With Winter's First Frost Page 5

  “That’s a good sign.” Laura longed to give the boy—she remembered when Marian took him from his mother and rocked him at the canning frolics—a hug. “Let me fix you some breakfast before you go back.”

  “I had kaffi at the hospital cafeteria.”

  “A real breakfast. I make a gut cup of kaffi, if I do say so myself.” She started for the back porch. “My biscuits aren’t too bad either.”

  “What happened to you?” The concern in Ben’s voice turned accusing. “What were you doing out here, Groossdaadi?”

  “Everybody get washed up,” Laura interceded. “The kinner are waiting for your news, Ben. They’ll be tickled to see you.”

  A growl indicated what Zechariah thought of the conversation. “I’ll tell Christopher you’re here and breakfast is ready.”

  “I’ll do it.” Ben’s gruff voice rose. “You go inside.”

  “You’re tired. You were up all night. I’m just old.” As if to punctuate his words, Zechariah smacked his cane on the ground. “Don’t argue with your elders.”

  Ben turned and stomped toward the house. He let out a gusty sigh as Laura caught up. “Dineen will take me to my sister-in-law Jean’s after breakfast. She said her daughter Millie can stay with the kinner while Rosalie is in the hospital.”

  “No need. Let me do this for you.” Not just for him and Rosalie. Being able to help was a good feeling, one Laura hadn’t had in a while. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the children made time fly the way it had when she cared for her own children. Old memories came to life. Like finding a long-lost, much valued heirloom. She didn’t want to give it up just yet. “I can watch the kinner, cook, and do the washing. Your daed will take care of the chores. He came by last night and said he’d be back this afternoon.”

  “You’re not working at the store anymore?” Ben held the back door open for her. The smell of bacon wafted through it. Everything would need to be warmed up. “They were shorthanded after Mary Katherine opened her bookstore with Dottie.”

  “I fill in once in a while, but not recently.” Laura hurried to the stove and set the bacon and eggs back on the flame to warm them. Ben didn’t need to know that standing in the Combination Store, waiting on customers, caused Laura so much hip and knee pain she couldn’t sleep at night. “Jennie’s girls are old enough now to help out, and they hired a couple of other young women who aren’t married yet.”

  Samuel and Delia had crawled onto the bench at the prep table where they shared a piece of bread they’d stolen from the basket. “I’m hungry,” Samuel announced.

  “Me too.” Delia nodded and stuffed another chunk of bread in a mouth already so full her cheeks puffed like a squirrel that’d stowed acorns there.

  She wore her dress backward, and her hair needed to be braided and tucked under her kapp. Samuel had neglected to tuck in his shirt and put on his suspenders. Still, they hadn’t done a bad job of dressing themselves. Laura would finish up after she cleaned the kitchen. She felt like humming her favorite English hymn. “Breakfast coming up.”

  “What about Groossdaadi? He’s a handful.” Ben glanced at the children and lowered his voice. “He’s not himself. We can’t ask you to deal with his problems too.”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.” She smiled and flapped her apron at him. “Sit. Sit. Tell your kinner the gut news.”

  “Are the boplin coming home?” Samuel crawled from the bench and launched himself at his father. “Is Mudder coming home soon?”

  Ben winced and tugged his son into his arms. “Not today, but as soon as she feels better.”

  He settled Samuel back on the bench and plopped down next to him. Delia crawled into his lap. His gaze traveled to Laura and seemed to ask for her help.

  “Your mudder is tuckered out after having two boplin all at once.”

  “Bruders? Did I get bruders?”

  “Nee. I’m sorry to disappoint you, suh.” Ben smoothed Samuel’s curly blond hair. “Girls, both of them. Mia and Mary. Little schweschders for you to take care of.”

  “To boss around. Mia and Mary, Mia and Mary.” Samuel made a song of the names. Delia mimicked him. “Mary and Mia. Mary and Mia.”

  “We’ll see who does the bossing.” Laura set a plate of eggs and bacon with two biscuits in front of Ben. Samuel immediately swiped a piece of bacon. “Hey, yours is coming, little one.”

  The back door opened and Christopher hurled himself across the room. “Daed, Groossdaadi said they were two girls. More girls. How come we couldn’t get boys?”

  Laura chuckled. Ben’s smile seemed peaked. “It’s not like an order of pancakes, suh. Where’s your groossdaadi?”

  “Cleaning up the barn.” Christopher squeezed in next to Ben and stole another piece of bacon. “He says to tell you he’s not hungry.”

  Laura dished out breakfast for the kinner and busied herself cleaning the skillets. She waited until Ben stood and moved toward the door to approach him. “Is there something else you’re not saying?”

  He shook his head, but his eyes were wet with tears. It was heartbreaking to see little ones cry, but especially boys because they tried so hard not to do it. “What is it? I may be an old lady, but I was a midwife for many years. I kept my patients’ medical issues to myself. You can trust that.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. He faced the door, away from the kinner. “There won’t be any more bruders or schweschders.”

  “Ach.” An aching lump swelled in Laura’s throat. She managed a quick nod. No trite words of comfort would help or were necessary. God’s will could be hard to understand, but there was no point in questioning it. Ben and Rosalie had five healthy children. They were blessed. “I’ll take care of these three and Zechariah. You be with Rosalie. She’ll need you right now.”

  “They look like her. Little spikes of curly brown hair. Brown eyes. Same chin.”

  “I reckon they have some of their daed in them too.”

  He stared at his boots. “The doctor said they’ll keep the boplin until their lungs are stronger and they put on some weight. That will give Rosalie a chance to start nursing.”

  “I’m here as long as you need me.”

  Being needed was the best medicine for an old woman.

  “The kinner will be easy. Zechariah is hard.” With a soft sigh Ben shrugged on his coat and opened the door. “I’ll talk to him before I go.”

  “If you want. Then leave him to me. You have enough on your plate at the hospital.”

  An old woman might be the best medicine for an old man.

  Either way, Zechariah had met his match.

  SEVEN

  BROWNIE. ZECHARIAH’S CHUCKLE ECHOED IN THE EMPTY barn. That was what happened when a man let his children name a horse. Brownie was a chestnut gelding. Zechariah brushed the horse’s warm flank and inhaled scents of horse, hay, and manure. Comfortable smells. The barn held more comfort than the house did with Laura zipping in and out of rooms and talking, talking, talking. She never sat still. She hovered. She offered tea. She dusted, swept, mopped, and talked. She baked cookies and pies and biscuits.

  And talked. Going on three days of nonstop talking now.

  The cookies smelled good. The chocolate cream pie melted in his mouth.

  She was decent company. Good company, really.

  He would get used to it and then she would leave. Not to feel sorry for himself. No. Simply the facts that became apparent as a person grew older. And older.

  Brownie tossed his head and nickered.

  “You’re right about that. Nothing wrong with wanting a little peace and quiet.” Brownie probably wondered why Zechariah continued to brush long after he’d finished the job. The horse’s coat gleamed. His buddy Butterscotch needed a turn. “Just so you know, I haven’t become crazy in my old age. I’ve always talked to my horses.”

  “Eli talked to his horses too. He said they always agreed with him. Unlike his fraa.”

  Talking, talking, talking in the barn now. Laura had a pleasant voice,
if truth be told. Zechariah didn’t turn at the sound. Apparently, his hearing was going now. He had been so engrossed in his task, he hadn’t heard the barn doors slide open. He kept brushing. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I came to tell you supper will be out of the oven and on the table in about ten minutes.”

  “You could’ve sent Christopher to tell me.”

  “The exercise is gut for my arthritis, and the fresh air is gut for my lungs.”

  “A man might think you were a doctor or something.”

  The swish of her long skirt told him she approached the stall. “If you don’t stop soon, you’ll brush off any coat he has left.”

  “He likes it.” Zechariah leaned his head against Brownie’s shoulder and breathed in the horse’s smell.

  A flash of pale memory, a cloak faded by years, made the knot ache behind his ribs where his heart once resided. The horse’s name was Jake. Zechariah nearly wore him out that winter after he turned sixteen. Church. Singings. Sometimes he rode him with a saddle. Sometimes he took the two-seater, especially when he started courting Marian. She liked the furry comforter he pulled over their legs. They sat close, their legs touching. For warmth, she said.

  Jake was a black gelding, full of patience and sometimes a little vinegar. Long ago that described Zechariah. That’s what Marian liked about him. Or so she said when they huddled under the comforter, letting the snowflakes fall where they may. They kissed for the first time and her lips were cold, wet, and soft. Zechariah warmed them for her.

  Marian hadn’t been a talker, but their silences were filled with the confidence that he knew what she was thinking, and she knew what he was thinking. As the years passed, they started finishing each other’s sentences. She knew him better than anyone ever had or ever would.

  Zechariah inhaled a long, painful breath.

  Laura chuckled.

  He reached for a neutral tone. “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Hiding from me. If I talk too much, just say so. I’ll shut up.” She reached over the stall gate and patted Brownie’s muzzle. The traitor tossed his head and edged closer. “I know my place. I also know I can be irritating. Eli used to tell me I talked a lot, even for a woman.”

  Zechariah snorted.

  “Supper is tuna noodle casserole. It’s easy on the stomach.”

  He liked tuna noodle casserole. His stomach growled. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She swished away.

  He began to hum.

  “I like that song.”

  “What song?”

  “‘How Great Thou Art.’”

  “I wasn’t humming a song.”

  “Of course not. Come wash up. Samuel claims to be so hungry he could eat a bear. If you don’t hurry, there may not be any casserole left.” She opened the doors and slid them shut with barely a sound.

  The children were traitors. They must’ve told her he liked tuna noodle casserole.

  The doors slid open again. “By the way, Elijah and his fraa are here. They’ll eat with us.”

  With us. Like she was family. Or his fraa. He hardly knew Laura. She attended those same singings, but she had eyes only for Eli Kauffman. He was tall, strong, a hard worker, and the oldest son so he oversaw the family farm when his father retired to the dawdy haus. A good choice for a husband. He had a so-so singing voice that carried through the barn. Laura, at least, had been mesmerized by it. Seated on a wooden bench, her eyes dark green in the lantern light. A pretty woman. Beautiful even.

  He kept stumbling into these recollections. A symptom of old age. More memories in the past than hopes for the future. Better to cling to the present. Son number four checking up on him, fraa in tow to make it look like a regular visit. “We don’t need them checking up on us. I’m fine.”

  “Not everything is about you.”

  So much for talking less. “Your casserole will burn. I’ll be right in.”

  The doors shut with a bang this time. Why hadn’t he spoken to her in those early days at the singing? A vague recollection of her laugh, high and sweet, flitted by like a moth drawn to the lamp. The Ropps’ barn. Rain pelted the roof. Heat from the lanterns. She had been a little fluffy around the edges. A figure made for having children. He had been busy trying to catch Marian’s eye. Marian didn’t talk as much or laugh as often, but something about her bent head and shy smile suggested her still waters ran deep and were worth traversing.

  Why could he remember some things and not others? His mother’s face had disappeared into pages long ago turned. His father’s a vague hodgepodge that might be David, Robert, and Ivan’s melded with strokes that seemed less and less sure. Zechariah laid the brush next to the tack. His hands trembled. His arm moved of its own accord. Odd, jerky movements. The specialist in Kansas City said the medicine caused it. Nothing like the side effects being worse than the disease itself. He gritted his teeth and held his arms close to his body. They jerked anyway.

  The doors slid open yet again.

  “I told you I’m on my way.”

  “With that attitude don’t bother.”

  He turned. Elijah stood in the doorway. The spitting image of the man Zechariah used to see in the mirror when he combed his hair and brushed his teeth.

  “I thought you were Laura.”

  “Probably best not to talk like that to the woman doing the cooking. Come on, it’s time to eat.”

  Zechariah shuffled from the barn. With his long legs, Elijah probably found the slow pace painful. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “I like to walk with you.”

  “I’m a slowpoke now.” Zechariah struggled to force his legs to move faster. They refused. “Are you checking up on me?”

  “Nee. Checking up on everyone. Ivan told Ben we’d all take turns. June will help Laura with the kitchen and putting the kids to bed.”

  “And you?”

  Elijah shrugged and grinned. “I’m here for the conversation.”

  It would be like this from now on. A steady, rotating stream of people checking on him—them. They were family. They cared. So why did that caring seem to strip a man of his last vestiges of usefulness? Maybe that was his fault, not theirs. He needed an attitude adjustment.

  Zechariah cleared his throat. “Your boys don’t have that cockamamie idea in their heads about running off to Indiana, do they?”

  “Nee. They’re not boys, though. They’re grown men with families. If they decide to move to Alaska, that’s their business and Godspeed. At least they’re not deciding to drive cars or get their pictures taken.”

  On that Zechariah agreed. His district walked a careful line, reviewing each potential change, accepting some things like phone shacks and propane ovens, while rejecting others that would bring their community too close to an ever-evolving, technology-filled outside world. Freeman, Cyrus, and Solomon had done a good job in leading the small Gmay. Still, Zechariah hated to see family spread to the four corners of the country.

  “It’s one thing to find cheaper land in Montana or Colorado. It’s another to work in a factory. It’ll take them away from their families every day. They’ll be neck-deep in the world five days a week. Cars, computers, and photos are bound to follow.”

  “You and Ivan had this conversation.” Elijah’s expression said he had his own concerns, but his words reflected his respect for his older brother. “We have to seek balance. We may only be able to preserve our faith and family by allowing this change. Farming isn’t enough.”

  “My parents and great-grandparents worked hard to preserve this lifestyle. Back then folks went to the Englisch courts to keep the right to school kinner like me in our own schools. I was one of the farmers, along with many others, who refused to participate in Social Security. When you were young there was another court battle—to keep from being required to send you to Englisch high schools. Do you know why?”

  “I’ve heard all these stories.” Elijah released the long-suffering sigh that said he sought patience for old fo
lks and their penchant for living in the past. “To keep us apart from the world so we wouldn’t become of the world. The Englisch judges decided we had a right not to be modern. They also thought backward farmers had no need of schooling.”

  “We wanted the right to educate our kinner as we saw fit. There’s nothing backward about that.”

  “I know. But this is about changing times. Small farms are a losing proposition.” Elijah blew out a second gusty sigh. “It’s a done deal. Right now, we want to make sure you’re okay and Ben’s kinner are okay.”

  Ivan would’ve vented to Elijah and David. His sons were close. Especially since Robert’s death. Something about losing their older brother had cemented their friendship as adults. They put their heads together to decide what should become of Zechariah at every turn. “I suppose you two have figured out what to do with me now.”

  “Nothing has been decided. Not until we see what Ben has to say.”

  “He says his fraa has some mending to do, but Laura’s here for that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Exactly what he used to tell them when they were children and wanted to go fishing or spend a week at Stockton Lake or make ice cream.

  We’ll see.

  “By the way, did you see that pile of brush in the front?” Elijah clomped up the steps to the back porch. “It looks like someone trimmed their trees and dumped the branches in Ben’s yard. I’ll clean it up before we leave tonight.”

  “That isn’t a brush dump. I put those there.” Elijah obviously wanted to change the subject, but he’d chosen the wrong topic. Zechariah tapped down his impatience. Birding brought him joy as it did so many people. “The evergreen branches attract the birds. They can hide in there when the hawks start hunting them. It’s a way of making them feel at home. They’ll eat there and sleep there.”

  “That’s all well and gut, but it looks trashy. Ben might not like it.”