Forever Amish (15 page)

CHAPTER 17

I settled onto the buggy's bench. The interior was frigid, but I didn't care. Armin offered me the blanket from this morning, and I gladly took it now, wrapping my legs.

“Why did you come, Armin?” I hugged Ginger to share my warmth with her—and vice versa. “I can't believe you'd bring Thunder out in a blizzard.” The air itself seemed white.

“I wanted to see how he'd do on the slick roads. I doubt any snowplows will be out tonight, seeing as this should melt off tomorrow.”

“But still—” He'd obviously risked his life and Thunder's safety to come fetch me. Or maybe he was looking after Lizzie, not me at all. Had he surmised Lizzie was skipping town without telling her folks?

Thunder shook his head and tossed his mane. Snowflakes, illuminated by Pops's headlights, shimmered through the air like iridescent sequins. Armin steered Thunder onto the road and made a U-turn at a wide spot, then passed the SUV. I could imagine Pops coming unglued at the sight of Armin's daredevil maneuver.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Pops easing the SUV onto the road behind us.

“How on earth did the four of you end up there?” Armin said, breaking into my thoughts.

“Are you asking if we were following Joe and saw him swerve off the road? No, Lizzie was in the car with him.”

“Ach, I was afraid of that. But I'd hoped they'd both come around.”

“Would you have stopped them?” Pops's headlamp beams reflected off the glistening pavement, casting long, distorted shadows of the buggy and Thunder ahead of us.

“Sally, I did much the same thing at their age, so it would be hard for me to give them advice.”

“You'd be the perfect person. Unless you're glad you left.”

“I don't know.” His gloved hands gripped Thunder's reins, keeping the nervous horse at a moderate trot. “If I'd stayed, I'd probably be married and have ten kids. Maybe it would have been for the best.” His words lacked enthusiasm, sounding more like a question.

The sky's light was draining. Snowflakes like marshmallows smothered the buggy's glass windshield. Armin turned on a battery-operated windshield wiper. Ginger huddled close to me, as if she could tell we were in a perilous situation. Cars coming from the other direction inched along, their headlamps glaring.

I prayed silently: Please, God, get us home safely.

I realized I'd referred to the Zooks' as home again and amended my prayer. Lord, find me a home where I truly belong.
To keep my thoughts from squirreling into the past, I gazed out the side window and watched the snow accumulating. I was struck by the transformation. The whole world could turn on its head and I was helpless to stop it. And yet, with this blanket of snow came tranquility and beauty. The bare trees were turning into elegant works of art. Many of the homes we passed were now illuminated by what must be gas or kerosene lamps, sending beacons of light into their front yards.

Mesmerized by the beauty amid the ashes of my life, I realized I hadn't spoken for ten minutes. I slid a glance at Armin and saw his remarkable profile—a man intent on watching for oncoming traffic and controlling Thunder. And taking care of me.

“What brought you back to the area?” I asked, giving myself an excuse to look at him.

“'Tis a long story. I was making a good living as a horse jockey.”

“A jockey?” In spite of the circumstances, a grin widened my mouth. “I can see Thunder running in the Kentucky Derby.” I'd watched the race on TV many times and had been wowed by the horses, the daring riders, and the winner's circle. “But, Armin, you're twice the size of a jockey.”

“That's what we Amish call men who buy and sell horses. All my life, I've had a keen eye for them, thanks to my dat, although I bet he wished he'd never taken me to horse auctions as a kid.”

“I don't get it, why you chose to leave in the first place.” My queries circled around my father's departure, but I didn't want to voice them.

“To buy and sell horses I needed to deliver them long distances in a truck. The required driver's license was and still is forbidden by the Ordnung.” He tightened up on the reins as Thunder increased his speed. “Whoa, now.” The buggy glided for a moment, its back wheels swaying—a toboggan effect.

“I grew up just down the road from the Zooks,” he said. “In fact, there's an empty house, it's back door yawning open for me should I want it. It's where mei Bruder Nathaniel's wife and her mamm used to live, making it Nathaniel's.”

“Just sitting there, vacant? I don't get it. Why would you prefer Reuben's tiny little cabin?”

“To live in Nathaniel's home, he'd call the shots.” His gaze fixed to the road, he leaned forward. “We've never seen eye to eye. He'd be on my case all the time. Once a big brother, always a brother.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “It's none of my business. At least you have a place to live.” I knew I sounded like a spoiled brat: showing up in a sporty car and having my father come all this way to look for me.

Armin negotiated his way onto the Zooks' lane and the horse increased his speed. Rambunctious Thunder seemed like a homing pigeon, aiming for cover. I was ready to warm up too; my fingers were popsicles. I hadn't thought to bring gloves when I'd left New Milford or asked to borrow a pair from Lizzie this morning.

We passed Pops's Mustang, barely visible under a mattress of snow. The wind had gusted a white bank against the car and the outbuildings.

Armin brought Thunder to a halt in the barnyard. “I'll be back.” He jumped out, unhitched Thunder, and led him into the barn, leaving me sitting in the buggy not knowing what to do next. As I wondered what Rhoda was preparing for supper, my stomach clenched with hunger. But what kind of a reception would Ginger and I receive from Reuben? And Pops? Would he have the gall to come inside again?

My father muscled the SUV alongside the house. I could discern the silhouettes of two people; Pops must have dropped off Joe on the way. It seemed as though Pops and Lizzie were having a serious conversation, the way they sat like statues. The SUV's engine was still running; the heater was probably warming them.

Armin came out of the barn and opened the buggy's door. “Come on, Sally. You'll freeze out here.”

I hesitated. “I don't want to talk to my father.”

“You come in my place and wait 'til he's gone, if you like. I'll build us a fire. You and your little Ginger can warm yourselves whilst I take care of Thunder.”

I had no other option, unless I sprinted to the house. But then, what about Ginger? The last thing I needed was a go-round with Reuben about bringing her inside.

“Sure, thanks,” I said. He lifted Ginger from my arms with care, then helped me down onto the snow-covered yard.

“Careful, it's slippery.”

He set Ginger on the ground. Her nose rooted into the snow and she snorted.

My first step, I almost lost my balance. Then I picked my way to his cabin with Ginger at my heels. I wondered if my father and Lizzie were watching us, but I refused to look their way.

Carrying the bag of kibble, Armin stomped his feet to loosen the snow from his boots, then opened his front door.

“My shoes are drenched,” I said. I could feel the skin on my feet shriveling. I unlaced my shoes and left them on the porch. My socks were soaked so I removed them, too.

“Never mind. I'll lend you socks.” He guided us inside. For a moment, all I could see was a black tunnel. Armin set the dog food down, then lit a lantern with the flick of a Bic lighter. The flame undulated up the wick, casting an amber glow across the small room. I saw a La-Z-Boy, a round table with two straight-backed chairs, a threadbare sofa, and in the corner a single bed with a quilt covering it. I had the oddest notion that Rhoda had made the quilt for him. No logical reasoning behind my assumption, and certainly no rationality for me to feel sadness because of it. I'd had a bad day and what was left of the cockeyed optimist in me had evaporated.

Armin reached into a small chest of drawers and handed me a pair of woolen socks that were much too long but comfy. I pulled them on over my stinging toes while he stooped before the hearth, ignited crumpled newspaper and kindling, and added split wood. Minutes later, dancing flames bit into and consumed the timber, sending fingers of smoke up the chimney and emitting glorious heat.

“Why don't ya sit here?” He pulled a chair from the table and set it before the fireplace for me. Then he draped a shawl across my shoulders as Ginger leaned against my legs.

“I've got to feed Thunder,” Armin said, stepping outside.

As I relaxed and watched the flames, I hummed, then sang the first stanza of “Amazing Grace,” a hymn I recalled from church. I didn't know the other verses, so I repeated the first several times. “I once was lost, but now am found …” I'd never spontaneously sung it. What was coming over me?

Fifteen minutes later, I heard Armin clomping his boots on his front porch. I felt a tingling rush of anticipation when I saw him.

“Is my father still here?” I asked.

“His vehicle is. And so is yours. He and Lizzie must have gone into the house.”

“Do you think Reuben will kick him out?” I recalled the yelling match when I arrived, multiplied by ten.

“Hard to tell. Your father is Rhoda's brother, but Reuben is Reuben.” He chuckled as if he had many stories to tell about Reuben's behavior. “But it's such a grizzly night out. Who would send a man away into such a storm?”

“Reuben?” A sputter of laughter erupted from me.

Armin set a pan of water out for Ginger and filled another with dog food. She gobbled a mouthful.

“Your father brought Lizzie home safely,” Armin said. “Once Reuben finds out he might cut your dad some slack.”

“I wouldn't want to be in the room when and if Lizzie tells her parents what she had planned with Joe. I can't imagine why she's in such a hurry to get married.”

The obnoxious and monstrous conversation with Pops about my mother replayed itself in my mind. Tears sprang from my eyes and an unexpected sob erupted from my belly.

“Are ya okay?” Armin pulled up the other chair and sat next to me, our knees touching.

I couldn't hold in the tide of grief. An inner torrent of emotions gnashed through my mind like shards of glass. I spilled out the whole story. “My parents never got married. After I was born, my mother wanted to give me away.” I couldn't believe I was babbling on, but I seemed to have no control. “I have doubts Pops is even my father.” I voiced hideous facts I'd planned to never share with anyone. I was inundated with shame, as though I should wear a scarlet letter on my chest, when in fact my mother was the wanton woman who'd tossed her own child out like dirty laundry. She and Pops had passed on to me a legacy of humiliation.

Armin offered me a Kleenex. I dabbed my eyes, sniffled, and mulled over Pops's story for a while in silence. Then a thought strafed into me like an attack of wasps.

I blew my nose. “You don't suppose Lizzie's pregnant, do you?”

He stiffened. “Why would you ask?”

“It might explain why she's in such a hurry.”

“I surely hope not.” He patted his hand on his leg and Ginger wandered over to him. “Now your little dog, that's a different story.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ginger. She's expecting a litter, isn't she?”

CHAPTER 18

“Why would you think Ginger's …,” I sputtered. “That's impossible. She can't be pregnant.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do. I do say so. My only male dog died last month and I never let her run loose.” My throat closed around itself. “Unless that wretched German shepherd next door climbed the fence. Highly unlikely. I don't know a dog that could scale and enter an eight-foot-high covered chain-link fence.” I inspected Ginger's ample tummy and wondered how I could have been so blind to her matronly condition.

The corner of Armin's mouth curved up. “My Rascal could—”

“Are you inferring your dog visited New Milford, Connecticut, last month?” My words bulleted out, then I paused as I realized Armin wasn't at fault. I was. I felt like an idiot.

“Unless it happened before Mr. Big died.” My words stumbled over each other. “The day I put him to sleep was the worst day of my life—until today.” A tear threatened to seep out. “His death was my fault. I should have tried harder to keep him alive.” I wiped under my eye. “I'm sorry; I'm usually not like this. I never cry.”

He handed me more Kleenex. “No matter.”

I pondered the ramifications of Ginger's being pregnant. A dog's period of gestation was sixty-three days, meaning Ginger could be weeks away from whelping a litter. Maybe she'd just put on weight, as I'd originally thought.

“Why are you so sure Ginger is carrying a litter?” I asked.

“Comes from being around farm animals my whole life.” Armin draped my wet socks over the fire screen and set my running shoes against it to dry.

“She's no common farm animal.”

“Why are you upset? Would a litter of pups not be a blessing?”

“Not now. I don't have a place to live. I don't feel comfortable staying with my father.” But in the recesses of my mind I knew it was a possibility.

I prayed the puppies were the progeny of my beloved Mr. Big. But I reminded myself not to gather expectations: I couldn't take another disappointment.

“We have a vet who stops by every so often.” Armin shifted. “Zach's not my favorite man, but he knows his stuff.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“A personal matter.” Something about his terse answer made me think a woman was involved.

“If I'm still in the area, maybe he'd have a look at her.” I tallied up my measly resources. “Never mind, I can't afford to pay a vet for a house call.”

“I'll see what I can do. Zach owes me a favor.”

“How's that?”

“Boastful though it may sound, I could have stolen his sweetheart if I'd wanted to.”

A pounding on the door—what must have been the side of a man's clenched hand—made me start. I sat up straight as the doorknob turned. I expected to see Pops stride in. But instead, Reuben stomped snow off his boots, shook his hat, then entered, and shut the door behind him. His face was beet red, except for his white lips and snow-covered beard. He didn't make a snide remark about my being alone with Armin, but instead he paced back and forth in front of us.

Armin sat exactly as he'd been: relaxed, at ease.

“Rhoda has supper almost ready,” Reuben said, “but I'll not sit at the table with the likes of Ezekiel. Yet Rhoda won't let me turn him away. And her parents are frantic to speak to him more. He informed them he's ill, and Rhoda is buying right into it.”

“That's my fault,” I said. “I told Rhoda my father was sick—before I knew they were related. I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Armin said.

“Yah, it's not your fault, Sally.” Reuben hung his hat on a peg. “In fact, you have my sympathy.” Reuben glanced down at Ginger, who lay at my feet, then back to me. “You're not thinking of bringing that Hund in the house, are ya?”

“Ginger's staying with me,” Armin said.

“That's gut. Dogs make me sneeze.”

“Come on, Reuben. You say everything makes you sneeze.”

He rubbed his nose. “Can't a man be the head of his house? And now a human mongrel is sitting at my table.” He paced again, shook his head; melting snowflakes fell to the floor.

I felt sorry for him. “Is there any way I can help?” I said to him. “Maybe if I go in there—”

“I'll come in with you, Sally,” Armin said, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. “We can put your father down at the far end of the table.”

He got to his feet in a slow way that told me he didn't mind sitting by my side one bit. I couldn't imagine a more unlikely pair than us, yet there was no man I trusted more at the moment.

“Come on, Sally.” Armin tapped my elbow. “I'll lend ya boots. Then we'd best get in the house so the family can eat. Rhoda has probably been preparing something extra special in your father's honor.”

“Certainly not in mine.” Reuben sounded peeved. He leaned over and fluffed Ginger's coat; I couldn't help but notice that he didn't sneeze. He straightened his spine and redeposited his hat. “All right, then. I'll not be exiled from my own home.”

Leaving Ginger, Armin and I followed Reuben across the snow-covered barnyard, up the back steps, and through the utility room. We removed our boots and entered sock-footed.

I inhaled a mélange of mouthwatering aromas. On the counter sat a platter of stewed meat and onions, squiggly noodles, steaming carrots and broccoli, and biscuits. All of the scrumptious bouquet Pops and my kitchen never produced, because I rarely cooked and had never made bread from scratch. And he recently claimed he wasn't hungry anyway.

“Kumm rei, Sally!” Lizzie said. I figured she was wondering if I'd told Reuben about her escapade. I'd let her ruminate for a while longer.

My grandparents' faces lit up when they saw me. “Sally, dear,” Grandma Leah said. “I'm so happy to see ya. I was afraid you'd leave before we got acquainted.” She and my grandpa were already seated at the far end of the table. Next to them slouched Pops, who kept his gaze fixed on his plate. Jeremy and Peter were also seated. I assumed the two had worked all day. Lizzie had mentioned that since Sunday was a day of rest, extra chores needed to be accomplished on Saturdays.

“Welcome, Sally.” Rhoda floated over to me and gave me a hug, her arms enfolding me. “The roast has been in the oven all afternoon. I hope you like it.” She glanced to Pops. “Your dat always did when he was a boy.”

Reuben and Armin removed their hats, plunked them on pegs. Reuben parked himself at the head of the table. He skidded his chair in without acknowledging Pops.

Reuben bowed his head, made a guttural sound, and we all sat in silence. I wanted to be thankful. After all, I was at a dinner table with my family, of sorts. If they were my family. If Pops were even my father.

During the silence, I opened my eyes and wondered what Reuben was praying about; maybe that Pops and I would disappear like a poof of steam. I didn't blame Reuben. My father's head was bent, his forehead in his hands. A lifetime of repentance, I wondered, or a show put on for his family's benefit?

The moment Reuben cleared his throat again, all said “Amen” in unison as heads lifted then arms reached out to gather sliced bread, biscuits, and butter. Rhoda served the roast. First to Reuben, then to her parents, then to my father, as if he were an honored guest. Reuben sliced into his meat, his knife grating on the plate.

Rhoda asked Lizzie about her last day at work.

“Nothing special,” Lizzie said in a ho-hum manner. “Lots of business, though. Sally was such a fine gut help. I don't know what I would have done without her.”

I recalled Joe and Lizzie scaling the snowy bank. I assumed Reuben knew nothing of the incident, or he'd be outraged. I was still confounded by Lizzie's willingness to run off without telling her folks. Exactly what my father had done. Lizzie and Joe's crazy scheme got me thinking: my mother could have been Amish, in her running around years. No, Pops said her parents owned a car. Unless some Amish people owned cars. Maybe she was Mennonite? There was so much I needed to learn, as if I were an oak tree with no taproot, barely grounded.

“Mrs. Martin wants Sally to stay on at least for another week.” Lizzie slathered butter and peach jam onto a slice of bread. “Or better yet, a month.”

“That would be wonderful.” Rhoda passed a dish of pickles around the table. “Sally, are you going to do it?”

“I told her you would,” Lizzie informed me.

“Without my permission?”

“You can stay here with us,” Rhoda said, ladling out gravy for the meat.

Reuben harrumphed. He dropped his knife, its handle clanking on the plate. “Yah, okay, she can stay. But not your Bruder.”

“But surely he can spend at least one night,” Rhoda said. “We won't send him out in a snowstorm knowing he's a sick man.”

“If he's sick, it must be the Lord's will.”

I could see Grandma Leah's face growing tense, her mouth turning inward, hiding her thin lips, probably holding in her words so she didn't antagonize Reuben. She finally said, “Maybe it was God's will that Ezekiel return to us so he can get medical help.”

Reuben scarfed down another mouthful. “We don't even know he's really sick.”

“Just look at him,” Rhoda said. “His cheeks are hollow and his hand's shaking.”

She was right, but I'd gotten used to seeing it, so I didn't always notice.

“Maybe that's guilt on his face and fear traveling down his arm.” Reuben sent Pops a sneer. “You could never believe him, so why would he suddenly become honest now?”

I was thinking the same thing of Honest Ed. I looked around the room and realized there was no one, not even Armin, whom I could totally trust.

We ate in silence for the most part—I'd never seen Pops so quiet. Just the sound of clattering flatware and an occasional belch, which seemed to satisfy Rhoda. I'd always frowned when Pops belched, but now I realized uncouth manners might be a show of appreciation to the woman who'd prepared the elaborate meal—which I found myself consuming, in spite of my scudding thoughts.

I glanced out the window and saw more snowflakes shimmering to the ground. I wasn't going anywhere tonight.

As if reading my thoughts, Armin said, “Sally, you could spend the night in my cabin with Ginger. I'll sleep in the barn.”

“Nee, it's too cold,” Rhoda said. “And I want our Sally with us.”

I glanced at Lizzie, who sat moving her food around her plate with her fork, nibbling mouthfuls every so often. I had very little doubt what was occupying her mind: Joe. I'd have to ask Armin about him later. Lizzie was so pretty, she must have had her pick of young men. Unless she'd told me the truth, and the young Amish men her age had already selected their brides. No, Armin was proof that wasn't true.

“Lizzie, you're hardly eating a thing.” Rhoda tried to serve her more noodles, but Lizzie shook her head.

“She's moping because today was her last day at the store.” Reuben aimed his next words at Lizzie. “Don't you think for a minute you're going to change my mind.”

“I wasn't, Dat.” She sipped her water. “I told you I wouldn't go back, and I won't.”

“At least we've got one situation settled.” He swabbed butter onto a biscuit and bit into it.

When everyone had finished their meals, Rhoda and Lizzie cleared the table. “Ya want coffee or tea with dessert?” Rhoda asked.

“I've got more chores.” Reuben pushed his chair away. “I'm full up to here.” He motioned to his throat.

“Aren't you going to say an after-meal prayer?” Rhoda said.

He looked angry enough to spit. “Can't a man have any peace in his own home?”