Eight
Sweat ran beneath Nathan’s hat, pooled at the base of his neck, and soaked into his shirt collar. Wiping his brow, he watched two turkey vultures floating effortlessly on wind currents, with only an occasional flap of their wings.
Oh, to have been born a bird instead of a farmer. But he probably would have been born a hummingbird instead of a vulture, eagle, or hawk. Then he would have to beat his wings all day long, continually searching for food to maintain strength. And if that weren’t bad enough, he would have to fly south every year down to Mexico with only a two-inch wingspan.
Most of the time Nathan Fisher loved farming, but today was not one of those days. After he’d managed to mire the plow into mud near the riverbank, he broke two harnesses trying to pull his equipment free. In so doing, he ended up in foul-smelling muck up to his hips. He thought he might have to hitch another team of draft horses to pull himself out. Then his driving horse threw a shoe and he had to call a farrier to stop at the farm, costing him money he didn’t have. Paying for Ruth’s funeral expenses and the hospital bills for Abraham had left him without enough to pay this month’s rent. So when a wasp stung his neck on the way to the house, he wasn’t surprised. Nathan opened the screen door at lunchtime not in the best of moods.
“What happened to you?” asked Iris.
“I got stung by a wasp,” he answered, heading toward the bathroom. He felt a painful lump swell beneath his fingers as he dabbed on antiseptic.
She followed him to the bathroom doorway. “Did you get out the stinger?” She arched up on tiptoes for a better look.
“A wasp, Aunt, not a bee. No stinger.” He pressed a cold washrag to the lump and searched for some anti-itch medicine Ruth had bought. When he found the bottle, he sprayed liberally, bringing a searing pain to the tender area. “This hurts like the devil, worse than any bee sting.”
Iris paled, glancing around the room. “Do not invoke the evil one’s name. You may just compound your troubles.”
“Hard to imagine this day getting much worse,” he groused. “I mired the plow in mud, got myself stuck, and broke two harnesses. And my standardbred threw a shoe.” He sprayed his neck a second time as the area began to grow numb.
“Is that why your clothes are soaking wet?”
“I had to wash the mud off in the pond.”
“And that’s when the wasp decided to frost the cake.” Her eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.
“Are you laughing at my misfortune, Aunt Iris?”
“Jah, I suppose I am. Mir leid.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll laugh at myself too once this pain goes away.”
She clucked her tongue. “I’ll get you some dry clothes. There’s a folded pile on the steps, waiting to be taken upstairs.”
By the time she returned, the throbbing in his neck had begun to subside. “Danki,” he said, sitting down at the table.
“You’re welcome.” Iris ladled beef soup into two bowls. The broth smelled deliciously of onions and celery, but he spotted little meat among the carrots and potatoes.
“Is there no beef left in the freezer?” he asked, feeling guilty. It was one thing to ask her to cook meals and quite another to ask her to spin gold out of straw.
“Not too much, so I’m trying to stretch it until you’re ready to take a cow to the meat processor. I know you need all your milking heifers.”
“I’ll bring you a chicken for supper.” He ladled up vegetables and broth.
She leveled her gaze over the kerosene lamp. “Don’t you need your laying hens for eggs? I can sell extra eggs to your English neighbors to bring in a little money.”
Shame rose up this throat like acid indigestion. “We need to eat, Aunt Iris. Man…and woman…cannot live by potatoes and carrots alone.” He took a long drink of water. At least spring water is still free.
“I’ll send a note to my son to bring over a beef quarter. He took one of his steers to the packinghouse last month, besides the male spring calves. The freezer in his cellar is full.”
Nathan sopped up broth with half a slice of bread. “All right, but I’ll reimburse my cousin for the meat. I’m not taking handouts. Folks in the district have already done enough by taking care of a large chunk of the hospital bill. I intend to pay my own way in this world.”
Iris buttered a piece of bread. “In that case, you can go to town and buy more baby formula. I need both the powdered kind and the pre-mixed to take along when we leave for the day.”
“More formula already? We just bought fifty dollars’ worth.” Nathan didn’t begrudge food for his son, but the cost of English baby products was ridiculous.
“That boy has a healthy appetite. I can’t very well feed him chicken and dumplings yet.”
With the mention of solid food, Abraham started crying in the other room. Before Nathan had a chance to enjoy his bowl of canned peaches, Iris retrieved the noisy child and foisted him into his father’s arms.
“I’m still eating, Aunt Iris,” Nathan complained, positioning the child into the crook of his elbow. But Abraham didn’t stop crying.
“So am I,” she said. “Try your best while I finish, and then I’ll feed him his lunch.” She smiled sweetly and returned to her soup.
“He doesn’t like being held by his daed.” Nathan set down his spoon and began bouncing the child on his knee.
“Only because he’s not used to you.” She spooned up one piece of carrot. At this pace, she wouldn’t finish lunch until Christmas. “The more time you hold him, Nathan, the more he’ll grow accustomed to you. Then he won’t cry so much.”
“I can’t very well strap a boppli onto my back like a papoose while I work the fields. Bopplin are a woman’s business, not a man’s.”
“All my sons take pride in their kinner. All have spent time walking the floor with colicky babies and when teething makes for plenty of sleepless nights. The Lord provides two parents for a reason.”
“Your sons never had to bury a wife. They don’t know what that’s like, and God willing, they’ll never have to find out.”
Just then, Abraham stopped fussing for a short while and gazed at his father. But Nathan didn’t notice his son. He met the gaze of his aunt instead.
Iris picked up her bowl and drank the broth. Then she speared the remaining carrots with her fork. “True enough, but your son needs a father, not just his old gefunden.”
The sound of crunching gravel beyond the kitchen window broke the stalemate between the two. “A car has pulled up to the house. I’d better go see who it is. Maybe that English social worker has come back to check for diaper rash again.” He passed the baby to Iris. Upon the exchange, the boy began to wail as though he’d been pinched.
Actually, Nathan secretly hoped it was Patricia Daly. He regretted how he had treated her when she had only been doing her job. Her compliment about his care and diligence had been unjustified. What do I have to do with my son’s health and well-being? He’d told Iris about the social worker’s comment, and she had had little reaction.
And why did I bite Mrs. Daly’s head off for suggesting grief therapy sessions? Couldn’t I have just said, “No, that’s not for me”? Maybe he did need his head examined after all. He’d considered writing a letter of apology, but his penmanship and knowledge of English grammar left much to be desired.
Halfway down the walkway, he knew his apology to Mrs. Daly would have to wait for another day. A thin young man stretched his tall frame from the driver’s side.
“Mr. Fisher?” he asked. “Nathan Fisher?” The man approached the porch, glancing down at the gravel path with each step, as though unaccustomed to anything except concrete.
“I’m Nathan Fisher. What can I do for you?”
“I believe I can do something for you, sir.” He pulled a business card from his billfold and held it out. “My name is Jack Boudreau. I work for a law firm in Canton.”
Nathan glanced down at the card he’d accepted. It revealed nothing beyond what the man had already said.
“First of all, let me say our firm would like to express our deepest condolences. We understand you lost your wife in childbirth.” He paused a moment before continuing. “She was a very young woman, wasn’t she?”
“Jah, she was twenty-three.” Nathan shifted his hat back on his head and tucked his hands beneath his suspenders.
“Oh my. That is too young to die. We are so sorry for your loss.” He pulled on his necktie to loosen the knot.
Nathan wondered why the man talked in plural while he stood alone in the driveway. “Danki. God decides who to call home. He doesn’t ask anybody’s opinion beforehand.”
“That is what I was taught too. My mother is a Sunday school teacher and my wife helps out at VBS.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow.
“Vacation Bible School,” explained Mr. Boudreau. “So they would readily agree with you. But for myself, I think there are times when people should be held accountable for their actions. And this is a perfect example of one of those times.” He turned his focus skyward. “Would you mind if we talked in the shade or maybe inside the house? This sun is a scorcher today.”
“Sure, come up to the porch.” Nathan led the way, wondering why Englischers insisted on beating around the bush. They tried to use the maximum number of words to express whatever was on their chest. He waited while the lawyer sat down, pulled off his tie, and unbuttoned his top shirt button.
“That’s better,” said Mr. Boudreau with a grin.
“Suppose you tell me who this perfectly accountable person is.” Nathan lifted a boot heel to the bottom step.
“Mrs. Abigail Graber, of course. That woman doesn’t possess a license to midwife in the state of Ohio. She’s had only hands-on training and maybe a few classes beyond her eighth-grade education. She had no business coming into your home and attempting to medically administer to your wife.”
“I called and asked her to come.” Nathan stared in the man’s watery blue eyes.
“Notwithstanding, your request doesn’t mitigate her actions. She’s culpable, Mr. Fisher, and liable in this situation. She broke the law.” Boudreau imbued his final four words with special emphasis.
“What would you have me do?”
“My law firm and I feel you are entitled to damages from Mrs. Graber to compensate you and your son for the loss of companionship of a wife and mother. This sum of money can be used to pay funeral expenses, medical bills for the baby, and future long-term childcare. That little boy no longer has a mother, and that’s just not right.” Boudreau’s voice lifted with indignation.
Nathan pulled on his beard. “So you wish to sue…am I following you right?”
“That is correct, sir. That Graber woman doesn’t have liability insurance like she should have had—we’ve already checked. But she and her husband do own a two-hundred-fifty acre farm that’s worth quite a bit of money in this market.”
Nathan held up a calloused palm to stem the tide of words he’d rather not hear. “And this ‘we’ you keep talking about—this office full of other lawyers—what would they get out of this?”
“Our standard legal contingency fee is one-third of monies received. Which means if we don’t get you anything, you don’t owe us a dime.”
His smile rubbed Nathan the wrong way. “And this money you think you can squeeze out of the Graber family—it’ll bring my wife back?” He leaned close enough to smell the man’s spicy aftershave.
“No, nothing will do that. But like I said, your son will have expensive needs now that he has no mother. You’re entitled to funds for your hardship too, the same as your boy.” He lowered his tone so it was soft and melodic.
Nathan stared a moment at an ant carrying a kernel of corn across the flower bed. Then he said, “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, so I’ll speak plainly. I don’t want the Graber farm. Amish folk don’t go around suing people, for one thing. And for another, Mrs. Graber tried her best with my wife—license or no. It’s not my place, or yours, to question the will of God.”
“Did you know Mrs. Garber injected your wife with medication? A drug that was illegal for her to possess?”
Nathan squinted from the sun’s glare, slanting over the roof. “If that’s true, that’s a matter for the law. That’s probably why she’s still in jail. But that’s not my concern. Now, I ask you to be on your way. I have chores to do.”
Mr. Boudreau tried to argue, to offer additional reasons, but Nathan lowered his head and stared at his dusty boots. After a moment, the lawyer strutted back to his car and left in a cloud of dust.
Attorneys and sums of money, illegal drugs and contingency fees… Nathan wished it would all just go away. If only he could close his eyes and when he awoke, his sweet Ruth would be there with a tray of corn bread fresh from the oven.
But she wasn’t coming back.
And nothing seemed to be able to pull him from the nightmare world that he was living in.
“Not like that, Jake!” Laura’s shrill voice rang out across the garden. “Aim the hose higher or you’ll knock the new cabbage plants from their holes.”
Catherine looked up from kneading bread dough and smiled. How Laura loved to mother-hen over her younger bruder. Just the way Abigail did over herself and Meghan. Once, when the three sisters had been peeling apples to run through the cider press, Catherine had upended the bowl of peels over Abby’s head in sheer frustration.
Those peels are too thick. Those peels are too thin.
Abby’s admonishments rang in Catherine’s ears. Mamm had sent her to bed right after supper, but at the time it had been well worth it.
“The spray is still too strong, Jake. Aim the hose so the water falls down like rain, not like a blast from a fireman’s hose.”
Laura remembered the spring event last April when area volunteer fire departments staged a controlled burn on an abandoned house. Amish and English folk came from all over the county to witness the training session. Children and adults watched awestruck at how quickly a building burned to the ground.
“Now you’re wetting the side of the house,” she screeched. “Give me the hose. Let me show you how—”
Laura screamed and then started to wail as Jake turned the hose on her instead of the garden. Apparently the Graber siblings matched the Yost schwestern in temperament.
Catherine covered the dough ball with a damp towel so it would rise and walked outdoors. By the time she reached the kinner, they were rolling around in the wet grass while the hose writhed between them like an angry snake. “Laura! Jake! Stop that right now.” She hauled them up by their arms. They were drenched from head to toe. Laura’s kapp had fallen into a mud puddle. “Look at you two,” she scolded. “What’s this about?”
“I was only trying to teach him, Aunt Catherine, and he refuses to do it right.”
“She’s always bossin’ me!” Jake’s red face scowled with frustration. “She acts like she’s mamm, but she’s not.”
“What on earth?” Daniel’s voice thundered over Catherine’s shoulder. She flinched while the combatants shrank beneath her grip. “You two should be ashamed. If you don’t stop your squabbling, I’ll spank both of your backsides. Is that what you want?”
Catherine thought not, judging by the way they paled to the color of skim milk.
“Get in the house and put on dry clothes. And don’t give your Aunt Catherine any more trouble.”
The two ran for the house while she followed behind at a slower pace. She could have handled the crisis without Daniel’s intervention, but she held her tongue. After all, he was their father.
“I’ll get washed up for lunch, Catherine,” he called, heading to the pump house. Using the hand pump and old washtub kept much dirt out of the house. “After I eat, I’m driving to the grain elevator. I need more seed corn because some of mine has turned moldy. Give me a list if you want anything.”
She nodded in agreement and then went inside to fix lunch. After setting out a plate of sandwiches along with jars of pickled beets and chow-chow, she checked on the kinner before Daniel returned. They were in the bathroom. Jake sat on the closed commode, streaky faced but wearing clean clothes. Laura sat on the edge of the bathtub in a fresh dress with her head buried in her hands. She sobbed as though her young heart would break. Catherine perched beside her on the tub, snaking an arm around her shoulders. “There, there. It’s all over now. No one gets through childhood without an occasional scolding from their daed.”
Laura glanced up, her face awash in misery, and laid her head against Catherine’s side. “I wish mamm would come home. I miss her so much.” Her tears resumed with full force while Jake began to sniffle.
“Of course you do, and she misses you. I’ll check to see if you could visit her some time. Would you like that?”
Laura’s head snapped up. “Jah, I would so much! When can we visit her?” She dragged Jake into their embrace as though he were a rag doll. The boy climbed into Catherine’s lap.
“I will ask your father, but not right now. Let’s wait until he simmers down a tad.”
Laura thought for a moment, and then joy bloomed across her face. “After supper, while he eats pie with ice cream,” she said. “Ice cream always puts him in a good mood.”
“That’s an excellent idea, but now it’s time to eat, so dry your eyes.” Catherine stood, lifting the boy up to her hip. After wiping her face on a towel, Laura grasped Catherine’s hand and the three walked from the room with renewed composure.
Daniel sat distributing sandwiches between the lunch plates. “I wondered where you had gone.” He glanced from one to the other. “Everyone in clean clothes?”
Three heads nodded while Catherine settled Jake on his chair. Laura sat and bowed her kappless head. After prayers they ate turkey-and-tomato sandwiches, but no one faster than Daniel.
“Is your list ready?” he asked, taking another spoonful of beets.
“Jah, it’s by the door.” She hoped he wouldn’t mind buying her favorite strawberry shampoo. The Graber house brand left her hair a mass of tangles.
Daniel wrapped his second sandwich in plastic for the drive. “I’d better take off if I want to get home by supper. Feed them at six if I’m not back yet.” He picked up her list on his way out.
For some reason, Catherine breathed easier once her brother-in-law left for his errands. Though his tirade hadn’t been directed at her, she’d been as nervous at the table as Laura.
When his buggy pulled onto the roadway, she turned to her niece. “What do you say we deliver lunch to your cousin instead of letting it sit on the back porch? We could see how he’s spending this fine summer day.”
Laura clapped her hands. “Can we go to his cabin? We haven’t been there since last fall.” She jumped up and down for the second time within an hour.
“I don’t see why not. But remember, he might not be there. Maybe your father gave him work to do while he went to town.” Catherine fixed Isaiah’s sandwiches and packed the small cooler with soda, fruit, and oatmeal cookies.
“No, daed doesn’t like Isaiah to work with equipment alone. He might get hurt.”
“He could be up in the hills cutting firewood.”
Laura smirked at her aunt. “Not in the middle of summer. That’s autumn work.”
“In that case, let’s be off.” As Catherine put extra water in the cooler, anticipation began to build in her veins. “I wonder which one of you can reach the back path first,” she said, closing the door behind her.
She hurried to keep up as the siblings bolted through the grass like jackrabbits. They barely slowed their pace as the trail wound through the apple orchard. “Hold up there. Let’s rest a minute.” Catherine leaned against a tree trunk to catch her breath.
Laura pulled down a low branch to sniff the dead blossoms. “Don’t expect Isaiah to talk much, Aunt Catherine, because he doesn’t.”
“All right. What else can you tell me?” Her heart pounded more than exertion warranted.
Laura released the tree branch and pulled buttercups up by the roots. “When he does try to talk, he sounds real funny, so don’t be surprised.”
Catherine knew as much, yet she yearned to hear anything the child had to say. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Laura chewed on a weed for insight. “Daed said he never heard how words should sound, so he can’t say the ones he knows, and he doesn’t know many because he didn’t go to school much.”
“Because the teacher didn’t know how to help him?” Catherine started walking along the path.
That explanation did not make sense to a six-year-old. “No. A couple of boys laughed at him, so he stopped going. Isaiah doesn’t like people laughing at him.” Jake tripped but Laura pulled him upright before Catherine could intervene. “Even if something looks funny, like Jake or a squirrel in the yard, remember not to laugh, okay?”
Catherine smiled down on a child who possessed the sage wisdom of an elder. “I promise to keep that in mind.” As the trail entered the briar thicket, bees and insects buzzed around their heads. Catherine picked up Jake so he wouldn’t get scratched or stung.
Laura also stayed close, grasping a tight fistful of Catherine’s skirt. “Daed says that Isaiah talks to those who cannot talk back,” she whispered as the path turned to follow the river.
Catherine stopped in midstride. “What do you think he meant by that?”
The child gazed up. “I dunno, but I hope we find out today.” Her grin expanded to fill her face.
The aunt and niece didn’t have long to wait for their answer.
The deeper they ventured into the forest, the quieter they became. Soon they were creeping like mice past a sleeping cat. Even Jake watched with owl-round eyes as he clung to Catherine’s neck.
In a sun-dappled clearing with pine needles for carpet and blue sky peeking between the treetops, Isaiah Graber stood motionless with his hand outstretched. A single black crow perched on his shoulder, cocking his head from left to right. A large doe with huge eyes and twitching tail nibbled dried corn kernels from Isaiah’s palm. Two speckled tan-and-white fawns stood on spindly legs beneath their mother’s belly. The braver of the fawns timidly approached some fallen corn, even though he was too young to have been weaned.
The attention span of a four-year-old only lasted so long. “Hi, Is-sah,” called Jake. He squirmed to be set down. The deer family ran off into the woods while the bird flew to an overhead branch with an annoyed caw.
“Hullo,” said Isaiah, not appearing surprised to see them.
When Laura and Jake ran to him, he stooped to give each a loose embrace. Laura tugged on his sleeve. “Can we go to the swing?” She made a half circle pendulum motion with her hand through the air.
“Jah, jah.”
“Can we go, Aunt Catherine?” Laura asked as an afterthought.
“Well, I don’t know.” Suddenly, the hot sun was making her sweat despite a breeze through the trees. “Is the swing safe?”
The girl looked baffled. “I guess. It’s not high off the ground.”
“All right, then.” Catherine thought to add, “Stay where I can see you” too late. They had already run off. She walked to where the doe had stood, feeling Isaiah’s gaze on her. Finally, she looked up and drew in a sharp breath. He was chuckling at her—not smiling or smirking—but laughing, at what she didn’t know.
With a sweep of his hand he indicated the direction the kinner had gone. Catherine marched down the path as though on a mission… right to the log cabin with the green metal roof and comfortable wide porch.
Isaiah easily kept pace by her side. While she breathed heavily and perspired, he remained cool and unaffected by the heat or humidity. At the steps he went around her to open the front door, and then he motioned for her to enter.
Her heart rose up her throat as she looked into the unknown interior. She knew she shouldn’t go in. She had no business here. Daniel had gone to town, and no one knew her whereabouts. She was supposed to be the responsible person in the group. Yet maybe Jake and Laura were already inside. Inhaling deeply, Catherine walked past him into the dim, cool, sweet-smelling cabin. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and then she perused the room with fascination. Her eyes landed on a small wooden platform under the window. Twin aluminum bowls sat side-by-side, nestled in the recessed openings of the stand. The first bowl contained water, while kibble filled the second to the rim. Someone had burned the word “Boots” into the face of the wood, as though with the tip of a hot poker. Catherine stared as the memory of the phantom yellow dog provided explanation for the handmade apparatus. A feeding station so the dog wouldn’t have to bend down. Duly impressed, she scanned the rest of the room.
Isaiah owned no curtains, upholstered sofa, or comfortable recliner to read by the fire. Because nobody lives close enough to peek in windows and Isaiah can’t read anyway, she thought. But the furnishings he owned were tidy, functional, and possessing their own charm and beauty: an oak table and two chairs with slat backs and woven rush seats, two bentwood rockers that must have taken someone months to make; and a rough-sawn bedstead with four high posts and an intricately carved headboard. Catherine crept deeper into the room to examine the woodcarving on the headboard. It was of a deer family like the one they had seen in the forest clearing. A backdrop of tall pines and knee-high wildflowers indicated Isaiah hadn’t journeyed far for his inspiration. A thick multicolored quilt, probably sewn by her sister Abigail, covered the rustic bed, while a plump pillow leaned against one bedpost. A braided rug in soft, muted colors lay beneath her feet. The sparse room looked inviting in its simplicity.
She suddenly felt shy and embarrassed by her intrusion. Wheeling around, her gaze locked with Isaiah’s. He stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by the light, with his arms crossed over his dark shirt. The no-longer-mysterious golden Labrador lay at his feet.
He tucked a lock of shoulder-length hair behind one ear. “Gut?” he asked.
“What?” she croaked, transfixed by his black eyes.
“Gut?” He gestured with his head toward the corners of the large cabin.
“Jah, gut, very nice. I must be going now.” Catherine set his lunch bag on the table, and strode past him out the door, practically jumping over the dog. She ran around the cabin on the narrow band of yard next to the river, where she found the kinner. Jake sat in a tree swing while Laura pushed him from behind.
“There you are!” She swept the boy up in her arms, grabbed Laura’s hand, and didn’t stop running until she almost reached the apple orchard. She ignored their questions as to what was wrong and why were they hurrying so fast.
Because Catherine Yost didn’t have a clue.