Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  “I hear how people talk.”

  “What people talking? About what?”

  “Why don’t you marry again?” His voice cracked, the voice of a boy trying to grow into a man. “It’s expected.”

  “With time, but it’s not something for you to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried.” He jerked the door open. The smell of night air wafted through it, sweet and light. “I’m not worried about anything.”

  His tone said the opposite.

  “Church is tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there. Don’t worry. I’ll not shame you.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Stay home.”

  He slammed the door behind him.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Lack of sleep didn’t lend itself to staying awake during a three-hour church service. Bleary-eyed, Jennie breathed a sigh of relief as the last words of Freeman’s benediction rang out. She stood and shooed Francis toward the barn doors. The four-year-old had done well with his plastic horse and her handkerchief—especially considering she’d forgotten to pack his snack. Thank goodness Mary Katherine always carried extra crackers in her bag. Elizabeth needed a diversion as well. The humid heat in Freeman’s barn hadn’t helped. Jennie wanted to lay her head on the bench and close eyelids that drooped more with each passing minute through two sermons, half a dozen hymns, and two kneeling prayers. She would never do that. Just the thought made her already warm cheeks burn.

  Lying awake, staring at the ceiling, afraid to sleep, afraid of the dreams that would come meant she needed to drink an entire pot of coffee before church on Sunday morning. Thinking about Matthew, where he might be, what he might be doing. Images of the twisted metal of the plow, the buggy upside down in the corral, the barn without a roof. The store and her need to work there. The empty cookie jar that held no funds for materials or groceries. A thick morass of worries that whirled around and around in her mind until she wanted to weep.

  But she didn’t. She had more backbone than that.

  “You look a little peaked this morning.” Mary Katherine patted her shoulder from behind. She had nudged Jennie twice during the second sermon. “Still feeling poorly?”

  Jennie glanced around. Church was not a place to pour her heart out. “Nee. I had trouble sleeping last night. Too much on my mind.” The heat wasn’t the problem, but it didn’t help. “I don’t think I got a wink of sleep.”

  “The harder you try, the harder it is. I get up and make a list of my worries and set it aside.” Mary Katherine moved into the steady exodus from the barn. “But I’m so worn out from working in the store, it wouldn’t matter. I’d sleep well either way.”

  Hint, hint.

  Mary Katherine’s farm and the store had been spared damage from the tornadoes. Jennie didn’t try to understand why one would be spared and another destroyed. Freeman said God didn’t make bad things happen. They happened because of a fallen world that dated back to Adam and Eve. God wanted them to turn to Him in times of distress. Jennie tried, she really did, but often a cold, dark void filled the space where comfort should’ve been. She shook it off. Think of others.

  “How are things going at the store? Any more visits from Lazarus and his crew?” She squinted against the bright sunlight as they passed through the barn doors. “Has his lawyer shown up?”

  “No, but Lazarus walks by several times a day, and once I saw that business partner of his measuring the front window. They’re having trouble tracking down Seamus. They can’t do a thing until they do.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been there to help. The tornado wrecked my plans—and my barn.”

  “Don’t worry. Take care of things at home. We’ll manage until you can bring in more of your sewing goods and your jam. I have some earnings for you when you do.”

  Without coming out and saying it, Mary Katherine had offered her a lifeline. Her friend was truly a friend. “As soon as I finish the laundry tomorrow, I’ll come in.”

  “Let the girls do the laundry.”

  Again, that slight but kind pressure. “I’ll get them started and come on in.”

  “Did you see Nathan sitting through the service? With a stranger who looks just like him?” Her face full of curiosity, Mary Katherine cast a glance over Jennie’s shoulder. “He’s headed this way. What do you think he wants?”

  Jennie had seen him. Who could miss his red head? Seated next to a twin tower and only a few seats from Leo. Their gazes had locked more than once during the service. She’d found herself studying one man and then the other. Instead of following the sermon. It was a wonder God hadn’t struck her dead for such inattentiveness.

  Surely Nathan had seen the surprise in her eyes at his presence. Freeman must have sanctioned it. But the other man? Who was he? A relative, obviously.

  “Good day, ladies.” Nathan’s big smile had an anxious air to it. “Those were some serious sermons. I’m glad Freeman gave me a copy in English so I could follow along. Quite a lot to chew on, don’t you think?”

  “The words come from Gott, according to Freeman.” She waited for Nathan to introduce his friend. Or say something. The pause grew. “Will you be coming to all the services from now on?”

  His face reddened. “I hope so. Freeman gave me permission, suggested it, actually.” The other man gave him a nudge and cleared his throat. “This is my brother, Blake. He’s . . . visiting.”

  Jennie took the hand the man offered. It swallowed hers whole. “Will you be staying a while?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  The men’s dueling answers were simultaneous.

  “Either way, welcome to Jamesport.” She wanted to ask more questions. Why didn’t Nathan want his brother to stay? “Did you get a new car?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you, to ask you.” He shoved his ball cap—St. Louis Cardinals this time—back on his forehead. His auburn hair sprang out in all directions. “I heard there are plans to go to Indian Creek this afternoon for fishing and barbecue. I thought I might take you and the kids. You can have a ride in my rental. It’s huge, so there’s plenty of room. I’m just using it until I decide . . . what to do.” He finished in a rush.

  If he planned to convert, he would have to give it up altogether. Buy a horse, as Leo suggested. Not Jennie’s business.

  Leo, who reminded her of her school days and buggy rides. Her face felt warm just thinking of him. Better to focus on the here and now.

  Francis skipped across the yard. One cheek bulged with food of some kind. The child couldn’t sit still long enough to eat. She should be supervising. “The kinner would like that.”

  His cheeks reddened. “Would you like it?”

  A drive to the beautiful state park would be fun. His company would be nice. She liked talking to him. She felt comfortable in his presence. He had a gentle soul and so far, he’d asked nothing of her. She felt none of the confusion that Leo’s presence evoked in her. They had no old memories that cut skin like broken glass. Nathan talked. A lot. She would always know what was on his mind.

  Laura’s words of warning flashed through Jennie’s mind. She couldn’t get tangled up with a man who wasn’t Plain. Still, it was a simple outing. One the children would enjoy.

  “Hey, Aenti.” Hannah, one of her more than forty nieces and nephews waved as she squeezed through the crowd, her three little brothers in tow. “See you at the lake.”

  “Jah, see you then.”

  Her brother, Luke, Hannah’s father, would be there with his wife and the rest of the kinner. Freeman would be there. Darren and his wife and children would be there. Her other brothers and their wives. Her parents might even go if they felt up to it. The audience would consist of concerned family and friends.

  They thought she should marry again. But not a Mennonite. Not Nathan. They all liked Nathan. They trusted him, considered him a friend, but not marriage material. Not yet, anyway.


  She forced herself to smile at him. “How are your visits with Freeman going?”

  “Slowly.” He drew a line in the dirt with his sneaker. “We could talk about it. You could explain some things to me. Help me understand.”

  Help him learn to be Plain. She barely understood the articles of confession herself when she went to the baptism classes more than sixteen years earlier. She didn’t have to understand, only believe. At least that’s what her mother and father had said.

  Indecision wracked her. He was waiting for her response. Blake looked from her to his brother and back. They both waited for a response. “Laura and Mary Kay are going. And their children and grandchildren. We’ll ride with them and see you there.”

  He dug his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants, disappointment plain in his expression. “They have their own vans?”

  “Mary Kay has someone she uses all the time. Laura has many great-grandchildren. They may need a van. You should ask them.”

  “Sure.” He rallied. “I will. We’ll see you then, I guess.”

  Nathan turned toward the road where his car was parked. His brother followed behind him like an overgrown puppy dog. Jennie fought the urge to stop them, to say yes, to ignore the naysayers. No. She was a grown woman. She knew better. Resolute, she whirled and headed for the house. Grinning, his cheek still bulging, Francis skipped toward her. He stumbled and pitched forward.

  His hands went to his throat. A gagging sound filled the air. His mouth gaped open and closed. He coughed and gagged again. His face turned red, then purple.

  “What is it? Francis?” She dashed across the yard. “What’s the matter?”

  He gasped, but no words came out. He stumbled to his knees, arms flapping.

  “He’s choking.” Leo bounded up from a nearby picnic table. “He had a sucker.”

  She saw no stick. The boy had chewed the candy from it. She reached for him. Leo got there first.

  He grabbed Francis from behind, arms around his chest, and lifted him off the ground. Once, twice, three times.

  The ball of candy sailed through the air, smacked against Jennie’s apron, and fell to the ground. Francis coughed, a hard, rasping sound.

  “Got it.” Leo set him on his feet. “No more candy for you, little one.”

  Sobbing, Francis whirled and buried his head in Leo’s middle. Leo squatted and hugged him back. “You’re gut, you’re gut.”

  He nuzzled Francis’s hair with his chin and whispered soft words until her son stopped crying. The look of longing that blossomed on his face touched Jennie’s heart in a place she’d thought permanently inaccessible and marked with DO NOT ENTER signs. Stones in a wall so high she couldn’t climb over began to crumble and fall away. She scrambled to reinforce them.

  “He shouldn’t eat candy.” Leo looked up at her with those amber eyes. His usual STAY OUT signs, looking so like her own, reappeared. “Suckers, anyway.”

  “No more suckers.” She breathed, hoping the quiver in her voice would ease. “No more candy, ever.”

  “He’s fine.” He patted Francis’s back, then straightened. He gave the boy a gentle shove. “Go play with the others. Look, they’re jumping on the trampoline.”

  Grinning, his fright already forgotten, Francis took off without a word as usual. Jennie shook her head. This one would be the death of her. The others seemed easy in comparison. Except for Matthew. The oldest and the youngest.

  Leo frowned. “Are you gut? You look a little peaked.”

  “Jah.” Her heart still banged against her ribs. Whether from the shock of Francis choking or from the realization that she’d allowed Leo to get through her defenses for a split second. “My heart stopped there for a second.”

  “Mine too.”

  “You think fast.”

  “My daed taught me to be ready for what life brings.” Sadness flitted across his face. “I should’ve learned better, I reckon.”

  “You’ve rescued Francis twice.”

  He shrugged and shifted from one foot to the other. He ducked his head. After a second he chuckled. And then guffawed.

  “What? What is so funny?”

  “I reckon you’re thinking of starting a new trend.”

  “What?”

  He pointed toward the ground. Jennie looked down. She didn’t see anything unusual, just grass and dandelions ready for their seeds to be blown away on a breeze, along with a child’s wishes. “What is so funny?”

  “Do you always wear shoes from two different pairs, or is that a new thing you’re trying out?”

  She focused on her shoes. Both black Sunday shoes, but one had a thick rubber sole like a sneaker and the other a short heel. They both tied, but the laces were different. She wore shoes from two different pairs.

  “It’s not that funny.”

  Still she chuckled. The chuckle turned into an outright laugh. She laughed so hard she snorted. Laughter born of a sleepless night and worry that robbed her of her peace. It felt good.

  Leo laughed with her. People paused in their conversations to look at them. She gasped, put her hand to her mouth, and swallowed another snort. “It’s not that funny.”

  “Plain folks don’t care about things like shoes matching.” His grin made him look years younger, like the boy she’d known in school. A little mischievous, like there was a lot going on behind the smile. To her chagrin, warmth spread through her, head to toe. His knowing look didn’t help. “But it does make a person wonder what you were doing this morning that you didn’t notice.”

  “Rushing out of the house. I didn’t want to miss the service.”

  “Me neither.” He sounded surprised at the thought. “But my shoes match.”

  A Plain man’s church shoes were virtually identical in every way.

  “You don’t have seven children to get ready and herd out the door.”

  Six. Matthew had stayed home.

  Leo looked around, took a step closer. He took off his hat and twirled it in his fingers. “I was thinking of stopping by tonight.”

  “Tonight?” She glanced back. Nathan had taken a seat at a picnic table, his brother across from him. Both stared with unabashed interest. “To talk to Matthew?”

  “To take you for a ride.” His face turned a deep scarlet. He glanced up as if looking for inspiration in the tree branches overhead. “You asked me why I never came back. I reckon better late than never.”

  New to courting, she hadn’t been able to find a topic of conversation. His silence had intimidated her. The long pauses had grown longer. The ride had been short. And now? Now would they find the rhythm they’d lacked all those years ago? She found a place in her heart that wanted to know even as she shied away from the thought.

  Nee. How could she trust him? He was different than Atlee. He had a gentle touch. The hands of a carpenter who built things up, not tore them down.

  Embarrassment coursed through her. She would not think of his hands touching her. No man’s hands had done so in four years. His were callused. Not like Nathan’s salesman hands. Leo’s carpenter fingers were stubby. Silky black hairs blanketed the backside. Muscles burgeoned in his arms. His chest seemed to burst from his shirt. Muscles. Strength. Hugs that would leave a person breathless.

  The familiar drink of anguish and fear burned her lips, her tongue, and her throat when she swallowed. She couldn’t take such a chance. To find herself wrapped up in the physical response to a man who then turned on her in a heartbeat. A hand that stroked her skin could so quickly become a fist. She breathed and stood tall. “I already have plans.”

  If she weren’t going to the lake, would she have said yes to Leo? Some part deep within her cried out to say yes. To trust enough to say yes. Atlee’s raised fist loomed, its memory never far. Would it never fall to his side and stay there?

  Leo’s gaze skipped to Nathan. The tentative smile that reminded her of his younger years died. His shoulders hunched. “I see.”

  “We’re going to Indian Creek Lake. Everyone is
coming. You could join the group.”

  The doors, open for a scant few seconds, closed. The expression in his eyes died. “I have to check on Red.”

  Something important slipped beyond Jennie’s grasp. She wanted it back. “Matthew will come see you on Monday.”

  “Fine.” He slapped his hat on his head. “I best get home. Chores to do.”

  “Maybe another time.” Why had she said that?

  “If you’re not busy.” Sarcasm dusted the words. “Sometime.”

  “Thank you for helping Francis.”

  “No need to get fancy. It’s what anyone would’ve done.”

  He had the knack of being there when Jennie needed him.

  The painful thud of her heart told her she hadn’t returned the favor.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hot dogs always tasted better eaten outdoors. Jennie balanced her paper plate and spooned pickle relish onto a hot dog already swimming in mustard and catsup. The pungent smell of condiments reminded her of childhood, backyard picnics, and camping trips to Stockton Lake. A breeze through the leaves on a towering oak tree made a melodic rushing sound that at once cooled her and soothed her. She relaxed for a second, letting thoughts of money, the store, Matthew’s anger, and storm damage seep away. The children’s laughter filled the air as they splashed each other in the ankle-deep water on Indian Creek Lake’s shore. The sound and Mary Katherine’s attempts to hop and jump in the water made Jennie smile as did the croak of the frogs and the hum of the cicadas. She loved summer sounds. They warmed her and melted fears and gloomy depression.

  “Do you want some chips with that?” Nathan sidled closer, a bag of sour cream potato chips in one hand.

  Jennie’s moment of peaceful contemplation dissipated in a split second. She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Nathan glanced around as if gauging who might overhear their innocent conversation. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His damp hair stuck out from under his ball cap. He smiled and held out his offering as if it were precious. He looked younger in his T-shirt and jeans held up oddly enough by suspenders. He seemed to have taken a step in a certain direction, only to waver.