The Amish Seamstress (24 page)

We glanced over toward Eddie, who was waiting impatiently at the shore for his
mamm
to show up. Before we could say a word, we heard a loud whooping sound come from the woods—and then Tom emerged instead.

He strode quickly across the field, his thick winter coat a splash of black against the white landscape. As he marched closer, I saw that he was twirling two long, dark sticks above his head.

“Anyone for a game of hockey?” he called out loudly.

Zed's eyes lit up, but I groaned.

“Where's everyone else?” Eddie asked his oldest brother, not sounding all that pleased either.

“Annie fell asleep—
Mamm
thinks she's coming down with something. So she sent me out instead.”

Eddie slumped back down on the log. “I wanted to skate with Annie.”

Tom reached his brother and came to a stop, propping the sticks against a tree. “Too bad,” he said. “You have me instead.” Tom unwound the skates he'd slung over his shoulders and then sat on the log and began putting them on. “How's the ice?” he called out to us.

“Firm,” Zed replied. “Feels good.”

“Great. Should do for a game of hockey.”

“I don't like hockey,” Eddie said, sulking.

“That's 'cause you don't know how to play.” Tom pulled a puck from his pocket and threw it up in the air, snatching it quickly. “No sweat. I'll show you.”

The child looked so disappointed that I decided to intervene. “Hey, Tom, if you and Zed are going to play hockey, then I'll need Eddie to help me skate around. Do you mind?”

Eddie's face lit up as Tom agreed.

“How 'bout you, Zed?” Tom called. “Need me to teach you how to play hockey?”

“That's okay,” Zed replied easily. “I think I might remember the basics.”

“Suit yourself.”

Zed handed me the broom, and I flashed him a warning look as he did. “Go easy on him,” I whispered.

He just winked in return.

“You guys can play here,” I said more loudly, meaning the large area Zed and I had managed to clear. “Eddie and I will use the broom and go around that way if you two think it's safe.”

Zed looked toward the place I indicated, along the curve of the shore, and nodded. “That part should be fine, but only go out as far as that clump of tall weeds. Don't go past there.”

“Okay.”

“And if you hear a crack, scram.”

We smiled at each other, but I knew he was only half kidding.

Bracing myself with the broom, I managed to skate back over to Eddie. Grinning, he made his way onto the ice and then took my hand. I showed him the part of the pond that would be ours, and then we took turns sweeping off the snow to create a path as we made our way forward.

Behind us Tom hit the ice and then the two guys launched into their game. My back was to them, and I couldn't turn to see without chancing a fall, so I merely listened instead to the good-natured teasing, the swish of blades on ice, the thwack of sticks hitting the puck. Eddie and I made slow progress along the curve of the shore, but after a while I realized that the lighthearted words of the game behind us had ceased, leaving only the sounds of play: sticks clacking and puck skidding, punctuated by grunts and gripes. For some reason, I began to feel uneasy, as though there was more going on than just a game. Was there animosity between Zed and Tom? It almost sounded like it, though that was odd, considering that they were friends and also related by marriage through their respective siblings.

I kept going, but after a while it struck me that with all of those clacks and whacks and clicks and grunts, they sounded not unlike two bucks in rutting season, banging antlers together in a frenzy.

When Eddie and I reached the outer limit of our area and I could
finally turn to watch, I was startled by the intensity of what I was seeing. Sure enough, this was no casual hockey game like the one Zed had played back home with Will and Ada and the kids. This was far more intense, like a battle between rival teams. Both men seemed to hit that puck with all of their might, and when the play drew them together, they rammed shoulders and jabbed sticks with a vengeance, as though every point scored were a matter of life and death.

Were they showing off for me? Trying to earn my attention and affection?

If so, then too bad for them because I refused to play along.

“Come on, guys,” I called out, just as the black puck skittered loose and shot across the pond. “Take it down a notch, would you? If that puck comes flying over here, Eddie or I could lose some teeth!”

Either they didn't hear me or they chose to ignore me because nothing changed. Both men lunged toward the errant puck, pushing each other out of the way to get there first. Once they had it, the frenzy started all over again, and they were zigzagging across the ice like two ninnies.

Clicking my tongue in disgust, I took Eddie's hand and started back the way we had come.

“You're a bender!” Zed cried as he raced Tom to the puck.

“My ankles are straighter than yours,” Tom replied with a growl. “You'd better keep your head up, man.”

They were both skating hard, moving closer together. Then as they drew even, Tom suddenly lunged to the right and bodychecked Zed, sending him flying.

“Yes!” Tom cried, skating off across the unswept ice in pursuit of the black disc as Zed landed on the ice in a heap and kept sliding.

I was fed up with them both, but I couldn't help but pause and watch to make sure Zed wasn't hurt. All arms and legs, he finally came to a stop at a snowdrift, and then he just laid there a minute, catching his breath.

I was about to call out to ask if he was okay when I heard a distinct
crrrraaaack
.

Stunned, I twisted my head toward the sound and watched as Tom quickly came to a halt, much further out on the ice.

The crack wasn't loud—but we all heard it. Tom stood frozen in place.

“Get off!” Zed yelled. I thought he was talking to Tom, but then he added, “Izzy! Go! You and Eddie, get off the ice!”

I turned my attention back to him just as he was getting to his feet. Then, to my horror, he started skating again—directly toward Tom.

“Zed, no!” I called, but he ignored me.

He slid to a stop about ten feet from Tom, held out an arm, and said, “Slow and easy, man. You can do it.”

“It's not that bad,” Tom replied.

Another
crrrraaaack
, louder this time, and closer too. Eyes wide, Tom scampered backward, trying to put some distance between him and the sound. Zed did the same, but then came the sound of another crack.

Eddie and I watched in horror as the ice split in two, shooting out a dark, jagged wet line, halfway between us and them.

T
HIRTEEN

D
on't move!” Zed yelled.

“Oh, please,” Tom scoffed as he pushed off and skated forward again.

But he only made it a short ways before we heard another giant
crrrack
. Then the ice disappeared from beneath his feet, and he was in the water.

Eddie and I both gasped. I had horrors of Tom slipping into the blackness and never finding his way out again. But to my relief, his head didn't even go all the way under. Instead, his arms flailed wildly as he bobbed there at the surface amid smaller chunks of ice.

I had no idea how much time he had before hypothermia would set in, but I knew it couldn't be more than a few minutes.

What were we going to do?

I looked around, thinking Zed might be able to pull him out with one of the hockey sticks. But then I realized Tom's stick was in the water, beneath him, likely gone for good, and Zed's was lying too far out on thin ice to retrieve. We still had the broom, and I decided to skate out to help. Then I remembered Eddie, whose eyes were wide with terror. What was I thinking? Job one was to get this little boy safely to land.

“Come on,” I said giving his arm a tug as I pushed off with the broom and we began skating quickly toward the bank. As we went, I prayed for Tom—and Zed. After all, he was pretty close to the edge of the gaping, icy hole himself.

When we reached the bank, I made Eddie scramble onto the snow-packed ground and ordered him to stay there. Then I turned, push broom still in hand, and made my way out toward the two men. As I went, I saw Zed carefully lowering himself to his hands and knees on the ice, probably to better distribute his weight. Tom, meanwhile, was grabbing at the rim of the hole and attempting to pull himself out, but each time the ice he was holding would break off in a chunk and plunge him in again.

Halfway there, I skidded to a stop and called out to Zed. He looked my way, his face taking on an expression of half fear, half anger.

“Izzy, no! Don't come any closer.”

“I'm not. I'm going to slide the broom to you. You can use it to help pull Tom out.”

“All right, but be careful.”

Kneeling, I laid the broom on the ice, turning it so that the bristles were face up, and gripped them in my hands. Then I looked at Zed, took aim, and pushed forward with all my might.

The broom turned and skittered sideways across the surface, even further than I thought it would. It finally came to a stop about ten feet short of Zed, and he started crawling toward it. As he did, I could hear him yelling out instructions over his shoulder.

“Come on, Tom,” he cried, “I know you're cold and want to get out of there, but what you're doing isn't going to work.”

“Got any better ideas?” Tom snarled as he once again fell back into the icy circle.

“Yes, I do. Are you listening?”

To my surprise, Tom stopped flailing around and did just that.

“Okay,” Zed said, reaching for the broom with his fingertips and pulling it toward him. “The trick is to
swim
yourself out. Like, start swimming in the water, and
keep
swimming even when you reach the ice. Keep kicking, and your body will continue moving forward until you've managed to beach yourself there at the edge, kind of like a seal. Then, once you're
out, try to scoot forward, still on your belly, very carefully, until you can reach the broom.”

Zed moved as close to Tom as he dared and extended the handle as far as he could.

Without a word, Tom did as Zed had instructed. He backed up from the icy side and then, arms forward, he laid horizontal in the freezing water and started kicking. To my amazement, it worked! When he reached the ice, still kicking like crazy, his hands and arms and shoulders simply kept going, sliding up onto the surface. Wiggling his hips and grabbing at the ice with his fingertips, he managed to keep squirming forward until half of his body was out of the water. Then he grabbed the broom and held on as Zed pulled.

I sucked in a breath as I watched. I knew that Tom's wet hands had to be nearly frozen by now, but somehow he managed to hang on as Zed dragged his sopping wet form to safety, farther from the icy breach.

Finally, the two men were shoulder to shoulder, crawling together in my direction. Zed gave me a wave that said “stay where you are,” and then he pushed the broom back toward me to free up his hands.

Once they had crawled another ten feet or so, they finally stood and began to skate. Zed scooped up the broom from where it had come to a stop then continued on to me. Tom kept going toward shore.

Only then did I realize Eddie was cheering loudly from the bank, and I glanced his way to see him jumping up and down, clapping with glee. I shared his joy but shuddered to think how differently this could have ended.

Tom never said a word, so as Zed tucked an arm in mine and began to propel us in that direction as well, I asked him if he thought Tom was okay.

“Are you kidding?” Zed whispered. “The poor guy is about to die.”

My eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah, of
embarrassment
.” Zed chuckled softly at his own joke, but I didn't think it was funny.

“He really could have died, you know. You could have too.”