The Waiting Page 12

“I’m just glad Gloria didn’t wait any longer to go into labor,” Dr. Robinson said. “My wife is due in just a few weeks.” He turned to Ephraim. “Ever get a chance to go to that circus?”

  Ephraim shot a horrified look at Cal, who spun around, curious. Ephraim gave Dr. Robinson an infinitesimal shake of his head, which he read perfectly.

  “I meant, uh, I wondered if you heard what happened at the circus in town? When they were getting ready to move out, a cougar broke free from her cage. She’s loose.”

  On Sunday, Cal closed the service with a prayer, then announced where church would be held, two weeks’ hence. Standing in between the men and the women, he had been preaching mostly to the men, but as he finished up announcements, he turned to face the women. “And we’ll meet again in two weeks at – ” His eyes caught Jorie’s and his mind was suddenly filled with the sight of her brushing out her long coppery red hair in front of the fireplace. Her hair almost looked like it was on fire. “At, uh . . .” Where was church to be held? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. “Uh . . . um . . .”

  “The Eli Stutzmans’,” called out Eli Stutzman.

  Cal spun around to face Eli, who was peering at him as if he might be a little touched in the head. Cal’s cheeks stained red. “Thank you,Eli.” He then dismissed everyone with a final benediction.

  A squirrel scampered in front of Ephraim, its tail and whiskers twitching, and then disappeared into the trees. Ephraim spotted a downed log cushioned with moss, and he sat on it. He loved these moments, when chores were done and he could have some time to be off in the Deep Woods by himself. He didn’t mind school so much, not since Jorie was his teacher, so long as he didn’t have to open his mouth and talk about anything. Answering questions aloud made Ephraim’s school day a misery. But as hard as speaking aloud was, nothing made his day worse than Esther Swartzentruber. He knew it was a sin to hate, but Esther Swartzentruber made it hard. Esther mocked him for his stammering nearly every day. When he had to stand in front of the class and he saw Esther’s face just waiting for him to get caught on a word, the words jammed in his throat and wouldn’t come out. Then Esther would start snickering and the rest of the kids would join in. She was clever enough to wait until Jorie’s back was turned, occupied with another child. Maggie told him not to pay any mind to Esther, even if she was kin.

  “Don’t let her know she bothers you, Ephraim. That’s what Dad tells me to do when Matthew teases me.”

  But Matthew’s teasing wasn’t mean-hearted, not like Esther’s.

  Ephraim walked down a trail he hadn’t been on since Ben had left for Vietnam. It seemed like some days, like today, everything reminded him of Ben and Mary Ann. Then he was stabbed, suddenly and unexpectedly, by grief for the parents he hardly remembered. He tried to swallow down the wad of tears building in his throat. It just hurt so much to think of the people he loved who had passed.

  The brush rustled behind him.

  Ephraim whirled, nervous. He let out a shaky breath. It was only the wind.

  He started walking again, quiet as a cat in felt boots. Then he heard the crackling, rustling noise again. Ears straining, he scanned the woods before he saw it. Standing high up on a rocky ledge was the cougar. She looked at Ephraim with a wild cat’s insolent stare. His heart missed a beat. She was the same one from the circus, he knew for a fact. Short ears and a ringed bobbed tail. He knew he shouldn’t move a muscle, but he didn’t think he could have, anyway. She and Ephraim exchanged a long look, underscored by his shallow breathing. Then she turned and walked away in the opposite direction. He released a shaky sigh of relief.

  As soon as Ephraim was satisfied that the cougar had gone a distance, he took a peanut butter and honey sandwich from his pocket, unwrapped the wax paper, and placed it carefully on the rock . . . just in case the cougar returned that way. Then he backed away slowly, and after he broke out of the woods, he took off for home at an all-out run, holding on to his black hat.

  On a gloomy, gray morning with drizzling rain, Cal, Bud, Ephraim, and Maggie filled the wagon with tools and went to the cottage on the King property. Jorie and her grandparents were inside, sweeping and cleaning and dusting.

  “The electrician came yesterday,” Jorie told Cal when he found her. She flipped on the switch and an overhead light went on.

  A blush pinkened her cheeks, he noticed, either from the chill in the air or excitement. Maybe both. She looked happy.

  “I’m a little surprised that there aren’t more neighbors here to help,” Jorie said.

  “It’s still early,” Cal said, sparing her feelings. He knew that there would only be a few helpers showing up today. During the week, many neighbors came by to privately tell him they wouldn’t be coming. They didn’t think they should be getting involved in English problems. It was one of the first times he felt truly like a minister. His job was to shepherd a flock of helpless sheep; except that these were not witless animals, they were his neighbors, and he loved them.

  “It’s our problem too,” he told each one. “If you have trouble with a horse with colic or a breech calf one night, Dr. Robinson won’t be asking if it’s Amish or English.”

  By the end of the day, the cottage was in move-in condition. Dr. Robinson insisted on paying rent to the Kings, but Atlee preferred a barter arrangement: free veterinary care for his beloved Percherons in lieu of rent. Dr. Robinson told him, under those generous conditions, he would throw in consulting too, when they were considering a stud or an addition to their brood stock. Atlee was delighted with the arrangement. This way, he whispered to Cal and Bud, he could avoid having to pay taxes on rental property, and it suited him just fine to have a vet on the premises for his beautiful horses.

  As Cal packed up his tools, he smiled at the sight of Jorie and Lisa Robinson talking together in the kitchen. An unlikely pair: a petite, bonneted Plain woman in a green dress with a white apron and black ankle boots, facing a tall, dark-skinned woman wearing bell-bottom pants and a brightly flowered maternity smock, with large hoops hanging from her earlobes. Despite their obvious differences, he could tell the two would become friends. They shared an interest in flower gardening, and he saw Jorie’s eyes lit up in that animated way she had, as she described which flowers would attract butterflies.

  It was a good thing – the right thing – to offer a home to the vet and his wife, especially with their baby soon to come. Cal just couldn’t rid himself of a nagging feeling that, by doing so, they had poked a hornet’s nest.

  6

  The first day that Fat Lizzie started working at Beacon Hollow, Ephraim came in from the dairy with Cal and thought he’d died and gone to heaven. The scent alone was overwhelming. Breakfast was fresh eggs, a mountain of potatoes, sausages, salt-cured ham, and hot biscuits. By dinner, he found a clean white shirt laid across his bed. Another ironed shirt was hanging up on a peg in his room. He brought the shirt to his nose; for the first time in his memory, he was conscience of the sweet scent of laundry detergent. Maggie’s hair had been properly combed and pinned, and even Cal’s weary eyes lit up with delight when he caught a whiff of Lizzie’s chicken pot pie.

  Matthew had a day off in the middle of the week and came home to see Ephraim and Maggie perform in the Christmas school play. He arrived early, in time for breakfast, and seemed surprised – annoyed, actually – to find Lizzie in the kitchen. Cal explained that he had hired Lizzie and she was doing a fine job. Matthew scowled, as if Cal should have spoken to him first, and Ephraim caught the look of abject disappointment on Lizzie’s face. Matthew helped himself to breakfast and pointed to a pillowcase full of dirty laundry he had brought with him from Lebanon that he wanted Lizzie to wash.

  All of the parents crowded into the schoolhouse to watch the scholars perform the Christmas story from the book of Luke in the Bible. Ephraim had memorized his lines with Jorie’s help and didn’t even stutter when he delivered them. Matthew felt like cheering, though it wouldn’t be appropriate to single out one child’s performance
over another. He looked over at Cal and had to swallow hard when he saw tears burning down Cal’s cheeks like a mini-fountain.

  Maggie and the other first graders were given the job of moving props on and off the makeshift stage by Jorie’s desk. Afterward, cookies and punch and coffee were served, and parents had a chance to look around the room and appreciate the scholars’ artwork on the walls.

  Matthew saw Cal sidle up to Jorie and whisper, “Did you hear him? Did you hear how smooth he spoke?”

  “As smooth as syrup over pancakes,” Jorie whispered back, smiling, interrupted by Maggie, who dragged everyone over to look at her pictures on the wall.

  “And there’s Ephraim’s cougar,” Maggie said, pointing to a pencil drawing of a mountain lion.

  “How could he have captured such detail?” Cal asked aloud.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Jorie said, stopping to admire it. “Like he’s seen one close up.”

  “He did!” Maggie said, her face lifted high to peer at the drawing. “At the circus!” As soon as she realized what she said, she slapped her hands over her mouth as her eyes went wide as silver dollars.

  “So that’s where you both were when . . . ,” Jorie began to say, then she, too, snapped her mouth shut.

  “That’s where Maggie and Ephraim were on the day they skipped school,” Esther finished Jorie’s sentence. “I knew it! I knew it!” She gave everyone a sweet-as-pie smile before she turned, yanked her mother’s sleeve, and pulled Sylvia into the conversation. “I told my mother that Ephraim and Maggie weren’t sick! I knew they were playing hookey!” Esther pointed to Ephraim’s picture. “Look! He went to the circus and saw a cougar!”

  Completely confused, Cal looked from Esther to the drawing to Ephraim, who was turning the color of beets. Sylvia grabbed Esther’s hand and went to find Jonas.

  Even though Ephraim’s instinct was to bolt and run, he knew better. As they walked home, he tried to explain to Cal about the circus tickets that Dr. Robinson had given to him. “I j-just wanted to s-see the animals,” Ephraim told Cal. “N-nothing else.” That was the truth. Maggie was the one who wanted to see the two-headed man, but he was too loyal to say. He should admit it, though, because she was the squealer. She kept looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, biting her lip. He ignored her.

  “Aw, Cal. Don’t be too hard on ’em,” Matthew said. “You and Ben would have done the same thing in your day. Probably did a heck of a lot worse than that, knowing our Ben.” He grinned. “Remember the time when you and Ben ‘borrowed’ Amos Esh’s rowboat to fish at Blue Lake Pond and it sunk?” He elbowed Ephraim. “It’s still down there.”

  Ephraim flashed Matthew a grateful look.

  Cal frowned at Matthew. “It’s the lying I don’t like,” he said. “Lying is a terrible habit to start. One lie leads to another.” He stopped and looked right at Maggie and Ephraim. “You have to promise me you won’t lie to me, ever again.”

  Maggie promised and ran ahead home, to help Lizzie get dinner ready she said, but Ephraim thought she was smart enough to vanish before Cal changed his mind and decided to dole out punishments. Unsure of the ground he was on with Cal, he stayed by his side. He almost wished Cal would have just inflicted him with an added after-school chore for a month or forbidden him to go to town. Disappointing him felt worse.

  Before they even reached the kitchen, a delicious smell drifted out to greet them: Lizzie’s pot roast. It was made with beef and onions, and it smelled heavenly. As they walked inside, all thoughts of the circus vanished, replaced with a hearty appetite of sweet and savory expectations. Maggie was setting the table and Lizzie was at the stove, frying potatoes.

  Over her shoulder, Lizzie said, “Hope you’re all hungry. I’ve been waiting dinner for you and just kept adding things to the pot. I’m going to call it ‘Late for Dinner Because of the Christmas Program Pot Roast.’”

  Matthew tossed his hat on the wall peg like he was playing a game of horseshoes. “Ha! You should change the name to ‘Found Out Maggie and Ephraim Ditched School and Went to the Circus Pot Roast.’ ”

  A smile spread across his face at the scowls he was getting from Maggie and Ephraim. Then his smile faded. Behind them, he noticed the bag of dirty clothes in the same spot that he had left it in the morning.

  When Matthew asked Lizzie about it, she froze, spatula in the air. Then, cucumber calm, she stepped away from the frying pan and let the potatoes sizzle. She put her hands on her hips and squinted at him. “Caleb Zook hired me to care for him, Ephraim, and Maggie. He never mentioned cleaning up after the high and mighty Matthew Zook.”

  Matthew looked to Cal, who only shrugged his shoulders. From that point on, Lizzie pretended Matthew didn’t exist, which Ephraim thought was pretty smart, especially for a girl. It made Matthew crazy.

  It was the Kings’ turn to host church. The bench wagon had been brought over a few days before, and the men who delivered it helped move the downstairs floor furniture into the barn. The large interior doors in the kitchen were opened wide so the benches could be set up, facing each other, taking up the footprint of the entire first floor.

  Early Sunday morning, as more and more buggies started to arrive, Jorie hurried down to the barn to lead Big John out to the farthest paddock before meeting started. Last time the Kings hosted church, when the hymn singing started up, Big John started to stomp and snort and carry on as if he wanted to join them. His noise stirred up all of the horses to whinny and neigh until they practically drowned out the singing.

  As if triggered by an invisible signal, the men and women, huddled in tight little knots to keep warm, began to file toward the house just before eight. The children came running up from the barn; the girls joined the women, the boys joined the men. As soon as the older women, wives, and widows filed inside, the young bachelors flanked the doors to watch the young girls walk through. The girls’ eyes stayed straight ahead, but their lips curled into pleased smiles and blushes pinkened their cheeks. Jorie’s eyes suddenly blurred with tears. Sometimes if she just held her breath and concentrated really hard, she could almost see Ben standing beside the other young men, one booted foot hooked over the other in that way he had, watching her.

  Jorie followed behind the unmarried girls, but she felt, with Ben’s passing, as if she didn’t know where she belonged anymore.

  As soon as school ended each day and before he was due home for milking, Ephraim ducked out and went into the Deep Woods, cougar snooping. He found coyote tracks, bobcat tracks, and lots of deer tracks, but no cougar tracks.

  One day, after a light snowfall, he found a trail of large paw prints. He followed the trail as long as he could. His concentration kept slipping because he had the feeling that he was being watched. It was a foolish notion, he thought, because of course he was being observed: by the deer he passed by, by birds in the trees, and probably a host of critters he couldn’t even see. Suddenly, the birds stopped singing. The feeble winter sun that had been shining fitfully through the dense treetops disappeared. The forest grew silent and a chill went down his spine.

  He paused for a moment to get some water out of his thermos. As he lifted his head to drink, his eyes caught sight of the cougar. She had already spotted him. She crept slowly out of the shadows, her round belly low and brushing the rough edge of a rocky ledge, high above him. When their eyes met, she went still.

  Ephraim stayed motionless as a held breath. The cougar moved first. She whirled and dashed along the top of the ledge, her body floating against the shafts of sunlight that lit the rocks like streaks of fire. He watched her poise for a leap and then disappear into a crevice in the ridge.

  Now he knew where she lived.

  It had snowed so much during the night in Lebanon that cars weren’t able to get out of their driveways. Matthew wasn’t expected at work until nine, so he grabbed the shovel he had seen at the side of Mrs. Flanagan’s garage and started to clean the snow off of her sidewalk, then her driveway. The feel of the shovel
in his hands, the way his shoulders and back muscles ached after a while – it felt good. A good ache. This was the work he was used to. It surprised him to realize how much he missed hard labor. Even though he worked long shifts at the hospital, most of what he did was push patients around in wheelchairs or run errands for the staff.

  He was enjoying himself so much that he got a little carried away and kept going. He shoveled Mrs. Flanagan’s neighbor’s sidewalk and driveway, and then the neighbor after that. When he got back to the house, cheeks chapped red from the cold, Mrs. Flanagan stood on her glassed in porch with black thunder on her face.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him, holding the door open for him as he stomped snow off of his boots.

  “Just shoveling.”

  “Why did you shovel those neighbors’ sidewalks? Especially two houses over?” She sounded mad.

  “I was just enjoying the work.” He pulled off his coat and scarf and gloves and hung up his coat. “Is there a problem?”

  She stood there with her hands on her hips, angry. “Yes, there’s a problem! I don’t like that neighbor!” She marched into the kitchen.

  Matthew was stunned. Part of being Amish was helping your neighbor. They didn’t decide first if they liked someone or if that person deserved help. Helping each other throughout the year – loading the silos, shocking cornstalks in the fields, building barns – well, it went without saying. It was as much a part of being Amish as driving a buggy.

  He couldn’t even imagine a single person in his church who wouldn’t agree to help if someone asked. Not one. Often, a person didn’t even need to ask. Like after Mary Ann passed, the neighbors stepped in and helped Cal with his third cutting of hay, stacking it neatly in the hayloft to help them get through the winter. Cal didn’t ask for help; he was too careworn to even know what was needed on the farm. But one day, they just arrived and went to work.