Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  Not to be mean. Leo simply didn’t know how to dress up words. Another reason he kept his mouth shut.

  Laminitis was a painful disease that took ages to treat and often returned. Worse, Red might never pull a buggy again. Leo leaned his forehead into Red’s shoulder and ran his fingers along his back. “We’re putting you on a diet. But first, we need to make you feel better.”

  That meant getting his friends involved. Todd Riker, who qualified as vet and friend, needed to examine Red as soon as possible. More bills loomed in Leo’s future. He’d lost Jake last year to old age. The horse dropped dead—his heart gave out—one night while out to pasture. Strange how these things kept happening to Leo. At least he hadn’t been present this time. Still, finding a magnificent creature, a member of his family, had perished during the night had left him numb with a sense of despair that had nothing to do with the expense of replacing him. Now replacing him would become even more expensive. It didn’t matter. Red could not be allowed to suffer. Laminitis felt like standing on a throbbing toothache, according to Todd, who couldn’t bear to see an animal suffer any more than Leo could.

  He straightened and stared at the long road ahead. They were a good five miles from the turnoff to his home, just outside Jamesport. The walk would be into the blazing sun setting in the west. Sweat dripped in his eyes. “Well, we best get started.” He patted Red’s back and smoothed his dark mane. Red swung his head around. His nostrils quivered, his breath warm on Leo’s arm. He neighed softly, a plaintive sound. Leo patted him again. “I know, but you can make it. We’ll take it slow and easy. I got all the time in the world.”

  He leaned down to unhitch the buggy. He would come back for it later with one of his cousin Aidan’s horses.

  The familiar singsong of hooves clattered on the asphalt. He looked back. A wagon stuffed with the Troyer family approached. Matthew drove. Jennie, looking as sweet as ever, sat by her son’s side.

  Leo sighed. Red neighed in agreement. More talking seemed likely to ensue.

  FIVE

  The chatter in the back of the buggy did nothing to dispel the silence in the front. Jennie glanced at her oldest son. Matthew should be happy and carefree, now that he was done with school. He wanted it, so why had he been sitting on the wagon bench like a lump on a log looking like he’d just lost his best friend, wordless, since they left the picnic? She tried to remember if any of her brothers—all six of them older than her—had been this morose upon entering their teenage years. They teased her. They taunted her. They protected her. Between sixteen and their marrying days, they’d disappeared a lot. This nastiness? This she did not remember. Why did he keep snapping the reins as if the horse’s pace didn’t suit him?

  “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

  “I got chores to do.”

  “The others will help.”

  “They’re more of a hindrance than a help.”

  An exaggeration if she’d ever heard one. If all her children went through this stage as teenagers, Jennie was in a heap of trouble. “What’s the matter? You graduated. I thought you would be happy.”

  “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “The softball game was fun. You made a good catch there in the last inning.”

  He shrugged. “They won.”

  No one was keeping score as far as Jennie knew.

  Matthew had never been a cuddly child, but his dark moodiness had increased in the last year. Growing pains? Part of becoming an adult? It was hard to say since he refused to talk to her about it. He needed a man with whom he could talk. Maybe her brother or even her brother-in-law.

  “If you have something on your mind, I reckon Peter might be able to help.”

  “Nothing’s on my mind.”

  A chill ran through her despite the late-afternoon sun. His tone was all too reminiscent of his father’s. “Being a graduate doesn’t excuse you from respecting your elders.”

  His only response was to snap the reins and yell, “Giddyup!”

  They topped the hill and began the descent. A buggy was parked on the highway shoulder. This was not a good sign. Jennie wiggled in her seat. Even if Leo stood next to the buggy, a person had to stop. He looked no gladder to see them than she was to see him. He’d helped her out earlier with the snake. Without hesitation, but also without comment. It looked as if she would have the opportunity to return the favor sooner rather than later.

  The horse whinnied. Leo shushed him with a soft pat on the horse’s ample neck. Wasn’t the horse new? Her brother had said something about a new sorrel to replace the bay who keeled over in the pasture a few months earlier. She touched Matthew’s arm. “Stop.”

  Frowning, he tugged away from her touch.

  “Matthew, I said, stop.”

  Grunting, he obliged with a sharp tug on the reins.

  Leo went back to unhitching a beautiful sorrel from his buggy. “Howdy.”

  “Do you need a ride?” Celia spoke when Jennie didn’t. “We have room for one more.”

  “Can’t leave Red.”

  Elizabeth hopped from the wagon, landed on her knees, and rolled to her feet, oblivious to the dirt on her apron. “Is he sick?”

  “I’ll help you doctor him.” Cynthia followed her younger sister with an even less graceful plop. Her skinny arms flailed and her kapp slid back. “I know how to make a poultice. I can find some mud yonder by Marvin’s pond.”

  Francis hurled himself over the side of the wagon without a word. His roly-poly body ended up at Cynthia’s feet. She yanked him up without looking at him. His black pants were gray with dirt and one knee sported a hole. He hid his dirty face in her dress.

  Soon all seven of them would be lined up along the road—all except Matthew, who stared ahead, the same surly expression etched on his face Jennie saw morning, noon, and night. “Stop. All of you.” Jennie put up her hand even though not one of them looked at her. They milled around Leo. “Let the man speak. He may not need our help.”

  Leo grimaced. “He’s gone lame. I’m walking him home.”

  “We can help,” Elizabeth piped up. “We can sing. It’ll make him feel better.”

  “You could tie him to the back of the wagon and ride with us.” Micah volunteered. “Matthew can go slow, can’t you, Bruder?”

  Matthew grunted.

  Leo’s gaze connected with Jennie’s. He seemed nonplussed by their peppering. Talking to people was harder for him than shooting a rattler. “Better to walk him. His legs hurt.”

  Jennie felt a flicker of relief. Followed by shame. Her children were kinder than she was. She didn’t want Leo in the wagon. She had an open face. Her mother always said that. He would see her mixed-up feelings and know she couldn’t understand why he had acted the way he had during their rumspringa. He’d been interested, she was sure of it. But he never lifted a finger to follow through.

  Her children needed to see her set the example. Should Leo be in the back surrounded by them or in front holding the reins? She had no idea. Matthew was the man of her house now, let him drive. Let Leo sit next to him. She could sit in the back. The thoughts buzzed her brain like bees around a hive.

  “Get up here with Matthew. I’ll move to the back. We’ll make sure your horse is fine. No sense in you walking all the way to your house.”

  “It’s out of your way.”

  “We aren’t in a hurry.”

  “Neither am I.”

  A person couldn’t help a man who didn’t want help, could she? “We don’t mind.”

  “You have livestock at home waiting to be fed.”

  He worried about animals more than he did people. “They won’t starve in another hour.”

  He stared at his boots as if contemplating how to get her to leave him alone. “The back works. Close to my horse.”

  And far from her. Also a good thing.

  He started toward the back of the wagon, Red in tow. The horse whinnied. He tried to lie down. Leo coaxed him forward, whispering in his ears. He patted his long n
eck. “Let’s get you home.”

  His voice was so soft and sweet, not one Jennie would’ve associated with a man who had massive shoulders and big meaty hands covered with fine black hair. The sheer force of his muscle caused a shiver to run through her. Ridiculous. This was Leo, not Atlee. She was a grown woman. She couldn’t allow herself to be afraid of anyone or anything. “Poor thing. He’s in pain.”

  “He is.” Leo led him around to the back of the wagon.

  The bellyache of an engine that had seen better days filled the air. Jennie peered beyond Leo and Red. A dusty white van loomed in the distance. It headed down the hill toward them. Red reared.

  SIX

  A wagon in the middle of the highway wasn’t unheard of in these parts. But coming up over the hill to find one surrounded by youngsters directly in a person’s path took a man by surprise. Nathan slammed on the brakes.

  Bunny shimmied and shook. The minivan’s backend fishtailed.

  He muttered a quick prayer and eased into the slide, then straightened. A cluster of Plain kids bolted toward the shoulder of the road. A woman—Jennie Troyer—leaped from the buggy. She stumbled and fell.

  A horse collapsed. Leo Graber dropped to his knees next to the animal, one hand jutted in the air as if he could make the van stop with sheer force of will.

  Nathan hit the brakes again. This time the van halted within inches of the horse, which made no attempt to rise. Nathan breathed, trying to still the hammering of his heart. Sweat dripped in his eyes. His shoulders and arms ached.

  “Thank You, Jesus.” He uncurled his fingers, one at a time, from the steering wheel. His knuckles throbbed. “You are a good God.”

  Even if he didn’t always get the answer to his prayers he wanted. Like a spoiled child he complained instead of accepting God’s will for his life. You are great, Lord. I’m the weak one.

  Feeling like an old man, he turned off the ignition and sat still, breathing. After a few seconds, he shoved open the door. He had to grab his leg, pull it from the foot well, and set his foot on the asphalt. His muscles shook. “Everyone all right?”

  Leo looked up. “Jah.”

  “I didn’t hit him, did I?” He’d never seen a horse lay down and stay down. “Why doesn’t he get up?”

  “His legs hurt.” Leo’s tone suggested he still didn’t approve of Nathan’s driving. Or of him. “Nothing to do with you.”

  Thank God for that.

  On wet-noodle legs Nathan staggered past the other man to the kids, who clustered around Jennie, all talking at once. His pants sagged down around his hips. He hitched them up with one hand. Belts might be seen as vanity, but they also served a purpose. His shoe skidded under him. He glanced down. A big horse plop squished out around his Nike, the odor reaching his nose a split second later. Suppressing a groan, he wiped the sole on the grass and kept going.

  Jennie stared at her palms, her face as white as his shirt. He waded through the kids, who parted at his approach. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Just scratches.” She hid her hands behind her back like a naughty child with a pilfered cookie. Dirt and leaves adorned her apron. Her kapp hung crooked to one side, revealing fine hair the color of ripe wheat. “I’m fine.”

  “Her hands are bleeding, and she has a scratch on her nose.” Celia and Cynthia chorused. “She jumped. Did you see her jump?”

  He had seen her. His heart still clamored for release from his chest. “I saw.”

  “I’m fine.” Her gaze met his. She straightened her kapp and brushed the leaves from her apron, leaving behind a red stain. The scratches on her palms were deep. “I need to get home and get cleaned up.”

  “Let me take you into town to the emergency clinic.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She seemed to think if she kept saying it, the statement would become fact. “Let me see.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll wash up at the house.”

  Her stubborn expression made her no less pretty. Nor did the scratch on her upturned nose. He ripped his gaze from her to the children. “What about the rest of you? Anyone hurt?”

  Their heads shook simultaneously. Francis buried his head in his mother’s apron. Fortunately, both were equally dirty. “Let me give you a ride to your house. Matthew can bring the wagon home.”

  “No need.”

  An impasse.

  “I’ll drive them.” Leo spoke from behind Nathan.

  Nathan turned. Leo’s soft voice whispered in the horse’s ear. Neighing, it scrambled to its feet.

  “Good boy. Attaboy, Red. Attaboy.” Leo’s hand smoothed the horse’s back. He patted its rump. “We’ll get you home in no time.”

  He talked a lot more to horses than he did to people.

  “Isn’t it farther to their house than yours?” Nathan tried to keep the pique out of his voice. It was small minded. The goal here was to help Jennie and her kids, however possible. “If you need to get it home, I can help her—them.”

  “People first.” Leo strode to the front of the wagon and climbed into the seat. “All aboard.”

  The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Laughing and pushing, they clamored into the wagon.

  Jennie lingered. She brushed the leaves from her apron. “Thank you for the offer.” She ducked her head. “It’s kind of you. We’ll be fine.”

  “No problem.” He forced a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. She was fine. She didn’t need his help. She couldn’t see how he felt, but then he hadn’t told her. He couldn’t. Not with the gaping chasm of their differing faiths between them.

  She nodded and trudged past him without making eye contact.

  “Until then.”

  She glanced back, finally. “Until then.”

  He stood and watched Leo drive her and the kids away. She had called upon Leo to help her with the snake. Now she helped him with his horse.

  Maybe that’s why she didn’t need Nathan’s help. She already had someone.

  SEVEN

  Time to admit it. Jennie needed reading glasses. She peered at the quilt block stitching in the early evening sunlight that filtered through the open windows of her home. The flower petals, white thread on white material, might be slightly crooked. Of course the bandages on her fingers and palms might have something to do with it. Her shoulders ached from the jolt when she hit the ground on all fours. Surely, she’d looked like a clumsy girl catapulting out of the wagon that way. A van barreling over the hill straight at them—all her children—seemed to require nothing less at the time.

  Still, she was glad for the company. Having Laura and Mary Katherine here kept her from reliving the scene earlier in the day with Nathan and then the ride home with Leo. Jennie craned her neck and stretched, all the while surreptitiously checking Mary Katherine’s and Laura’s work. The other two women wore their reading glasses without thought for vanity. Their work on the Double Irish Chain pattern with its blue-and-white squares and quilted flowers looked perfect.

  Laura looked up and smiled. “Are you all right? If you need to rest after your adventures today, just say so and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Nee. Just a cramp in my neck. And I didn’t have any adventures.” She adjusted the propane lamp she had lit on the table next to their quilt frame. Its heat vied with the cooler evening breeze that wafted through the open windows. “I’ll get us some tea.”

  “Let me do it.” Mary Katherine stood. “You’ve had quite the day, what with fending off snakes and getting run over by vans.”

  “I didn’t get run over.”

  Her protest was lost on Mary Katherine. Her expression that of a woman on a mission, she trotted past Francis and Elizabeth, who were playing with wooden blocks strewn across the living room’s pine floor, and headed for the kitchen.

  Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and scooped up Indigo, the black-and-white kitten she carried around the house day and night. Rufus, the muddy-brown mutt who followed her everywhere, stood and stretched with a soft whine in the back of his
throat. “Can I have one of the brownies Mary Kay brought? Her brownies are the best.” Elizabeth held Indigo to her face, letting the kitten’s fur brush against her cheek, her look of innocent pleasure so sweet. “Francis wants one too. So does Rufus.”

  “You can have one, but not your animals. Sweets are bad for them.” Jennie assumed this to be the case. She couldn’t afford a vet for her daughter’s menagerie.

  Francis, ever Elizabeth’s shadow, disappeared through the doorway behind them.

  “I hope they bring us some.” Laura chuckled, a dry sound like tissue paper rustling. “Mary Kay is the pied piper of baked goods.”

  Jennie nodded, but the words barely registered. The look of concern on Nathan’s face as she left him standing next to his van on the side of the road floated in her mind’s eye. It had been a long ride to Leo’s place to drop off the horse and then on to her farm. The children peppered the man with questions, which he answered with the patience of Job but without elaboration. They were starved for a man in their lives. That was certain. Her own brothers tried. Especially Peter. Brother number six and closest to Jennie, Peter took Matthew and Micah on as farmhands, teaching them what they needed to know to be farmers, but he wasn’t much for talk or affection. He did what he could. Atlee’s brothers also helped when they could.

  “You’re certainly lost in thought this evening.” Laura’s needle moved with precision and quickness despite swollen, painful knuckles caused by her arthritis. Fueled by sheer determination, no doubt. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Like Mary Kay said, it’s been a long day.”

  “It’s more than that.” Laura’s shrewd features shone in the lamp light that softened the wrinkles around her mouth and the lines around her green eyes. “You look troubled.”

  In all the years since the three women—four until Bess started courting with Aidan in earnest—had gathered to can, cook, sew, quilt, and talk, Jennie had never told them. As much as they were like older sisters, she couldn’t bring herself to tell them. She didn’t lie. She simply kept her story to herself. “Nathan said something today.”