Sarah's Garden (7 page)

All this flashed through his mind as the last rays of sunlight sank beneath the level of the small attic window, which had a distinct hole in it, large enough for an adult bat to fit through. Almost as one, the colony began to awake, and Grant doused his light, feeling his skin crawl, but once they’d stretched their wings and called in high-pitched shrieks to one another, they began a mass exodus through the hole. It took a full three minutes, and Grant estimated the colony to be in the high hundreds. When they’d gone, he looked over his shoulder at Bustle in the flash of his light and saw that his friend was pale.

“Come on, Bustle, we’ve got to get that glass replaced before they get back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grant marched across the attic floor, ignoring the piles of bat droppings he was stepping in, and made for the window. He had the old piece of glass out and was fitting a new one when Bustle spoke.

“Sir? Did . . . the almanac mention anything about the babies?”

“The babies?” Grant edged the glass in with satisfaction. “What babies?”

“The bat babies, sir. It appears that they like your shirt.”

Grant turned in growing horror to look over his shoulder and let out a faint groan. At least twenty bat pups clung to the back of the flannel shirt he ’d thrown on and seemed to be as happy as could be next to the warmth of his body.

“Give me the other glass pane back, Bustle.”

“But, sir . . .”

“We’ll get a professional, and a veterinarian is definitely not it.”

He switched the glass back so that the hole was once again present and began to ease out of the shirt. The baby bats squeaked in protest.

“Bustle?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let the cat up here . . . they’d eat him alive.” Grant joked. “And let’s not mention this whole escapade to Mrs. Bustle.”

“Quite, sir.”

Grant dropped the shirt on the floor and ran, Bustle at his heels, until he ’d slammed the attic door. He took off again until he got to the shower he’d had installed the week before. He stayed there for a nice ten minutes, and that night he wore boots to bed with a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and a hat, just for good measure.

S
arah had heated water at the stove and used the hip bath in the secluded comfort of the blanketed-off kitchen the night before, so this morning all she had to do was dress and wind her waist-length hair into its intricate coil to stay beneath her
kapp
. Church meetings were held every other Sunday at the home of a different family in the community, and there were enough families so that the Kings need only host several times a year. This morning the Loders were hosting, and
Mamm
wanted to bring fresh root beer for the after meeting meal, so Sarah hurried down to the kitchen to help. She wanted to finish in time to gather her seeds, for Father had said that Luke might take the lighter buggy to drive her to the doctor’s home after luncheon to help him with his garden.

Mamm
wished her a good morning as she plunged down the narrow stone steps to the cellar where the crocks of root beer had been placed days before. Sarah had helped to funnel the cane sugar, baker’s yeast, and root beer extract along with the fresh spring water into the narrow necks of the crocks, and now she hooked a finger into each corked crock and lugged them back up to the kitchen. She ’d learned that displacing the cork, even a bit, could result in an explosive outpouring of carbonation, and she had no desire to change her apron. She left
Mamm
to settle the jugs in a tin bath full of ice and asked if she might gather her seeds from the attic for her visit to the doctor’s.

“
Jah
, Sarah, but
bass uff, as du net fallscht
on those attic stairs.”

“I will not fall,
Mamm
,
danki
.”

“Here.”
Mamm
handed her a fresh biscuit filled with spicy brown sausage. “Eat this, or you’ll feel like fainting in service.”

Sarah took the food, though her stomach was jumping with nerves. She was usually excited on church meeting days, but she was especially happy today at the thought of sharing her knowledge of gardening with the doctor.

She climbed through the familiar rabbit’s wren of staircases to the topmost attics of the old farm. A wasp droned at a small windowpane, and she pushed opened the glass to set it free as she chewed the last of her biscuit. Far below her she could see the plowed and growing fields like the furrows on
Grossmudder
King’s aged brow. She closed the window, though; she had no time for idle thoughts today. She turned and navigated the orderly rows of trunks, some of which held the time of the journey to America from Europe. Others, she knew, contained
Mamm
’s simple blue bridal dress and various knitted baby items from all of the family. And still others were filled with Amish quilts, patterns, and color squares, layered with cedar shavings to keep pests away until it was airing time.

She passed through the large main attic room and bent to slip through another narrower passage into one of the wings. Here, the light was brighter because Father had enlarged the window, but the air was very cool, being insulated by the heavy stone that formed the walls. Sarah straightened and went to the giant pigeonhole desk that looked as though it belonged in a bank and not on a farm. Sarah knew it had been her great-great-grandfather’s, who had built it up there, finding solace to do his ledgers away from his brood of thirteen children.

Father had used its many drawers to house feathers and to tie flies for fishing for a long while, but when Sarah’s accumulation of seeds had outgrown the spice cabinet downstairs, he ’d officially given the desk over for her sole use to store and label seeds.

“It’s our heritage she ’s preserving,” he’d admonished when one of the boys had complained. “The seeds are part of our relationship with the land, with
Der Herr
, and Sarah is a faithful steward. She shall have the desk as her own.”

She’d been fourteen then and could hardly believe that her father would trust her with such a treasure as the desk, but he did. He’d moved his feathers and pins out accordingly, and gradually, over the years, Sarah’s seeds and labels and journals on gardening had taken over nearly all of the space. Sarah knew of the
Englisch
fascination with the so-called heirloom seeds, but she did not know if they valued a seed as a treasure, a heritage, a wealth. She could not judge, though, and she would bring her very best seeds to the doctor. She ignored the pang of excitement that shot through her at the thought of sharing her ideas on gardening with someone who seemed genuinely interested, and she concentrated on the seeds.

Choosing from among the wooden drawers was more fun than choosing from the fabrics at the dry goods store when it was time to sew a new blouse. She hand-picked, parceled and labeled, and then tied all with a piece of string just as she heard the faint call of her name from downstairs. She closed the drawers and flew down the steps and outside, straightening her
kapp
and climbing with Luke and
Mamm
into the lighter buggy. Father and the boys were crowded into the wagon with Shadow and Hairs at the pull. Father slapped the reins as soon as Sarah was seated, and Luke clicked to the dark brown Morgan, called Lightfoot, and they all moved briskly forward. The Loders’ farm was nearly five miles down the road, and families came as far as twenty miles off to attend services.

“Where ’s the root beer?” Luke asked, and
Mamm
gestured to the tin washbasin ahead of them in the wagon, ensconced between several pairs of black-clad legs. The weather was cool, and the horses made short work of the miles. Father made sure the animals were well rested and impeccably curried for the Sunday drive; he had a particular disdain for other Amish men who did not take as much care with their horses.

The air was sweet and fragrant with the burgeoning of summer, and Sarah breathed in the mingled scents of lilac and laurel and let her gaze drift to the gently rounded curves of the Allegheny Mountains, which encircled their community. Before she knew it, they were pulling into the Loders’ lane, where many other buggies were unloading. Sarah saw that the large black covered “bench wagon” had already arrived, bringing the necessary seating for the worship. Every other week it was driven to the hosting family’s home and dutifully unloaded and reloaded by the men. The Loders’ front rooms were not large enough to house everyone, so the meeting was to be held in the barn, which was common for the smaller farms.

Sarah smiled at friends, nodded to Jacob, and then slipped into her section with the unmarried girls. Father and the married men sat in another section while
Mamm
and the married women did the same. The young, unmarried men and teenage boys tended to stay in the back rows, where they could “eye” everything, as Luke put it. Sarah was just glad to have a place to worship. Though the three-hour service could sometimes be long in the heat of high summer, it refreshed her soul to listen to the sermons and to sing from the hymnal, the
Ausbund
, the unchanging musical core of her faith. She wondered what the doctor would think if he could hear their plain singing, unadorned by harmony or musical instruments so that their worship might be without vanity. She jerked her thoughts up when she knew that her attention was drifting but nonetheless patted her apron pocket to make sure the packet of seeds was nestled there.

Then she realized that one of the elders had called upon Luke to lead the singing of the traditional second hymn, the
Lob
. Sarah tensed as she half turned to look at her brother’s pale face. It was an honor to be called upon to lead a hymn, especially “
Das Lob Lied
,” but Luke had not yet had the privilege conferred. He rose to his feet and walked to the front of the congregation. Sarah could tell he ’d like to throw up; he ’d had the same expression on his face when he’d gotten into a ground wasp’s nest and had been stung more than two hundred times. She knew he’d rather take the stinging all over again rather than risk the
Lob
. The song was twenty minutes in length, and if a young man didn’t get off on the right foot on the first syllables, it was all over.

Sarah saw Luke ’s Adam’s apple work reflexively, and she closed her eyes and prayed for him as hard as she could. Then she heard the first warbled syllables, the “OOooOOooOOooOO” dribble out of his mouth. She thought he ’d never looked so young, but he hung on, moaning and droning until the restless shuffling from the back row let her know that her brothers were not being easy on Luke. Infinitely later, Sarah’s neck was sweating and Luke had led them all through the fourth and final verse. There was a distinct moment of silence as he made his way, heavy-footed, back to his place, looking grim. The service went on, but all Sarah could think about was Luke ’s face.

After the meeting, things broke up as the women began to set out food, using the backless worship benches as both seats and tables. Sarah knew it wasn’t proper, but she sidled her way closer to the young men and was at Luke ’s elbow before
Mamm
could notice her missing.

“You were . . . unique,” Sarah whispered.

“Go away,” Luke whispered back, and she did, but not before she heard her older brothers good-natured teasing and Luke ’s reluctant laughter. She smiled to herself and resumed her place to eat a rushed luncheon.

“Why the hurry?” Jacob asked, as he straddled the bench where she was eating.

Sarah glanced at him, the light green of his shirt picking up the mixed color of his eyes. She had no desire to tell him of her afternoon plans because she could imagine his reaction.

“How about a buggy ride?” he asked when she didn’t answer right away. “I’ve got a new colt that’s a little wild. I know you like to drive.” He smiled at her, and she ignored the thrill in her chest at the thought of driving a colt that wasn’t fully broken. She ’d done it many times with Jacob, and it was exhilarating.

“I can’t. I have other plans. My father asked me to do something for him.” There. That wasn’t a lie.

“What?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you going to do?” he persisted.

She took a sip of her lemonade and knew he wasn’t going away until she told him.

“Oh, all right. I’m going to Dr. Williams’s house to take him some seeds. Luke is driving me. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes flashed. “No big deal, huh?”

“
Nee
.”

“Guard that heart of yours, Sarah. It’s too trusting.”

She frowned at him. “I trust myself to know what I want and what I don’t.”

He laughed. “
Jah
, but the problem is that you know, and I know, that you’re wrong half the time. Remember the summer you wanted to raise potbellied pigs and you lost a whole radish growth to wilting? Don’t make the mistake of trading a passing fancy for long-term growth.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Potbellied pigs and radishes will get you everywhere in conversation with a lady.”

He got up and stared down at her. “Just remember what I say.”

“How could I possibly forget?”

“Well, that colt won’t wait. I’d better be going.” He turned and walked off, and Sarah sighed at his broad, retreating back. She had no desire to hurt Jacob; she valued their friendship a great deal. She ’d known him forever, and she also knew that he was handsome enough to have his choice of any girl. Last year, when he began to show his intentions toward her, she ’d backed away, and he ’d patiently persisted. Maybe today would change his mind, she hoped. She rose to find her brother, meeting Father on the way.

Luke wasn’t ready to go, though. Having gained some notoriety for his impromptu performance, he bantered with his friends until Father approached them, holding Sarah’s hand.

“
Ach
, Luke, your sister needs a ride, and now I know, should one of the cows go missing, that you’d be the one to sing her along back home at night.” Father didn’t smile; he simply patted Luke ’s back, squeezed Sarah’s hand, and moved off into the crowd.

“Come on,” Luke said, and Sarah followed happily.

M
rs. Bustle had discovered a plastic bag lined with peanut brittle crumbs and had strived to outdo any possible question of her baking skills. She outfitted the tea table with a mountainous chocolate cream cake, finger sandwiches, petits fours, and crystal tumblers of Moroccan iced tea.