The Keeper (34 page)

Rome turned away and jumped onto the wagon without looking back. He picked up the reins and the mule started to move along, slowly and steadily, into the darkness.

The old patterns of Rome’s life were repeating themselves. He was drifting.

A silvery mist hugged the ground like a blanket, and the slanting rays of the sun brushed the leaves still lingering on the trees, painting them yellow, red, and brown. Fall had always been Julia’s favorite time of the year. As she walked along the apple trees, trying to decide if there was enough fruit to justify another picking before a deep frost hit, she wondered if she would forevermore associate autumn with saying goodbye. First to Paul, then to Rome. Maybe, soon, to her father. Amos was weaker with every passing day.

Julia tried not to wonder where Rome was. Where did he go? What had he been doing? It didn’t matter, it was none of her business, he owed her nothing, they had taken no vows and made no promises.

The odd thing was that after Fern had told her about Rome’s family, she began to understand his strange inner workings. The accident had made him fiercely, desperately independent. No wonder he couldn’t tolerate growing attached to her. She knew Rome cared for her, she saw it in his eyes and his actions. But she also knew he wasn’t capable of anything more. He wouldn’t even take Lulu with him, and that dog had meant something to him.

As she walked among the apple trees, she prayed. She prayed about the mixed-up feelings, the uncertainty she felt about Rome. Prayer worked. She believed in prayer. The word
trust
kept circling through her mind. Trust. She turned the word over and over in her mind. Trust went hand in hand with faith.
That’s what I need
, Julia thought.
To trust God’s ways.

Maybe that was her problem with Paul. She was so busy telling God how to fix things between her and Paul that she hadn’t given God a chance to chime in. Maybe she could have saved everybody a lot of trouble had she ever asked God if Paul was the right person for her.
No!
God would have said.
I’ve got something better in mind for you, if you’d just have a little patience.
She could practically hear God’s voice. Not out loud, but in her mind. In her heart.

So, Lord, this time, I am asking you to take over. Rome is yours, and you know his heart. You know what’s best for him. And you know what’s best for me. Please watch over him now, wherever he is. Help him find what he’s looking for. Give him joy, Lord. Give him peace.

Overhead, a fluff of a cloud was framed with pure golden light from the sun that was hidden behind it. Awed by the sight, she studied the outline of the cloud within the frame, light splaying around its edges.

As she gazed at the cloud, she was filled with feelings she couldn’t explain. Peace, joy, reassurance—all swirling together. It seemed as if the heavens parted and she caught a glimpse of God’s connectedness to this earthly existence. She’d never had such an awareness of the presence of God.

The sun was starting to set now, and it was getting cold, but in her heart there was radiant light. She remained where she was until M.K. called to her to come in. She wanted to savor this new peace. She knew she would never, ever forget this moment in the apple orchards. It was meant to stay with her.

The air was bright and pure; the leaves on the trees glistened and the Blue Lake Pond flowed softly, lapping against the shore with a gentle rhythm. Rome closed his eyes as though to contain the landscape and the deep sense of peace it evoked. He had been camping by the lake with his bees the last few days, waiting for a certified letter to arrive from Ohio, bearing a cashier’s check for his family’s farm. Waiting, waiting, waiting. What was taking it so long? He wanted to get that check to Fern for safekeeping. To leave Stoney Ridge with clean accounts. No regrets. No second thoughts.

And yet, he did have second thoughts. He leaned his head against a tree and closed his eyes. Suddenly he was overcome with a sense of homesickness, a dull ache that had settled around his heart. He missed Windmill Farm. He missed the cottage. He missed the Lapps. He missed Julia. He hated knowing he’d hurt Julia. “Take care of yourself,” he had said, as if he were talking to a pal. How inadequate. How childish!

The only reason he’d acted so cool and detached was so he didn’t leave her with any mixed messages, any confusion.

This was better for her, for him. She would marry Paul. He would have an unencumbered life. It was better for both of them.

So why did he feel as if he had lost something precious? As if he was losing his home all over again?

What was home, really? Just a place to lay your head.

No. It was so much more than that. It was the place where a person belonged. Where a fellow would be missed. It was a part of a man. Something that couldn’t be sold or taken for granted.

He was seized by a moment of panic. Why had he sold the Ohio farm? It was like giving away his right arm. How could he have done such a thing? His father would be ashamed of him. Was it too late? Could he stop the process?

He hurried to town to get to the post office before it closed at five. He would send a letter—a telegram. He would stop the sale.

When the postmaster saw him come into the post office, she reached below the counter and pulled out a large manila envelope. “It just arrived, Bee Man. Those papers you wanted from Ohio. Now you can be on your way.”

It was too late.

The transaction had been completed. He ripped open the envelope and read the enclosed letter. Then reread it, again and again. He had to sit down. He went outside of the post office and found a bench. Was someone playing a joke on him?

The cashier’s check was included for the full amount of the property. But also included was the deed to the farm. Paid in full. Returned to Roman Troyer. A gift.

At dusk, Fern sent M.K. and Menno over to the Fishers’ with two bushels of apples to make cider. “Edith said her apple tree wasn’t delivering the goods this year because we hogged Rome’s bees.”

“It’s cuz those bees have good sense to stay away from Jimmy Fisher,” M.K. muttered.

“Go,” Fern said. “And don’t dawdle. It’ll be dark soon.”

They got about halfway to the Fishers’ when M.K. was struck with inspiration. “Menno, let’s cut through the cornfields. It’ll save us going way down on the road.”

“I don’t think so. It’s getting dark.”

“Come on!” She started into the fields. “I do it all the time. Just watch for snakes.” She was deep in the middle of the field when she stopped abruptly. Staring intently through the dried cornstalks, she thought she heard a strange sound. Maybe she heard a snake behind her, maybe not.

Menno caught up with her. “Let me go ahead of you. I’m taller than the corn.”

M.K. grinned. Menno was proud of his height, nearly as tall as their father. He worked it into conversations all summer long. “Fine, but just keep going in a line, along that row. Can you see the lights from the house straight ahead?”

A dog began barking and Menno stopped. “That’s Jimmy’s dog, Menno. He won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t know about this, Mary Kate.”

“It’s fine!”

“Do you hear that dog yapping?”

“He’s always yapping.” That dog was crazy, as crazy as Jimmy. It was barking its head off like it had seen a ghost. She gave Menno a gentle push to move forward. “Hey, I heard a good joke we need to remember to tell Uncle Hank. What’s got a head and a tail, but doesn’t have a body?”

Menno worked on that for a long moment before giving up. “I don’t know.”

“A coin! Like a dime or a quarter. Get it?” She then explained the joke to Menno until he understood it and gave out a big haw. By the time he stopped laughing, they were nearly through the cornfield to the woven-wire fence that ran alongside the yard to the Fishers’ large henhouse.

“Let’s cut through the chicken yard to get to the house.”

Menno started to object, but before he could get the words out, M.K. found the gate into the chicken yard and led the way across hen grit and worse. “Pinch your nose, Menno, so you don’t have to smell the stink. And be careful where you step or Fern will have a fit.” Nothing smelled worse than a henhouse on a windless night.

M.K. could hear the chickens flapping their wings in the henhouse. Chickens weren’t the brightest of birds, and easily flustered, but something felt eerie to her. It didn’t help that Jimmy’s dog was having fits. She was glad to see it was on a tie-down.

She heard a strange ripping metal sound, as if the henhouse door was getting wrenched from its hinges, then every hen in the place rose up and screamed. The bucket of apples dropped from Menno’s fingers, spilling everywhere. M.K. stopped to help him, when suddenly, something or someone burst out of the henhouse and stood, scanning the yard. The air behind it was white with feathers. M.K.’s breath was cut off, and her heart hollered.

“Bear! Run, Menno!” M.K. screamed. “It’s the bear! Run! Get to the farmhouse!”

She flew toward the house and landed on the top step of the porch, banging on the front door. Rapid explosions went off from an upstairs window in the house, followed by a burned-powder haze that hung in the air. And an eerie silence. Even the dog went still. Everything was waiting.

“Menno?” M.K. shouted into the night. “Menno? Where are you? Menno?”

As M.K. realized he wasn’t answering, she screamed.

20

A
t seven o’clock that night, Sadie came downstairs and asked Julia where M.K. and Menno were. When Fern told her they hadn’t gotten back yet, a strange look came over Sadie’s face. She went outside on the back porch to wait for them, restless and anxious. “Something’s wrong.”

Within minutes, a strange wailing sound drifted up the hill. Julia ran to the kitchen door and saw a small figure running toward the house. “Juuu-Leee-Aaaa!”

Julia flew out the door and ran down the hill to reach M.K. Her little sister flung her arms around her waist. It took awhile to calm M.K. down and get the facts straightened out, but Julia pieced together that Menno had been accidentally shot and was taken to the hospital in Lancaster by ambulance. As they came back up the hill, they found the family—Fern, their father, Uncle Hank, Sadie—waiting on the porch.

“We’ll all go,” Amos said gravely.

“Dad, are you sure you should go?” Julia asked. “I’ll go, find out the extent of Menno’s injuries, and call you. Sadie or M.K. could stay in the shanty until I call.”

Sadie stood next to her father and held on to his arm. “He needs to be there, Jules. We all do.”

It would take forever to get her father dressed and ready to go. He struggled to get enough air for the simplest of acts, how could he hurry for this?

The same thought must have run through Fern’s mind. “You and Sadie go on ahead. The rest of us will follow as quickly as we can.”

Julia nodded. Fern’s voice was calm, reassuring.

“I have to come too,” M.K. said. “Please let me come. Please, please, please.” Her little face was white and pinched.

Julia and Sadie went down to the phone shanty, called for a taxi driven by a Mennonite fellow who lived nearby, and waited. And waited.