Courting Cate (18 page)

“Jah?”

“Lunch will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

“All right.” I hurried back to the kitchen.

Sure enough in exactly five minutes Walter and John, who was shorter than Pete and not nearly as handsome, appeared. “Where’s Pete?” I asked.

Walter looked surprised at my question. “He’ll eat at the neighbors,” John said. That seemed strange, but I didn’t ask why. Instead I introduced myself.

“I know who you are,” he answered, stepping into the pantry. He didn’t seem very friendly, but he didn’t seem like the creep Pete had made him out to be either.

A moment later, Esther stepped into the kitchen. “I finally got some quilting done,” she said. “It’s
gut
to have some help.”

I hoped she didn’t expect it to be permanent or she would be sorely disappointed.

No one complained about the omelets, which were quite
rubbery. Nor did they compliment them. I’d attempted to toast the bread in the oven, which hadn’t really worked because it didn’t have a broiler, but no one commented about that either. We ate in complete silence, everyone hunched over his or her plate. The meal didn’t last more than five minutes.

When they were all done eating, Esther pushed her chair back and said, “Next time fix a real meal, not breakfast. Or maybe you call this that fancy word. What is it?”

“Brunch?” I ventured.

“That’s it. But it’s not enough for a grown man to work all afternoon on.”

John nodded in agreement.

“Tell me where you keep your food,” I snapped, although not nearly as badly as I could have.

“In the icehouse.”

“Frozen?”

“Jah.” She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Pick something out to defrost for tomorrow.”

Then she told me, because the noon dinner meal had been so sparse, to butcher a chicken for supper. I must have reacted without meaning to, because before Esther had a chance to comment, Walter said he’d help.

“What about your nap?” Esther stood in the doorway, ready to get back to her quilting.

The old man said he’d probably have time to fit that in too. On the way out the door, he pointed out the cooler in the mudroom for me to put the bird in after I’d plucked and gutted it, to cool it down in ice water.

I caught the chicken, but Walter wrung its neck and chopped the head off on the stump behind the chicken coop that had obviously been used many times before.

It wasn’t that I’d never done the job before—I just didn’t like to do it. Neither did Betsy. Dat did the honors at our house, and I was grateful to Walter for doing the same.

When we got back to the house, I told him he should get his nap, afraid perhaps he’d overdone it. In no time he disappeared, I assumed upstairs to his room.

Lots of Amish women can have a chicken plucked and gutted in ten minutes or so. Not me. By the time I’d filled the cooler with water from the hose, chipped a little ice to add to it, had the chicken submerged, cleaned up the mess inside, and scrubbed the sink, it was nearly time to start dinner. I found potatoes and onions, along with garlic, sweet potatoes, turnips, and carrots in the far corner of the unfinished half basement. I’d use a jar of green beans, and make some biscuits. Once I was back in the kitchen, I glanced at the woodstove, guessing if I burned them in our propane oven back home, I’d probably scorch them here.

As I stoked the fire to cook the chicken, I couldn’t imagine how hot the kitchen would be in another month. Some Amish houses had a summer kitchen and living space in the basement or one on a porch, but not here.

I didn’t see Pete until supper, and when I glimpsed him through the kitchen window my heart leapt in relief to see someone familiar, someone who knew me. I couldn’t help, for a split second as he shuffled across the yard, hoping that he would talk with me.

He came in, smelling like the dairy, in his stocking feet, leaving his rubber boots in the mudroom. I’d just refilled the basin with clean water, and he spent quite a bit of time in the pantry washing up. I expected him to go change his splattered pants and shirt, but he didn’t.

His hair was matted from his hat, and his eyes were tired.
I imagined a full day’s manual labor was quite a bit more taxing than his time in Dat’s showroom.

“Worn out?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Just getting started.”

“What do you mean?”

“John didn’t finish plowing the north field. I’ll have a few hours of daylight left to get that done.”

He looked so tired that, for a moment, I felt an inkling of empathy. But then I wondered if he was working overtime to avoid me.

As expected, the biscuits burned on the bottom. The chicken seemed tough, but I was pretty sure it was at least thoroughly cooked and wasn’t going to poison anyone. That was my main concern. I’d roasted the root vegetables too—added rosemary from the herb garden and sprinkled them with salt and pepper. Though a little scorched on the bottom, they were edible.

At five o’clock on the dot, Esther came into the kitchen and took her place at the table without saying a word. I finished putting the chicken on a platter, placed a carving knife and fork on each side, and then put the whole thing in front of Walter.

“What’s this for?” He eyed it suspiciously.

“For you to carve.”

“Oh.”

“That might be the way you do things in Lancaster,” Esther said, “but not here.”

Now it was my turn to say, “Oh.”

I picked up the platter and put in on the tiny counter and began cutting. “Actually it might just be something we do at our house. . . .” I couldn’t remember what other families did. I just knew Dat always carved the meat.

“Well, that’s probably because you have such a small family,” Esther said. “That never would have worked when all of us sat down at the table.”

I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out there were only four of us tonight. I kept cutting, making a mess out of the whole thing. When I was done, I put it in front of Walter again, keeping it as far from Esther as possible.

After the silent prayer, we all ate—in more silence. No one talked. Neither of his parents asked Pete about our trip. Neither asked how we met. And neither asked what our plans were.

Esther made a show of holding her biscuit and examining the bottom. Walter chewed slowly and methodically. Pete kept his head down, eating quickly. Gone was the lighthearted and confident man I’d first met. My heart hurt for both of us.

Finally Esther, as she held a sweet potato on her fork, said, “These vegetables are awful fancy.” She gave me a snide look and then put it in her mouth and chewed slowly. When she was done she said, “You were right about your cooking.”

“I’m used to a propane stove,” I responded, not that it made much of a difference, but she didn’t know that.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s not how we do things here.”

Biding my time as her daughter-in-law was going to be harder than I thought.

Pete stood first and put his dishes in the sink without saying a word.

Walter let out a big belch. Then he glanced at me. “Do they do that in Lancaster County?” He started to laugh, and I noticed a slight smile on Pete’s face before he turned to slip out the door.

“Oh, jah,” I said. “The bigger the better.” Although I’d never heard one quite as loud as his.

As I cleaned up after supper, on my own, I groaned out loud about how much harder life was here than back home. To think the Englisch thought our lives in Lancaster were inconvenient. My family lived in luxury compared to this.

And without the critical eye of Esther. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried to prepare a decent meal. She was as far from the biblical character as I could imagine. She didn’t seem to have an ounce of diplomacy or even kindness in her. In fact, Esther was a shrew.

I took the leftovers out to the icehouse, and then scrubbed the dishes, rinsing them in boiling water, determined to get everything as clean as possible. Having to heat the water on the stove added extra time to the task, and by the time I had the dishes put away, the counter and table wiped, and the floor swept, it was growing dark outside.

With nothing else to do, I retreated upstairs. And without a book to read, I was half asleep by the time Pete came into our room. He must have cleaned up downstairs, because he was wearing long underwear and smelled like his Mamm’s strong soap. He pulled his sleeping bag from his backpack and flung it open, spreading it down on the floor. I rolled toward the wall, pretending I was asleep. A few minutes later, his breathing changed.

The day had been the longest of my life, I was sure. Longer than even the day before.

I couldn’t help but think of Dat and Betsy. They would have spent the day cleaning up, without Pete and my help. Betsy would be sleeping alone in our room for the second time in her life, last night being the first. Or perhaps Levi was tossing pebbles at the window. . . .

I rolled over, not wanting to think anymore about my little Schwester and her beau and the whole mess they’d created.
But I had to take responsibility for the choice I’d made. No one forced me to do it. A sob surprised me, and I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle it.

After another, I pulled my pillow over my head and tried again to pray. But I couldn’t. Instead my mind kept going back to the events of the last two days.

Pete rolled over, and then something cracked against the floor, probably his elbow. I inched over to the side of the bed and peeked out from under the pillow, holding my breath, expecting him to wake up. He’d turned away from me onto his side. The shape of his hip was visible in the little bit of moonlight coming through the worn curtains. His breathing remained steady.

I pulled the pillow back over my eyes, and this time didn’t even try to pray.

I was sharing a room with a husband who didn’t love me. I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry, wondering if his parents could tell we weren’t a real couple in a real marriage. Or maybe Pete had told them in the morning before I’d gotten up. I wondered if, once again, the joke was on me.

My only hope was that we would soon return to Lancaster County.

The next morning I awoke, not sure how I would make it through another day, as Pete rolled his sleeping bag.

I sat up, afraid he might disappear before I had a chance to speak.

“Two questions,” I said quickly.

He wore long underwear, both top and bottoms. He glanced at me and then quickly away.

I twisted my long, loose hair. “First, how long are we staying?” I asked, tucking my thick strand behind my back.

“I don’t know.” He dropped his bag in the corner.

“Okay, then—”

“Is this the second question?”

“Actually, it’s not.” I grabbed my pillow and hugged it, covering the white nightgown Betsy had made for me. “It’s a continuation of the first.”

He turned toward me and held up his hand. “No. If you ask it, it’s definitely the second.”

I threw the pillow at him.

He caught it and tossed it in the corner atop his pack. “Denki. I needed more cushioning.” He shot me a sarcastic grimace and then started toward the door. He must have left his work clothes in the mudroom.

“Wait.” I started to step out of bed and then pulled my leg back, remembering the thinness of my gown.

“Quick,” he said, without turning, tugging his long johns up a little at the waist. “The cows are waiting.”

“How do I get to the library?”

He held up his thumb. “It’s quite a ways.”

I shook my head. “I’m serious. How did you get there when you lived here?”

He held his thumb higher.

I wrinkled my nose, not believing him for one minute. “Where do your parents keep their books?” I hadn’t seen a single one, not anywhere in the house.

“What books?” He was out the door now.

“Pete!”

He didn’t come back.

I was truly in exile. I couldn’t live without books.

I crawled out of bed and grabbed my pillow, tossing it back on the bed. Pete’s coat was to the side of his pack.

I crossed my arms. “Oh, why not,” I muttered, dying to know how much I was worth. I stuffed my hand into the pocket that was visible. It was empty. I reached underneath, into the second one. The envelope was there. I pulled it out, thinking it was either one big bill or not much, because there was no bulge whatsoever to it. I opened it only to find it completely empty. I slipped it back into the pocket, curious to know where he’d moved the money but not enough to paw through his smelly pack.

After breakfast, once Pete had left and Esther had disappeared into her quilting room, I asked Walter about the closest library, hoping a new one had been built since Nan left all those years ago.

“It’s not far,” he said.

I refrained from declaring Pete a liar. “Exactly how far?”

“In Randolph.”

I sighed. So there wasn’t a new one. “What about a bookmobile?” Maybe that had changed.

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Not around here.” He seemed softer when Esther wasn’t around.

At home I would have simply hired a driver or maybe taken the buggy, even though that was a bit of a distance, but here I had no idea what to do.

And that’s what I thought about until late in the afternoon when John and Walter came banging through the back door carrying a tub, which barely fit, and then stumbled their way into the pantry.

It turned out I was right about Saturday-night baths. After dinner, Esther told me I could have the first one. I’d never been so relieved about anything in my whole life. Still I hurried as fast as I could after I spent a half hour filling it with water I heated on the stove in every pot I could find. I set a personal record for washing my hair and soaping down and rinsing. I added more hot water for Esther after I was done and went straight to my room, not wanting to be around to watch her and Walter traipse in and out. I could only imagine how cold the water would be by the time Pete had a turn.

Over an hour later, when he came into the bedroom with his hair still wet and smelling of his Mamm’s strong soap, I tried to bring up the subject of getting to the library, but he said he was too tired to talk. I swallowed hard, trying to diminish the ache in my heart. It hurt far worse than just loneliness.

I wondered at his reasons for leaving the farm in the first place. Perhaps it wasn’t just because there wasn’t any land left for him. Or because he’d been burned by love. Perhaps
it was because he had become an indentured servant. Hired out all day and then working on his Dat’s farm half the night.

“Pete,” I said. “Are you asleep?”

“Jah,” he grumbled.

“I was just thinking—”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“It’s just it seems to me the sooner we return to Lancaster the better, for both of us. You’re working too hard. I need books.” No need to bother mentioning how hard I was working; it paled in comparison to him. “I don’t see any opportunities for us here.”

He didn’t answer.

“Pete?” I leaned my head over the edge of the mattress.

He let out a sleepy sigh and then rolled away from me.

One thing was sure, I’d married a hard worker—although a cranky one. I wasn’t sure if being exhausted or living with his parents made him so surly. Then again, maybe it was our marriage of convenience, or that he was back where his heart had last been broken.

I was coming to accept that the Pete I’d started to fall in love with in Lancaster County didn’t exist. Still, I longed for him.

The next day wasn’t a church day for the Tregers’ district, so I expected some of their children and grandchildren to stop by—maybe I’d get to meet John’s wife—but not one visitor appeared. It was a day of rest, however, except for the choring.

Pete disappeared early in the morning, returned for dinner, and then grabbed his old straw hat and headed toward the back door again.

“Where you off to, son?” Walter asked.

Pete turned back around. “A hike.”

“Is your wife going with you?” Walter tugged on his beard.

I took a ragged breath, remembering my two outings with Pete.

His eyes shifted from his Dat to me. “Wife,” he said, “would you like to go with me?”

My breath caught in my chest.

Without giving me a chance to answer, he said, “I didn’t think so.” With that he stepped out of the house.

Esther acted as if nothing had happened and left the room.

“What’s got into him?” Walter asked. “He hasn’t been himself since he got back.”

My face warmed, and it wasn’t from the eternal heat of the woodstove or that the day had turned out to be the first scorcher of the season.

“Do you want me to take him behind the woodshed?” Walter was half serious.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

“I’m sorry,” the old man said, reaching for my hand. I knew he never would have been so caring if Esther had been around.

I let him squeeze it and then said, “It’s not your fault. It’s not even entirely Pete’s fault. . . .” He couldn’t help it if he didn’t love me. And he’d been set up, truly. I should have expected him to resent me. It was only natural. I sighed, pulled my hand away, and stood. “What would a girl have to do to borrow a horse and buggy around here?”

Esther popped back into the kitchen. “Keep up with her chores.”

Horrified, I realized she’d been eavesdropping.

“Tomorrow’s laundry day. That doesn’t leave much time for anything else. And on Tuesday you need to bake—without burning everything.” She didn’t even stop to catch her
breath. “Wednesday is cleaning, and Thursday you need to weed the garden.”

“Is that all?” I didn’t care that my tone was sarcastic.

It was as if she hadn’t heard me. “So you might want to rest up today.”

I decided to do just that—not because I was tired but because I needed to escape. After Esther retreated to her quilting room, I asked Walter if there was anything to read in the house, maybe a copy of the
Martyr’s Mirror,
the book that recounted centuries of persecution against the Anabaptists, or a prayer book tucked away somewhere. I followed him into the living room, where he opened up the ottoman. Inside there was a hymnal and a couple of other books. He handed me a devotional and a worn King James Bible.

“Denki,” I said, clutching them to my bosom.

“The Lord provides, jah?”

I nodded.

Walter smiled and patted my shoulder. “Both were my mother’s. Take good care of them.”

In the week before the wedding, I’d finished the biographies of Andrew and Eliza Johnson. If I were back home, I’d have been reading about Ulysses S. Grant and his wife, Julia. Perhaps, once I found a way to get to the library, I could start back up.

After I finished the dishes, I headed upstairs. Before I collapsed on the bed, I stood at the window, taking in what I could see of the farm, clutching the books. Beyond the pasture in the far field, a man sat on the top rail of a fence. A woman approached on the other side. She looked young but was partially blocked by the wild roses growing along the fence line.

I stepped closer to the window. I was pretty sure it was
Pete. Maybe the woman was a girl Pete used to court. Perhaps her parents didn’t want her to marry him because he was penniless. Perhaps that was why he left with a broken heart.

I stood, afraid to move. He jumped down from the fence. They spoke for a moment, and then he took off, following the fence line the opposite direction, toward a freshly plowed field. She stood and watched him go, not leaving until he disappeared into a grove of willows along the creek.

Somehow I managed to conquer Esther’s wringer washing machine and get the wash on the line on Monday. Although my work dress was dirtier than it had ever been in Pennsylvania, Pete’s clothes were the worst. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and still couldn’t get them clean.

The more I observed Esther and Walter, the more I wondered at the life I had ahead of me. They didn’t spend any time together, and there were no signs of affection between them. I thought of my Mamm and Dat and how playful they’d been with each other, and how Dat used to steal kisses when she was working in the kitchen. I was sure, had my Mamm lived, that my parents’ love would have grown with the years, not soured, as Pete’s parents’ affection seemed to have. Although, it was probably more Esther than Walter. He was at least respectful of his wife. Their dynamics made me miss home all the more.

That night, in our pitch-dark room, I asked Pete about Esther and Walter’s relationship.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Pete said.

“They don’t seem very happy. I read one time—”

“Look.” It sounded as if he turned his head toward me. “Don’t go analyzing my parents’ marriage.” His voice grew
softer. “And remember, no one knows what goes on between two people when they’re alone.”

I winced. That was certainly true in our case. I bit my tongue from saying that was just it—his parents never spent any time alone.

By Tuesday, after I’d completely incinerated one batch of bread and then managed to burn the bottom of the second, I felt sick, both from straight-out loneliness and from the feeling stuck in my chest that was worse than anything I’d ever felt.

Walter scrounged up a pen, paper, and envelope for me, and finally a stamp. After I’d finished the evening dishes, I sat down and wrote a letter. I didn’t tell Dat and Betsy how miserable I was, both in my marriage and in my in-laws’ house. I did tell them, as nicely as I could, how primitive things were and how much I missed home. I asked specifically how each of them was doing, wishing Betsy would write me privately, hoping perhaps there would be an invitation to her wedding that would pull me home soon. That would be the perfect excuse for me to go, even if Pete wasn’t willing to.

When I was done, I addressed it carefully, slipped the pen into my pocket, and started down the lane to the mailbox out on the highway. As I walked, I saw Pete running the team of workhorses quite a ways to the left.

The lane was much more inviting in the daylight. If only I didn’t feel so heavyhearted. I looked for a telephone shed as I walked. Walter had assured me they didn’t have one, but I knew Esther had talked to Nan on the phone, so I figured someone nearby had one.

It took me five minutes to reach the end of the lane. Much less time, I was sure, than it had taken us to walk up it when we arrived. I found the Treger mailbox out of a half dozen in
a row and slipped the letter inside, raising the red flag. Then I scanned up and down the road. About two hundred yards away and across the road was a house. It was even smaller than Pete’s parents’ home and probably just as old.