Pennsylvania Patchwork (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Standing in the barn, Esther watched Armin brush off the cow, then wash her udder with a rag dipped in disinfectant and water. Ach, he was still wearing those ostentatious cowboy boots.

“You want me to tie her back legs so she doesn't kick the bucket over?” he asked Esther. “Pearly weighs over a thousand pounds.”

“Has she ever kicked anyone?”

“Nee, never, but she don't know you. Cows can be funny that way.”

“She looks gentle enough.” After scrubbing her hands, Esther sat on a low stool next to the cow. “Hello, Pearly.” She stroked the Holstein's udder and felt the animal relaxing, her milk letting down. “Gut girl,” Esther said, wondering if one of her brother's kids had named the Holstein.

Using her thumb and first fingers Esther pinched, then squeezed. Success! A stream of milk flowed out, landing in the galvanized bucket. Pearly munched on feed and seemed grateful to have her load lightened, even if by a stranger.

“You're a natural,” Armin told Esther. “Like you've been milking cows by hand your whole life.”

“I used to help Dat.” Esther relished the aroma of Pearly's warm milk and the pinging sound as the spurts of ivory-colored liquid hit the bucket. “I guess ya never forget how.”

“Are you sure you want to get up at four thirty to milk her again tomorrow?” Armin squatted next to her. “I could take her to Nathaniel's. We use modern equipment, powered by a gas-run generator—just like Isaac's operation, before he sold it.”

“Yah, I'm sure. You go ahead.”

“Do you remember how to strain the milk? It needs to be refrigerated right away.”

“Yah. I saw filters and clean glass containers in the house.”

Armin stood, but seemed to be stalling. “Pearly will need to be put out to pasture tomorrow morning after milking.”

“I'll remember.”

“And you saw how I brushed and washed her?”

“Yah, and dried her udder with a paper towel.”

“If you're sure you're okay, I'd better skedaddle on over to Nathaniel's.” Armin straightened his hat. “Someone's comin' to Nathaniel's to help with the milking,” Armin said. “I don't want him telling my big brother I'm goofing off.” His feet pivoted toward the door. “I'll return and muck out the stall later.”

“
Denki
—thanks,” Esther said. “But, wait, you could answer a question, if you have the time.”

He turned to face her. “Ya need help with something?”

“In a way.” She knew she was being meddlesome, but plodded ahead. “It's regarding your intentions toward Holly. If I'm not putting the cart before the horse.”

He tugged his ear. “There ain't much to tell ya.”

She knew Armin was skirting the issue, as most Amishmen would. “Because you don't know, or because you won't let me in on it?” Esther said.

He opened his mouth, then clamped his lips together and sauntered toward the door. “You should ask Holly,” he said over his shoulder, and was gone.

Esther kept to her milking. As she squeezed on the cow's teats, random thoughts of Nathaniel dovetailed, but they didn't bring waves of desperation as violently as before. She wondered if she'd already adjusted somewhat to the concept that Nathaniel and she might never be together.

All was in God's hands.

Esther enjoyed the rhythmic motion of her arms. She figured she'd be tuckered out by the time she was finished, but was too pleased with her success to care. It felt satisfying to be busy, concentrating on her task.

After thirty or forty minutes, Esther had finished milking Pearly and was preparing to carry her heavy bounty to the house to store in the refrigerator. Now she wished she had Armin to help her. Surely Holly had heard back from Larry by now. Ach, Esther should be preparing dinner. What would they eat? Esther had been transported while milking, but reality was returning. She hoped Holly could manage Mamm's erratic behavior.

“Esther?” Beth said.

Esther's arm twitched, but she didn't spill a drop of milk, thank the Lord. She imagined herself through Beth's condescending eyes. Beth had always been a head-turner. Although they were almost the same age, Esther couldn't compare to the stunning, willowy blonde. But what did it matter? Esther admonished herself for her vanity.

“Hello, Beth.”

“I passed Armin and he told me you were out here.” Beth moved closer. Her gaze scanned the barn's interior as if she were stepping into a parallel universe. Esther wondered if Beth had ever ventured into this lofty structure that smelled of silage and manure. Most likely she'd stuck with Mamm in the house, or helped in the vegetable or flower garden.

Esther fabricated a skimpy smile. “What brings you out here?”

“Anna's sleeping.” Beth's voice sounded guarded. “And Holly gave me the cold shoulder.”

Esther noticed new lines around Beth's eyes and lips, and her skin was pallid. Esther's mind spun back to the tempestuous night she and Holly first arrived in Lancaster County last month. Raindrops had hammered the roof of their rental car, cascading across the windshield. She and Holly had ended up staying with Beth—a scene out of the old TV show
The Twilight Zone
.

“Are you all right?” Esther asked her.

“No—” An expression of dread blemished Beth's glamorous face.

“Is your husband okay?” Esther figured Beth wanted to talk about Holly and Zach's relationship, but Esther vowed not to discuss her daughter behind her back.

“Roger's fine.” Beth's hand rose to the base of her throat; her fingers detected her collared shirt wasn't tucked in properly. “There's nothing wrong with our marriage, other than he travels so much.” She unbuttoned her jacket and straightened her blouse's collar, but still looked untidy. “When he called last night I told him what a mess I've created. He was furious.”

Esther felt an unexpected round of sympathy for this woman for whom she'd held almost a lifetime of well-rooted envy. But she didn't trust Beth; she must have a scheme in mind to bring her out to what Beth would consider a grubby barn. Esther had never seen Beth with mud on her feet—she was wearing beige flats today, unlike Esther, who'd stepped into a pair of rubber boots. Beth wanted something or she wouldn't stoop to speak to Esther.

“Anything I can do for you?” The bucket's weight caused Esther's shoulder to throb; she set the milk down on a bench. What a fine quantity Pearly had provided, more than three women needed.

“I was always jealous of you, Esther.” Beth's words sounded like gobbledygook. No way could Beth be jealous of her.

“I don't understand,” Esther said in all sincerity.

“You had two loving parents, and a house full of brothers, while I had one parent, my dad—a good man, but he worked all the time—and no siblings.” Beth rubbed her hands together as if she were freezing. “Before I went to college and lived in a dorm, many nights I was left at home by myself. I used to get scared and wished I lived with you. And you had Samuel, who adored you.”

“You want to discuss Samuel?”

“No, the past is the past. I have no right to bring him up.” Beth stabbed her hands into her jacket pockets. “I could never compete with you in any way. You were more beautiful and forthright, while I was run-of-the-mill and timid.” Was Beth baiting a trap or toying with her the way a cat might an injured chickadee?

“You had Mamm eating out of your hand,” Esther said, wanting to put a stop to Beth's babbling.

“No, I didn't. Anna was most kind, and I'll never be able to thank her enough.” Beth's voice sounded scritchy, as if coming down with laryngitis. “But I knew I was a stand-in for you. She longed for her real, flesh-and-blood daughter. And I wasn't Amish, although I gave joining the church some consideration, so I'd fit in. But I didn't fit in. Ever. Like I've been floating along Mill Creek, but never sinking my feet into the silt.”

Esther didn't think she'd ever been so dumbfounded. Beth was envious of her, the wayward daughter who'd skipped town and missed her own father's funeral?

“You came home and it was like you'd never been gone,” Beth said. “Look at you—still Anna's favorite. And you're as beautiful as ever. You don't need makeup or to touch up your hair.”

“Are you being straight with me?” Esther didn't feel attractive, what with her brown hair graying at the temples, nor did she feel worthy of Mamm's love.

“Anna remained faithful to you, praying for your return.” She scrunched up her mouth as if swallowing baking soda. “I'm ashamed to admit, I'd hoped you and Holly would leave after a week.”

“We hadn't intended to stay more than a few days.” Esther massaged her fingers—they'd begun to ache. “Beth, what can I do for you? I need to get the milk into the refrigerator.” And she needed to keep dust and debris from its steaming surface.

“I'd better get back home too. My dog, Missy, is expecting her litter. I want to have Zach there in case something goes wrong.”

“We're counting on Zach for a ride tomorrow morning.”

She blinked several times. “But I might need him. I'm afraid of the sight of blood.”

“Can't your husband help you?”

“No, Roger's out of town. I'm on my own again.”

In her mind, Esther saw Beth at age fourteen, watching her mother wither away, her lungs racked with cancer, then living with a devastated and distracted father. She envisioned Beth crying herself to sleep at night. No wonder Beth feared death and being alone with a dog whelping its first litter. Compassion for Beth replaced Esther's resentment. She felt tears pushing at the backs of her eyes.

“Beth, if you need your son tomorrow, I understand. We'll find another ride.”

“Thank you. I don't deserve your kindness. I've botched things up royally.”

In a spontaneous move—before she could think—Esther reached her arms out and hugged the woman she'd wasted a lifetime envying.

As Beth clasped Esther in return, Beth wept.

Minutes later, Beth stepped away, found a hankie in her pocket, and dabbed her eyes. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Esther?”

“Yah, I've judged you harshly, Beth, and held on to bitterness. Please forgive me.”

And Lord, she thought, that request goes for you, too.

As Esther and Beth embraced each other again, Esther reflected on her transformation since her return to Lancaster County, and came to the realization she would become baptized Amish, with or without Nathaniel.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I fished my phone out of my pocket and read Larry's text message:

Found woman's house—a hovel
.
No sign of her. Will try again later or in AM.

I contemplated dashing out to the barn to tell Mom about the text, but decided against it. Why spoil her fun? If she was having fun. I wondered if she'd find milking Pearly as entertaining as she'd hoped. I might just get up early one morning and ask her for a lesson. And I'd collect eggs, and learn to bake bread and whoopie pies too. About time I became proficient in an Amish farm and kitchen. And soon, I'd start my first quilt. No more standing on the sidelines.

As I proceeded to set the table for supper, a slideshow of my days sitting behind a desk at work skidded by in the back of my brain. Did I miss my job following the roller-coaster stock market from a computer screen? Nope. Did I adore living here in this house? Yup!

Footsteps clomped up the back steps and hinges creaked. I opened the door to the utility room and saw Mom lugging a galvanized bucket and setting it on a counter. She lit a gas lamp, illuminating the room with a warm yellow glow that made her look younger. I came over to see what she was doing.

“Look!” Her face glowed with joy as she showed me the white foamy liquid, its sweet creamy aroma embellishing the air. “Holly, I've had a fine-gut time.”

She bustled into the kitchen and I tailed her. She brought three gallon-size glass jars down from the cupboard. They looked clean, but she washed them with sudsy water, rinsed, and dried them, then brought them into the utility room. I followed Mom to observe her strain the milk with dexterity, using a stainless steel strainer with a cotton pad, as if a natural everyday chore.

“And I had a fruitful talk with Beth.” She spoke over her shoulder as she poured strained milk into the containers.

I felt my stomach tighten into a knot. “Now what?”

“Her dog's whelping its puppies soon, so Beth needs Zach with her.”

“I don't want to dampen your spirits, Mom, but I'll scream if he doesn't show up tomorrow to drive Mommy Anna.”

“But darling, he may not. And I told Beth it was okay, we'll fend for ourselves.” She screwed on the lids and beckoned me to help her carry the jars of milk into the kitchen and set them on the counter next to the refrigerator. She rearranged the refrigerator's contents to accommodate the jars and set one inside.

My hand moved to my collarbone. “I've already decided if he doesn't drive Mommy Anna to the doctor's as promised, it's over between us.” Mom's smile collapsed. “It's not your fault,” I said. “I need to get realistic. Zach doesn't have time for a wife, and he's nowhere close to resolving his paternity issues.”

She deposited the second jar in the refrigerator. “Holly, do you hope to marry him?”

I stored the third jar, its contents still warm. “I don't know anything anymore other than I want my grandmother to get better.” I closed the refrigerator with my hip.

She slipped into the utility room and returned with the empty bucket.

“In the past—before this
greislich
scandal—Zach has been a fine-gut man.” Mom moved to the sink. “Mamm told me he never bills her to treat old Cookie. And remember when you hit the cow with your rental car, how supportive he was?”

“That's one collision I'll never forget.” A judicious reason not to own an automobile right there. “I've been skittish about driving ever since.”

“Thank the Lord, the cow recovered.” Mom put the bucket in the sink.

“Okay, I agree, Zach is a generous and kind human being, and a wonderful son, and a skilled veterinarian. But that doesn't make him good marriage material. Maybe next year he'll be ready, but not now. He's up to his neck—”

“You could be the woman to help him through his trials.” She poured liquid soap and flushed hot water into the bucket. I stepped to her side and watched the bubbles burst.

“Mom, I don't know where all this charity is coming from. What's gotten into you?”

“For one thing, I've truly forgiven Beth, not that I had a right to resent her to begin with. But I've carried a grudge. With that burden lifted, I feel a hundred pounds lighter.” As she talked she washed the bucket, inside and out with a long-handled scouring brush.

“When did you two speak?” My shoulders lifted.

“Fifteen minutes ago. She came into the barn.”

“To duke it out?” I imagined two cats hissing at each other.

“No, quite the contrary. She asked for my forgiveness.” Mom repeated the washing process using disinfectant.

“Is the sun now rising in the west?”

“Now, I'm serious.” Mom rinsed the bucket, flipped it over, and set it in the drying rack. “We talked our differences out. I had no right to feel bitter toward her to begin with.”

“Humph, I have to wonder what Beth's after,” I said.

“I think she feels genuine repentance.” She dried her hands on a towel.

“I'm glad, Mom. I really am, if it's true.” I needed to update her on Larry's message. I paused, my mind attempting to phrase the next sentence in an encouraging manner. “While you were in the barn, Larry texted me.” My news might launch her into a nosedive, but Mom deserved the truth. “The men apparently found the woman's shack, but she wasn't there.”

“I see.” Her complexion turned a grainy white. She flung the towel on the counter.

“They'll keep going back until they find her. It's probably some mixed-up mistake we'll all laugh about someday.” No, we'd never joke about the situation, whatever the results.

Mom tilted her head back and closed her eyes as if repulsive images were assaulting her.

I took her hand, and she blinked her eyes open. Her shoulders trembled and a sob escaped from her mouth. I hugged her, but her arms were unresponsive.

“Mom, I have the feeling it's going to be okay. You, Mommy Anna, and I will be fine.” But giving her false hope might only make her letdown more heartrending. “In the meantime, let's contact a driving service, the guy who brought your sisters-in-law last month. Do you have his number?”

She drifted across the kitchen to the row of drawers under the counter by the refrigerator. “It might be here.” Mom opened a drawer, pawed through a mishmash of papers, pens, and doodads, then handed me a business card.

“Thanks.” I stuck the card into a pocket of my slacks, then handed her my cell phone. “You hang on to this in case Larry texts again, while I run to the phone shanty and call the driver. Even if Zach turns out to be available tomorrow, I'll bet he doesn't want to hang around when we're at the doctor's and then go to a fabric store for quilting supplies.”

“I suppose you're right,” she said. “Do you know where the phone shanty is?”

“Yes, and it's about time I got used to using it if I'm going to live here without electricity.”

“Please don't make any rash decisions, Holly.”

“I'm not. I'm placing a simple telephone call so we won't be stressed in the morning wondering about a ride to Dr. Brewster's. And I need some fresh air.” Solitude is what I craved. I punched my hands into the sleeves of my jacket. “Are you okay by yourself?”

“Yah.” She brought out a couple of platters from the cupboard, I assumed for items now buried behind the milk.

“I'll be right back.” I grabbed a flashlight and trod outside to find darkness shrouding the sunset, leaving only a slice of apricot-orange glow on the horizon. I inhaled a trace of smoke. I hastened to the phone shanty, set apart from the houses, tucked amid bushes and a tree. The air was turning nippy, but I built up heat as I hurried to the one-windowed, weather-beaten shack.

Pulling the card out of my pocket, I remembered the driver, a middle-aged man wearing modern clothing and long sideburns, who'd delivered and picked up Mom's sisters-in-law last month. I shone the flashlight on the card and noticed the bulb flickered and produced a minimal light. I should have tested it before I left.

I dialed his number on a vintage black telephone as old as I was. Next to it sat an answering machine and a telephone book.

“Sure, you betcha,” Mel, the driver, told me. “We know where Anna Gingerich lives. I'm driving to Philadelphia tomorrow, but my wife, Cheryl, will be there at nine thirty sharp.”

“After the appointment, we want to go shopping,” I said.

“No worries. Cheryl will take care of everything.”

Since I was here, I decided to call Zach to tell him he was off the hook. His phone rang half a dozen times, then switched to his voice mail. Annoyance brewed, but I reminded myself Zach wouldn't recognize this number on his caller ID. He hadn't answered because he was busy with a patient or away from his phone.

“You don't need to drive us tomorrow, Zach,” I said, after the beep. I was determined to keep derision from souring my voice. “We have alternate transportation arranged. Mom told me your mother needs your help delivering Missy's pups. Mom and I would prefer you do that. Really.”

Maybe Missy was having her puppies right now. I sighed. Someday, I did want a dog of my own. I thought of Rascal and wondered if he'd found his way to Nathaniel's. But I didn't have time to zip over there to find out.

I imagined coquettish Lizzie fixing Armin a sumptuous meal after he'd finished milking and doing his chores. I didn't know what he liked to eat, but in her charming way she'd have found out. She'd probably baked him his favorite pie too. I couldn't roll out dough—another skill to be mastered.

Armin could be removing his hat right now, breathing in the enticing aromas of stewing chicken, vegetables, and newly baked bread, and then sitting at the table. He might ask Lizzie to join him. For some oddball reason, this lovey-dovey scene grated on me. I doubted Armin would return to our house tonight. What man could resist hot food fresh from the oven, when all we were serving was leftovers: cold sliced meat, cheese, pickles, applesauce, and day-old bread.

I stepped back out into the night and felt disoriented. While I was in the phone shanty, the sun had sunk behind the hills to the west and stars populated the sky. The flashlight flickered. I tightened the aluminum cylinder to no avail; it cast a dim, feeble light.

An owl hooted in a stand of maples. A breeze rustled the treetops; dried leaves scattered to the ground, giving the illusion of movement. Or were they bats?

A sliver of a moon showed itself, but moments later vanished along with the stars behind a mattress of clouds. My flashlight cast elongated shadows as I crept alongside the road. A branch snapped off to the left and I shone my flashlight into the thicket.

An animal had been attacking livestock. I wondered if cougars and bears lived in this county.

“Rascal?” A spike of adrenaline prickled my arms.

The air resounded with silence, save a car's motor ebbing—miles away.

“Lord, protect me.” Like opening a floodgate, I was besieged with prayer requests about what I should do with my life, about my grandmother, and Mom and Nathaniel. Maybe both Mom and I were destined to live our lives as spinsters. Was that God's plan for me? I hadn't thanked him for my blessings in ages. Why would he respond to my pleas?

A raindrop splatted on my forehead, then another. Thunder roared in the distance.

“Holly, is that you?” Armin said, trotting up behind me.

I spun around. “What are you doing out here?”

“Lookin' for Rascal. How about you?”

“Using the phone.” My musings about him and Lizzie were way off base.

“The phone shanty's not so bad, is it?” His voice seemed cautious, not its usual easygoing cadence.

“Now that you're here to protect me it isn't. I thought I heard a noise.”

“Probably a raccoon or an opossum. You'll get used to the area and the sounds of the night soon enough.”

“Has anyone reported seeing Rascal?”

“Nee, and I'm worried.” He shouted out Rascal's name. “I can't blame a farmer for protecting his livestock. Rascal will be hungry, unless a kind soul fed him. He might skulk around a chicken coop …”

Thunder volleyed across the valley and the breeze gathered velocity. I suspected Rascal couldn't hear Armin's voice calling him.

“We'd better get you home,” Armin said to me, and took my free hand. He grasped it firmly. He was just shepherding me home, I told myself, but felt a tingly warmth traveling up to my throat.

“It could be pouring in a minute.” He started us walking back. I saw the faint glow of a gas lamp in Mommy Anna's window in the Daadi Haus.

Lightning illuminated the sky—too close for my comfort. I glanced up at Armin's shadowed face and realized I'd grown comfortable with—make that fond of—his looks. And him.

Electricity pulsated through the air, making my senses come alive. A bizarre thought unfurled its wings in the back of my mind. Were Armin's kisses as sweet as his talk? Once he grew a beard, would I enjoy the feel of it against my chin?

“Tell me about Lynnea, this young lady you were so fond of,” I said.

He slowed to face me. “You have a good memory.”

“How about you?” I said. “Do you have good memories of her?”

“I do.”

“Then why didn't you marry her?”

An automobile, its headlamps on bright, sped toward us.

“I can't quite say. Each time I was fixin' to propose, I got cold feet and couldn't get the words out.” He moved closer to shield me when the car zoomed by. “Afterward, I was always relieved.” Still clasping my hand, he commenced walking again. “We weren't meant for each other like you and I are.”

I didn't know what to think. Was he sincere? “Maybe she's pining over you, waiting for your return,” I said, keeping in stride.

“Nee. I recently got an invitation to her wedding in New York State. She's getting married next week.”