The Longing (9 page)

My brothers have all been to see Daed.
. . .

Truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his father waste away, being cared for by English folk he merely tolerated. Yet they were undoubtedly making him comfortable with pain medication . . . and keeping him alive. He didn’t know all the ins and outs of his father’s condition. Mamm said little enough when she returned home, and none of his older brothers was given to talk. Of the three, Abe was most often around, overseeing things as best he could, though like Gideon and Jonah, he had his own farm to keep going, and a growing family.

Caleb was aware of a small shadow gathering inside him, taking up residence in the middle of his chest, threatening his very breath at times. He must not give in to it, must not let those big black crows nest there.

Not wanting to get bogged down with thoughts of his harsh father, he drank the sweet tea straight down and then headed back to the barn. It was already close to four o’clock, and Daed had the whole herd of dairy cattle on a strict milking schedule, with one milking at four in the morning, and the second at four in the afternoon.
“Like clockwork,”
Daed had once stated. And his father usually had to state things only once.

Caleb’s right arm had taken a beating today, during a difficult birthing early this morning. In an attempt to limber it up, he waved it around and around, like a pitcher preparing to throw a ball. He smiled momentarily. He hoped to slip away to play some softball come summer, if he found any spare time while Mamm and his sisters were busy shelling, snapping, and pickling the produce from their vegetable garden—an acre or more, which he needed to till up before long. Attending Singings and other youth gatherings was already out, no matter that he was courting age. Despite her past smiles, Susannah Lapp had snubbed him after Preaching service recently. No doubt she’d heard he had given up his father’s land and had nothing left to offer a bride now. “Not that I care,” he muttered, rubbing his bruised arm. The poor calf had been turned wrong and taken hours of labor to birth. He was thankful his arm had withstood the near bone-crushing contractions long enough to move the valuable calf deep within its mother. He’d nearly lost the beautiful creature.

Hurrying across the wide backyard, he almost welcomed the thought of the strenuous days of work stretching before him. He still had several tons of hay to unload, hay that had been hauled in from neighboring barns, since the drought had wreaked havoc with dozens of local hayfields last summer. He recalled Nellie’s talking at length about it, too. Goodness, but he remembered in vivid detail every conversation he’d ever had with Nellie Mae. Was that how it was at the end of things . . . you remembered too clearly the beginning?

Just as he reached the barn, Caleb heard a car creep up the lane. An unfamiliar tan sedan slowed and then stopped near the back walkway.

A fellow about his age jumped out, hair like shocks of wheat. “Hello, Caleb!” he called, waving.

Caleb recognized him immediately as his second cousin. “Hullo, Christian!”

Grinning, Christian approached him, his gaze taking in the entire area. “Looks just like I remember.”

“All but the barn . . . that needs a good paintin’, I daresay.” He put out his hand. “Good to see ya.”

“Same here. Last time was . . . where?”

“In town at the hardware store, seems to me. A jingle, as you called it, was playin’ on the radio behind the counter.” Caleb stepped back to appraise his cousin, all spiffy in dark jeans and a brown suede jacket. “What brings you here?”

Christian pursed his lips, displaying the first hesitancy since he’d arrived. “I’m real sorry about your father’s accident, Caleb. I read about it in the paper.”

Caleb’s back stiffened, uncomfortable with sympathy. “We don’t get the English newspaper. Never have.”

Christian looked over at the house. “I wasn’t sure I’d find your place. It’s been a while. . . .”

Suddenly impatient, Caleb was eager to start milking. “Well . . . I’d show you around,” he said, thumbing toward the barn, “but we’re kinda shorthanded these days, what with Daed in the hospital. So I’d better—”

“Could you use some help?”

“What?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Actually . . . no.”

“Seriously. I’ve got some free time, and I
have
milked before.”

Caleb did recall his father’s showing Christian how years ago.
How old was I then?

“I’m sure I still remember.” Christian grinned again. “Besides, it would give us a chance to get reacquainted.”

Reacquainted?
Caleb was befuddled again. Normally, Caleb would have sent him on his way, just as he had the new church folks who’d frequently come by since Daed’s accident. Men who were thought to be too keen on converting them, like the whole lot at Manny’s church had done to Nellie Mae and her family. Like them, Chris seemed entirely too friendly, yet what could it hurt? He
was
family, though English, and milking was a big chore for one man.

He found himself shrugging. “S’pose if you really want to. You remember how to approach the cows?”

Christian nodded with evident confidence. “I never forget!” Christian walked along with him to the barn.

“Well, let’s see how the cows respond to you, okay? They’re quite wary of strangers, ya know.”

It turned out Christian really did remember, and after only a few tips he was working his way between the rows of the heaviest milkers.

More than an hour had passed by the time Caleb took his cousin over to the milk house for a short break.

“You weren’t kidding.” Caleb showed him the bulk milk tank. “You didn’t forget much at all. Actually, kind of a miracle, seems to me.”

Christian slapped his pants free of straw. “Hey, I forgot how much I like it here.”

“Smells nasty.” Caleb chuckled. “At least that’s what city folk say.”

Christian shook his head. “I must be crazy. I’ve always liked the smell of manure in the springtime.”

They laughed and then Christian turned to Caleb. “So when do you milk again?”

“Four o’clock tomorrow mornin’. You comin’ to help
then
?”

Christian chuckled. “No, but seriously, I could come after school several times a week.”

Caleb stared at his long-lost cousin, mulling over his unexpected offer. The fellow was as likable as the day was long. There was something disarming about him . . . something refreshing, too.
What could it hurt?

He glanced at Christian’s shoes. “Next time, tennis shoes might not be so good.”

Christian lifted his right foot; dried manure was stuck to the bottom. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“You’ll need work boots.”

“Is that a yes?” Christian asked, breaking into a broad grin.

Caleb slapped him on the back. “We’ll make a farmer out of you yet, Christian.”

“Fine with me . . . and please call me Chris.”

Caleb hoped he’d done the right thing by John Yoder’s boy . . . hoped, too, that Daed wouldn’t get wind of Chris’s helping anytime soon.

Rhoda wanted to skip for joy, but she demurely walked down the steps of the Department of Motor Vehicles. She’d worn her floral cotton skirt and tan sweater set, with a long single braid hanging down her back and her hair parted on the side,
instead of the traditional middle part. Above all, she did not want to be thought of as Plain. Not today!

A colleague-friend of Ken’s had followed her and Ken here to the town of Reading, the closest location for her driving test. Ken and his friend had already returned to the real estate office in Strasburg. Secretly, Rhoda was glad, eager to enjoy her first solo drive now that she’d passed both her written and driving tests with what the official had said were “flying colors.”

Flying colors. What a peculiar idea!

Hurrying to her car, she opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. “I did it!” she said, leaning back and laughing.

Feeling confident now that the tests were a thing of the past, she pulled out of the parking lot, relieved not to have had to parallel park, as she’d done earlier. Her only slight weakness, the testing official had said, explaining that many new drivers improved that skill over time.

Heading south on Business Route 222, she was anxious to get back to rural Honey Brook before going to work at the restaurant. She’d brought along her change of clothing, still marveling that she’d landed the waitress job while wearing her Amish garb.
Must’ve been providential,
she thought, catching herself. Did she believe that anymore? She wanted to go fancy in every way, but try as she might, it was hard, if not impossible, to dismiss that part of her upbringing.

Rhoda came to a stop sign. She actually welcomed the sight, but not because she enjoyed slowing down or stopping. Rather, she enjoyed shifting gears, having gotten the rhythm of the clutch and accelerator down as smooth as vanilla custard.

After another twenty minutes, the landscape began to open up, but she did not allow herself the luxury of looking out the side windows. She was focused on the road ahead . . . and on her future, as she saw it unfolding in her mind.

“First, I pay off this car . . . then I save up for my travels.
Our
travels,” she corrected herself, thinking of Ken. He was, after all, the perfect choice for a husband.

At the intersection of Route 10 and Beaver Dam Road, she slowed, looking both ways before accelerating again. She noticed several farmers out doing early plowing with teams of mules, and she thought of Dat and her brothers. Ephram would wait awhile longer to start plowing, because he liked the soil to be softer, but Thomas and Jeremiah—James, too—could plow anytime now with their new tractor. She felt a brief pang of sadness. She missed seeing her parents and her sisters, too, but her new, fully modern lifestyle was far more exciting than theirs could ever be.

As she neared her father’s farmhouse on the left, Rhoda noticed a family of ducklings close to the road. She slowed the car, waiting for them to toddle across to the other side. “Be careful, little ones,” she warned in the voice she used with her nieces and nephews. “Be ever so careful. . . .”

When the familiar horse barn and house came into view— her father’s house—she purposely did not look. She was determined to keep her gaze straight ahead. No good reason to look back; even the Bible said as much.

During a short lull at dinner between the salad and the main entrée, which required a few more minutes in Ken’s oven, Rhoda folded her hands tightly in her lap beneath the white linen tablecloth. She looked at Ken, all spruced up, as he sometimes described himself—and her—when they dressed up. What should she say about her dilemma, if anything?

His eyes searched hers. “Are you all right, Rhoda?” He slid his hand across the table, palm up, but she continued to press her hands together.

“I’m moving out of my brother’s house.”

Ken’s eyes widened and he frowned. “After such a short time?”

His response put her even more on edge.

“I just need to leave, that’s all.”

He sighed, withdrawing his hand. “Well, if you need a place, one of my renters gave me notice yesterday. I’ll have a vacancy downstairs, on the second floor. It’s a spacious place with its own bath but won’t be cleaned and ready for another three weeks.”

Second floor?

“Nice of you to offer . . . but I haven’t decided what I’ll do just yet.” She considered what her mamma might say about living in the same house as her beau, although a floor apart.
Avoid the appearance of evil.

No, her mother wouldn’t understand. Neither might the Kraybills, especially as Mrs. Kraybill had been so kind to offer their spare room. Now Rhoda was flummoxed, unsure what to do.

James would ask why I don’t just abide by the rules,
she thought, shrugging that aside.

“I think you’d be very comfortable in that room,” Ken said from across the small table. “But seriously, no pressure.”

After dinner, Ken insisted on making ice cream sundaes. “Do you want the works?” he asked. “Chocolate syrup, nuts, whipped cream . . . and the cherry on top?”

“Sounds good. Denki . . . er, thanks.”

When he brought her bowl around and placed it on the table in front of her, he leaned down and kissed her. “Congratulations, Rhoda. You’re a licensed driver now.”

She blushed, happy about passing her test, and nearly as happy with his sweet kiss. Truth was, the written test had gone quite smoothly, after studying the booklet so many times with both Ken and his aunt.

She smiled too broadly and Ken caught her eye and grinned. “You know the Pennsylvania rules of the road better than most high school students taking driver’s training, I do believe.”

He was humoring her and she loved it. She relished the attention Ken gave her. She loved him with no real gauge of such emotion from the past, never having had someone so interested in her before.

And now they were spending time once again in his wonderful house. She assumed he must love her, too, because his kisses seemed to say as much, although he hadn’t declared it with his words. But then, Mamma often said, “Actions speak louder than words.” Maybe that applied when it came to falling in love, too.

For no apparent reason, Ken winked at her. Then he reached for her hand, and this time she accepted. “You seem tired.”

“I’ve been thinking. What would you say if I had my hair cut?”

He scrutinized her with a mischievous expression. “I would never presume to tell a lady what to do with her hair.”

She didn’t want to say she’d already arranged the appointment for tomorrow morning, before she had to be at work around noon. “All right, then. But it’ll be short.”

“A drastic change?” He paused. “I’ve never even seen it down.”

You probably shouldn’t.

“How long is your hair, Rhoda?” His eyes had softened to the point she felt he might be sorry if she followed through with the haircut.

“Past my waist.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up.

“But not for much longer.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “No matter what you have done to it, you’ll always be pretty to me.”