Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  It had been a struggle to convince Elizabeth to leave Indigo at home. Only the assurance that her kitten would be tempted to eat the birds convinced her.

  “Nee, little one. Touching them will interfere with them growing up proper.” James’s bass softened. “You want them to grow up big and strong, don’t you?”

  “All my pets grow up big and strong—”

  “Hush, ’Lizbeth. Birds aren’t pets. They fly away. What do they eat?” Mark put one hand over his little sister’s mouth. She squawked and he removed it but kept his other hand on her shoulder. “Can we feed them?”

  “They eat insects like flies, June bugs, grasshoppers, cicadas, and bees.” James pointed his huge finger at the sky. “When you see them doing that aerial dance, diving and such, that means they’re hunting for food.”

  “How come they only live here part of the time?” His expression intent, Mark edged closer to his groossdaadi. Of the boys, he looked the most like Jennie. He had a smattering of freckles across his upturned nose and fair skin red from the sun. “Don’t they like their house?”

  “They like it a lot.” Olive spoke up. “That’s why they come back to it every year on their trip from South America. We make sure it’s nice and clean, and we put some pine needles in the little rooms. See how deep they are? That’s to keep the starlings and the sparrows out. We’re good landlords.”

  Indeed, they were. The purple martins chattered from their homes placed out in the open, just the right distance from trees to give them a chance to see enemies like owls coming in to attack and steal their babies. They were beautiful birds—the male birds especially with their glossy purple-blue plumage and blackish wings and tails. The momma birds might not be as fancy, but they looked nice too.

  “Why does that bird have a yellow band on its leg?” An English man, whose Nebraska Cornhuskers T-shirt identified him as a tourist, held up his hand as if in school. “It looks like he’s wearing a bracelet.”

  The children tittered, but James shushed them. “I’m glad you asked that question.” He launched into an explanation of banding, permits, colors, and numbers that had little Elizabeth frowning and nodding.

  Olive trotted away from the group, headed toward the two-story white house she’d shared with her husband since before Atlee’s birth. Her gaze landed on Jennie. She swerved in her direction. “You came! I’m glad you came.”

  “Really?” Jennie stammered. “I mean, the kinner like learning about the birds.”

  Bess smiled at Olive and turned toward the birdhouses. Traitor.

  “I was about to get a glass of lemonade. All this talking has made my throat dry.” Olive’s hand went to the hollow of her throat, then dropped. She nodded toward the house. “Join me?”

  “No need to go to any trouble.” Jennie stubbed her shoe on a rock and stumbled. Heat burned her cheeks. Always a clumsy cow around Atlee’s family. “I should stay with the kinner.”

  “They’re fine.” Olive’s smile was tentative. It almost begged. “Their groossdaadi won’t let anything happen to them.”

  The emphasis fell on the word on groossdaadi.

  “I know that.”

  Olive held open the door. “Come inside.”

  Not quite a command. More of an appeal. Jennie gathered her courage around her like invisible armor and went.

  They tromped into the kitchen, neat as a pin as usual where Olive poured the lemonade, and settled at the scarred pine table with their glasses. The room still held the homey scent of bacon and fried eggs. Olive took a long drink of lemonade and smacked her lips in appreciation. “You must think it’s strange that James and me would be bird lovers.”

  “He always has been, as long as I can remember. You too.”

  But not Atlee. He had no interest in the purple martins. Only birds that could be hunted for supper.

  “Birds are like people.” Chewing on her lower lip, Olive paused.

  Jennie had no idea how to respond so she waited too.

  “Only a few days ago the starlings ruined the flicker nest. And the day before that a wren got into a bluebirds’ nest that had four eggs and filled it up with twigs. They just barge right in. They have no sense of decency when it comes to taking what they want.”

  “I see.” Jennie didn’t really see at all.

  “The wrens sing so sweetly, but they have a dark side, I reckon.”

  “Like people.”

  Olive picked up a dish towel and wiped at the table. The lines on her face made her look older than she was. “Exactly. There’s bad apples in every bunch.”

  What exactly were they talking about? “They still take you by surprise, though.”

  “We miss having the kinner around.” Pink rose in Olive’s plump cheeks. “And you too, for sure.”

  “There’s so much to do.” That Olive and James missed their grandchildren didn’t surprise Jennie. That Olive would admit to missing her did. “With the house and the fields and the garden.”

  “I know how that is. ’Course I always had my mann to carry his fair share of the load. He has a lot to take care of here, but the boys help out. They can help you too.” Olive traced the circle left by her glass on the table. “They’re not like Atlee.”

  Olive knew what her son was. Her shame and embarrassment mingled on her face.

  “I know. At least I think I know.” The question that had plagued Jennie for years spun around and around in her head. “How could he be so different? Did something happen to him?”

  The back door opened. Atlee’s youngest brother, Raymond, stuck his head through the doorway. “We have another load just arrived. That man from Pennsylvania is here, RV and all. The one who wrote he was coming.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Raymond let the door slam.

  “Olive, was it something I did?”

  “Nothing you did.” Olive stuck the glass on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron. She stared out the window over the sink, her back to Jennie. “Nothing I did.”

  “But you thought it was.”

  Just as Jennie believed she had done something. Something that made her husband angry and frustrated and contemptuous.

  Olive swiveled and learned against the counter. “I’m his mudder. I raised him. Me and James. We tried to teach him the difference between right and wrong. We tried to teach him the meaning of faith and family. We showed him how to work hard.”

  “What happened to him?”

  The lines around her mouth and eyes deepened. She shook her head. “A person shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Especially family. Especially a son.”

  “I need to know.”

  “What’s past is past. Move on. But James and me, we’d like to see more of the kinner. Of you.”

  How could a person move on without knowing why something happened? Why a husband acted the way he did? The stern set of Olive’s face said Jennie would find no answers today. “It never felt that way. When Atlee died—”

  “It seemed that we didn’t want you around?” She shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Nothing could be further from the truth. It was hard for us to get over losing a suh, that’s all.”

  “Looking at his kinner remind you of him.”

  “The good parts of him.” Olive headed toward the back door. “Bring that tray of cookies, will you? We like to hand them out to folks.”

  The good parts. They knew about the bad parts. They knew what he was like. Surely they knew why. “Olive, please.”

  “Try to give it up to Gott.” Sadness flitted across the other woman’s face. “Dwelling in the past changes nothing. You need to look forward.”

  “How can I when the possibility is always there that I’ll make another mistake?”

  “That mistake gave you seven kinner.” Olive held open the door again. “I reckon Gott knew what He was doing.”

  SIXTEEN

  Wave upon wave of nausea pounded Jennie. Her stomach heaved. She leaned over the dish tub, trying to breathe
through it. She had work to do. She was supposed to fill in for Annabelle at the store today, her first shift as a worker, a day when she could barely stand upright. She retched, the bitter bile of a nearly empty stomach burning her throat and tongue. She gasped and swiped at her forehead. Her skin burned. Her throat ached with every swallow.

  She closed her eyes. Purple dots danced against the dark side of her eyelids. Breathe. Breathe. She laid her head on her arm. Just for a second. Only a second. Then she would load the buggy and go. She would tell Mary Katherine the children were sick. She couldn’t stay. Her first shift, and already she was unreliable. Atlee would’ve said “I told you so.”

  Atlee would never have let her go in the first place. Her job was at home, being his wife and mother to his children.

  The dank June air oppressed her. No breeze stirred the curtains. The rain that fell earlier had only served to make the humidity worse. She didn’t usually mind the summer heat, but today every muscle in her body ached. Her dress weighed a thousand pounds on her back.

  Celia barreled through the kitchen door. “Mudder! Mark threw up in his bed.” Her kapp was askew and she reeked of vomit. “It smelled so bad, Elizabeth threw up on the floor right next to his bed.”

  “What was Elizabeth doing in the boys’ bedroom?” Having seven children meant sickness tended to spread like poison ivy’s itch. She’d been through this with every childhood disease imaginable. Colds, ear infections, flu, slapped cheek disease, impetigo, pinkeye. If it was out there, her children caught it and passed it around like a shared lollipop. “She should be in her bed.”

  “She wet the bed. I think she felt too sick to get up. Poor Cynthia was lying next to her at the time.” Celia wavered and slapped her hand on the door handle. She looked peaked herself. She would be the last child standing. Matthew and Micah had gone to help Darren cut hay earlier in the day, but both boys had lacked their usual gusto for pancakes, eggs, and toast for breakfast, a sign they’d likely be home soon. Matthew’s face had been green when he trudged from the house to hitch up the horse to the wagon. That and the threat of rain that hung in the air, titillating, promising another round any minute. What they had cut yesterday wouldn’t be able to dry either. “I was changing her sheets so she went looking for a place to lie down. Poor thing is burning up.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t wet the bed in years. Jennie grasped the edge of the counter and fought another wave of nausea. Outside the kitchen window the sky had turned an ominous green like an enormous bruise. A ragged bolt of lightning zigzagged across the expanse. Thunder complained in response. A fainthearted breeze lifted the leaves on the oak that shaded the back porch. Then died a sullen death.

  The weather matched her mood. “Put some water in the tub. Stick Elizabeth in there. It will cool her off and clean her up at the same time.”

  “Are you all right? You look puke green.”

  “I’m fine.” Jennie wiped at her nose and stuck the hankie in her sleeve. Her arms felt too heavy to lift, but she positioned the stockpot filled with noodles in chicken broth—the closest she could come to chicken unless she slaughtered one of the egg layers—on the propane stove and turned the knob. “I’ll warm the soup. We’ll see if at least one of them can keep it down. We have saltine crackers too. They might help.”

  “We need to start a load of sheets and towels too.” Celia’s voice rose, high and weak. “I’m running out of clean sheets. I still need to strip the boys’ beds.”

  To crawl between clean sheets and lay her head on a cool pillow sounded like heaven to Jennie. “I’ll get the laundry started while you take the soup up to the kinner. Just bring everything down when you can.”

  Celia nodded, but she swayed.

  “Are you feeling poorly too? Because if you are, you need to lie down.”

  The girl shook her head. She put her hand to her mouth. Her other hand went to her belly. She leaned over and vomited on the kitchen floor. “I’m so sorry.” She gasped, both hands on her stomach. “I just made more work for us.”

  “That’s okay. It’s not your fault.” The stench made Jennie’s stomach rock. She swallowed against a lump the size of a watermelon lodged in the back of her throat. The coffee she’d consumed burned a hole in her stomach. “I’ll clean it up. Go on upstairs and lie down.”

  “There’s no place to lie down. Everything is dirty.” Celia grabbed the tub of dish water and eased it to the floor. Water sloshed over the sides. She tumbled onto her knees next to it. Water soaked her dress and apron. “I can clean up after myself.”

  “Sick girls get a pass in the cleaning department.” Jennie forced a weak smile. “I’ll get the mop. You go.”

  “Nee, you can’t do this all yourself.”

  Celia had a stubborn streak ten miles long. Surely something she inherited from Atlee. Still, Jennie appreciated her daughter’s desire to tough it out. She had backbone. Atlee’s flaws had been big, but he hadn’t been all bad. Jennie would never have married him otherwise. The thought brought a strange measure of relief to her. Atlee worked hard. So did his children. He provided for his family. He had a mean streak, but he also could be generous. With others. Not so much with her. She hadn’t been a total fool to marry him. Anyone could’ve been taken in by his better qualities.

  Jennie wanted to sink to the floor next to Celia and stay there until the sick feeling in her gut subsided. “I’m the mudder, you are sick. Go.”

  Celia ducked her head, arms around her stomach. “I don’t know if I can make it up the stairs.”

  “Then tuck yourself on the couch and rest for a while first.”

  “Francis is on the couch.” She shook her head. Her kapp slid farther to one side. “He’s curled up with his teddy bear in his arms, sleeping. He has his thumb in his mouth.”

  Francis hadn’t sucked his thumb or carried around his old teddy bear in months. “I’ll check on him as soon as I get the soup ready.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll scooch him over and we’ll both rest. He doesn’t take up much space. Don’t worry about him.”

  The back door swung open with a bang. Jennie jumped. Celia shrieked. In marched Laura, followed by Bess. They looked like two angels of mercy—if angels wore long dresses, aprons, kapps, and carried large black umbrellas.

  “What are you doing here?” Jennie fought the urge to weep. Reinforcements. “Did we have a frolic planned that I forgot about?”

  “Nee. Matthew told Darren you had sickness here. Darren told his fraa who told Iris who told Bess. Who told me.” Laura popped the umbrella shut and propped it against the wall next to the wood-burning stove. Her glasses were beaded with rain. “And here we are. The wind nearly blew us off the road. We parked the buggy in the barn. We couldn’t leave poor Lilac out in that mess.”

  The Plain grapevine curled its way from one buggy to the next, one gas-powered hay bailer to the one yonder, from one caring, loving mouth to the next. It wasn’t the first time her friends had come to her aid. Given the age of her children and their penchant for sharing illnesses, it likely wouldn’t be the last time. “You shouldn’t have come out in weather like this. What were you thinking?”

  “I may be old, but I still don’t melt. It’s only water.” Laura took Celia’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Go on, little one, go lie down. You’re greener than a granny apple.” She turned to Jennie. “You too.”

  “Nee. The soup is heating. Laundry has to be done. Sheets and towels. Elizabeth wet the bed. She hasn’t done that in years.” Jennie drew a breath, dizzy from the effort to carry on conversation. “Mark threw up in his bed. I need to get into town to work. It’s my first day.”

  “The weather is really bad out there. Mary Kay will close.”

  “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere. She’ll understand.” Bess stirred the soup and turned down the heat. She trotted across the kitchen and gave Jennie a quick hug. She was like that, no thought for germs or her own well-being. “I’ll get the laundry ready. You just sit there and rest.”
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  “I’m so glad you didn’t bring Joshua.”

  “He’s had his own little cold, but his reflux is much better.” Bess went to the cabinet, pulled out a box of saltines, and opened it. “Hazel was happy to keep an eye on him. She says the more the merrier. Of course, she’s due any day, so I hate to impose too much.”

  Bess’s sister-in-law from her first marriage was a sweet friend who’d lost a baby not so long ago. This one would be particularly welcome.

  Jennie considered laying her head on the table and closing her eyes. Bess set a bowl of steaming soup in front of her and laid a saucer filled with saltine crackers next to it. “Try to eat. The broth and saltines will settle your stomach.”

  Jennie doubted that, but she complied. The soup was hot and the aroma alone had medicinal value far beyond anything found in a pharmacy. “Sit and talk to me. Take my mind off my sick kinner for two minutes. How’s Aidan? When will they publish your plans to wed?”

  Bess leaned forward, a twinkle in her lake-in-the-spring-sun blue eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Soon, very soon.”

  “You keep saying that.” Jennie forced a bite of cracker. It hurt to swallow. She washed it down with a spoonful of broth, hot and soothing. “How is it with you and Aidan?”

  How do you manage to trust again?

  “It’s still wonderful. It gets better with every day.” Bess patted Jennie’s hand. “I heard through the grapevine that Leo has finished three pieces for the store and brought them in. He hasn’t actually done a demo, but he’s working on it.”

  “Mary Kay told me.” Jennie tugged her hand away.

  “He’s making progress, that’s what Mary Kay told me.” Laura strode through the kitchen, a pile of dirty sheets and towels in her arms so tall her face couldn’t be seen behind it. How she managed to navigate down the stairs and through the house was a minor miracle. “She says he asked when you were starting.”

  “She shouldn’t be spreading gossip. I’m sure he was thinking there is no need for us to work at the same time.”