A Plain Love Song (16 page)

Pictured her doing what? Kneeling on a blanket, giving a concert to a group of babies, most of whom slept? Adah scrambled to her feet and lifted John onto her hip. He wiggled, stuck his hand in his mouth, and began to babble as if continuing the song she’d begun. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Matthew shifted the ice cream maker and set it on the ground. He rubbed his arm as if he’d pulled a muscle. “We made the ice cream. I just went up to the house to pick it up.”

Obviously.

“I was just changing John’s diaper for Bethel.”

Obviously.

“Well, I’d better get this situated. It’s getting late.” He stooped as if to pick up the ice cream maker. “And this’ll start to melt pretty quick.”

“Pictured me doing what?” She glanced around. No one paid them any mind. She had to ask. Did he like the song she’d made up on a whim? Did he like the sound of her voice? “What did you picture me doing?”

“Being a mudder.” Matthew’s voice turned husky. “Holding a baby.”

His skin darkened under his deep tan. He ducked his head and looked around as if searching for someone. Or making sure no one heard his words but her. “My baby. Our baby.”

Not singing. Holding a baby. Their baby. “I—”

“You’d be a good mudder, if you gave it half a chance. The ice cream is melting.” He hoisted the machine and turned his back on her. Then he swiveled for a second. “There’s nothing better than a mudder singing her baby to sleep at night.”

Then he tromped away. John started to fuss again. Adah bounced him on her hip, only half paying attention. She began to sing again, this time in a mere whisper, almost like a prayer.

Show me. Tell me. Lead me. Fill me. Remake me. Mend me.

Give me the strength to be the daughter you sketched in the womb,

The woman you want me to be in everything I do,

From the time I was born until the trip to my tomb.

Give me the strength to allow myself to be torn and broken.

To cry out to you, Lord Father.

To hear and believe the words you have spoken.

To know you will heal every hurt.

Until that moment when my flesh and sinew melt into dirt.

Forgive me. Love me. Show me. Tell me. Lead me. Fill Me. Remake me.

Mend me. Forgive me. Show me. Tell me. Lead me.

Remake me.

Love me.

Matthew dumped the ice cream maker on the picnic table farthest from the babble of the women. He turned his back on them and gazed out at the creek, wishing the breeze that washed over him held a hint of cool air. He wiped at his face with his sleeve. He needed a minute to
compose himself. Every time he talked to Adah he fell deeper into the pit of misery and uncertainty. She’d been a mess at the baptism class. Half asleep, clueless about the topic, and distracted. He’d been determined to let her go, start over, look for a woman who wanted to be a fraa. Adah did not. He was certain of that. Then to see her singing over baby John. She looked so at home, so natural with a baby in her arms. She knew what to do and her soft, lilting voice sang with such warmth, any baby would be soothed.

Their baby.

The pain that thought brought nearly doubled him over. She didn’t seem to want that life with him. She wanted something else. He had no idea what. But it wasn’t him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Matthew dragged his gaze from the water lapping along the river bank. Elizabeth strolled toward him, her head cocked as if studying a problem that included him. He turned and swept the towel from the ice cream maker and began rearranging the rock salt. “Not worth that much.”

She paused at the corner of the table, hands at her side. Something in her expression seemed amused. “I’m stretching my legs a bit. I ate too much. I need a walk.”

“I know the feeling. I could use a nap myself.” Heat rushed to his face. The tips of his ears burned. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean. It’s so warm and the lapping of the water is like music.” Now she grinned outright. She had a nice smile. “It’s enough to make a person nod off in the middle of a sentence.”

“I should get back up to the buggy for the other batch.” He inched away from the table. “With this bunch, one flavor isn’t enough.”

“I could help you. I’m sure there are some bowls and napkins that need carting down here.”

Aware of the throng of friends and family sprawled along the riverbanks, seemingly absorbed in conversation but always on the lookout for something, anything, amiss, Matthew hazarded a glance behind him. Luke, Thomas, and Silas sat on one side of a picnic table, Ben Knepp, Enoch Gringrich, and his daed on the other side. What would
Enoch think of Matthew taking his dochder for a walk in the middle of the summer afternoon, in front of God and everyone?

A simple walk, nothing more.

Before he could decide, Daed slid from the bench and meandered in their direction. “I’ll help you bring down that other batch of ice cream.”

His tone left no room for discussion. Elizabeth ducked her head and moved back to the circle of women, deep into the pros and cons of homemade soap as opposed to the store-bought powder Emma had tried the previous week.

“You tuckered out or something?” Daed set a serious pace on the path that cut through the Indian paintbrush and sunflowers mixed with high grass on either side. “I thought you’d be itching to pour chocolate syrup over this stuff by now.”

“I’m stuffed.”

“You’re never too full for ice cream.”

“Nee.”

Daed stomped onto the dirt road where buggies were parked in a long line. The horses had been tethered in the field where they could eat to their hearts’ content. “I saw you talking to Adah.”

For Daed to come right out and state this fact so baldly left Matthew wordless. He nodded.

“None of my business, I reckon.” He turned his back on Matthew and tugged at the ice cream maker. “But I’ve prayed on it and I’ve talked to Luke about it.”

“About me and Adah?”

“Jah.”

“Why?”

“There’s been a lot of talk.”

“Talk. There’s always talk. Folks don’t have anything better to do, it seems.”

“Your mudder and I have concerns.”

“No reason.”

“We’re not sure Adah is…would make a good fraa.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“It is. But I’ve seen what can happen when two people are unevenly yoked.”

Unevenly yoked. He’d never felt that with Adah. Not until the last few months. “It’s wrong for people to talk and start rumors and such.”

“Agreed.” Daed shoved a bag of napkins Matthew’s way. “But I’m your daed. I have a right to say this much: I can’t rightly give property to a son who isn’t smart enough to know when a woman won’t make a good fraa. A woman who might leave the community because she likes Englisch music and cowboys more than she loves God.”

Speechless, Matthew tried to breathe through the anger. His father would take back the land because he didn’t find Adah suitable?

Matthew couldn’t lash out at his father. Daed deserved respect. He had a right to his opinion. But to listen to a river of gossip that flowed through their small community was wrong. To punish Matthew on the say-so of a bunch of wagging tongues? He swallowed his anger and worked to keep his tone civil. “No one knows what’s in Adah’s heart. She’s trying. She went to baptism class this morning.”

“Unprepared.”

Thomas had said something. He wouldn’t, not to Daed. Elizabeth sat in the same class. Would she carry tales to Enoch and Clara? To Mudder? “So we should try to bring her back into the fold, shouldn’t we? Aren’t we called to do that?”

“Her parents are. Her bishop and her deacon are.”

“But not the man who…” He couldn’t say it aloud. Those words should only be spoken to Adah herself. “Shouldn’t we all seek to save the lost?”

“Not if it means losing yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“See to it that you don’t.”

Matthew tugged the ice cream from his father’s grip. “I’ll take this. You go on ahead.”

Daed clumped toward the trail. He looked back. “I saw Elizabeth talking to you too.”

“Jah.”

“She’s a good girl. Hard worker. Enoch says she’s committed to
baptism, works hard on her lessons.” He tugged his hat down on his forehead, obscuring the expression in his eyes. “Kind of woman who makes a good fraa. A man could work the land with her, knowing she’d take care of the house and kinner, not wander off, writing Englisch music and such.”

Matthew picked up the ice cream maker and stalked past Daed. He didn’t have an answer to the unspoken question. Why couldn’t he turn his attention to Elizabeth? He could try. But trying was something a man did with his head.

Not his heart.

He dumped the ice cream maker on the closest picnic table, turned his back on the clusters of folks waiting for the ice cream to be served, and stomped along the riverbank. He needed to put some distance between himself and these people. Most days, he loved the small, tight-knit feel of living in a place where everyone knew everyone, everyone cared. Some days, though, it felt like a tiny room with no windows and no door. Crowded, airless, and without means of escape.

He breathed the smell of mud and fish. A tepid breeze lifted the leaves on the tree branches just above his head, stirring air heated by a blazing sun that burned the back of his neck. The chatter of his friends and family faded as he put distance between them. Mud squished between his toes and tickled the arches of his feet. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to think of nothing else.

An explosive snore interrupted the chirping of sparrows and the steady squeak of crickets. Startled, Matthew looked around. Up ahead sat his grandpa, straw hat pulled down over his eyes, chin on chest, back propped against a rock, his fishing pole stuck straight up in the mud next to him. His hands were crossed over his flat belly and his skinny legs were crossed at the ankles. His boots sat beside him, socks neatly folded and laid over the laces. Chuckling, Matthew eased his way through the weeds and straggling grass until he could squat next to him.

Another deep snore caused his lips to open, flutter, and close. Matthew laughed outright. His response was met with another snore, louder than the last.

“Groossdaadi?” He lifted the brim of the hat with one finger and slid it back. “Wake up.”

“Who’s sleeping?” Groossdaadi’s eyes opened. Not looking the least bit startled, he frowned. “I was just thinking about you.”

Who did he think Matthew was? His son? His brother? Someone named Levi? “About me?”

“Jah, about that big catfish you caught when you were ten.”

Groossdaadi was with him, even if only for a few minutes. Matthew would take it. Especially today. He looked out at the river, remembering. Forty-pounder. It had weighed almost as much as he did. It had taken him and Daed working together to bring it in. The memory of the taste of it, breaded in flour and spices, dropped into hot grease, and served with homemade red sauce with lots of horseradish and capers made his mouth water even now. “That was a good day.”

“A good day.” Groossdaadi straightened. His neck popped and he put his gnarled fingers to it and rubbed. “You have to appreciate those good days when you get them.”

“Is this one of them?” Matthew settled down in the grass next to him, letting his long legs sprawl out so his feet were immersed in the lukewarm water. “For you, I mean.”

“I know you’re Matthew, my grandson, not somebody I reckon I should know but can’t quite remember. I know we got fishing, family; we got ice cream. We got sunshine and a nice little breeze to break the heat. What more could a man want?”

A counting of blessings. “What more could a man want?” Matthew repeated.
I’m sorry Gott. Gott, I want a fraa and I want children, but Your will be done. On Your time. Your plan.

“I reckon you’re wanting a fraa about now. Your own place to farm.”

Groossdaadi always could hit the nail on the head. Matthew nodded. “Jah.”

“What’s the hurry?”