Minding Molly

by Leslie Gould

  Bea followed Mamm to the door but stopped on the stoop, although Mamm kept going.

  “There’s a guy out there,” Beatrice said. “On a horse.”

  Mervin pursed his lips at me, but I sprang into action.

  As I passed by her, Bea said, “He’s really cute.”

  Love circled around Leon, happy to see him, as he stood at the edge of the lawn with Lightning’s reins firmly in his hand. The horse wasn’t happy to see Love, although the two looked like a matched set with their identical yellow coats.

  Leon towered over my petite Mamm, and he was leaning toward her as if to hear her better—which was a funny thing for him to do, considering she was shaking her finger at him, something I’d never seen my Mamm do.

  Leon chuckled, which only made Mamm more adamant about what she was saying.

  I hurried toward them.

  “Where did you say you’re from?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t say—not yet,” he said, his eyes dancing. “But now that you ask, from Montana.”

  “Montana. Oh goodness. No daughter of mine is going to court someone from that far away.”

  My face flushed. “Mamm,” I called out. “Ask Leon in for dessert.” I was pretty sure we had some ice cream in the freezer.

  She turned toward me. Leon did too, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of me—and then a look of confusion at Mervin, who had fallen in step right behind me.

  “He said he’s come to call on you,” Mamm said, stepping backward, unsteadily. I reached for her elbow. She added, “I told him you’re not interested.”

  Years ago I’d heard a stupid song with words I couldn’t entirely remember, probably at one of the big Englisch stores in town or in someone’s car on the way to a party, but the lyrics went something like “Torn between two lovers . . . feeling like a fool.” That was me, without a doubt. Of course, neither one was a lover—but I did feel like a fool.

  And I had no idea what to do, except pretend nothing was wrong.

  “I told Leon he could stop by, Mamm,” I said as I released her elbow. I patted my leg for Love to sit before she sent Lightning bolting again. She obeyed, wedging herself against my leg. “He’s working for Owen, training horses over at the Lapp place. I met him there.”

  Mamm’s face lit up, her eyes lively again. “You’re courting Hannah, then?”

  He smiled. “Oh no, ma’am,” Leon said. “I work for her Dat is all.”

  I jumped right in. “I meant to tell you about Leon today, earlier, but I didn’t get a chance.”

  Mamm grimaced. “This is all wrong. It will not do.”

  I turned back toward Leon. He stood statue still even as Lightning nuzzled his hand, an agreeable expression still on his face even though what was going on was far from pleasant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It’s my fault. I just didn’t have a chance to . . . prepare her. She hasn’t been herself.” It seemed as if, again, Mamm’s odd behavior was linked to more than stress.

  He nodded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow,” he said. “To see how everyone is.”

  “Denki,” I said. “Tell Hannah hello for me.”

  Mervin said he’d better get going. I agreed that was best. “We’ll see you soon,” I said, as I took Mamm’s arm.

  He told us good-night and headed for the shortcut to his farm. When Mamm and I stepped back in the house, Beatrice was collecting plates.

  “Why don’t you go sit in the living room,” I said to Mamm, still holding on to her arm.

  “Denki,” she said. “I am feeling a little worn out.” When we reached the couch, she said, “How about the porch?”

  I agreed, walking to open the door. I worried we wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her though. One of our neighbors, who was close to ninety, had wandered off a few years ago. They’d finally found him in a neighbor’s field after hours of searching. I didn’t think Mamm would do that—she was, after all, only sixty-three—but at this point I wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll send Beatrice out to sit with you,” I said as Mamm stepped out onto the porch. She collapsed into one of the wicker chairs, her head in her hands.

  After I told Beatrice I would do the dishes, that she should go sit with Mamm, I headed out the back door, pulling my phone from my pocket. I couldn’t deny any longer something was going on with Mamm, something more than stress.

  The last time I’d let denial get the best of me, I’d lost a parent. I’d call the doctor in the morning and try to move up her appointment for the CT scan. I considered leaving messages with Ivan and Edna to update them but then decided there wasn’t anything more they could do. I’d call them after I spoke with the doctor. I did, however, call our bishop, leaving a message explaining Mamma’s issues and asking for prayer.

  Then, just in case Mamm’s problems were only stress related, I did what I considered the first step in taking action to save our farm. I dialed Bob Miller’s business number, listened to Cate’s voice asking me to leave a message, and then left one—asking Bob to call me back because we were in dire need of good advice for our business.

  As I ran the hot water, the phone buzzed in my pocket. I hadn’t expected responses so soon. I dried my hands and answered as I darted out the back door. Cate’s number popped up on my screen.

  I answered with a quick “Molly speaking.”

  “Bob here. I just listened to your message.”

  I explained our problem to him, leaving out the part about Mamm wanting me to marry Mervin and me thinking I was falling for Leon, but I did mention Ivan’s assessment and my worries about Mamm.

  “I can come over tomorrow evening,” Bob said.

  “I know how busy you are, with the wedding coming up and all. . . .”

  “Nonsense,” Bob said. “I have plenty of time to help. I’ll see you after supper.”

  I thanked him and hung up quickly. If we could figure out a way with Bob’s help to save the farm, Mamm wouldn’t feel it was necessary for me to marry Mervin. I couldn’t tell Mamm I wouldn’t marry Mervin because I thought I was falling for Leon. Especially now that she knew he was from Montana.

  Before I went back in the house, I contemplated calling Hannah’s number and leaving a message for Leon not to come the next evening until after eight, after Bob had left. But then I decided not to. Hannah’s Dat would probably listen to the message. And then he would tell Hannah’s Mamm, who would tell Nell. And then the whole county would know. And it would probably come back to Mamm.

  No, it was better to take my chances that Leon would decide to wait until later to come anyway, especially after what had just happened. In Lancaster County most of our courting was done late in the evening, after dark. But maybe he didn’t know.

  The next day, after the nurse finally returned my call and assured me that we’d be fine waiting for Mamm’s test, I told Beatrice to make a pie for our meeting with Bob. For some reason, even though we still had canned berries and apple filling from last summer, she made a sugar pie, something Mamm sometimes used to make in memory of her childhood. She’d grown up poor, and she often said vinegar pie or sugar pie was sometimes the only dessert they had.

  I stood with my hands on my hips, in the middle of our kitchen, staring at the pie cooling on the counter.

  “It’s not that I want to impress Bob,” I said. “But I do want him to know how much we appreciate his time.” He was a successful businessman who also worked as a consultant, helping others improve their own businesses. His wisdom was invaluable. “I can’t help but hope he’ll have some ideas for us.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “You don’t have to serve the pie. I just thought it would show how serious our situation is.”

  I pursed my lips, then remembered I’d come in the house for glasses of iced tea for both Mamm and Mervin. Mamm wouldn’t come in for a nap. Taking some refreshment to her was the next best thing.

  I filled the glasses and headed back outside, toward the greenhouse.

  As I neared it, Mervin called out my name
. I hurried, making the tea spill over onto my hand.

  “Molly!” he called out again, this time with an edge of panic in his voice. I began to run, sending waves of tea onto my hands.

  As I entered the greenhouse, the first thing I saw was Mamm sitting on a stool, her head down, with a panting Love right beside her. I put the tea on the potting bench beside the pots of geraniums and pulled out my phone, ready to call 9-1-1.

  “Don’t,” Mamm said, glancing up at me.

  I punched in the first number.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  She didn’t look fine.

  “Give me the tea,” she said. “Then help me out of here. It’s too hot for an old woman to be in a greenhouse. I have a headache is all, from the heat.” It was the first time she’d ever referred to herself as old, maybe because she was nine years younger than Dat.

  I gave her the tea, the phone still in my other hand. “I think I should call.”

  “And how will we pay the bill?” Mamm raised her head enough to look at me. “I’ll go rest in the house.” I understood she wanted to be responsible with our money, especially since she had an expensive CT scan coming up, but I still wondered if I should be calling the ambulance.

  Dat had fallen out on the lawn, with Love at his side, and convinced us not to call for help. His back was sore, jah, and his arm. But probably from the fall. We got him inside to the couch, with Love staying at his side and pushing into the house for the first time in her life. By the time we realized he’d had a heart attack—and was having another—it was too late.

  I helped Mamm from the stool and directed her to the door, with Love still beside her. Mervin followed us from the greenhouse. I turned to him and said, “You should go on home. Bob Miller is coming over to talk business after supper.”

  Mervin’s voice was full of hurt. “And what about Leon?”

  “I’m not sure. . . .” I answered.

  “Oh” was all Mervin managed to say.

  “Denki,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I stepped quickly to catch up with Mamm.

  Mervin followed me. “Molly, I’m sorry. For all your troubles.”

  “Denki,” I said again.

  “I’ll help in any way I can. You know that, right?”

  “Jah,” I answered again, wanting to tell him I didn’t know what we would have done without him these past months but not wanting to lead him on any further. I kept quiet, shuffling alongside Mamm toward the house. I needed Mervin as a friend right now, for sure—I just didn’t need the other complications.

  Bob didn’t arrive alone. Nan—his soon-to-be wife—came with him, sitting beside him in his posh buggy. Nan Byler had been raised Amish in New York, joined the church, and then left, intending to marry a Mennonite man. He died in a traffic accident. She joined the Mennonites anyway, drove one of the Lancaster County bookmobiles, and then said yes to courting Bob Miller.

  In the last few months, she’d quit her job, given up her car, and joined the Amish, for a second time.

  Soon they would be married.

  Mamm stayed at the kitchen table while I went out to greet the couple, Love falling in step beside me. Nan wore a Plain blue dress and a heart-shaped Kapp. I wondered if it had been hard for her to give up her print Mennonite dresses, not to mention her car. It never ceased to amaze me what people did for love.

  “Willkumm,” I called out.

  Bob hitched his horse to our railing by the barn and helped Nan out of the buggy. Under her Kapp and crown of blond hair with a bit of gray mixed in, Nan practically glowed, and Bob seemed as happy as I’d ever seen him, which said a lot. I’d never seen him the least bit down.

  My heart lurched. I stood perfectly still as they walked side by side, not touching but as physically close as possible without doing so. Obviously they were in love—but they hadn’t rushed into it. It had been a few years since they’d met. A year since they’d started courting. They’d taken it slower than most I knew would—her being Mennonite had surely complicated things.

  “Beatrice has pie ready,” I said, leading the way back to the house as Love greeted them.

  I wished I could ask their advice about what to do concerning Leon, but I certainly couldn’t ask that in front of Mamm. No, I needed to focus on making our business more viable. Once that was accomplished, Mamm would have no reason to want me to marry Mervin.

  As I reached the back door, with Nan and Bob right behind me, the sound of horse’s hooves fell on the driveway again, and Love took off at a run.

  “Who is that?” Bob asked, turning.

  I turned too, even though I knew. “Leon Fisher,” I answered.

  Leon rode a red roan, taller than Lightning and even wilder. “Hallo,” he called out. Love ran alongside them.

  “Is that the fellow staying over at Owen’s place?” Bob asked. “The one training horses?”

  “Jah,” I answered.

  “Invite him in for some pie,” Bob said. “I’d love to hear about Montana. That’s where he’s from, right?”

  I nodded. “Go on in,” I said to Bob and Nan as I started toward Leon. “I’ll be right there.”

  The horse snorted and pranced around, but Leon pulled up on the reins and settled him down. I approached tentatively, looking up at him. “Want to come in for some pie? A family friend, Bob Miller, and his fiancée, Nan, are here. They’d like to meet you.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “It would be good to have you come in. Bob would like to meet you. But then Mamm and I need to talk with Bob about our business.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Mind if I put Storm in with Daisy?”

  “He won’t hurt her?” I hoped it sounded like I was joking. But I was serious.

  “Jah.” He patted the horse’s neck. “He’s a good sort. Just insecure.”

  “Is Love bothering him?”

  Leon shook his head. “He does okay with dogs.”

  After he led the gelding to the pasture and secured the gate, we started back to the house with Love staying by his side. Leon smelled earthy, like sweat and dust and the scent of a horse but also a bit of spice. He swept off his straw hat, the western one again, and ran his hand through his dark hair as we neared the back door. “I take it this wouldn’t be a good time to talk to your Mamm again about courting you.”

  I blushed. “No, not tonight. She and I . . .” I stammered. “We need to talk this all through first.”

  “Jah,” he said. “That’s what I gathered yesterday.”

  I led the way into the house. Everyone sat at the kitchen table—even Beatrice, which surprised me.

  “We have another visitor,” I said, using my cheeriest voice. “This is Leon Fisher, from Montana.” I swept my hand toward him. “Leon, Bob Miller and Nan Byler.”

  Bob and Nan both rose and shook Leon’s hand.

  “Leon is going to join us for a piece of pie,” I said, looking at Mamm. “Then he’ll be on his way.”

  “Oh, the pie,” Beatrice said, turning in her chair toward the counter.

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  As I cut the pie, I noted that the consistency seemed off. Maybe the heat from the kitchen had kept it from cooling properly. I served it up on the plates without giving it another thought, listening to the conversation as I did.

  Bob had asked Leon about Montana.

  “Our farm is in the western part of the state,” Leon said.

  “Near the Bitterroot Mountains?”

  “Not far from there,” Leon answered. “My Dat raises cattle.”

  “That sounds like a commodity that would bring in money,” Mamm said.

  I turned toward her, surprised to hear her bring up the subject of finances in front of a stranger.

  “Well,” Leon said, “the price of beef fluctuates from year to year. It’s not as profitable as it probably sounds.”

  I started around with the pie, serving Nan and Beatrice and Mamm firs
t. Then the men.

  “How many acres?” Bob took his plate of pie from me.

  “Five hundred,” Leon answered.

  I stopped next to him.

  Bob whistled.

  Leon smiled. “It takes a lot of land to graze cattle.”

  “Of course,” Bob said. “We can’t compare acres in the west to acres here.”

  “Jah,” Leon said. “Our ranch would be comparable, in profit and perhaps value, to a seventy-acre place here.”

  I doubted it. Maybe to a dairy farm, although milk wasn’t the best moneymaker lately either, or one that grew soybeans or alfalfa, and maybe even corn. But not nursery stock and flowers.

  I hurried back to pour the coffee I’d brewed.

  “Let me help,” Nan said. Before I could decline, she was out of her chair. I poured the cups and she delivered them. After I grabbed the cream from the fridge, I realized the rest were waiting on me and told them to get started on their pie—after all, Beatrice had made it.

  As I sat down, Mamm took a bite. A funny look passed over her face.

  I took a tiny taste and tried not to spit it out.

  “Oh my,” I said, reaching for my cup of coffee to wash away the taste of soda—at least that’s what I thought it was. Did Beatrice accidentally put baking soda in the pie? I burned my tongue on the coffee, which still didn’t take away the taste.

  The others took bites and then stopped.

  Beatrice took a bite—and held her fork in midair, an expression of realization settling on her face. It wasn’t the end of the world, granted, but it had been a stupid mistake.

  I pursed my lips as Leon said, “Delicious.”

  Beatrice smiled and took another bite.

  So did Nan.

  I took another, tiny, one. Heavy cream and sugar could save almost anything, I guessed, although the pie definitely had a baking-soda-biscuit flavor—minus the salt.

  “Sugar pie is my favorite,” Leon said. “This one is without eggs, right? The good old-fashioned kind.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Our Mamm calls it desperation pie. It’s what her mother made when they were out of everything else—apples, berries, lemon juice, even eggs.”