Courting Cate (24 page)

Betsy stood at the stove frying bacon when I stepped into the kitchen with Pete right behind me. She dropped the tongs and rushed toward me, practically knocking me over. I hugged her tightly. She didn’t feel any different. She stepped back. She didn’t look any different either. She would be four months along, and it seemed she would be showing, at least a little, but I’d read that sometimes women didn’t show as soon with their first pregnancy. Maybe she had been able to hide it from everyone, even the bishop.

She grabbed both my hands and held on, pulling me toward herself. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. Please don’t leave again.”

Ignoring her declaration, I asked how she was feeling, searching her face.

“Fine.” She squeezed my hands. “You have to tell me everything!”

The grease began to pop, and Pete took over the bacon.

I must have given her a funny look, because she giggled and then said, “Well, not everything.”

I ignored her, pulled away, and poured Pete a cup of coffee. Betsy and I would have a talk later, when we were alone. “What still needs to be done?”

“We have all the help arranged. And I’m halfway through the cleaning.”

I poured a cup for myself. “What do you want me to do?”

Betsy giggled, seemingly back to her old self. “Your job.”

“Pardon?”

“The business.” She looked toward the hallway and then whispered. “Dat’s been working with an international distributor. Most of the time I have no idea what they’re talking about. I hate office work.”

“Okay . . .” I took the tongs from Pete, directing him toward the table. “I can take over the cooking too and help with the cleaning.”

Betsy’s eyes got big. “You’re kidding.”

I shook my head. “Just let me know . . .”

Dat stepped into the kitchen.

“Let you know what?” he said.

“Cate cooks and cleans,” Betsy said. “Or so she says.”

“Is it true?” Dat asked Pete.

“Jah,” he answered, not looking at me. “She does just fine.”

He and Dat started talking business as Betsy and I finished cooking breakfast. I kept an ear on the conversation as Pete told Dat about Wes’s work and the possible deal with the New York publisher.

“Let me know when you want to talk about finances,” Dat said.

My face burned as I turned back to the stove, aware again of why my husband married me.

The week progressed with me fixing breakfast each day, taking over the office, and preparing dinner. Every time I tried to get Betsy alone, to ask her how she felt and what the doctor said, she evaded me. Clearly she didn’t want to share her personal life, and I finally decided to respect that.

The few times I saw Martin and Mervin they smirked at me, as if they knew exactly what was going on, including Pete sleeping in the spare room. I held my head high and didn’t respond, parading by as if they were invisible. But inside I still seethed.

On Friday, I left the office early to hitch Thunder to my buggy and head down to the bookmobile. As I was driving past the shop, Pete stepped out the door and waved. I gave him a half nod, realizing my resentment toward him was building again.

“Wait!” he called out.

It turned out he wanted to come along. Perhaps that was better—as much as I wanted to see Nan, I didn’t want to say too much to her, not anything I would regret later anyway. And I knew I tottered on the brink of that.

Pete must have sensed my mood, because he didn’t speak. As hard as living in New York was, it had been a relief to not be judged by my past and have the added humiliation heaped on me. Once we reached the highway, Thunder took off, happy to be able to trot with me at the reins.

When we reached the bookmobile, Pete jumped down and greeted Nan first. She had a pencil behind her ear, just like always, and gave Pete a hug, telling him she had the books he’d ordered from the library, and handed him a small stack.

He held it up, looking at me as I came around in front of Thunder, patting his neck. “I called Nan a few days ago, asking her to get these. I’m going to put them in the buggy and then head across the street.” The roadside coffee hut was still there. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

After Pete left, Nan embraced me warmly, saying how much she missed me. I followed her into the bookmobile, where she handed me two books. “I’ve been saving these for you.”

It was a biography of Ulysses S. Grant, and one of his wife, Julia. “Thanks.” It was as if she’d expected me to come back all along. I squinted out the doorway.

Nan smiled. “Tell me more about New York.”

I told her about the trip to the city and about John and Jana and their soon-to-be-born twins. Then I told her about the quilt Esther had made and how much I liked it.

She nodded. “I remember her work well. And how are you and Pete doing?”

I sighed, wondering if I should tell her she had been right. I looked out the door across the street again. Pete stood at the window where the cars were supposed to drive up, laughing with the barista. I turned my attention back to Nan and finally said. “You were right about the verse in Proverbs.”

She cocked her head.

“The unloved woman.”

It was Nan’s turn to look out the doorway and then back at me. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “And I knew from the beginning—but at the time I didn’t love him.”

“But now you do?” Nan put her hand on my arm.

“I think so.”

“Oh, Cate.”

I was determined not to cry.

“Are you sure he doesn’t love you?”

“Positive. He doesn’t do anything a loving husband does.”

“Like?”

I wasn’t going to bring up sleeping separately. I couldn’t be that open about the intimate details—or lack of—in my life. And I didn’t want to tell her about Jana either.

Nan was looking out the doorway again. “Like bring you coffee?”

“Exactly,” I said.

She stepped back. Pete was crossing the street, three iced coffees in his hand.

“That doesn’t count.” I crossed my arms.

“Why not?”

“He couldn’t very well get you one and not me.”

“Oh, Cate,” she said again, taking the pencil out from behind her ear and twirling it between her fingers in a worrisome way I’d never seen her do before. “Maybe you need to give him more time.”

I sighed. “All I have is time.” Did she think I was going to kick him out of Dat’s Dawdi Haus? Or go file for divorce?

“Things will work out. You’ll see.” She tucked the pencil back behind her ear as Pete reached the bottom of the steps.

On the way home, on edge from my conversation with Nan, as we passed a field of corn stalks rustling in the hot breeze, I asked him what he’d told Mervin and Martin.

“About?” His hand rested on the stack of books between us.

“Us,” I answered.

He squirmed a little. “Nothing.”

I gave him a wilting look.

“They’re not as interested in you as you think.”

“Are you saying I’m paranoid?”

“Jah, maybe a little.”

“No. They’ve definitely been giving me weird looks.”

“Maybe they like watching you.”

I rolled my eyes as I pulled back on the reins to slow Thunder as we neared an intersection.

“Maybe they push your buttons because they know you’ll react,” he said.

“But I haven’t reacted.”

“But you are. . . .” He shifted his weight away from me.

We continued along in silence, except for the drumming of Thunder’s hooves on the asphalt. I urged him to go faster.

Finally Pete said, “You shouldn’t let people’s comments define you, Cate—especially not what they said years ago. It probably didn’t apply then, and it definitely doesn’t apply now.”

I stared straight ahead.

“You were teased. I get that,” Pete said. “And it sounds as if Seth said something really stupid—and Mervin and Martin too.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Pete tipped his hat back a little. “You’ve grown up. You’re a beautiful—”

I couldn’t bear his lies. “Stop.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You are definitely the prettiest Cate in the county. Your eyes are so blue they’re almost violet.” He was looking at me directly now. “And your hair is so dark it’s nearly black—and so thick.”

The only time he’d seen it down was on the farm, when we shared a room. Had he stolen glances at me too, just as I had at him?

“Please don’t tease,” I said.

He threw up his hands. “I’m not.”

I shifted my eyes toward him. “So if I’m—” I stopped. I couldn’t say
pretty.
I thought for just a moment and then continued—“not homely, then why does everyone like Betsy better?”

“Well . . . she’s nice.”

I frowned.

“And uncomplicated.”

“Yah, I know”—I almost said boys—“men like that.”

“Some do . . .”

I was pretty sure Jana was uncomplicated too.

Pete sighed. “Maybe M&M were looking at you because you’ve changed.”

“How’s that?” I was desperate for his opinion.

“You’re more compassionate. Less prickly.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Do you want to know why I think you acted the way you used to?” Pete asked.

I nodded but didn’t look at him.

“Well, losing your Mamm was big, right? And then you had Betsy to take care of when you were so young. You tried to be successful at that, by controlling all you could. But that didn’t work, which made you angry.”

Pete sounded like one of the self-help books I’d read.

He went on. “So you became insecure—that’s what fed your fury—and you lashed out, which pushed people away. . . .”

I turned my head toward him.

“And then you pushed God away too,” he added.

I wrinkled my nose. He was right. But I’d invited God back. That’s what had been changing me in New York. God’s love.

But I was feeling less confident again now that we were back in Lancaster. Less compassionate. And more prickly. I didn’t want to go back to that. Like Queen Esther I needed to keep on trusting God, not my emotions.

I had another thought. If Pete had come to think I was pretty, maybe he could come to love me someday too, or at least appreciate me. I stole a glance at him. He was looking at the first page of one of his books.

My heart skipped a beat.

Then again, chances of that were slim. I’d chosen a marriage
of convenience. I was the one who had proposed it. It was my fault far more than his.

I’m sorry,
I whispered silently to God.

“Pardon?” Pete looked up from his book.

“I didn’t say anything,” I said, squaring my shoulders.

He lowered his eyes again. “I must have imagined it, then.”

The next several days were filled with polishing the house from top to bottom and baking pies, cakes, cookies, and rolls. I split my time between the house and the office, where I happened to be Tuesday afternoon when Wes called.

He was as friendly as ever, chatting away with me before asking for Pete. It took me a few minutes to find him in the barn, grooming Thunder. He handed me the comb and took off running. I put it away and followed at a walk.

By the time I reached the office, Pete was saying, “That’s great. So we’ll need to set up an office, right? And I’ll need some training.” There was a long pause and then, from Pete’s comments, it sounded like Wes would call him back with the final details on Friday.

After Pete hung up, I closed the door to the office and, swallowing my pride, said, “Shall we talk to Dat? About the money.”

Pete shook his head. “It turns out I have enough.”

I nearly laughed. “Pardon?”

“I thought I was penniless, but my Dat had saved some of the money I’d given him through the years. He gave me the bankbook the night before we left,” he said. “But I’ll only need to use enough to set up an office. I’ll be employed by the publishing house; I won’t need to invest anything.”

I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. “Pete,” was all I could manage to sputter.

“Plus I have the money I earned this summer.” He grinned. The confident Pete I’d first met had definitely returned. “I won’t need your Dat’s help at all. In fact, I hope after I’ve worked with Wes for a while, I can start an additional business on the side. God provides, jah?”

I agreed, marveling at how gracious Pete was acting. I couldn’t imagine how upset he must be, inside, now that there was absolutely nothing convenient, for him, about our marriage.

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet, for once.

Maybe Dat would let me use the money for my own business. I was going to need something to keep myself busy. It certainly wasn’t going to be the love of my husband. Nor a houseful of children. Nor a joint business venture.

Sadness overcame me, and I opened the door, embarrassed by my feelings, ready to refocus on Betsy’s wedding to take my mind off my misery.

I stumbled up the path alongside the garden to the back door. I’d told Betsy I’d help her make pies. Busy hands would take my mind off my worries.

Soon we were talking about her side sitters. Because I was married, I couldn’t be one. Technically someone who was courting wasn’t supposed to be one either, although Betsy had been at mine. Addie was going to be one of Betsy’s attendants, though, just like she’d been for my wedding.

“So she and Mervin aren’t courting?” I asked as I rolled out pie dough.

“Jah,” Betsy said. “It seems Uncle Cap thinks she can do better. He has his eye on the bishop’s oldest son.”

Poor Mervin.

The day before the wedding, around four that morning, Levi arrived to butcher the chickens. Because there had been enough time to plan ahead, unlike with my wedding, Dat had ordered forty baby fryers seven weeks ago that were now ready to be the wedding dinner. Betsy and I were already up, fixing breakfast. We all ate together and then Dat went out with Pete and Levi to set up the butchering site. The shop, office, and showroom were closed, as they would be on the wedding day, and the day after. After we cleaned up the kitchen, Betsy and I headed out to help pluck the chickens.

Levi worked well with Dat and Pete, taking the lead. It seemed as if, just like his roses, he’d bloomed over the summer, gaining in confidence and stature. It wasn’t that he was lacking before—just shy and unsure.

Out of all the young men in the area, Betsy had chosen him, and regardless of the exact reasons, I knew she adored him. That had to have been a huge boost to his esteem. I was seeing, more and more, what Betsy appreciated about him. Besides his skill at gardening, he seemed to be a good listener and eager to help.

Once the chickens were all dressed, the four cooks arrived to take their share of the fowl home to roast. Betsy and I got busy preparing the celery for the sweet-and-sour dish while Dat, Pete, and Levi moved the furniture from the living room into the Dawdi Haus. Then we all geared up to wash windows together.

As I walked to the barn with Dat to fetch a ladder, he said he needed to ask me something. I braced myself, wondering if he’d figured out what was going on. But it turned out that wasn’t it at all.

“I’ve noticed a difference in you, and I’ve been
wondering . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how to ask this, but has Pete’s love finally tamed you?”

I didn’t answer for a moment, afraid I might burst into tears.

“Cate?”

We’d reached the barn door. “Ach, no, Dat,” I answered as we stepped inside, into the cool shadows, thinking about my conversation with Pete in the buggy. “But God’s love has—at least I hope.”

That night, after dark, Dat and Pete took care of a wasps’ nest on the far side of the house that we’d noticed when we were cleaning the windows. First they sprayed it with the hose and then knocked it down with a long extension handle. I was in my room, listening to them laugh as they worked.

I stepped to my window. Dat shone a flashlight on the papery nest that had landed on the lawn while Pete approached it with a pitchfork.

“Wait!” Dat shouted. “There’s still a lot in there. Let me spray it again.”

He aimed the hose and unleashed a powerful force of water. By the beam of the flashlight, I could see wasps flying up and circling around. One took after Pete, and I thought he was going to be stung, but Dat aimed the hose in that direction, soaking Pete and scaring the wasp away at the same time. Their laughter made me smile.

I turned from the window, remembering how waspish I used to be. I knew now it was more from woundedness than meanness and was grateful for Dat’s patience with me through the years. I know his parents had been extra harsh on
him, which is probably why he’d been so gentle with me—up until proclaiming his edict.

But even then, I was sure, if I had begged to be released from marrying Pete on our wedding day, Dat would have relented. I was sure he’d be hurt even now to know how I’d deceived him.

I think we all fell into bed exhausted, except for Pete, who probably felt as if he were on vacation after how hard he worked in New York. It took me a long time to fall asleep, though, thinking about Betsy’s wedding day, wondering what was really going on with her, envious of Levi’s love for her and the family they would soon have.

Ach, Cate,
I chided myself. Sure, I wasn’t Betsy or Jana or all the other pretty young women I knew, but God loved me just the same, just as he’d loved Queen Esther so long ago. Why couldn’t I seem to hold on to that?

The next morning we all rose early again and pitched in to get the chores done and finish the last of the preparations. The helpers started to arrive at seven, including Addie, who was already in her attendant’s dress, and Aunt Laurel. Betsy headed up to her room to put on her dress, and I followed a few minutes later.

As I entered the room, she stood facing me, bare except for her underwear. I couldn’t help but gawk. Her stomach was nearly concave. By my estimation, she should have been a month into her second trimester. Sure, she would be able to hide it with clothes. But without them, she would surely be showing.

Then I realized what happened. “Betsy, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, heartbroken.

“What?” She reached for the new slip she’d made.

“That you lost the baby.”

Her face began to redden as she pulled her slip over her head. “Oh, that,” she said, wiggling the garment into position. “I didn’t lose it.” She shrugged. “I was mistaken. . . .”

“What?”

“I was confused. I’d overheard Aunt Laurel, back when she was last pregnant, say that’s how she knew, because she was late—so I thought that was the sure sign.”

She pointed to the stack of books on her bedside table, the ones Nan had been renewing for so long. “But then I finally read those.” Her face was beet red now. “And . . . I had my facts all confused.” She giggled. “There wasn’t any way I could be pregnant. I think I was just stressed and missed—”

“Betsy!” I fought the old, familiar rage.

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “We did more than Dat—or you—would approve of, but we didn’t . . . you know . . .”

I put my hand up for her to stop. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I guess I should have gone to the doctor or at least read the books sooner. Or even told Levi what I was thinking . . .”

“What?” My head began to pound.

“I just told him I wanted to get married. Not why.”

“Oh, Betsy.” I collapsed onto my old bed.

Her eyes were heavy. “I know I was thinking about myself, about what was best for me. While you were being so unselfish and doing all you could to help. I’m afraid . . .” She heaved a sigh. “I may have . . . hurt you.”

She stood in the middle of the room and started to talk a mile a minute. “But I truly think this has all worked out for the best. Don’t you? You and Pete make such a good couple.
I was a little worried on your wedding day, when he yanked you away, but I can tell you’ve grown fond of him. You’re going to be really happy. I just know it. And you’re such a handsome pair. Your babies—”

“Stop!” I bellowed.

Her face fell. “Cate?”

I stood. I had to get away from her. In one quick motion I grabbed my purple dress, hanging on my side of the room, and fled the bedroom into the bathroom, leaning against the locked door as my anger turned to grief.

A moment later Betsy’s voice came through the wood. “Cate? Are you all right? I really am sorry.”

“I know,” I said through my tears. I was sick that, not only had I altered my life for her, I’d changed Pete’s life forever too, on a false pretense.

“Can I come in?” Betsy begged.

I thought for a moment. Of her happiness. Of my misery. I exhaled. “No,” I said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

After I pinned my dress and Kapp, I felt compelled to find Pete.

He was standing in the driveway, talking with two of Addie’s brothers who were the Hoestlers for the wedding. Pete was telling them to make sure to feed all the horses at noon. “Give them extra water,” he said. “It’s going to be hot.”

“May I talk with you?” I asked.

He nodded and walked with me to the silver maple tree.

“Betsy’s not pregnant,” I said quietly. “She was . . . confused.”

An odd smile started to spread across his face.

“I’d told her to read about the facts of life. I gave her the books. She didn’t—not until it was too late. I honestly thought she was . . .”

He was chuckling now, not loudly or diabolically. Or sarcastically. Perhaps
ironically
best described it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s not how it looks. I didn’t intend to rope you into this. . . . And now that you have this business opportunity with your uncle Wes, you don’t need me or my father’s—”

“Cate!” It was Dat, calling for me.

“We need to talk more,” I said to Pete. “About how to fix this. How to make things less complicated . . . for you.”