With Winter's First Frost Page 3

Laura’s voice was as tart as green apples, but her smile remained sweet as maple syrup. Just as it had been a hundred years ago in school. Why were those memories so bright and the ones of his own Marian fading so fast? Laura had once been a fully rounded woman, like Marian, but now her dress hung on her and she stooped a bit—like he did. However, her green eyes still blazed behind silver wire-framed glasses. She had much in common with a snapping turtle.

  “I know that.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just . . . concerned.” Her gaze shifted over his shoulder. It seemed she, too, saw other days long gone. She shrugged and made flapping motions with her gnarled hands. “There’re complications. They’ll carry Rosalie to Chillicothe. Best stay out of the way.”

  Plain women didn’t usually talk to Plain men this way, but her worry for her friend explained it. She cared about Rosalie and the babies. Zechariah leaned on his cane and eased from the hallway. “Are the boplin in trouble?”

  “Nothing that can’t be handled in a proper hospital.”

  Gott, please let that be so. Ben and Rosalie have enough burden with me. If it is Thy will, let them care for Your boplin. They’ll raise them up right. You know they will. You have my Robert and my Martha. Let these two be.

  Not a fair request. Robert had been in his fifties when a heart attack took him. Marian and Zechariah had known from the beginning that sweet Martha, their special girl, would have a short time on earth. Always thin and frail but always smiling. Pneumonia had taken their girl at twenty-eight. Her little hand held his and her feverish smile never wavered in those last moments before she slipped away.

  “Prayer is best.”

  Laura’s words penetrated the thicket of memories, startling Zechariah. Laura had a way about her. She knew what people thought almost before they thought it. “You’re right.”

  “It can be easy to forget. We like to think we can solve all the problems of the world.” She smiled, but her expression filled with a sweet sadness that Zechariah recognized. Longing for that which one could no longer have. “Gott’s will be done.”

  It always was, whether they liked it or not.

  Hollering his children’s names in his deep bass, Ben strode down the hallway. He jerked his head toward the back. Laura hustled past him and disappeared into the bedroom.

  The boys, with little Delia piggyback on brother Christopher’s shoulders, appeared in the front room. Silent, their woebegone faces expectant. “What’s the matter with Mudder?” Christopher, as the oldest at eight, spoke first. “Why is she going in the ambulance?”

  “It’s what they call a precaution.” His hands gripping his suspenders, Ben hesitated. He glanced at Zechariah. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Like when I call the vet to come because the horse is having trouble foaling. Horses have babies all the time, but sometimes they need help. Only your mudder is going to the hospital, instead of the doctor coming here. Just to make sure your little schweschders or bruders come into the world safe and sound.”

  Nodding, Samuel crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s best then.” He tilted his head. “I should go too. Mudder will feel better if I hold her hand.”

  “That’s kind of you, Samuel.” Ben’s smile was genuine this time. “Mudder would like that, but I need you to stay here with Great-Grandpa. I’ll go with your mudder.”

  In unison they turned to look at Zechariah.

  Nothing like the stares of three unbelieving children to strike terror into an old man’s heart. “We’ll have popcorn and play Farm Animals.” He offered the first thing that came into his mind. Could he make popcorn? Rosalie had been adamant about him not touching her stove. “You can help with the popcorn.”

  “It’s called Life on the Farm.” Christopher sounded doubtful. “Have you ever played?”

  “Sure, sure, when I was your age.”

  Sixty-five years ago. Maybe a few times since then.

  “Danki. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Ben’s tone said he knew Zechariah would not like what came next. “Laura will be here to make supper, and she can help with the popcorn. She’ll stay until I get back.”

  “Nee, there’s no need for her to stay.” Pride and shame shook their heads from their perches on Zechariah’s shoulders. Ben thought his grandfather needed a babysitter. A babysitter as old as Moses’ wife. Like his groossdaadi but still able to walk and talk like a normal person. “I can watch the kinner for one night.”

  The paramedics rolled the gurney carrying Rosalie toward them. Theresa Plank scurried alongside her, murmuring something about breathing. The children rushed to their mother’s side. She patted their heads in quick succession.

  Ben shook his head at Zechariah. “Laura cooks. You don’t. She can clean up and make sure the kinner wash up before bed. You’ve been sick. You need to rest. Besides, I don’t know if it’s only for one night.”

  Zechariah had been resting for years now. If anything, he was sick from resting so much.

  “I’ll be back soon.” Ben gripped Zechariah’s arm and let go as he passed by.

  An eight-year-old in charge of the outside. An old woman in charge of the inside. “Don’t worry about anything. Just get your fraa to the hospital.” He swallowed his pride, dry as a thick loaf of unsliced, week-old bread, and nodded. “We’ll be fine. We’ll be waiting to hear the gut news.”

  Then they were gone. Laura padded down the hallway with a load of dirty sheets and towels in her arms. “So much excitement. I think I’ll make a cup of cinnamon spice tea. Would you like some? Rosalie said you’d been down with the flu. Hot tea is good for what ails you.”

  “Nee. I have a mess to clean up in the barn.”

  “It’s cold out there and the sleet has turned to snow.”

  “I’ll not rust or melt.”

  “Nee. Maybe you’ll find your good humor while you’re out there.”

  Mouthy woman. Still, her tart tone made him want to smile. “My humor’s fine.”

  But she’d already whirled and sashayed into the kitchen.

  All Zechariah wanted was peace and quiet. The barn had plenty of that. He shuffled the other direction.

  FOUR

  LAYING THE LAST FRESHLY WASHED POT ON THE DRAIN by the kitchen sink, Laura did a quick check of the room. Rosalie kept a neat kitchen. Dishes stacked in an orderly fashion on open shelves on one wall. Pans hanging from hooks on the gray wall across from the stove. A well-organized pantry and the laundry room beyond were spic-and-span.

  Bess and the other women had gone home to their families with the promise that Mary Katherine would stop by Ruby’s to let her know Laura would be staying at Ben and Rosalie’s. Her first supper in Rosalie’s absence had consisted of chili and cornbread followed by the pumpkin cookies. It went over well with everyone but Zechariah. He crumbled the cornbread into the bowl of chili, then left both to turn cold.

  Rosalie had been right about one thing. The man mumbled. He used to have a booming voice. Now it was so soft, Laura could barely hear him. Or maybe she was going deaf in her old age. Strange, she hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Are you done in here?”

  She turned. The subject of her musings stood in the doorway, one hand on his cane, the other on the door frame. His thin shoulders hunched, his russet eyes squinted against the light of the kerosene lamp. Laura summoned a smile and nodded. “All done.”

  “You should go on home then. No need for you to stay.”

  “I told Rosalie I would stay until she and Ben returned with the boplin.” She hung the towel over the back of a chair to dry. Zechariah wanted her gone, but more than that, he wanted to be seen as independent. No matter their age, men were like that. “Besides, I’m anxious to know how things went. How the babies are.”

  “They’ll be home in the morning, I reckon.” He smoothed his unruly silver beard. “You only live down the road. Someone will carry the news to you then.”

  He didn’t know a thing about giving birth to premature twins with the added challenge o
f placenta previa. Rosalie would not be home tomorrow. Worrying him served no purpose. “Trying to get rid of me then?”

  “The kinner are playing Life on the Farm. They’re fine.” His voice grew raspier with each word. “No need for you to stay.”

  “You’ll get up with Delia during the night then when she has to go potty?”

  If looks were stones propelled by a slingshot, Laura would be knocked senseless on the floor. “I’m not feeble. I’ll do what is necessary.”

  “Nee, but you are a man and most men don’t take to the idea of babysitting.” She picked up the teakettle and set it on the burner. Even with the fire crackling nearby, she had a chill. A cup of tea was in order. “Even their own kinner.”

  “Most men don’t sit around all day doing nothing. It won’t cost me much to get up with her.” He closed his mouth. His pulse jumped in his temple. “You should go home. We’ll be fine.”

  Laura was caught between a rock and a hard place. Usually she would do as a man like Zechariah insisted, but in this case, she simply couldn’t. She had a responsibility to Rosalie, Ben, and their children. “Why don’t you play the game with the kinner? They’d like that. I’ll make some popcorn and bring out a pitcher of water.”

  His face a block of cedar, he held up his free hand. It shook. “I knock things around the board. It annoys them.”

  “They should learn to have more patience.”

  “They’re kinner.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  He ducked his head. “You’re changing the subject. You’re as bad as Rosalie. I don’t need your help.”

  “I noticed you didn’t eat much.” Another subject change. Do it enough times and maybe he would get the point. Laura wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t. “Don’t you like chili?”

  “I do. My belly doesn’t like much of anything right now. No offense.”

  “None taken. I could make you some toast with peanut butter spread.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  He rolled his eyes like a teenager. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  She, too, had noticed the propensity of people around her to take her arm on the steps or hold the door or even pat her head a time or two. As if she were in her second childhood and just learning to walk on her own. Finally, something they could agree on. “It’s odd, isn’t it, how our children become our caregivers? They forget we first taught them to walk and use a spoon and diapered their behinds.”

  “Indeed. I’m not ready for a diaper yet.”

  “Nothing wrong with being independent.” Laura plucked a mug from the shelf and set it on the counter next to a tin that held an assortment of teabags. She would have that cup of tea and shoo the children to bed. “At least I have my own space in the dawdy haus. You must miss that.”

  “I do.” His voice softened. He shrugged. “I try to see it as Gott’s will.”

  “It can be hard, I know—”

  The back door flew open and Ivan Stutzman stomped into the kitchen. He brushed snowflakes from his black wool coat and wiped his rubber snow boots on the rug. “There you are.” His glance encompassed Laura. His bushy gray eyebrows rose. “And you, Laura. I hadn’t heard you were here. I thought Rosalie’s sister was coming.”

  “Her youngest has the flu. They didn’t want to spread it around.”

  “Of course, of course.” He wiped melted sleet from his face with his sleeve and headed for his father. “Ben’s not back? Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing.” Zechariah’s tone was testy. “It’s kind of you to come, but it’s not necessary for you to ride over here in the sleet and the dark to make sure I haven’t burned down the house. We’re fine. I’m fine.”

  “Whoa, whoa, I just came to talk to you.” Ivan patted his dad on the shoulder. He towered over the older man, but russet eyes, long nose, and wild silver beard made him the spitting image of his father. “Come sit by the fire. You look tired.”

  His eyebrows raised as if to say, “See what I mean,” Zechariah shot Laura a rueful smile. She shrugged and smiled back. The son’s attitude reflected his love and respect for his father. Zechariah could see that, even if it could be a trifle annoying. She saw it in her own children. A desire to help her as she had helped them.

  “I’m not tired—”

  “Well, I am. And cold.” Ivan disappeared through the doorway. Zechariah shrugged and followed.

  “I’ll get the kinner to bed,” Laura said to no one in particular. “In case anyone was wondering.”

  Another busybody. Hoping he hadn’t said those words aloud, Zechariah glanced at his son. Ivan was busy tickling his grandchildren and laughing at Samuel’s efforts to escape his hugs. The children loved to play with their grandfather. Once, Ben and his brothers and sisters had been the same with Zechariah.

  Now they were grown and had their own kinner. Life passed in a flash of rainbows, lightning, and sparkling sunlight one after another. Other days were dark and dreary. They smelled of medicine dripping into an IV and bleach. The sound of clods of dirt thudding against a casket filled the air. He settled into the rocking chair by the fire close enough to feel the heat seep into his brittle bones and warm his aching toes.

  “Go get ready for bed.” Ivan kissed Delia’s forehead and rubbed his beard on her cheek. The three-year-old squealed. He grinned and let her toddle off to Laura, who stood in the hallway, arms crossed, looking like an elderly schoolteacher. “Laura will tuck you in.”

  “I want Mudder.” Delia frowned and dug in her heels a few feet from Laura. Tears materialized, from sunny to rainy in a few seconds. “Mudder, Mudder, Mudder.”

  Laura knelt, swept her up in her arms, and hugged the girl to her bosom. “Mudder will be home soon. In the meantime, how about I tell you a story before you go to sleep.”

  “I want a story.” Samuel, his face crinkled as if considering tears as well, edged toward the hallway. “About a bear.”

  “Or a lion.” Eight-year-old Christopher wasn’t immune to the joy of a good story, it seemed. “Can I have a story too?”

  “I want a story.” Tears forgotten, Delia chimed in too. “About a little girl.”

  “Of course.” Laura smiled at the men. “I can make you some tea after they’re in bed.” She followed the small stampede from sight.

  “That woman and her tea.”

  “Now you object to tea?” Ivan slid his wide-brimmed black felt hat from his head and slapped it onto his lap. “She’s trying to help. At least try to be sociable.”

  “I can make my own tea.”

  “Rosalie doesn’t want you messing with the stove.” Ivan blew out air. He surely counted to ten in silence. This conversation had been repeated several times in the two months since Esther and her husband Joshua decided it was time for Zechariah to move to Ben’s. No talking it over with Zechariah. Just packing his stuff one day. Moving him around like a special child. “You’re too shaky. You almost burned down Esther’s house.”

  That was an exaggeration. Wood had fallen from the cookstove and lit a rug on fire. Zechariah had extinguished it in a matter of minutes. It would only get worse. The doctors said he was in stage three or a midstage of the disease. The fact that it could and would get worse nipped at his heels from the time he woke up until he went to sleep. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Are you taking your medicine?”

  It made him nauseated and took away any appetite he might have. “Jah. You came all the way over here to ask me that?”

  Whatever it was, Ivan couldn’t seem to spit it out. His expression darkened. He didn’t meet Zechariah’s gaze.

  “It’s about Micah and Dillon.”

  Ivan’s two middle sons. Ben was the youngest. “What about them?”

  “They’ve made the decision—”

  “To go to Indiana? Nee. It’s a bad idea.”

  “Jah. To Nappanee. Robert’s wife is up there with her new husband. She’s filled their hea
ds up with how good things are at the RV factories.” His face carved with sorrowful lines, Ivan stared at the fire. “If Robert hadn’t died, none of this would’ve come up.”

  It had been five years since Zechariah’s oldest son died unexpectedly of a heart attack. The pain might lessen with time, but it never subsided completely. The loss of his wife, mother of his seven children, three years later only added salt to the wound. For Ivan too. His older brother and his mother and years before, his sister Martha. “If onlys serve no purpose. Running off to Indiana and leaving behind family serves no purpose either.”

  “You have to see it from their perspective. There’s not enough farmland to go around here and what we do have isn’t making much money.” Ivan’s words came automatically. This debate was a rerun of many before. That didn’t make the arguments any more palatable. “They can’t afford to buy their own farms. Who can? They have families to support now. Karen says there’s plenty of money to be had. All the Plain men up there are working in the factory. They can go in early, make their quota, and go home early if they’re good workers.”

  “They spend their days in an Englisch factory with Englisch men, instead of at home, working the land with their kinner. We were meant to be close to the land and our families.”

  “Times have changed.” Ivan leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I can’t see how I can stop them. They need the work. We have family in Nappanee. These recreational vehicles are selling like hotcakes.”

  For now, they were. While retired English couples had the wherewithal to pay for them. “I don’t know that Karen is family. She married again only a year after Robert passed.”

  “She had five kinner to raise. They are family. Besides, she did what was expected of her. You know that. And Mark is a decent man. A gut daed to Robert’s kinner. Don’t be small-minded. They could’ve become Mennischt.”

  A real possibility right here in Jamesport. Another district had evolved into a less strict New Order Gmay over the past several years. Some members had gone on to embrace the Mennonite faith.