Wonderful Lonesome (7 page)

He relented. “We are going to need all the cheese you can make. We may not have much else to see us through the winter.”

Ruthanna took the pail before he could change his mind. “Let me bring you some water.”

Eber shook his head. “That isn’t necessary. We must conserve.”

“One glass of water is not going to save the crop, Eber. But it might save you.”

He grunted again, running a dry tongue over chapped lips.

Ruthanna pivoted as smoothly as she could with her growing bulk and left the barn.

Inside the cabin, Ruthanna set the milk pail in the corner of the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard. With the dipper in the water barrel, she filled the glass before looking around for some bit of nourishment to take to Eber as well. He had so little appetite these days. Ruthanna had already taken in his trousers twice. In the evenings, he sat in his chair and stared at her swelling belly. His early exuberance about the child had long ago faded. Ruthanna was sure he would love the baby when it arrived in November, but he wanted to provide a better start for their child’s life than a failed crop and a hungry winter.

Ruthanna settled on a boiled egg. They still had hens, and the hens still laid. Ruthanna had boiled a batch that morning, carefully setting aside the leftover water to use again for another purpose. With a glass in one hand and an egg in the other, Ruthanna began the trek back to the barn.

The cow whose udder still hung heavy mooed in protest at Eber’s inattention. He sat on a bale of hay with his head hanging between his hands. Just as Ruthanna entered the barn, he looked up for a fraction of a second, then slid off the hay.

Ruthanna hastened her swaying progress, gripping the water glass. She wanted to cast it away and run, but her intuition told her Eber needed the precious water more than ever. When she reached him, she cradled his head in her lap and slapped gently at his cheek.

“Eber! Open your eyes!”

He obliged, to her great relief. He was breathing far too heavily, and his skin was clammy under her touch.

“You must drink some water. Don’t argue with me.” She gripped the back of his head and raised it, while at the same time tipping the water glass against his lips. But he seemed to part his lips only to let his faltering breath escape. Water dribbled down his chin rather than down his throat.

“Eber! You must drink!”

He seemed to want to speak, but he did not have the strength.

Ruthanna’s heart pounded. Her husband needed help. The closest neighbors, the Weavers, were miles away even by crisscrossing the back road. She picked up the hem of her dress and dipped it in the water glass, then moved the damp fabric around Eber’s face and against his lips. When his mouth opened again, she squeezed the hem so loose drops would fall into his throat.

He closed his eyes again.

“Eber! No!”

He moaned but did not open his eyes. His head fell to one side.

Ruthanna laid his head back in the straw and opened the front of his shirt before drenching her hem again and dabbing his chest. He breathed evenly now and not so heavily, but Ruthanna was not fooled. He was not simply asleep.

She pushed herself upright and left the empty water glass beside the egg in the hay. The buggy was outside the barn, and the horse in the pasture. Ruthanna mustered a whistle, and the horse turned his head. She whistled again, and he began to trot toward her. She opened the gates. The hundreds of times she had fastened horse to cart guided her muscles now with efficiency beyond her thought. Ruthanna could not get herself astride a horse in her condition. The buggy was her only option.

She drove recklessly, abandoning all sensibility to the thought of losing Eber. Even when she turned into the rugged lane leading to the Weaver home, she did not slow down. Chickens in the yard scattered. The young Weaver sons looked up from their chores. Ruthanna screamed her friend’s name.

The front door opened and Abbie appeared.

Abbie drove the rig with firm determination and little sympathy for the performance she demanded from Ruthanna’s horse. Beside her, Ruthanna gripped the bench with both hands, and behind them, Abbie’s mother clutched a large jug of water and a sack of herbs and cloths. Esther had refused to stay behind, and Abbie was grateful. Her mother had far more experience coping with a crisis than she did. Ruthanna’s face was a sopping mess of tears by the time they turned toward Eber and the barn. Abbie pulled the buggy up as close to the barn as she could. Even in her clumsy state, Ruthanna was out of the rig before it fully stopped, and Esther clamored out behind her. Abbie opted to leave the buggy harnessed to the horse in case they should need the animal’s service again soon, but she allowed a rapid gesture to tie him to a post while Esther and Ruthanna ran into the barn.

When Abbie entered, she could not see Eber. Ruthanna and Esther were on their knees, bent over him.

“Is he—?” Abbie asked.

Ruthanna gave a cry. “He’s still breathing. We’re not too late.”

“Hold his head, Ruthanna.” Esther fished in her bag. “He’s burning up. We have to get him cooled down before we do anything else.”

As Ruthanna arranged her lap under her husband’s head, Abbie fell to her knees on the other side of Eber. “
Mamm
, tell me what to do.”

“Get this cloth good and wet.” Esther flung the scrap of an old flour sack at Abbie and thrust the water jug toward her.

Perspiration drenched Abbie’s dress as the afternoon’s heat pressed in. She handed the sopping rag back to her mother, who exchanged it for a dry one. Abbie drenched the second rag as her mother opened Eber’s shirt as far as it would go. With cool damp rags on Eber’s chest and face, Esther proceeded to force water down his throat a spoonful at a time.

“Shall we try to take him into the house?” Ruthanna asked.

Esther nodded. “Soon. I hope it’s cooler in there.”

“It is,” Ruthanna said. “Eber insisted on building a generous overhang for the extra shade.”

“His own wisdom may help save his life.”

“I should pray.” Ruthanna looked stricken. “I can’t think what to say. Why can’t I pray when I have never needed to pray so hard in my life?”

“God hears your prayers.” Esther handed a rag to Abbie to dampen again. “Words are not necessary. Now, Abbie, you help me get Eber upright. Ruthanna, you make sure a damp rag stays on his head at all times. Do you understand?”

While her mother tended Eber, Abbie finished milking the cow Eber had left in distress. With three younger brothers she did not often milk a cow anymore, but she managed. Then she took a slop bucket out to the chickens and made sure the horse had food and water.

Evening’s waning light gave way to blackness, and still Eber’s skin threw off heat. Each time he moaned, the three women jumped to their feet. Ruthanna pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and draped herself across her husband, finally finding words for her prayers. Abbie watched her friend’s lips move silently but steadily.

Well after midnight, Abbie lit a lantern and rummaged around Ruthanna’s pantry. She found the boiled eggs and a wedge of cheese and prepared a plate, which she set on the bed next to Ruthanna.

Ruthanna shook her head, struggling to swallow. “I cannot eat.”

“You must. For the baby.”

Ruthanna slowly drew herself up. “I am not sure I can.”

“You must try. You must.”

“Abigail is right.” Esther Weaver’s voice came from a dark corner at the foot of the bed.

Abbie peeled a boiled egg and handed it to Ruthanna. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Take care of my Ruthie.” The sound from the bed startled them all.

“Eber!” Ruthanna put a hand against his face then turned toward Abbie. “He’s cooling off!”

Esther laid a hand across his forehead. “She’s right. The fever has broken.”

“Will you drink something now, Eber?” Ruthanna asked.

He nodded. “If you will.”

Abbie let out a joyful breath. “I will be right back with two glasses.”

Esther followed Abbie out of the cramped bedroom and into the cooking area.

“Do you know where to find the doctor in Limon?” Esther whispered.

Abbie swallowed. “I think so. But Eber is better. Haven’t we sat through the worst of it?”

Esther glanced toward the bedroom. “I am concerned that he is truly ill.”

“He was too much in the heat,” Abbie said. “He’ll listen to Ruthanna now. He’ll be more sensible.”

Esther shook her head. “The Lord whispers to my spirit that it is more than that. You should go at first light.”

Three days later, Abbie hung up her apron and brushed the loose flour from her skirt. While the bread rose, she had time to go visit Ruthanna and Eber, particularly if she took a horse and buggy rather than walking the miles between the farms. Outside she stood for a moment surveying the Weaver land. The barn and chicken coop were close to the house. Beyond them her father had marked off the corners of a proper stables and training area for new horses. Abbie knew he had hoped to build the structure by now, rather than cramming horses into the barn at night and leaving the weather-beaten buggy outside.

Abbie blew out her breath, swallowed, and crossed the yard to the barn for a horse. Inside, the barn was dim, and it took a few seconds for Abbie to realize that her father knelt next to an open sack of seed. He scooped up a handful then spread his fingers and let it run back down to the sack. She watched him do this three or four times before she spoke.

“Daed?”

He looked up.

“Is it all right if I take the buggy? I want to check on Eber and see if Ruthanna needs anything.”

“That is fine, daughter. I am sure God is pleased at how you are caring for your friend. You make sure they are following the doctor’s instructions.”

“I will.” Slowly, she reached to remove a harness from the wall. “Are you getting ready to plant again?”

He resumed the rhythm of lifting and sifting seed.

“Daed?”

“This seed is the most valuable thing I have. Our family’s future depends on the decision I make.”

“It’s not too late. Others are planting again now.”

Ananias Weaver lifted his head and looked at his daughter full on. “It is difficult to discern whether that is foolishness or faith.”

“If we don’t plant, we won’t have a crop.”

“And if I cannot irrigate sufficiently, and we don’t get rain, we will have wasted a valuable resource.”

Abbie moistened her lips. For all of her childhood, her father had held closely any hint of difficulty in the family’s finances from year to year or the reasons for his decisions. But she was no longer a child. She was of an age where she could have married and remained in Ohio. Abbie had chosen to move to the new settlement as an adult. At the time, she thought she knew the risks. They all did. No one could have foreseen the difficulty they would face in the quest to root an Amish congregation in the unyielding Colorado plain.

“Take the dark mare, please,” Ananias said. “She hasn’t been out of the pasture for several days. I don’t need a horse that becomes accustomed to idleness.”