Through the Autumn Air Page 8

“Take it with you then.”

  His gaze averted, Burke sidestepped Ezekiel and pushed through the double doors.

  Ezekiel followed. “Is there some reason you don’t want to do the paperwork?”

  Or couldn’t. Maybe he couldn’t read. Or he was afraid of that part of the application that asked about felony convictions. Ezekiel had seen it all in ten years. “I’ve had convicts work here before. As long as you’re on the straight and narrow now, we’re fine.” He hesitated. Sometimes the not-being-able-to-read scenario was a more tender subject than being a criminal. “If you need help filling out the application—”

  “I have a college education, including a master’s and a doctorate. I’ve read Don Quixote—in Spanish.” Something sparked in Burke’s eyes, but whatever it was faded just as quickly. “And I’m not a convict. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  Ezekiel had only a vague idea as to whom Don Quixote might be, but the point was well taken. “Gut. We’ll get this squared away on Monday. Mary Kay never came back. You’ll need a ride.” Ezekiel laid the papers on the counter, within Burke’s reach. “All I can offer is a buggy, but it’s better than walking.”

  “I’m fine. It’s close.”

  “I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new to Jamesport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do you live?”

  The answer was long in coming. “Out Mary Katherine’s direction.”

  “That’s too far to walk. Let me give you a ride.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “It’s not. It’s a nice, cool fall night. It’ll feel good after being inside all day. I guess you have a car to get you back here on Monday.”

  “No.” Burke ran his fingers through the sparse light-brown hair on top of his head. “Look, this isn’t going to work. I didn’t think it through. I don’t like lying to people. Sorry.” He picked up a scruffy duffel bag and edged toward the door.

  “You don’t live out by Mary Kay, do you?”

  “I don’t live anywhere to speak of.”

  Which made it hard to put an address on an application or a W-4.

  “Then I guess you’re coming home with me.”

  NINE

  The house fit Ezekiel like his favorite boots. Just the right amount of room without pinching or rubbing. But it seemed a little snug for two. He shut the door behind Burke and moved to the oak table that separated the kitchen from the front room. He lit a propane lamp next to the table. The flame flared and the wick glowed. The familiar, homey scents of phosphorus and propane mingled. The light created shadows on the wall that, on most nights, served as his only company. He pointed to the short hallway that held his bedroom and the spare. “Your room is the first door.” He gestured in the other direction. “There’s the kitchen and the front room. That’s pretty much it.”

  “It’s plenty.”

  Ezekiel tried to see his living quarters through a stranger’s eyes. Sparse might be the best word. Two chairs by the fireplace, an end table overflowing with his books, his Bible, and the restaurant ledger. A small kitchen table with four chairs—in case the grands came for a sandwich. A calendar on one wall. That was about it. He chuckled. “It is. House for one.”

  “You don’t live with your family?” Burke’s curious glance landed on Ezekiel. “Neither does Mary Katherine. I thought all Amish people lived with family.”

  “They’re right there.” He jerked his head in the general direction of the house that Leah and William shared. “This is called the dawdy haus. Usually a husband and his fraa—his wife—live in it together when they get older. My daughter and her husband live in the bigger house with their three kinner—children.”

  “Why don’t you live with them?” Burke still stood in the middle of the room. He shifted his bag from one hand to the other. “The grandkids get on your nerves?”

  “Not at all. It’s a long story. I like kids.”

  “Me too.”

  Something in Burke’s tone spoke of another long story that would not be shared.

  “I usually fix myself a hot chocolate or tea.” Ezekiel moved into the kitchen and set the kettle on the propane stove burner. “It helps me sleep.”

  Helped him put off that moment when he climbed into bed, pulled up around his neck the Flying Cardinals patchwork quilt Lucy made the winter Leah was born twenty-six years ago, and listened to the absolute silence in his tiny home. It took them years to have babies. They’d thought they might never. Then they’d lost two before they were born. Then Leah. Like a miracle. And Carlene, John, and Andrew in rapid succession. Miracle upon miracle. Noise. So much happy racket. These days, not even a dog’s restless panting broke the silence. He often thought of getting a dog, but he never did. Dogs had short lives. A person got attached, only to have a dog die of old age or get hit by a car.

  He didn’t need any more death for company.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  He swiveled to look at his guest. “Do what?”

  “Bring a strange man into your house and feel obligated to make conversation.”

  Ezekiel tore open a packet of instant hot chocolate. The sweet scent filled his nostrils. The image of Lucy standing at the kitchen counter making cocoa floated in front of him. If she were here now, she’d scold him for using an instant mix. ’Course, she wouldn’t allow it in her house to begin with. “I don’t mind company. Besides, you don’t look all that strange to me.”

  A snorting sound told him what Burke thought of that comment. “Hot chocolate sounds good. There’s a chill in the air tonight.”

  “Yep, fall is definitely here.”

  The weather always served as a no-fail topic of conversation.

  It took a few minutes to heat the water. Ezekiel dumped in some extra marshmallows without asking. By that time, Burke had settled into a chair by the empty fireplace, his long legs sprawled in front of him, the duffel bag at his feet, hands in his lap, eyelids half closed. He sat up and Ezekiel handed him the mug. He lowered himself into the rocking chair he usually avoided—because it squeaked, but also because Lucy had rocked their children to sleep in it.

  The silence had a peace to it, just as it had on the buggy ride home. Burke apparently was one of those rare people who didn’t feel a need to fill it with idle conversation.

  They slurped, a companionable sound to Ezekiel’s way of thinking.

  His mind wandered. Tomorrow was Sunday and church. The thought didn’t arouse a great sense of joy. Still, if he couldn’t be a joyful believer, he could be an obedient one. He always had supper with the family at the big house. Burke could join them, unless he had something better to do. Monday, Ezekiel would rise before dawn to start cooking. Anybody who worked at his restaurant needed to be clean and neat, but especially clean.

  “I hope you have some more clothes in that bag.” Ezekiel figured a direct approach was best. “If you take those pants and that shirt up to the house tomorrow, Leah will wash them for you on Monday. I usually give workers at least two shirts so they can rotate. You can buy more if you want, later on.”

  “My complete wardrobe is in that bag.” Burke nudged it with his ragged sneaker. “I can do my own laundry, though.”

  “Just a thought.”

  More silence. Ezekiel finished his hot chocolate and stood. “If you need another blanket, there’s a stack on the shelf at the other end of the hall.”

  “Mary Katherine is a nice lady.”

  Mary Katherine again. Ezekiel sat back down. “She is.”

  “Why was her son so mad? Was it about me?”

  “I don’t know. With Thomas, it’s always something. He has a need to be in control. He’s young. He still hasn’t learned that we don’t control life.” God did, whether a person liked it or not. “How did you meet Mary Kay?”

  “I broke into her house last night.” His face flushed. “I don’t make a habit of it. I told the truth when I said I’m not a criminal. I was starving. I planned to leave an IOU.”
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  Leave it to Mary Katherine to take a burglar and find him a job. The woman had a backbone made of pure Christian concrete. “You were in her house at night alone with her?”

  That explained the grievous expression on her son’s face this evening. The district was small and the grapevine merciless.

  “Just long enough for her to make me a sandwich and send me to sleep in the barn—which was her idea. Today I waited outside the house on the porch for her to pick me up and bring me to the restaurant. That was also her idea.”

  “I reckon word got around. It’s likely Freeman, Cyrus, or Solomon heard and told the others.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They make and enforce the rules.” It was a simplification, but it was late and Burke was an outsider. He didn’t need to know the finer details.

  “She was nothing but kind.”

  “You put her in an awkward position.”

  “And she got in trouble because of me?”

  “Not because of you exactly.” Ezekiel had little trouble imagining the conversation. Mary Katherine, as outspoken as she was, surely knew when to close her mouth and listen. He swallowed a snort of his own. “I imagine the bishop had something to say about her being a woman living alone and not exercising good judgment in her old age.”

  “She’s not old. It’s my fault. What will happen to her?”

  “They only have her best interests at heart. They would like to see her either move in with one of her sons or remarry. Either way, she’s taken care of.”

  “She’s a grown woman. Isn’t it up to her what she does?”

  “Plain families are close knit. We take care of our young and our old. We take care of each other.”

  Burke didn’t look convinced.

  “I should get to bed. I have church services in the morning.” Ezekiel upended the cup to capture the marshmallows he’d saved for last. They were his favorite part. Certainly better than church. He hadn’t looked forward to church in a long time. A thought he didn’t share with anyone—least of all an Englisch stranger. “You headed to your church in the morning? I can loan you a horse.”

  The Englischers at the local churches wouldn’t find it too odd if one of their kind showed up on a horse. Not in these parts.

  “I don’t ride.” Burke shifted in his chair and winced as if his legs hurt. “Why did you call the restaurant the Purple Martin Café?”

  A diversion from the church question, or did Burke really want to know? It wasn’t Ezekiel’s business if the man chose to sleep in on Sunday morning. He sat back down. “My fraa liked birds.”

  “Your fraa?”

  “My wife. Lucy.” He stood again and went to the kitchen where he rinsed the cup and set it in the drain, ready for his morning coffee.

  Ezekiel’s hand hovered over the towel as he stared out the window over the sink. An inky, starless night stared back at him. A chunk of silver moon played hide-and-seek between clouds. Tree boughs dipped and swayed in the breeze. Lucy had made him build birdhouses and place them in their old yard in specific spots so she could see them through the kitchen windows while she and the girls cooked and washed dishes.

  The birds were migrating now. He’d seen an oriole earlier in the day. That would’ve made Lucy happy.

  How many times at supper had he sat at the kitchen table in their old house and watched her watch the birds? Her delight at the first sighting of a purple martin in the spring had tickled him. “Oh, look, look, they’re here. They’ve arrived. That means there’ll be babies before we know it. Winter’s over. I’m so glad. My bones are tired of the cold. Aren’t they pretty?”

  He would nod and tease her that she was more excited over those birds than she was her own babies. Which was impossible. The woman lived for those babies. She’d waited so long, and she wanted more. So did he. “A dozen,” she said. “Why not two dozen?” he asked. “Gott willing,” she said.

  He hadn’t been.

  Ezekiel grabbed the towel and rubbed his hands as if he could rub away the memories that always seemed to crowd him at night. The memories and the doubts. A Plain man should have no doubts. No questions. Accept God’s will and God’s plan. That’s what Freeman would say, if Ezekiel asked. Which, of course, he wouldn’t. Doubts in a man his age were an ugly thing.

  “My wife liked to feed the seagulls at the beach.” Burke washed his cup and settled it onto the rack next to Ezekiel’s. “I always considered them flying scavengers.”

  “I’ve never been to the beach.” Ezekiel always intended to go someday, but now it didn’t seem likely. He moved to extinguish the lamp. Time to sleep. “Where is your wife now?”

  “Dead.”

  The darkness caused the word to linger, quivering, much longer than a single syllable should.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a hard road.”

  One with which Ezekiel was exceedingly familiar. One he walked every day, wandering, seeking the end, the destination, the finality. Ten years and he still wandered.

  “I got the hummingbird tattoo when my daughter was born.” Burke’s voice sounded hoarse and disembodied in the sudden dark. “She was two months premature and a tiny little thing. Her arms flailed, and her legs kicked. She reminded me of a hummingbird.”

  “They are one of Gott’s special creations.” Babies and hummingbirds. “It’s gut you’ve got her, then.”

  “She died of leukemia when she was nine. My wife died the next year.”

  When God said there would be troubles in this world, He meant it. He also said He had overcome those troubles. Ezekiel didn’t offer those words, intended by some to be words of comfort. He’d been on the receiving end, and he knew how little they assuaged the grief. Not even time seemed to help.

  Some days, nothing helped.

  He said, instead, the only hopeful words that came to mind. “See you in the morning.”

  He waited in the dark.

  His visitor’s voice carried from down the hallway, softer, less raspy. “See you in the morning.”

  TEN

  The elbow jab came at just the right moment. Mary Katherine could always count on Laura to keep her on track. She settled to her knees on the hard-packed earth in Cyrus’s barn for the final prayer. Not getting a wink of sleep the second night in a row didn’t help, but that wasn’t the only problem. A story niggled at her brain, and her fingers itched to write it down. God would smite her if Freeman didn’t. Inhaling the calming smells of hay, dirt, and manure, she closed her eyes and summoned the words. Humility. Obedience. Surrender all.

  Cyrus’s words washed over her. She wanted to surrender all. Really, she did. So why did she struggle to be obedient? She wanted her house. She wanted to work, surrounded by books, talking about books, and writing all day long. Not in a restaurant, surrounded by food, talking about food, all day long. She loved cooking, but it didn’t call to her the way books did.

  “Mary Kay.”

  Laura’s whisper and the sound of people scrambling to their feet brought her back to the barn. Lord, have mercy on my wayward soul. Your will, not mine. She stuck her hand on the pine bench in front of her and struggled to stand. Her knees ached. Her back joined in.

  “Whatever is on your mind?” Laura managed to get to her feet a second before Mary Katherine. “You’re a hundred miles away, if not a thousand, this morning.”

  Mary Katherine had filled her friend in on the discussion with Freeman, Cyrus, and Solomon on the ride to the service. They’d made it a habit of coming together since their children’s buggies had become full of grandchildren and, in Laura’s case, great-grandchildren. “I was praying.”

  “If I know you, and I do, you were praying to get your way.” Laura’s chuckle was dry but still sweet. “You know what it says in Proverbs.”

  “‘You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail.’”

  They chanted the words together.

  Beulah and Barbara, ahead of them in the crowd surging toward the doors and a beautiful fall day
, looked back at the same time. Barbara rolled her eyes. “What are you two cooking up now?”

  “Nothing, dochder.” How could she? The elders—and her sons—had spoken. “We’re only commiserating over the aches and pains of getting old.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Laura picked up her pace and reached the wide-open doors first. “I’m a spring chicken. Squawk, squawk.”

  The other women laughed and scattered so Laura, who had delivered both of them, could take the lead in the procession to Josephina Beachy’s kitchen and preparations for the after-church meal.

  Trailing behind a few steps, Mary Katherine tugged off her glasses and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. Laura had an endless ability to make her laugh. For that, Mary Katherine thanked God.

  “Everything turned out all right, then?”

  Mary Katherine squinted into the sudden bright sunshine. Without her glasses she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. “Ezekiel?”

  “Forgotten running into me already?”

  Beset by sudden nerves, Mary Katherine juggled her glasses in an attempt to lift them to her face. They slipped from her fingers. She dove for them. The sudden bang of her head against something equally solid and the immediate pain that followed told her in no uncertain terms that Ezekiel had done the same.

  “Ouch!” She straightened and rubbed her forehead. The blurry image of the top of his head gave way to the glasses stuck in front of her nose. She grabbed them from his outstretched hand and returned them to their rightful place. “Sorry.”

  The sight of Ezekiel rubbing his forehead came into focus. He was hurt and trying not to show it. “It’s all right. You wear glasses for a reason, I reckon.”

  “I do.”

  He studied his church boots. Mary Katherine did the same, wondering what he saw there that held his fascination. Her own black shoes were covered with a fine coat of dust. “I have to get to the kitchen. I told Josephina I’d help serve the apple cider. They pressed it fresh yesterday. You should have some. It’s very tasty.”

  Why was she blathering on like this?

  Ezekiel shoved his black hat back on his head. He smiled. A tired smile but still a smile. He always looked tired. Even at church. “I enjoyed your Budget report, but I’m not sure Sarah is so pleased with you telling the world about her adventure in the canoe.”