The Love Letters (6 page)

“But it's still light out.” Small Jay glanced toward the window, his chin jutted out much like his father's own.

Oh dear.
Ellie looked at her girls, all lined up on the bench across from her, eating politely while casting furtive glances at their brother, then their father—like watching a Ping-Pong match.
Their stomachs will pinch up,
she thought, recalling her own mother's admonition when Ellie was but a child that tension impaired digestion.

“How long it stays light this time of year is not the issue,” Roman insisted. He glanced at Ellie, then back at Small Jay. “Obedience is what I'm askin' for.”

Ellie opened her mouth to circumvent a scene, but their son spoke up first.

“I'll be careful, Dat. Just ask Uncle Jake . . . he saw me near there yesterday.”

“That's enough now,” Roman said, practically rising to a stand from his chair. “I'll have no more back talk.”

Small Jay lowered his head.

Roman reached for another helping of potatoes and gravy, saying no more, and Ellie unclenched her hands, taking a breath. She'd never seen Small Jay so adamant about anything.

M
arlena wasn't content to see Mammi washing even a few dirty dishes, weary as she surely was. But what could she do, besides walk the length of the house and back with Luella's baby in her arms? Angela Rose was still whimpering in spite of taking six ounces of formula and a small bowl of rice cereal, too.

Wanting to spare her grandmother's sensitive ears, Marlena headed outdoors through the walkways that lined the flower beds, talking softly to her niece, trying to remember the many soothing songs her mother had sung to her when she was little.

While strolling through the front lawn near the tall purple martin birdhouse, Marlena happened to see Ellie's nephew Luke Mast and his younger sister, Sarah, as well as another pretty young woman out riding in the family carriage. They waved cordially, and Marlena waved back, still jostling the fussy baby.

Then she spotted Small Jay walking slowly along the dirt shoulder, near the knee-high grass, going the opposite
direction. She couldn't help but smile when Luke stopped to kindly offer a ride. The younger boy stooped to pick up his cat, handing Sassy to Luke at the reins before shuffling around to the opposite side of the buggy and stepping inside ever so carefully.

When they were on their way, Marlena realized Angela Rose had gone limp in her arms and was sound asleep at last, one arm dangling. Holding her breath, Marlena headed in through the front door and carried her niece directly upstairs and placed her gently in the crib. She stared down at the perfect little girl, and her heart went out to her, so much so that she felt nearly compelled to reach down and pick her back up, just to hold her near.

But she changed her mind, given how tired Angela Rose was. Just these few minutes upstairs had made her realize how very warm it was inside, and she had second thoughts about having the crib up there at all. She remembered the door at the end of the hall and went to open it, hoping for plentiful breezes to cool things off, if only for the little tyke's much needed rest.
Mammi's, too, eventually.

Marlena stood in the second-floor doorway and struggled with her memories of sitting on this balcony with her grandfather. What would he think if he could see her now—trying to care for his great-grandbaby and failing so? Would he have words of wisdom? She remembered he'd said it wasn't the need for more hours in a day that posed a problem for most folk. It was the need for more gratitude.
“Thankfulness is the key
.”

He'd say I should be grateful to have Luella's baby thrust upon me.

From where Marlena stood, Ellie Bitner came into view across the rented field. Stepping back from the upstairs door,
Marlena hurried to look in on Angela Rose once again before dashing downstairs, elated their neighbor was coming to visit.
I need all the pointers I can get!

“Has your cat bagged any birds lately?” Luke Mast asked Small Jay as they rode down the sloping narrow road toward the mill.

“Sassy eats cat food,” Small Jay reminded him.

“And what 'bout Shredder, king of naughty barn cats?” Luke glanced at Small Jay, grinning to beat the band. “Has he straightened up yet?”

“
Ach
, he's always in trouble with Mamma.” Small Jay didn't know if it was all right to say why, but he went ahead anyway. It was always curious to see folk react to how Shredder—their giant black barn cat with white paws—sometimes got into the outhouse and tore up the toilet paper. Nearly once a week it happened. Sometimes more often. However, Small Jay knew he should be careful whom he told this to, because he'd heard of certain cats mysteriously disappearing.

Luke tapped his wide-brimmed straw hat and laughed. “So
that's
how he got his name.”

Sarah sat quietly, not saying a word, though Small Jay noticed her give Luke a couple of sideways glances. The other girl didn't seem to pay much attention.

“Does Shredder have any offspring?” asked Luke.

“Six more kittens, just last month.” Small Jay paused. Then, thinking maybe Luke wanted a scary-looking black cat of his own, he went ahead. “I'm sure Dat'll be glad to share 'em.”

Sarah laughed softly under her breath.

“
Nee,
we have enough mouse chasers in our barn,” Luke
said, pushing his straw hat down. “But if we ever run out, I know where to come callin', ain't?”

Small Jay nodded. He liked Luke's way of talking.

The mill was coming up on the left. “Here's where I get out,” Small Jay said as he picked up the limp ball of fur from his lap. “Can ya hold Sassy for me?” He lifted her over to Luke.

“Take your time, now,” Luke said, poking Sarah.

But Small Jay was no dummy. Luke was prompting his sister to speak to Small Jay, although coming from a preacher's son, Small Jay guessed it was to be expected. Most folk seemed mighty anxious around him, like they couldn't wait to get on their way. Not Luke, though. Luke Mast talked with him as easily as he would any other fourteen-year-old boy.

“
Denki.
” Small Jay stood beside the buggy while Sassy got handed first to Sarah, then over to him. “
Denki,
” he said again, not sure what else to say.

“Be careful walkin' home, won't ya?” Sarah offered.

Sarah's dainty voice reminded him of Gracie's. Nodding, he recalled the first time Gracie had ever spoken to him. It had been a couple of years ago, in the wintertime, when there were Jack Frost designs on the schoolhouse windows. As the children were bundling up to go out for recess, she'd said just two words:
“Hullo
, Jake.”
Even now, knowing she'd used his given name, not his nickname, made him secretly smile.

He waited for Luke's carriage to move forward, then stooped to snap the leash onto Sassy's collar. “Come along, nice kitty,” he said, going across to the left side of the road, looking for Allegro.

But there was no sign of the fluffy collie.

He sighed and wondered if he'd risked the trip to the mill for nothing. Dat wouldn't be happy if he knew.

Why'
s my father always mad at me?
The thought zinged through his mind. “Will he ever let me work with him?” he muttered aloud, careful not to move his lips very much when he talked to himself. Eight long years of school had taught him that trick. No sense inviting more attention than what came naturally during the course of a day. Things could be hard enough, yet as he moved through the grades, his skin had gotten thicker, or so he liked to think.

He felt the sun's warm rays on his shoulders as he wandered toward the bridge. And as he stumbled along, a new idea presented itself—as before, he could toss stones into the water below, but today he would make a wish on each stone. And he knew for certain what one wish would be.

The tall grasses along the creek bank nearly concealed the many wild ferns. Small Jay had a bird's-eye view from the bridge, and he peered downward, enthralled by the different hues of greenery. Uncle Jake once said that the reason the Good Lord chose green for the earth was due to its restful nature. Same for the blue of the sky.
“Cool colors,”
his uncle had said, like an artist. Something Small Jay thought
he'd
like to be, if he couldn't be a farmer or a worker.

He caught a whiff of smoke in the breeze and turned to see Allegro's owner sitting on a wide tree stump over near the tailrace. “Let's go an' have a look-see,” he muttered to Sassy and limped forward.

He made his way across the grassy patch and called to the man. “Hullo there.” Small Jay stood back a bit to determine if he was welcome or not.

“My fine young friend!” The man had on the same dark trousers and gray shirt with the black bow tie. The big brown shoulder bag with its belt-like closure was at his side.

“My cat's come to visit your dog,” Small Jay said.

Allegro must have missed Sassy, too, because the collie had already come over to carry out his sniffing routine, same as yesterday.

Bow-tie man chuckled. “I see what you mean, young man.”

Sassy purred and rubbed her nose against Allegro's.

“They must not know that one of 'em is a dog and the other's a cat,” Small Jay said, pointing and grinning.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?” the man asked, clutching his shoulder satchel. “I'm cooking hot dogs.”

“Supper, ya mean?”

“Dinner denotes the evening meal where I live.”

“Where's that?”

Just that quick, the light went out of the man's eyes. “Now that you ask, I'm afraid I can't tell you. I mean . . . I don't know.” He muttered something under his breath and shook his head. “I apologize for this lapse of memory—mine comes and goes like the hummingbirds over there.” He motioned toward three large butterfly bushes with profuse blossoms that attracted both bees and hummingbirds.

“I brought you some cookies. Homemade oatmeal and raisin.”

The man's eyes brightened. “Thank you kindly.”

Is he lost?
Small Jay wondered. “Are ya stayin' in this mill?”

“I am.”

“There's a bed in there?”

The man shook his head. “I sleep on the floor. It may not seem like much, but I'm thankful to have located this shelter.”

“But . . . on a hard floor?”

“Well, I purchased a blanket at the small store up the road, so I fold it to create a pallet of sorts.”

“From Joe's store?” Small Jay's heart sped up at the mention. “Did ya hitchhike there?”

“Thumbed my way . . . similar to how I arrived at the bus station a few nights ago, I guess it was.”

“So you've been here less than a week.” Small Jay felt mighty proud of himself, figuring this out. But he wouldn't be boastful—his father often read from the Good Book about the importance of being meek.

“Say, now, you're one bright young man. Thank you for jiggling my memory.” The man smiled and opened his shoulder bag, removed a small white notepad and pencil, and jotted something down. “These pages are my memory bank.” He held up the notepad. “There are more notebooks inside.” He bobbed his head toward the mill. “Along with a few other things . . . including two changes of clothes I had the presence of mind to pack.”

Small Jay wouldn't say what he was thinking: This here bow-tie man was a person without a home. He was also someone who had trouble remembering important things, same as the bishop's elderly brother, who'd supposedly lost his mind . . . or so the People sadly whispered. But
that
man was Amish and lived with his family, who looked after him. Not so this man, unless he had a handful of folk he was hiding away inside the mill there.

“I'm Jake Bitner,” he said boldly and offered his small hand to the man whose own hand was surprisingly smooth, like the surface of vanilla pudding. “My kin call me Small Jay, 'cause I won't grow much taller than what ya see now.” He patted his scrawny chest and noticed a smile creep into the corners of the man's mouth.