Summer Promise (3 page)

“You never told me.”

Sarah's expression softened. “I know. I think it's because I knew what you'd say, even when we were small. ‘There's no point letting your imagination get away from you, Sarah. Whatever comes, it will be God's will.'”

“I did not sound like that,” Miriam protested.

At this, Sarah actually smiled. “You did so. But in all fairness, I don't think it was your fault. You must have heard one of the grown-ups say something like it about a thousand times. And if you
had
said it, you would have been right. Not that I would have admitted it at the time, of course.” Sarah studied Miriam with curiosity. “Did
you
want Daed to get married again?”

Miriam shook her head. “No
.
To tell you the truth, I was always relieved that he did not. I liked things with just the three of us. Though lately I've sometimes wished . . .”

Startled, Miriam broke off. Had she really been about to confess that it was only since her marriage to Daniel that she had wished for a mother? Someone she could turn to with all those questions new brides always had. And yes, someone to whom she could pour out her heart. To share the pain of being childless. That pain and the fear of always being second best were things Miriam knew she must always keep to herself.

How did you feel, Mamm?
she thought now.
Did you have someone to talk to, to confide in?

Jacob and Edna had been married for more than ten years before Miriam came along. How had her mother coped with all those years of being childless? How had she handled the fear that they might go on forever? Had she, like Miriam, sometimes thought that a life without children just might break her heart?

“Here comes Daniel,” Sarah said. She placed a hand on Miriam's arm. Even through the fabric of her dress, Miriam could feel how cold her sister's fingers were. She pulled Sarah's hand into the crook of her arm, covering her sister's fingers with her own to warm them. Sarah made a soft sound and pressed her other hand to her mouth.

“Rachel says she and my mother are taking care of everything up at the house,” Daniel said as he approached. “She tells you to take your time.”

“There's not enough time in the world,” Sarah said, her voice suddenly bitter. She gave her whole body a shake, as if literally trying to throw off her sorrow.

“Are you all right?” Miriam asked her.

Sarah nodded. “I'm sorry I spoke so sharply.”

“You don't have to apologize. I understand,” Miriam told her. “Losing Daed is not easy for any of us.”

Sarah drew in a deep breath, as if steeling herself for whatever was to come next. “I am ready whenever the two of you are. I think that I would like to go back to the house—I mean, back home.”

Home, Miriam thought, where everything would look the same but be so different. It had not been Sarah's home for the last six years. And now, it was no longer Daed's
home. Miriam wasn't sure it even felt like her home anymore. How would they all pick themselves up and go on?

What had she just counseled Sarah?
Let it go, for now.
Because for now that was all she could do. Perhaps, day by day, if they all trusted in God, the house would begin to feel like home again, the place that Miriam loved best of all.

Her arm still linked through Sarah's, Miriam took the arm that Daniel offered, so that all three of them were joined. Then she turned away from her father's grave.

“Yes,” she said. “Let us all go home.”

Three

T
he next morning, Miriam was up early.
When am I not?
she thought with a smile. But today's up early was different. Today, she would return to the daily tasks she found so meaningful, the ones that, added together, day by day, made up her life.

She had already started cooking breakfast. The scent of coffee filled the air. Bacon sizzled in a cast-iron skillet on top of the stove. Miriam retrieved several eggs from the propane refrigerator. With quick, practiced motions, she broke them into a bowl, setting the eggshells aside. Later, she would use the shells to compost the garden. They were good for the roses, and Miriam's rose hip jelly was one of the farm stand's best sellers.

Miriam stirred the eggs with a fork, adding salt, pepper, and a little water. She turned the bacon in the pan, and then brought out the pie that her mother-in-law, Amelia, had left for them. It was the first time since Miriam and Daniel had been married that Miriam was serving her husband a pie she had not made herself. But she had been very touched by Amelia's gesture. Clearly, she knew her oldest son well.

The bacon done to her liking, Miriam lifted it from the pan and set it on a plate lined with a paper towel. She blotted any extra grease, and then set the plate in the oven where the pilot light would help keep it warm. She drained some of the grease off from the cast-iron pan, glancing out the window as she did so. She didn't want to start the eggs until she knew Daniel was coming in. That way, they would be nice and hot.

As Miriam watched, Daniel came out of the barn and started across the yard. He moved with purpose, as he always did. It had always seemed to Miriam that Daniel knew precisely where he was going. It was one of the things that she loved best about him. Not that she could always predict where he would end up! Though she was pretty sure she knew his destination at the moment. As Miriam continued to watch, Daniel paused at the pump partway between the house and the barn.

He almost always did this when the weather was fine, a holdover from his boyhood when Amelia required that the boys wash up before they came indoors. Daniel was a grown man now, with a house of his own. He no longer had to wash his hands and face in the yard. But, as long as the weather was warm enough, he almost always did it anyhow. It always made Miriam shake her head, half in exasperation, half in love.

As Miriam continued to watch, Daniel worked the pump handle vigorously. After a few moments, water gushed from the spout. Daniel stopped pumping and thrust first his hands, and then his face, into the flow before it stopped. He stepped backward quickly and tossed back his head, sending water drops flying. Though she'd seen him perform this ritual almost every summer's day for six years now, the fact that Daniel could get his face wet yet still keep the front of his shirt dry never lost the ability to take Miriam by surprise. She had teased him about it, not long after they were married.

Practice makes perfect
. Daniel had quoted the
Englisch
saying with a smile.

With one last shake of his blond head, Daniel continued on toward the house. Miriam stepped away from the window and walked briskly across the kitchen to meet her husband at the kitchen door. Without a word, she handed him a clean towel. Daniel took it from her, just as silent, but Miriam was pretty sure she caught a glimpse of Daniel's eyes, dancing with laughter, just before he buried his face in the towel.

“All clean?” she inquired as he lifted his head.

“What do you think?” Daniel asked. He tilted his face for inspection. Miriam regarded it seriously.

“Let's see the hands as well.”

Daniel held them out, palms up, then, after a moment, he turned them palms down.

“I believe you will do,” Miriam declared.

“Thank you,” Daniel answered formally. Then he smiled. He took a deep breath. “Is that bacon I smell?”

“It is indeed,” Miriam said. “Now that you are clean enough for them, I'll start the eggs. Sit down.” She moved to the stove as Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee, and then took his place at the table. “Your mother left a pie.”

“Did she?” Daniel said. “That was kind of her. I'll remember to thank her when I see her later today.” There was a brief silence. “What kind?”

Miriam tested the skillet before tipping in the eggs. She was glad her back was turned so that Daniel couldn't see her smile. “Rhubarb. The last from her garden, she said.”

“
Ach,
” Daniel said. “Well, that is nice.”

It was his favorite kind.

Miriam fell silent, stirring the scrambled eggs. They didn't take long. She turned off the burner, and then used a clean dish towel to pull the plate of bacon from the oven, together with the clean plates that rested just beneath it. Miriam scooped a healthy portion of eggs onto Daniel's plate, added several rashers of bacon, and, finally, a good-sized piece of the rhubarb pie. If she knew her husband, he'd have a second piece before he headed out to the fields. She turned from the counter, crossed the short distance to the table, and set the plate in front of him.

“
Danki,
” Daniel said.

“You're welcome,” Miriam replied. She turned back to the counter to prepare her own plate. “Oh,” she exclaimed softly.

“What?” Daniel asked quickly. He started to get up. “Are you all right? Did you burn yourself?”

“No, it's nothing like that,” Miriam said. “It's just . . .” She took a steadying breath. “I got out three plates, just like always, only I didn't even realize I'd done it until now.”

“But surely the third plate is for Sarah,” Daniel said.

“
Ja
, it can be for Sarah,” Miriam replied.
But that isn't why I got it out,
she thought.
That isn't it at all.
Instead, she had warmed three plates just the way she always did, one for Daniel, one for her, and one for her father. “I'll just keep it warm,” she said, not wanting to have to explain.

“Sarah sleeps late now,” he observed. “Do you think she's taking on the
Englisch
ways?”

“She was on a plane the whole night before the funeral,” Miriam reminded him, surprised to find herself defending her sister. “It's good that she's catching up on her sleep.”

Using the dish towel once again, Miriam returned the plate to the oven. She dished up her own breakfast, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down opposite her husband. Daniel bowed his head for the silent blessing, and Miriam did, too. They gave thanks for the food and the day to come.

Daniel ate the same way he did most things, Miriam thought as she watched him pick up his fork and tackle the eggs, economically, with no wasted motions. It wasn't that he rushed. She didn't think she had ever really seen Daniel hurry, unless the occasion truly called for it. He simply applied himself, with
dedication.
She smiled to herself as Daniel plunged his fork into the pie and scooped up a big bite. Miriam followed suit, though her bite was smaller. The pie
was
good. Miriam had a deft hand with pie herself, but Amelia had a special touch. No two ways about it.

“You are going to help Lucas to bring in his wheat today?” she asked.

On any given day, Miriam knew what Daniel's tasks would be as well as she knew her own. There was a rhythm, a progression to farm life. The fact that neither she nor Daniel had performed their usual duties during their period of mourning did not make that rhythm go away.

“Yes.” Daniel nodded. He took a sip of coffee to wash down the pie. “Then Lucas and the boys will come to us.” Daniel was one of five brothers. There were two girls in the Brennemann family as well. Martin and Amelia Brennemann had adopted Daniel when he was just an infant, after his parents were killed in a buggy accident. Daniel and Lucas, the Brennemanns' next-oldest son, were a little less than a year apart in age.

“Lucas and I have been speaking of going to the horse auction next month,” Daniel continued. “I've been thinking of getting another field horse.” He smiled at her. “I will miss your
daed
's company there. He had a fine eye for horses. If it wasn't for Jacob, I would never have even noticed Major.”

Major was Daniel's favorite draft horse, a calm, powerful Percheron who, when they first saw him at the auction, had been a scrawny, frightened colt. Only her father had seen the horse's potential.

“Yes, you and Lucas should go,” Miriam replied, feeling a tug of grief. Her father had loved going to the big auctions. Men came from districts all around, and it was a good time to reconnect with old friends and acquaintances. This would be the first time in decades that Jacob Lapp would not be there, studying the horses and freely giving his advice to his friends.

“You will go to the farm stand this morning?” Daniel asked.

“
Ja
.” Miriam nodded. She took a sip of coffee as she considered. “I won't open for business until tomorrow, but I want to tidy up and take stock.” She sent Daniel a quick smile. “Today, I will even turn the lights on.”

“I am pleased to hear it. It is the one building where we pay for electricity, and yet I found my wife standing there in the dark,” he teased her gently.

“Not today,” she promised.

Daniel pulled in a breath as if to say something else, then changed his mind. Instead, he took another bite of pie.

“You will want some help there, I think,” he finally said when he had finished chewing.

Miriam nodded. The whole time Daed was dying, she had known she would have to come up with a new plan for running the farm stand. It now belonged to her and Daniel, as did the farm itself. But Daniel had never taken an active part in the day-to-day running of the stand. This was only as it should be. He had the farm itself to run.

It was Jacob who had kept the farm stand going, particularly after the
Englisch
doctors had told him that his heart was weak, that the exertion of working in the fields could be dangerous for his health. But being idle was not the Plain way, so Jacob had devoted himself to the farm stand instead. Though he had started it when the girls were young, after his diagnosis he poured all of his attention into it, and the whole community felt the benefit of his efforts, with the proceeds providing much-needed additional income—income that would be lost if the stand were closed. Virtually every family in the district now sold something at the stand.

To Miriam's amazement, the stand had developed a reputation among the
Englischers
. Locals and tourists who stayed in the area all stopped at the stand. Miriam had sold Plain goods to people from New York, New Jersey, Ohio, West Virginia, even California. The farm stand was better, they said, than any city farmers' market. Miriam knew she not only had to keep the stand going, but she had to maintain the high quality of the produce and products that Jacob had offered.

“I'll need help,” Miriam agreed. She glanced toward the head of the table, where her father had always sat. It was rightfully Daniel's spot now, and she knew he had not yet taken it out of respect for her grief. “But figuring out how it is best to manage will take some time. I am hoping that Sarah will help while she is here, but . . .” Miriam let her voice trail off.

“But Sarah will not stay.” Daniel finished her thought.

Miriam shook her head. “No, Sarah will not stay. She'll go back to San Francisco at the end of the summer. I need someone
here
, especially through the fall harvest.”

“Perhaps we should speak to Bishop John,” Daniel suggested. “He might know of someone.”

“That's a good thought,” Miriam acknowledged, even as she felt tears rise in her eyes. It would never again be her and Daed working side by side in the stand, so used to each other's ways that they worked seamlessly, each knowing exactly what was needed. She would have to get used to working with someone new. Distressed, she pushed back from the table, snatched up her plate, and moved quickly to the sink.

“Miriam.” Behind her, she heard the scrape of Daniel's chair as he, too, rose. A moment later, she felt his strong hands on her shoulders. Miriam wavered just for a moment. Then she turned into her husband's arms.

Here, right here,
she thought. This was where she longed to be; this was where she belonged. Daniel was so strong and solid, like a great tree that no storm could ever bring down. She felt so sheltered and protected within the circle of his embrace.

Please,
she thought.
Let the world stop, just for a few moments.
These few moments when she was in her husband's arms.

“I am sorry,” Daniel said quietly. “I did not mean to upset you. Your father was a good man. I miss him, too, and I know that it is hard to lose him, even though we both know that he is with God. But at least Sarah is home, if only for a little while. You can get to know each other again, and she can be some help for you.”