan sighed and rubbed his big hand across his clean-shaven chin. “If you can’t figure out why, I’m in deep doo-doo.”

  “Doo-doo.” His face split in a grin, Francis slipped from Jennie’s grasp and skipped around them in a widening circle. “Doo-doo!”

  The boy rarely said a word. He picked this one to repeat?

  Shaking his head, a rueful smile on his face, Nathan pivoted and wa
lked away with a backward wave of his big hand.

  “Not nice. We don’t say words like doo-doo.” Jennie propelled Francis forward on his dirty, bare feet as Nathan waded back into the picnic crowd. Aidan stopped him for conversation, then Solomon Weaver, followed by Freeman Borntrager. Bess handed Nathan a plate of cookies. He smiled and gestured. The man was well liked by everyone. “Besides, I think it might be me, not Nathan, in deep doo-doo.”

  THREE

  Talk about crashing and burning. The sounds of folks enjoying the picnic loud in his ears, Nathan tried to concentrate on Freeman’s words. Instead, the conversation with Jennie continued to ring in his ears. He hadn’t said what he meant to say. What could he say that Leo-to-the-rescue’s rifle blast obliterating a rattlesnake wouldn’t overshadow? Nathan had chickened out. More hen than rooster, that was him. Bawk, bawk, bawk.

  He hadn’t told her his plan. Just as well. She was oblivious to his feelings, that was apparent. “I have all the help I need.” It didn’t look that way. Every time he visited her house with new books to sell—which she invariably sighed over and then rejected as too expensive—she looked exhausted. Pretty, but exhausted. She kept the house neat and orderly, but it needed a coat of paint, the gutters needed cleaning and straightening, and the steps were about to collapse. Nathan hammered with the best of them, and he knew his way around a paintbrush. And he knew how to lead a pack of kids despite not having any of his own. It came from being a natural-born salesman.

  “You got a pain in your side?”

  Freeman sounded a bit peeved. Maybe it was the hot sun and a case of indigestion from the picnic foods. Or, more likely, as bishop he was used to having an attentive audience.

  “I’m fine, just a little sunburned.” Nathan was always sunburned. The fate of a redhead. “So you like the biography of Sitting Bull. Interesting.”

  And Freeman was off again. Nathan preferred fiction of all kinds—mysteries, historical, suspense, literary, commercial blockbusters, poetry, short stories—but he didn’t mind an occasional foray into nonfiction. Anything to keep from thinking about his future and what he should—or shouldn’t—do.