Adoring Addie (13 page)

As I came around the bend, there he was, his face lit up in the moonlight—until he saw me.

“Whoa!” He pulled the horse to a stop, his lantern swinging back and forth, casting a wide shadow. “Addie?”

“Jah,” I said.

The look on his face, under the wide brim of his hat, was a mixture of joy and confusion. “What are you doing out here?”

I could feel my face light up, nearly as brightly as the moon, as relief and a sense of safety flooded over me. “It seems . . . finding you.” I climbed into his buggy before he had the chance to ask me to.

As I dumped the dirt from my shoes, one after the other, over the side onto the pavement, I explained to Jonathan why I was walking alone, in the dark.

“I don't know why I ever trusted Timothy,” I said, putting my second shoe back on. “Well, actually I do.” I looked up at Jonathan shyly. “I was hoping you would be at the party.”

He grinned. “Mervin and Martin asked me to go, but I didn't think you would be there.”

I leaned back against the bench, pleased.

“I'll take you home,” he said.

“There's no hurry.”

He stopped at the crossroads instead of turning the buggy around. “Want to come look at my shop?”

“Are your parents home?”

He shook his head. “Not until tomorrow.”

He urged the horse forward, toward Old Man Mosier's place. We rode in silence for a moment, until I thought to ask what he was doing out so late, if not going to a party.

He laughed a little. “Well, I was headed over to someone's house, hoping she could sneak away for a quick ride. But about ten minutes ago, I saw her fly by in a yellow Bronco.”

“Oh no, that was you? I couldn't see your face.”

“I turned away on purpose, so Timothy couldn't see me.”

“And you were going to our place?”

“Jah. I'm not sure what I planned to do. Maybe knock on your door.” He grinned.

Knowing how that would have gone over, I was happy with the way things turned out, except for Timothy being out on the road.

Old Man Mosier's house was one of those that sat just a few feet off the road. But in the early 1800s when it was built, most likely around the same time our house was, there was
only the occasional horse and buggy or wagon. One didn't have to worry about kids spilling out onto the busy road.

As Jonathan turned the buggy into their short driveway, two barking hounds lunged out from beside the house.

I must have looked worried, because Jonathan said, “Dawdi is practically deaf. That's why the dogs are so loud.” Then he laughed, and I couldn't help but chuckle at his joke too.

Because he would soon be taking me home, Jonathan tied the horse to the hitching post instead of taking it to the barn. I started to jump down, but before I could, he told me to wait. “Let me help you,” he said.

In a moment, he was looking up at me, reaching for my hand. I offered it to him, and he took it tenderly, sending a jolt straight to my heart. As I stepped down, he put his other hand on the small of my back.

“Denki,” I managed to breathe out as I took a step toward him, our shoulders practically touching. Our eyes met, and he smiled, again, but then stepped away, even though I longed for him to hug me the way he had the first night down by the creek. He headed toward the house, not letting go of my hand as he led me toward the back door.

“I want to introduce you to Dawdi first. And my cousin Tabitha. Then I'll show you the shop,” Jonathan said, opening the door.

A young woman, a year or two older than me, stood at the kitchen sink, washing beans. She smiled shyly. When Jonathan introduced us, after I said hello, she asked if I was Timothy's sister.

“Jah, I am.” I braced myself for her reaction.

“Is he doing all right?” she asked. “I only met him the one time, but he worried me.”

It wasn't the response I'd expected. “Jah.” I sighed. “He worries me too.”

“He seemed as if he might be nice enough,” she said. “But I couldn't really tell.”

“He can be nice,” I said. “And not so nice too.”

She nodded. “That's what I was afraid of.” She didn't bring up his drinking, but it was implied. “It's great to meet you,” she said. “I hope the best for the two of you.”

“Denki,” I answered, wishing Timothy was worthy of a girl like her. Not that he wouldn't be someday, but he had a lot of changing to do first.

Jonathan took my hand and pulled me along toward a faint light from another room.

“Is your Dawdi in bed?” I whispered.

“No. He hardly sleeps.”

Jonathan led the way toward the light. We rounded the corner and into the living room. In the far corner in a rocking chair, under the light of a lamp, sat an old man with thick snow-white hair and a beard down to his waist. He wore a dark blue bathrobe and leather slippers. His head was bent forward as if he were sleeping, but then I saw the book in his lap.

“Dawdi,” Jonathan said.

The man raised his head, a smile spreading across his face as he did, his pale blue eyes dancing.

He struggled to his feet, tucking the book under his arm.

“This is Addie,” Jonathan said.

His Dawdi extended his hand to me. I took it, clasping the bony fingers and paper-thin skin. “
Willkumm
,” he said.

“Denki,” I answered.

“Cramer, right?”

I nodded, bracing myself.

“Ach, I'm thinking my prayers are working.” His eyes lit up as bright as the lamp beside him. “I can't tell you how much I've missed your Dat all these years. He used to be like my own son. . . .” His eyes watered, and then he let go of my hand.

He reached for Jonathan, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. “It's late—take her home so her parents don't worry. But bring her back sometime when we can visit.” He plopped back down into the chair.

“Come on,” Jonathan said to me.

I stalled, gazing at his grandfather a moment longer. He opened the book back up, and I realized it was a Bible.

I waved at him—although he didn't see it because he was reading again—and then I followed Jonathan back through the kitchen, saying good-night to Tabitha, and out to the shop. I could smell the spicy sweetness of pine before we entered. Once we stepped through the side door and he flipped on a switch, a wonderland of wood greeted me, all illuminated by electric lights. Obviously the shop was wired, probably mostly for the tools Jonathan used.

“Solar power,” Jonathan explained. I nodded. Several businesses and even some homes had the panels on their roofs, including Onkel Bob's shop and showroom.

Bookcases, benches, butcher blocks, bowls, bookends, mantels, and, jah, hope chests filled the room. All had some sort of carving on them. A single flower. A shaft of wheat. A name. A star. A moon. All reason enough to make Bishop Eicher concerned, I was sure. I stepped closer to the first hope chest.
Sarah
was carved into the wood with forget-me-nots around it.

“This must be for an Englisch girl,” I said.

Jonathan stepped beside me. “An Amish woman ordered
it. For her daughter.” He lifted the lid. The inside was carved with forget-me-nots too. “The girl's turning thirteen.”

I swallowed hard. “Was the woman overweight? With dark hair?”

He nodded.

“And named Pauline?”

“Jah.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“What is it?”

I shook my head. It wasn't that I was jealous of my cousin—I was happy for her. And not surprised. Hannah and Deborah both received a hope chest when they turned thirteen too, although not as wonderful. I just felt the pain of not having been given one of my own. “It's beautiful—that's all.”

I could tell by the expression on his face he knew it was more than that, but he didn't press me.

“All of it is incredible, every single piece.”

“Ach, Addie. Don't say that.” Jonathan's eyes fell to the concrete floor covered with sawdust.

“What? You don't think it is?”

“Jah, some of it. But I have so much to learn. So much to improve.”

I couldn't see that. All of it looked perfect to me, but I was sure, as a craftsman, he saw flaws I couldn't.

“That might be,” I said, full of enthusiasm. “But still it's the most amazing carpentry I've ever seen.”

“Don't, Addie.”

I stepped toward him. “It's true. Now show me everything.”

He did, talking about the different kinds of wood. Maple. Oak. Hemlock. Pine. He touched each piece tenderly, running his hand along the grain. He told me if the wood was hard
or soft and if soaking it before carving worked better or not and if he joined the wood with glue or dowels.

He showed me his tools. His saw and sander. His lathe and planer. “Dawdi convinced my Dat that the solar electricity would be okay. This shop is so much better than the one in Big Valley.”

“So you must be staying, considering you moved everything down?”

“Jah, that's the plan. Although my Dat's still not convinced I can make a living with my woodworking. He says I'm too passionate to run my own business—and not organized or level-headed enough. He says I'll turn into one of those ‘starving artists.'” Jonathan made quotation gestures with his fingers. “That's why he wants me to help him farm. He's thinking about buying a dairy herd.”

“You wouldn't have much time for your work then.”

He nodded, sadly.

“What does your Dawdi say?”

“He stays out of things when my Dat's involved.”

“Ach, Jonathan,” I said, my brain whirring around and around. “I'm organized. And level-headed. I know Cate would teach me about running a business.”

“Are you saying you'd be my business manager?”

“Jah.” I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than partner in life—and business—with Jonathan. It was another reason for us to be together. So he could succeed as a carpenter. But it would use my strengths too. Both of our gifts could work together to make it a success—something neither of us could accomplish on our own.

“You'd be willing to live with my passion and all?”

“Jah,” I said again. Perhaps that passion made him rash, but it also opened a new world to me—one of beauty and
God being present and hope. “And promote your work. No matter what you believe, I think it's amazing. All of it.”

He picked up a small box from the worktable. “Here,” he said. “I made it for you.”

I took it from him. It had forget-me-nots carved on the top, similar to the ones on Sarah's chest.

I wrapped my hand around it and held it to my heart. “Denki,” I whispered. I shivered, amazed that I'd only known him for three days.

I was about to tell Jonathan that when we both turned to the sound of a vehicle. It sounded as if it was just outside the shop.

Then a door slammed.

Jonathan's voice was low. “I'll check and see who it is.”

I stepped to the side of one of the bookcases as he opened the side door. I waited a long moment, watching his back. When he turned toward me I knew it wasn't good.

“It's my parents,” he said. “They came back early.”

I wasn't tempted to hide or flee, but the only thing I could do was walk out at Jonathan's side with my head held high and meet the two people responsible for his life.

He searched my eyes for a long moment. I nodded toward the door and then stepped beside him. He led the way. A van was parked in the driveway, the interior lights and the headlights on. A Plain man, Dirk I assumed, stood straight and tall, broad shouldered and bulky—nothing like his son—facing the side door of the van. He had a long, full beard, a head of dark hair under his black hat, and a burly look about him. An Englisch man walked around the van, no one I knew, probably from Big Valley. Neither man noticed us, but the Amish woman did as she came around the back of the van, carrying cloth bags in each hand. She stopped immediately, but instead of being angry, a smile spread across her face.

“Jonathan,” she said. “Who do you have with you?”

He spoke clearly. “This is Addie.”

Before Jonathan could go on, I knew by the look on his father's face he knew who I was.

“Addie Cramer,” Jonathan said.

“Jah,” his father said, his voice full of disappointment. “That's what I thought.”

“Oh, Jonathan,” his mother moaned. “So what Amos called about is true?”

I exhaled slowly, disappointed in Mervin and Martin's Dat. Was I really so bad?

Jonathan stepped forward. “I was showing her my work.”

“Why?” His Dat's eyes drilled us both. “Out of all the girls in the county, why a Cramer?”

“Maybe it's not what we think,” his mother said. “Right?” She turned toward Jonathan and me.

My heart raced. Jonathan shook his head.

His mother's mouth turned downward, and she placed the bags by the back door and spun back around to the van.

“We'll talk about this later,” Dirk said to Jonathan. Then to me he said, “You go along now.”

“I'm giving her a ride,” Jonathan said, gesturing toward the horse and buggy.

His Dat froze.

Jonathan took my hand and pulled me toward the buggy.

“Son!” Dirk called out. “Randall can take her home.”

The driver, who had gone around to the back of the van, appeared, carrying two suitcases, nodding his head.

Jonathan thanked the driver and then said, “There's no need. I'm taking her.”

His mother slammed the side door to the van shut as the back door to the house opened. Dawdi Mosier stepped out, his white beard caught by the slight breeze, looking like Moses on Mount Sinai. “Welcome home,” he called out. Then he looked beyond his son and daughter-in-law and said, “Jonathan, it's late. You hurry Addie on home. Remember, I said we don't want her parents to worry.”

Jonathan nodded.

I looked over my shoulder, wanting to communicate my thanks to the old man, but he'd stepped down and was collecting bags.

Jonathan's mother made a shooing motion with her hand, willing me to disappear, I was sure.

By the time we reached the buggy, I was trembling. I'd never felt so rejected in my entire life. As Jonathan turned the buggy around, I held out my hand to show it was shaking. He reached for it and held it until it stopped.

“Is this how you feel around my house, jah?”

He shook his head. “Your folks were nicer.”

“Timothy hasn't been. And none of them would be if they knew we were . . .” I stopped, searching for the right word.

“Courting?” Jonathan interjected.

“Is that what we're doing?”

“Jah,” he answered. “It is. We're officially, for us, courting.”

I nodded. I liked the sound of his words immensely.

We needed an advocate. Someone from the older generation to broker a deal with our parents. That's what happened in the classic novels I sometimes had a chance to read. One person would talk to another who would talk to another. Then everything ended up being a bigger mess than at the beginning, but by the end of the story everything was sorted out. I hoped we could skip to the end and avoid the bigger mess in the middle, though.

“Does your Dat know my Onkel Bob?” I asked.

“Jah. I don't think well, but they're acquainted. When I cited your Onkel as someone who has made a living off carpentry, my Dat knew who I was speaking of.”

“My Aenti Nell thought he might be able to help us. I was going to talk with you about it last night.” I scooted my
hands under my thighs. “Maybe you and I could talk with my Onkel about approaching our parents to try to put an end to the grudge. I'm sure your Dawdi would try to help too.”

“Jah,” Jonathan said. “I think it's worth a try.”

Then I told him what Aenti Nell had said, about the letters his father had sent my mother all those years ago.

“That's strange,” Jonathan said when I finished. “I've never known my Dat to send a letter. He hates to write.”

I pondered that as we rode along. Maybe those letters were the reason he hated writing. Who wouldn't after destroying a relationship with their best friend?

We decided to meet at Onkel Bob's the next afternoon at two o'clock. At one fifty, Joe-Joe still hadn't settled down for his nap and was sitting on the couch, making monster noises inspired by a library book I now regretted checking out for him. Mutter had fallen asleep upstairs, and Aenti Nell was dozing in her chair in the sewing room, sending soft snores into the kitchen.

Deciding it was too late for Joe-Joe to nap now anyway, I motioned for him to follow me. With a smile on his face, he did. We tiptoed through the kitchen, but by the time we reached the back door he started to whine that he was tired. I put my hand over his mouth and pulled him outside and down the steps.

“Why didn't you take a nap, then?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I wasn't tired.”

I scanned the barnyard for Billy but couldn't see him. Daed, Timothy, and Danny were repairing the south fence today, and I imagined Billy had tagged along.

I couldn't leave him unattended at the house. Even if I woke Aenti Nell to watch him, it wouldn't be long until he woke Mutter. Then she would wonder where I went.

“You're going over to Onkel Bob's with me.”

Joe-Joe smiled. He liked Cate.

“Come on.” This way I could honestly say Joe-Joe and I went on a walk. Or to pick blackberries along the creek.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I'll be right back.”

I hurried into the house and grabbed an empty ice cream bucket from the counter. We used them for all sorts of things—compost, slop, and berry picking mainly.

I handed Joe-Joe the bucket, and he swung it around as we walked. I kept a look out for Billy as we rounded the willow tree and then started down the trail, instantly feeling the drop in temperature as we neared the creek.

Joe-Joe, barefoot, splashed into the water. I wore my flip-flops and crossed on the stones—until Joe-Joe slipped and fell, plopping onto his side.

“Hop up,” I said.

He turned up toward me with startled eyes, the bucket handle still in his hand. By now his pants and most of his shirt were soaked. I wadded my skirt, holding it above my knees with one hand, stepped into the water, and pulled Joe-Joe up with my other hand. Together, we waded across the creek. When we got to the other side, he scampered up the trail, digging his toes into the mud.

He'd definitely be staying outside when we reached Onkel Bob's.

He left my sight for a moment at the crest of the trail. A moment later a screech from him made me increase my stride. When I reached the top, I found Joe-Joe sitting in the middle of the trail next to a rock, holding his foot, his bloody big toe pointed upward, the bucket off to the side.

“Did you stub it?”

“Jah.”

“Well, come on.” Stubbed toes were a part of every Amish childhood.

His eyes filled with tears. “It hurts.”

I grabbed the bucket and pulled him to his feet; he hobbled along for a few steps, obviously in pain. Then he stopped. “Can you carry me?” he sobbed.

I handed him the bucket and swung him up into my arms, feeling his weight in my lower back. His foot brushed my apron, leaving a muddy mark, and then he wrapped his legs around my waist, the bucket banging against my thigh. I walked along the edge of the sycamore grove and then through the gate to Onkel Bob's property. I'd heard my Daed say several times that he could have used the ten acres his sister and Onkel Bob were given. I'm sure he could have, but I was thankful to have such kind relatives next door.

What Onkel Bob ended up with wasn't prime farmland anyway. It was good land for his showroom and shop, and of course the house and barn he built too. And for the few steers he raised for beef.

“Addie!” It was Jonathan's voice, but I couldn't see him.

“There he is.” Joe-Joe pointed toward the barn.

Jonathan stepped out of the shadows and started to jog toward us. When he reached us, he took Joe-Joe from me.

“What happened?” he asked.

Joe-Joe held up his mud-covered and still-bloodied toe.

“Let's see if you can walk.” Jonathan slid Joe-Joe to the ground, leaving a muddy streak down the side of Jonathan's white shirt.

Joe-Joe handed me the bucket and took a few steps.

“And run!” Jonathan took off at full force. Joe-Joe barreled after him.

I shook my head. I'd been duped.

Joe-Joe stopped at Betsy's rose garden, out of breath, and collapsed onto the grass beside it.

When I reached the garden, I bent down to smell a peach-colored rose. My parents felt roses were too fancy to grow. I always envied my cousin's bushes.

“It's the pinnacle of God's beauty,” Jonathan said. “Don't you think?” Then he chuckled and said, “Except for you.”

I stood up straight. “Don't be ridiculous. I'm no beauty.”

“Ach, but you are,” he said.

Joe-Joe groaned in our direction and crawled to the bench of the picnic table.

Jonathan took out his knife and cut the stem of the flower, handing it to me. I raised my eyebrows as I took it.

“Your Onkel won't mind,” he said. “Smell it.”

I breathed deeply, soaking in the heavenly scent.

“Now touch a petal.”

I lifted it to my face, rubbing the blossom against my skin.

“If you don't think you're far more beautiful to God than that rose, then you need to get to know God better.”

His voice was full of kindness, but still his words embarrassed me—his claim that God found me beautiful and that he did too, and his admonishment.

I turned away. “I'll go see if Onkel Bob can talk with us,” I said.

“I already asked,” Jonathan answered. “He'll be out in a few minutes.”

I nodded toward Joe-Joe. I didn't want him to overhear the conversation.

“Hey.” Jonathan sat down beside him. “How about some shade?”

“And some lemonade?” Cate stood behind me holding a tray with four full glasses.

“Ach,” I said. “Denki.”

She put the tray on the table and picked up two of the glasses. “Better than the shade, Joe-Joe, how about if you come in the house with me? I was just taking a reading break. Want to join me?”

He seemed torn about leaving Jonathan.

“It's nice and cool in the living room,” Cate said. “Plus I have some sugar cookies I made this morning.”

He broke into a smile and scampered off the bench.

“He's really muddy,” I said.

“I'll help him clean up,” Cate answered.

I changed the subject. “Tell me about Betsy before you go.”

“She thought she was in labor yesterday, but it turned out to be false. It should be any day though.”

I searched Cate's face, wondering if she felt even a hint of jealousy. All I could see was joy, mixed in with a little bit of worry.

“Come on,” she said to Joe-Joe as she carried one glass back toward the house. She'd never seemed very fond of children—until she married Pete.