Jacob's Return (12 page)

Simon grunted and took Aaron on his lap.

Ruben winked at Emma and opened his arms, inviting her into them, and Emma crinkled her nose, preparing for the smell. With a chuckle, he took her from her chair. “Got to show her I can smell good.”

His words eased the tension, and for that Rachel was grateful. “When do you think my press will be ready to print?” she dared ask.

Ruben shook his head. “Broken armature.” He gave Emma a piece of bread and butter. “Two gap-toothed gears, no letter box, but most all the lead letters.”

Appetite gone, Rachel placed her fork on the table. “Most?”

“Don’t write anything with an ‘E’,” Ruben quipped.

Rachel’s moan got her a sympathetic, if sticky, pat from Emma. At least
she
understood.

“Split shaft,” Jacob added. “Not to mention dry rot in the frame. We’ll need to see a blacksmith, probably a carpenter. Three bolts and two corner braces missing, too.”

“But we hardly had a chance to look,” Ruben said.

Rachel stood. “It’s not funny. That press is important to me, to this community. Sometimes you joke too much.”

“Jacob,” Ruben said. “Mudpie is mad at you.”

Simon smiled. “Pass the pig stomach, Datt. I’m wonderful hungry today.”

* * * *

Their need for a carpenter brought a hand they did not expect. It turned out they already had the best they could want.

Ruben surprised all of them with his skill.

The rebuilt frame on the Gutenberg was as well-crafted as any Jacob could imagine, and he was glad Ruben had regained an interest in his work and some new respect for himself.

But rebuilding the frame was the easy part.

For nearly three weeks Jacob looked for press parts, or someone who knew where to find them. During that time, he kept giving Rachel heartening reports, because he didn’t want her to be discouraged. He knew he needed to tell her how bad a mess they were in, but he didn’t know how to say it without making her lose hope.

She resolved his dilemma a few days later when he arrived in the barn after plowing to work on the press and found her and the twins spreading hay in the lambing pen.

“What are you doing?”

“Watch.” She spread a time-worn, green and purple quilt atop the hay. From a basket, she took a hickory nut doll and a jumping jack and placed them on the blanket. Emma threw in her soft cloth ball, and one by one, Rachel lifted the twins and put them inside.

“Ach,” Jacob said. “A good place for lambs.” Tiny fingers closed over a horizontal slat, Aaron’s mischievous smiling eyes peeking between. A giggle brought Jacob’s gaze to Emma peering through a wider gap down below.

She and Rachel wore matching dresses today … green, like a long-fallow field after a good April shower. A sun-kissed field you wanted to run through bare-foot with your best girl.

Rachel.

“Jacob,” she said, reading him and telling him with the word he must not. She touched his arm.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes and put his hand over hers, need pulsing deep inside.

“I am free to help you repair the press now,” she said, her voice revealing her own yearning. “What do you need first?”

You. I need you
. “A miracle.”

Rachel removed her hand and stepped back. “We have miracles aplenty. You have come home. And here is Atlee’s press in our barn. And there—”

“Your press now.”

Rachel smiled. “
My
press.” She pointed to the pen. “There are two miracles who might be kind enough to fall asleep so we can work.”

“I told you, don’t count on that happening too much.” Jacob watched his monkeys fight to keep their eyes open. He shook his head, went over and lay them down, pulling the corner of the quilt over them and patting each bottom. “Rest for Pa-pop. I’ll be right here. We’ll play when you wake up.”

“Play,” Aaron whispered, but Emma was already asleep.

“You are a good father, Jacob Sauder. You love them and they know it.”

“They are easy to love.” Like you, he tried to say with his look.

“The press,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

“I don’t think you can help with this, Rache.”

“It’s my newspaper, Jacob, and my dream for our community. I need to help with the problem. What kind of person would I be if I left it to you? It would no longer be my dream.”

“I share your dream, Rachel.”

“Then share the joy of making it come true. Please.”

He tweaked her nose. “When you smile like that, how can I say no?”

“I’ll remember that for when I want something else.” She took a triple-slate, hinged like a book, from her basket. “You will examine the press and tell me what is wrong, and I will note each problem as you find it. We will discuss how it should be fixed, or who might fix it, and I will write that too. Esther said everyone is talking about your search for parts.”

“Esther was here?”

“Still is. She’s making dinner. Mom’s sisters, Lena and Ruth-Ann, are spending the day with Mom, so Esther is free to spend it with me.”

“This happened before I came home? It is not just because you want Esther and me to … I hope Es doesn’t expect … Mudpie, I don’t think I can do it. Things are … comfortable for me, for us, this way. The children are happy.”

“And you?”

“As happy as you,” he said, searching her face. “If I marry, I’ll have to find my own farm, because living here with you would not be fair to my wife.”

“If you don’t marry, nothing will change between us.” Even to say it, broke Rachel’s heart. “I am married to Simon,” she reminded them both, which brought a few moments of silent mourning.

“What about Esther for Ruben,” Rachel said, to change the mood. “She brings out his tender side.”

Jacob shook his head. “He is only tender with her because he expects … well you know. I think he’s afraid to take another wife.”

“Poor Ruben.”

“Never mind poor Ruben,” Ruben said as he entered the barn. “Jacob’s right, Mudpie, no more wives for me. Let’s see to that press now.”

* * * *

By the end of the morning, Rachel’s note-taking had given them direction, encouraging Jacob for the first time in weeks. He had forgotten that sharing problems with Rachel made them easier.

At dinner that night, they discussed finding parts.

Esther shook her head. “I am disappointed in all of you. The answer is staring you in the face.”

Ruben grinned at her challenge. “Why don’t you tell us this brilliant answer, Miss smarter-than-everyone.”

“Advertise in your newspaper for parts.”

Simon’s snort was eloquent in its disdain.

Jacob slammed his hand on the table. “Esther you’re brilliant.”

Esther gave Ruben an I-told-you-so smirk. “Why thank you, Jacob.”

Like their father, the twins slammed their hands on the table, but they kept at it until Rachel gave them each a cookie.

Simon was disgusted. “If you feed them every time they act up, they will be plumper than Datt’s turkeys.”

Jacob winked at his hellions. “We could advertise for another old Gutenberg too.”

Esther frowned “Another press, why?”

“Ach,” Ruben said. “Not so smart after all.”

Esther crossed her arms. “You tell why, Ruben Miller.”

“For the parts.”

“Good idea, I had,” Esther said, smiling. And when Ruben opened his mouth in indignation, she shoved his shoulder with hers.

“It’s settled, then,” Jacob said. “We’ll advertise.”

“Why can’t you make the parts?” Simon asked, but when everyone looked at him in shock, he slapped his forehead. “What am I saying?”

“Unkabear?” Aaron queried with raised arms.

Ruben lifted Aaron from his chair and plopped him into Simon’s lap. “Here. God help the boy, he likes you. Be a good uncle for a while and keep your remarks to yourself.”

Simon looked at Aaron as if he’d sprouted horns, sighed in resignation, and took a forkful of cherry pie. Aaron promptly robbed the fork and shoved the pie into his mouth, wiping his hand on his uncle’s shirt. Simon mumbled a German prayer citing children as Gifts from above, while Ruben lost his struggle with laughter.

“I cannot help repeat Simon’s question,” Levi said, struggling with his own laughter, Rachel thought. “Why not make the parts? You are both smart boys.”

“Thanks, Levi,” Ruben said. “But we cannot build a letter-box if we have never seen one.”

“To have small slug-type letters manufactured,” Jacob added, “would cost a fortune. We cannot do it.”

“Why? You are a wealthy man,” Simon said. “Lots of money to throw around. Two hundred dollars a year for a nursemaid. Spend more, big, important, rich man.”

Jacob counted to ten while waiting for his patience to return. “Rachel is paying for the press herself. She cannot afford such costs,” he said. “I am willing to lend her the money. I have already offered. But she will not allow it.”

“Hey, you are rich,” Ruben said. “How did that happen?”

“I’ve learned first-hand that wealth is not measured in dollars, but I have those too,” Jacob said. “North Dakota gave one hundred and sixty acres to homesteaders a couple of years ago and I got my hundred and sixty. Later, I sold it to the railroad to build a stockyard, for ten times what I considered a fair price. Good thing they didn’t ask what I wanted.”

“I’ll be,” Ruben said.

Simon stood, placed Aaron in his father’s lap, and silently left the kitchen.

“Another burr in his beard,” Ruben muttered, getting a swat from Levi, as if he’d cussed at table.

Esther giggled.

Jacob too wanted to laugh, but Levi was scowling, from one of them to the other, sobering them fast. “This farm is struggling, you may not know,” he said. “Jacob, you have the means to turn it around, but Simon, I think, would rather fail than take your money.”

“Simon, I fear, I would allow to fail,” Jacob said. “But we’ll bring the farm around, Datt, so you will be proud of it again.”

Ruben frowned. “The farm looks fine to me.”

Levi swatted him again. “
You
would think so.”

Chapter 8

In August, a farmer’s slack month, people from all over the Valley, and as far away as New Holland, came to build the
kinderhaus
.

Levi’s respect for Ruben’s ability was apparent when he hired him to be their official builder.

Ruben examined the area, did sketches, and designed everything ahead of time. He oversaw the cutting of trees on the far reaches of the farm, then he got the oak beams cut at Two-Finger Zeke’s sawmill.

After morning milking, a line of buggies a mile long, made their way to the Sauder house. The frolic, as some called it, would be a day of teamwork and skill that had been practiced for generations. No event was enjoyed more in their community, none brought them as close as a frolic.

By seven, teams of men — in a combination of work and competition — began lifting the first side-wall into place.

Too many children to count played far across the yard, under the trees, quilts checkering the lawn like tulips in a garden. Old Saul Yoder’s children played with Young Saul Yoder’s children, nieces and nephews older than aunts and uncles. A few women became the baby-sitters for the day, freeing others to cook, clean-up or serve meals.

Aaron and Emma went off happily with Lena Stutzman to play with the
kinder
.

By noon, the outside walls, locked together with wooden pegs, stood straight and tall while the workers ate. Aaron and Emma regaled Jacob with the words they’d learned that morning. As he tried to coax them to eat, rather than toss their food, Rachel came and sat beside him. “Go back to work, Jacob. I will feed them.”

“Thanks, Rache.” He stood, but waited to leave till they settled down.

Simon marched up. “Jacob, you are needed for men’s work, for a change.”

Jacob burned, but he did not move.

“All right you two,” Rachel said to his children. “What would you like to put
in
your mouths?”

“Cookies, Momly,” Aaron said.

“Rachel!” Simon shouted.

“Cookies, Momly?” Luke Stutzman asked his mother.

“Aaron and Emma learned that word this morning, Deacon Sauder,” Lena Stutzman said. “Rachel did not teach it to them. They must think it fits her, but do not worry, they will outgrow it.”

Simon grunted. “Jacob. Let’s go help those who are helping us.”

Jacob followed, certain of two things. People in the district were aware of Simon’s anger toward Rachel — Lena had even defended her. And his children’s new name for Rachel was sweet. And perfect.

* * * *

Ruben spent the day calling out team commands and barely stopped to eat.

Esther worried about him.

Mid-afternoon, she offered him a drink of cool cider.

Sweat poured down his rugged face into his dark beard as he gave her a grateful smile. “
Danke
,” he said, raising the glass in a salute before gulping it down. “Thank you.” He swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “You should not be working so hard in your condition.”

Esther shrugged. “What matter, if I am going to die anyway?”

Ruben grimaced. “I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry because I am going to die? Or sorry for saying it?”

He thought about his answer for a minute, and a sickly-sheepish expression crossed his face. “For both?”

“Ruben Miller. Did it ever occur to you that you might have frightened the daylights out of me?”

He looked surprised, and repentant. “Did I?”

“No,
dumpkoff
.”

He grinned. “My mother used to call me that!”

Esther laughed. The sparkle in Ruben’s eyes told her he’d made her laugh on purpose.

“Are you well?” he asked

“I am,” she said, pleased at his sincere interest.

“You shouldn’t be working so hard, you know.”

“I would be no kind of sister if I did not help Rachel right now.”

“You are good friends too, I see, as well as sisters.”