The Keeper (5 page)

M.K. overheard her. “But it is! We are facing a
terrible
problem!”

“Calm down, M.K.,” Sadie said. “Sit next to Menno and look at the puppies.”

M.K. came into the stall and crouched down. As she reached out to touch a puppy, Lulu growled at her, so she drew back. She gave Sadie a pleading look. “Even the dog won’t listen to me!”

Sadie’s heart went out to her little sister. Her daily emergencies were casually dismissed by the family. Crying wolf, they said. Yet Sadie indulged her—she knew that M.K.’s enthusiasms were always genuine and passionate but seldom long-lasting.

Sadie put an arm around her. “You’ve got my full attention now, M.K. What’s the emergency? Why do we need a family meeting?”

“Fern! Haven’t you met her?”

Sadie and Menno nodded. “She made me a big lunch,” Menno said. “It was amazing!” He cast a sheepish glance in Sadie’s direction. “No offense, Sadie.”

“None taken,” Sadie said. “Why are you upset, M.K.?”

“She said no one is allowed in the refrigerator. Pretty soon, we won’t even be allowed into the kitchen.”

Menno scrunched up his face. “But how would we eat?”

“My point exactly, Menno!” M.K. folded her arms against her chest, satisfied that she had conveyed the critical urgency of her message. She pointed to the puppies sleeping in Menno’s lap. “Dibs on the big one.”

Menno shook his head. “You can’t just say dibs, M.K. These puppies belong to me.”

M.K. waved him off. “Menno, come with me. There’s a pot of beef stew simmering on the stove and it is tempting me something fierce. Let’s go see if we can sample a bowlful. Maybe Fern won’t yell at you. Nobody ever yells at you.”

Menno nodded solemnly at Sadie. “It’s true. Everybody likes me.” He gently placed the sleeping puppies next to Lulu and scrambled to his feet to follow M.K. to the house.

Julia was having an awful day. Awful! She already felt fragile from yesterday’s conversation with Paul, and now, Uncle Hank had invited a stranger to become their housekeeper. They didn’t
need
a housekeeper. Well, maybe they did, but Julia should have been the one to choose her.
Not
Uncle Hank!

The woman who had arrived at their doorstep earlier in the day couldn’t be any more of a mismatch for the Lapps. When Julia first met her, Fern Graber had a look on her face as if she had a kernel of popcorn stuck in a back molar. That was before Fern walked into the kitchen and actually gasped in horror. Within one minute of arriving, she was sweeping the floor and clucking her tongue.

And not only that—Fern Graber had ears on her like a librarian. She was already listening in to their conversations and offering up her opinion on serious matters. Unsolicited. Unwanted.

Just moments ago, as Sadie and Julia hung wet laundry on the clothesline, Sadie asked, “If you had three wishes, Julia, what would you wish for?”

Without thinking, Julia said at once, “I want Paul Fisher to marry me.”

“If wishes were fishes,” Fern said as she walked up to them with another basket of wet laundry, “we’d all have a fry.”

What really irked Julia was that Fern was right. She had hoped for so much and ended up with so little. It seemed to Julia as if her future had been floating above her like a brightly colored kite, waiting to lift her away . . . and Paul had just ripped the kite string from her hand. She could only watch helplessly as her hopes and dreams to be Paul’s wife slipped out of her hands, drifting up and out of sight as if carried off by the wind.

Julia sat down on the picnic bench near the clothesline. As she buried her head in her hands, she felt despair grip her. Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed by a giant fist, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. If she did, she would never be able to stop.

“Juuu-Leee-Aaaa!!!!”

Julia swiveled around on the bench to see M.K. running toward her, her face in a panic.

“Fern says she’s not making our dinner! She says she’s here to help Dad and we’re old enough to be on our own!” M.K. stopped as she reached Julia, planted her fists on her thin hips and stared at her, defying her to act. Sadie and Menno walked up to join them.

M.K.’s timing was impeccable. Julia needed something to think about other than her own miserable love life. And Fern nettled her. It wasn’t unusual to have friends and relatives help out, even to move in, but no one knew Fern. And what was Uncle Hank getting at . . . that Fern was setting a trap for Amos? Was Fern after Julia’s father?

Julia shook that thought off. Uncle Hank said all kinds of ridiculous things, all the time. More likely, he had misled Fern into what she was getting herself into. Well, Julia would clear things up. She hopped off the bench and headed to the kitchen to find Fern peeling potatoes at the sink. Sadie and M.K. trotted behind her. Menno sat down at the kitchen table, wide-eyed.

“Fern,” Julia said in her most authoritative voice. “While our father is recovering from his heart trouble, the rest of us are working long hours to get the farm ready for planting and harvesting. I’m very grateful you offered to help us, but Uncle Hank led us to believe that you would be helping all of us—not just Amos.”

Fern’s lips formed a thin, unhappy line, but she kept peeling potatoes. “I can’t cook for the entire tribe of you. There’s limits on what a person can do.” She turned her head and looked at Julia, a long look. “How much is one woman supposed to do?”

Amen! Julia thought. Amen to that.

“If you don’t want me to quit, you’ll have to take care of yourself,” Fern said.

Quit?
She might quit? Maybe this was the exit door they were looking for. Julia grabbed a dishcloth and rubbed a spot on the counter. “If you need to quit and return to your home, we certainly understand.” She turned to M.K. “Go get your piggy bank, M.K., and we’ll pay Fern her wages.”

M.K. lifted her hands, palms to the sky. “Why is everybody always asking me for money?”

“Because you’re the only who has any,” Menno whispered.

Fern’s face flushed. Julia had called her bluff. Julia felt a tiny twinge of pity as she pulled six spoons, knives, and forks from the drawer. Just a twinge. “Of course, Sadie could always cook for the four of us while you tend to Dad. You don’t mind sharing the kitchen, do you?”

Fern’s thin eyebrows rose in alarm.

Julia gave the silverware to M.K. to set the table. “You have three choices, Fern. One . . . you certainly aren’t obligated to stay. Two . . . you can let Sadie back into the kitchen.” She took the napkins out of the drawer and started to fold them. “Or, three, cook for all of us.” She handed the folded napkins to M.K. “Just let me know what you decide.”

A pregnant silence filled the room. Fern blew out a stream of air. “All righty, then. But you all will have to eat what I serve.” She pointed to Sadie. “Even the overfed one.”

Throughout the discussion, Sadie had been feeding steadily from a pan of brownies. She had taken a paring knife from the drawer and cut out a small piece, then evened out the cut by slicing another bite, then another and another. When she realized Fern was referring to her, she froze, midbite, and looked up, horrified.

“Fine. We’ll eat whatever you make for us,” Julia said. “No complaining allowed.” She gave M.K. a look of warning.

M.K. raised her small shoulders as if to ask, “What?”

Fern scowled, but Julia’s amiability took the fight out of her. “I don’t want people messing up my kitchen.”

Julia motioned to everyone to leave the kitchen. Sadie dropped the paring knife in the brownie pan in a huff.

Outside, Menno and M.K. ran to the barn to check on Lulu and the puppies. Sadie and Julia lingered behind, watching the sun slip behind the row of pine trees that framed Windmill Farm in the west, making for early sunsets.

Sadie turned to Julia. “Do I look fat?”

Julia put an arm around Sadie. “No. Not at all. Not in the least bit. Absolutely not.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Well, maybe just a little.”

“I am! I’m fat!”

“It’s just baby fat, Sadie. You’ll grow soon and it will disappear.”

“I stopped growing a year ago and I kept eating.” She let out a soft sough. “I am. I am a fat girl. Fat, fat, fat.”

“Sadie, don’t let Fern Graber get to you. Fern is just . . . Fern.”

Sadie took a few steps down the porch and turned back. “You’re sure I don’t look fat?”

“I wouldn’t want you any other way than how you are right now, Sadie,” Julia said truthfully.

Sadie smiled and crossed to the barn.

Julia walked over to the garden and examined the flowers along the front row. She loved her flower garden, small though it was. It had been her mother’s garden, her special joy. And now the garden gave Julia constant pleasure. Julia had always felt a special kind of peace whenever she gazed around the garden. The crocuses, narcissus, daffodils, each blooming briefly, sometimes only for a day, then withering. She snapped off the dead blossoms every morning, though she hadn’t that morning, so she did it now. When she finished, her hands were stained with yellow and orange from the crocus stamen. As the peaceful scents of the garden stole over her, she felt a peculiar excitement.

It felt good, being so direct and assertive with Fern. Really, really good. And yet to Julia’s surprise, she felt relieved when Fern decided not to quit. Her father’s heart trouble was taking a terrible toll on Windmill Farm. On all of them. Julia kept expecting her father to make a full recovery. Surely, any day now, his heart would regain its strength. The Lord knew they needed him.

And how Menno needed guidance. He was a strong boy and could work hard at times, but he needed to be told what to do and how to do it. He needed someone working alongside of him. Instead of providing daily instruction, Amos had been retreating from life. He stayed in his robe and slippers, staring out the window of his bedroom. The neighbors pitched in as often as they could, but they had farms to run too. Even with Sadie and Menno’s help, Julia couldn’t keep up with both the house and the fields. As March had turned to April—spring planting time—Julia often found herself fighting waves of panic. She was drowning in responsibilities.

But now, at the end of this day, Julia didn’t feel quite as sad as she had a little earlier. Her spirits had lightened. She reached up to smooth out the furrows of a frown forming between her eyes. She didn’t want to mar her complexion with needless worry lines. It was bad enough that she had a too-generous sprinkling of freckles across her nose that even a bucket of lemon juice couldn’t fade.

Maybe . . . if she could handle Fern, she could manage anything. Maybe things weren’t as bleak as they appeared. Maybe when life became difficult, it only meant one was facing a challenge, an obstacle to be overcome. She was only twenty-one years old, young enough to make changes. She was going to become the kind of person who took no nonsense from anyone. She could do it. After all, even Fern backed down!

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, a matter decided. How could she overcome Paul’s reluctance to marry? How could she point him in the proper direction? Sometimes, a man like Paul only needed to be convinced of what he truly wanted. She was going to marry him, as planned. This very November. She would simply have to be more forthright.

Fern opened the one-hinged kitchen door and peered at the rusty hinge, as if wondering how it still remained. She shook her head and called to Julia. “Your Uncle Hank told me to tell you that the Bee Man is due in. Tomorrow or the next day.”

Julia’s new confidence popped like a balloon. She dropped her chin to her chest, defeated, wondering how an awful stretch of days could turn even worse. It seemed like at some point you’d just run out of awful.

On her way to school the following day M.K. had much on her mind, as she often did. She made a mental list of Fern’s new house rules. This morning, as she was lightly hopping down the stairs, Fern told her it sounded like a herd of mustangs were galloping on a concrete floor and that there would be no more running in the house. That, M.K. counted, would be Rule Number 436, right behind Rule Number 435: Do not sneeze indoors. She sighed, deeply aggrieved.