The Waiting Page 15

  “Yes. Kindness. I thought she might be needing a ride home after working all day here. And that was when she told me she was going home with Mose Riehl. I pointed out the age difference between them, and she said she prefers mature men.” He pointed his finger at Cal. “Now that is just what I mean by being a terrible influence on our Maggie.” He shook his head. “There’s no telling where that thinking will lead.” He blew on the top of the tea, cooling it. “So, you should fire her.”

  “Lizzie has done a fine job for us, Matthew. She runs this house like a tight ship.” In fact, he had noticed that having Lizzie in the house gave the place a feel of ticking along to a natural clock. Life had some semblance of order again.

  “It’s only Maggie I’m thinking of, Cal.”

  “I haven’t seen this serious moral lapse affect our Maggie yet, Matthew.” Just the opposite, Cal thought.

  Maggie enjoyed Lizzie so much that she spent more and more time with her in the house. That meant less time shadowing Ephraim, which was probably for the best. Maggie could be pesky, he was aware, and Ephraim required more and more time to himself lately, to wander in the woods and think out the troubling thoughts that plagued a thirteen-year-old boy. Lizzie Glick was the best thing that had happened to them in the last few months. Why, just the other afternoon, he had walked inside and found Lizzie and Maggie in the living room, heads bent together over a quilting frame, with the midday sun streaming over them. The sight would have pleased Mary Ann, he was sure.

  Still, Cal knew enough not to say those thoughts aloud to Matthew. “Well, I’m thinking there might be another option than firing Lizzie.”

  Matthew looked at him, confused.

  “You could try being a little more mature yourself.”

  Insulted, Matthew pushed away his teacup, stood, spun on a booted heel, and headed out the door to put away the horse and buggy, leaving the door unlatched so the wind blew in again. Cal got up, closed the door tight, and sat down at the table again. He couldn’t stop grinning.

  Jorie arrived at the schoolhouse on Monday morning to a door flung wide open. She heard voices and stepped inside with caution. Her eyes went wide when she saw what had happened: the schoolhouse had been vandalized. Desks were knocked over, profane words were scrawled on the blackboard, her desk was turned upside down. In the center of the room stood Cal, Ephraim, and Maggie, looking just as stunned as she felt. “Was is do uff?” she asked. What happened here?

  Cal spun around when he heard her voice. “I don’t know. We just got here ourselves. Ephraim remembered that it was our turn this week to refill the coal bucket, so we came early and found it like this.”

  Jorie fought back tears as she read the abusive words written on the blackboard. At first, she felt defeated. Then, a new feeling swelled up within her. She wasn’t going to let whoever did this triumph. “Ephraim and Maggie, would you mind running to Stoney Creek? Ask Atlee for black paint and a brush.”

  “It’ll be quicker to get the supplies at Beacon Hollow,” Cal said. “Ephraim, you know where they are.”

  Working silently, Cal started righting desks on one side of the room, Jorie on the other.

  “Once or twice,” she said quietly, “when I arrived in the morning, I had the feeling that someone had been inside.”

  He stopped working and turned toward her. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I couldn’t be sure. It was more of a feeling.”

  He hooked his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you working here at night anymore. Not as long as it’s dark so early.”

  “Cal, do you have any idea who would do this?”

  He took the broom off the wall hook to sweep up broken glass. “Es macht nix aus.” It doesn’t matter.

  “Es macht aus.” It does matter.

  “What would be the point of knowing? It’s not our way to seek confrontation with outsiders who seek to do us harm.”

  “All I’m wondering is why this happened.” They stood looking at each other for a long moment, a standoff. Then Jorie tucked her chin to her chest. “It’s because I rented the cottage to Dr. Robinson.”

  Cal leaned the broomstick against a desk and walked over to her. “You did what you felt God led you to do. Our people have always faced persecution because we have tried to do what God asked of us. This is no different.”

  Tears prickled her eyes. “I’m not so sure the parents of twenty-five scholars will see it the way you see it.”

  She wasn’t sure how it happened – did Cal reach for her? or did she lean toward him? – but suddenly she was in his arms and he was gently telling her not to worry herself about those parents. Her face was buried in his shirt, the top of her head under his chin. And oh, he felt good. He smelled good and felt so good.

  When they heard the thundering footsteps of Ephraim and Maggie approaching, Cal pulled back, but before he released her, his fingers barely brushed her cheek, sliding softly down her neck. She felt his touch all the way to her toes. She turned away, suddenly shy.

  The door burst open as Maggie and Ephraim came in with a can of paint and a brush. The four of them went to work cleaning up the schoolroom. She overheard Cal tell them that he thought it might be best not to tell the other scholars about the vandalism. She was grateful for his decision to keep it quiet. Ephraim wouldn’t tell, she knew, because he didn’t like to talk, but Maggie had a tendency to talk first and think later. By the time the scholars started to arrive, all that was left was a broken window to repair. Jorie decided that even though it was Monday, it would be a good day for a field outing to see if there were any signs of an early spring in the Deep Woods. That way, she reasoned, the blackboards could dry, undisturbed, and Cal could quietly replace the broken window. She just couldn’t stay inside the schoolhouse today. Not after that.

  A few nights later, Cal sat at the kitchen table, studying the Scriptures for Sunday’s sermon. He was reading about the ark of the covenant and the symbols placed inside – a jar of manna, Aaron’s staff, the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments. He knew the Lord wanted the Israelites to remember these signs as evidence of his faithfulness, but he kept feeling as if there was something else he wasn’t quite grasping from the text. He heard a soft humming and looked over to see Maggie, standing at the foot of the stairs. He held out his arms and she ran into them. He scooped her onto his lap.

  “Have a bad dream, Maggie?”

  “No,” she said softly. “A good dream.”

  He tucked his chin on the top of her small head. “Want to tell me about it?”

  She screwed up her nose and concentrated on remembering her dream. “I dreamed that I saw Mom in heaven. She was holding baby Sammy in her arms. He was looking up at her and trying to pull her cap strings. And she was laughing. She looked so happy.”

  Cal took a sharp breath. He didn’t realize Maggie remembered little Sammy. She had only been a toddler when he was born.

  “We don’t talk about Mom very much,” Maggie said, stroking his beard gently with her small fingers. “Have you forgotten her?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. I could never forget her.” But the truth was, he was trying to forget Mary Ann. That was one of the reasons he didn’t bring her name up very often.

  “Jorie says that sometimes remembering Mom can hurt, but it’s still good to do. She says that remembering is part of who we are. That remembering Mom helps make me Maggie.” She yawned loudly. “She told me I’m the keeper of Mom’s song.” Maggie slipped off of his lap. “Mom is happy now, Dad.”

  Cal listened to her light step climb up the stairs, accompanied by a sweet, tuneless humming, and the sound lifted his spirits. He gave up a silent prayer of thanks for his Maggie.

  The keeper of Mary Ann’s song? He sat there for a while, pondering that, then glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. He closed his Bible, grabbed his hat, coat, and gloves, and went to Stoney Creek to see Jorie.

  As he strode up the gentle rise that led to the Kings’
farmhouse, his feet crunching through the half-frozen mud, Cal noticed a bobbing lantern crossing from the house to the barn. He knew the lantern would be held by Jorie, checking on the horses one last time. He called out to her and picked up his stride to reach her.

  “What are you doing out so late, Cal?” She held a shawl tightly around her and her hair was covered with a bandanna. Her voice was quiet, practically blending in with the inky night.

  “I . . . was hoping to talk to you,” he said. “But don’t let me stop you from checking the horses.”

  Cal followed her into the barn and watched as she walked past each horse, checking the locks, looking in each stall to make sure each one was safe and sound for the night.

  Satisfied, she turned to face him. “Now you’ve got my full attention. What’s on your mind?”

  He took one step closer to her. “What did you tell Maggie about being the keeper of the song?”

  “The keeper of the song?” She looked confused, then understanding flooded her eyes. “You mean, Mary Ann’s song?”

  Cal winced when he heard Mary Ann’s name spoken aloud, even though he was aware he was doing it. She noticed too.

  He looked around and pointed to hay bales, lying side by side. He sat down on one, leaning his back against the wall. She followed him over and did the same. It was easier this way, he thought, not having to look right at her.

  “Maggie has been staying after school to help me clean off the blackboards and sweep up. She’s been asking me questions about her mother. She wants to remember her, Cal.”

  And he wasn’t helping her do that, he knew Jorie was thinking. He kept his eyes on the hay-strewn floor. This was hard, so hard.

  “I think it’s a good sign, that Maggie is working through her grief. I told her that by remembering her mother, she was the keeper of her mother’s song.” Softly, she added, “I’m the keeper of my grandfather’s song, here at Stoney Creek. You’re the keeper of your folks’ song, by caring for your brothers and Beacon Hollow.”

  Cal looked away. “Memory can be a curse too.”

  “It’s true, memories can be painful. But it’s what makes us unique in all of God’s creation. Animals run by instinct, but they can’t call things to mind the way God tells us to.” She turned her head to look at him. “Why, you mentioned it yourself in a sermon just two weeks ago. About how the Israelites were told to gather stones as a means of remembering.”

  Cal’s gaze lifted to the barn rafters. “ ‘That this may be a sign among you, that when your children ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean ye by these stones? Then ye shall answer them, That the waters of Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord; when it passed over Jordan, the waters of Jordan were cut off: and these stones shall be for a memorial unto the children of Israel for ever.’ ” He dropped his gaze. “Joshua 4:6 and 7.”

  She smiled. “Sometimes I think you and Samuel and Isaac have the entire Bible memorized.” She tucked a strand of loose hair back under her bandanna. “The stones were meant to remind them of how faithful God has been to them, but also to remind them of their dependence on him. It’s like keeping that jar of manna in the ark of the covenant. God wanted them to remember their hunger too. That hunger drove them to God for his mercy.”

  Cal felt his heart miss a beat. That was the very section of Scripture he had been puzzling over when Maggie came downstairs, not thirty minutes ago.

  “Our memories, good and bad, they shape us. God uses them all for his purposes. He wants us to embrace our past, not forget it. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Maggie.” She searched his face. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

  He nodded. He rose to his feet and walked to the barn door to slide it open, then waited for Jorie. “She’s humming again, our Maggie.”

  She picked up the lantern she had set on the floor and followed him to the door. “I know. Esther complains about it on a daily basis. Says no one can concentrate with all that racket going on.” She slid the door shut and latched it. “But no one else seems to notice the humming.”

  A big grin spread over Cal’s face.

  On Sunday, Cal woke to a sky filled with low iron-gray clouds, so close they almost seemed to touch the earth. When it was time to leave for church, Cal, Maggie, and Ephraim ran to the buggy with their heads covered to keep the driving rain off their faces. But as the horse turned into Walter Schlabach’s farm, where church would be held that morning, the rain tapered off and sunbeams broke through the clouds.

  How fitting, Cal thought, as he handed the reins of his horse to Walter’s eldest son, Eli, to stall in the barn during the service. The sun streaming through the heavy clouds was a symbol of the morning, rich with the promise of what was to come.

  It was not as if Cal felt God more on these church mornings, for he knew God was everywhere and with him always. But when he heard the rustling of members filling up the benches, he never failed to be filled with a sense of the glory of the Lord. It was all done in silence, in quiet expectation, a time of waiting.

  Then Amos Esh, the vorsinger, slowly rose to his feet. He lifted his head and opened his mouth in a big O, releasing a perfectly pitched note to begin the first hymn. The men’s deep baritone voices joined in, filling the room with slow waves. The women’s voices, an octave or two higher, blended sweetly with the low tones of the men to create one voice, an embodiment of their unity, making the church one with God. For three hundred years, the Amish have sung their beloved hymns in just that way. Slow, unrushed, almost chanting.

  When the time came for the first sermon, Cal and Samuel and Isaac each tried to defer to the other. “I’d prefer if you spoke, Samuel,” Cal said.

  “And I’d prefer to have you speak first, Caleb,” Samuel told him.

  Cal and Samuel turned to Isaac, but he preferred to have the others begin. It wasn’t a show, it was a sign of sincere humility.

  After a few more preferrings, Cal rose to deliver the sermon. He looked around the room for a moment, catching as many eyes as he could, making sure he had their concentrated attention. He started preaching from Joshua 4, about gathering stones of remembrance. A baby cried out and Cal turned toward the women’s side, still preaching, when his eyes met Jorie’s and his heart missed a beat and his mind went completely blank. He turned back to face the men, quickly recovering his train of thought.

  What was happening to him? He was starting to act like Matthew around Lizzie.

  A few hours later, after returning home from church, Cal went up to the attic and brought down the box of Mary Ann’s things. Her Bible and her recipe cards and her letters from her father. He found Maggie in her bedroom, reading a book on the bed. He set the box down on the floor and opened it.

  “Maggie, these are your mother’s belongings. I think she’d want you to have them.” He picked up the recipe box and sat next to her on the bed. “They’ll help you remember her.” He opened the recipe box. Leafing through the index cards, he pulled out one and smiled. “Now, here’s one. When we were first married, your mom wanted to make this cake just like my mother used to make it. But she forgot to add the sugar!” He pointed to it. “See how she’s underlined ‘two cups of sugar’? So she wouldn’t forget, next time.”

  Maggie took off her glasses and held the card up to her nose to read it up close.

  Cal reached down in the box and picked up the Bible. “Your mom made little notes in the margins when she read a verse that meant something special to her.” He opened it to Psalm 139 and ran his finger along the text until he found verse 14. “ ‘I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.’” He pointed to Mary Ann’s small margin note: “ ‘Went to midwife today and heard baby’s heartbeat with a stethoscope.’ ” He put a hand on his daughter’s head. “That was you, Maggie. That was your heartbeat.”<
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  Maggie reached over and threw her small arms around Cal’s neck, hugging him tightly.

  10

  Jorie brushed out her long, thick hair and rolled it into a bun, then carefully pinned her prayer cap into place. Any minute now, she was expecting to see Ephraim and Maggie run up Stoney Creek’s drive, eager for their planned hike to a golden eagle’s nest by Blue Lake Pond. When she looked out the window and saw Ephraim and Maggie, she was surprised to see that Cal had tagged along, uninvited but welcome. She smiled.

  The day was cold, even for February, though it was bright and clear. Lizzie had made a snack for them that could have fed half the town of Stoney Ridge. After spotting the eagle’s enormous nest, six feet wide, made of sticks and branches, Jorie led them to a sheltered spot overlooking the pond. They leaned against rocks that were warmed by the winter sun and shared Lizzie’s picnic. Through his binoculars, Ephraim saw the mother eagle return to the nest with food in her mouth, so he and Maggie took off to see if they could get high enough to catch a glimpse of how many eaglets were in the nest.

  Cal smiled as they scrambled up the hill. “I thought we’d have leftovers, but Ephraim eats more than all of us put together.”

  Jorie looked out over the pond. “This is my favorite place on earth. I used to spend hours here with my brothers in the summers.”

  “What do you hear from your folks?” Cal asked, stretching out his long legs.

  “The settlement is doing well. Good farmland and opportunities for growth.” She took an apple out of the basket and tossed it to Cal. He shined it on his shirt and took a large bite out of it. “They want us to come and join them.”

  Cal stopped chewing and looked at her. “You’re not thinking of going, are you?” His cheeks reddened slightly. “I mean, the Percherons. We farmers need those horses. You can’t breed them fast enough for us.” He swallowed.