Adoring Addie (5 page)

“Oops!” he exclaimed again.

A frog jumped onto his chair. Joe-Joe's head popped up as Billy scrambled to the floor, nearly knocking over his chair.

I lunged for the frog, but it slipped between my hands onto the table.

“What's going on?” Mutter squealed.

I didn't bother answering her. It was obvious to all.

The frog leapt again, this time into the quarter-full bowl of spaghetti sauce. Timothy began to laugh as Joe-Joe lunged
forward, his hands landing in the bowl. Somehow he managed to grab the frog. He pulled out a tomato-red blob, a triumphant expression on his face, until a half second later the frog managed to wiggle away again.

Billy scurried around the table, most likely to rescue the frog, but I grabbed at it again and somehow managed to hold on this time. Billy bobbled the plastic container from the floor, I plunked the frog into it, and Billy secured the lid, full of good-sized holes.

“Go set it free,” I said.

Billy nodded, his face solemn.

“No,” Joe-Joe wailed.

“Don't you want it to live?” I asked.

“Jah. With me,” he answered, tears filling his eyes.

I shook my head. “God didn't make frogs to live in our Haus.”

Billy headed toward the back door, and seemingly resigned, Joe-Joe wiped his hands across his face, painting his skin with sauce, and started to sit back on his chair.

“Oh, no you don't,” I ordered. “Straight to the bathtub.”

As he left the table, I looked around at the others. Timothy was still laughing, although quietly now. Aenti Nell nodded in approval. Phillip frowned, his forehead wrinkled under his dark hair.

“It's usually not like this at mealtime. Is it, Addie.” Mutter glanced from Phillip to me.

I shrugged. It usually was.

Daed continued shoveling spaghetti into his mouth as if nothing had happened.

Mother turned back toward Phillip. “Tell us about the farm you're hoping to buy.”

Timothy groaned and Danny asked to be excused as Phillip
directed his attention to my Mutter, beginning his description with the barn.

I pushed back my chair.

“I'll do the dishes. You take care of Joe-Joe,” Aenti Nell said.

“Denki.”

As I headed down the hall, Phillip kept talking.

A half hour later, when I returned with a pajama-clad Joe-Joe at my side, all my Bruders—and Phillip—were gone.

Certain he was out talking to Daed, a wave of panic overtook me. Light-headed, I leaned against the table.

“What is the matter?” Mutter asked from her place at the table.

I stammered. “Where . . . where's Phillip?”

Aenti Nell turned from the sink.

“He said he'd see you tomorrow,” Mutter said. “He's off to help his Daed move some hay before dark, so he didn't have a chance to talk with your Daed either.”

Relief washed over me as I exhaled slowly. “I need to talk with Daed tonight.”

“Whatever for?”

“I think maybe Phillip thinks I've agreed to something that I haven't—not yet anyway. . . .” My words trailed off as the look of horror on Mutter's face grew.

“Adelaide Cramer,” Mutter barked, “don't you even think of rejecting that nice young man. You will never, ever find a more suitable husband.”

Aenti Nell stepped from the sink toward us, holding her wet hands in the air, and said, “Schwester . . .”

“Stay out of this,” Mutter snapped at her. “We don't let you live here to meddle in our business.”

Horrified, I called out, “Mutter!” Aenti Nell didn't deserve such treatment.

“Don't you get sassy!”

“Addie,” my Aenti whispered, “your mother's right. It isn't my business. I shouldn't have—” She turned back toward the sink.

Mutter shifted in her chair and asked me, “What's gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“I need more time is all . . .” The odd feeling beneath my heart expanded.

“I know what you want. A husband. A home. Children. What every woman wants.”

“Jah,” I said. She was absolutely right. “I'm just not sure how to know for sure who that husband should be.”

“I haven't seen any other suitors coming around.” She spread her arms wide. “Have you?”

I was only eighteen—well, nineteen in less than two weeks. And sure, I'd been anxious to marry and have a place of my own, but . . . what was the rush?

My mother's voice softened. “Addie, it's normal to question these things. But that's what making a commitment is all about. It's a decision.” She motioned for me to come sit beside her, and I obeyed. Now she was whispering. “Believe me, you don't want to end up like Nell. Life would have been much easier for her—and all of us—if she'd married years ago. Instead—”

“Laurel.” Aenti Nell spun around from the sink. “Don't.”

My mother stared at her sister for a long moment, and then, with Aenti Nell still watching us, widened her eyes and nodded at me, as if my aunt's reaction proved Mutter's point.

But I had no idea what, exactly, she meant. I stood and began putting the food away, telling Joe-Joe to go brush his teeth.

“Billy needs to get to bed too,” Mutter said.

“Jah,” I answered. And then I needed to clean the bathroom so it would be usable tomorrow and clean the kitchen and sweep after Aenti Nell finished the dishes. In the morning I'd need to fix breakfast, make the coleslaw, bake the rolls, and marinate the chicken Daed would barbecue later in the day. Then slice the watermelon and make the date pudding. Maybe Mutter had been right—maybe I shouldn't have gone to the market. Maybe I should have stayed home and worked.

Joe-Joe took my hand, turning his face up toward mine, showing the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. “Will you read me a story?”

I was tempted to say no because of all I had to do, but honestly, putting Joe-Joe to bed was one of my favorite parts of the day.

“Jah,” I answered. “Go pick one out.” He scurried into the living room straight to the basket from the bookmobile while I stepped outside to call Billy into the house.

Mutter was wrong. Phillip hadn't left. He and Daed, with Billy running circles around them, were standing in the driveway next to Phillip's buggy, deep in conversation. My heart raced until Daed pointed to the field of corn and I realized they were talking about the crops.

Beyond them, in the distance on the lane by the patch of sweet peas, stood a man I didn't recognize. His head was held high, his hat back, and he appeared to be looking at the fading sky. Maybe he hoped to see the first star. Or perhaps he was whistling at the birds bedding down in their nests in the poplars that lined the lane. His profile was toward me, nearly silhouetted against the setting sun. In the dim light, his hair, what I could see, appeared to be the color of the summer moon.

As if he sensed me watching him, he glanced my way and smiled. Then he turned and strolled up the lane.

I stared after him until Phillip caught my eye. He waved. I responded, quickly, and backed into the house, pulling the door shut behind me.

Like all communities, Plain people have our fair share of dysfunctional families, a term I'd learned from my cousin Cate. Just a week ago she mentioned she'd been reading about middle children, who typically long for more attention, and how some are pleasers and others are terrors. I was pretty sure she had me and Timothy in mind.

“The terrors take too many risks,” she'd said, “and the pleasers not enough.”

I thought she was on to something though, at least as far as I was concerned. I
was
a pleaser. I'd been trying to please my parents my entire life, feeling as if I needed to win their approval. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. I couldn't measure up to what they wanted or, for that matter, what God wanted.

Still, all I knew to do was keep trying.

But it was funny how Cate's passing comment got me thinking and, looking back on it, had even inspired me to go to the market against Mutter's wishes. It was also the reason I began evaluating how I felt about Phillip. Was he truly what I wanted? Or was my motivation in courting him to please my parents?

As I dressed at five o'clock the next morning, I found myself wondering about taking risks. It wasn't the norm for an Amish girl to take any at all. We lived protected lives—going from our Dat's home to a husband's. We might go on a few outings, but it wasn't as if we went rock climbing or parasailing or bungee jumping or anything. I couldn't imagine, exactly, what a true risk would look like in my life. More so, I couldn't imagine my parents ever letting me take one.

Our family came across to others as pretty normal. But I knew better—although I was far too loyal to discuss it with anyone. Mutter was depressed. And Daed had possessed an awful temper when we were all younger. He seemed to have mellowed with age, but I remained leery of his anger and still tiptoed around it. I found myself constantly monitoring Mutter's moods as well.

I stepped out of my room determined to prepare a good breakfast to get everyone off to an extra-positive start. As I hurried down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen, I hoped for as little chaos as possible on the one day, aside from when we hosted church, we were on display to our community. At least half of the families in our church district would join us, along with Mutter's relatives—minus my grandmother, who was visiting a widow friend a county over.

Only Onkel Bob's family on my Daed's side would be in attendance, but still that was a big crowd of people.

For some reason Mutter and Daed kept hosting the barbecue even though it seemed they enjoyed it less and less each year. They thought others were judging them because none of their sons had joined the church—and most likely they were right.

Mutter sat at the table, scribbling down one of her lists.
She wasn't much of a morning person and only nodded at me in acknowledgment.

“
Guder Mariye
,” I said in return as I put the water on to boil for coffee and then took the bacon from the refrigerator.

I didn't mind she was quiet until she had her coffee. I relished the stillness of the kitchen while Daed and the boys did the milking.

The breeze blew through the open windows above the sink, along with the concert of the mooing cows. The morning light cast a peachy glow through the first floor of the Haus, brightening the wood floors, which felt cool against my bare feet. The rooster crowed in the distance, followed by the chirping of blue jays in the elm in the courtyard.

As I lined the largest cast-iron skillet with the bacon and mixed up the batter for pancakes, I thought about our Haus, which had been passed down from generation to generation in my Daed's family for nearly two hundred years. The L shape formed a courtyard in the back that had been paved with bricks and filled with plants and flowers. An elm tree grew just off of the courtyard on the lawn, shading the side yard and providing a climbing structure for my brothers.

One of the six upstairs bedrooms, which just happened to be mine, had a small balcony—awfully fancy for a Plain house. Years ago, my three oldest brothers had slept in the room, but after they began sneaking out of the house by transferring themselves from the balcony to a trellis and then dropping down to the courtyard, my parents moved them to a different room. I was the one they trusted with the balcony. And I validated their trust, over and over. Never had I even stepped out onto that balcony. Just as I had never crossed them or disobeyed—until questioning my feelings for Phillip last night.

The scent of the coffee mingled with the sizzling bacon, creating one of the most comforting smells in the world. I poured Mutter a cup, added cream, and put it on the table in front of her.

Next I turned the flame on under the griddle and added blueberries from our garden to the batter as an extra treat.

“Oh, Addie.” Mutter craned her neck from the table. “You shouldn't waste the berries on us. We should serve those this afternoon, to our guests.”

“The little boys can pick more,” I said, stirring the batter lightly. The bushes hung heavy this year. She knew that.

I worked quietly, spooning batter onto the griddle, turning the bacon, then flipping the pancakes. After I took the first batch off the griddle, Mutter pushed the list she'd been writing toward me.

“These are the chores that have to be done this morning,” she said.

I skimmed the items. She hadn't included anything we hadn't discussed the day before.

“Make sure and wear your purple dress,” Mutter said. “It goes so well with your eyes.”

I'd slipped on a work dress for the morning. I'd change later, before our guests arrived.

Joe-Joe tiptoed into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still in his pajamas. I gave him a hug and directed him to the table.

As I spooned more batter onto the griddle, Danny traipsed in through the back door.

Before I realized Daed was behind him, I asked, “Where's Timothy?”

Danny shrugged as our father marched through the kitchen into the living room. A moment later, he yelled up the stairs, “Timothy! Get down here. Now!”

“What time did you get home last night?” I asked Danny.

“I don't want to talk about it,” he answered, stifling a yawn.

“Where's Billy?”

“Feeding the chickens.”

I dished up the bacon and then flipped the second round of pancakes. “Watch the pancakes,” I said to Danny. “I'll go get Billy.” I headed out the back door, happy to be outside. Daed would be ready to pray in just a minute.

Billy wasn't in the chicken coop.

I called out his name as I headed toward the barn.

“Back here!”

I rounded the corner. There he stood, inspecting a can of beer. “What's this?” He held it up to his nose and made a face.

“Is it empty?” I asked.

He nodded, shaking the can as he did. “Oops,” he said, as liquid splashed onto his hand. “Not quite.”

The ground was littered with cans—the same brand that Samuel had given Timothy the day before. I thought they were for the party, and perhaps some of them had been, but it looked as if Timothy had a fair share on his own. No wonder he couldn't get out of bed for chores.

“Those,” I said, “aren't for you. That's for sure.”

Billy dropped the can and it bounced off a rock, clattering against the concrete foundation of the barn. “Are they Timothy's?”

“Probably,” I said. “But they shouldn't be. He's too young.”

“But Samuel and George are old enough, right?” Both were old enough, and it was clear Samuel had taken to drinking, but I liked to think George didn't drink, though I didn't know for sure.

“Right. Kind of.” I sighed. “Regardless of how old they
are, they're stupid to drink this stuff, especially so much at once.” One or two might have been fine, but by the looks of it, Timothy had gone overboard. “Let's go in for breakfast. Timothy needs to clean these up.”

“I can do it,” Billy said, grabbing a second can.

“No. Leave it. It's Timothy's mess—he needs to take care of it.”

He still had the can in his hand as Daed came around the corner with a feed sack. “Bag these up,” he said, thrusting it at me.

Billy the Brave stepped in front of me. “Addie said Timothy should do it.”

“He's not feeling well.”

I frowned.

He pushed the sack toward me again. I took it as I said, “Timothy's going to hurt himself or someone else if he doesn't stop.”

“At least he was drinking here.” Daed crossed his arms. “And not driving.”

I shook my head. Sure, it looked as if he'd been drinking here, but there was no way to know he hadn't been drinking and driving too.

“Look.” Daed's eyebrows came together as he wrinkled his brow. “Boys will be boys.”

I grimaced, clutching the sack tightly.

Daed turned to Billy. “Go back to the house.”

Billy tossed the can he'd been holding against the side of the barn, stumbled backward, and took off at a run.

“Our boys aren't that different than others. What they're going through is as common as dirt.” My father, like most men his age, had a collection of odd sayings. “Not all Youngie are so foolish. That's why your Mamm and I are thankful
for Phillip Eicher,” Daed said, motioning toward the dozen cans. “He's hard working and doesn't run around.”

“About that,” I said. “I really need to talk with you—”

“Later.” Daed turned away from me. “After the barbecue. We have too much to do until then.” He strode off, stretching his stride with each step.

I flung the sack open and began picking up the cans, turning my head away from the smell, painfully aware of my ambivalence about Phillip. What if he was my only chance at marriage? It wasn't that I wanted to push him away—I just wanted to slow things down. There was nothing wrong with that.

When I finished picking up the cans, I stashed the sack in the back seat of Timothy's car. By the time I reached the kitchen, everyone was finishing up with breakfast. All that was left was one pancake and a half piece of bacon.

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink, using the lavender soap I'd made last fall, the sweet smell washing away the stink of the beer. I hoped Daed wouldn't have time to talk with Phillip today either, not before he had time to listen to me at least.

One blessing of the day would be not having to worry about the Mosier boys and Timothy. There was no way Mervin and Martin would be foolish enough to show up at our barbecue—or so I thought.

The hickory smoke from Daed's barbecue filled the courtyard and blew in through the open kitchen window. I picked up one of the coolers of lemonade and started toward the back door, telling Danny to grab the second one.

“Bring the bowl of blueberries,” I told Billy, nodding toward the table.

He did, tilting it precariously.

“Careful now,” I said.

He righted it and followed Danny through the door as I held the screen wide open. Joe-Joe traipsed along, a stack of napkins in his hand.

Mutter sat on a lawn chair in the courtyard, under the canopy Daed had bought the year before. Nan Beiler, whom my Onkel Bob seemed to be courting, sat beside her. Nan was Mennonite and wore a printed dress, noticeably different from our Plain colored fabric, and a rounded Kapp instead of a heart-shaped one. She drove the local bookmobile, and because most Amish were big readers, nearly everyone in our area knew her.

Danny and Daed, with Billy and Joe-Joe's help, had set up the tables and benches from the church wagon. Since it was an off Sunday, and services had been at a neighbors' farm the week before, it worked out well.

My cousin Cate and her husband, Pete, were walking toward us from the creek, where they'd cut across from Onkel Bob's property. She carried a bowl in her hands, and Pete carried two folding lawn chairs. Joe-Joe took off toward them, swinging his arms around and around and twirling the napkins as he did. I was relieved when Cate snatched them from him before he let go.

Beyond them, by the horseshoe pit, stood a young man I didn't recognize. Unless . . . I squinted into the afternoon sun. Was he the man I'd seen the night before? I couldn't be certain from so far away.

I forced myself to stop staring and put the cooler of lemonade on the table and then took the bowl of blueberries from Billy. Cate smiled as she neared me, waving the napkins in one hand and lifting her bowl higher in the other.

“I brought potato salad,” she said. “Pete's Mamm's recipe.”
She took off the lid and put it on the table and then met my gaze with her deep blue eyes. “You look tired.”

I yawned, on cue, and then laughed. “Just a little.”

“I imagine you've been working hard.”

“I'll rest tomorrow.”

She smiled. “Right . . .” She nodded toward my dress. “Purple is such a good color on you,” she said. “And the black apron—now, that's a good idea.”