The Keeper (9 page)

Last summer, when Rome first influenced Paul to postpone the wedding, Julia’s feelings about Rome turned from mild disdain to downright dislike. To her way of thinking, Rome Troyer was a blight on the landscape, a pox on their district. And still, people welcomed him with open arms.

Well, she was not going to let Roman Troyer get to her. Nor would she let him distract her from her objective—convincing Paul to keep the wedding date. She was sure that once she and Paul married, all of those silly doubts of his would disappear. She wasn’t quite sure how to make that happen, but one thing her father had always said, “First the vision, then the plan.”

When Julia heard Fern clang the dinner bell that hung by the kitchen door, she closed the roadside stand for the evening. She walked up to the kitchen, carrying the vegetables and early cherries that hadn’t sold, plus the honor jar, in a woven basket. Rome was coming in from the orchards and met her halfway along the drive. He took the basket out of her hands. “Looks like you didn’t have too many customers.”

She shrugged. “It’s early in the season.” She picked up her pace.

Rome kept her pace. “What would you think if I sold some honey at the stand while I’m here? I’ve started making beeswax candles too.”

She didn’t respond.

“I was thinking, maybe I’d give you ten percent. You know, for the trouble of selling them.”

If anyone else had offered her this, she would have readily agreed, just to be kind. But there was something about Rome’s manner that made her act as stiff as Fern. As starchy and prickly as a boiled shirt. “60/40,” she said curtly.

He stared at her for a long moment, then opened his mouth to speak. Shut it. Opened it again. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed. He was obviously surprised. She could almost read his thoughts: He thought she would be grateful to receive a ten percent cut. He thought he was doing her a favor. “Once folks hear you’re selling my sweet honey, they’ll come from miles around. Why, they’ll be lined up, all the way to town!”

“Excellent point.” She started up the hill. “50/50. That’s my final offer.” Why, she was even sounding like Stern Fern.

“Highway robbery,” he muttered. “Fine.” Rome hurried to catch up. “Julia, I am sorry. About Paul. Maybe I could talk to him. Get him to change his mind.”

She stopped abruptly. “Roman, you give startlingly bad advice. Why would I ever want
you
to try and convince Paul to keep our wedding date?”

He seemed a little puzzled. “Maybe I could talk to Edith Fisher. You know, sweet-talk her a little. So she isn’t quite as standoffish toward you.”

Julia looked at him as if a cat had spoken. “No. I do not want you to talk to anyone about me.” She spoke in a tone as if she were addressing a very young, very dense child.

M.K. came flying down the drive with Menno right behind her. She ran behind Julia as Menno tried to grab her. “M.K., what did you do to Menno?” Julia asked.

“I didn’t do anything!” M.K. said.

Menno pointed at her. “She threw a water balloon at me!” His shirt was soaked.

“No, I didn’t!” M.K. peered into the basket in Rome’s arms. “Dibs on the leftover cherries.”

“You can’t just call dibs, Mary Kate,” Menno scolded. He looked woefully at Rome. “She puts dibs on everything.”

Something at the house caught Rome’s eye. “Look up there, Menno. There’s your water balloon culprit.”

Their gaze turned to the Grossdaadi Haus, an apartment-style house above the buggy shop. Uncle Hank was leaning over the windowsill with a red water balloon in his hand, the size of a softball, aiming directly for Fern as she hung some dish towels on the clothesline.

“Uncle Hank! No!” Julia shouted. “Don’t do it!”

Too late. The small red water balloon hurled through the air, splattering on the lawn after barely missing Fern’s head. She didn’t miss a beat. She finished clipping the wet dish towel to the line and crossed the line to head to the house.

“Well, well,” Rome said. “Good to see Hank is still the same.”

Julia sighed. “He’s the biggest child in the neighborhood.”

And then, because Uncle Hank wouldn’t be satisfied with just one balloon, he wound up his arm to toss another at Fern. Again, it missed and splattered at her feet. She stopped, looked at his window, and calmly said, “You, Hank Lapp, have terrible aim.” She walked up the porch stairs to the kitchen, cucumber calm.

Julia thought Uncle Hank seemed a little disappointed that he didn’t get a more flustered reaction out of Fern.

Menno cupped his hands around his mouth. “Uncle Hank, you shouldn’t do things like that to Fern. She’s not used to us yet. And she’s trying to help us.”

Fern spun around on the porch and pointed to Menno. “No wonder that boy is the pick of the litter. He’s the only Lapp male with a lick of sense.”

“She’s right,” Menno said earnestly. “Uncle Hank gets in as much trouble as M.K.”

“Hey!” M.K. said, arms on her hips, a little general.

“I heard that, young Menno! Try and catch this!” Uncle Hank tossed a balloon in Menno’s direction, but at the last second, Rome pushed Menno out of the way. Unfortunately, Julia was behind Menno. The balloon hit Julia right in her midsection and burst, showering her with cold water. After the initial shock wore off, she seared Rome with her gaze.

A cackling sound like dry leaves floated down from the porch. It was Fern, laughing.

The family went ahead with supper as Julia went upstairs to change into dry clothes. She hadn’t said a word after getting hit by the balloon; she just glared at Rome as if he had engineered the entire incident.

Rome had been thinking about Julia a lot today, maybe because he felt more than a twinge of responsibility for Paul Fisher’s decision to back out of the wedding. But he was also thinking about Julia because it baffled him that she didn’t seem at all interested in impressing him. It was odd being with a woman who wasn’t interested in him. Odd and appealing. Oddly appealing.

When she came into the kitchen, she avoided any eye contact with Rome; he was invisible to her. The only time she even acknowledged his presence was when M.K. mentioned that she had heard at school today that two more courtships had been broken and that the bishop considered there to be an epidemic of broken promises among the young people.

“Bet my last dollar we’re going to be getting a sermon on it next week,” M.K. said glumly.

Rome squirmed uncomfortably at M.K.’s remark—those same two fellows had been standing with Paul Fisher the other day when he had that infamous conversation about getting married.

“In Ohio, young people keep their courting business to themselves,” Fern said.

“It’s supposed to be that way here too,” M.K. said, “but everybody knows, anyway.”

“What has happened to courtships?” Fern asked, shaking her head.

“Ask Roman Troyer, why don’t you?” Julia said in a rather schoolmarmish way as she joined them at the table.

All eyes turned to Rome. He occupied himself with buttering his bread.

“Maybe there’s a good reason for a man to change his mind,” Amos said quietly.

“Dad!” Julia looked horrified. “You’re defending him?” She meant Rome.

This evening wasn’t going well. Rome suddenly wished he were anywhere but at the Lapps’ dinner table.

“I’m only saying . . . ,” Amos started, “that sometimes a man just has to do what he thinks is right. Even if he might be wishing things were different.” He looked at Rome. “Isn’t that true?”

Rome had no idea what Amos was getting at. Did Amos think Rome was sweet on Julia too? He hoped not. Julia Lapp was an intriguing girl, and she was pretty great to look at, but he wasn’t the settling down type. Not by a long shot.

Fern had served Amos a special plate of food—low sodium, she said, and jumped up if he needed anything, as if she was afraid he might keel over. Just how sick was Amos? Rome would have to find out more, though since Julia wasn’t exactly talking to him, he wasn’t sure whom he could squeeze that information out of. He glanced at Sadie, sitting across from him, wondering if she might know more, but he doubted it. Sadie was looking down at her plate, a little stunned. She had filled her plate to overflowing, a double helping of mashed potatoes and four pieces of chicken. Fern snatched it away from her and set in its place a plate with one skinless, boiled chicken breast, and two sprigs of broccoli—even less substantial than Amos’s plate.

Menno noticed too. “Why isn’t Sadie eating what we’re eating? Does she have a bum heart too?’

“No,” Fern said. “She’s got an overfed problem.”

Sadie’s head jerked up.

Julia straightened, stiff as a poker. “Fern, Sadie is fourteen years old. She should be allowed to make her own decisions.”

“Almost fifteen,” Sadie said, casting a sideways glance at Rome.

“She already has a substantial figure,” Fern said flatly.

“She’s big-boned, is all!” Julia said.

“Bones don’t jiggle,” Fern said.

“Now, Fern,” Amos said, poking at his plate and frowning. “This isn’t exactly a meal to get excited over.” He looked longingly at Menno’s plate, loaded with fried chicken next to a cloud of mashed potatoes with a pat of butter melting in the center. “I thought I smelled fried chicken. I only came downstairs because I thought I smelled fried chicken.”

“You did,” Fern said. “Just not for you. You’re on a low-to-no-sodium diet. And you’re supposed to lose weight so that your heart doesn’t have to work as hard. I’ve been reading up.”

“I haven’t had a good fried chicken in years,” Amos said, releasing a martyred sigh.

“That’s not the point, Dad,” Julia said. “Sadie shouldn’t be told what she can and can’t eat.”

Rome glanced at Sadie to see how she liked being talked about in the third person. Sadie’s mouth was a tight little pucker, and her freckled nose twitched like a rabbit.

“That was our agreement,” Fern said firmly. “If I cook for all of you, you eat what I give you. Especially that one.” She pointed at Sadie. “She’s as plump in the middle as a Christmas turkey.”

“She has a friendly softness!” Julia said.

“I am right here,” Sadie reminded them.

“Actually,” Rome said, “I need to shed a few pounds myself. I’ll join you in eating light, Sadie.” He picked up the broccoli bowl and helped himself to a few sprigs. Sadie looked at him adoringly.

Julia’s gaze shifted from Sadie to Rome. He couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking. “Fine. I’ll join Sadie too.” She put back a roll into the breadbasket.

“Not me,” M.K. said, reaching out to grab the roll. “Dibs on the rest of the mashed potatoes.”

“You can’t just call dibs on everything, Mary Kate,” Menno scolded. “Can she, Dad?”

Everyone looked to Amos for an answer, but he didn’t have one. He looked suddenly spent, as if he had used up all of his energy.

Fern hopped up. “Maybe that’s enough excitement for one day.”

As she helped him upstairs, Rome heard Amos mutter, “You treat me like I’m an invalid.”

Fern snorted. “You’re not exactly plowing up fields by moonlight.”

“You’re no spring chicken yourself.”

Their voices, engaged in gentle sparring, drifted into silence. Something about it felt strangely familiar, comforting to Rome. As they walked away, a wisp of memory tugged at him . . . His mother bringing his father soup in bed one day when he was sick with laryngitis, and his father trying to squeak out a thank-you in such a way that they all laughed and laughed.

Had it really happened, or was it something he’d dreamed?

As soon as Fern was out of sight, Julia jumped up from the table and disappeared without offering up an excuse. As Rome was dumping milk into his coffee, he saw Julia drive off in a buggy as if she was heading to a fire. Rome thought it might not be a bad idea to say his goodbyes before Fern came back downstairs. He wasn’t particularly worried that Fern would press him with questions while they were in the midst of the Lapp family, but he had no interest in finding himself alone with her. He gulped down the last swig of coffee and stood to leave. As he whirled around to pluck his hat off the wall peg, Fern beat him to it. She stood there, holding his hat out to him. How had she appeared so suddenly? This day was getting stranger and stranger.

“Seems like you and Amos know each other pretty well,” she said.

“I’d say so,” Rome said.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Where are you holing up while your bees are doing their business?”

“Oh, here and there,” he said.

“He’s very mysterious,” M.K. whispered to Fern. “That’s why Julia calls him Roamin’ Roman.”

Fern rolled her eyes. “Mystery, schmystery. A man who roams is looking for something.”

“I do all right,” Rome said, a little peeved. He wondered what Fern had up her sleeves. She seemed to have settled quickly into her place in the Lapp household, wanted or not. Good. As long as she was preoccupied with them, maybe she would leave him alone.

Fern rubbed her chin, thinking for a long while. Then she jumped into action. “You three,” pointing to Menno, M.K., and Sadie. “We’ve got work to do.” She turned to Rome and pointed a long finger at him. “You. Meet us back here in two hours. Before sundown. Don’t be late.”