The Waiting Page 4

  “I’m sure they will.” Cal smiled down at her, obviously enjoying her indignation.

  She waved her hand away. “Those state tests don’t tell everything. They don’t test a child’s curiosity, or intuition, or sensitivity . . .” She looked down at the ground. “I just don’t believe in letting the classroom interfere with an education.”

  He gave a short laugh, amused. “A sentiment best kept to yourself.”

  “Maybe you could talk to Gideon and remind him that he’s got a boy who needs to be educated. And he should’ve stayed awake during your sermon yesterday. He could’ve learned something.”

  Cal put his hat back on and adjusted the brim, a matter decided. “Well, now you’ve pointed out something that is a serious grievance. If a man is sleeping through one of my sermons, well, that’s something that’s got to be dealt with.”

  “Oh, you!” She threw up her hands in mock despair and started walking to her buggy, but Matthew could see she was smiling.

  Cal followed behind and helped her climb up. “I’ll talk to Gid.”

  “When?” she asked him.

  “Jorie King, you are more free with your opinions than – ”

  “Than a new minister?” she asked with a sly grin. “Soon, Cal. Please pay a call on Gideon Smucker soon.” She slapped the reins on her mare and drove down the lane.

  Matthew threw down the hatchet and joined his brother, watching Jorie’s buggy drive down the long lane.

  Cal glanced at him. “Heard everything, I suppose.”

  “Yup,” Matthew answered. He folded his arms across his chest. “I like her. She’s got spunk.”

  “I’ll say,” Cal said, shaking his head. “Go tell Mary Ann I had to run an errand.”

  “Shall I tell her the minister is off on his first mission of mercy?” Matthew grinned.

  Cal bent down, picked up the big axe, and thrust its handle against Matthew’s chest with his two hands. “Might be gone awhile, so you’ll need to finish up that branch by yourself.”

  Matthew’s smile faded.

  When Cal went to speak to Gideon about sending Ray to school, he heard an earful about Jorie’s teaching style. “That Jorie King don’t teach nuthin’ worth learnin’! Those kids spend half their time up in trees. I seen ’em with my own two eyes.” Gideon poked two fingers at his eyes to emphasize the point. “Ain’t it true, Lyddie?”

  Lydia, a quiet, defeated-looking woman, refilled the cups of coffee. “Ray might like going to school, Gid. Jorie makes learning real interesting.”

  Gideon snorted. “She’s encouragin’ them kids to have a early death! It makes my blood run cold to see the boys climbin’ to the very tops of those big trees at Blue Lake Pond last Friday.”

  “Oh that,” Cal said. “Ephraim told us they needed a crow’s nest for nature study. Fridays are their field afternoons. Then they have to write compositions on what they’ve observed in nature.”

  Gid snorted again.

  Cal saw the hunting guns lined up in a wall shelf and tried a different tack. “Did you hear that pesky bobcat got into Amos Esh’s sheep pasture?”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Jorie had the scholars memorize a quote by Ernest Thompson Seton: ‘Animal tracks are the oldest known writing on earth.’ ”

  Gideon looked bored. “Book learnin’ don’t make a hill of beans of difference.”

  Cal took a sip of coffee. “Now hold on, Gid. That quote got Ephraim thinking. It was Ephraim who tracked down that bobcat. He laid a trap for it.”

  Gideon raised an eyebrow. “That Ephraim always was a boy for the woods.”

  “Maybe so, but Jorie gave him the idea of how to trap him. She had told Ephraim, just the day before, that bobcats have insatiable curiosities. Almost everything attracts their attention. So he put out a trap with a little bit of catnip oil. He learned that from school.”

  “Humph.” Gideon stroked his gray beard, listening to Cal. “That’s an old trapper’s trick.”

  From behind Gid’s back, Lyddie lifted her eyebrows at Cal, a small gesture of appreciation. Gideon leaned back in his chair.

  Cal looked out at the fields. “Looks like you’ve finished your second hay cutting.”

  Gideon followed his gaze, then let out a deep sigh. “I suppose I could spare Ray for a little while. Since the harvest is near done.”

  “I think that’s a wise decision, Gid.” Cal stood up. “Well, Mary Ann will be wondering what’s happened to me. Thank you, Lyddie, for the good-tasting coffee.”

  Gideon walked him to the door. “Just so’s you know, I didn’t vote for you for minister.”

  Cal turned to him and gripped Gid’s shoulder with one hand. “Now that just tells me how wise you really are, Gid. I didn’t vote for myself, either.”

  “But I did!” Lyddie called out. “I voted for you, Caleb!”

  Cal turned around to wave and heard Gideon scold his wife, “A woman ought not to contradict her man in public.”

  Before heading into the hardware store late one afternoon, Cal handed Ephraim two dimes. “One for you and one for Maggie too. But no Tootsie Rolls for her. Too chewy. Not till those front teeth make their grand appearance.”

  Ephraim grinned and went inside to the racks that held the candy bars. His mouth watered at the sight. He loved candy.

  Cal walked down the center aisle until he came to the nail bins. As he searched for the type of nails he wanted, Ron Harding, the owner of the hardware store, walked out of the back room. “Hello there, Cal. Sure has been a dry spell we’ve been having.” He looked out the window at the dark clouds. “Those clouds look threatening, though. Always threatening, never delivering. Weather can sure be aggravating.”

  “It has been dry lately,” Cal said agreeably. Ephraim knew he was just being kind. He was always amazed at how much the English carried on about the weather. What was the point? Weather belonged to God.

  Ron arched an eyebrow at Ephraim, who was closely following this back-and-forthing. “Say, would you have time for a word?” he asked Cal. “Outside?”

  “Give me a minute,” Cal said.

  “What’s your favorite?” Ephraim heard someone ask.

  When Ephraim jerked around, he saw the friendly face of Fat Lizzie, the girl whom everyone knew was sweet on Matthew.

  Ephraim pointed to the Tootsie Rolls.

  “Mine too,” she said.

  Cal came up to them and handed a bag of nails to Fat Lizzie to weigh so he knew what he owed.

  “How’s the new school doing?” Lizzie asked him. “I think you were awful smart to hire Jorie King as the teacher.” She leaned over the counter and whispered to Cal, “She knows more than most folks about all kinds of things, especially those horses. It makes Ron mad when folks ask Jorie’s advice before they buy his harnesses.”

  Cal grinned. “She’s got her work cut out for her, making sure those eighth graders pass that state test next May.” He motioned to Ephraim. “Every single scholar needs to pass that test, including our Ephraim.”

  Ephraim put a Tootsie Roll and a package of Life Savers on the counter and hunted for his dimes as Cal went outside to talk to Ron Harding. Ephraim searched the ground, still couldn’t find the dimes, and looked at Fat Lizzie in a panic.

  She just waved it off. “My treat today,” she told him, with a finger to her lips like they were sharing a secret.

  Ephraim didn’t know why Matthew was always making fun of Fat Lizzie. He liked her. She was always doing stuff like that for him and Maggie, buying them candy and gum. Matthew said it was only because she was trying to make a good impression. She was making a good impression, Ephraim told him. A fine impression. He thanked Fat Lizzie with a grateful nod and walked outside to join Cal.

  “I hear you’re the head honcho now,” Ron Harding was telling his brother.

  “Just a minister,” Cal corrected.

  “Well, I’m just a hardware store owner. But I know that citizens look to us leaders to guide them.” He leaned again
st the porch pole and crossed his arms. “Cal, I was hoping you might use your influence on the Amish folks.”

  “I would never do that,” Cal said. “I only take care of my people’s spiritual needs.”

  “Sure you do! Remember how your people weren’t going to take that polio vaccine? Then you gave them a talk, and next thing we knew, your people were taking part in the national vaccine, lined up getting their sugar cubes just like real Americans.”

  Cal crossed his arms. “What’s on your mind, Ron?”

  “Seems to me that when you live in this country, you need to be a good citizen.”

  “We pay our taxes and volunteer as firefighters.”

  From behind Cal came a drawling voice. “And your people chew up our roads with those danged horses. You won’t fight in our wars, but you benefit from being safe in this country.”

  Cal spun around to face Jerry Gingerich, who worked at the gas station across the street from the hardware store. Cal didn’t say anything, he just held Jerry’s gaze. Jerry dropped his eyes first and looked over at Ephraim.

  Jerry had a neck thicker than any Ephraim had ever seen. His arms and hands were also massive, but what scared Ephraim were his eyes. He thought they were blank and stupid most of the time, but when Jerry looked him up and down, they narrowed into tiny slits. Ben, like Cal, had gone to public schools and had been friendly with Jerry. Ephraim didn’t have many memories about his folks – he was only four when they passed – but he did remember the look on his mother’s face when Ben hung around with Jerry. Even now, Jerry had a reputation for being a troublemaker. Everybody knew he played gambling card games in the back room of the gas station.

  The only thing good about Jerry Gingerich, Ephraim had always thought, was his hunting dog, Rex, a black mutt. Ephraim held out his hand and Rex trotted over to investigate, sniffing tentatively. Satisfied, Rex backed up a few feet and sat down by Jerry’s side, like a sentry guard. If Rex could pump gas, Ephraim was pretty sure he could outwork Jerry.

  “Now Jerry,” Ron said in a calming voice. “Cal’s brother Ben is serving as a conscientious objector. He’s over in Vietnam.” He looked at Cal. “And I heard that your brother Matthew just got called up too. That right?”

  Jerry spat on the ground. “Those C.O.’s are safe and sound and cozy, while my brother is serving active duty in the Marines.”

  “Jerry!” Ron said, clearly exasperated. “Your brother is stationed down in North Carolina.” He frowned at Jerry before turning to Cal. “Alls I’m saying, Cal, is that it would be a good thing for this county if you would help us in a sensitive matter.”

  Cal glanced at Ephraim. “Speak your mind.”

  “If you want to keep living the way you’re living, then you need to do what we tell you to do,” Jerry added with a sneer.

  “That’s enough, Jerry!” Ron looked across the street at the gas station. “You’ve got a customer.” He waited until Jerry ambled back across the street. “All that I wanted to say is that you folks have enjoyed your way of living out here, set apart, and able to mind your own business. We want to keep things that way. But there’s a fellow trying to buy a house in this town. He’s not our kind of man. If he buys in Stoney Ridge, we’ll all lose. Others will be coming in right behind him. That’s the way it works with those people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Our land value drops and before you know it, we’re looking like Philly or Camden. No townsfolk will sell to him, I made sure of that. So I’m thinking he might try next to find something out in the country. So I’d like you to talk to your people and make sure no one sells to him.”

  Cal looked at Ron Harding as if he was speaking in Chinese.

  “A fellow named James Robinson.”

  “The veterinarian that’s buying Doc Williams’s practice?” Cal asked. “We need a good vet. Doc Williams said he’s never seen a young vet as capable as James Robinson.”

  Ron snorted. “Well, we don’t need this one.”

  Cal looked at him, puzzled.

  “This one is a colored man.”

  3

  On the morning of September 7, after Maggie and Ephraim went to school, Cal and Mary Ann waited at the bus stop with Matthew to say goodbye. “Well, Matthew,” Cal said. “Just as well to get it over with and not have it hanging over your head. The time will fly like a flock of birds. Soon, you’ll be back home with us. Ben too. Then we’ll see to splitting up Beacon Hollow or buying you both a farm, just like we always said we would.”

  Mary Ann listened to the two, talking in low voices. Oh Cal, don’t you see? Leaving isn’t hanging over Matthew’s head. He can’t wait to go. There was a glint in Matthew’s eyes that was hard to miss. She always worried he was like Ben in that way. Matthew had a bent toward English things. Worldly temptations.

  Yes, two years will fly by. But then would he really come back?

  As soon as they saw Matthew off on the bus, Cal and Mary Ann drove the buggy to town for an appointment with their family doctor. More inexplicable bruises had been popping up on her arms and legs, heavy and purple. She finally went to the doctor earlier in the week and he arranged some tests for her right after the visit. She wasn’t too concerned about the results; Marge thought she was just anemic. But now she noticed that Dr. Lachman – whom she had known all her life – avoided her eyes, and her heart started to pound as if it was clubbing her chest.

  Seated across from them at his desk in his office, Dr. Lachman said the bruising was caused by acute myeloid leukemia. She couldn’t understand all that the doctor was trying to explain, that a rapid increase of immature blood cells was crowding out her bone marrow, making it unable to produce healthy blood cells. But she did understand that leukemia meant blood cancer.

  “How long, Mary Ann?” Cal asked her, all color drained from his face. “When did you first notice the bruising?”

  She looked down at her hands and noticed they were trembling. It was suddenly so hot in the office. She could feel a trickle of sweat roll down her back, but strangely, her hands were ice cold, so she wrapped them in her apron. “A few weeks ago,” she answered quietly.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Cal said.

  “I thought it was the flu,” she said, fumbling for the words. “There was just so much going on . . . Matthew’s news, you became minister, school started up . . .” She started to cry but bit her lip to stop. She didn’t want to cry. Once she started, she wasn’t sure she could stop.

  Cal crouched down beside his wife. “Oh Mary Ann, please don’t cry. I can’t bear it if you cry.” He covered her hands with his.

  Mary Ann looked down at her husband’s large, calloused hands. How she loved those strong hands. She tried to draw in a breath, but it caught in her throat. “How long?” she asked the doctor in a quiet voice. “How long do I have?”

  “No, no. We’re not going to be thinking like that,” Cal said, rising to his feet. “You can do something, can’t you, Dr. Lachman?” “This is a rare cancer, Mr. Zook, and a very aggressive one.”

  Mary Ann flinched as if the doctor had reached across his desk to strike her. Cancer. Slap. Aggressive. Slap.

  “There’s got to be something you can do,” Cal insisted.

  The doctor kept his eyes on his desktop.

  “What are you saying?” Cal asked, his face ashen. “You can’t be telling me she only has a short time to live. She’s only thirty-two years old!”

  “How long?” Mary Ann repeated. She had a hard time talking around the knot in her throat, a knot made of tangled threads of fear, worry, and unbearable sadness. “A year? Six months? Just tell me the truth.”

  Dr. Lachman took a deep breath. “Not months. A matter of weeks and days.”

  “Lieber Gott.” Cal leaned forward, palms on the doctor’s desk. Dear God. After a long moment, he spoke in a hard, desperate whisper. “Please, Dr. Lachman, there’s got to be something.”

  Dr. Lachman rubbed his forehead. “I suppose we could try some treatments, but – ”


  “See, Mary Ann?” Cal jumped on that, his eyes filled with hope. “See? I knew there could be something to try.” He looked at the doctor. “I’ve read there are all kinds of new medical discoveries going on, all the time.”

  “That’s true enough,” Dr. Lachman said. “Breakthroughs in research are going on all the time. Why, just last year, the Surgeon General announced that smoking can cause cancer.”

  “I don’t smoke,” Mary Ann said sharply. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh; it just seemed like such a ridiculous comment to make.

  Dr. Lachman looked away. “What I meant was that scientists are on the brink of discovery.”

  “Do I have time to wait?” she asked, but the doctor had no answer for her.

  The first thing Matthew did after getting off the bus in Lebanon was to find a place to live. Lottie, the supervisor at the Veterans Hospital where he had been hired to work, gave him the address of a lady named Mrs. Flanagan, who lived close to the hospital and had a room to rent. Lottie must have tipped Mrs. Flanagan off that Matthew would be a good tenant because the older lady seemed to be expecting him. The front door opened as he approached it and a heavyset woman with dyed orange hair, penciled eyebrows, and a thick, doughy face lumbered out to meet him. She showed him the room to rent and within minutes, he had a new home. If you could call the tiny room a home; he thought of it more like a shoe box. Still, he was grateful.

  After unpacking, he retraced his steps back to the bus stop, certain he had passed a barbershop on the way. He had never been in a barbershop before. His mother, and then Mary Ann, had always cut his hair out on the back porch. The barber, a short man with a round belly, pointed to a pedestal chair bolted to the cracked linoleum floor, then flung a plastic apron over Matthew’s chest and spun him around, peering at his longish hair. “We don’t get too many hippies coming in here.”

  “But I’m not a hippie,” Matthew said. “I’m starting a new job tomorrow at the Veterans Hospital.”

  “Well, then, how ’bout a buzz?” he asked Matthew with a glint in his eye.