Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  Mary Katherine had a mouth the size of a serving platter. A crack of thunder shook the house. It rolled and grumbled right over them as if God had heard and scolded her for being a negative Nelly. “It’s getting worse out there. Is it raining? I hope Darren had the good sense to get the boys inside.”

  “Darren will exercise good judgment when it comes to weather and your boys. Don’t try to change the subject.” Bess shook her finger at Jennie. “Aidan says Leo is finally ready to burst from his turtle shell. Because of you.”

  “Mary Kay saw what she wanted to see.”

  “There’s not someone else, is there?” Laura traipsed back through the kitchen. She grabbed a cracker from the plate as she passed by. “Everyone has been fed and everyone is sleeping.”

  She squeezed into the chair next to Bess and turned a stern gaze on Jennie. “The grapevine is vibrating with the news that Nathan Walker was over here playing games a while back and gabbing in the kitchen, big as you please. And then he cut your hay and ate at your table.”

  Heat toasted her cheeks. Darren also had a large mouth. Who had he told? His wife, Bertha. Who shared it with the other sisters-in-law. Her mother-in-law. A grapevine that would never wither and die. “He’s good with the kinner. They love playing games with him. He’s working for Darren now. It’s not like he was working in the fields on his own.” She wouldn’t mention the Bible study book or the gifts he’d left for the kinner, extravagant gifts by their standards. Gifts Micah and Matthew had returned to him the next day. “He’s a kind, friendly soul and a hard worker. I think he gets lonesome, that’s all.”

  “That’s the way it starts.” Laura’s disapproval gave weight to the words. “Be careful. A lonesome woman and a lonesome man alone with each other. One thing leads to another.”

  “Not for me, it doesn’t.” Jennie pushed the bowl away. She couldn’t stand the sight of food right now. It had been nice to see Nathan enjoy the food she cooked and furthermore, say so. It wasn’t necessary but still nice. “I’m not a fool. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “You just said he’s a kind, generous soul.” Bess helped herself to a cracker. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or the kinner.”

  “That’s the problem.” Laura splayed her knotted fingers across the pine table’s rough wood. “Best intentions. We know where those lead. Nathan is looking for something, seeking something that’s missing in his life. He thinks he’ll find it here in Jamesport. And well he might. But he won’t find it here in this house.”

  Laura sounded certain of that fact. As well she should. Jennie didn’t disagree. She simply longed for the presence of another soul in her life, someone with whom she could talk and share her day. Someone who cared not only about her, but the children too. “I’m a widow. I look like I have given birth many times. I usually have oatmeal in my hair and gravy stains on my apron. My fingernails are ragged. I smell of bleach and I’m the clumsiest woman this side of the Mississippi.”

  “You are not.” Laura’s tone grew even sterner. “We may not be ones for complimenting or even noting appearance, but I can tell you that you are pleasing to the eye and you’re no clumsier than the next woman who is busy raising kinner on her own. When you say things like that, it tells me you’ve been listening to the devil whisper in your ear instead of Gott who brings you all blessings, who made you fearfully and wonderfully. You were made in His image. Scripture says so.”

  Thoroughly chastised, Jennie found no words to respond to her friend’s astute observations. She couldn’t tell Laura that those words were whispered in her ear—and shouted at decibels that hurt—by her dead husband.

  “You’re a pig.”

  Jennie jumped. She hadn’t heard him come into the bedroom. She tightened her grip on her kapp and lifted it from her head. Her bun looked worse for wear but not deserving of such a name.

  “You left the kitchen a mess.”

  “I swept. I mopped. I wiped the counters and put all the dishes and pots and pans away.” She kept her voice low, conciliatory, as she ticked off the tasks on her fingers, all the while racking her brain to think of what she might have forgotten that would displease him. “I got everything ready for tomorrow so I can get your breakfast on the table quick as a wink.”

  He didn’t like to be kept waiting when he had a full day’s work ahead of him. She could understand that. He wasn’t being unreasonable. She simply had to move more quickly in the morning. And that didn’t mean spilling a small pitcher of maple syrup on his pant leg the way she had this morning.

  “There are cookie crumbs all over the table.”

  She closed her eyes. The kinner had sneaked in for a quick snack before bed, no doubt. “I’ll go wipe it down.”

  “Nee.” He grabbed her arm as she attempted to slip by him. His grip tightened like a manacle, imprisoning her. “After.”

  He cast a glance toward the bed they’d shared for so many years.

  She sucked in a breath and switched directions, her feet smacking against the bare wood floor. It was cold. Every part of her felt cold.

  “You smell like throw-up.” Distaste soured his words. “Is that spit-up on your nightgown?”

  “I fed Francis before I put him to bed.” Her voice quivered despite her best effort to keep it level. “He had a little tummy ache. Or he ate too much.”

  “A pig like his mudder.” Atlee’s gaze ripped over her, head to toe, then back, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Take it off.”

  “Atlee.”

  “Take it off. You can get a clean one later. I don’t want you in my bed smelling like a mewling bopli.”

  She did as she was told. Just as she always did. The way a good wife should.

  “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.”

  She shivered. Atlee had whispered those words in her ear one night in the darkness of their bedroom. That he could quote Scripture didn’t surprise her. He read his Bible at night by the fireplace, his face placid and peaceful in a way that lulled her. Until he closed the book and jerked his head toward the stairs.

  The gentle buzz of conversation around her drew Jennie back in a warm, comforting embrace. She inhaled a quivering breath. A pig. Who would want a pig like her? She would never have to know that kind of shame and embarrassment again. Ever. No man would ever treat her in such a fashion. Better to be alone. Or as alone as a woman with seven children could be.

  She had her job, a God-given job of raising them. She needed nothing more.

  A sharp, urgent rap at the back door interrupted Laura in mid-sentence grilling Bess about post-wedding plans. Where would they live? Who would they visit first?

  Mary Katherine tugged the door open.

  Sopping wet, rain dripping from his blue KC Royals baseball cap visor, Nathan barged into the kitchen. Micah and Matthew tromped in behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” Besides dripping on her pieced rug and tracking mud on her wood floor. “In this weather?”

  “A half-dozen funnel clouds have been sighted in the area. One of Darren’s neighbors drove over to tell us the sirens are going off in town. He said to take cover.” Nathan lifted his cap and wiped rain from his eyes. “One touched down on the ground only a few miles from here.”

  Instead of taking cover, he’d come here with the boys. “Why didn’t you all get in Darren’s basement?”

  “Darren told me to make sure the boys got back all right and that you all took cover.”

  “The boys knew the way—”

  “That’s what I said.” His face the spitting image of Atlee’s when he had no patience left, Matthew brushed past Nathan. “But we got here faster in his van.”

  Thunder clapped so loud the house shook. The wind howled. Something banged outside the kitchen window.

&nb
sp; Faster was good.

  SEVENTEEN

  The flu, funnel clouds, and Nathan at her back door. For a single second, Jennie tried to comprehend which presented the biggest danger.

  Funnel cloud.

  She lurched to her feet. The kitchen faded in and out around her. She grabbed the kitchen table to keep from sinking to the floor. “The kinner.”

  “I need to get to Joshua.” Bess rushed toward the door. “He’ll be scared.”

  “Hazel has him.” Laura stepped into her path. “There’s no time to go anywhere but downstairs.”

  Everyone moved at once. Laura’s tight grip on her arm steadied Jennie. In a blurred rush that left her reeling, they converged on the front room. Matthew and Micah grabbed kerosene lamps. Nathan hurtled up the stairs ahead of Bess. Laura scooped up Francis and shook Celia’s shoulder. “Get up, sweetie, a tornado is headed this direction. Time to rest in the basement.”

  Celia shrugged off the woman’s wrinkled hand and muttered in her sleep, “Go ’way.”

  “Celia, honey, you have to wake up.” Jennie tugged her oldest daughter upright. Thunder boomed. Rain pelted the windows. “You can nap downstairs. You have to get up off the couch. Now.”

  Celia’s eyes jerked open. “Tornado?” She hauled herself from the sofa, swayed, and grabbed the back of the rocking chair. “Elizabeth? Cynthia? What about the boys?”

  “We have them.”

  Nathan raced down the stairs, Elizabeth in his arms. Bess followed hand in hand with Cynthia and Mark. Rufus trotted down behind them, two steps at a time.

  “Mudder, Mudder!” Elizabeth held out one plump arm. The other one hugged Indigo to her chest. “I want my mudder.”

  “Your mudder doesn’t feel good either so you’ll have to settle for me.” Laura took the handoff from Nathan. “You can sit with her in the basement.”

  Elizabeth didn’t protest. She took Laura’s hand and sighed. Indigo, on the other hand, began to yowl. “I don’t like the basement. Neither does my kitty.”

  “Me neither.” Laura petted the unhappy kitten. “But it’s a good place to tell stories, and it’s an excuse to take a nap in the middle of the day.”

  “We need blankets to make pallets for them.” Jennie kept supplies in the basement for times such as this, but she’d never envisioned a need for five beds. “They should lie down.”

  Six. If she didn’t lay her head down soon, she would fall down.

  “I’m on it.” Nathan volunteered. “Just tell me where—”

  Rufus barked at an ear-splitting decibel. The front door burst open. Clothes soaked, Leo whipped through it, his mutt Beau behind him, and slammed the door. Rain spattered his face and leaves stuck to his wet shirt. Leather saddlebags slung over one shoulder dripped rain. His straw hat was missing, leaving a mass of tangled black curls exposed. “Tornado coming,” he shouted over the dogs, who barked at each other. “Basement. Go. Go!”

  No time to talk. No time to ask what Leo was doing at her house. No time for blankets. The kinner scurried to the basement. Nathan led the way down the steep wooden stairs. Leo shut the door behind them. The dogs’ claws made a squitter-squitter sound on the wood.

  Bess held up the lamp so no one stumbled in the dark. The smell of kerosene, earth, and dust filled Jennie’s nostrils, reminding her of her parents’ basement when she was small. They’d spent many nights in the basement. She hadn’t minded with her father and mother close. Now she did. Now that she was shut below ground with two men, one a Mennonite who’d made his interest in her obvious, and the other a Plain man folks claimed had more than a passing interest in her.

  Hogwash.

  Her stomach clinched. She breathed. The children came first. These two couldn’t be allowed to get in the way. “I stacked old rugs in the corner and a pile of lawn chairs. There should be enough rugs for the children to curl up on and chairs for the adults to sit in.”

  The other women arranged the rugs side by side making a large pallet, then added the chairs in a semicircle around it. The dogs circled and sniffed each other, then planted themselves side by side on the cement floor. The two lanterns cast odd, flickering shadows across the walls, illuminating an enormous spider web that wavered in a slight draft that emanated from the house’s foundation.

  “Take a seat. Or lie down, however you want.” Jennie nodded to Celia. She knew the girl wouldn’t want to lie down in front of these folks, no matter how bad she felt. Jennie felt the same way. “You can sit with Elizabeth and Francis.”

  “I don’t want to.” Elizabeth clung to Jennie’s skirt. “I want you, Mudder.”

  “You’re a big girl.”

  Francis’s arms flailed. He twisted in Bess’s arms, reaching for Jennie.

  “Easy.” Leo took the boy in one smooth motion. He raised his voice to be heard over the wind and chatter of nervous, excited children. “I have something to show to you.”

  “First we should pray.” That suggestion came from Nathan, which somehow surprised Jennie. “I mean, don’t you think?”

  Heads bowed.

  The wind shrieked through the cracks in the foundation. Rain pinged against a small, solitary window where the basement wall met the house’s foundation. Thunder rumbled.

  Jennie wrapped her arms around her heaving middle and tried to gather her thoughts. Her parents, her brothers, their wives, their children, they were family, but the entire Plain community was family. All of Jamesport too. Neighbors, people with whom she’d grown up.

  Gott, please. Keep them safe. Mudder, Daed, bruders, all of them.

  “Amen.”

  Leo sank into the first chair and sat Francis on his lap. He nodded toward the next chair. Jennie tottered toward it. She weaved, left, right, then managed to plop into the chair. Her legs wouldn’t hold her. Her skin as white as her small apron, Elizabeth climbed into her lap.

  Leo tugged the saddlebags from his shoulder and eased them to the cement floor. “I’ve been working on something.”

  “What?” Elizabeth lost some of her listlessness. “Is it a surprise?”

  “I reckon it is.” Leo produced a package wrapped in brown butcher paper. His arms in front of Francis who watched with an intent face, Leo unwrapped the paper. A series of small animals carved from wood appeared. A turtle. A rabbit. A cow. A sheep.

  “Me?” Francis touched the turtle with pudgy fingers. “Mine?”

  More words than Francis had spoken in the last week. Jennie smiled. Leo’s eyebrows lifted. He tilted his head as if to ask her an unspoken question. “Jah, if it’s okay with your mudder.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Did you make them?” Mark joined in the conversation from his spot curled up on the rug.

  “I did.” Leo tugged a two-blade folded carving knife from the bag. “This is what I use to carve with. Do you want me to carve you something?”

  His gaze locked on hers. He wanted to carve something for her. The man worked with wood building furniture all day and then carved figurines in his spare time. He truly loved his work. Creating, not tearing down.

  “A kitty. Carve me a kitty.” Elizabeth held up Indigo. “Like mine. This is Indigo.”

  Indigo yawned, her thin tongue delicate and pink, her tiny incisors pointed and sharp. She had no interest in making a new acquaintance, it seemed.

  “Pleased to meet you, Indigo.” Leo snapped the blades open and produced a chunk of wood from the bag’s seemingly bottomless pit. “A kitten it is.”

  Not Jennie. Elizabeth. He wanted to carve something for Elizabeth, of course.

  “I brought books.” Nathan pulled half a dozen storybooks from his black backpack. His face turned red. “They can read while we wait for the storm to pass.”

  He always had books, even now, when he no longer sold them. Books were special to him and she had rejected his gift. Shame washed over Jennie. “It was nice of you—”

  “We usually tell stories,” Cynthia interrupted. “Can you tell us a story?”

  Nathan�
�s forehead wrinkled. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Jennie wanted to offer him an apology for returning his gift. “You read so much, you must be full of stories.”

  He ducked his head. “Let me think about it.”

  “What about Onkel Peter and Aenti Kate and their kinner?” Celia didn’t seem interested in animals or stories, but she was older and understood what the storm could mean. “Do you think they’re okay?”

  “And what about Lulu and Buck and Jake and Carmel?” Elizabeth sniffed. She clutched her kitten to her chest. Indigo meowed in protest. “What about Tammy? And Abby and Bertha and—”

  “Peter will take care of Katie and the kinner. The animals are smart enough to take care of themselves.” Jennie hugged Elizabeth tight. “We have to trust Gott.”

  Guilt assailed her. She spoke the words so easily to her daughter when she herself couldn’t take her own advice.

  Leo frowned. “Abby and Bertha?”

  “Elizabeth has given names to every animal on the farm.” And some not on the farm. Birds flying by were apt to get names. “Abby and Bertha are two of our chickens. Lulu, Buck, Carmel, and Jake are the horses.”

  “I like your names.” Leo smiled at the little girl. “My dog’s name is Beau and my horse is Red. You met him.”

  “He’s sick like me. Does he feel better?”

  Leo shook his head. “Little by little, he’s getting better. Doc Todd gave him medicine. Do you need medicine?”

  Elizabeth’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Nee, medicine is yucky.”

  “I agree.”

  “I named my van Bunny.” Nathan announced. He tucked a book into his backpack. “I think I have a story I can tell. It’s about a boy whose parents leave him with an uncle so they can go on an adventure. He runs away to find them because he wants an adventure too. Boy, does he get one.”

  “Story, story.” Cynthia tucked her hands under her cheek like a pillow and stretched out on the pallet. “Everyone listen to Nathan’s story.”

  Elizabeth slipped from Jennie’s grasp and curled up next to Celia for the story. A second later, Francis followed. It had better be a good one. Her children were used to Laura’s stories. The bookseller turned storyteller glanced at her as if seeking approval. She nodded. He’d risked life and limb to bring her sons home. He deserved their attention. She smiled. Nathan’s face lit up in a grin.