Meek and Mild (6 page)

They went inside for strudel and coffee. Sitting on a stool, Sadie’s face was already smeared with cherry filling. When Fannie took cups down from a shelf, clinking nearly obscured the toddler’s cry.

“Thomas is here?” she said.

Martha nodded. “Lizzie asked me to keep him for a few hours this morning.”

Sadie wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll get him.”

“Be gentle,” Fannie called after the girl. “Hold his hand. Don’t carry him.”

Thomas, her brother’s son, was a year and a half old. When Fannie heard the news that he was on the way to the newlywed couple, she was genuinely glad for them. But now another two years had passed. In all that time, Fannie had not had even one delayed cycle, not one morning of conflicted signals from her body, not one morning of hope that her faithful patience was rewarded at last. Lizzie and Abe likely soon would announce that they were expecting another
boppli
, and Fannie would once again have to kiss their cheeks in congratulation.

Sadie returned to the room with a crooked grin on her face and a sleepy boy wobbling on his feet.

A boy.

A son would please Elam. A stair-step row of sons, with another daughter or two along the way, would split his face in permanent joy. Fannie wanted to give Elam that vision. She wanted to hold that vision for herself.

But after more than five years since Sadie’s birth?

Fannie looked at her mother heating coffee at the stove. Perhaps if she steeled herself with enough pastry, she could say she was glad for her mother.

She wouldn’t
be
glad—not yet. But she would try very hard to say that she was.

Clara was grateful to be back at Fannie’s house. Though the outing lasted barely three hours, it had exhausted Clara. It was not the miles they strode in lovely sunlight.

Her aunt was right. Clara was fearful, and Fannie was heartbroken.

At least in Fannie’s home, neither of them had to pretend they felt differently. They only had to avoid speaking of the subject in Sadie’s presence. As soon as Clara dropped into the davenport, Sadie snuggled against her and nudged her way under Clara’s arm.

“Did you bring me a story?” Sadie looked up at Clara’s face hopefully.

Clara stroked Sadie’s hair. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t think of it this time.”

“Will you send me one in a letter, then?”

“I’ll have to finish one,” Clara said. “I’m in the middle of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho.”

Sadie turned her head toward her mother across the room. “
Mamm
, do I know that story?”

“I don’t know,” Fannie said. “Do you?”

“You’re being silly,” Sadie said. “Just tell me if I know it.”

Clara tickled Sadie’s neck. “If you don’t remember, then I guess you don’t know it.”

“But you do, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then tell me from your head.” Sadie scratched one bare foot. “You can send me the paper later.”

“Well, let me see. Have you ever been surprised by a very big job? Something that seemed so hard that no one could do it? Maybe it made you afraid?”

“I remember when I was afraid of feeding the chickens.”

“Bigger!” Clara said.

Sadie pushed her lips out, thinking. “I used to be afraid of carrying the milk bucket from the barn when it gets too full.”

“Bigger!”

“I’m not afraid to pick up Thomas.” Sadie giggled. “
Mamm
is afraid I’ll drop him, but I’m not. And I’m not afraid to let the horse take an apple out of my hand.”

“You’re a brave little girl,” Clara said. “But I’m sure if you think very hard, you’ll remember something that seemed like a big, huge job, and when you do, you’ll know just what Joshua felt like when God told him to lead the people in a walk around the city of Jericho. Joshua had to be brave enough to lead the people, but he also had to be brave enough to believe that when he obeyed God, the very tall and very thick walls around Jericho would fall down. That’s how the people would get inside the city.”

Sadie’s eyes were wide and bright. “Are you going to make sounds in this story? I like it when you make sounds.”

“Now that you mention it,” Clara said, “there are some very exciting sounds in this story. I’m going to need your help with them.”

Sadie clapped.

“I’ll make some lunch,” Fannie said. “It should be ready by the time you get to the part about walking around the city seven times.”

“We’ll be hungry by then,” Clara said. “Now Sadie, let’s practice a trumpet sound.”

Clara kept her voice cheerful for Sadie even as she watched the deepening droop in Fannie’s shoulders.

After lunch, Sadie scampered outside with a promise that she would not stray far from the house. As soon as her daughter was out of earshot, Fannie turned her strained face toward her cousin. They stood at the front window watching Sadie run in circles.

“She’s a gleeful child,” Clara said. “I hope I didn’t wind her up too much with all the marching and horn blowing.”

Fannie gave a wan smile. “She’ll never forget that story. She remembers all the Bible stories you tell her. And soon as she gets a letter, she makes me stop everything and read it.”

“We’ll have to work on teaching her to read them for herself.”

“Thank you for coming.” Fannie squeezed Clara’s hand. “None of my friends here would understand. Everyone in the church will think it’s such happy news.”

It was happy news. Perhaps on another day Fannie would be able to make herself feel the gladness new life should bring.

“Have you decided whether to marry Andrew?” Fannie said.

Clara pulled her bottom lip down in a grimace. “What will I say if he asks me again?”

“Yes! You should say yes!”

“I know. I do care for him. Truly I do.”

“Then don’t try his patience any further. The wedding season will be here before you know it.”

Fannie’s mind flashed to what might happen by this time next year. Andrew and Clara could marry in the fall or early winter. By next summer, they could have a baby of their own on the way.

And it would be one more child wrenching at the grief in Fannie’s heart, even though Clara would be terrified at the prospect of giving birth.

Martha’s child—Fannie’s own brother or sister—would be sitting up on a quilt in the sunshine, perhaps even rocking on hands and knees preparing to crawl.

Fannie swallowed the thickness of her throat. The world did not stop because God did not find her deserving of another child.

“Don’t miss out on Andrew’s love,” Fannie said. “If there should be a child…”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Clara murmured. “I should go.”

Fannie nodded. If Clara didn’t get to the Maple Glen Meetinghouse on time, she would miss the milk wagon going back across the border.

T
he pressure in Clara’s chest triggered tears in her eyes before she opened them the next morning. The dream had come again. Sadness trailed behind the vague shapes that never quite came into focus in those gray moments between disturbed sleep and opening day.

At least she had not wakened whimpering.

Clara hesitated to use the word
dream
for the unprovoked gloom that swam through her from time to time, as it had all her life. Nothing happened in these dreams, if that is what they were. She saw no faces, no landscape, no burning sun or swirling river water. The babies were gone before she heard their cries.

The babies. It was always the babies. Sometimes she thought she was the baby, but sometimes the baby was a boy.

Clara pushed her quilt away and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She had not woken this way for months—long enough to hope that perhaps the misery she feared had dissipated and perhaps she could marry Andrew after all. Daylight had not yet broken through the window, but Clara would not sleep again. She never did when this happened. Her fingers knew where to find the matches on the corner of her nightstand, and she lit the lamp. She might as well finish writing Joshua’s story for Sadie.

She didn’t want to think about anybody’s baby today.

This time Andrew did not linger over the electric table lamps or toasters.

On Saturday morning, he entered the hardware store with no list and no intended purchase. Instead, he sought space to wonder what he would do with the Model T. What he understood about the functioning of a motor—of any variety—was sparse enough that he could write it on the flap of an envelope. Andrew was fairly confident a hardware store was not the place to be schooled in the workings of an automobile engine. He would have to learn what the
English
meant when they said words like
piston
and
spark plugs
and
throttle
. For now he only wanted a place where he could look thoughtful and occupied while acquiring a basic knowledge of what the store might offer in terms of supplies an automobile owner might require.

Andrew stood in front of a display of motor oil. How much did an engine use? Next to the oil was a rack of gloves made especially for driving. Were they essential? What about goggles? Andrew squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. He wouldn’t need to worry about gloves or goggles unless he got the automobile running.

And since he did not know why it wasn’t running already, he faced a conundrum.

“Andrew!”

At the sound of his name, Andrew snapped his gaze up. He let out his breath. It was only John Stutzman.

“Good morning, John.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” John nodded his head in satisfaction.

Andrew had always liked John. The nine years’ difference in their ages was enough that until not so long ago Andrew had called him a respectful “Mr. Stutzman,” then “Smiling John” to distinguish him from his father, and finally simply “John.” A husband and father of seven children, John was in a season of life Andrew hoped would arrive for him before long. The older Andrew got, the less marked the age disparity became. They were two farmers who went to church together and shared a way of life.

John stroked his beard and glanced at the display before Andrew.

He wouldn’t ask. Andrew was sure of that. John Stutzman believed that a man’s conscience was his own, which was just why Andrew felt no need to hide.