Minding Molly

by Leslie Gould

  “The oldest.”

  “Really.” No wonder he seemed such a gentle soul. “Your sisters must really be missing you.”

  He nodded, his face sad. The desire to reach over and take his hand overwhelmed me, but of course I didn’t. Timothy swung the Bronco up along the trailer, and we came to a stop.

  “We may not want to stay long,” Hannah said.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready to go,” Timothy answered.

  I couldn’t help but ask, although nicely, “So you won’t be drinking tonight?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’ve given that up.” I wasn’t sure I believed him, although I hoped it was true. Hannah used to drink at parties sometimes when we were younger, but I never did.

  I went to parties to see people.

  Leon hopped out of the car, hurried around the vehicle to open Hannah’s door, and then opened mine. We thanked him in unison as we climbed out. A group of Youngie I didn’t recognize stood in the doorway of the trailer, girls dressed in jeans and cropped shirts and boys in T-shirts and baseball caps.

  I looked down at my dress and apron. Hannah and I used to dress Englisch for parties when we were younger. The truth was, I didn’t miss it one bit. The jeans always felt uncomfortable on my hips, and I was forever wondering if the neckline of my shirt was too low, both things I never had to worry about in my dress and apron.

  “Hey, Molly!” someone yelled from over by the oak tree.

  “Hey,” I called back, not sure who it was. Hannah and Timothy headed that way, but I stayed by the Bronco. I expected Leon to follow the others, but he waited with me, looking a bit nervous.

  One of the girls on the porch, whom I didn’t recognize either, said, “Sorry about your Dat.”

  “Denki,” I answered, my voice wavering.

  Samuel waved from the corner of the trailer, by a cooler. “Me too, Molly. How are you doing?”

  “Gut,” I answered, but my voice cracked, giving me away. I took a deep breath and said, “Come on,” to Leon. “I’ll introduce you around.” I started with Samuel, who offered Leon a beer. He politely declined. Next I led Leon to the tree, and introduced him to that group too, where Timothy had everyone laughing, except for Hannah, who stood off to the side.

  When we arrived, the attention first shifted to Leon, whose blush I could see in the dim light as everyone told him hello, and then to me. The nice thing was, because this was the first party I’d been to since Dat passed, most people offered me their condolences. The bad thing was, the sweet sympathy kept pushing me to the brink of tears.

  I thought I’d been hiding it until Leon said, “We can leave anytime.”

  “Jah,” Hannah said. “This is a boring party.”

  I hoped Timothy hadn’t heard, but he must have because he said, “I’d rather take you home now rather than later anyway.”

  I called out my good-byes, trying my best to be cheerful, but it had been a mistake to come. I hadn’t expected grief to change me. But it had. I wondered if I’d ever enjoy the things I used to. But, no matter what, parties had lost their luster.

  We were silent on the way home. As soon as Timothy stopped his Bronco, the three of us hopped out and thanked him.

  “It was nothing,” he answered.

  But it was. He’d definitely gone out of his way for us. I waved and thanked him again as he drove off.

  Hannah started up the steps to the porch while I hesitated just a moment.

  “Good night,” Leon called out to her. Then to me he said, “And to you, Miss Molly.”

  That made me smile.

  Instead of continuing on to the barn, he stopped. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  I shook my head.

  “How did your Dat die?”

  “A heart attack.” Standing there in the driveway, I spilled out the whole story to him. There was just enough moonlight for me to see the compassionate expression on his face.

  “How sad,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Denki,” I whispered.

  “Molly . . .” Hannah’s voice surprised me. I thought she’d gone in the house. “We should get to bed.”

  “Jah.” But I spoke to Leon, not to her.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, starting toward the barn, but then he turned around and added, “Sweet dreams, Miss Molly.”

  I never dreamt—or at least remembered my Drohms—but I did that night. I wore Dat’s green shirt over my dress and apron and stood in the middle of our field of lilies, all blooming at once. In the distance, I heard the beat of a horse’s hooves—but I awoke before seeing the rider.

  The next morning Leon wasn’t at breakfast. “He’s going to church in the district his Dat is from,” Owen said.

  “Where’s that?” Hannah asked.

  Owen shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Did he take a buggy?”

  “No, he rode Lightning.” Owen stuffed a big bite of ham into his mouth.

  “Wow,” Hannah said.

  Her Dat nodded. “That’s what I told him.” He grinned and then kept chewing. No one rode a horse to church in Lancaster County.

  After breakfast, Hannah and I cleaned up, but then I said I needed to get home. She helped me hitch up Daisy, and by the time I reached the lane to our farm, sweat was dripping down the back of my legs. It was going to be a scorcher—much hotter than the day before. Ahead, at the Mosiers’ driveway, a group of men gathered around. I squinted. Mervin and Martin were both wearing their sunglasses. Next to them was their Dat. And someone on a horse. A palomino.

  It was Lightning and Leon. Perhaps they’d gotten lost.

  I urged Daisy forward. “Hallo,” I called out as I neared the group. Everyone waved. Mervin took off his glasses and started toward me.

  Leon turned Lightning toward me too. “Miss Molly,” he said, tipping his hat.

  “So you’ve all met?” I asked, my heart galloping again.

  “Jah,” Mervin said. “We all welcomed Leon to the area.”

  “Did you get lost?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Ach, just about. But Mervin set me straight. If I hurry, I think I can still make it. Although I may be a little late.” He ducked his head, as if embarrassed.

  I didn’t know where he was headed, but he was probably going to be a lot late.

  “I’m glad you’ll come back for the singing,” Mervin said to Leon. Then he turned toward me. “You’re coming, right?”

  I nodded.

  “What about Hannah?” Leon asked.

  Mervin took off his glasses. “That’s a great idea. Bring her too.”

  I pursed my lips together.

  “Don’t you think so?” Mervin asked me.

  “Sure . . .” I answered, trying to think it through, not at all sure if it was best for her to come. But she’d probably planned to anyway.

  “I’ll see you tonight, then,” Leon said, looking straight at me, and then bid us all farewell, flashing me a smile, and then galloping away.

  “He’s quite the dude,” Martin said.

  Mervin pushed his sunglasses atop his head and stepped out into the road, watching Leon and Lightning disappear around the curve.

  Wanting to escape quickly, I called out, “I’ll see you tonight,” to the twins, swinging my buggy around.

  “Jah,” Martin answered but Mervin didn’t say a thing.

  I silently chanted, Montana, Montana, Montana, as I turned up our driveway, willing myself not to be interested in Leon Fisher. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  I spotted Mamm standing on the front porch, gazing over our pasture, with Love at her side as I came over the rise. After I unhitched Daisy, I hurried around the house with my bag slung over my shoulder, hoping she was still there.

  She was, although now she was sitting in the wicker chair, sipping a cup of coffee. The dog had sprawled out on the cool porch.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Ach, Molly. Stop asking me that.” She looked
pale but otherwise all right. She pointed to the feeder hanging from the eaves of the porch. “We had a couple of ruby-throated hummingbirds this morning,” she said. “And I saw a Cooper’s hawk in the Mosiers’ field this morning.”

  “Martin must have stirred up the mice, dragging the field.”

  She nodded.

  “I haven’t seen a mockingbird for a while though,” she said. “Have you?”

  I shook my head. But I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t have the interest in birds that my parents had shared.

  “Your Dat always enjoyed the mockingbirds.”

  I pretended to be interested. They were just gray birds, with a bit of black and white on their wings. Quite plain, really.

  She continued. “Did you know they can recognize people? Besides imitating sounds. Another bird. A person even . . .”

  I knew all that. I sat down in the other chair, dropping my bag to the porch floor, saying, “I’ve been thinking . . .”

  “Uh-oh,” Mamm said and then chuckled.

  I knew she was teasing. So I smiled and continued. “I’ve been thinking about other ways to make money besides . . .” I took a deep breath. “Your idea for me to marry Mervin isn’t going to work. Hannah still really likes him.” That was reason enough. There was no reason for me to mention Leon.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “I can’t do that to Hannah.”

  “Of course not,” Mamm answered, reaching for my hand, filling me with relief. “But . . .” I tensed as she said, “Let’s not give up hope. We never know what plans God might have.”

  I exhaled. “How about a pumpkin patch?”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late in the season.”

  “For next year.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  I was brainstorming out loud, I knew. “We could change the house into a B&B.”

  “A what?”

  “A bed-and-breakfast. We have three empty bedrooms.” Four since Beatrice had moved in with me.

  “And have strangers in our house? It’s bad enough to have them in the pasture.” She sounded like Beatrice. “It’s easier for you, Molly,” she said, her voice softening. “You like to be around people. It’s not that your sister and I don’t like others—we just don’t thrive on being around them.”

  Mamm was right. Especially about Beatrice. She didn’t have a friend like Hannah. She was content to be home. She didn’t like singings. She’d never gone to a party.

  I went stir-crazy if I didn’t get out of the house.

  “What about Martin?” Mamm asked.

  I didn’t respond.

  “Molly?”

  I looked at her. Her blue eyes watered. Perhaps from the warm wind. Her face had grown thinner. Probably because she hadn’t been eating much. And her shoulders, usually square and straight, slumped.

  I shook my head. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I did. But I couldn’t imagine learning to love him, not at all.

  “Back to those notions about marriage?” she asked. “Because commitment is what brings love.”

  The thing was, yesterday she could have convinced me of that, but after meeting Leon, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Partnering with someone is what matters. Weathering life’s storms together—that’s what counts,” Mamm said.

  I nodded. “But surely you felt something for Dat.”

  “Well, sure. I admired him. And I’d seen him with his first wife, and—”

  “When?” I hadn’t heard about that before.

  “I came out here,” she said. “Donna”—I’d forgotten that was her name. It was rare that anyone spoke it—“was from Ohio too. Our mothers were friends, although she was older than I was. Then she, your Dat, and I all ended up as part of the same circle letter.”

  I’d never heard any of this. “What kind of circle letter?”

  “Birds.”

  I wanted to laugh.

  “Jah,” she said. “Donna and your Dat thought it would give them a hobby to share.”

  Amish people had all sorts of circle letters that they sent from person to person all across the country. Sometimes between relatives. Or people with a shared concern, such as a handicapped child, or between people who enjoyed hiking. I hadn’t heard of one around birds, but I believed it.

  “Donna and I struck up a friendship via the letters, plus we remembered each other because of our mothers’ friendship. For some reason she invited me out to visit. She was quite sick by then—her cancer had returned—but she said she’d like to spend some time with me, so I came during the summer, when I was off from teaching school.”

  “And that’s how you met Dat?”

  She nodded, her face reddening. Perhaps it was the heat. Or maybe she was blushing.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound bad or put him in a bad light. He was devoted to Donna. He cared for her until the very end, keeping her at home, doing everything he could.”

  I nodded. I believed her.

  “He never gave me a second glance.”

  I smiled. “It doesn’t matter, Mamm. I know how Dat was. I’d never think otherwise. How did you two get together then, later?”

  “We both continued on with the circle letter, after Donna died. Then a year later he wrote to me, and we started corresponding.”

  I enjoyed hearing the story, but I wasn’t sure what it had to do with the situation I was in.

  Perhaps she could tell I was growing impatient. “My point is,” she said, “we already had a start, a shared experience.”

  “Over birds?”

  Mamm chuckled, her eyes actually twinkling. I’d made it clear through the years that I couldn’t comprehend their intense interest in birds. “Oh, Molly,” Mamm said. “Just listen to me. What counts is it gave your Dat and me a start. You already have that start with Mervin, but even more so. Don’t give up on him. It could still work out.”

  Had she forgotten what I’d just said about Hannah?

  I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder, and patted her shoulder. “Denki. It’s nice to hear your stories.” I opened the front door to the scent of cinnamon rolls. “This is how heaven must smell,” I said, turning toward Mamm.

  She had a pained look on her face.

  Sure my use of the word heaven had hurt her, I said, “Sorry.”

  She shook her head as she stood, but she stumbled. I grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  She pressed her hand to the side of her Kapp. “Just a headache. I’ll go rest. . . .”

  I walked with her into the house. “How about in the sewing room?” I asked.

  “No. Upstairs.”

  I followed her, realizing her room probably didn’t seem as vacant to her as it did to me. Most likely, she found comfort resting in the bed she’d shared with Dat.

  Chapter

  5

  Mamm came down for the meat loaf Edna fixed for our dinner and seemed to be feeling better. Afterward she sat on the porch again, probably looking for a mockingbird, while Beatrice curled up on the couch with her journal.

  She’d kept one for years, insisting it was top secret. One time she’d left it on the table and I bumped it to the floor, hoping it would land open. It did. It looked like poetry from what I could see, but she flew into the kitchen as fast as anything and snatched it up.

  I couldn’t blame her. It had been a sisterly low for me.

  I no longer tried to get a peek inside, but she acted as if I might as I sat down on the other end of the couch from her. She turned her head and the journal away from me and kept on writing.

  The next thing I knew she was poking me with her foot.

  “You’ve been asleep for over an hour,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  I never napped. Not even when I was a child.

  “I’m fine,” I said, although I felt out of sorts. I stretched, pulling away from the couch, my back damp from the heat. I’d dreamt again—except this dream had taken place at night. The Shtanns had shone like white carnations in the ni
ght sky while the lilies in the field glowed like fireflies. “Is Mamm still on the porch?”

  She shook her head. “She’s down for another nap. Edna’s resting too.”

  “You should come to the singing tonight.”

  “Why would I?” She’d confided in me once that she planned to forever be a Maidel. I told her she’d change her mind. Who wouldn’t want a husband and family? I couldn’t imagine. How else would I use the gifts God had given me?

  On the other hand I actually couldn’t imagine Beatrice married. She probably would end up a Maidel.

  I spent some time walking the property, making a mental list of what needed to be done the next day, but I did my best not to actually work on the Sabbath. We had a light supper of leftovers, and then the driver arrived to take Edna home. We thanked her for all she’d done as we walked her to the car. Edna hugged us all warmly and said to call if we needed her. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

  I think spending time on the farm did her as much good as it did us.

  I waved until the car reached the bottom of the driveway and then took my cell phone to the office in the greenhouse, leaving it in the desk drawer—where I usually left it for the night—and walked over to Mervin and Martin’s shop for the singing. A crowd had begun to gather outside, but I didn’t see Hannah or Leon. Mervin, however, was front and center.

  “Look who’s here!” he said when he saw me. As he greeted me with a long hug, the group dispersed, revealing Hannah on the other side. I saw her over Mervin’s shoulder. Saw her face fall. Saw her chin quiver.

  Behind her stood Leon.

  I pulled away from Mervin, but as I did, he grabbed my hand.

  “Wait,” I said, turning toward Hannah.

  Mervin groaned as he saw her. “Ach, not now.”

  “Shh,” I said to him. Poor Hannah.

  But as she yelled, she didn’t sound poor. Angry was more like it. “Molly Zook!”

  Before I could pull away from Mervin, she was in front of me. “How could you?” She spoke at me but she swung her purse toward Mervin. He ducked.

  Leon caught her arm.

  She grabbed her purse with her other hand and swung at me. Leon grabbed her other hand and then wrapped his arms around her, standing behind her. “Whoa,” he said.