Amanda Weds a Good Man (13 page)

“Apologize to your sister, Peter,” he insisted. “And assure me, in front of your family, that you will never again cause Lizzie such embarrassment.”

Pete's fork clattered to his plate. Lizzie's face turned red and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Your pranks make you look like a love-struck puppy, Pete,” Wyman went on. “And now that she's your sister, it doesn't look so gut for you to be
interested
in her, even if she's not a blood relation.”

“I'm
sorry
,” Pete blurted to no one in particular. “Can we please move on?”

Eddie smirked as he piled peas and carrots on his plate. “Might want to do that yourself, little brother. After your trick with the fishing rod, didn't I tell you to give it up?”

Wyman gazed purposefully at his second son. Pete was beyond the age of being escorted to the shed, where the paddle used by generations of Brubaker dats still hung. But what would make the boy leave Lizzie alone? “I need your assurance that your behavior at school—and around your sister, in general—will not require my attention, or Teacher Elsie's, ever again.”

“All right, I'll leave her alone,” Pete muttered. He scooted back his chair, but Wyman grabbed his arm.

“You're not excused. Running from situations that bother you solves nothing, Peter Calvin.”

“Jah, Peter Rabbit,” Simon said under his breath. “You've been a bad, bad bunny.”

Wyman closed his eyes, exasperated. Why was it that everything he said inspired such a reaction tonight? How had his kids turned into such hellions right under his nose? He'd never dreamed of testing his parents this way . . . nor did he recall such discord in this kitchen when Viola had begun preparing the meals with his mother and his grandmother.

“We're going to eat our supper now,” he announced in a low voice. “And we're going to say nothing further unless it's positive and uplifting.”

Silence. Lowered eyes. Only the subdued clattering of forks against plates.

Wyman gazed down at the rubbery noodles swimming in chicken gravy that had congealed on his plate. He'd lost his appetite, but if he was to be an example to his sons, he had to eat every bite of it, didn't he?

A
s Wyman settled into bed Thursday evening, he prayed once again that a night's rest would restore his family's imbalance. Jemima had gotten irritated about the younger kids being underfoot in the kitchen, to the point that Alice Ann and the twins had been in tears at supper—so now Amanda was exhausted and frustrated, too. While he longed to talk quietly with her or to console her by cuddling, she lay facing away from him . . . throwing up a wall he sensed he shouldn't climb. The clock on the dresser played its delicate tune at nine thirty . . . nine forty-five.

“Amanda,” he murmured. “How can I help you through this transition, my love? What can I do differently to—”

A little cry came from the room across the hall, followed by another cry and then a wail. As he heard the pitter-patter of little feet, he sighed. Once again the twins crawled into their mother's side of the bed while Alice Ann whimpered for him to help her up, to protect her from whatever had frightened them in the night.

“Now what?” Amanda demanded in a tremulous whisper. “You girls should sleep in your own bed—”

“We heard those scary noises again,” one twin wailed.

“Jah, that wolf was scratchin' on our wall, howlin' out in the yard,” her sister joined in.

Alice Ann burrowed against him, wiping her wet face against the sheet. This could
not
continue. “I'm going to go see about that wolf,” Wyman muttered. “And then you girls can return to your own room.” Cradling Alice Ann in the crook of his arm, he rolled out of bed and padded into the shadowy hall. The three girls shared a corner bedroom, so two of their walls were inaccessible to any scratching, even if that “wolf” could reach the second story. Because Simon's room adjoined the girls', he had a pretty good idea where those noises were coming from.

Yet when Wyman stood in his youngest son's doorway, the sound of deep, even breathing suggested that Simon had been asleep since Amanda had tucked him in nearly an hour ago. Wags raised his head but he remained silent, curled up on the bed to fit the curve of Simon's bent legs and backside. When Wyman crept close enough to lean over the twin-size bed for a look at his son, Simon didn't stir. He didn't grin in the darkness or muffle chuckles beneath the covers, either.

At least SOMEONE'S sleeping. Best to quiz him about these animal noises another time.
Perhaps Wags had let out a
woof
, or maybe one of the twins had yipped during a nightmare and her sister had imagined it to be an animal. No doubt they were still upset about Jemima's cross words and not sleeping well because of them.

As he went back into the hallway, Wyman realized that Alice Ann was asleep on his shoulder, so he settled her back into her own small bed. He intended to tell Cora and Dora that the wolf was gone for the night, yet the sounds of their deep breathing—and Amanda's—seemed reason enough to leave them be. It made a touching sight, the three of them nestled together so peacefully, so Wyman eased under the covers again, careful not to wake them. He'd spent a lot of time being
careful
this week, it seemed.

Tomorrow will be better. Someday we'll look back on these incidents and laugh.

When Wyman rose before dawn the next morning, he was pleased that Amanda and the twins were already up and about—but his hopefulness for a better day was short-lived. Vera stood outside the bathroom door in her robe, hugging herself, waiting her turn, so Wyman went on downstairs. He could shave later. . . .

Amanda accepted his good-morning kiss on the cheek. “Feeling better?” he murmured.

She shrugged, struggling with a smile. “At least the twins are helping Alice Ann dress, as though nothing happened last night—”

“Sounded to me like
plenty
was going on,” Jemima remarked. She lowered herself to the bench beside the kitchen door with a loud groan, holding her stockings and her sturdy black shoes. “But then, I was up and down all night with a cranky stomach and these achy old feet. . . .”

Wyman decided it was a good time to slip upstairs and shave, for listening to Jemima's complaints would do nothing to improve his day. “Gut morning, daughter,” he said, squeezing Vera's shoulder as she reached the bottom step.

“Jah, we'll see about that.”

With a sigh he ascended the wooden stairs, only to find one of the twins outside the closed bathroom door, shifting from one foot to the other in an unmistakable dance of desperation. “Do you want to go outside?” Wyman asked. “I'll help you open the outhouse door—”

Was this Cora or Dora? Her eyes widened and she shook her head even as she recrossed her little legs.

“Ah. What if Vera or your mamm takes you out there?” he asked.

After a moment's consideration, the little girl nodded and went down the wooden stairs with a rapid tip-tapping of her shoes. By the time Wyman reached the kitchen, Vera was grabbing their wraps and hurrying outside with the little girl, so he decided to start the livestock chores. Amanda had helped Jemima finish dressing and they seemed to have breakfast under control. The salty-sweet aroma of sizzling bacon soothed him. Perhaps the day would right itself now. . . .

He'd barely gotten to the barn door before he heard a little voice cry out, “Oh, but I can't go
here
! I'll fall right down that big ole hole!”

Wyman kept his chuckle to himself as he saw the four-year-old dart back to the house with Vera a few steps behind her. How could it be that Amanda's girls had never used a privy? That was something she should help the twins get accustomed to, because while everyone in Clearwater had indoor plumbing, most families had kept their outhouses for when they hosted church services and other events.

Eddie and Pete came out to help with the horse chores, and then the three of them went inside for breakfast. As the women put on the scrambled eggs, sticky buns, and bacon, the boys steered Simon to the table and sat down, out of the way . . . doing their part so the morning meal would go smoothly. Wyman was slipping Alice Ann into her high chair as everyone else took their seats. He sat down at the head of the table just as Lizzie hurried in with her kapp strings fluttering back over her shoulders.

“Took forever to get my turn in the bathroom this morning,” she said breathlessly. She slid into her chair and bowed her head for the prayer.

Beside her, Vera cleared her throat. “Maybe if you hadn't been reading my diary, you would've gotten here sooner.”

Amanda dropped the spoon she'd been putting into the bowl of fried potatoes. “Elizabeth Louise! You know better than to—”

Lizzie's face turned red as she grabbed the table's edge with both hands. “It was out there on your bed,” she protested feebly. “How was I to know it was your—”

“It says
DIARY
on the front,” Vera countered, glaring at her. “Is that what you're doing when you lock yourself in our room? Snooping in my stuff?”

“Girls, let's stop right here.” Wyman couldn't imagine the two of them coming to blows, but then he'd never guessed they would speak with such animosity, either. The other kids sat in stunned silence, wide-eyed, waiting for this drama to play out.

“And why would you read someone's private diary, Lizzie?” Amanda asked as she went to stand behind her. “At the very least you owe your sister an apology.”

When Lizzie hung her head the dam burst. After a few moments of hiccing and trying to control her tears, she blurted, “I wanted to see if—if Vera was writing anything about
me
 . . . saying she didn't like me, or she thought I was
different
, or stupid or—”

Wyman's eyes widened. Of all the kids, thirteen-year-old Lizzie was having the toughest time adjusting to their blended family and her new home but he'd never expected to hear her talk this way. “Why would Vera say such things?” he asked cautiously. “You two girls seemed to be such gut friends when you were getting your mamm and me together.”

Sniffling miserably, Lizzie shrugged. “Nobody else likes me . . . or wants to be my friend at recess or—”

“Oh, Lizzie,
I'm
your friend—and I'm happy to be your sister, too.” Compassion replaced Vera's anger as she grasped Lizzie's wrist. “I'm sorry the kids are being mean, and— Well, Teacher Elsie can be . . . a pill sometimes.”

“I'm your friend, too, Lizzie—if you want me to be,” Pete murmured.

Amanda draped an arm around Lizzie's trembling shoulders. “Maybe I should come to school and talk with the teacher about—”

“Oh, please don't, Mamm!” Lizzie blurted. “Then the kids will think I needed my mamma to make things all better for me.” She gazed at Vera with red-rimmed eyes. “I'm sorry I snooped in your diary. That's not a gut way to treat somebody who's been trying to help me figure things out here and fit in at school.”

Wyman pondered Lizzie's words as she and Vera continued to make up. What did she mean by
figure things out here and fit in at school
? The very reason Plain folks dressed alike and followed the
Ordnung
was so that everyone belonged and no one stood out as different. He suspected his troubled daughter was keeping some of her trials and tribulations to herself—or exaggerating them in her frustration—even as he knew Elsie Schmucker could indeed be difficult. But speculating aloud that Elsie had landed her teaching position because she was the bishop's daughter wouldn't improve this situation for Lizzie. “Shall we pray over this fine breakfast now that you girls are getting along again?” he asked.

As everyone bowed their heads, Wyman gave silent thanks for order being restored. The meal proceeded without any further disruptions. When Pete and Lizzie left for school, Eddie went out with Simon to feed and water Wags. Amanda, Jemima, and Vera began clearing the table, so Wyman offered to assist Cora and Dora with the chicken chores before he went to the elevator. It seemed like a good way to spend some time with them, and to become more familiar with any mannerisms that might help him tell the twins apart—and it was a chance to discuss the “wolf” that was pestering them at night.

He helped the three little girls with their jackets and then they headed outside. His heart fluttered when each of the twins took one of his hands as they walked out to the chicken house. Alice Ann toddled along happily behind them, and as the sun brightened the horizon, Wyman felt hopeful that the day's difficulties were behind them. As they stepped inside the chicken house, however, he stopped.

The white bucket they used to fill the chickens' water tank had pale yellow liquid in the bottom . . . with a little wad of white tissue floating in it.

Wyman noticed that the twins walked quickly past it, to scoop feed out of the bin in the corner. “Chick, chick, chick!” they called out. The feeders were made from gallon plastic milk jugs with sections cut away, hanging along the wall so the cracked grain was off the ground yet easy for the birds to reach. As Cora and Dora filled each feeder, the hens scrambled around them. Alice Ann laughed, not one bit afraid of the clucking birds.

For a moment Wyman wondered if Amanda should handle this matter of where the girls went to the bathroom.
But there's no time like the present. And YOU are present.

Which twin had dashed away from the outhouse earlier this morning? He'd gone into the barn, so he hadn't seen a desperate little daughter dash in here, probably with a tissue from the box in the kitchen. But it made sense to him that she would have come here as a last resort.

“Girls, we need to talk about what's in this bucket,” Wyman said, beckoning them with his finger. “The chickens will get very sick if someone uses it for a toilet and then we pour their water from it. Cora, did you come back out here instead of using the bathroom upstairs—or the outhouse?”

The girl to his right shook her head emphatically. “No, not me.”

“Me neither,” Dora insisted from his other side. Then she gasped, clapping her hands to either side of her face. “The wolf! What if it was that scary ole—”

“Jah!” Cora chimed in, also clapping her hands to her face. “It must've been the wolf.”

Two identical girls were gazing at him with such wide, innocent eyes that Wyman had to clench his teeth to keep from laughing. He'd just been outfoxed by four-year-olds who surely looked exactly as their mother had at that age. Yes, he should correct them and insist that lying was wrong. But after enduring the breakfast table drama between Lizzie and Vera, it was nice to have something to chuckle at . . . and maybe he could still work this situation into a lesson about taking responsibility for their actions.

Wyman crouched so he was at the twins' eye level. “Can you two be big, brave girls for me?” he asked in a serious tone.

Cora and Dora glanced at each other and then back at him. As one, they nodded, caught up in the challenge.

“Next time that wolf scratches on your wall at night, tell him in no uncertain terms that he is
not
to use the livestock buckets for a toilet. Will you do that for me?”

The twins considered this. They nodded solemnly despite their apparent doubts about confronting their spook.

“And then, will you get back into your own bed?” Wyman continued with a gentle smile. “Alice Ann will see that you're being brave, so she won't be scared, either. Your mamm and I will be so pleased that you're staying in your room like big girls,” he continued earnestly. “And once that wolf knows you're not afraid of him anymore, he probably won't come back.”

As Dora and Cora gazed at each other, Wyman sensed they were communicating in that inexplicable way twins had . . . silently deciding how they would carry out his request. The one he'd decided was Dora looked him in the eye. “If the wolf says
no
, will you come to our room and talk to him?”