Wonderful Lonesome (20 page)

Grateful that everyone else was out of the house for the afternoon, Abbie sat at the table with a blank sheet of paper in front of her and a black fountain pen in her hand. She wanted to write a report to the
Sugarcreek Budget
, the same Amish newspaper in which her family had first read about the wide open prospects of Colorado.

“Here we are located in the rain belt of Colorado,” the glowing report had said. What it failed to note was that the yearly rainfall was half of what Amish farmers were used to in Midwestern states. Fifteen inches a year included snow in the winter. Moisture melting into the soil in the middle of January was helpful, but it did not make up for the lack of rain in the dry summer months when the settlers planted wheat and barley and rye. At least potatoes seemed to do well even with less water than the farmers wished for.

Abbie knew she could not write any of these thoughts. She wanted to say something enticing, something that would encourage other families to consider transplanting themselves to the Colorado plain. But Abbie wanted to be honest.

The majesty of Pikes Peak was always in view. She could say that honestly. And the winters were not as harsh as one might think, nothing like Ohio or Pennsylvania. Snowstorms were spaced widely apart, and in between, temperate days outnumbered cold days. All the farms were within a few miles of the ravine where coal was near the surface.

All these things were true. Somehow, though, they did not add up to the rosy account Abbie wished she could offer. What could she say that would interest someone in coming to a community that had not even had a church service in more than fourteen months, with none on the horizon?

Abbie lodged the tip of the pen in the corner of her mouth. Perhaps it would be more productive to write to a bishop, or two or three. She might be overstepping her role as a woman, but if a bishop visited, it would not matter who had invited him. A report from a bishop might encourage new settlers, or at least keep the existing settlers from giving up on their investments of money and spirit.

Abbie blew out her breath and put the pen down. No, she would not write to a bishop.
Gottes wille
. In God’s time He would send a minister. It was better to pray fervently for this than to take matters into her own hands.

And writing to the
Budget
would have to wait until she had a clearer mind. Rudy’s words were unexpected. She had only meant to befriend and encourage him, just as she sought to encourage all the settlers when she had opportunity or they had need. Rudy had been right about Willem’s dalliance with the Mennonites. He had been right that if Willem had to choose, he would choose another church over Abbie’s devotion to the Amish settlement. Willem wanted a thriving farm more than anything else.

But Abbie loved Willem Peters, something she could not honestly say about Rudy Stutzman.

“Are you sure you feel up to walking down the street?”

Ruthanna leaned on Abbie as she got out of the buggy. “I feel better if I move around. Eber will hardly let me leave the house for fear that something will happen while he is not with me, but he knows I am safe with you.”

Abbie waited a moment for Ruthanna to get her feet solidly beneath her. “Ruthanna, is Eber working too much?”

Abbie lifted the basket of eggs from the buggy and they started down the street toward the Limon mercantile.

“He did not look well last week,” Abbie said.

“He is tired. He festers over everything around the farm, even though we have no crop to speak of. Fences, mucking more than necessary, whatever comes into his mind.”

“Eber should let someone help him.”

“He won’t.”

“What about coal?”

“He will dig soon. Willem tells him that the
English
are all digging now. Sometimes there are thirty teams in the ravine. Eber prefers to avoid them.”

“Does he let Willem help him?”

Ruthanna shook her head. “Willem tries, but Eber sends him away.”

“But is he truly able to keep up?”

Ruthanna had said too much already. “Abbie, Eber would be troubled to think that you are worrying over him.”

To Ruthanna’s relief, Abbie let the subject go. Ruthanna looked down the street and brightened. “Look, there’s Jake. Let’s say hello.”

“But Ruthanna—”

“He was so kind to us. I will never forget it.” Ruthanna waddled forward before Abbie could pull her back.

Jake caught her eye and changed his trajectory to intersect with Ruthanna’s path.

“Mrs. Gingerich, how good to see you.” Jake offered a handshake, and Ruthanna accepted.

“Are you living in town now?” Ruthanna asked.

Jake nodded. “I was at the hotel for a few days, but I found furnished rooms for rent and picked up the key this morning.”

“I hope you will enjoy your new home.”

“There is some work to be done before I can call it a home, but I will have some help in accomplishing the tasks.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She wished Eber were in a position to repay Jake’s kindness, but even if he were well in body Ruthanna knew that her husband’s mind-set of distrust would not permit him to associate with the Mennonite minister’s efforts to start a church that might tempt Amish households.

“Here comes my helper now.” Jake gestured across the street.

Willem paced toward them.

Abbie gripped the egg basket with both hands. Willem had said nothing to her about helping Jake move in. But she could hardly blame him. He would have known it would upset her.

“Hello, Willem,” she said. It was not like him to come into Limon without stopping by to see if the Weavers needed anything. He used to predict with impressive accuracy which days she would want to bring eggs to town to sell while they were fresh and found reasons of his own to offer to take her.

“Hello, Abbie, Ruthanna.” Willem looked from the women to the minister. “I suppose Jake has told you the good news.”

“Yes, he has.”

Ruthanna was overeager, Abbie thought. How was it good news that Willem was helping a Mennonite minister move into town? Until a few weeks ago Jake’s decision would not have mattered to Abbie one way or another. Now it threatened everything.

“Ruthanna,” Abbie said, taking her friend’s elbow, “we shouldn’t dally. I don’t want you to get too tired.”

Ruthanna laughed. “I am always tired at this point.”

“Still, we don’t want to stand out in the hot sun for too long.” Abbie nodded at Willem and then Jake. “I wish you success in your endeavors today.”

Two black hats dipped in tandem at the women.

An hour later, with their eggs traded and a few staples in the back of the buggy, Abbie helped Ruthanna back up to the bench.

“I was glad to hear the mercantile is going to carry fruit from the Ordway Amish.” Ruthanna settled herself as gracefully as she could. “God has blessed them with an irrigation system that can benefit us all.”

Abbie unhitched the horse and picked up the reins. Sour jealousy brooded in her spirit. The Ordway Amish, only sixty miles away, had flourishing orchards and sugar beet fields—and two ministers and a bishop. Not only did the Limon Amish struggle to grow vegetables for their families, much less cash crops, and all without a minister, but now the Mennonites were flaunting their plans in the streets of town.

Willem was serious about the Mennonites. Of all the threats that picked at Abbie’s longings, this was the most persistently painful.

If she were to marry Rudy Stutzman, a bishop would have to come. He would see how desperately the families needed their church. He would do something.

Abbie blew out her breath, chastising herself for even thinking of using Rudy that way.

Still, he did care for her.

Ruthanna turned a palm up. “I feel rain.”

Abbie raised her face and scanned the sky. Clouds dense with moisture moved across the sky.

“Rain, Abbie!” Ruthanna said.

Abbie moistened her lips. She ought to feel grateful. But the rain was too late. It would not save the crop. It would not save Willem.

A week later Ruthanna went outside to check on the laundry she left on the line an hour earlier. In the midday sun she had no doubt it would be dry already, and if she left it much longer dust would whip on the wind against it and settle into the cotton weave of sheets and shirts. Eber seemed to perspire faster than Ruthanna could launder. Bending over to transfer items from the line to the basket was a task more complex by the day.

She hummed, her way of prayer, to quell her spirit restless with impatience to hold the babe in her arms and with worry that Eber would not return to himself. With a tune stuck in her head, Ruthanna almost did not hear the approaching horseman.

“Mr. Heatwole!” Ruthanna glanced toward the barn, the last place she had seen Eber.

Jake dropped his feet to the ground. “It was delightful to see you in Limon the other day.”

“Yes, a pleasant surprise.” Ruthanna dropped a shirt into the basket and turned to face Jake. “I will always be grateful for what you did for Eber and me.”

“I would do it again if the need arises.”

“Thank you.” Ruthanna watched for movement from the barn, wondering if Eber could hear the voices from his workshop.

“Now, Mrs. Gingerich, I want to choose my words carefully so as not to presume or offend, but I want to make sure you understand that you would be welcome at my new church on any Sunday you choose to attend.”

“Oh. Thank you—and I wish you well—but Eber and I are quite content with our Amish beliefs.”

“Of course you are. I would never try to persuade you otherwise. I only mean to make sure you know you are welcome, and I would be happy to minister to you in any way that you need.”

“Thank you.” Ruthanna raised one hand to point casually. “Here’s my husband now.”

Eber came and stood close beside her. She felt the heat rise from his skin and could hardly keep from laying a hand on his forehead.

“Isn’t it nice of Jake to come by?” Ruthanna said.

Jake dipped his head in greeting. “If I can ever do anything for you, please let me know.”

“You have been generous enough,” Eber said. “Thanks to you, we are getting along well.”

“My offer stands, should you ever need something.” Jake slung himself back on his horse and waved as he left.

“What did you say to him?” Eber asked.

“Nothing.” Ruthanna reached for another shirt on the line. “He’s getting ready to start his church.”

“He seems a sincere man, and I’m grateful for what he did for me,” Eber said, “but we will not be joining the Mennonites.”

“I did not suppose we would.”