Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  Leo stood and paced the narrow space that ran along the shelves filled with canned goods—green beans, tomatoes, pickles, corn, plums, peaches, beets, jams, jellies, a supply that would get them through a winter even if it didn’t end for years.

  Jennie glanced at her kinner. Francis sprawled on the pallet, half asleep. Elizabeth burrowed on Celia’s lap. Cynthia, her arms wrapped around her middle, her face still a green hue, listened to the story. Mark had both hands behind his head, using them as a pillow while Micah sat cross-legged next to him. Matthew sat in the corner, his dirty hands over his face, likely sleeping. That left Bess and Laura whispering at the other end of the horseshoe. Laura had her arm around the other woman’s shoulder likely assuring her about her little boy’s safety.

  Inhaling the scent of kerosene and dust, Jennie eased from her chair and slipped into Leo’s path. Her breathing quickened. She feared the answer to her question, yet something pushed her to ask. She had to know. Her heart did an odd ker-plunk. “How did you end up at my house today?” She kept her voice down. “Of all places.”

  “What’s he doing here?” His voice low and brusque, Leo jerked his head in Nathan’s general vicinity. “I thought he quit book selling.”

  “He was working at Darren’s. He made sure the boys got home all right.” Trying to ignore another wave of nausea, Jennie rearranged the jars of tomatoes and green beans. “How did you get here?”

  Leo tapped a jar of bread and butter pickles as if counting the cucumbers used to make them. “I delivered a table and chairs to Louis Whitehair.” He stopped as if that explained everything.

  “And then what?”

  “Louis had the radio on in the kitchen. He said they were broadcasting tornado warnings.”

  “So you came here?”

  “After Deputy Delay stopped by.” A pulse worked in Leo’s jaw. He cleared his throat, the effort it took for him to say the words reflected on his handsome, clean-shaven face. “He said tornadoes had been sighted in six places in the county. Sirens were going off in town.”

  “And Deputy Delay drove around warning folks instead of seeking shelter?”

  Leo shrugged. “They see it as their job to warn as many folks as possible.”

  Six tornadoes. So many loved ones who might be in harm’s way.

  Jennie stole a glance at Bess. She sat, fingers twisted in her lap, head cocked as if listening to the storm outside and not to Laura’s well-meaning chatter. Bess, too, fought to cast her cares on God. “I hope Aidan is in a safe place.”

  “Timothy and all the others as well. They’ve got the brains Gott gave them. They’ll be hunkered down in the basement, same as us.”

  “Gott will protect them?”

  A bevy of warring emotions danced across his face. “Do you believe that?”

  She peeked at her companions. They seemed enthralled by Nathan’s story of a little boy on a big adventure, traveling alone on a bus across the country. The sound of the wind whistling provided background music with an occasional rumble of thunder. The kerosene lanterns flickered. “It’s what we’re called to believe. Don’t you?”

  “I’m trying.”

  She swallowed a lump in the back of her burning throat. “Me too.”

  “That’s all a person can do.”

  Was it enough?

  “I had to come.” Leo’s gaze flicked to the basement floor and then back up at her. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. I needed to—”

  “It’s passed.”

  Jennie turned. Bess stood midway up the stairs, finger pointed at the door. With her declaration, she had stopped Leo from making his. Jennie shivered. From the fever. Not from the thought of what Leo might have said, what the future might hold if he said it.

  For the best. Or was it?

  “The wind stopped blowing.” Her voice tight with worry, Bess edged up the stairs. “Let’s head upstairs. I need to get to Joshua.”

  Leo brushed past Jennie. “Come on, Beau, time to go.”

  The dog unfurled from his spot next to Rufus, who had the audacity to whine.

  Jennie squatted and patted Francis. His eyes opened. “Throat hurt.”

  “Mine too.”

  Anxiety and dread mingled with nausea in the pit of Jennie’s stomach. She followed Leo up the stairs, the others straggling behind, single file. The house still stood. Danki, Gott, danki. Two windows in the front were shattered. The curtains dangled haphazardly from the rods. Rainwater spattered the wood floor and the rug in front of the rocking chairs. One had tipped on its side. Papers from the desk, sopping wet and wrinkled, were scattered across the room. Jennie grabbed Francis and hoisted him to her hip to keep him from walking into the glass strewn across the floor. Silently they pushed through to the front porch.

  The barn hadn’t fared as well. The walls still stood, but the roof had disappeared, leaving a huge gaping hole. The animals had scattered.

  Jennie’s stomach heaved.

  “No problem.” Leo tugged his hat from the brambles of windblown rosebushes that curled themselves around the porch banister. “Windows and roofs can be replaced. Everyone is safe.”

  As far as they knew. How had the other families and farms fared? Bess squeezed Jennie’s shoulder. “I hope everyone is all right.”

  Laura slid her arms around Bess and Jennie. Her head bowed. She was praying. Jennie tried to do the same. Words wouldn’t come. Gott, Gott. It was the best she could do.

  She cast her gaze across the landscape. A wheelbarrow hanging in the oak tree. The purple martin birdhouse smashed against the porch. Their buggy upside down, wheels missing, sat in the middle of the corral. The chicken coop perched atop the shed. The hay baler twisted into a nearly unrecognizable hunk of metal and rubber. The manure spreader had suffered the same fate. The corn binder a mess. Hail had decimated the vegetable garden.

  She sat down on the step with a thump.

  Leo squatted next to her. “Everyone here is safe.”

  “They are. Thanks be to Gott. But what about the others?”

  “I’ll go find them. Make sure they’re okay.”

  “I’ll go.” Bess edged past them. “I need to find . . . the others.”

  “Aidan’s probably in his cellar.”

  “Joshua first.” She wiped at her face with shaking fingers. “And then I need to make sure.”

  “I’ll take you in the van.” Nathan turned, then turned left, then right. His mouth dropped open. His hand came up, finger pointing, then dropped. “Where did it go? I parked it right there by the porch.”

  The van was gone.

  Laura turned to Bess. “Run out by the barn and see if our buggy is still there. If one of the horses shows up, take it. Just make sure everyone is okay.”

  The women hugged and Bess trotted toward the barn with its forlorn walls shorn of their roof.

  His face pinched with worry, Nathan leaned against the porch railing. His fingers rubbed his smooth chin. “I could always buy a buggy. And a horse. Cheaper than a car, I suppose. The buggy shop in town is advertising a special 20 percent off. I saw the sign when I drove by the other day.”

  It would be a good deal, but the amount—any amount—was beyond Jennie’s means. “Don’t you have insurance?”

  He nodded. “With a big deductible. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to get another car, and I’m not making diddly-squat as a farmhand. That makes it hard to get a car loan.”

  “Or just buy the horse.” Leo stepped from the porch onto the grass. His boots sank into mud, making a sucking sound. “You know how to ride one, don’t you?”

  A faint note of sarcasm wafted in the rain-drenched air.

  “I ride them all the time now.”

  “Best look around first to see if you see the van.” Leo didn’t look impressed. “You never know. Maybe it settled down easy someplace.”

  “That would be a grand thing.” Nathan gestured toward Jennie. “I’ll look at the buggy too. If it can’t be fixed, maybe you can get one made
in town.”

  Carl Trautman handcrafted the buggies from wood. Most of the manufactured ones were made with fiberglass nowadays, and the wood was more expensive. A manufactured buggy went for at least forty-five hundred dollars or more. Jennie couldn’t image how much a wooden one brought. It might as well be a million dollars. Horse-drawn farm equipment had become so scarce the men often went to sales in Indiana to pick up new pieces. A corn binder went for as much as six thousand dollars earlier in the summer. “It’s a thought.”

  “We’ll all help with the barn roof. Between the lot of us, we’ll figure something out.” Leo raised his face to the sky. “I better get moving. The clouds out there look like they might not be done yet.”

  The thought that there might be more storms coming propelled Jennie to her feet. “Some of those slats of wood on the ground out there might work to cover the windows.”

  Leo held out his hand to Elizabeth and opened his fingers. A tiny kitten posed to pounce lay in the palm of his hand. She swiped it. “My kitty.”

  “Your kitty.”

  “My kitty.” She leaned over and vomited on his boots.

  “Ach, Elizabeth.” Jennie started forward. “Let’s get you inside. Leo, there is a bucket of water in the kitchen if you want to wash off the boots.”

  Leo didn’t flinch. “No problem.” He patted Elizabeth’s red cheek, picked her up, and handed her to Jennie. “I’ll check on the livestock. We’ll be back to see what we can salvage later. We can replace the roof in a few hours’ time. Stay away from the barn. The walls could collapse on you.”

  Jennie took the child and balanced her on one hip. Elizabeth laid her head on her shoulder. Her body was warm and her breath smelled. She gripped the kitten in her small fist. Jennie rubbed her back. “You think the horses are still there?”

  “I let them go before I came in. They’ll come back when they feel it’s okay.”

  He would make sure the animals returned safely. It was his nature.

  “I’ll get into town soon as I can and rent a car.” Nathan hadn’t budged. “Remember, you have friends and if you need help—”

  “The community helps its own.” Laura clomped down the steps, wiping her hands on her apron. “You men go do what you need to do. I’ll help Jennie get the kinner back to bed and then start cleaning up here. I reckon Darren or one of the others will be by later to help with the damage.”

  Jennie’s legs shook with the effort to hold Elizabeth’s weight and her own. “What about the dawdy haus and your kinner?”

  “I’m here.” Laura’s tone brooked no argument. “I’ll help you and then head home to see what I can do there.”

  When it rains it pours wasn’t simply an expression.

  EIGHTEEN

  Bunny was gone, caput, finito. Nathan turned the key in the rental SUV’s ignition and glanced in the side mirror before he pulled out from his motel parking lot headed out of town to Freeman’s house. He would miss her, but a car could be replaced. Only minor injuries had been reported from the rash of tornadoes. Not a single life lost. An adjuster would have to visit Bunny at her eternal resting spot—Otto’s Junkyard Paradise—before an insurance settlement would be forthcoming.

  The SUV guzzled gas, but it was all they had left only two days after the tornadoes. It would get him to Darren’s farm until he finished his studies with Freeman. If the bishop allowed him to join the Gmay, he would invest in a horse and buggy. That would mean renting a place to live where he could keep a horse. Not a by-the-month motel room. He would soon be an old hand at saddling horses, riding them, and hitching horses to buggies and wagons. His skin was brown and his hands were starting to callus.

  Plus, he didn’t walk funny anymore.

  He blew out air and flipped the signal as he turned onto the road leading to Freeman’s house. Each visit with Freeman was like a visit to a specialist who couldn’t figure out what ailed his patient and really didn’t want to see him again. The bishop’s skepticism was understandable. Someone not born into the faith probably couldn’t fathom the necessity to sacrifice everything that connects him to the grid. But for Nathan it would be different. Being Mennonite meant he had a better understanding of the lifestyle. He wouldn’t truly see it as a sacrifice. He would see it as an opportunity. Not just because of Jennie, although he would be truthful about her place in his picture of the future. He wasn’t on the run from a calling, he was searching for another way to answer it. Instead of shouting from the rooftops, he wanted a gentler, more measured approach. A watch-and-learn approach.

  He had to get past Freeman to get there.

  He pulled up to the house and got out of the car. Freeman stood in the doorway of the one-story, ranch-style house with brick siding, his hat pulled down over his forehead. His jowls shook in a large yawn. “Come in, come in. I thought you might not show up.”

  “Insurance stuff always takes forever.”

  “Horse and buggy might be easier right now, what with everyone who has damaged cars trying to rent something.”

  “I considered it, but insurance doesn’t cover a horse and buggy. Besides—”

  “Besides, you’re still sitting on the fence when it comes to your future.” Freeman settled into a rocking chair next to a huge potted asparagus fern on the porch. “Take a load off. There’s more of a breeze out here. We need to be quick about it. Thanks be to Gott, no one was hurt in the storms, but there’s work to be done all over the countryside. We’re raising the roof on Jennie’s barn this morning. It’s one of those things that can’t wait too long, what with livestock and all.”

  Helping with the roof meant a chance to see Jennie. Nathan didn’t have the money to buy her another buggy, but slinging a hammer he could do. He plopped into a lawn chair that had a drop in the seat so deep he feared his behind would drag on the porch. “We could skip this for today, reschedule, get to Jennie’s.”

  “We’re not skipping anything if all you can think of is getting to Jennie’s.”

  Smart man. Nathan let his gaze meander over Freeman’s yard toward a corral with its lone mare and young foal nibbling at grass by the fence. The bishop had been blessed. A few downed limbs had been the extent of storm damage at his place. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Freeman didn’t look convinced.

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “Let’s talk about evangelism.”

  Freeman’s voice held no judgment, but he’d driven straight to the heart of the matter.

  To the heart of Nathan’s predicament. Freeman had no way of knowing that, of course. “My parents are missionaries. They spend their lives helping folks in poorer countries with their physical and spiritual needs.”

  “Not you.”

  “I’m more of a set-an-example kind of guy.” God might think otherwise. A smarter man might give it up and admit an omnipotent God was never wrong. Not Nathan. Work with me here, God. Come on, work with me. “A point in my favor, if you ask me.”

  “Yet you sound bitter.”

  “I try not to be.” He schooled his voice. To say the words aloud would sound so childish and selfish. “Faith is important. Family is important. Balancing the two is important.”

  “We value faith first, then family, and then community.”

  “If you’re always traveling, it makes it difficult to make family and community priorities.”

  “So that’s it?”

  His face burned. “That’s the long and short of it.”

  “When did you last see your family?”

  “My parents have been in El Salvador for about three years or so.”

  “It’s hard for me to believe you don’t know exactly how long it’s been.”

  A person knew how long a wound had festered. “Three years and three months, give or take a few days. But that’s just this time. They started leaving me with my aunt and uncle when I was in grade school for six months or a year at a time.” His room at his uncle’s had been decorated with a basketball theme. The images of
basketball players on posters, framed and hung on the walls, flashed in his mind’s eye. “They always came back, but they missed a lot of birthdays and basketball games.”

  Freeman clasped his fingers over his rotund belly and let his thumbs twiddle. “They bring people to Christ, to salvation, in their way of thinking. I reckon they figure that’s more important than a basketball game.”

  “The most important vocation people can have.” He searched for words under the boulders of his own resentment. “I don’t begrudge them their mission or their passion. I simply believe as a parent I would try to find a better balance. Not bring children into the world only to abandon them.”

  “Abandon is a strong word.”

  “It’s a strong sentiment.”

  “Have you ever told them how you feel?”

  “I don’t want them to feel guilty. Worse, I don’t want to look in to their faces and realize they don’t.” Nathan swallowed the hard knot in his throat. Bitterness tasted of metal. “I keep thinking I’ll grow up and get over it and recognize that nothing can be more important.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  “Never been married?”

  “No.”

  “Never had children?”

  “No.”

  Freeman’s harrumph held unmistakable disapproval. “And you chose a job that had you traveling around the country, never staying in one place, never putting down roots.”

  “I don’t think it was intentional.” He paused and schooled his voice. “And now I’m working in one place. With Darren Troyer. Farming.”

  Freeman snorted. “Not all that well, from what I hear.”

  Nathan had lost a load of hay on a sharp corner. And he still had trouble controlling a team of horses. But he had picked up the rhythm of horseback riding. “I’m learning. Quickly too.”

  Freeman picked up the stack of papers from the table and thumbed through them. He stopped at a page on which boldface type jumped out at Nathan. It read XII. Of the State of Matrimony. He cleared his throat. “Did you read what this article says?”