Abigail's New Hope (28 page)

Catherine watched them from the shade, wishing she didn’t have to start cooking or get the two children washed up for supper. Truthfully, she wished this idyllic summer day would never end. But before she could curtail their playtime, Isaiah sent them inside the house in his special nonverbal manner. Neither child argued but headed toward the porch hand in hand.

She scrambled to her feet, planning to thank him for the afternoon.

“Cat,” he voiced and pointed at the swing.

“Oh, no. I’d better go inside and start—”

“Cat,” he insisted. He pointed again at the swing.

After three seconds of consideration, she plopped down on the wooden slat and gripped the chains.
After all, what difference will five minutes make?

Isaiah clamped his fingers over her hands and began to push. His touch sent her heart soaring into the clouds. For a short while she lost herself with childlike abandon. He pushed while she swung higher and higher. The breeze lifted the strings of her
kapp
and loosened a few tendrils of hair. Closing her eyes, she savored the exquisite sense of flying…of freedom.

Then without warning, Isaiah slowed the swing with a firm grip on both chains. When she turned her face to thank him for the enjoyable afternoon, he leaned in and kissed her. Not a brush of his lips against her cheek as
Englischers
loved to do or a buzz across the top of her
kapp
. It was a smack right on her mouth.

And there was nothing childlike about it.

Catherine jumped off the swing and ran toward the house, hearing his laughter ring in her ears until she closed the kitchen door behind her.

A
re you up there, nephew?”

Iris’ shrill voice could be heard clearly from the bottom of the narrow staircase. Nathan punched his pillow before burying his head beneath it to block out any sound. He contemplated ignoring his aunt’s question and hiding from her like a child. Perhaps she would assume he’d gone to the fields or to one of the barns and he would be able to catch another hour of vital sleep. The walk from Mrs. Baker’s house had nearly killed him. Because he’d worn his ill-fitting dress shoes, the short distance by car had turned into a nightmare on foot. He had blisters on top of blisters by the time he reached his driveway. But Nathan was an adult, not a boy playing hooky from school. He sat upright and swung his sore legs out of bed.

“I’m up here, Aunt,” he called, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’ll be right down.”

After slipping on clean work clothes, he staggered down the steps like a ninety-year-old man. His legs burned from the excursion, while his knees and ankles felt swollen to twice their usual size. The sweet smell of sizzling bacon reminded him of how long it had been since last night’s supper. His stomach grumbled with hunger. Iris took one look at him and dropped her wooden spoon. Apparently, he looked as bad as he felt.

“What happened to you? Why were you still upstairs? Were you
sleeping
?” Her inflection on the final word revealed how unbelievable she found the idea.

Nathan poured coffee and drank half a cup before attempting to answer. “I went back to bed after milking the cows and filling feed and water troughs. I needed a little more shut-eye today than usual.” Right now, he needed more coffee, probably more than what remained in the pot. He quickly downed his first cup and refilled it to the brim.

“You went back to bed?” She pulled the pan of eggs off the burner.

“That’s what I said.
Danki
for frying bacon this morning. I’m hungry enough to eat a whole pound myself.” He lowered himself to a chair and grabbed two slices of toast.

“Did you stay at your meeting very late? Folks wanted to keep talking until the wee hours, eh? It probably did you some good, hearing you’re not the only one with sorrows. A person can always sleep—”

“Aunt Iris!” he interrupted. “Hold up there. You’re running away like a stampeding herd. That’s not what happened.” He ate the toast almost without chewing.

She set the scrambled eggs, plate of bacon, and coffeepot on the table. “All right, then, why don’t you tell me what took place. I prayed for you all evening that the meeting would go well.”

“God chose not to answer that particular prayer, Aunt. It didn’t go well at all.” He scraped a hearty portion of scrambled eggs onto this plate and began eating.

She sipped coffee, studying him over the cup’s rim. “What happened? Talk to me, Nathan.”

He set down his fork and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Those
Englischers
are rather odd. They dwell on the past, rehashing events to keep them alive in their memories. They won’t let themselves move on.” He reached for another slice of toast.

“Are you saying you would prefer to forget Ruth?”

“No,” he said, raising his voice. “But these people neglect living children to focus on one who died.” Remembering that young mother’s story still tightened his belly into knots. “One man still mourns a brother who drove home drunk from a bar and smashed into a tree. He died from his own irresponsibility and bad decisions. Luckily, he took no innocent people along with him.”

She narrowed her gaze. “His brother still has a right to grieve for him, and maybe he mourns the fact the man was an alcoholic. It was a tragedy. I’ve never heard you so critical, Nathan. Judgment is best left up to the Lord.”

He devoured his plate of food, organizing his thoughts to make a clearer case for the therapy fiasco. “One other man sounded mad at God for calling his wife home after forty-nine years of marriage. He had that much time with her and still it wasn’t enough. He wanted to throw some fancy party and go touring walls in China!”

“You’re saying that because he had forty-nine years, he wasn’t entitled to grieve for his wife? He had that much more time to grow attached. He’s probably lost without her companionship.” Iris nibbled a cold slice of toast.

“Grieved, yes, but mad because they didn’t have even more years together is pure greediness.”

“You’re angry because you had so
little
time.”

“True, but that’s not why I can’t abide with the therapy sessions. Those
Englischers…
they bare their souls about things meant to remain private. Family business, things shared between two parents…they tell anybody who’ll listen their deepest, darkest secrets.” Nathan closed his eyes trying to blot out the woman who initially rejoiced upon news of her sister’s death. Or the young mother who admittedly neglected her daughters because she so favored her lost son.

“Wasn’t that the point of the meeting?” Iris asked. “They weren’t telling their secrets to just anybody. They were sharing with likeminded folks who understood.”

Nathan stared at her. She was taking the side of the self-centered
Englischers
? Why had he thought she would understand
him
? “All well and good for them, but their meeting didn’t help me one bit.” He shoved two slices of bacon into his mouth at once.

While he chewed, she studied him. “If the therapy went poorly, then why were you so late coming home? You must have slept little last night to return to bed this morning after chores.”

“When my turn to speak came, I told my story and then I left.”

“Left? How could you leave? You rode with Mrs. Daly.” Her brow furrowed with confusion.

“I didn’t want folks asking me questions. I didn’t want to wait around while they ate their dessert. And I didn’t want that social worker to leave her group. So I walked home.”

“You walked home?” Her cup clattered onto its saucer.

“Aunt Iris, must you repeat everything I say? Can’t you just believe me the first time around?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, that explains why you can barely walk this morning.”

“I wore my dress shoes. If I’d worn my boots, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“You walked all the way from Wooster?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, not that far. Some lady invited the group to her home so she could try out a new recipe.”

After a moment’s contemplation, she said, “I guess I’m having a hard time understanding why anyone would walk home instead of waiting for his ride.”

Nathan’s voice rose with irritation. “Because I lost my temper. Those people got under my skin, so I stormed out of the session. I didn’t want to listen to that pushy social worker on the way home. She would have handed me a pile of reasons and excuses, sort of what you’re doing now.”

“What do you know about losing one’s temper?”

He thought for a moment. “Something about it being a sign of our pride and arrogance. I admit I didn’t handle the situation very well, but I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.” He sighed with resignation.

Iris pushed away her plate of eggs, barely touched. “So why did you? Why did you agree to go if you had no desire to give therapy a chance?”

Nathan swallowed hard, washing down the bacon with more coffee. The caffeine was making him agitated but not energized. “I went because you asked me to go.”

“You did it for my sake and not for your own?”

“
Jah
. I knew it was important to you.” He dumped the remaining eggs onto his plate and ate, still hungry after his first helping.

She waited until he had finished and said, “Then the plan was doomed from the start. You can’t do this for someone else, Nathan. You must be the one who wants to heal.”

“I’m not sick, Iris. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m going about my life and tending my farm. You’re starting to sound like one of
them
.”

She slapped a flat palm down on the table. “There’s plenty wrong with you. Your idea of checking on your son is peeking at him from the doorway. You handle him as seldom as possible and hold him as though he might break. You might be tending your farm, but when did you last talk to a neighbor? Or maybe checked to see if someone needed
your
help for a change? When was the last time you went to a preaching service or read your Bible? God might lead you to helpful Scriptures if you opened the Good Book once in a while. I see you bow your head, but do you pray? Or are you merely passing time, thinking about your list of chores?”

His head reared back while his mouth dropped open. “You speak too sharply, Aunt. This is still my home, and I won’t be dressed down like a schoolboy.”

She clucked her tongue. “We all need to be set back on the straight and narrow once in a while.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll ask around at the grain elevator if any work bees have been scheduled, or if somebody can use my help getting their hay cut and stored. Folks helped out around the time of Ruth’s funeral and brought all that food here and to your son’s home.”

She refilled both cups. “That’s good for a start. When we’re suffering, we sometimes can’t see beyond our own noses. And I’m speaking from personal experience. What about church services?”

“I can’t go back to preaching. We hadn’t had a chance to know folks much before Ruth died, so this district is a pack of strangers.”

“And they will stay that way until you do something about it.” She cocked her head. “Should I ask the bishop to schedule a service here? Then you wouldn’t have to walk far for worship or to be sociable, for that matter.” Her sly smile gave her away.

“Absolutely not. Don’t even joke about that. I won’t have people here without my Ruth.” Then he added softly, hesitantly, “I can’t face them if gossip has spread from that midwife…if everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Her face pinched into a frown.