The Waiting Read online

  Cal threw a cookie at his head, but Matthew caught it, stuffed it in his coat pocket, and grinned.

  “Why, Cal, how thoughtful! For later.”

  “Line up, everyone,” Jorie told the scholars. “Time for a spelling bee.”

  The class jumped out of their chairs and raced to their well-rehearsed spots – alternating grades on each side of the room. Jorie liked to pair classes together to build teamwork. She thought it kept the shine off of any scholar who had a tendency to puff himself up by spelling the pants off of everyone else.

  The big-eyed first graders were paired with the third graders and went first, pitted against the second and fourth graders. “Bough,” Jorie said, enunciating it clearly.

  Maggie gasped. “I know!” she told the third graders.

  “Wait,” Davy Mast said. “It’s a twick.” Davy had trouble pronouncing his r’s. L’s, too. He looked to Jorie. “We-peat and give in a sentence, pwease.”

  Jorie smiled at Davy, impressed. “The tree bough broke in the storm.”

  The first and third grade spelling bee contestants sobered. They whispered in a frenzied conference, made a unanimous decision, and gave Davy the honor of spelling aloud: “b-o-w.”

  Esther hollered, “Wrong!” The older grades hooted with laughter until Jorie shushed them. She gave Esther a warning look.

  “Second and fourth grade team: bough.”

  They had an advantage after knowing how it was not spelled. “B-o-u-g-h,” fourth grader Arlene Blank proudly spelled.

  “Correct,” Jorie said. She turned to the crestfallen first and third graders. Davy Mast hung his head and went to his seat. There was a risk to being spokesman: whoever spoke, if a word was spelled incorrectly, had to sit down. “Davy, you were absolutely right. Words can be very tricky. It’s important to know the context, just like you asked for a sentence. Well done.” Davy sat a little straighter in his chair, but he still looked as if he had been duped.

  After that, the rounds went faster and faster. Finally, the entire eighth grade, all big boys, was pitted against Esther, who was spelling them down, one by one. With every correct word, the scholars went wild with claps and hoots. When a word was misspelled, groans and boos echoed throughout the room.

  “Xenophobia,” Jorie announced to the last standing contestants: Ray Smucker, Ephraim, and Esther.

  Ray looked as if he had been tossed a hot potato. “Z,” he started and got no farther before Jorie raised a hand to stop him. Ray lumbered to his chair like a big bear, woken from his hibernation and not happy about it.

  “Xenophobia,” Jorie repeated.

  Esther gave Ephraim a catlike smile. “You go first.”

  Ephraim looked panicky.

  “Remember the roots, Ephraim,” Jorie said. “Always look to the root word.”

  Ephraim looked up at the ceiling as if trying to pull the root words down from the sky. “Xeno . . . stranger,” he muttered to himself, “ph-phobia . . . fear.” He looked at Jorie and enunciated the letters slow and spoon-fed, as if he was terrified he would make a mistake.

  “Correct.” Jorie turned to Esther and delicately pronounced, “Cormorant.”

  Esther scrunched up her face.

  “Look to the roots, Esther,” Jorie coached.

  “Put it in a sentence,” Esther demanded.

  “Cormorants devour fish voraciously.”

  Esther looked completely blank. “C-o-r-e . . .”

  Jorie put up a hand. “No. Ephraim, your turn.”

  Ephraim looked up at the ceiling again. “Cor . . . raven . . . mor . . . sea . . . raven of the sea. A g-greedy person.” He dropped his gaze and looked right at Jorie. “C-o-r-m-o-r-a-n-t.”

  The entire class looked to Jorie for confirmation. She smiled. “Correct.” They burst into hoops and hollers for Ephraim, who blushed furiously. Jorie was pleased for him; it was the first time he had won a spelling bee. It was the first time he had won anything at all.

  Esther squinted in annoyance at this display of high spirits. As she walked past Ephraim to get to her desk, she whispered loudly so everyone could hear, “G-g-g-good j-j-j-job.”

  A horse’s whinny floated up the hill to the barn on the wind. Cal knew the visitor was Isaac Stoltzfus coming up the lane before he even saw him in the buggy. He recognized Isaac’s sorrel mare, a horse that arched her neck and trotted proudly, glad to be working. He wiped his hands on a rag and went out to meet the bishop.

  “From the looks of those clouds we are in for more bad weather,” Isaac said when he climbed down from the buggy.

  “Would you like to come in for coffee?” Cal asked. He had to offer, but he hoped Isaac would decline the coffee. The breakfast dishes were still piled high in the sink, and Maggie and Ephraim had tracked muddy footprints through the kitchen.

  “Thank you, no. Nell is expecting me home soon.”

  Cal waited a moment, certain Isaac had something other than the weather on his mind. He had to wait, though, for Isaac to shape his thoughts. Isaac was a deliberating man. Such deliberateness could be exasperating in a minister’s meeting, especially when it was time to get home for the milking, but Isaac made few mistakes and Cal held great respect for him.

  “So,” Isaac started, looking down the driveway toward the road. “Jorie King has offered the old cottage on Stoney Creek to the new veterinarian.”

  “Yes, she has. The English won’t sell or rent a house to him.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I was told because he is a dark-skinned man.” Cal took his hat off and started spinning the brim in his hands. “I was warned by some Englishers in town to not allow our people to sell or rent to him.”

  Isaac stroked his long beard. “Caleb, do you think it’s wise to get involved in English problems?”

  “The way I see it, Isaac, we already are involved. We need that vet. Dr. Robinson knows farm animals much better than Doc Williams. And Doc Williams has a lot of confidence in him.”

  “And did you tell Jorie this?”

  “I did,” Cal said.

  “I’m concerned that she may be creating problems for herself, for Atlee, and Marge.”

  “She believes she is doing the right thing, Isaac.” No. It was more than that. “And truth be told, I think she is too. I’m helping her get the cottage prepared.”

  Maggie and Ephraim burst out of the house and ran down to the barn, laughing loudly, stopping only long enough to throw snowballs at each other.

  “I’m going to get you, you yellow-bellied coward!” Maggie yelled as Ephraim ducked into the barn.

  Cal cringed as he saw Isaac do a double take when he recognized Maggie: she was wearing Ephraim’s hand-me-downs.

  “I can explain,” Cal quickly said, knowing Isaac was horrified to see a little girl in boys’ clothing. “I’d forgotten how often the washing needs to get done. We ran out of clean clothes yesterday so the laundry is drying on the line.” He pointed to the clothesline; the clothes hung frozen solid like popsicles. “They’ll be dry in no time.”

  Isaac looked at the clothesline for a long moment, as if he had never seen such a sight. “Shall we walk?” he asked when he finally spoke. They strode out past a field of freshly cut hay, now stubble, and walked along the fence line. Cows in a pasture stopped grazing and stared at them. “Have you given some thought about marrying again, Caleb?”

  “No. Others have, though.”

  “Some folks are worried about you.”

  Cal grimaced. “Any chance you spoke to Sylvia?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. She stopped by the farm yesterday. Said you don’t have any household help.”

  “Well, not at the moment. I’m looking around, though.”

  “Sylvia said she’s offered to take Maggie for a spell. What do you think of that?”

  “Aw, Isaac, you know Sylvia. Maggie would be miserable staying in that house. I’d be miserable without her. She’s all I have left.”

  “Our Sylvia can be quite . . . deter
mined,” Isaac said.

  Mule-headed, Cal corrected but kept the sentiment to himself.

  “Her heart is in the right place. Beacon Hollow is a household filled with males. Maggie needs to be around women, to know how to do women’s things.” He stopped for a moment and looked out at some cows grazing in the pasture. “There’s something else to consider. You’re a minister now. You have added responsibilities.”

  Cal looked directly at Isaac so that he might know the truth of what he said. “Mary Ann is still in my heart.”

  “There’s no greater way to honor her memory than by marrying again.”

  Cal crossed his arms and looked out over his fields, a mixture of snow with yellow stubble. Empty fields. Frozen earth. Like his heart. “Isaac, I would need to feel something for a woman. And right now, I’m not feeling much of anything. Except for wishing the good Lord might have spared Mary Ann.” As soon as he said the words aloud, he regretted them and braced himself for a chiding look from Isaac, to remind him that God does not make mistakes.

  Instead, Isaac nodded, seeming to understand. “You might be too young to remember my Annie.”

  Cal looked at him sharply. “I’d forgotten, Isaac. Nell’s been your wife for so long, I just plain forgot you had been married before.”

  “Nell and I have been married for twenty-five years. But Annie Riehl was my first wife. We’d only been married a year and she died giving birth to our first child. A little girl who died a day later.”

  Caleb felt a jolt. Isaac didn’t have any daughters, only sons. At least I still have my Maggie, a part of Mary Ann.

  “I felt just like you did, numb inside. But I prayed that God would renew my heart and give me a fresh wind. No sooner had I prayed that prayer when Nell came into town to visit her cousins. One look at her and she swept me away.” He stroked his long white beard. “I’m not saying it’s the same. A part of my heart will always long for what might have been with my Annie. But Nell has been God’s good gift to me.”

  “Nell’s a fine woman, Isaac.”

  Isaac nodded. “It isn’t good for man to be alone. Marriage had always been God’s intention.” He started to walk back toward the buggy, hands linked behind his back, and Cal matched his stride. “God’s ways are mysterious, and I’m not denying they can be hard to understand and accept, but they are always best. We don’t trust God because we should. We trust God because he is good.” Isaac paused and crossed his arms across his big chest. “Give some prayer to the notion of marrying again, Caleb. Or maybe reconsider Sylvia’s offer to care for Maggie.”

  “I just need a little time to sort things out.”

  The barn door blew open and out ran Maggie, then Ephraim, who scooped and picked up snow to toss at her. Maggie gave a yelp when the snowball hit, then scooped up one of her own. She aimed it for Ephraim, but he was too quick for her and ducked. The snowball hit the bishop on the back of the head and knocked his hat off.

  With big eyes, Maggie said, “Oh no! I’m sorry, Bishop Isaac!”

  “Maggie,” Cal said in a voice of dismay. He bent down and picked up Isaac’s hat.

  Isaac shook the snow off his hat, placed it on his bald head, and said, “Maybe not too much time, Caleb.”

  That afternoon, Cal took Maggie and Ephraim to the hardware store to ask Lizzie Glick if she’d be willing to come work for him. She said yes before he even finished asking and said she would give Ron Harding two weeks’ notice starting today.

  Afterward, when he returned home, he packed up all of Mary Ann’s belongings – her letters, her Bible, her clothes, even her recipe box in the kitchen with her handwriting on those recipes – and put them in a box in the attic.

  Remembering Mary Ann was just too hard. So he decided to try to forget her, to fill his life with new memories. It was time he stopped living in the past and face the future, whatever it would hold.

  The morning frost crackled beneath Cal’s boots as he crossed the yard, passing under the deep shadow cast by the barn. It had been over a week since Jorie had asked him to look over the Kings’ cottage and make a list of needed repairs, but this was the first morning he could spare the time.

  He was pleased to see there weren’t too many repairs to be made. A few new shingles were needed to patch a hole in the roof, and there was evidence of mice. He pulled the cottage door tight, checking to see that the lock still worked. The cottage wasn’t large, but the water worked, the electricity and heater could be turned on, and it would suffice.

  Cal walked through a field to reach the Kings’ farmhouse. He came from the back side of the farm, past the barn, and noticed that Atlee’s buggy was missing. He was bending to slip the list under the mat at the kitchen door when a flash of fire caught his eye through the window. Sitting in front of the fireplace was Jorie, brushing out her wet hair to dry by the fire’s heat. It was long and thick, curling down to her hips, the color of burnished copper. He was transfixed; for a moment, he allowed himself to drink in the sight of her. He’d never seen anything so lovely in all his life. No wonder the Bible said an uncovered woman ought to be shorn. He quickly turned away, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the Lord. He slipped the list of repairs under the doormat and left, before Jorie knew he was there.

  A soft smile touched his lips as he walked back home. He felt the stirrings of a faint breeze, the hint of a fresh wind in his spirit.

  In the middle of the night, Ephraim woke with a start. He heard the bawling of his favorite heifer, Gloria, and knew her time had come to deliver her first calf. She had been off her feed at dinner and her eyes had a glazed look. He threw on his clothes, grabbed a flashlight and blanket, and ran downstairs and out to the barn. There, he waited for another hour or so, but he had watched plenty of birthings before this one, and something wasn’t right. She was pushing but nothing was happening. He rubbed his head with his hands, and then he jumped up and ran for the house.

  Ephraim took the stairs two at a time and burst into Cal’s bedroom. “C-Cal, Cal, w-wake up,” he said as he shook his brother’s shoulder. “I think s-something is wrong w-with G-Gloria.”

  “Hmmm?” Cal mumbled, then sat up. “I’ll be right out.”

  When Cal got out to the barn, he checked Gloria. “I don’t see the calf ’s legs.” He reached into her. “And I don’t feel the feet. Could be it’s twisted up inside there.” He checked the clock on the wall. “It’s three in the morning, Ephraim. Run over to Bud to call the vet.”

  Ephraim practically flew over fences and through a dark pasture to get to Bud’s. He pounded on the door until a sleepy-eyed Bud answered it.

  “C-could you c-call the v-vet?” Ephraim’s voice caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard.

  “Slow down,” Bud said. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s G-Gloria,” Ephraim said. “She’s c-calving, but we c-can’t s-see the c-calf.”

  “Okay, Ephraim, you head on home. I’ll call Doc Williams. I’m sure he’ll be right along.”

  Ephraim ran back to the barn and stood by Gloria’s stall. “It won’t be long now,” he soothed her. He waited for twenty anxious minutes until he heard the sound of the car coming up the drive. He ran to the barn door, but it wasn’t Doc Williams’s car, it was the new vet’s.

  “I’m Dr. Robinson,” he said to Cal as he strode into the barn. He gave a nod to Ephraim. “I understand you’ve got a heifer in trouble.”

  “She’s been pushing for hours now,” Cal explained. “Nothing’s happening.” He led the doctor down the aisle to reach Gloria, laboring in a straw-filled stall.

  After examining the heifer, Dr. Robinson said, “Looks like that calf is just too big for her.”

  Ephraim drew in a sharp breath.

  Cal noticed the look on his face. “Not to worry, Ephraim, I’m sure the doctor has seen this plenty of times.”

  “It’s pretty common,” Dr. Robinson said, smiling, “but I’ll need some help.”

  Ephraim watched as the doctor took some chains and
a large metal frame out of the back of his station wagon. Dr. Robinson and Cal put Gloria in a frame with a clamp that caught her across the hips. Dr. Robinson reached inside of Gloria and attached chains to the calf ’s small hooves so he could pull it out. He ratcheted the handle to keep the chains tight. Despite the cold winter air, sweat was running down his face and arms as he tried to manipulate the calf. Finally, relief covered his face as placenta water started to flow from Gloria, in drips and drabs, a sign that things were starting to happen.

  “Steady and gentle,” he told Cal and Ephraim, who were pulling the chains.

  As Gloria bawled, distressed, the other cows began to stamp their hooves and stir in their stanchions, aware that something was happening.

  Ephraim blew out a long breath when the calf finally emerged, a dark brown slippery mass on the straw bed.

  “Here,” Cal said, and he handed Ephraim a straw. “Tickle its nose.”

  Ephraim put a piece of straw up the calf ’s nostril and it half snorted a breath as its lungs filled up with air for the first time. Ephraim’s eyes met Cal’s; they both smiled at the sound. It meant all was well. They took the frame off Gloria, and it wasn’t long before she pulled herself up and looked at her calf, surprised.

  “You did g-good, Gloria,” Ephraim said. “I knew y-you would.” He stroked the cow’s neck and scratched under her chin where she liked it best. “You’re n-not a heifer anymore! Y-you’re a real c-cow. I promise having a c-calf will n-never be that hard again.”

  The three of them stood for a while, mesmerized, watching the calf try to stand on its wobbly legs. When it began to nurse, Dr. Robinson packed up his bags.

  “How is business going?” Cal asked.

  “Little by little, it’s building up,” Dr. Robinson said. “I expected it to take time.”

  Cal nodded. “It’s good you’re here. Gloria’s glad too.”