The Keeper (25 page)

Suddenly, an ear splitting scream sliced through the quiet. M.K. ran toward the house from the path that led to the peach orchard. “SAAAADIEEEEE! There’s a bear! BEAR!” She flew past Sadie and into the house, galloped up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door.

Sadie blew out a puff of air. M.K.’s vivid imagination could wear a person out. It was high time for school to start. She went back to reading her book.

A few minutes later, Sadie glanced up and saw a yearling bear lumbering down the dirt path toward the house, as calm and relaxed as if he had been invited to Sunday supper. Sadie threw down her book and ran into the house and locked the door behind her.

“I
told
you so!” M.K. said as she peeked her head around the stairwell. “No one ever believes me!”

“Hush!” Sadie had to think. What to do?

The bear climbed up onto the porch and pressed its nose against the kitchen window. It was looking right at them!

“Don’t move a muscle, M.K.”

The bear sniffed around the porch, knocked Sadie’s book around, then lumbered down the steps and into Julia’s garden. Sadie got Amos’s double-barreled shotgun off its wall hinges and found some steel shot shells in a drawer. She had never shot anything before, but she had watched her dad load a gun many times. She knew enough to choose light shells. She didn’t want to kill the bear, just hurry it on its way. She went into Fern’s bedroom, opened the window a few inches, aimed the gun at the bear—which was helping itself to Julia’s ripe raspberries—and pulled the trigger. She peppered the bear in the rear. It howled and ran off to the nearest tree.

The bear sat up in the tree, staring down at the house for the longest while. Finally, it climbed down and lumbered off into the woods. No sooner had Sadie put away the gun but M.K. spotted the mamma bear lumbering along, sniffing after the scent of her cub. Eventually it too disappeared into the woods behind their house.

Sadie and M.K. stayed inside the house for the rest of the afternoon, rifle loaded.

Summer had deepened. The days were hot and humid, the nights cooler, the air drifting with evening mist.

M.K. spent half of an afternoon trying to find Paul Fisher. She knew he was in town because she saw his buggy and sorrel mare parked at a hitching post. She had tried the hardware store first, then the bakery, but no luck so far. Her next stop was the Hay & Grain, so she slipped inside and looked around. Bingo! Paul was chatting with the store clerk. M.K. grabbed a bag of birdseed, hoisted it over her shoulder, and went up to the cash register. She slapped the birdseed onto the countertop and tried to look surprised when she saw Paul.

“M.K., what are you doing here?” Paul glanced around to see if she was alone.

“Ran out of birdseed at Windmill Farm.” She tried to pretend she was out of breath. “Needed some. An emergency.”

Paul smiled. “Why would birdseed be an emergency?”

M.K. busied herself with getting her money out of her shoes. “Oh . . . because it brings such happiness to my sister.”

Paul watched her count out five one-dollar bills. “I thought Menno was the bird lover at your farm. Since when has Sadie been such a bird-watcher?”

M.K. shook her head. “Not Sadie.
Julia.
We’re trying to make Julia’s last few days on earth happy ones.”

Paul cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her right.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Julia’s dying. She has—” She searched around the store for something. Her eyes landed on a flyer posting a warning about chickens. “Salmonella poisoning.”

“What? I passed your farm just this morning and saw her setting up her stand.”

M.K. regarded him sadly. “So brave.” She handed over the dollars to the clerk and picked up the birdseed. “I’d better get back.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not a minute to spare, you know. Salmonella acts like this.” She snapped her fingers in the air.

She was down the street when Paul’s buggy came up beside her. “Hop in,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

This was playing out just as she had planned! Paul opened up the buggy door and grabbed the birdseed from her. In the backseat of the buggy was Jimmy, who looked at M.K. as if she were a rattlesnake.

She froze midair. “Maybe I’ll just walk home.”

“I told you she was lying!” Jimmy jeered.

M.K. scowled.

Paul pulled her in. “Knock it off, Jimmy. M.K., let’s go see how bad off Julia is.” He yanked the buggy door closed. “She sure didn’t look too poorly when she was nuzzling Rome Troyer the other night.”

M.K. drew herself up straight. “Lapp women do not nuzzle.”

“I’ll say!” Jimmy piped up. “They’re as mean as black racer snakes.”

She turned around and caught the smug look on his face. “Jimmy Fisher! You know you were the one who put that black racer in the girls’ bathroom.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Prove it.”

M.K. stared at him, astounded. How could one boy be so thoroughly obnoxious?

Jimmy stared back and rested his folded arms on the backing of the front seat.

Paul elbowed him back. “Jimmy, you stop bothering Mary Kate.”

M.K. looked at Paul appreciatively. He was a mild fellow, inoffensive, a little awkward, but if M.K. worked hard and squinted her eyes, she could see his appeal. Jimmy, though, was another story. She was making a mental list of Jimmy’s faults when they arrived at Windmill Farm. There was Julia, at the stand, the very picture of health. Uh-oh! She thought Julia said she was going to a comfort quilt knotting this afternoon. She doubted Julia would understand why she had fibbed to Paul. On the other hand, Julia might be pleased to see that Paul was worried about her dying. This created a wrinkle, but nothing M.K. couldn’t handle.

Paul hopped out of the buggy and started toward Julia. M.K. had one leg out the door, hoping to get to Julia before Paul did, but Jimmy grabbed her arm.

“Since Julia’s dying and all, we should give her and Paul a moment alone to say their sorrowful goodbyes.”

M.K. tried to uncurl Jimmy’s hand and ended up biting it as hard as she could.

He yelped. “You little brat! The only one who’s dying at Windmill Farm is your father!”

M.K. gasped. “You are going straight to the devil for telling such a lie, Jimmy Fisher!”

He examined his hand. “You broke the skin with your fangs. I’m probably gonna get rabies.”

“Serves you right, you big liar.”

Jimmy glared at her. “I ain’t lying! Your father is dying. His heart’s giving out on him. Everybody knows. It’s plain as day.” He looked closely at his hand, glanced up at her, then took a second look. “M.K., you must know that.” He looked down again and added, softer this time, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know . . .”

M.K. got out of the buggy and started running toward the house. About halfway up the hill, Julia caught up with her and made her stop running. “Why would you tell Paul such a ridiculous lie?” Then she took in M.K.’s face. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Is Dad dying?”

Julia’s head shot up like a mother lion sniffing the air for danger to her cub. “What? Who told you that?”

“Jimmy. Is it true?”

Julia bit her lower lip. “He’s not getting better like the doctors had hoped he would.”

Both of M.K.’s hands flew up to cover her ears. She tried, tried, tried to block out Jimmy’s words, but they kept bouncing into her head. She blinked a couple of times, and Julia reached out and wrapped her arms around her and hugged her as tight as she could.

When she let go, she gave M.K. a smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Let’s go to the house. Fern baked a peach pie.”

A breeze filtered in through a partly open window, leaving in its wake the soft scents of late summer. Amos breathed in as deeply as he could without triggering a coughing fit, allowing the scents to uncap forgotten memories of happy moments. Days spent on his farm with his Maggie, when the children were just babes. The warmth of the sun on his cheeks as he lay on a hay wagon during a lunchtime break; the down of his grandmother’s cheeks as she kissed him goodnight; the feel of his father’s big hand covering his as they hammered nails at a barn raising. How easy it would be for Amos to just close his eyes and explore the trails of memory, twisting and turning, winding their way toward this moment.

All things considered, Amos felt blessed. He had been steward of a fine piece of land that had been in his family for four generations. He was given a happy, albeit far too brief marriage to Maggie Zook. He had good friends and neighbors. But of all his blessings, he especially gave thanks for his four children.

Aside from the current condition of his heart, he had lived a wonderful life.

After Amos heard about the blowup between M.K. and Jimmy, he told Fern to send the children upstairs to his room. Who was he kidding? He knew he wasn’t improving. Julia knew. Uncle Hank knew. Fern knew. The doctors knew. The time had come to prepare the children for what was coming. Was it so bad for a man to know how God was calling him home? His dear Maggie had no such foreknowledge. He had no fear of death; his great hope was to live in the fullness of joy in God’s presence. He would be reunited with his wife, his parents, a brother, and two sisters who had gone before him. It was only when he thought of his children that he felt a great despair, a longing to remain with them for a while longer. It was so hard seeing them, all of them, every day and knowing . . . it might be coming to an end.

They filed into his bedroom and stood around his bed like little soldiers, solemn and serious. M.K.’s red, swollen, staring eyes. Julia, stoic. Sadie, head bowed. Menno, his silent self. Amos looked at each one, his children. He loved each one so dearly. What wouldn’t he do for his children?

Rome joined Fern at the doorjamb of Amos’s room, and he waved them in. “Where’s Uncle Hank?” Amos asked.

“He’s off trying to track that bear,” Fern said. “It was spotted near the Glicks’ sheep last night.”

“We need to have a talk,” Amos started, his voice shaky. He coughed softly, ending with a dry-airy sound like wind blowing through a whistle. That blasted cough! “I had hoped that the new treatment the doctors were trying would help my heart get stronger.” He took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t seem to be the case. It seems as if the Lord might be calling me home a little sooner than I would have liked. But it’s not for us to question God’s timing.”

M.K. let out a sob and threw herself on top of Amos. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. Tears started blurring his vision, but he fought them back. He needed to be strong for his family. He knew this was a moment that would affect how they perceived God for the rest of their lives. Isn’t that what Rome struggled with? Some tragedy, some kind of loss, that altered him forever? He didn’t want that for his own children. Loss was part of life, dying part of living. There was a time for all things, King Solomon said. Amos believed those words with all his heart. And he wanted his children to believe them too. To hold tight to the Lord through these seasons. What else did we have, when all was said and done, but the Lord God?

He glanced at Rome, whose eyes were fixed on Julia. She stood at the foot of Amos’s bed, hugging her elbows tightly, holding herself in one piece. Her face was tight. This wasn’t new information for her. She had spoken to the doctors last week about what the future looked like. That was his Julia—she looked delicate, like the faintest gust of wind might blow her over, but she was strong where it counted most. Inside.

He remembered when he had first noticed her inner strength. It was the day she had seen her mother buried, and she knew she had three little siblings who looked up to her. He knew he could always count on Julia.

His gaze shifted to Sadie. She looked so sad.
Oh Sadie, don’t be sad.
Of all of his children, Sadie worried him the most. She always had, even as a little girl. You’d think he would fret over Menno, but his son was blessed with an abundance of simple faith in God. His mind may not run as quickly as others, but his faith never wavered. God was good, and God loved Menno. That was all the information that Menno seemed to need.

But Sadie—she was so gentle, so timid, so fearful, so unsure of herself. Always in the background, trying hard to be invisible.