Adoring Addie (21 page)

“Go,” she replied, nearly out of breath. “Tell him you couldn't sleep—or something.”

I ducked under the willow tree and into the pasture. Daed stood at the fence, the moon illuminating his bare head and gray beard. Both appeared bright in comparison to his weathered face.

“Here I am,” I said.

“Where were you?” His suspenders hung down, as if he'd been in too much of a hurry to loop them over his shoulders.

“Down by the creek.”

“Alone?”

“No,” I answered.

“With Phillip?”

“No.”

He stepped away from the fence and jerked his hand toward the house. “I forbid you from going farther than the garden without my permission.”

I stalled a moment, waiting for Aenti Nell to catch up.

“Do you hear me, Adelaide Cramer?”

“Jah, I hear you,” I said, falling into step with Aenti Nell.

“And you.” Daed pointed to my Aenti. “What's your involvement with all of this?”

“She has none.” I moved in front of her. “She simply came to say you were calling for me.”

“That's hard for me to believe.” Daed stepped forward and glared down at me.

“It's true,” I answered.

Aenti Nell grabbed my arm, pulling me beside her. “Cap Cramer, my involvement in this is that I think you've all been fools long enough. It's one thing to limit your own life but quite another to box up your children.”

“Box up my children? I'm protecting my daughter.”

“No, you're teaching your boys—or at least one of your boys—to be small and petty. And you're teaching Addie to sneak around.”

Daed snorted. He pointed to Aenti Nell and then the house in a sweeping motion. “I've had enough of this tonight!”

He marched ahead of us. We followed. When we reached the back door, he swung it open, ushering us inside. As we entered the kitchen, Mutter turned in her chair at the end of the table.

“What in the world is going on?” She dabbed at her eyes with a hankie as she spoke.

“We'll talk about it tomorrow,” Daed said, his voice tired. “Now, everyone go off to bed.” It was as if the fight, at least momentarily, had left him.

As I climbed the stairs behind my parents and Aenti Nell, for a fleeting moment I felt hopeful—that perhaps Jonathan could talk some sense into Timothy and Daed. And I felt grateful that my Aenti, even though she'd been feeling poorly, still stuck up for me.

It was midafternoon when I heard Daed yelling from the barnyard. I hurried to the back door and flung it open. He stormed toward the house with Jonathan following him.

“Addie!” Daed bellowed.

“Let's not involve her,” Jonathan said. “The two of us should talk it through.”

Daed stopped and reeled around. “You don't seem to be much like your father.”

Jonathan hesitated and finally said, “No. I'm not.”

All I could see was Daed's broad back. He took his hat off and swiped his hand through his hair, then pulled the hat back on his head. “Not that it matters. You're still not courting my daughter.”

Without missing a beat Jonathan said, “Then do you mind if I talk with your son?”

“Which one?”

“Timothy.”

Daed snorted. “Why?”

“If I can't sort things out with you, I'd like to try with him.”

Daed laughed. “Do you want to get hurt? Because
you
may not be like your father, but Timothy's a lot like me—and your father. Or at least like we used to be.”

“I don't think he'll hurt me.”

Daed snorted again. “He's in the north field. Give it a try if you'd like.”

“I would,” Jonathan answered.

“At your own risk,” Daed added.

“Exactly.” Jonathan tipped his hat.

I slipped back into the kitchen and toward the front door, determined to get to the north field before Jonathan.

Billy was working a puzzle on the living room floor as Mutter dozed on the couch. Joe-Joe had only been down for his nap for an hour—he had at least another thirty minutes.

“Where are you going?” Billy whispered.

“To check on Timothy,” I said softly. “You stay here.”

He shoved the puzzle to the side and stood, saying in a normal voice, “I'll go with you.”

“No,” I whispered. “I need you to stay here in case Joe-Joe wakes up.” I put my finger to my lips. “Don't wake Mutter.”

He sank back down to the floor, obviously displeased. “I should go with you—because I'm brave,” he said.

“Oh, I know you are,” I said. “Just be brave in here now, jah? I'll be right back.” We had to end the grudge. I didn't want to lose Billy and someday Joe-Joe to the bitterness that had consumed my parents and was now eating away at Timothy too.

But first I had to protect Jonathan.

I flew out the door and down the worn front steps, around the far corner of the house toward the windbreak of poplar trees. Jonathan walked ahead of me in the middle of the pasture. Daed trailed him.

I cut around the other side of the trees and began to run, my stride as long as my dress would allow, the ties of my Kapp in flight behind me, my bare feet hitting the uneven ground, rolling with each landing. Once I reached the field I darted back through the trees.

Somehow Jonathan stayed ahead of me. Timothy continued
to drive the team of mules forward as Jonathan stepped over the cut hay.

Daed had lagged behind.

I stepped to the side of a poplar. There was nothing I could do but watch.

“Timothy,” Jonathan called out in a firm but kind voice. “We need to talk.”

The team kept coming straight at Jonathan, and Timothy, a smirk on his face, acted as if he hadn't seen or heard a thing.

Jonathan swept his hat off his head and began waving it. The mules balked and one by one, in a clumsy motion, veered to the left but kept on going.

“What do you think you're doing?” Timothy bellowed. “Get off our farm.”

I lunged forward, away from the tree, into the field.

Now at the edge of the hay, Daed yelled, “Addie, go back to the house.” Both Timothy and Jonathan glanced toward me.

I stepped back again, this time behind the tree, out of view. Which meant I didn't see what happened next.

When Timothy shouted, “Whoa!” I stepped back into the shadow of the tree, where I could see Jonathan, my brother, and the team. The mules weren't easily spooked, but they were as strong as oxen, so when they took off, away from me, the cutter swung wide.

It appeared as if the breeching strap came unbuckled from the shaft, sending Timothy flying. He was holding the reins in his hands one moment and in the next they were whipping through the air as he flew beyond them.

Jonathan grabbed for the harness on the lead mule and yanked the team to a stop as Timothy landed on his side in the cut grass. I wasn't surprised when he didn't get up right
away. He rolled onto his back, holding his right arm in his left hand, rolling his legs back and forth.

“You all right, son?” Daed ran, moving faster than I'd seen him go in years.

Jonathan held onto the lead mule, straining his head to see Timothy. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Jah,” Timothy barked, still writhing. “I am.”

“You'd best be on your way,” Daed said, reaching the scene. “You've done enough.”

As he knelt beside Timothy, Daed looked back over his shoulder at Jonathan. “The mules are fine. You go on, like I said.” Then he looked straight at me, squinting against the light. “Addie, you come get the reins,” he said. “And finish up the cutting since you have so much time on your hands. Buckle the strap—that's all that's wrong.”

Jonathan took a step toward me, as if it were instinctual, his hand still on the mule's harness. I shook my head as I came out of the shadows and walked toward them. I stepped around Timothy, pulled back on the strap to reposition the mules, and struggled to rebuckle it.

Jonathan extended his hand to help me.

“Go now,” Daed said to Jonathan, his voice as harsh as I'd ever heard it.

Jonathan dropped his arm to his side. “I'd still like to speak with Timothy, about the other night.” He looked straight at Daed. “And speak with you again too.”

“Go!” Daed bellowed. “Now!”

I nodded at Jonathan, sure his sticking around was only making things worse.

He put his hat back on his head, tipped it toward me, and started for the far side of the field, most likely to take the shortcut to his grandfather's place.

Daed helped Timothy to his feet.

“I'd better get it X-rayed,” Timothy said.

“Let's put some ice on it and decide,” Daed answered.

“We could send the ER bill to the Mosiers,” Timothy said.

Daed smiled a little at that. Neither said anything to me as they passed by. I realigned the mules and started them back to the cutting. It had been a few years since I'd driven the team, but it came back to me. Thankfully, Timothy had already done three quarters of the field.

As I turned the mules around at the end of the field to go back, I could see Jonathan watching me at a distance, from Onkel Bob's property. He waved his hat at me, boldly, still appearing to be full of optimism.

But I wasn't so sure anymore.

Timothy hadn't broken a bone, but falling on his wrist had sprained it. Daed ended up taking him to our regular doctor instead of to the ER, which annoyed Timothy for some reason.

He was still seething as the three of us traveled along in the buggy on the way to Bishop Eicher's place. That was the reason Daed brought him along, I was sure. Timothy was one piece of powerful evidence, and somehow I was another, as to why the bishop needed to intervene—and soon—when it came to Jonathan Mosier.

As we turned into the Eichers' driveway, I spotted Phillip standing at their horseshoe pit, his father at the other end. Both started toward us, like a set of bookends marching to the driveway, one older than the other, sure, but with the same build and looks, just one with a white beard and the other without one at all.

“Good evening,” Bishop Eicher called out.

Daed nodded and then said, “We've come on serious business, I'm afraid. About a family in your district.”

Bishop Eicher's face grew bleak. “Hitch the horse and
come on up to the porch. I'll have the missus bring us some lemonade.”

I followed the men up the steps, trying to keep as far away from Phillip as possible, and sat in the white rocker at the edge of the group of chairs, hoping no one would ask me any questions. Phillip sat beside me. Once Patty Eicher brought out the glasses of lemonade and a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies, Daed cleared his throat.

“We've come to discuss Jonathan Mosier. He's brought enough trouble to my family and this community. It's time to talk about him going back to where he came from.”

“That sounds awfully harsh,” Bishop Eicher said. “Have you taken your grievances to him? And his parents?”

“Jah,” Daed said.

I sat up straight, sending the sticky lemonade over the rim of the glass onto my hand and down on to my dress, which I blotted with my apron.

“How'd that go?”

“Not too well.”

Daed was slyly claiming Onkel Bob's conversation with Jonathan's father as our family approaching theirs.

“I know about the incident the other night with Mervin Mosier. Is that what you're referring to?”

Daed's face reddened. “No.” He nodded to Timothy, who pointed at his sling with his good hand. “Tell them, son, what happened today.”

Timothy took a deep breath and hesitated just a moment, then he said, his voice wavering a little, “What happened Saturday night was an accident—what happened today wasn't. Jonathan came over to retaliate—and he did.”

I leaned forward. “Timothy . . .”

My brother ignored me. “I was cutting grass this afternoon
when Jonathan confronted me. When I resisted, he stepped wide and slapped two of the mules, one with each hand. They balked.” He pointed to the sling with his good hand. “And look what happened.”

I shook my head.

My brother glared at me. “What's worse than my injury is how he's hurting my Schwester.” Timothy turned his gaze to me, and his eyes actually watered. “He's deceiving her.” He looked at Phillip now. “Attempting to steal her away from one who truly cares about her.” Next his eyes landed on Bishop Eicher. “It's been one thing after another since Jonathan Mosier arrived in Lancaster County. None of the Youngie are safe.”

I shook my head in disgust. At the time of the accident, I hadn't been sure of what Jonathan had done. But now, based on Timothy's dramatics, I was pretty sure my brother had made up Jonathan slapping the mules. Most likely Timothy just hadn't fastened the belt tight enough.

“Addie?” Bishop Eicher scowled at me. “What do you have to say?”

Daed cleared his throat. “I'll speak for my daughter.”

“No, I'd like to hear from her.” Bishop Eicher's eyes remained on me.

I leaned forward again, looking around Phillip, straight at his father. “Jonathan Mosier is the kindest, most thoughtful, most Christ-loving, God-fearing person I've—”

This time it was Daed who interrupted me by jumping to his feet.

But I wasn't deterred. “—ever met. You should be thinking about how to encourage everyone to end this grudge in a nonviolent way, not considering how to banish Jonathan from Lancast—”

“Do you see what we mean?” Daed was beside me now, pulling me to my feet and wrapping one arm around me, clutching me against him. He patted Phillip on the shoulder with his other hand. “Don't worry—she'll come back to her senses as soon as Jonathan is gone. She'll remember what it means to honor her parents again. It's as if he's put a spell on her.”

“A spell of goodness,” I said, pulling away from Daed. “True, I didn't see exactly what happened today. But I know Jonathan's intention wasn't to hurt Timothy.”

I couldn't stand to be a party to Timothy and Daed's scheming for another moment, so I fled the porch, hurrying down the steps to the buggy. As I climbed in, I noticed Phillip standing on the far end of their porch, his arms crossed, a scowl on his face that rivaled his father's. I was pretty sure he finally understood my feelings for Jonathan.

My Daed didn't say a single word the whole way home, but Timothy wouldn't stop. After chastising me, he predicted Jonathan Mosier would be gone from our lives by the next day. Two at the most.

“I never liked Bishop Eicher until tonight,” Timothy said. “Having Phillip interested in you is going to work to our advantage.”

I bit my tongue.

“There's no doubt he's going to influence his Dat. He looked like he was going to cry when you spouted off like that.” Timothy turned toward me. “Did you do that on purpose?”

I stared straight ahead.

“Maybe you should go into acting.” He laughed.

Finally unable to contain myself, I asked calmly, “What do you care?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is some sort of game to you, right? A win-at-all-costs competition.” I locked onto his eyes. “But it's my life. And you're ruining it.”

His pupils flickered, but then he seemed to brace himself again. “Get over yourself,” he said. “It isn't about your life, Addie. It's about us. The Cramers.”

Daed shifted in his seat.

“What's best for our family,” Timothy jeered.

“That's enough,” Daed said to him, sharply. And then, as if he regretted his tone, he added, “I've had all I can take for one day.”

The sun set as we continued on, sending streaks of pink and orange across the gray-blue sky. A flock of starlings flew for home. A calf called for her mother. By the time we turned down our lane, dusk had fallen, darkening my spirits even more.

“Addie,” Daed said as he stopped the buggy by the back door. “It goes without saying that you won't be sneaking out tonight. Is that understood? I'll sleep outside your bedroom door if I need to.”

For a moment I contemplated slipping out onto the balcony, but sneaking around at all had only gotten us into more trouble. We should have heeded Onkel Bob's advice, entirely. “Understood,” I said.

As I climbed down from the buggy, I felt as heavyhearted as I ever had. Never before in my life had I loved someone the way I did Jonathan. Never before had I known such generosity and kindness. Never before had I wanted to be with someone the way I wanted to be with him.

I truly didn't contemplate sneaking anywhere until Aenti Nell shook me awake and whispered, “He's leaving.”

“What?” I struggled to a sitting position.

Her hand hovered close to my mouth. “Whisper,” she hissed. She was wearing her dress and Kapp and must have stayed up late quilting, as she sometimes did.

I bolted out of bed. “What's going on?” I had to see him.

“He's down in the sewing room. He saw me through the window and climbed into the room so your Dat wouldn't be awakened by the door.”

“He's here? Now?”

She nodded.

“What do you mean he's leaving?”

“He'll tell you,” Aenti Nell answered.

“Is Daed in the hallway?”

“No. He's snoring away in his room.”

I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, and Aenti Nell handed me my robe. By the time I stood, my heart began to race. I tiptoed after my Aenti, out my open door, and down the hall. I took the steps one at a time, but when I reached the living room I ran, skipping over the creaky boards and then doing the same in the kitchen.

I opened the door to the sewing room quickly but didn't see Jonathan until he stepped from the far corner, out of the shadows.

I flew into his arms.

“Where are you going?” I cried.

“Hush,” he said. “It's all right.”

“No,” I said. “It's not. Nothing is all right.”

He pulled me down into Aenti Nell's chair, turning me on his lap, and then our arms intertwined. “Bishop Eicher came out to Dawdi's tonight.”

I clung to him. “Did Phillip go too?”

“Jah . . .”

“And?”

“Bishop Eicher said I needed to leave the community, but before he finished, Dat said I was going back to Big Valley, that we all were, that he wasn't going to have his son railroaded by lies the way he had been.”

“Your Dat said that?” I leaned my head back, getting a clear view of Jonathan's face.

“Jah, fancy that, he stuck up for me, but not in the way that I'd hoped. I want to stay here. But he let his pride get in the way, again. He's taking our farm up there off the market.”

“What about your Dawdi? What did he say?”

“He scolded Dat and Bishop Eicher, saying Youngie need models more than critics.”

I smiled. That was something I'd heard my Onkel Bob say too.

Jonathan sighed. “He said if he wasn't so old he'd turn them both over his knee—and your Dat too.”

I shivered. “I like your Dawdi.”

“Jah, me too.”

“But who will take care of him now?”

“Tabitha is going to stay on for now. We'll see what happens in time.”

“What about your shop?” I leaned against him.

“Ach.” Pain filled his voice as he spoke. “Dat said he's not paying to have it moved back to Big Valley. He's going to sell it and put the money toward our home up there, to fix it up. He says he and I are going to make another go of farming at our old place.”

“Oh, Jonathan. I'm so sorry.” Life would be miserable for him without his woodworking. “So what now?” I whispered.

“I wanted to tell you happy birthday.”

I shook my head. “It's not today—it's the day after tomorrow,” I said. I'd forgotten about my nineteenth birthday and no one had mentioned it.

“Jah, I know.” He remembered from our one conversation about it. “I have something for you.”

I couldn't believe he'd remembered my birthday. “You already gave me the hope chest.”

“That was a just-because gift,” he said, pulling a bookmark from a paper bag on the desk. “This is for your birthday.”

I took it from him. Instead of a picture there was a reference, carved into the wood: Revelation 21:5. “What's the verse?” I asked.

“‘Behold, I make all things new,'” Jonathan quoted. “Remember that—because . . .” His face grew serious.

“What is it?”

“I'm praying God will make all of this new. That this won't be good-bye for long.”

I sank against him. “Don't go.” I nestled my face into his neck, drawing comfort from the warmth of his skin.

“I'll come back,” he said. “When things calm down. Unless you need me sooner.” He handed me a slip of paper. “This is the number of the retired pastor I used to work for. Leave a message. He'll come get me right away.”

I took the slip of paper and slid it into the pocket of my robe.

He reached for the bag again, this time taking out a rose—a peach one, obviously from Onkel Bob's garden. Immediately the sweet smell filled the room.

He handed it to me.

I took it, holding it tenderly.

“You think it's beautiful, jah?”

I nodded.

“One of God's most amazing creations?”

I nodded again. He'd said the same thing in Onkel Bob's garden.

“Know you are so much more amazing. When God holds you—as he does every day, all the time—he feels a thousand times more pleased than you do right now.”

“Ach, stop, Jonathan.” We weren't brought up to think highly of ourselves. I could only take so much of his talk.

“It's how he feels about all of us,” he said. “It's how you feel about Joe-Joe, but more so. And the sycamore grove. And your dreams. It's okay to value life and see the value in ourselves.”

I held the rose high on the stem, my fingers far from the thorns. Not knowing what to say, I said nothing. He pulled me closer, touching my hair, my face, and then my chin, tilting my face toward his.

He kissed me then, his soft lips on mine. He smelled of the warm night, of sadness, of longing, all mixed with the scent of wood and sweat. His rough hand held my face. I kissed him back, and as I did, tears began flowing down my face.