The Keeper (12 page)

While Fern was in town with M.K., Sadie was at work in the kitchen, hot and airless as it was on that May afternoon. She missed cooking. No, that wasn’t true. She liked Fern’s food and was happy not to have to clean up the kitchen afterward. But she did miss feeling needed. And she missed the feeling of being connected to her mother that she felt whenever she was working with her mother’s recipes. If Sadie closed her eyes, she could still see her mother cooking in the kitchen, bustling around, humming slightly off-key. Maggie Lapp was always humming.

Fern Graber didn’t hum.

A few days ago, Sadie had watched Fern make snickerdoodles to take over to a comfort knotting and she decided to try to make a batch. She found the recipe in Fern’s recipe box and set to work, mixing butter and sugar, eggs and flour. She dusted the mounds of dough with cinnamon, just the way Fern had done, and put them in the oven. As she waited for the cookies to bake, she planned to clean the dishes and dry them, putting them away so Fern wouldn’t suspect anything. But then she got distracted with the contents of Fern’s recipe box.

Just as she pulled the last cookie sheet out of the oven, Menno came into the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, just like he used to, before Fern had arrived, to keep company with Sadie as she cooked. And to sample the offerings.

“These are good, Sadie,” he said after his third cookie.

“Menno, do you think about Mom very much?”

He grabbed another cookie. “I think about her every day.” He swallowed a bite. “Before I get out of bed in the morning, I ask God to tell Mom hello for me if he happens to see her walking by in heaven that day.”

Sadie smiled at her brother. His simple faith was so pure, so complete. Sometimes, she thought he lived with one foot on Earth and the other in heaven.

But thoughts of eternity were forgotten in the next moment. A buggy came to a stop by the kitchen door, and Sadie saw Fern hop out, sniff the air, and clutch her purchases to her chest. “Someone’s been cooking in my kitchen!”

Sadie gasped. She hadn’t expected Fern back for a while longer. Every workspace in the kitchen lay covered with cookie sheets and cooking utensils. Egg yolk ran down the front of a cabinet door. The sink was stacked with a motley assortment of bowls and dirty dishes. Fern’s recipes were spread out all over the kitchen table. Two hours ago, this room was spotless. How had it become such a mess? She had tried to be so careful!

“Uh-oh,” Menno said. He pocketed three more cookies and dashed upstairs.

Whenever M.K. could slip away from Fern’s watchful eyes, she would find Rome and pester him to let her help him with the bees. Beekeeping fascinated her. She wanted to learn everything she could about bees. Rome wouldn’t let her out near the stacked supers—the portion of the hives where the honey was stored—in the orchards, despite her begging. She promised to bundle up in protective clothing, like he did, but he refused. “I know my bees,” he told her. “I know when they’re angry or feeling threatened. I know when they smell a predator in the orchard. I know when they’re calm and getting ready to swarm. I don’t want you getting stung.”

“Have you ever been stung?”

Rome laughed. “More times than I can count. The truth is, beekeepers want to get stung a few times each year. We build up antibodies so the stinging isn’t serious.”

“Well, then, I think you should let me go out to the supers with you and bring back the frames. I can handle a few stings.”

But he was adamant. She was to stay away from those hives—at least twenty feet away. He did finally relent to teach her how to extract honey from the frames back in the cottage kitchen. He showed her how to warm up the uncapping knife in a dish of steaming hot water, then slice the caps open by running the knife down along the honeycombs. Then the frame would be put into the extractor, hand cranked, to spin out the honey. First one direction, then the other, to empty each side of the comb. M.K. loved watching the honey sling out at the sides of the extractor and drip down to the bottom, ooze out the honey gate, into a waiting bucket. Then Rome would filter the honey with cheesecloth before pouring it into clean jars.

“What makes bees want to swarm?” she asked Rome.

“Lots of reasons,” Rome said. “In springtime, beekeepers keep a close eye on their colonies. They watch for the appearance of queen cells. That’s usually the sign that the colony is determined to swarm. It’s not a bad thing to swarm. It can be healthy for the colony to split the hives. And before leaving the old hive, the worker bees fill their stomachs with honey in preparation for the creation of new honeycombs in a new home. That’s one of the ways I can tell that they’re ready to swarm. They’re so gentle that I don’t even need gloves or a veil. All that’s on their mind is a new shelter.”

She opened her mouth to say that maybe she should help him get the frames out of the hives while the bees are ready to swarm, when they were gentle and quiet, but he read her mind and gave her a warning. “You are not to go near those hives. Understand?”

She sighed. “But how do the bees know it’s time to swarm?”

“Nature’s pretty smart. The bees might be feeling like the hive is getting too crowded. Time for a change. Time to move on.”

M.K.’s head bolted up so fast that her capstrings danced. “That’s like you, Rome. Maybe you’re a beekeeper because you think like a bee.”

He grinned. “You might have something there. Though there is such a thing as a solitary bee. It lives on its own, not in a colony.”

“So you’re a solitary bee.” She rolled that over for a moment. “Fern says you can’t just go taking your bees from place to place forever.”

“She does, does she? Well, you can tell her I’ve got lots of time left.”

“Not really. You’re practically elderly. After all, you’ve got gray hair.”

He laughed out loud at that.

Why was that so funny? M.K. would never understand boys.

7

T
he next week slipped by quickly. One afternoon Sadie sat on the back porch step by the kitchen door with a large bowl of green beans. She was snapping the ends off of them as Rome came up the steps. “Hello there, Sadie.”

She froze.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m napping sbeans. Beaning snaps.” She shook her head. “I’m snapping beans.” She felt her face flush beet red.

An awkward moment of silence followed, before Rome said, “If you don’t mind moving just a little, I was planning to go inside to ask your father a question about the orchards.”

Mortified, Sadie jumped up to get out of his way. The bowl went flying, spilling beans everywhere. Julia stepped out of the kitchen as Rome tried to help Sadie pick up the beans. “Go on in, Rome. Dad’s inside at his desk. I’ll help Sadie with the beans.”

Sadie waited until Rome disappeared, then slumped down on the top step. “Did you hear that brilliant conversation?”

“Some of it.”

“I’m an idiot.”

Julia sat down next to her. “Don’t worry. He’s used to it. He’s handsome and he knows it.”

“You’ve pegged him all wrong, Julia. He’s not just handsome. Why, he’s . . . he’s fundamentally good. I just know it.” She thumped her fist on her chest. “Deep down.”

“Sadie, Rome is more than a dozen years older than you!”

“True love knows no age.” She snapped the ends off of a bean and tossed it in the bowl. “I just wish I could say two words that actually make sense when I’m near him.”

M.K. came outside and sat on a step, leaning against the porch railing to face her sisters. “Most girls get tongue-tied around Rome Troyer. Not me, of course, but then again I’m not prone to getting the vapors like most girls do when they get around good-looking men.”

Sadie threw a snap bean at M.K., and she grabbed it midair and put it between her lips, pretending it was a cigarette.

“Mary Kate, were you ever a child?” Julia said in an exasperated tone, yanking the snap bean from her mouth.

“Just for a year or so,” M.K. said. “So . . . our Roman Troyer is really only twenty-five? I figured him to be Dad’s age, with that gray head of hair.”

“Fifty?” Julia laughed. “Hardly! His hair just turned gray prematurely.”

“I love his hair,” Sadie said dreamily. “So thick and crisp. And those bold, dark eyebrows.”

“He needs a haircut. His hair is curling over his collar,” Julia said, clearly annoyed. “And he’s not
our
Roman Troyer. He’s not
anybody’s
Roman Troyer. I never knew anyone so determined to hold himself apart from other people. He uses his charm to isolate himself. It’s like he’s afraid if he starts caring too much about anybody, he’ll lose something.”

“But knowing how old he is does change the picture a little,” M.K. said thoughtfully. “He sure has nice features. And I like that cleft in his chin.”

“He has wonderful features!” Sadie said. “That straight, confident nose. And don’t you wonder why he has that small scar in his eyebrow? Even his teeth are beautiful—so strong and square and white.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Listen to the two of you. Mooning over the Bee Man.”

“You can’t deny he is unbearably handsome, Julia,” Sadie said.

“It’s a fact, Jules.” M.K. reached for another snap bean out of Sadie’s bowl. “Why are you so hard on him?”

“Julia has taken a strong dislike to Rome,” Sadie explained to M.K. “On account of his influence over Paul and the other boys.”

“That’s not the only reason!” Julia said. “Rome represents everything I don’t like in a man—he swoops into town and goes through girls like potato chips. Why, look at how he’s encouraged our Sadie to fall in love with him—”

“He hasn’t needed to encourage me, Jules,” Sadie said solemnly. “He’s been a perfect gentleman to me.”

“—and then he swoops out of town . . . heading to who-knows-where and leaving all of those broken hearts to mend. Roman Troyer is as slippery as a fish. Impossible to grasp. He is living a thoroughly self-indulgent life.” Julia crossed her arms against her chest.

Uh-oh, Julia’s climbing up on her high horse
.
Here comes the lecture.
Sadie exchanged a brace-yourself look with M.K. Julia had a tendency to think she knew everything, even if she didn’t.

“He has no responsibilities to anyone. He never mentions any family, he avoids any and all attachments to others . . . why, he doesn’t even have a dog! Just that mule and those bees—they work for him and they don’t have any opinions. They’re the perfect partners for Rome.”

“Bees can have strong opinions,” M.K. said. “I know that from personal experience.”

“Besides, Paul Fisher manages to avoid attachments too,” Sadie said quietly.

“That’s not true!” Julia said. “Paul is very loyal to his family.”

“Especially his mother’s feelings about not wanting to be related to Uncle Hank, you mean,” Sadie said.

“Can you blame her?” Julia said.

“I like Uncle Hank,” M.K. said. “He keeps life around here interesting.”

“You can say that again,” Julia muttered.

“It’s a mystery to me why you’d want to marry into that Fisher tribe, anyway,” M.K. said. “They’re standoffish and have their nose in the air. They think they’re too good for us Lapps. Edith Fisher isn’t just against Uncle Hank, Jules. She’s against you too. She says you’re not up to scratch as a daughter-in-law. Jimmy told me so.”

Julia looked as if she had just been slapped. Sadie’s heart went out to her. How could M.K. have repeated such a thing?

Julia straightened her back. “I’m going out to the greenhouse.”

Sadie and M.K. watched her go. Sadie gave M.K. a look.

M.K. raised her palms. “What? I’m just speaking the truth! Dad’s always telling us to speak the truth.”

Rome opened up the squeaky kitchen door. “It might depend, M.K., on whose truth it belongs to.” He tapped her gently on the top of her bandanna and went back into the house.

Sadie scrambled mentally backward, wondering how much Rome had heard. She turned to M.K. “Think he heard everything? Even the part where Julia was saying why she didn’t like him?”

“I think so.”

“And the part where we were talking about how handsome he was?”

“Probably.”

“Even about his white and straight teeth?”

M.K. nodded. Then she brightened. “We were just speaking the truth!”

Sadie handed M.K. the snap beans to finish.
Mortified.
She was positively mortified.