The Englisher (26 page)

Stopping, he uttered a sound, listening to the echo. ‘‘Hello,’’ he said quietly, then slightly louder, ‘‘Hello-o-o-o.’’ Then he whistled, paying attention to the muted ricochet.

Going all the way out of the bridge and around the long stone abutment on his left, he turned and headed down toward the creek.

The snow lay in great patches, and he could see where pods from the black locust trees had fallen during the recent storm. He recalled someone once saying that cows liked to chew on ground-up locust pods. Stooping, he picked up several, noticing the reddish brown color, the deep, rippled texture, and the beanlike seeds inside. He counted fourteen.

He slipped two narrow four-inch pods into his pocket, recalling how his mother had often shaken her head, offering a bemused smile as she handed back the peach stones that seemed to wind up in the laundry from time to time. Other pieces of nature had landed in the washer, too, but she hadn’t ever complained. It was as if she understood his need to pick up things, investigate, and either discard or keep them in his possession. His dad had not been so keen on his collection of ‘‘junk,’’ as he called the array of items. But, for some reason, the peach pits had remained a favorite, just as they had for his best friend, Eric, who had carried one in his pocket for as long as he could remember, too.

Slowly, Ben moved toward the grove of trees. Reveling in the tranquility of the area, he was no longer conscious of alarm, as before. He had a sudden urge to bring Annie here in the spring to stand here with him beneath the flowering branches of these beautiful, tall trees. He was impatient to see if he was right about the blossoms, eager to know if they were white as lilies, as in his dreams.

Esther had been reading a Bible story to the older children near the wood stove while nursing Essie Ann. All the while Zach kept glancing at the ceiling, his eyes bright with the awareness of the ticking sound of sleet on the roof. Soon Laura and John were looking up, as well.

‘‘Does the Lord God make the snow and sleet?’’ Zach asked when she finished the story.

‘‘Our heavenly Father knows just what we need—rain, sleet, snow—and we can trust Him for everything. Even for the weather.’’ She had been cautiously yet consistently sharing with the children, ever so eager to pass along all she was learning about the standard for holiness and godliness as found in the Holy Scriptures.

‘‘The Lord calmed the wind and the storm,’’ Laura told her little brother. ‘‘Remember that story?’’

‘‘Jah, yesterday.’’ Zach, soon to be four years old, smiled, not so serious now.

‘‘And God rained down a special kind of food,’’ Laura said, looking quite pleased with her good memory.

‘‘Manna,’’ said Zach, looking equally pleased.

They came and gave her a simultaneous hug. ‘‘Ach, I love you so,’’ Esther said, kissing each sweet head.

It was evident that Laura and Zach had noticed a change in her. She was beginning to see a tenderness of spirit in them, too. Julia had counseled that the children would become ‘‘hungry for more of the Lord Jesus’’ as they were presented with the gospel over time.
‘‘Laura, Zach, and
little John will know instinctively what motivates your life,
Esther. Even if you don’t talk of it constantly . . . they’ll sense
God in you,’’
she’d said repeatedly.

These words, which I command thee this day, shall be in
thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children,
and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and
when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and
when thou risest up.

‘‘Who a person is—how they conduct their lives—will influence
a child for righteousness,’’
Julia had said.

Who I am is going to have more of an effect on people than
what I say. At least till they can understand. If they ever do
. Esther breathed a prayer for strength to carry out her responsibility as a new believer both at home and in the community. And for submitting to her husband, as unto the Lord. She felt a renewed compassion for Zeke, which she believed had been graciously given her from God.

Still, Julia had forgotten to take into account that another spirit was at work in this house.
An opposing one,
Esther thought as she patted Essie Ann, waiting for the wee burps. She pondered Zeke’s resistance to her study of the Bible, before she sent Laura and the boys upstairs to get ready for bed.

Sitting quietly in the rocking chair, she stared at the day clock on the wall, wondering where Zeke had taken himself off to on such an inclement night. She cherished the nearness of her infant, realizing how much she missed Julia and Irvin—the helpful comments and their devotional times, their children and hers listening to the stories and the prayers.

Ach, I daresn’t think backwards. . . .

Any minute now Zeke would return. She must brace herself emotionally and hope she would not be wounded by his piercing words.
Nor his increasingly rough treatment of me
.

Had she not been holding her baby, she might’ve allowed a bit of pity to seep from her soul. It was best she not give way to tears, although it was difficult to understand how one could be banned from the ‘‘fellowship,’’ simply due to embracing the whole truth of the Word of God. She had already tried to argue this with the brethren and with Zeke, to no avail. Now it was time for her to live out her walk with the Lord in a non-condemning manner, hoping to win them by her witness, in word and deed. She must let her light shine before the men who wished to rule her ability to choose Jesus Christ as her Lord and Master.

Sighing, she made her way up the long staircase, weary at the thought of the separateness that awaited her. It was not easy to sleep in the cold and distant bedroom at the end of the hall, as she had been doing since returning. Separated from the darling children who’d shared the Rancks’ attic with her, all of them together snug and safe. And separated from Zeke, as she would be each night for the rest of her life, though it was not what she would have chosen, given a say.

Chapter 22

B
en was surprised when Zeke appeared at the door of his apartment. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Come on in.’’

Zeke stepped inside and Ben asked if he wanted some coffee or something else hot to drink. ‘‘Always coffee, jah.’’ Zeke stood in the sitting area and looked first at the couch, then the leather chair.

‘‘Sit wherever,’’ Ben said.

Ambling over to the chair, Zeke sat with a groan, as if older than his years.

Ben was still puzzled as to why Zeke would track him down here at home, but he didn’t ask. And when the coffee had finished percolating, he chose one of his largest mugs to fill with the dark brew for Zeke. ‘‘Sugar or cream or both?’’ he asked.

‘‘Always black.’’

Once Ben was settled on the sofa with his own coffee mug, Zeke began to talk about one injustice after another. He rambled, seemingly upset at ‘‘the liberals,’’ and Ben found it curious that Zeke had access to current events.

Ben waited for him to bring up the death of his brother again, as blunt as he’d been at the mud sale, but Zeke didn’t go there. What he seemed to be working toward was a different sort of request: a wood-splitting workday. ‘‘I’m needin’ some help to clear out trees damaged in the snowstorm. You got time?’’

Ben smiled, hoping his relief wasn’t too evident. ‘‘I’ll make the time. When?’’

‘‘Tomorrow’s good—after you’re done with work?’’

Ben paused, knowing Annie would be waiting for him up the road from her house, as usual. ‘‘I could help you for several hours in the morning,
before
I head for work.’’

Zeke grinned. ‘‘Jah, ’tis even better. Come on over for breakfast, then. That’ll be your pay.’’

‘‘Sounds fine. Thanks.’’
Anything for a home-cooked meal,
he thought.

Zeke sat and talked a bit longer, mostly about his being under the weather due to the recent cold snap. ‘‘This winter’s been too long. Nearly endless, it seems.’’

Ben floundered for the right words. ‘‘Who knows, maybe you’ll feel better when spring comes. . . .’’

‘‘I doubt that.’’ Zeke shook his head. ‘‘Guess a body oughta get used to losin’ a part of himself . . . sooner or later.’’

Zeke quit talking, and Ben understood he was thinking again of his long-dead brother.

A hunting hound barked at the hint of first light in the eastern sky, and early risers all around Paradise estimated how many bales of hay were left in the barn.

Ben drove to Zeke’s place carefully, aware of ice patches on the road.
He said to come for breakfast
. But it certainly seemed like an imposition as Ben made the turn into the narrow driveway leading to the house, dark except for a light in the kitchen.

When no one answered his several knocks, he listened at the door and heard a teakettle squealing and a baby doing the same. Inching the door open, he found the kitchen in disarray. Oatmeal was boiling over from one pot on the stove, and Esther came rushing in with the howling baby in one arm and the smallest boy pulling on the hem of her apron.

‘‘Ach, Ben . . . it’s you,’’ she said, handing him Essie Ann, still small at just two months old. ‘‘Glad you let yourself in.’’ She leaned down to pick up John, whispered something in his ear, and then set him back down. Hurrying to the stove, she removed the pot of oatmeal. ‘‘As you can see, it’s been quite a mornin’.’’

‘‘I don’t need to stay if—’’

‘‘No . . . no, you’re here, so have yourself a nice hot breakfast.’’ She said Zeke had been called to help the neighbor but would be back any minute.

He felt strange alone in the kitchen with Zeke’s wife, but the three children lessened his uneasiness.

‘‘Goodness me,’’ Esther said, looking over at him holding the baby. ‘‘I daresay you’ve got a gentle way with little ones.’’

He, too, had just realized Essie Ann had stopped her wailing. ‘‘This happens at home, too, when my sister and family visit. Their baby son, well . . . does he ever have a set of lungs!’’

‘‘And you calm him, no matter his temper?’’ asked Esther.

He nodded. ‘‘I’m sure it’s just a fluke.’’

Esther laughed, leaning down to swipe a washcloth across John’s face, then using the same cloth on Zach’s mouth. ‘‘Well, I think it’s right fine that a young man should have such a soothing effect on an infant.’’

He grinned at Essie Ann, who was looking up at him.

‘‘Seems she remembers you,’’ Esther said before walking into the next room and calling up the steps, ‘‘Laura, hurry down, now.’’

He chuckled. ‘‘Nobody remembers much about the day of their birth.’’

Esther returned, fanning her face with her apron, while pointing Zach and John toward the table. ‘‘I daresay you should think ’bout having yourself a dozen or so young’uns.’’ She looked over at him again. ‘‘Sit anywhere ’cept the head of the table.’’

‘‘Thanks.’’ He sat to the right of the head, across from the boys, who were eyeing him now.

‘‘That’s Mamma’s place,’’ Zach said. ‘‘Or was.’’

Ben rose quickly.

‘‘No . . . no. That’s quite all right,’’ Esther said, motioning him back down. ‘‘I won’t be sittin’ at all.’’

A curious look crossed Zach’s face, and he turned quickly to look at his mother, who was heading across the kitchen again to call for Laura. ‘‘Mamma sits alone ev’ry meal now,’’ Zach whispered.

Ben wondered what that was about.

‘‘Dat never says why,’’ Zach said, clamming up when his mother came back into the room.

‘‘Here, let me put Essie Ann down for a nap,’’ Esther said, taking the baby from him. ‘‘She woke up mighty early this mornin’.’’

‘‘Jah, and she cried a lot in the night, Mamma,’’ Zach volunteered.

‘‘Colicky some,’’ Esther replied.

Little John sat still, just staring at him. Ben tried to engage him by wrinkling his face into comical poses. At last John spoke. ‘‘You . . . our cousin?’’

Zach laughed. ‘‘No, you
Bensel . . .
this is the harness shop man. Mr. Ranck’s friend.’’

‘‘I
not
silly. He’s Cousin Nate,’’ insisted John, squinting now at Ben.