The Keeper (3 page)

All thanks to the Bee Man.

Out of the blue, the Bee Man arrived in town and filled Paul’s head with doubts. Paul had never been particularly confident. She knew that he had difficulty making even the smallest decision, let alone a firm decision about a wedding date. The Bee Man had a way of bringing doubts into Paul’s mind—just enough doubts to convince Paul to postpone the wedding . . . again.

The bishop’s sermon two Sundays ago was about the necessity of loving one’s fellowman. Not only did Julia not love the Bee Man, she thought she might hate him. Wholeheartedly hate him! She knew it was wrong to hate anyone, but how could she love someone so despicable? How was it even possible? She knew that with God all things were possible . . . but this?

She couldn’t get that exasperating man out of her head. After two years, the mental ledger of her grievances against the Bee Man had grown thick with entries. Finally, she decided to commit this big mess to prayer. She believed in prayer. Prayer worked.

She bowed her head and asked God to help her love the loathsome Bee Man and to give her the strength she lacked. “Amen,” she said and snapped her head back, smacking the back of her head on the headboard of her bed. “Ouch!” She rubbed her head where it hurt. Really, wasn’t this also the Bee Man’s fault? Everything about that man created trouble—even thinking about him inflicted pain. Who was he, anyway? Where did he come from? She had always noticed how the Bee Man skillfully deflected questions about himself. Even her father—who knew him better than anyone in Stoney Ridge—was reluctant to ask the Bee Man anything of a personal nature.

Julia had known Roman Troyer—the Bee Man—for six summers. He seemed to be particularly fond of Windmill Farm and spent time with the Lapp family each year, and still she didn’t know a single thing about him other than he went from town to town with his bees. And he was Amish.

What pleasure did Roman Troyer take in breaking up her engagement to Paul? Twice! What did he hope to gain from it?

The sounds of Sadie and M.K., as they changed into nightgowns and brushed their teeth in the hallway bathroom, drifted through the transom above her door. She heard Sadie remind M.K. to scrub her face because no boy would look at her twice with that milk mustache. M.K. answered back by saying she didn’t
want
a boy to look at her, not even once.

Julia’s eyes flew open. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Of course. Of course! How could she not have realized? It was all so simple—as plain as day. Roman Troyer was in love with Julia himself.

Too bad, Bee Man. I’m not interested. I never will be!
She wasn’t going to let Roman Troyer stand in her way with Paul Fisher.

Her thoughts drifted back to Paul, feebly telling her he wanted to postpone the wedding. What would Paul tell others? Her mind was racing—she felt deeply humiliated. But on the heels of her humiliation was an overwhelming sorrow. She loved Paul. Would he ever be ready to get married? Or would he always just like the idea of getting married?

She sighed. A more courageous woman would have told Paul to forget it. A tougher woman would have told him in no uncertain terms what he could do with this halfhearted plan to postpone. But Julia was neither brave nor tough. She just wanted Paul back. She wanted things back the way they were, yesterday, or last week. Before the Bee Man arrived.

Oh Paul.
What was he doing tonight? Was he at home with his family, or out with his friends? He had to be missing her. He had to be thinking about her. He was in love with her! She was sure of it. Tomorrow, Julia decided, he would come to Windmill Farm and tell her it was all a big mistake.

Prayer worked, she reminded herself. And so she prayed.
Please please please please please please please.

The last chore of the evening was to move the three cows out to the pasture with the creek flowing through it. It was usually Menno’s job, but he told M.K. that he had something he needed to do first, and then he disappeared with a trowel in his hand.

M.K. opened the gate and pushed the rump of the first cow, Pizza. If she could get Pizza moving along, chances were good that Pepperoni and Linguica would follow behind her. They used to have thirty cows, a herd, and it was M.K.’s job to name each new calf. Her father had given her that task the year her mother had passed, and M.K. felt very important whenever a cow was due to calve. After her father’s heart started to act up last year, he sold the dairy cows and sheep at an auction. It broke M.K.’s heart to part with the animals. “Just for a little while, M.K.,” her father had promised. “Just until I’m back in the saddle, fit as a fiddle.” He let her keep a few—her favorites—as long as she promised to care for them. And she did, most of the time, unless she forgot and then Menno would remember. Caring for the animals was the main thing on his mind.

Where was Menno, anyway? She hitched the lock on the gate behind Linguica and ran up the hill. Menno met her as she reached the barn, near Julia’s garden. M.K. gasped. In his hands were Julia’s prized pink Parrot tulips, dug up, with bulbs attached. Julia loved those tulips! This very morning, she had made the whole family come to the garden to admire them. They were in their glory. At their peak!

“Menno,
what
were you thinking?”

He looked pleased with himself. “Julia is so sad. These will cheer her up.”

“Oh, they’ll be sure to get a reaction out of Julia! If I were you, I’d hide out in the hills for a few days.”

Menno looked confused and M.K. was just about to explain when she heard Sadie call out to them from the kitchen window. Menno spun around on one heel and headed toward the house, and M.K. shook off her shock and followed him. Let Sadie untangle this. Sadie made things clear to Menno. He walked into the kitchen, dropping clumps of dirt from the tulip bulbs wherever he went. M.K. came in behind him, stepping around the clots. Boys. So messy!

Sadie was at the kitchen sink, soaking the last few dishes from dinner. She caught sight of what was in Menno’s hands and froze. She threw a questioning look—filled with horror—at M.K., who shrugged her shoulders.

“They’re for Julia,” Menno said. “To make her happy again.”

Sadie put the dish towel down on the counter and exhaled a deep sigh. “Let’s get those into a pitcher of water, Menno.”

He walked over to the counter and placed the tulips down. “You fix ’em and I’ll take them up to Julia.”

Sadie found a glass pitcher and started to fill it with water. “She’s sound asleep, Menno. Let’s wait to show her the pretty flowers until the morning.”

He tossed M.K. a smug look. “Mary Kate thinks I should hide in the hills.”

“No, you shouldn’t hide.” Sadie cut the bulb off of each tulip stem. “Once Julia recovers from the . . . surprise . . . I’m sure she will think they’re a lovely gesture.”

And then she added, so softly that M.K. thought she might have imagined it, “I hope.”

Gray light streaked the windows. Julia showered, turned off the water, stepped out, dried off, and ran a comb through her chestnut-colored hair. She’d always been secretly proud of her hair, thick and sleek and luxurious. She took a washrag and wiped the steam off the mirror. She didn’t look too bad, did she? Tired, a bit frayed on the edges, but nothing that would frighten the birds off the trees, as her father used to say about people who didn’t feel up to snuff.

Fooling yourself, her reflection said. Sore head, sore heart.

In the kitchen, Julia threw herself into a chair, bone-weary after a sleepless night.

“You look lovely, Jules,” Sadie said, coming in from the other room with a basket of laundry in her arms. “You’re the prettiest girl in our church. Paul will come to his senses soon.” Sadie quietly folded the stiff, dry towels and piled them on the table.

Julia made herself smile at her sister. That was an interesting thing about Sadie, she observed. Sadie spoke with a quiet certainty as if she knew what she was talking about.

“I was just going to bring breakfast up for you. In case you’d rather not see anyone . . .” Sadie’s voice drizzled to a stop as she fastened her eyes on Julia’s face. “I only meant, you can take a day off, Jules.”

Julia didn’t want to talk, and Sadie—despite the subject of Paul Fisher hovering over the table like a hummingbird—wouldn’t make her. Sadie knew that you didn’t need to talk all the time. She had a great sense of stillness, making it very restful to be near her.

“I’m fine. Really.”

Julia picked up a towel and started to fold it as Sadie poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. Then she put bacon in the fry pan. The hot bacon sputtered and popped, so Sadie cracked the window open to fan out the smoke. Julia took a sip of the coffee and spit it out. Grounds were floating on top. This time Julia had no trouble smiling. No sisters could be more different, Julia thought as she spooned out the grounds. Sadie had always been most like their father, a peacemaker. She was quite lovely in a round, soft sort of way, with curly light brown hair, a round face covered with freckles, and a shy, friendly smile, mild-mannered and dreamy. A listening person. She was of a fearful nature, but she knew that about herself and said it wasn’t such a bad way to be because it led to so many nice surprises when frightening things didn’t happen.

Julia glanced out the window. M.K. was having trouble coaxing the cows out of the barn into the paddock. The silly animals milled in a stubborn bunch, jamming the opening and squeezing her against the doorjamb.

M.K. would be twelve come winter. Too soon to tell what kind of woman she would grow into, but Julia thought M.K. took after their mother, at least in personality. Maggie Zook Lapp had been known as a woman who had a curious way of thinking.

Menno appeared at the barn door and pushed the cows through, rescuing M.K. Julia’s heart ached sweetly as she watched Menno’s gentle ways. Nearly seventeen, Menno had the body of a man, but his mind hadn’t developed quite as far.

To an outsider, Menno seemed like any other healthy, handsome young man. But when he spoke, it was obvious that he was different. You’d know from watching or even talking with him briefly that something was unusual. The wheels of his mind turned slowly, cautiously. The doctors never could decide what exactly was wrong with Menno. The consensus was a lack of oxygen caused brain injury during birth.

Unless it was something he felt passionate about, Menno wasn’t much of a talker, but he hummed. He was always humming from memory, and off-key, every tune that he ever heard. Uncle Hank had taught Menno to be a first-rate birdhouse builder. He sold the birdhouses at Julia’s farm stand and also at the hardware store in town. Menno loved birds. His favorite book was
Bird, Birds, Birds!
and he spent far too much time at the telephone shanty by the schoolhouse listening in to the Audubon Rare Bird Count. He loved all animals, dogs and birds best of all.

The one thing that defined Menno’s life more than any other was his relationship with animals. He held them, raised them, loved them, cared for them, healed them.

Julia smiled as she saw Menno and M.K. race up to the house, like they always did, eager for breakfast.

As M.K. and Menno reached the kitchen porch and pulled off their shoes, the front door banged open.

“ANYBODY TO HOME?” boomed Uncle Hank, who always spoke as though he were addressing the deaf.

“Oh no . . . not this early.” Julia sighed and rubbed her forehead. Uncle Hank had always been a sore trial to Julia, but the exploding bottle incident put him on very thin ice. Not that he was aware of it.

“Come on in, Uncle Hank!” Sadie said.

Uncle Hank stood in the doorway, grinning like he just tagged everyone in a game of hide-and-seek. In his hand was the lit stub of a cigar.

“No smoking in the house, Uncle Hank,” Julia said. “You know the doctors outlawed it for Dad’s sake.” She put her hand out, palm up, until Uncle Hank forfeited the stub. Julia opened the kitchen door to throw it out. She turned and frowned at him, but he didn’t seem at all offended.

“Still settin’ to your breakfast!” he bellowed. “I had mine at 4:30!”

The entire town of Stoney Ridge was awake now. Julia filled a coffee mug and handed it to him.