Wonderful Lonesome (3 page)

Abbie barely managed to swallow words she would have regretted and hoped the flush she felt move through her face was not visible. What was Willem thinking? The four of them began moving toward Willem’s wagon.

“Where did you leave your horse?” Willem asked.

“At the blacksmith’s,” Jake answered. “She seemed to be favoring one foot on the ride up, so I thought he should look at her shoes. He should be just about finished.”

“We’ll give you a ride over if you don’t mind sitting in the wagon. I am afraid the bench is full with the three of us.”

Abbie admired many things about Willem. He was kind and generous and determined and hardworking. But this was going too far.

“It’s only a few blocks,” Jake said. “I don’t mind the fresh air.”

“It is at least a mile,” Willem pointed out. “The blacksmith refuses to have a shop closer to town.”

Slightly more than a mile, Abbie thought, which raised the question of what Jake was doing at the train station in the first place if he had left his horse. He carried no burlap sacks or packages tied with string from the mercantile. If he had not come to Limon for supplies unavailable in La Junta, then he had only one purpose. Abbie set her jaw against what she knew to be true.

“In fact,” Willem said, “why don’t we pick up your horse and then you can ride alongside us? We can chat about how your plans are coming for starting a Mennonite church in Limon.”

There it was. Leave it to Willem to speak it aloud. Abbie heard the whistle of an approaching freight train on the Rock Island track.

Jake dipped his head, the black brim of his hat swooping low. “Now that, my friend, is a subject I never tire of talking about.”

“Willem, Mr. Heatwole might have other business in town,” Abbie said. “We ought not to rush him.”

“It is no problem,” Jake said. “In fact, I appreciate the hospitality.”

The train stirred up the wind around them, and its shuddering volume silenced the moment.

At Willem’s wagon, he put Ruthanna’s suitcase in the bed and extended a hand toward her. “I promise you’ll be home soon.”

Ruthanna accepted Willem’s assistance onto the bench. “I admit a certain amount of curiosity about the new church myself.”

Abbie half rolled her eyes. She and Ruthanna had discussed this topic more than once, and Ruthanna had been steadfast that she would never leave the true church. What was there to be curious about?

Ruthanna swallowed hard. The ride home would be just over eight miles to the point where her farm touched the corners of Abbie’s, Willem’s, and Rudy’s. She had made it dozens of times before with Eber, and the miles always passed pleasantly enough. The child had changed that. Now every jostle, every dip, every sway required utmost concentration to keep her meals where they belonged. It would be good to sleep in her own bed again, beside Eber.

Their small home was hardly more than a lean-to compared to the homes of her parents and their friends in Pennsylvania, but at least it belonged to Eber and her. Ruthanna had a cast-iron stove for cooking, a firm rack for dry goods, a real mattress on an iron frame, and a table and four matching chairs. The baby would not need much at the beginning. Eber would build on next year, after the harvest. The baby would have plenty of room by the time she was ready to walk.

She
.

Ruthanna smiled at the thought as Abbie settled in beside her.

“How long did you say Eber has been ill?” Ruthanna asked. “He didn’t mention it in any of his letters.”

“Just a couple of days, as far as I know,” Abbie answered. “I only saw him a few times while you were gone.”

“I do not suppose you would have reason to see him often. It’s not like him to be sick.”

“I admit I’ve never seen him ill before this, but everyone gets tired, Ruthanna.”

“Not Eber.”

Willem took up the reins. Ruthanna glanced over her shoulder at Jake stretching his legs in the wagon bed. He was a warm, sincere man with an infectious devotion. It seemed unjust to dislike him simply because he was a Mennonite, so she didn’t. Surely Abbie did not truly dislike him, either.

It was the threat that Jake Heatwole carried in his every step that disturbed Abigail Weaver.

Abbie watched Jake Heatwole, relaxed in the wagon, as he conversed with Willem about why he thought Limon needed another church. It mattered nothing to Abbie whether Jake Heatwole started another
English
church. He had left the true faith when he joined the Mennonites. All that remained was to pray that he would not lure any of the Elbert County Amish. Willem had many responsibilities that demanded his best effort. Why would he think it profitable to spend time with Jake Heatwole?

Unless. Abbie sat up straighter. Unless Willem thought Jake would repent and return to the Amish.

Abbie wrapped three still-warm loaves in a soft flour sack and laid the bundle beside two similar offerings on the small table beside the hearth. The day was half gone, its first hours spent making bread dough, waiting for it to rise, heating the small oven, and baking bread two loaves at a time.

Esther Weaver silently counted on her fingers. “Twenty loaves. Nine for the single men leaves eleven for us.”

“They came out well this week, don’t you think?” Abbie resisted the urge to slice into a loaf that very moment and slather a thick serving with the butter she had churned the day before.

“The way your brothers have been eating lately,” Esther said, “they’ll go through three loaves a day if I don’t stop them.”

“I’ll make more tomorrow,” Abbie suggested.

Esther shook her head. “There’s too much to do. We can’t get in the habit of giving more than one day a week to baking. It’s time the boys learned some self-control.”

Abbie had to agree Daniel, Reuben, and Levi seemed to have bottomless stomachs, but she also noticed that all their trousers were too short again.

“Are you taking the open cart?” Esther asked.

Abbie nodded. “I don’t mind the sun, and sadly, it is not likely to rain.”

“No, I suppose not, though I pray every day for that particular blessing.” Esther hung an idle kettle above the hearth. “On baking days at this time of year, the temperature is no different inside or out.”

“
Daed
keeps talking about building a summer kitchen. I saw his sketch. It would have shade but no walls.”

“He has many plans, but just when we need a summer kitchen the most, he must spend all his time thinking about getting water to the fields.”

“He has ideas for an ingenious irrigation system,” Abbie said. “It will not always be this hard. Not every summer will be a drought.”

Esther smiled and tilted her head. “Abigail, my child, we have been here five years. Have we seen a single summer that was not drought compared to Ohio—and this one worse than all the others?”

“Then we are just about due for a nice wet summer.”

“You had better get going. Where are you cleaning today?”

“Rudy’s.” And she would scrub his home spotless. She did not want to give Rudy any more reason to feel defeated.

Three weeks had passed since Abbie caught Rudy in the ticket line. She saw little of him, but he did not leave her mind. She would give encouragement in any form she could manage, including a sparkling house. Rudy Stutzman had a gift for understanding animals and keeping them healthy. If he left, who would be able to put a hand on the side of a cow and know that the animal’s temperature was too high?

The wide brim of Abbie’s bonnet, tied over her prayer
kapp
, allowed her to watch the road ahead of her without squinting. When she saw the Millers’ buggy swaying toward her in the narrow road, she smiled. In a few more seconds she could see that both Albert and Mary were on the bench. That would mean that little Abraham was with them, probably in the back of the small black buggy.

Abbie lifted a hand off the reins to wave, and the Millers responded almost immediately. She guided her horse as far to the side of the road as she dared to take the cart’s wheels. By the time her cart and the Millers’ buggy were side by side, eighteen-month-old Abraham was peeking out from his miniature straw hat and had a thumb under a suspender strap in imitation of his father.

“Hello, Little Abe,” Abbie said.

The little boy waved, his fingers squeezing in and out of his fist. Abbie thought Abraham was the most beautiful child she had ever seen, though to speak the sentiment would tempt his parents to pride, so she did not. His chubby, shiny face, with its constant half smile, never failed to charm her.

Abbie raised her eyes to the child’s parents. “How are the Millers today?”

Albert gave a somber nod. “We look for God’s blessing of rain.”

“As do I.”

“We have just come from Eber and Ruthanna’s.”

“I was there yesterday to see how Ruthanna was feeling. How is she today?”

“She was having a good morning. Eber’s health is of some concern to her, it seems.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear that he has a difficult day from time to time.” Abbie suspected Eber’s difficult days were more frequent than he admitted, and that was the reason for Ruthanna’s concern.

“They’ve been hearing coyotes,” Albert said. “We should all be watchful.”

“By God’s grace they will not come close.”

Abraham rubbed his eyes, and his mother said, “It’s time for us to get this little one home for a nap.”

Albert nudged the horse and the Millers moved on. Abbie pulled her cart back onto the road, sighed, and smiled at the thought of Little Abe, and now Ruthanna’s baby. These precious children were the future of the settlement. Whatever their parents suffered now would be worthwhile when they had strong, thriving farms to pass on to their sons.

A few minutes later, Abbie could tell from the stillness outside Willem’s house that he was not there. Even the chickens had found a settled calm. Willem rarely was in the house when she came. He was running a farm, after all. Yet each time she hoped this would be the visit that he would be there to greet her.

She let herself in, making a point to look for an extra bedroll. Seeing only one, Abbie exhaled in relief. At least Jake Heatwole was not in residence this week. She moved across the undivided space to the area that would be called a kitchen were the structure a proper house. Last week’s flour sack was empty, neatly folded, and laid precisely in the middle of the table. Abbie picked it up and put the new sack, holding three loaves of bread, in its place.