Living in Harmony (22 page)

“Because it's true. Where was God when lightning struck our house? And what are the chances of lightning not only hitting the house, but burning it down?” Like a cornered wild animal, Nora lashed out. “Most people would smell the smoke and get out in time, but not our parents. They had no warning and died asleep in their bed.” Tears streamed unchecked as the dam of emotion finally broke.

Blood drained from Amy's face as she staggered back. “We are not to question God's will—”

Nora pushed off the tree and ran along the line of trees, away from the meetinghouse and all of the district members. She kept running until she reached the riverbank, where a fast-moving creek tumbled over rocks and ledges. Breathless, she lowered herself to a log, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. She cried for her dead parents and for herself, stuck in an ultraconservative district in a land of chilly September days and nights that turned downright cold. If she were home, it would be the height of Indian summer, with bonfires, hayrides, or cookouts every Saturday. Singings would be filled with plenty of young folk…because there were so many more people!

Nora had no friends here other than Lewis…not that it was anybody's fault but hers. Feeling like a square peg surrounded by round holes, she'd made no attempt to socialize. Right now, while she hid from the world, district members were enjoying turkey sandwiches with mugs of hot chocolate. Nora squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pray, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Certainly not words of gratitude for bringing her to this alien land. Fresh tears clouded her vision, but she fought them back as she sat on her log, waiting.

She waited for inspiration on how to return to the noon meal with dignity.

She waited for insight that God still had a plan for her life.

And she waited for Lewis, who maybe had seen her leave and followed. He would sit down on the log, slip an arm around her shoulders, and tell her everything would be all right. Then they would walk back to the meetinghouse, where he'd saved her a sandwich and cup of cocoa. After the others filed back in for the afternoon hymn session, he would take her home because she felt the beginnings of a headache. They would marvel at autumn foliage at its best while his buggy rolled down the lane toward the Detweiler farm.

But Lewis didn't show up to rescue her. And nothing she envisioned could have taken place anyway. Not here. Not in Harmony.

Damp and stiff, Nora finally struggled to her feet and trudged back to the picnic tables. It was good Lewis hadn't followed her, she realized. At the speed he was capturing her heart, she would end up married and living in his cabin behind the store before Amy and John. Nora couldn't imagine spending her life here, not with so many interesting places in the world to see. Why couldn't John have picked Missouri, where Sally came from, or maybe Indiana or Ohio or New York? She needed to forget about handsome Lewis with his sea-blue eyes, strong hands, and unlimited devotion.

Her future wasn't here. It couldn't be.

At the meetinghouse, the congregation had already gone inside to sing, but Amy sat waiting at a picnic table. John stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder in an old-fashioned pose. Amy smiled as Nora approached. “I'm so relieved to see you,” she said. “I've been worried. Forgive me for pinching, poking, and quarreling.”

John stood like a stone statue, his face empty of expression.

“I'm sorry too,” Nora murmured. “I lost my temper. Just because I'm mad at God, I shouldn't take it out on you.”

John cringed from her statement, but Amy remained calm. “God never stops loving us, even when we're angry with Him,” she said, rising to her feet. “Are you hungry? I made you a sandwich.” She pulled a wax paper packet from her purse.

“
Danki
. I'll eat it on my way home.” Nora tucked the sandwich in her bag. “I feel a headache coming on.”

“In that case I'm leaving too so you're not alone.” Amy turned toward John. “Why don't you go inside without us? I'll see you back at Thomas's.”

“Would you like me to drive you?” he asked, spinning his hat brim between his fingers.

“No. I think the exercise and fresh air will do us good.” Amy buttoned her cloak and reached for Nora's hand.

John nodded but remained in place, still fiddling with his hat as they headed toward the road.

“Those migraine pills really do make me sleepy,” said Nora, once they were out of earshot.

“I believe you, and I'm sorry I kept jabbing your ribs.” Amy let go of her hand and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Don't worry about it. I need a jab every now and then.” Nora unwrapped the turkey sandwich and took a bite. It had both mustard and mayo, just how she liked it. No one knew her…or loved her…like her
schwester.

That night, long after the Detweilers had all gone to bed, Nora moved her chair over to the window. Amy snored softly in her sleep, but oddly the sound comforted instead of annoyed her. Nora gazed down on a silent barnyard illuminated by the thin light of a crescent moon as though keeping vigil. She shook her head each time thoughts of Lewis crept into her head. After a while her vision blurred as shapes seemed to form and disintegrate in the shadows.

Suddenly, the outline of a man leading a horse stepped into the area in front of the barn. Nora blinked several times to make sure fatigue wasn't playing tricks on her. But when she looked
again, Elam Detweiler lifted one foot into a stirrup and swung his other leg over his black stallion. Hatless and wearing a red-and-black plaid jacket, he kicked the horse's flanks and rode off into the darkness.

Where on earth is he going at this hour?
Intrigue replaced the last residue of Nora's melancholy. At least solving a mystery might relieve the relentless boredom of living in Harmony.

J
ohn thought he heard the mournful sound of crying while feeding the goats. But when he listened and heard nothing, he assumed it was the wind whistling through missing chinks in the barn silo. It was still very early, so he saw nothing in the inky darkness. After he scrubbed out and refilled water troughs with the hose, he heard the cries again, distinct and undeniable, emanating from the eastern pasture behind the barn. He went in search of Thomas and found him on a stool bathing a cow's underbelly with soapy water.

“You must come and bring the lantern. I believe a heifer's been injured. Maybe she fell into a hole and broke her leg.” John's tone conveyed alarm.

His brother, however, continued to wash the cow's udder, unruffled by the news. “
Jah
, I heard the bellowing and investigated earlier. A heifer wandered into the high pasture to give birth. She's
in labor and things don't seem to be going well for her.” Thomas glanced up with compassionate eyes, yet he resumed his ministrations from the stool.

“Are you just going to sit there? Why don't we help her? The calf is probably breech and she can't deliver.
Daed
used to turn the calf so it would be headed in the right direction. I've watched him do this.”

“It's still pitch-dark. Cows usually drop calves with no help but from the Lord above. This isn't good, John. It's too late in the year for her to be birthing. The youngun' probably wouldn't make it through winter anyway.” With the udder clean, Thomas began milking with slow methodical pulls.

“So, because she didn't use better family planning, we're going to let her die up there? In pain?” He added the last two words in case Thomas didn't quite grasp the situation.

Thomas nodded. “She's been in labor all night while we slept. Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do, but few vets make house calls and none will come this early, especially if their patient is up in the hills. She's probably too far gone and won't let anyone close to her now. You don't want to get kicked in the head by a frantic heifer. Her uterus may have torn and she's slowly bleeding to death. That's why she separated herself from the herd—to die in peace.”

John slapped his hat against his pant leg, sending up a puff of dust. “It doesn't sound very peaceful to me!”

Thomas offered a sad, patient smile. “All right. Go get what we'll need while I finish up here. I'll meet you either by the house or up in the hills.”

John hurried out of the barn to find someone else in case his brother didn't come in time. The perfect person to help sat in the kitchen, sipping her first cup of coffee. “
Guder mariye
,” said Amy. “Finished with your chores already? We haven't started breakfast yet. Sally's still feeding Jeremi—”

“No, we're not done, but could you help me in the high pasture? A cow giving birth is in trouble. I need someone to hold the light while I assist.”

“Of course I'll come.” Amy set down her mug and hurried to the porch for her tall boots. While she pulled them on and grabbed an old chore coat, John hunted for what they would need. Within a few minutes they had two lanterns, rubber gloves, a plastic tarp, and two buckets of hot water. Then they started toward the far end of the Detweiler property, each holding a lantern high to light their way. Not fifty yards from the house, Thomas caught up with them.

“
Danki, bruder
. Three sets of hands are better than two.”

“Let's hope they will be enough,” said Thomas.

“I don't hear anything,” said Amy, as the first yellow streaks of dawn appeared in the east.

“I don't either, and that's a bad sign.” John closed the gate behind them and turned his gaze skyward to pray for the cow in labor. He asked for a successful delivery, for the restored health of the mother, and for a strong, vigorous baby that could survive a Maine winter. He prayed for creatures who couldn't pray for themselves. Thomas was right. Nature often cleaned house, allowing weaker members to perish during droughts or to fall victim to wild predators. Even hungry coyotes have a right to eat in God's kingdom. But he hoped that
this
particular cow and calf would not perish.

When they finally found her, she was not only still alive but no longer bellowing in pain. She was on her side with a heaving belly slick with sweat, complaining only when a contraction advanced the baby along.

John spread the tarp over the wet ground as Amy gently patted the animal's soft head and Thomas stroked her flanks. After slipping on long gloves, John set about assessing her condition. He spotted the top of a tiny head, surrounded by four little hooves, poised to make a grand entrance. “We've no time to waste,” he said, dropping down next to her tail. “Stand behind me, Amy, in case I
slide and need some leverage.” Thomas moved into Amy's former place, holding on to the cow's head. With Amy in position and Thomas helping to restrain the heifer, John bent his knees to brace himself against the ground and grasped the calf's protruding legs. With each contraction, John pulled, the cow mooed, and a brand-new life inched into the world.

Amy held one of the lanterns over his head, while the other sat on a rock to his left. She murmured, “Oh, my,” not less than half a dozen times during the delivery. “I've never witnessed this before.
Daed
always asked for my cousins next door and then sent us girls into the house.”

“At least her uterus hasn't torn,” declared Thomas.

“It won't be long now.” John sounded giddy with excitement, like any proud papa. With no small effort, along with a great push from the heifer, John pulled the calf free on the next contraction. It plopped unceremoniously onto the tarp.

“Is it dead?” asked Amy, bending down to assess. “It's not breathing.”

“Patience, dear one. Fetch me one of those long feathery weeds.”

“What?”

“Please, Amy. Bring me a weed and you'll see.”

Amy carried a lantern to search the fence line and returned with an expression of accomplishment. “Here you go.”

“Watch this.”

Amy shone the light on the baby Holstein as John inserted the weed's feathery end into the calf's nose. He twirled it inside the nostril until he achieved the desired result.

Ah-choo!
With a single sneeze, the calf expelled mucus from his nasal passages and took its first breath of autumn air.

“Praise the Lord,” exclaimed Amy.

“Praise Him indeed,” agreed Thomas. “I'm amazed.” He slapped John on the back.

Within an hour, both bovine mother and child were on their
feet. She drank deeply from a bucket of cool water while the calf preferred fresh milk to quench its thirst. Weary yet exhilarated, Thomas, Amy, and John started down the long slope toward the house.

“I'm starving,” John said, dragging the tarp behind them.

“Me too, but first I want a long hot shower.” Amy swung her empty bucket like a milkmaid.

“I need to finish a few chores yet, so don't use all the hot water, you two.” Thomas headed off toward the barn. “Good work, John, and thanks.”

Once they were beyond Thomas's censuring eyes, John slipped an arm around Amy's waist.