Accidentally Amish (23 page)

“
Daed
! What’s wrong?” Anna cried when she saw her father.

Jakob, clutching his ribs, waved her off. “How is your mother?”

“She is not talking.”

Maria threw herself at Jakob’s legs. “Are you going to make
Mamm
better?”

Lisbetli screwed up her face and wailed. Christian handed her a wooden spoon, which she threw down, petulant.

“She wants
Mamm
,” Anna said.

“I want
Mamm
, too,” Maria said.

Hans, coming in behind Jakob, peeled Maria off of Jakob’s legs and tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Go see her.”

Jakob opened the door that had shielded the younger children from the sight of their mother. Closed off from the fire, the room was cold. Barbara sat on the edge of Verona’s bed, and as Jakob entered, she pulled a cloth out of a bucket of water, wrung it slightly, and laid it across her mother’s forehead. Then she moved out of the way, and Jakob took his daughter’s vigil post.

“Verona, my love.” He spoke into her ear.

Just when he thought she would not respond, she turned her head slightly, without opening her eyes. “Jakob?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

The effort of trying to speak consumed her breathing. “Survey?”

“It’s finished,” he said. “We’ll have the papers soon.”

“Sorry.” Her eyes opened to slits. She swallowed.

Jakob moved the damp cloth to her chapped lips for a moment. “Shh. Just rest.”

“I cannot go.” Her chest rose and fell in shallow rolls. “Promise me you will.”

“We will wait till you are well.”

She shook her head. “No. This is the end for me.”

“Don’t say that, Verona.” Jakob laid his hand along her burning cheek.

“Love again, my love.” Her eyes closed. “Don’t be alone.” Her chest fell and did not rise.

When he sketched his dream, it never occurred to Jakob to include a cemetery.

Jakob hired a wagon and, with Hans Zimmerman’s help, took the pine box to Irish Creek. He would be gone at least five days, but Mrs. Zimmerman knew his heart and took the children home with her. Jakob could not bring himself to leave Verona in Philadelphia behind a church whose teachings she did not believe. He would tend a fire as long as it took to thaw the land enough to dig. She must be buried on Amish land.

Their land. The survey was a formality. It was only a matter of time before he could move his family to the home Verona wanted for them.

By the time Jakob returned to Philadelphia, Lisbetli had been inconsolable for a week, her usual compliant disposition shattered by the absence of her mother. She clung to her father’s neck constantly, unwilling even to go to Barbara’s arms. The little girl slept only when exhaustion overwhelmed and never for long. Jakob slipped out in the mornings—sometimes to Lisbetli’s screams—to work at the tanyard, only to come home every night to a distraught toddler and a teenager with the face of a woman who knew pain. In a few days, Barbara would be fifteen. How could he ask her to mother her siblings? But how could he manage without her?

Jakob knew what the coming weeks would bring. For a while, Amish families would stop by with food or an invitation for one child or another to play with their children. But they were all marking time, and there were not many families from their ship left in Philadelphia. The true goal was to leave the city, to claim their land, to forge settlements where they could live apart and unencumbered by conflict over their beliefs. Wasn’t that why they had come to the New World?

The survey came in. Jakob breathed relief that the choice to bury Verona on Irish Creek was without regret.

Love again, my love.

I
’m sorry, Mr. Beiler, but the bank officers have determined it’s necessary to discontinue your line of credit.”

Rufus squinted under his straw hat. This made no sense. “I wonder if there has been a mistake. Perhaps some confusion with another account.”

The woman at the desk tossed her wavy black hair over one shoulder and made faces at her computer screen. “No, I’m sure it’s the correct account. Would you like to set up a payment schedule for the outstanding balance?”

Rufus looked at her in confusion. He had opened his business account five years earlier when the Beilers first arrived in Colorado. A few months later, the bank extended him a small line of credit, and gradually over the years it grew with his business. Why would they suddenly withdraw it?

“We can convert the balance to an unsecured signature loan for a term of forty-eight or sixty months.”

“I’m sorry.” Rufus shook his head. “I don’t understand. Is there some concern about my payment history?”

She pushed out her bottom lip and studied the screen again then clicked a couple of times on her keyboard. “The only information I have is that the line of credit is discontinued. You’ll have to talk to a bank officer if you want to know more.”

“I do want to know more, please.” Rufus fixed his eyes on the back of the computer monitor that seemed to determine the woman’s statements.

“Please have a seat.” She gestured to an imitation leather loveseat. “I’ll see who is available.”

Rufus sat, stunned. This had to be a mistake. Without a business line of credit, he would not be able to pay his employees—or himself—between payments from clients on bigger jobs. He would not be able to bid on any jobs that required more cash up front than he had in the bank. The new housing development north of town would be off-limits to him. The happy owners of the home where he installed custom cabinetry had given his name to two friends building in the new construction area. Both wanted bids, but already they were anxious to work with Rufus. Both—especially in combination—would require considerable cash outlay up front. The most he could ask from the customers was half of what he needed for supplies. Without a line of credit, it would be impossible.

Karl Kramer.

It was no surprise when the woman returned and reported that no officers were available, and perhaps he would like to come back next Wednesday to discuss his options.

No, he would not like to come back next Wednesday.

Rufus stepped out into the harsh end-of-July sun and wiped sweat from the hairline against his hat. In the heat, the weight of Karl’s scheme fell against him, making Rufus anxious for the shade of the buggy. He barely even patted Dolly’s face before taking his seat and picking up the reins. On the bench, though, he sat still, his chest heaving. “
Demut
,” he muttered. “
Demut
.”

Lord, this is impossible. Not my will, but Yours.

Ruth put her slight weight on the pad that automatically opened the sliding doors at Vista Valley Nursing Home. Every time she entered, she found the name of her place of employment ironic, and perhaps a contributing factor to her ongoing homesickness. Though she lived and worked and went to school snug against the foothills to the Rockies, she longed for the wide vistas of the San Luis Valley. Someday she would go back. That had been her plan all along.

Ruth walked briskly down the hall then took the corridor to the left, the one with the teal green stripe on the floor to direct visitors in and out of the wing where she spent twenty-five hours a week.

The nurse at the desk greeted her. “Ruth! Good. Mrs. Watson has been asking for you.”

“Thanks, Angela,” Ruth said. “Let me clock in, and I’ll go see her.”

In the break room, Ruth spun the dial on a padlock and opened her locker. She laid her purse on a shelf and picked up the comfortable white shoes she always left there. In a moment, she had changed her footwear and pulled on a smock. The other staff wore scrubs, but Ruth couldn’t quite allow herself to don them and was grateful that—so far—the administration was sensitive to her religious leanings. Her skirts were simple and easy to move in, and the name tag on her smock clearly identified her as an employee.

When she was ready to go out on the floor, she slid her time card into the machine and awaited verification that it registered properly. It was precisely 6:00 p.m. Her shoes squeaked as she padded down the hall to Mrs. Watson’s room.

The resident, sitting in a wheelchair, lit up as soon as she saw Ruth. “My favorite person in the whole place!”

“You’re sweet, Mrs. Watson. I could probably squeeze in ten minutes of reading to you now, if you like, then more a little later.”

“I know they don’t pay you to read to me.”

“They pay me to care for you, and reading does that. Besides, I would come even if they didn’t pay me.”

“Now you’re the one being sweet,” the old woman said. “I was just thinking today about how long we’ve known each other.”

“More than a year,” Ruth supplied.

“That’s how I reckon it, too. And in all that time I don’t ever remember you taking a week off.”

“No, I guess I haven’t.” Ruth picked up a couple of magazines from the end table. Mrs. Watson had particular reading tastes. “Do you want
BBC History
or the
Smithsonian
?”

“You don’t have to read to me now, dear. I’m talking about a vacation for you.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Watson. I go to school year-round. There’s not much time for a vacation.”

“But you haven’t been home in all this time.”

“No,” Ruth said quietly, “I haven’t.”

“Won’t you have a break between terms at the end of the summer? If you request the time off now, surely they’ll grant it.”

“It can be hard to find a sub.” Ruth flipped a few magazine pages.

“Nonsense. People take vacation days all the time. Don’t you want to go home?”

“Very much.”

“Then you should go.”

Ruth smiled as she laid the magazines back on the table. “I have a few things to do. I should be back in about an hour to help you get ready for bed.”

She slipped out of the room and leaned against the pale pink wall in the corridor. How could she explain to a sweet old lady like Mrs. Watson that she was fairly certain her mother did not want her to come home? Not after the way she left. Not after her
mamm
found her hiding and waiting for a ride on that day of all days. Her departure had wrenched an enormous wound through both mother and daughter. Ruth was not sure it could ever heal enough for her to be welcome on the farm again.