The Haven (15 page)

Gid bit his lip. “Then make it ‘Y-O-U.’”

“What does ‘mea culpa’ mean?”

“It’s Latin for ‘my mistake.’”

Nora Stroot raised a pencil-drawn eyebrow. “Sure she’ll figure
that
out?”

“Absolutely.” Wouldn’t she? Mary Kate certainly knew it. Of course, Sadie would know it too.

“You must have done something incredibly idiotic.” She waited for Gid to elaborate on his stupidity, but he stood there in stony silence. She sighed, giving up, and turned away to write the letters in white icing on the petit fours, set them in a pink box, wrapped it with a ribbon, and handed it to him. “That will be twenty-five dollars.”

Gid swallowed. “Thank you.”

He took the bakery box right over to Windmill Farm and knocked on the kitchen door, but no one was at home. The door was unlocked, so Gid thought it would be wise to leave the box of petit fours on the kitchen table so they wouldn’t melt in the sun. He saw that someone had left some sandwiches on the table, covered with plastic wrap. He pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it, then grabbed a pen off the kitchen counter and wrote on the top of the box:
To Sadie from Gideon
. Just so there was no mistaking who had brought these little cakes.

He hoped Alice was right about this. He had started to doubt her advice on the ride home from the bakery. What did Alice know about courting, anyway? She had never had a boyfriend. Maybe he should just take the little cakes and go home.

Suddenly, he heard a baby’s cry upstairs, then Sadie’s voice soothing the baby. She was home! Panic streaked through him. Before he left, he turned the pink box around, lid open, so that she would see it as she came down the steps into the kitchen. He looked at the pink box again, straightened each lettered petit four so it would read just right, took a deep breath, and hurried to leave. Quietly.

This past week, Amos seemed to be feeling more like his old self. He still went about his farm chores slowly and methodically, but he was starting to feel the old bounce in his step. He couldn’t even remember when he had last felt a bounce in his step. Why, it had been years!

Amos and Will had spent the last few mornings out in the fruit orchards, trimming dead branches, and moving M.K.’s hives from one orchard to another so the bees could work their magic. Amos’s muscles ached from the hard work—a wonderful ache. Will didn’t know much about farming, but he was an able and willing worker. He liked to talk too. He asked all kinds of questions about the birds on Windmill Farm and that always seemed to lead to Menno and his birding. Will had a keen interest in birds, all kinds, and Amos was happy to oblige him. Talking about Menno like this, in this way, felt like a healing balm to his soul. Each time they talked, Amos felt the knot in his chest release a little more.

It was past noon and they were famished. At breakfast this morning, Sadie had said she would run lunch out to them after the baby woke up from his nap since Fern was at a quilting frolic, but Amos didn’t think they could wait much longer. “Will, if you wouldn’t mind running back to the house, Fern left lunch for us on the table. And some iced tea in the fridge.”

Happily, Will dropped his gloves and started up the hill. “Bring something sweet too!” Amos called out. As long as Fern wasn’t there to monitor his low-fat, heart-healthy diet, he might as well go for broke.

Will stomped off his dirty shoes and walked into the kitchen. The house was quiet except for the sound of water splashing upstairs. Fern was gone, so maybe Sadie was giving the baby a bath. He was a little surprised to find himself hoping to see Sadie for a minute. Or two.

“Your dad sent me to get lunch,” he called up the stairs. “He wants to eat now.”

“It’s on the table,” came Sadie’s muffled reply. “You can take everything.”

He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and filled the cups on a tray with iced tea from the fridge. On the table were a plate full of sandwiches, a bowl of fruit, and a pink bakery box. He put the plate and a couple apples on the tray, then reached across the table to grab the pink box. On top he saw words scrawled: “To Sadie from Gideon.” He rolled his eyes. If Sadie didn’t want the pink box, then it was clear to Will she had no interest in that hapless schoolteacher.

Will piled the box on the tray, but it slipped and fell to the floor. Will set the tray down. He knelt to open the box and found little cakes, all topsy turvy. Girly cakes! His mother used to serve those petit fours when she had friends over to play bridge. To Will, it was one more piece of evidence that there was something
wrong
with that schoolteacher. He popped a cake into his mouth, then another. Delicious! Will tucked as many cakes as he could on the sandwich plate. He set the pink box on the table. “Thanks for the sweets,” he called up the stairs to Sadie. “I took as many as I could and left the rest.”

He strained to listen, hoping Sadie might come down to say hello. But he could still hear water splashing upstairs, so he flipped the lid onto the box, picked up the tray, and headed out the door. Amos would get a kick out of those little girly cakes for dessert.

Sadie couldn’t believe that a baby could make so much work out of such a little task. She had started to change Joe-Jo’s diaper and reached down to get a new one as he released a spray that covered Sadie, her dress, her hair and prayer cap, his own undershirt, the floor, the bureau top. What hadn’t been sprayed? She gave the baby a bath, diapered and dressed him—was it the fourth time this morning?—set him in the basket, and stuck her own head under the sink faucet to wash her hair as she heard Will’s voice calling from the kitchen. He had come to the house to pick up lunch.

Fern had fixed sandwiches before she left for the frolic. It was good timing to have Will stop in so he could carry everything out, because she didn’t know how she would manage juggling the baby and the sandwich tray and the iced tea. She tried to hurry as she rinsed shampoo out of her hair so she could join Will downstairs, but the next thing she knew, he called to say he was leaving, and something about how sweet it was to have things ready on the table.

Wasn’t he wonderful to notice?

Five minutes later, Sadie’s hair was towel-dried, a fresh cap pinned on, and she was in a clean dress. She took one more look in the mirror that hung on the bathroom wall. She wished so much to be tall and slim that she almost hoped to see a tall, slim girl. But in the glass she saw a small, round girl in a blue dress. Even the face in the mirror was round. Her chin had a soft curve, and her nose was almost right, but her eyes were too far apart, and they didn’t sparkle. They didn’t sparkle at all. At least her hair wasn’t such a bad color. Once, after church, Gideon had told her that the sunlight beamed on her hair and it looked golden. She tipped her head to see if the sun from the window bounced off it. Was it golden-y? Suddenly Sadie realized that if anyone saw her preening in the mirror right now, they would think she was vain! She picked up the baby and went downstairs, stopping abruptly when she saw a pink bakery box. On top it said “To Sadie from Gideon.” Inside the box were four little cockeyed tiny cakes. U-L-I-E. Huh? What did Ulie mean? What was Gid trying to say? Then she gasped. You lie.

Tears filled Sadie’s eyes. How cruel! How insensitive. How downright
mean
. What was wrong with Gideon Smucker? How dare he accuse her of lying! Then anger swooped in and displaced her hurt feelings. She picked up the box to throw it in the garbage, but thought twice. She might as well eat the little cakes. They did look delicious, even if the message was unspeakably rude.
Then
she would throw the box away.

And she would never, ever speak to Gideon Smucker again.

Will had lied to Mr. Petosky. On Sunday, Eve had laid one egg. He had observed her standing in or near the nest, guarding the egg. Will knew she would lay another egg or two before incubation would begin. On Monday morning, when Mr. Petosky called, there were two more eggs. And this morning, there were four eggs in the dug-out scape.

He had climbed a tree to see the eggs. The eggs were slightly smaller than a chicken egg, mottled with a dark, reddish-brown pigment. Eve would begin incubation now for the next thirty-three days. Once it began, Eve would sit on the nest and rarely leave the eggs unattended. Adam would give her brief reprieves so she could fly off and hunt for food.

And then the eyases would only stay in the nest another four to six weeks before they tried to fledge.

He was going to have to tell Mr. Petosky the news soon. There looked to be four viable eggs in the scape. He just wasn’t quite ready to have Mr. Petosky breathing down his neck. He needed time to think. He was pretty sure Mr. Petosky would find a way to confirm Will’s findings.

All kinds of things could happen to these eggs. Often, there could be “egg failure.” The female would push an egg that has failed to the side of the scape. If an entire clutch was lost, the female may attempt to re-nest several weeks later, often in a different location.

“Nice view up there?”

Will looked down the tree to find Sadie peering up at him. He shimmied down the trunk and hopped off as he neared the end.

She tilted her head when he smiled at her. “Are you all right?”

“Most of the redness is gone.” Will wriggled his fingers at Sadie. “The skin isn’t as taut as it was before, and the blisters don’t appear to be anything that will last more than a day or two.”

“I didn’t mean your hands, but I’m glad they’re doing better.” She crossed her arms behind her and leaned her back against the tree. “You had a strange look on your face.”

“Me?” Will said, looking straight at Sadie. “Strange? Stranger than normal?”

Sadie smiled, then shook her head slowly. “Don’t mind me. Every now and then, I just get this odd feeling that you’re carrying around something heavy. But then, the feeling passes and you seem right as rain. Better than rain.” She paused. “I might be wrong. Maybe you’re not sad or confused about something at all. Maybe I’m imagining things. I’ve been known to do that.”

She wasn’t wrong. In fact, she couldn’t be any more right. He was sure she had all manners of herbs and remedies for everything else, but what could you do about what was bothering him? He doubted she had herbs for a guilty conscience. Or a concoction for soul sickness.