The Haven (7 page)

“WHEN IS ANNIE COMING HOME?”

“I’M HUNGRY. I WANT MY DINNER.”

“WHEN WILL ANNIE COME HOME TO MAKE YOUR DINNER?”

“YOU’RE ANNIE AND I’M HALF-STARVED.”

“I’M NOT ANNIE. I’M SADIE LAPP. HOW LONG HAS SHE BEEN GONE?”

“WHAT?”

“HOW LONG HAS ANNIE BEEN GONE?”

He blinked at her a number of times, like a fog was lifting. “DON’T YOU HAVE SOMEPLACE YOU NEED TO BE?”

He had a point. It was definitely time to get going. Sadie was in new territory here, but she knew where she wanted to go next. She had to try one more time. “I’LL GET YOUR DINNER FOR YOU.”

The old man brightened.

Sadie walked up to the porch, expecting the old man to tell her to leave, but he seemed to be delighted to have someone solve his immediate problem. She slipped into the house and found the kitchen. The furnishings were sparse. Bare necessities only. It worried her to see what little food was in the house.

She didn’t know much about this tiny Swartzentruber colony. They seldom interacted with Sadie’s church, but she would have thought they’d be looking out for this old man. She found some bread, peanut butter, and jam, made a sandwich for him, filled a glass of milk—sniffed it first to make sure it hadn’t gone sour—and found a small tray to take it out to him. She peeked out the window and saw he had his eyes closed. She put the tray down and looked around the room. Emboldened, she went down the hallway, opened a door, and poked her head in. It must be the old man’s room, because it was dark and smelled musty. Then she looked into another room, tiptoeing in as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Something familiar caught her eye and she bent down to examine it.

So this was it.

The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding whooshed out of her.

“WHERE’S MY DINNER?” sailed through the open window from the front porch.

Sadie closed the door to the bedroom and picked up the tray with the sandwich and glass of milk in the kitchen. She hurried outside and handed the plate to the old man before he could rise from the chair. “Perhaps it’s time to be running along,” she said in a loud and strange voice. “GOING.” She waved goodbye to make her point.

The old man was gumming the sandwich and didn’t even look up. The yellow dog followed Sadie down the path to the road, despite her efforts to shoo him home. Finally, she turned and tried to drag the dog back to the old man, but the dog sat back on its heels and wouldn’t budge.

“TAKE IT!” the old man yelled. “THAT DOG IS A DOOZY. I DON’T WANT IT.”

Sadie walked back through the fields to the Bent N’ Dent, deep in thought, with the yellow dog trailing behind her. When she arrived at the store, Mary Kate was waiting for her with an odd look on her face and a very lathered-up buggy horse. She waved to Sadie to hurry. “Maybe we’d better skip the basketmaker today and get on home.”

Sadie opened the buggy door and let the yellow dog jump in. M.K. seemed so distracted, she didn’t even look twice at the dog. Sadie barely shut the door as M.K. slapped the horse’s rump with the reins and headed home. Sadie watched her for a while, amused by the tense look on M.K.’s face.

“What happened to Jimmy?” Sadie finally asked.

Eyes straight forward, M.K. said, “Jimmy who?”

“M.K., he’s not bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere, is he?”

M.K. flashed her a look of disgust. “No!” But she wouldn’t offer another word.

M.K. was always up to something and Sadie wondered what. She had this urge—just a slight one—to grab her little sister by the ankles and dangle her over the side of the buggy until she started talking.

As they pulled up to the barn at Windmill Farm—in record time, Sadie noted—Fern walked out of the house to meet them with a crying baby in her arms. M.K. rushed to get the horse out of its shafts. She waved Fern’s questioning glance off. “Got to take care of the horse, Fern,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked the horse down the hill to cool it off before returning it to the barn. Fern turned to Sadie with a question in her eyes.

Sadie shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure what happened, but it had something to do with Jimmy Fisher.”

Fern, who had heard all this before, released an effluvial sigh. “It always has something to do with that boy. Those two are like oil and vinegar.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to my impatiens?”

Sadie’s attention was suddenly riveted to the sky, where the male falcon, the one Will called Adam, soared above them. The baby let out another big wail and Fern passed him off to Sadie. “He’s fed, he’s dry, and he keeps on crying.” She cocked her head. “And where are the groceries?”

Sadie smacked her own forehead. “Oh. Oh no! I left them at the store.”

Fern looked at her as if she might have a screw loose.

The yellow dog leaped out of the backseat of the buggy and jumped up on Fern, drenching her face with wet licks. Fern pushed it off and walked back to the house, muttering away about how it was easier just to do things herself.

S
unrise would stir Will in just moments, and he could hardly lift his head off the pillow. Every single muscle in his body ached from the farmwork he had been doing. It was backbreaking work, day after day. It was the best time of his life.

On a Saturday morning, he knew there would be plenty of bird-watchers lined up with their scopes to watch his birds. His birds. He was already thinking they belonged to him. He felt oddly protective toward them. It started when he named them Adam and Eve. He stuck his stocking feet in his boots and looked around for his binoculars. He had just moved in a day or so ago, and the cottage was already a mess. Clothes were strewn all over. Some groceries he had bought were still on the kitchen table, next to a banana peel and a half-eaten piece of wheat toast, and a dirty napkin. He frowned, looking around the room. He really was a slob. He drank milk and orange juice from the carton. He dipped his toast in the peanut butter jar. He left the cap off the toothpaste and squeezed it in the middle. He didn’t pick up his socks or make his bed. Why bother? He was just getting back into it tonight.

He finally found his binoculars under a newspaper, and grabbed a granola bar out of a box to stave off hunger. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to manage cooking for himself. Not that he had much experience with cooking in the first place, but he sure couldn’t figure out the appliances in the kitchen. Where were the wall switches? And he still had to learn how to light the kerosene lamp. He tried again and again last night, went through a box of matches, and finally gave up and went to sleep. But he liked this little cottage. It was simple living at its best. As he lay in the snug bed last night, covered in homemade quilts, he could have sworn he smelled a faint scent of beeswax, infused in the walls. The scent was very homey and appealing.

He jammed his hat on his head and hurried outside to scan the sky. Adam and Eve were already up, soaring over the creek bed that wove through Windmill Farm. He watched Eve—the larger of the two—soar high and key in on something down below. He watched her virtually stop in the air, then dive straight down as if she was heading right into the water, only to make a last-minute turn and soar back up to the sky with a small bird in her talons. Effortless! Will kept his eyes trained on her. Just as he expected, she flew to a nearby place on the ground and tore the bird to pieces, quickly swallowing them. The falcons were vulnerable on the ground and preferred to spend as little time there as possible. They have a special pouch in their throats to hold food. It would be digested later, when Eve was safely in her scape.

Adam flew over a field and caught a small bird in the air. He disappeared into a treetop. Will noticed a group of bird-watchers had just arrived and were setting up their telescopes. He walked over to politely remind them to stay off the property. He wasn’t too worried about this crowd—anyone who set an alarm for predawn to watch a bird catch his breakfast was a pretty tame type. It was the feeding at dusk that seemed to bring out a rowdier crowd.

Eve flew back to the scape, which Will thought was indicative of impending motherhood. He followed Adam’s flight path and ended up passing the farmhouse. Sadie was out on the porch, filling a bird feeder with sunflower seeds. He’d never seen so many bird feeders or birdhouses at one home. It was a regular feeding station. Tall purple martin houses, stacked like condominiums, lined the far end of the driveway. Hollowed-out gourds hung from the limbs of a large maple tree in the front yard. Small wooden birdhouses sat on tall poles. If a bird were smart enough to get to Windmill Farm, it would find plenty of food and shelter.

“Mornin’,” Will called out. “Your birds sure are regular customers. I thought I saw someone filling up that feeder just yesterday.”

“Well, it’s springtime,” she said.

“You must spend a fortune on birdseed.”

“Not at all. We grow dozens and dozens of sunflowers along the back side of the vegetable garden.” She put the container of seeds on the ground. “Have you ever noticed how much birdsong there is, so early in the morning?”

“The race to reproduction,” Will said professorially, as he watched her replace the top on the feeder.

Sadie’s face went a shade of crimson.

Will tried hard, without success, not to smile at her modesty.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake yet on a Saturday,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us for breakfast. That is, if you haven’t eaten yet.” She stammered her request in embarrassed politeness, then finally looked up at him with an almost mortified expression on her face.

How could he refuse?

But he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought about being invited over so soon. Or so early in the morning. The effects of the granola bar had worn off long ago and his stomach was growling. “Well, sure . . . I guess so. I don’t usually eat much breakfast, though, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of strong coffee.”

A shy smile curled Sadie’s lips. “Oh, wait until you try a cup of Fern’s coffee. She’s known for her good cooking.” She took the broom that was resting on the porch rail and swung it at a few curled brown leaves along the stairs.
Swish
,
swish
. “We figured you might be having some trouble figuring out how to live without electricity. You’ll have to be sure to let us know if you need anything.”

The broom was still swishing. Will found himself watching her. She reached up to her forehead and tucked a wisp of hair back under her prayer cap, then positioned herself again like a golfer at the driving range. She was a careful sweeper, going all the way to the edges. What a serious, methodical little person she was. He wondered what she did for fun.

She stopped abruptly and straightened up when she noticed he was observing her. “The problem with sunflower seeds is that the hulls make a mess.” Then she went down the steps and out in the yard to fill a bluebird feeder. A dinner plate with a hole drilled into it was positioned on the pole under the feeder to deter squirrels. Pretty clever, Will thought, but the feeder itself was a sorry excuse; the roof was rotting and the pole was leaning over precariously as if it would topple right over if a crow or blue jay landed on it. She needed a new one. Maybe he should get her one after his time at Windmill Farm came to an end, a parting gift. But by then she might know what he had been up to, and she might not want a bird feeder or anything else from him.

But he had nothing to worry about, he told himself again. He kept reminding himself of that. What he was doing wasn’t wrong. Not wrong at all. In fact, you could say it was very right. A good thing to do. A win-win.

Wonderful aromas greeted his nose as he stepped up on the porch. He was even hungrier than he had thought. The kitchen door began to swing open slowly, with a squeak as if its hinges needed oil. Then he saw a face peering around the edge at him—the woman who looked like a middle-aged version of Katharine Hepburn. His first impression was that she was scowling at him, but when he looked more closely, he saw that she was merely looking him over and sizing him up. She seemed as lovable as a mountain thistle. They stood there looking at each other for a moment, and then he heard Amos’s voice from behind her.

“Well, for pity’s sake, Fern, let him in.” Amos looked at Will over the woman’s shoulder and smiled. He pushed the door wide open and motioned for Will to come in.

Amos pointed to a straight-backed chair across from him on the other side of the large kitchen table. The seat sounded like a creaky hinge when Will sat down. The girl who had watched him from the window, Mary Kate, galloped down the stairs like a newborn filly but stopped abruptly when she saw he was sitting at the table. She sidled into a chair, across from Will, eyes glued to him. Fern brought Will a cup of coffee and, nervously, he gulped it down. No one spoke for a few moments and he wondered if he had done something wrong. He had seen
Witness
. He knew they drank coffee. Should he have waited to drink it? Was there a certain tradition to drinking Amish coffee that he should have known?

What was he doing here? he asked himself. Not just the breakfast invitation but the whole business.

It was so hot in here. Was he getting sick? He wondered what made it so hot in the room, but then he realized it was the woodstove. He’d forgotten how much heat radiated from a woodstove. Will glanced quickly around the large family room. Everything was in its place. And plenty of seating—two large sofas, a rocker, a bench with a colorful knitted afghan folded on it. Bookshelves lined the far wall, filled with titles. Large picture windows brought in plenty of natural lighting. What would his mother say about this room and its decor? What would she call it? At times, she could be a snob. He could hear her brittle voice: “This isn’t shabby chic—this is just plain shabby.”

Sadie finished sweeping the porch and came inside. She peeked at the sleeping baby, tucked into a corner in the room, and sat next to her sister. Fern finished bringing in platters of food and sat down. Will had never seen so much food in all of his life: stacked blueberry pancakes, pitchers of maple syrup, smoked sausages, a bowl of steaming scrambled eggs, grapefruit. It looked like a smorgasbord! Will picked up his fork but stopped when he realized that Amos Lapp had bowed his head and everyone had followed. Except for him. Will wondered what went on during those seconds of silence. Then Amos lifted his head and everyone dug in like it was their last meal.

The kitchen door opened and in blasted an older man with wild and wiry white hair sticking out from under his black felt hat. “WHO HAVE WE HERE?” he hollered as he caught sight of Will. His face practically beamed with happiness.

“Uncle Hank, this is Will Stoltz,” Sadie said. “The game warden wants him to babysit the falcons.” She passed the stack of pancakes to her father.

Will lifted a finger in the air. “Not really babysitting,” he hurried to explain. “More like protecting an endangered species from an overzealous public.”

Uncle Hank emitted a noise that was part laugh and part snort. “So you’re set on trying to give the love birds a little privacy!”

“Oh, fuss and feathers, Hank. Sit down and eat.” Fern clucked at him until he settled down to eat, but he talked and joked and told stories throughout breakfast. Uncle Hank got Mary Kate giggling so hard that milk came out of her nose.

The food was better than any Will had eaten for a long time. The baked oatmeal was wonderful—crisp on the outside and soft and warm and mealy on the inside. Will wasn’t fond of scrapple but took some to be polite. It was surprisingly good, heavily doctored with sage to mask the contents of offal. Sadie refilled his coffee. And when it was over, Amos bowed his head again, then everyone hopped up and got to work. Amos and Hank went to the barn, Mary Kate went off to feed her chickens, Sadie tended to the baby, so he helped Fern gather dishes from the table and take them to the kitchen.

“You can go on out and help Amos,” Fern said. “Now that spring is in full gear, he’ll need a lot of help.”

“Is he healthy?” Will handed a big platter to her. “I mean, I saw this . . . long scar.” He pointed to his neck.

Fern started filling up the sink with hot water and added liquid soap to it. “Don’t ask Amos about the scar on his neck,” she said. “He doesn’t like to speak of it.”

Will brought in the last two platters from the table. “You mean about the heart transplant?”

Her hands splattered the water. In her surprise, she looked right at him. “You mean he told you?”

Will nodded like it was natural. “Seemed like he wanted to tell me.” She looked a little disappointed, so he thought it would be best to change the subject. “Have you known Amos for a long time?”

She let out a deep sigh. “Some days, it seems like forever. Other days, it’s like I hardly know him.” She swished her hand in the sink to get the water sudsy. Then she pointed to a towel for him to dry the dishes. He guessed he wasn’t going to make as quick an exit as he thought.

“It plagues me,” she said. “I have been taking care of his household for over a year now—”

Will gathered that she meant Amos.

“—through thick and thin. And there’s been plenty of both. For days on end that man can hardly string two words together.” She scrubbed the spoon she was holding until it shone before she went on. “I always knew he seemed to be drawn to a barn like a magnet, always finding something to tinker with out there. But I never thought there was much talking going on.” She handed him the spoon to dry. Dishes and utensils were coming faster and faster now, as she was starting to get herself worked up. Will was having trouble keeping up. Drying a dish wasn’t something he had done much of. He thought letting dishes air-dry was more than good enough. Better still, paper plates.

“But the minute my back is turned, Amos starts talking, and freely, to you of all people. A bird sitter!”

Will lifted a finger. “Just to clarify . . . I’m not exactly a bird sitter. I’m trying to keep an endangered species away from an overzealous public.” He had the spiel memorized now.

She wasn’t listening to him. “To a boy who isn’t much more than a stranger! I have half a mind to walk out to that barn and ask him why men are the way they are.” She handed him a platter. “I suppose there just isn’t an answer.”

Will saw the conversation drifting in a no-win direction. For such a tight-lipped woman, she could talk a blue streak once she got started. When Sadie came to the kitchen to ask Fern a question, Will took the opportunity to leave. It was high time he should head out and chase off any bold bird-watchers.

Afterward, walking up the hill to the falcon scape, Will felt slightly stunned from the whole experience. It wasn’t exactly the enormous quantity of food he had consumed or the Lapp family or the conversation. It was just everything together. He had never felt quite such a sensory overload.

The aroma of Fern’s strong coffee triggered memories for Will of morning at the table with his father and his mother, at their grand home in Wynwood, a small upscale suburb outside of Philadelphia. But the smell of coffee was where the similarity ended. Breakfast was the one time of the day when his father was calm—before the busyness of his work claimed his energies and consumed his thoughts. Silence reigned. In fact, his parents rarely spoke during breakfast beyond an occasional polite inquiry after the other’s health, or how they slept. But after the workday claimed his father, he treated everyone differently. Indifferently.