by Kelly Irvin
“A frog is croaking in your throat?” Elizabeth giggled. “I want a frog in my throat.”
As if she didn’t have enough pets. The girl had named all the chickens, in order according to the alphabet: Abby, Bertha, Cassie, Daisy, Emma, Fiona, Georgia, and so on. She claimed to know which one was which. The horses—Lulu, Buck, Samson, and Carmel—also received daily visits complete with carrots when they could be spared for use as treats for the animals.
“You can have my frog.” He patted her kapp. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Maybe sooner if Jennie kicked him out of the kitchen. He found her standing at the counter, the water pitcher in one hand, staring out the window.
“Can I help?”
She jumped and shrieked. Water slopped onto her dress and apron, spreading in a dark swirl. Why did she jump every time he came upon her from behind?
“It’s only me. I needed that drink of water. My throat is parched. It’s hot for May, isn’t it? I mean if it’s this hot now, what will it be like in July or August?”
Why did he run on at the mouth every time he was around her? Talking about the weather? Seriously.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she busied herself pouring water into a plastic tumbler. Her hand shook. Droplets of water splattered on the counter. She grabbed a towel and sopped them up in such a hurry a person might think water stained.
“Why are you so nervous around me?” He took the pitcher from her and set it on the counter. “I’m a friendly guy.”
“It’s getting late.” She turned and faced him. “Time for the kinner to turn in.”
“We just started playing.” He folded his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out to her. “You were making popcorn.”
“Popcorn is salty. It only makes you thirstier.”
She said this as if it were a new piece of information that explained everything. Why did she look so troubled? Why did she shrink back if he dared to come too close? Why did she duck her head when she spoke to him? She reminded him of a puppy who’d been kicked by a previous owner and could never trust a human again.
She had been married to an Amish man. They were the gentlest folks around. Nonviolent. Conscientious objectors. It seemed unlikely Atlee would have raised a hand to her, but then no one truly knew what went on behind closed doors, especially among people as private as the Amish. “Is it because I said I’m staying in Jamesport for good?”
“It’s none of my business where you stay.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” If it couldn’t be more, he wanted at least that much from her. An admission that they had more than a passing, polite interest in each other. “I promise being friends with me isn’t a bad thing.”
“I know that.” She handed him the glass of water. His fingers brushed hers. They were callused. She drew back her hand as if he was the snake she so feared that day at the school picnic. “It’s getting late.”
“Maybe I should go. I’ll slip out the back and you explain to the kinner that I wasn’t feeling well.”
He really wasn’t. The look of fear on her face turned his stomach.
“I can’t lie to them. I’ll tell them I asked you to go.” She drew an audible breath, then let it out, a painful sigh. “I’m sorry. They need to turn in. Dawn comes early.”
“You really haven’t done anything to be sorry for.” Somebody had. Somebody had turned her into a woman fearful of a man’s touch. Who would’ve done that? “I hope you figure out that I mean you no harm. I promise.”
“It’s not you.”
She said the words, but her face said differently. It was him. And all the rest of the men in the world.
“I’m staying in Jamesport because I like the people here.” He gulped down the water, hoping it would take with it the lump that suddenly lodged in his throat. “All of them, including you. It’s a good place to put down roots. I’ve never had roots in my life—not since I was a kid anyway.”
“That’s hard for me to imagine.” Her expression softened, Nathan caught a glimpse of what she must have looked like as a young girl, softer, even prettier, even sweeter. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here. Not in this house, but within miles of it.”
“My family is flung to the four corners of the hemisphere now.” Nathan held the glass out to her. She took it, her care in not touching him again obvious. He smiled. She smiled back. “My parents are in El Salvador planting a church.”
“Planting a church like corn or beans? It’s odd how different Mennischt have become from our kind.” She set the glass on the counter and moved to the stove where she placed a thick cast-iron pot on the burner, measured out and added two tablespoons of oil, then adjusted the flame. Her back was to him, but he could see how her body hummed with tension in the set of her shoulders.
Still, she had changed her mind about the popcorn. That was a good sign. “Driving cars. Flying in airplanes. Evangelizing. But we mostly believe the same things, don’t we?”
She turned and picked up a huge jar filled with popcorn kernels. “Do we?” She looked up at him, the wrinkle in her forehead and the quizzical look in her eyes accentuating the question as if she really wanted to know. “Do you believe in Meidung, then?”
He would never have to test his beliefs on the subject of shunning. His family was a family of believers. So much so they dedicated themselves to evangelizing others. Something else Jennie wouldn’t understand. No wonder Freeman found it so hard to believe Nathan might be able to immerse himself in this life. “I’m not sure shaming people you love into toeing the line is the best way to bring them closer to Christ.”
Who was he to judge? He was a poor sinner who felt an endless well of jealousy every time he thought of all the energy and love his parents expended to get others to believe. He hadn’t seen them in almost three years.
“It’s not shame. It’s tough love and it keeps the rest of us from falling into the same patterns.” The sizzle of oil punctuated her statement. She poured in a cup of kernels and set a lid on the pot. “It’s our hope they’ll realize what they’re missing and return to the fold.”
“Why are you making popcorn?”
Her gaze traveled from him to the pot and back. Her hand fluttered to her chest. She shook her head. “I don’t know. You made me forget what I was doing.”
“Maybe you really wanted me to stay.”
The pause lingered longer than he hoped it would. Pop-pop-pop filled the air, slowly at first, then faster, along with the heavenly scent of popcorn that reminded him of watching movies and game nights with his own family.
“Nee. Jah. I mean, no, it’s that I can’t think straight sometimes. I have so much to do and I worry. I know worry is a sin, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep myself grounded in today. I keep thinking about tomorrow and what it will bring and if I’ll be able to do what I need to do for them.” She nodded toward the door. “I have to do the work of a daed and a mudder. I’m not always sure I’m up to that. Mostly, I’m sure I’m not. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“Because that’s what a person does with a friend. Confides in him. I understand—”
The back door swung open and Darren barged through it. “Howdy . . .” His gaze swung from Nathan to Jennie and back. “What are you doing here?”
TWELVE
The look on her brother-in-law’s face said it all. Jennie took a step back, out of a habit that never died even when her husband did. Darren, although a few years younger, could’ve been Atlee’s twin. The same towering height, burly shoulders, wild hair, and blue eyes that pierced through the skin to the marrow of her bones. The same way of talking as if everyone should stop and listen. Right now he looked as if she’d confirmed his worst suspicions. Standing alone in her kitchen with a Mennonite man within arm’s reach.
“I stopped by to show Jennie and the kids the latest books.” Nathan’s tone was even, but the lines around his mouth deepened. He must’ve been in his late thirties or early forties. Why
had he never married? Or had he and she just assumed he hadn’t? He could be a widower too or divorced. He never talked about it. “The kids wanted me to play Life on the Farm with them. But now I’m headed out.”
Headed out because Jennie asked him about shunning instead of congratulating him on his decision to retire from life on the road and settle down a hop, skip, and a jump from her.
Darren said nothing in the long pause that followed.
The smell of scorched popcorn tickled her nose. “Oh no.” She whirled and lifted the pot from the stove. The handle singed her fingers. “Ouch. Ouch.”
“A pot holder might be in order.” More judgment from Darren. “I stopped by to see if Matthew and Micah can help cut hay tomorrow. We’re behind and it’s supposed to storm. I want to get it in before it rains.”
“They worked with Peter today, getting his in.”
Another long, awkward pause. Darren had to know her brother paid the boys for their work. Darren always offered to pay the boys and the money was needed, but she also knew he had his own bills to pay and mouths to feed. Atlee’s brothers farmed his fields, which helped because she couldn’t do it on her own. No one had much extra these days, but Atlee’s family had been plenty helpful in the early days. She didn’t want to keep asking them for help. It didn’t seem right.
“I’ll feed them and send them home with some meat.” Darren shoved his hat back, revealing a suntan line across his forehead. “We butchered a cow yesterday and a hog today. We have more beef and sausage than we know what to do with.”
Meat would be good. As good as cash. Better. She didn’t know what it would feel like to have more than she knew what to do with. “We would appreciate that. The kinner like sausage, and we haven’t had any in a while.”
Darren nodded.
Yet another awkward pause.
“I better get going.” Nathan adjusted his baseball cap. “Tomorrow I have to hit the road to Seymour and that direction.”
“I heard you were thinking of hiring yourself out as a farmhand.” Darren’s voice held thinly veiled doubt. “Got any experience?”
“Not hands-on, but I’m a quick learner.”
“Hmm.”
“Let me dump the popcorn out in your trash can. It’ll get the smell out of your house.” Nathan grabbed a dish towel, picked up the pot, and moved toward the door. “I’ll leave the pan and the towel on the back step. Tell the kinner I said I’ll see them next time.”
“Come up to my place once you get done with the books.” Darren made it a statement, not a question. “We need another set of hands and a strong back. I can’t pay much, but you might learn something.”
Jennie gripped the counter’s edge. Did her brother-in-law just offer Nathan a job? His expression was downright kind. She’d never seen that look on her husband’s face. Darren had offered help over the years, even when it was obvious his own cupboards were getting low. How could two brothers be so different?
Nathan’s face broke into that sunny grin that made the skin crinkle around those periwinkle eyes. “Much obliged.”
“No reason to come down here to Jennie’s on your own.” Darren’s words acquired a harder edge. “Her brothers and me and the rest of the family take care of the fields here.”
“I reckon a person can always find a reason to visit with friends.” His grin still in place, Nathan’s tone was good-natured, but firm. “I try to help out with a few things around here when I can. Fix the steps. Clean the gutters. Work on the washing machine. Things friends do for a friend who doesn’t have a husband to do it for her.”
Everything about his tone suggested family might consider doing the same. Neither man backed down from the staring contest. He shouldn’t poke at Darren like that. Jennie would pay the consequences. He’d be gone and she’d be left to explain to her brother-in-law.
“Matthew and Micah should be doing that. All they have to do is ask and we’ll help.” Darren was equally firm. “We’re family.”
Not an iota of capitulation in his face, Nathan tipped his hat to her and headed for the door, smelly popcorn pot in hand, stride jaunty.
He looked as if Darren had offered him his own farm.
Silence prevailed until the door closed behind him. Jennie scooped up the dishrag and scrubbed at an already-clean counter.
“I reckon, my bruder being dead and all, it’s none of my business.” Darren cleared his throat, a deep harrumph full of discomfort. “But you are still family so I’ll say it anyway. I reckon the elders would have something to say about that kind of visit from a so-called friend. A Mennischt man.”
“He came to sell books.” Jennie scrubbed harder. “Like he does with everyone.”
“He stayed for supper. Long past supper.”
“The kinner invited him. They like having company.” Atlee’s family almost never visited anymore. Or invited her and the children for a visit. The family thread had grown thin and stretched over the years. It was her fault as much as theirs. “They like his stories. It’s harmless.”
“Tell Micah and Matthew to be at the barn at sunrise.”
She turned to face him. “Do you want to poke your head in and say hello?” He was their uncle. If they hadn’t spent a lot of time with him over the years, he couldn’t be blamed. She wanted to put as much yardage between herself and the memories as possible. She hadn’t been thinking of the children. “They’re all in the front room.”
“Can’t. I still have animals to feed. Dawn comes early.” He stifled a yawn behind his big hand. “If you need work done around here, have Matthew do it. Don’t let him get away with being lazy.”
“He’s not lazy.”
“Gut. Don’t be a stranger.” Darren trudged out the back door, letting the screen slam. Unable to stop herself, Jennie watched from the window as he strode to his buggy. The back of his head, the slope of his shoulders could be Atlee. But it wasn’t. This man offered a job to another man seeking a fresh start. He treated her like family, even though she’d been the one to distance herself from him and the others. Nothing was black and white in this life. She could hear her dad saying those words. People can’t be pigeonholed. They have some good and some bad in them.
Which brought her back to Atlee.
The Atlee she knew had kissed her on her parents’ front porch that first time with such white-hot emotion that it burned a trail through her body from her heart all the way to toes that curled up inside her sneakers.
That was the Atlee she married. He was the one who picked her up and kissed her hard that evening down by the pond when he asked her to marry him. He whirled her around and around until she was too dizzy to stand after she said yes.
That Atlee.
Stop. Stop.
Atlee reached up, grabbed her arm, and jerked her from the buggy. Unable to catch herself, she fell to her knees. He released her. She cradled her arm against her chest, sure the bone had been ripped from its socket at the shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She tried to stand. He shoved her back down and stood over her, hand lifted as if to strike her. No one had ever hit her, not ever. Her daed didn’t need to hit. His quiet word was all she needed for correction. “Why are you acting like this?”
He hadn’t said a word all the way home from her parents’ house. Not a word. No answer when she asked if he liked her mother’s lasagna. She thought to fix it for him if he did. In six months of marriage, she was still learning what he liked or didn’t like.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what? What did I do?”
“You interrupted me in front of your daed. You disrespected me in front of your parents.”
“I didn’t. I was just making conversation.”
“At my expense. A fraa doesn’t do that. A fraa fixes the food, puts it on the table, and cleans up afterward. A fraa doesn’t interfere in a conversation between men.”
They’d been discussing repairs that needed to be made to the house. Changes that needed to be made. Atlee
wasn’t much for that sort of thing. He was a farmer. She’d told how the water spouted in his face when he tried to turn it off and work on the pipes in the bathroom. They’d laughed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I was just making conversation.”
“You sleep on the floor tonight.”
“What?”
“In the barn.”
“Atlee—”
“You have to learn. You’re like a stupid child who doesn’t know any better. I’ll have to teach you.”
“I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman.”
His hand flew out, catching her by surprise. The back side caught her in the mouth. Pain exploded. The taste of salty blood seeped from the inside of her lip and gathered in the back of her throat.
She gasped and threw her arm up to protect herself.
“Go on, get. Put the horse and buggy away. Get out of my sight. I can’t bear to look at you.”
He turned and stomped away.
That was the first time.
The first of many lessons she had to learn from the man who’d said he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
“It smells like burnt popcorn all the way in the front room.” Cynthia skipped into the room and skidded to a stop. “Where’s Nathan? Mark has been playing his turn. Why does it smell like burnt popcorn? Did you burn it again?”
Jennie propped herself up against the counter with one hand and held her stomach with the other. Nausea at the memory, as fresh as if it happened the day before, flooded her. “Enough questions, Dochder.”
“But Nathan—”
“I sent him off. It’s late and Onkel Darren came by. He wants Matthew and Micah to work for him tomorrow. Nathan didn’t want to keep us up too late.”
Cynthia shook her head. “Without popcorn? He never leaves before the popcorn.”
“Tonight he did. Anyway, I burned it.” Jennie held out the pitcher. “Take some water to your bruders and schweschders. I’ll make some more popcorn, and we’ll finish the game before we go to bed. I’ll take his place.”
“He plays better than you do.”
