A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (8 page)

And if she was unable to extract herself from the complicated web of family commitment this year, how would Five react? He’d been supportive and patient for so many years, and now, for the first time, he was steering her strongly toward marriage.

She understood that Five’s patience was wearing thin. She felt the same way, so tired of waiting for things to change, so eager to spend her days and nights beside this man she loved. But her brother Adam was no closer to taking a wife than he was a year ago when he returned to the family. And if Adam refused to marry, then who would manage the women’s work in their household? All the cooking and cleaning, sewing and washing … not to mention helping with the milking.

Oh, what would she do if she were forced to choose between this man she loved and her commitment to her family? Mary huddled under the blanket and bit her lips together in frustration; she’d considered the dilemma many times before, never able to puzzle out an answer.

“What’s the matter?” Five said as he turned the buggy from the highway to a country lane. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

The moment Mary saw the spark of concern in his blue eyes she tossed her worries away, casting them up to scatter with the stars and moon. “It’s nothing.” She glanced up at the three-quarter
moon in the sky, so amused by the silly grin she could make out. “The man on the moon is smiling down on us. Do you see his face up there?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s no man up there. Only dark patches on the surface. Craters and rocks.”

She laughed. “I knew that.”

“Of course, you can think that it’s a symbol of God’s face shining down on us, because that, I know, is a reality.”

Warmed by the love in his eyes, Mary squeezed his hand. How blessed she was to have Five in her life. They would find a way to take care of her family so that they could wed. God would help them do the right and proper thing.

“I never tire of looking at the stars with you,” she said. “How many years have we been courting now? Three?”

“Soon to be four,” he said. “Though it feels like a thousand years.”

“Why, John Beiler …” She pulled a hand out from under the blanket to tap the brim of his hat. “You make it sound as if we’ve been together so long that you’re beginning to think of me as a familiar old shoe.”

As he held on to his hat, his deep, soulful laugh filled the night. “I didn’t say that. Though I do appreciate having comfortable boots on my feet. Never underestimate the value of a familiar old shoe, Mary.”

hen Adam stepped outside to connect the hot water hose to the porch tub, he was struck by two things: the deep silence of the winter night, and the brilliant diamonds in the sky overhead.

Such a clear night. He could make out Ursa Minor, the pattern of stars known as the Little Dipper. Dat had taught them how to spot Polaris in the night sky, the tip of the ladle’s handle. “If you can find your way north, you’ll never be lost,” he used to say.

Now, watching the North Star throb like his own pulse, Adam wished his father were here to point up at the sky. Stars like this were meant to be shared, but everyone in the house was asleep.

Past the crisscross of roads beyond frozen pastures, Mary and Jonah were off at a youth get-together, a bonfire for single Amish men and women. And beyond that, Remy McCallister’s green eyes and curly copper hair shone under these same stars in the city of Philadelphia. Since he’d run into her at the market today, her image had been emblazoned in his mind. Her smile. Her sympathetic eyes.
Even the smattering of freckles across her nose. Goodness swirled behind those green eyes, though he sensed she hadn’t found a way to express that. Chances were he’d never see her again, but somehow it lightened his heart to think of her spending Saturday night under the same starry sky.

He almost laughed as he attached the hose to the rig outside the mudroom. His big Saturday night plans—a bath—and he was looking forward to it. Although the house had plenty of space, the indoor plumbing was limited—something Adam planned to change. On a night like tonight, when his body was weary to the marrow of his bones, it would be very nice to have a hot water line that ran to an upstairs bathroom. A tub room with more privacy than this passageway between the barn and main house. When he was a boy, Mamm had thought the tub was perfect on this closed porch. She could scrub her children down, wiping the muck and mud of the farm from their little bodies before they even stepped foot inside the kitchen door.

He grinned at the memory. Mamm’s clean kitchen floor was family legend.

But these days, a tub in the entryway was not practical. He stripped down to his undershorts, knowing he wasn’t guaranteed privacy, and stepped into the steamy water with a groan.

The pain at the back of his neck had nothing to do with work, and everything to do with stress. Since he’d returned here, Adam hadn’t slept a single night without first lying awake with worried prayers for his brothers and sisters.

Tonight he’d had to look the other way when, as soon as she finished wiping the dinner dishes, his sister Sadie had headed down the dark road on her scooter, no doubt to meet her Englisher boy, as was her habit recently. Sadie had fallen for pop music and a boy from the outside, and since she was seventeen and in her rumspringa, she was entitled to some freedom.

As hot water covered his knees and sent warmth up his spine, he thought of Mary and Jonah off at the bonfire. Mary had pestered him about going along, insisting that Mammi could keep watch over the little ones. Even teased him that he’d wind up an old, lonely man if he didn’t start taking an interest in the local Amish girls. She didn’t mention Annie Stoltzfus’s name, but he knew if his oldest sister had her way, she’d have Adam marrying her best friend come wedding season.

With a groan, Adam rose from the tub and, dripping, reached over to turn off the spigot. Not a good setup, this tub. He’d work on the hot water situation.

He sank back into the hot water, thinking of Simon, his little shadow. The boy had been coming out of his shell, but something had been bothering him of late, set him talking about bears at bedtime when Adam spent some time alone with him.

“Bears kill people. Did you know that?” Simon’s amber eyes were shiny with fear. “I read it in a book. They attack. Sometimes people get murdered by bears.”

“That’s true,” Adam said. “But actually, I don’t think they call it murder when a bear kills. They don’t mean to kill the person.”

“I know, but it’s still scary.”

Thinking back over the conversation, Adam realized that he and Simon had discussed the topic of deadly bears half a dozen times, though today had been the first time Simon had used the word “murder” in connection with bears.

The social workers, police psychologists, and doctors who had interviewed Simon after their parents’ deaths had come away with the same opinion: The healing would take time. They believed that eventually Simon would begin to sort through the things he’d seen at the crime scene in the moments before he’d been hidden under the skirt of Mamm’s dress.

At the time, what little Simon said sounded like one of Grimm’s
fairy tales—a bear had attacked their parents but missed seeing Simon hidden under Mamm’s skirts. A bear, Simon insisted. But bears were rare in this part of Pennsylvania. And from what Adam had read, bears had an acute sense of smell, even stronger than bloodhounds. Wouldn’t a bear have sniffed Simon out of hiding?

Besides, a bear could not have pulled the trigger on the handgun that killed their parents.

Adam sighed over the wedge of frustration that stuck in his gut. Simon had been doing so well, but now, with this talk of bears again, Adam didn’t know what to think.

He ducked his head under the water, slicked his hair back, and worked in some shampoo as he considered the best way to help Simon. His brother seemed a bit afraid of the bishop. Maybe a talk with Uncle Nate? Simon had been warming up to him yesterday.

After he rinsed his hair, he looked around for the soap. Nothing in sight, but then it was the mudroom. He lathered some shampoo onto his arms and chest, resolving to make some improvements in the stone farmhouse. Nothing that would violate the Ordnung, of course, but there were many acceptable changes that would make their lives easier. They could install a gas water-heater with a gasoline engine to keep up the water pressure. Then he and Jonah could work with one of the Amish plumbers from the community to build a bathroom upstairs. Hot and cold running water. No more chamber pots upstairs. No more public baths in the mudroom.

Adam’s lips puffed as he let out a long breath, sending steam scurrying along the surface of the water. Could they afford to build a bathroom upstairs? He didn’t know what it would cost, but he would find out. And he would talk to Mammi Nell, who took care of all the family bookkeeping.

And if they had the money to change the house, did he dare do it? Change was a hard row to hoe. So far he hadn’t even found
the nerve to move into Mamm and Dat’s bedroom. That room … it just didn’t feel right to take it over. With just one double bed, it was meant for a couple, man and wife, and Adam had no plans to marry any time in the near future.

Instead, he slept upstairs in a small bedroom under the eaves, which Gabe had been eyeing since he began his rumspringa. Amish teens were usually allowed to move from the bedrooms shared with siblings to their own rooms, but with five of the Kings now older, there was a shortage of single rooms. That left Sadie bunking with the younger girls and Gabe with Simon. But that empty room downstairs weighed on Adam.

The
clip-clop
of a horse’s hooves beyond the mudroom windows alerted him to someone’s arrival. Most likely Jonah, as Mary would probably stay out later with Five. Adam knew the Amish courting practices well. Years ago he had spent some time with Lizzy Mast, an Amish girl who was now married. That chunk of time was very much a part of his boyhood; before the fall.

Before he had skipped off to court an Englisher woman.

Memories clenched, a fist in his belly, and he worried that his interest in Remy was part of a pattern, a flaw in his character. Was he a man who could not fall in love with his own kind?

He had once thought he was in love. He had left home for Jane, an exotic, striking woman he still likened to one of the rare orchids sold at the Reading Terminal Market, where they’d met. He’d been selling family-made quilts; she’d been peddling jewelry that she made from polished rocks and melted metals. He had followed her to Rhode Island, where it became clear that their relationship was not going to work out.

Although he’d been swept away by her at first, by the time she broke it off he’d felt only relief. In his heart, he knew Jane wasn’t the one for him.

The one …

Adam had always believed God had a strong hand in bringing people together. For every man of faith, there was a special woman out there, a woman who would be his partner, his wife. Adam’s faith was strong, but he was beginning to wonder if marrying was part of the Lord’s plan for him. There weren’t enough hours in the day for proper courtship, and now the Amish girls in Halfway seemed like children. He was a lot older than most of the young girls starting their rumspringa. Looking for a bride in the traditional Amish way just did not feel right these days.

Still, he prayed for a good woman. He wanted that close bond he’d witnessed between his parents. And he’d felt that solid connection today, with Remy. Another Englisher girl.
Dear God, please don’t let me stray down that path again
. Something about her earnestness, her goodness, appealed to him, but he had to remind himself that there were plenty of good people in the world.

His task was to find a good Amish woman, a partner, a friend. Although he was always surrounded by people here at the farm, loneliness sometimes clung to him like a panicked cat, its claws gripping deeper with each passing month.

As if to give voice to the proverbial cat, the door opened with a yawning screech, and Jonah strode in.

“Adam.” Jonah removed his hat and hung it on the peg. “That’s a good idea on a cold night. Sorry to barge in.”

Sitting up in the tub, Adam waved off the apology. “Actually, you’re the person I wanted to talk to. What do you think about installing some cold and hot plumbing up on the second story?” He outlined the plans for his brother, who mulled them over, hands in his pockets.

Jonah’s dark brows rose. “I think it’s a very good idea. We could do a lot of that work ourselves, and you know Zed Mast, the bishop’s brother? He’s a plumber. We can hire him. I’m sure he’ll teach us how to lay pipe, and weld it, too.”

“Welding pipe.” Adam grinned. “Is there no challenge you won’t take on?”

Jonah shrugged.

As they discussed ways to improve plumbing and use solar panels to heat their water, Adam was relieved at Jonah’s receptiveness. Although Adam as the oldest son had been called upon to lead the family, Jonah knew this land. He was good with building and growing. It was Jonah’s practical experience and knack for innovation that had carried the operations of the dairy farm this past year. From tending to a sick calf to operating the harvester, Jonah was a natural-born farmer.