The Waiting Page 26
After watching them explore the stall for a few minutes, Jorie handed him a bottle and said, “You grab one, I’ll take the other.” She picked up a kit like she’d been doing it her whole life, cradled it in her arms, and tipped the bottle into the gaping, eager mouth. “Drink up, little one, drink up,” she crooned, tickling it under its little mouth.
Ephraim was amazed at Jorie’s gentle way with animals, even a wild cougar kit. But then again, Jorie always seemed to amaze him. In his mind, there was nothing she couldn’t do. He picked up the other kit and tried to imitate her. They sat there, quietly letting the kits drink from their bottles, until the sucking slowed and the kits fell asleep, milk dribbling down their chins.
Softly, Jorie said, “Maybe Dr. Robinson knows of a zoo that might like two baby cougars.”
Ephraim shook his head. “Please, n-not a zoo. No c-cages. They n-need to be free.”
“Maybe a wildlife reserve then. Someplace where they could roam but be protected too.”
He thought that sounded like a good idea.
“We need to do this right away, Ephraim. As long as you can stay here in the stall, the horses won’t get anxious. I’ll run over to Dr. Robinson and tell him the situation. I’m hoping he’ll be willing to come and get them before my grandparents get back from town. If my grandfather catches wind of these cougars, he’ll have their hides tanned and hanging on the walls by breakfast.” She carefully tucked the sleeping kit into a nest made of hay.
If Jerry Gingerich found out what I’ve done, Ephraim thought, he would probably tan my hide. The thought made him smile.
Dr. Robinson made a few phone calls and found a place for the kits to live. He and Jorie returned an hour later with two crates in the back of his station wagon.
“Tomorrow, Ephraim, I’m going to meet with a friend of mine with the Audubon Society of Western Pennsylvania. They have a nature reserve in Butler County where the kits might be able to live.”
“You’re s-sure?” Ephraim asked. “They won’t end up in a z-zoo?”
“I give you my promise,” Dr. Robinson said. “I kind of feel responsible, anyway. I’m the one who started this by giving you those circus tickets.”
Ephraim went to the back of the station wagon to say goodbye to the kits. Jorie saw him wipe his eyes with his sleeve. After Dr. Robinson left, Ephraim handed her a note. “It’s from B-Ben.”
Ephraim waited expectantly, so Jorie read it aloud:
“That would be g-good, w-wouldn’t it?” he asked, but she didn’t answer.
19
Communion was held late that year because the bishop’s spring cold turned into a bout of pneumonia, and both Samuel and Cal knew they needed to wait for Isaac. The preparation service, the Attnungsgemee, held two weeks before Communion, was quite strenuous and physically draining for the ministers, who not only preached long sermons but needed to give emotional support to the members as well. The Attnungsgemee was an all-day meeting, filled with importance. The Ordnung, the rules and practices of their district, was presented by the ministers, and each member was asked if he was in agreement with it, at peace in the brotherhood, and whether anything “stood in the way” of entering into the Communion service. Great emphasis was placed on the importance of preparing one’s heart for this holy service. Sins were confessed, and grudges – less obvious but just as dangerous – were settled between members. It was this intention that Cal loved. A reminder that folks should be keeping short accounts with each other, to not let bitter feelings take root. Mary Ann used to call it internal spring cleaning, and she was right, in a way. It was a cleansing ritual.
Communion would be scheduled two weeks’ hence, but only if the members were in full agreement. Maggie and Ephraim always looked forward to Communion because they would be left at home without any adult supervision. Lizzie, having joined the church last fall, planned to attend too.
Cal loved the day of Communion. It occurred twice a year, after a day of fasting. To him, it was layered with symbolism. By starting the day hungry and weak, aware of his humble state, he felt he entered into the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. The long day ended in joy, with a full stomach, and with vivid gratitude and remembrance for Christ’s death on the cross. The Communion service always reinforced the unity and commitment of the church members, binding them together.
Toward the end of the day, Cal read John 13, about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, while Jonas and a few helpers carried in towels and pails of water. Isaac announced a hymn and the men began to remove their shoes and stockings, to wash each other’s feet. The women, in the next room, followed the same pattern. They worked in pairs and were reminded by Isaac to wash the feet of the person sitting next to them. But from the corner of his eye, Cal saw Jorie purposefully make her way around two rows of benches to reach Sylvia. Jorie stooped down low, and gently washed Sylvia’s feet.
And he fell in love with Jorie all over again.
One July morning, Cal asked Ephraim and Maggie to run over to Bud’s and call Dr. Robinson to see if he could drop by to check on one of the dairy cows later today.
“Bud? We’re here!” Maggie started into the kitchen, but Ephraim held her back, waiting for Bud to invite them in.
No answer returned except an odd blurping sound.
A chill ran through Ephraim. “Bud?” he ventured. “C-can we c-come in?”
Ephraim told Maggie to stay there and approached the doorway with slow, unsteady steps. He quickly found the reason Bud hadn’t answered him. Bud was collapsed forward in his chair, his strong arms outstretched across the table, his head turned toward the door and his lifeless eyes opened wide. It took Ephraim a moment to recognize the blurping sound as coffee percolating in its pot. Cold toast had popped out of the toaster.
Ephraim gulped so hard he practically choked. He went back outside and told Maggie in a clear, calm voice, “Go get Cal.”
Bud’s son was notified and he swooped in to take care of his father’s effects. Cal met with Bud’s son right away and offered him full price for the farm. He had always hoped to buy that property for his brothers’ sake, but there was more to it than that. Keeping Bud’s farm intact was his way of honoring his good friend. He’d known Bud all his life; he was nearly like family to him.
At the hardware store, when they heard Ron Harding say that Bud’s son had sold off the Deep Woods, Cal saw Ephraim wipe hot tears from his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve.
“I couldn’t afford anything more, Ephraim,” Cal said on the ride home. “Those woods can’t be farmed. I had to take out a loan for Bud’s farm as it was, and I had never wanted to take a loan out for anything.” He balked at the notion of a mortgage. He had been saving his money to buy farms for his brothers ever since his folks passed – but now that money was gone. He had no choice but to take on a mortgage. He knew Bud’s son had wanted to sell the land to a housing developer. But he couldn’t rationalize the debt he would take on if he tried to buy up the Deep Woods.
Still, Cal had the same gut-wrenching sense of loss as Ephraim. Those woods meant something special to each one of them. When he heard that the timber had been sold, he felt a stab of concern. He knew their Deep Woods was doomed.
“Everything keeps changing, in ways I don’t like,” Maggie complained to Cal and Ephraim. “Ben’s gone, Matthew doesn’t come home, Jorie doesn’t come around.” She lowered her voice so her father wouldn’t hear her. “Only that Elsie lady.”
Everyone in the district was talking about Elsie Lapp, the aunties’ newest find. Elsie had come to Stoney Ridge from Somerset County for the summer, staying with her brother Jonas and his family. “She’s ‘the one’ for you,” Ada told Cal.
“The very one,” Florence echoed.
So convinced were they, Elsie was automatically signed up for four Saturday nights, which meant all of June and July. “She’s supposed to head home by the end of July,” Ada explained to Cal. “If you’re going to court her, you need to hop to it.”
Late Friday afternoon, Ephraim saw a row of trucks carrying bulldozers as they drove past Bud’s farm.
Cal came up behind him, watching the parade. “Come Monday morning, our Deep Woods will be history,” he said solemnly, as much to himself as to Ephraim.
After milking the cows the next afternoon, Cal promised Ephraim and Maggie a hike through the woods, their last. Just as they walked out of the farmhouse, the aunties and Elsie drove up.
“Oh no,” Maggie groaned. “Does this mean we can’t go on our hike?”
Ephraim looked up at Cal.
“I’d forgotten . . . ,” Cal said, swallowing hard. “I forgot it was a Supper Night.”
“Aw, Cal,” Ephraim said.
“We’re still going on our hike,” Cal said, squaring his shoulders. “We need to admire those woods for the last time.” He walked out to meet the buggy and help the ladies down. “I promised Ephraim and Maggie a hike into the woods before dinner. Would you mind, Elsie, if we put off dinner for another hour or so?”
“No,” Elsie said. “In fact, I’d like to join you.”
Surprised, Cal handed the basket of food to Ephraim to take inside. “Tell Lizzie that she’s going to be in charge of the aunties for a while,” he whispered.
After getting the aunties settled in the living room with Lizzie hovering around them like a bee over a field of flowers, they set off on their hike. When they came to the edge of the woods, they followed the flow of the stream. It led them to a stand of sugar maples, along with a few oak and hickory trees. At the east edge of the grove was a small cemetery where a pioneer family had been buried. Ephraim had forgotten about that cemetery; he hadn’t ventured to that part of the Deep Woods for a long time. He had only been in the area where his cougar lived.
“Look, Maggie.” Ephraim pointed out two small graves of children who had died of scarlet fever, one day apart.
“I can almost see the grieving family,” Cal said quietly as he brushed off the moss on the graves.
Elsie gave Cal a strange look. “So can I.”
Ephraim decided, at that moment, that maybe Elsie wasn’t so bad. Maybe the aunties had finally stumbled on someone who would be good for Cal. They rested for a while in the cool shade of the cemetery trees.
“D-do you think they’ll s-spare these trees?” Ephraim asked Cal.
“Surely so,” Cal said. “Surely they wouldn’t take trees that were nourished on the pioneer family.”
As they walked through the woods, Ephraim took the lead, blazing a trail to his favorite place, underneath the ancient beech tree where his father had carved his initials when he was a boy. When Ephraim pointed it out, they all stopped and stared for a long while. Ephraim eyes glistened a little, but so did Cal’s, he noticed.
“Just the tree I wanted to say goodbye to,” said a quiet voice.
“Jorie!” Maggie ran over to her and grabbed her hands.
Ephraim was so happy to see her that his hat slipped off when he nearly tripped over a tree root to get to her side. “W-what are you d-doing here?”
“Same as you, wanting to take one last walk in these woods,” she said, tousling his hair.
It was so hot that his hair stuck straight up, making Maggie giggle. She interrupted the uncomfortable silence, dragging Jorie over to the beech tree to point out her grandfather’s carving.
“I wish it could be saved,” Jorie said.
“You must be that schoolteacher everyone talks about,” Elsie said kindly. “Folks say you’re a wonderful teacher.”
“This is . . . I’m sorry . . . Jorie King . . . this is . . .” Cal turned to Elsie with a blank look on his face, his cheeks stained with red.
Elsie looked at Cal, a little nonplussed. “I’m Elsie Lapp, Jonas’s sister.”
Jorie stuck out her hand to shake Elsie’s. “Pleased to meet you, Elsie,” she said, sounding like she meant it.
Ephraim wondered what was running through Jorie’s mind. She looked as pleased as could be to come across them in the woods. Cal, on the other hand, looked as if he had been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.
Early Monday morning, the quiet of the countryside was shattered by the snarl of chain saws. Soon afterward came the whine of power log skidders. Throughout that week, Ephraim came to shudder when the sound of a saw shut off, knowing that what would follow would be the thunderous crash of a tree falling. At the end of each summer day, smoke-belching diesel trucks rumbled past Beacon Hollow laden with mammoth logs.
Last night, Cal had stood with Ephraim and watched the trucks go by. He said something that gave Ephraim an unforgettable twinge, a sense that something major was ending. “What nature had taken more than three centuries to create, man will undo in a few weeks’ time.”
Jorie couldn’t stop thinking about Elsie Lapp. She had told her she was pleased to meet her, but she wasn’t. She had watched Cal and Elsie in the Deep Woods, unobserved, for a long while before she made her presence known. Elsie was fine-boned, tall, and blond. She had a gentle voice, soft spoken and polite. She suited Cal well, that was plain to see. Jorie noticed that she even leaned slightly toward Cal as they stood side by side, staring at the beech tree. She fit against his side as neatly as a matched puzzle piece. Anyone watching them would think they were already a family. The sight of it nearly broke Jorie’s heart, until she reminded herself that God always had a plan. For her too.
But for the life of her, she just didn’t know what that plan might be.
Rain was coming. The clouds were low and dark and the wind had kicked up, mercifully cooling the air. Jorie went out to bring the horses in from the pasture before the rain began. Something had set the foals off and they were galloping around the pasture, all thundering legs and raised tails. She stopped to watch the impressive sight. The Lord had seen fit to bless them with five healthy foals this spring when one mare, Stella, delivered twins. Those five foals, including Indigo – who had healed up quickly from her eye injury – galloped from one end of the pasture to another, headed straight toward the fence. At the very last second, they would change direction as one, like a flock of starlings. It was when they galloped back toward the other end of the pasture that she noticed Ben, standing with one leg bent, leaning against the fence like he always did, with a book in his hand to loan. He was waiting for her.
The sight of him caught her breath and made her feel a little dizzy, the way she used to feel when he came calling. “Hello, stranger,” she said, walking up to him.
He looked much better. Gone was that haunted look. His features – just a little too sharp when he was so underweight – had softened. His dark hair had grown in, full and thick and wavy, the way she loved it. A hundred memories rushed at her – the way his hair had always smelled of laurel soap, the small scar under one eye, the lazy way he leaned against a fence, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Hello, Jorie.” He pushed himself off the fence and handed the book to her. She glanced down at the title – The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck. “Walk with me?”
He reached out a hand for hers as they walked down the long lane that led to the road.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Over in Lebanon, staying with Matthew. I’ve been having a bunch of tests from that shrink, Dr. Doyle. He pronounced me ‘officially cured.’ ”
He gave her a dazzling smile. She had always liked his smile best of all. It had a touch of sweet whimsicality about it.
“Said he’s going to send all of his worst nutcases out to Beacon Hollow.”
At the end of the drive, he stopped, released her hand, and leaned his back against the fence.
He looked out over the green pastures where the Percherons were grazing. “I’m sorry for those terrible things I said to you. I shouldn’t have said what I said. About you being glad Mary Ann passed. I know that wasn’t true.”
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p; She looked away.
“I’m sorry, too, for telling you about getting fired. That wasn’t my place.”
She smiled at that. “The bishop wants to rehire me. Said he’d even give me a raise for doing such a good job.”
Ben looked pleased. “You gonna take it?”
“I don’t know.”
“But . . . I thought you loved teaching.”
“Oh, I do! It’s been such a wonderful experience. I love it more than I could ever have imagined. Even some of the scholars who are hardest to love – Ray and Esther – they have grown dear to me.” She sighed. “My grandmother needs more help. We took her to a doctor last week. He thinks she has . . . he thinks she has senile dementia. She’s going to require more help. My grandfather . . . he needs me.”
“You’re the Keeper of Atlee’s song, huh?”
She nodded.
Ben smiled a sad smile. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve been trying so hard to forget my life while poor Marge is trying so hard to remember hers.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “It’s been hard, being back.”
“I know. It’s an adjustment.”
Ben turned around and placed his hands on the top of the fence. “It’s more than an adjustment, Jorie.”
“You’ve got to give yourself time.”
“Time isn’t going to make a difference.” He turned to her. “There’s something I came to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking of going back to Vietnam. Still as a C.O. Maybe as a medic.”
Jorie was shocked. “What? How could you even consider such a thing?”
“To finish what I started.” He gave her a wry smile. “It’s been pointed out to me by my wise older brother that I am not very good at that.”
“Ben, give yourself some time to think that over.”
“The thing is . . . the thing is, Jorie, I’ve already done it. I signed up to serve.” He bit his lip. “I’m leaving today.” He jerked his chin toward the road. “When the bus comes.”