A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (10 page)

Viola looked up from her desk. “What took you so long? I thought he was going to have a cow.”

“I was in a meeting.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that.” Viola rolled her eyes. “You can’t top your father.”

No one knew that as well as Remy.

“He’s on with Mr. Gefeller in sales, but you can go in.”

Remy felt that strange mixture of intimidation and longing as she entered the office. A male retreat designed to resemble a cross
between a cigar bar and a paneled library, Herb’s office sat empty much of the time, as the demands of his work required him to be elsewhere.

Phone pressed to his ear, Herb shot her a look, then nodded for her to sit.

Remy sank onto the leather sofa as he rolled an unlit cigar between his fingers and argued about numbers with the man on the phone. Was it any wonder that she felt as if he didn’t have time for her in his life?

Glancing down at the design of the sculpted carpet, she recalled a time when she had rolled on the rug of her father’s office, and once or twice Herb had gotten down on the rug beside her. In the months just after her mother died, Herb had indulged her, letting her miss school to be with him. The huge, dark area under his keyhole desk was her playhouse, a place to curl up and read a book, nap, or create stories about what the families of paper clips did together after the lights went out in the office each night.

How precious that time was.

No one had seemed in a hurry for her to grow up. Grades were never mentioned, and for that interlude she had been the only family her father needed.

As Herb prattled on, she imagined herself under his desk, holed up with a doll or favorite stuffed animal—Bunny. The white rabbit was actually a hand puppet, so its body was slim and very huggable. She had slept with her every night, and though her fake fur had worn thin and the ribbon around her neck faded from blue to a pale gray, Remy had loved Bunny unconditionally.

Every night, before falling asleep, she and Bunny recited the prayer her mother had taught her. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep …”

She grabbed at the lapels of her blazer, equally pleased and disarmed by the memory.

“Herb, what happened to Bunny?” she asked the minute he was off the phone.

“Bunny.” He frowned, his lips thinning as he tucked the cigar between them. “Who in the world is that? I can’t keep track of all your friends.”

“Don’t you remember? Bunny was my favorite stuffed animal, the one I slept with every night.”

“A stuffed animal? How could I forget that?” His voice was thick with his usual sarcasm. “Would you look at the time?” He rose from his chair and went to the closet behind the door.

But Remy wasn’t backing down. “Seriously, what do you think happened to Bunny?”

He slid his suit jacket from its hanger. “I don’t know. Maybe the housekeeper got rid of it. Or was it Sonja? She was such a clean freak. I know she put it through the wash at least once.”

Herb’s second wife Sonja had purged their lives of so many things, though Remy liked to think the woman had pushed forward with good intentions.

“Anyway, I have a new business associate I’d like you to meet: Max Menkowitz. He’s putting up some money for a new enterprise of mine, bringing his son to Philadelphia to handle the whole thing, and the son is about your age.”

Remy fell back on the sofa. “Herb, tell me you’re not setting me up on a blind date.”

“Who said anything about a date? Max and Stuart are going to be partners with McCallister Inc., and I’d like you to be on their radar. You weren’t planning to fritter your time away on the newspaper forever, were you?”

“I figured I’d stay until I mastered it, and there’s still a lot to learn in editorial,” Remy said. “I haven’t even gotten a byline yet.”

Herb’s laugh came out as half roar, half bark. “Don’t worry about that. You know you’ll be well taken care of.”

“I know you’ve got the money thing covered, Herb,” she said. If only her father could be half as attentive in other areas. When she tried to picture his heart, she imagined a small, shriveled organ. The heart of a Grinch.

“So we’ll go to dinner one night next week,” he said, smoothing the lapels of his well-tailored jacket. “Just the four of us.”

“Sure. It’ll be like one of those ‘date with Daddy’ dances. Only Stu won’t be dancing with his dad.”

Herb laughed again as they stepped into the reception area. “Attagirl. I’m thrilled that you’ve inherited my cutting sarcasm. But maybe you should do something with your hair first.…”

Remy shot a look at Viola, who shrugged.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Self-consciously Remy reached behind one ear for the thick reddish locks she wore long to keep them from curling into little-girl ringlets.

“When was the last time you cut it? You could go to one of those salons … get a total makeover, like on TV. My treat.”

“Herb!” Remy rolled her eyes.

“In fact, a few phone calls and I might get you on that makeover show. Wouldn’t that be—”

“Mr. McCallister, excuse me?” Viola reached for him, as if directing traffic from behind her desk. “I don’t butt in much, but I gotta say you are over the line.”

“Really?” Herb shrugged then stuffed the cigar back into the corner of his mouth. “Fine. Leave your hair long, then. Just wear something nice, will you? No jeans.”

The idea of a night out with Herb and his two cronies had as much appeal as a root canal, but if business was the way to her father’s heart, Remy was willing to give it her best shot.

wo dozen more Holsteins would nearly double our herd.…” Jonah shook his head, his dark eyes round with awe as he scanned the barn from end to end. Gray afternoon light seeped in through the open doors of the old wooden structure. “Where would we put them all?”

“That’s a good point,” Adam said. “We would probably need to pour cement and build some new stanchions. From what I read we need more than sixty cows to turn a profit. It’s just an idea right now, nothing definite yet, but I wanted to see what you both thought.”

“It sounds crazy to me.” Gabriel rested the shovel beside the bucket and looked from Jonah to Adam in disbelief. “How would we ever milk a herd like that?”

“Milking machines, like the one at Uncle Nate’s farm. And Mark Zook’s. Plenty of Amish dairy farmers use them now. It would save us lots of time.”

Gabe notched his hands over the top of the shovel’s handle and
leaned on it. “I can hear Dat’s voice in my head, saying: ‘Just because all your friends jump from the roof of the barn doesn’t mean you should do it, too.’ ”

“It’s a way for the farm to grow,” Adam said, trying to keep his voice level. He had expected resistance from his brothers—logical objections—but he could not fight the memory of their father, who had clung to the old ways, even when certain types of change were permitted. “I’m still not sure about the cost, and there are other considerations.”

“Like mucking out twenty-four more stalls.” Gabe adjusted his work gloves. At sixteen, Gabriel was the member of the King family who seemed to be most in tune with the cows. Although everyone save Sam and Katie helped with the milking, Gabe knew the names and personalities of all the cows, and he had a handle on who could be the most stubborn and who tended to wander off to the back fields. “And don’t forget, we’d have twenty-four more to feed,” Gabe added.

“Right,” Adam agreed, realizing Gabriel, who had been close to Dat, was going to be a tough sell. “I’ve been wanting to go over the numbers with Mammi, see if we grow enough hay and alfalfa to sustain a larger herd.”

“I know that last year we had a surplus of alfalfa, more than our cows could eat. We ended up selling it off.” Jonah tipped his hat back and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It might just work.”

“Nay.” Gabe’s face was sullen, his jaw set as he scraped at a clod of hay with the shovel. “The old ways are best. Dat wouldn’t want us turning into a fancy dairy farm.”

“It’s not about being fancy,” Adam said, concerned that his younger brother misunderstood his motives for changing things. He was about to argue that they wouldn’t be violating the old ways, that the Ordnung permitted use of milking machines powered by
diesel, when a soft noise outside the barn alerted him that a horse was approaching.

“Must be the women arriving for the quilting,” he said. “We’ll talk about all this later, and the whole family will have a voice in the decision making.” That wasn’t the Amish way; usually the man of the house made important decisions, which the rest of the family were bound to accept. But Adam didn’t have Dat’s experience, and he didn’t think it right to hand decisions down to his siblings so close in age. Without a parent at the helm, they were an unusual family. Most Amish family traditions did not apply to a household run by the oldest son.

Gabriel continued mucking the stalls as Jonah and Adam headed out to greet the guests.

“That didn’t go so well,” Jonah said under his breath.

“He’ll come around,” Adam said. “As soon as he figures out that I’m not trying to undo Dat’s lifetime of hard work.”

Two buggies sat in front of the house, and a group of women, Aunt Betsy and her daughters, Rose and Rachel, among them, were following Mary into the house. Sadie was nearly finished unhitching one carriage. Inside the other, Annie Stoltzfus wrapped the reins around the resting post and climbed out.

“Hello, Adam,” Annie called, her berry-red lips curved in a grin. “Do you think the rain will hold off till evening?”

“It looks that way.” His stomach curled at the unwanted attention, and he wondered if she’d bothered to say hello to his sister and brother, too. “Annie … I know Mary’s grateful you could join in the quilting.”

“Oh, I’m happy to do it. The Troyers lost everything in that fire.” She reached into the carriage and lifted out a fat hamper covered with cloth. “I brought strawberry muffins—still warm from the oven. Mary said you like muffins.”

“Strawberry …” He was struck by the irony, but then he’d heard that she thought fondly of her rescue from the strawberry patch. “I’m sure they’re delicious,” Adam said, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to give Annie false encouragement, but he couldn’t be rude.

“That basket looks heavy,” Jonah said. “Would you like me to carry it for you?”

“Oh, I think I can manage. But would you mind unhitching the carriage for me?” The weight of the hamper on one arm had Annie nearly waddling toward the house, her dark green skirts swaying as she walked.

“No problem,” Jonah said, guiding the horse ahead a few feet so that the buggies were neatly lined up.

“And Adam, would you mind getting the door for me?” Annie called. “This hamper is heavy.”

Adam shot a look at his siblings. Though Jonah’s head was concealed behind the horse, he did see Sadie hiding a smile behind one hand. They were enjoying his discomfort with Annie’s affections, were they? Of course, they all had a match in mind for him.

He followed Annie to the door, thinking how his life would be simple if he could just take an interest in the right person, an Old Order Amish girl. Dear God, it would be so simple.…

An hour later, school was out and four children appeared at the end of the lane. Leah and Susie walked arm in arm. Simon circled the beech trees, dragging a very long stick, about which Ruthie appeared to be scolding him.

Adam took a break from chopping to watch the amusing tableau in the distance. This was what it was about. Whenever he had
doubts or faced obstacles, he needed to think of their faces. His most important job was to raise these children the right way, teaching them to love God and live a Plain life. That was what really mattered.

Just then Jonah came around the corner of the house, pausing at the sight of Adam wielding the ax on the old stump. “You’re a step ahead of me,” he said. “Mary just asked for more wood.”

“This should be enough for a while. Would you mind taking a stack inside?” Adam buried the hatchet in the stump and picked up three split logs. “I’m trying to make myself scarce in there.”

“I’m happy to take credit for your work,” Jonah said with his usual stoic grimace.