Leaving Lancaster (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sunlight angling over the tops of cornstalks the color of broom bristles made Esther squint, giving her an excuse to close her eyes. She had never experienced a more exhausting morning and was ready for a nap. But when they got to their home-away-from-home she'd have some explaining to do—why she'd slunk out without telling anyone and how her plan to arrive at the Fishers' before Holly had gone awry. Turned into a verbal brawl is more like it. If she never saw Beatrice Fisher again it would be too soon.

Puh! Beatrice had given birth to two more children but Mamm never mentioned them in her letters. Mamm knew Matthew was the exact likeness of her Samuel. Why had she withheld the information? Esther might have returned earlier had she known.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Esther imagined her brother Isaac's speculations over her whereabouts. “
Wu is sie?”—
Where is she?—he was no doubt asking Mamm. “Hiding down in the cellar like she did as a girl when she didn't want to help clean up after supper? Traipsing back to her fancy city life in Seattle?”

And now Esther must return to face the music, as Dori might say. Truth be known, other than Sunday Singing nights—opportunities for young men and women to pair up—Esther had heard little music as a child, except birds chirping or the congregation droning the hymns from the
Ausbund
in German, some fifteen or twenty minutes long. The “Loblied” was always the second hymn, followed by an introductory sermon and the silent prayers of the People, then the second sermon.

Later, living in San Francisco, singing along with Samuel and his newly acquired secondhand guitar, for the first time she'd lifted her voice and found she was a soprano who could carry a tune. She'd felt exhilarated, her confidence energized. She discovered a knack for memorizing songs she'd heard only once. Then a young woman in the commune taught her to read music and lent her a book of popular hits.

“Your voice is better than Carly Simon's,” Samuel had told her one day. “You could be a soloist, easy.”

“Are ya sure this singin' is okay?” she'd asked him. The confining teachings of the Ordnung clung to her like ivy leaching the sap out of an elm tree. According to her folks' bishop and preachers, if she didn't obey the Ordnung, God would never allow her into paradise. Like a chunk of coal, when she died he'd hurl her straight into the inferno of hell.

“Yah, 'tis fine,” Samuel said. Later that day, he'd opened a borrowed Bible with ease, like relaxing with an old friend, and read from Psalm 33:3: “Sing unto him a new song; play skilfully with a loud noise.”

“The Lord encourages singin' and musical instruments?” Never having read more than short passages, Esther had been flabbergasted, then delighted when he nodded.

“I can give you dozens of references to singing, and playing harps, flutes, and tambourines.”

Holly hummed as she drove, apparently oblivious to Esther's reliving her past, not so hard to do when Esther recognized familiar farms and the grove of trees she and Samuel used to meet under.

“I bet Beth's up,” Holly said. “I'll call her now. She's so cordial. I know she'll invite us for breakfast if she has her electricity back on. I like that woman.”

More than you like me, Esther thought. She hoped when they returned to Seattle, Holly would forget about Beth.

Glancing at her cell phone, one hand lazing on the steering wheel, Holly tapped in Beth's telephone number, a reckless stunt. Esther supposed she should learn to drive so she wouldn't have to depend on Holly. Or was it too late for this old mare? Esther wondered if she could still handle a horse and buggy. Sure, how could she forget the feel of the leather reins?—even though she'd declared it an antiquated form of transportation when she and Samuel moved to California. “You'd never find a buggy on the Golden Gate Bridge,” she'd said decades ago, and both of them had laughed.

As the rental car jostled along, Esther recalled that Hollander Road curved to the right before it jutted north again, only minutes from home. She glanced out the windshield and noticed a camel-colored cow crossing the road in front of them.

“Watch out!” Esther yelled.

Holly screamed and dropped the phone. She slammed on the brakes, grabbed hold of the steering wheel and rotated it, overcompensating. The tires squealed as the sedan fishtailed and grazed the bovine's hindquarters.

Esther braced herself for a gruesome collision.

The car plowed off the road into a ditch. Grasses and weeds leaped up to engulf the front fenders and hood. With a metallic crash, the automobile thudded against something hard enough to stop them dead in their tracks. Esther's head whipped forward. The airbag exploded, pummeling her face and chest, ramming her against the seat, and shutting off the world into a dark bubble of silence, except for a hissing from under the engine.

A sob gurgled from Holly's mouth. “Did I hit a tree? Did I hurt the cow? Oh, no, I wrecked the rental car. What's that weird noise?”

“Turn off the key,” Esther said, remembering advice she'd gleaned from watching an old TV show.

With a shaking hand, Holly managed to reach the key and cut the engine.

Sandwiched between the seat and the airbag, Esther felt claustrophobic and helpless. The scene shot her back in time; she recalled her father's pinning her shoulders against the wall with his mammoth hands and rebuking her for attending a Sunday Singing at a neighbor's barn at age fifteen, months before her sixteenth birthday, when the events became acceptable. Not that Samuel and she ever stuck around for more than a few minutes.

“Did I kill the cow?” Holly said. “I'm afraid to look.”

The words “Judge not and ye shall not be judged” curbed Esther's tongue and kept her from chastising her daughter for her lackadaisical driving habits. Using a cell phone! Paying no attention to the road! Thank the good Lord, Holly hadn't run over a child on a scooter.

“Don't say a thing, Mom.” Speaking into the deflating airbag, Holly sounded submerged in a fish tank. “I feel bad enough.”

“Are you all right?”

“I guess. Nothing's broken, I don't think.” Holly drooped against her seat like a wilting tulip. “Dearest heavenly Father, please don't let the cow be dead.”

Esther was gratified to hear her daughter pleading to the Almighty. At home, during predinner prayer time, she doubted Holly did more then anticipate supper, waiting for Esther to hurry up and finish saying grace before the food grew cold.

The airbag deflated, releasing its hold. “Can you get your door open?” Holly asked.

Esther took her question to signify Holly was afraid to get out and survey the damage.

“You want me to lead the way?” Feeling her right shoulder bruised, Esther took a physical inventory, wiggling her hands and ankles, and decided she was in one piece. She unlatched her safety belt, wrestled with the handle, and shoved her shoulder against the door, urging it open. Not that she wanted to see a wounded cow writhing in agony.

She wriggled out the partially opened door. Her feet sank into several inches of gushy mud, but dirty shoes were the least of her problems. She pushed aside a bush and knee-high grass and trudged onto the road.

A tan-colored cow with patches of white stood nearby, its rear leg lifted. It bellowed as Esther approached.

Esther ventured closer and saw the bumper had skinned the bovine's hip and leg—shaved off the hair. But her hide was intact and no sign of blood. Esther prayed the car hadn't broken a bone or inflicted internal injuries.

The cow lowered its head and let out a plaintive moan.

“
Gude Mariye,
” Esther said. “'Tis okay, girl.” She hoped.

Esther called to Holly, who was picking her way out of the undergrowth. Her daughter's cheeks were blotched red from the airbag's slap and she tottered on unsteady legs. A bramble hung from her skirt, encircling her ankle like a snake.

“It's a beautiful Guernsey,” Esther said.

“Who cares what kind of cow it is?”

Esther heard uncalled-for irritation grating Holly's voice. “Why are you taking your anger out on me?” Esther grappled to control her temper. After this horrendous morning, she felt like a rubber band stretched taut, beyond its capacity, ready to snap. Maybe she'd been too lax as a parent—a wet noodle—because now she had a full-grown brat on her hands.

“It appears you hit a fence post, rammed it right over,” Esther said. Holly should be grateful the car missed smashing into a substantial sycamore, only feet to the left.

“At least I didn't kill the poor cow,” Holly said. She held up her cell phone. “I found this on the floor.”

“We'd better call a vet.”

“Before 9-1-1?”

“If she belongs to an Amish farmer, I doubt he wants the police involved. Lucky for you.”

“I'll try Zach.” A moment later Holly spoke into her cell phone. “Sorry to disturb you, Beth.” Holly gaped at the cow, then the automobile. “It's Holly. I hit a cow with my rental car. I didn't mean to—I don't know Zach's telephone number. Would you please call him and ask him to meet us, if he's available? I'd better let my mother explain where we are.”

She handed the phone to Esther—shoved it at her, really.

Esther was reluctant to beg for Beth's assistance, but there was no way around it. “I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour,” she began.

“It's okay.” Beth yawned. “Where are you?”

Esther gave her the location. In their teens, Samuel had pulled his courting buggy off to the side of the road near this spot for periods of cuddling and smooching many times. If only Esther had been content with her life, she and Holly would never be in this predicament. Of course, if Beth had lured Samuel away with her saccharine flirtation and talk of knowing God in a personal way, there would have been no Holly at all.

As a Mennonite, Beth had memorized scripture and prayed to God, openly touting his glorious nature for all the world to hear—like they were best friends. Yet Mamm invited Beth to the farmhouse often. Esther wondered if Mamm had debated with Beth about her beliefs.

When Esther moved to Seattle and attended Dori and Jim's church—quite a shock with its hymn books and Bible pew racks, arched ceiling like an upside-down boat's hull, and ornate stained glass windows—she'd come to worship in the same manner. Through reading God's Word and attending Bible studies, she'd finally accepted he was concerned with every facet of her life.

Beth's voice interrupted her thoughts. “If Zach can't find you, he'll call. I have Holly's number on my caller ID. Is she okay?

“Yah, just shaken.”

Beth hung up without saying good-bye or asking about Esther's health. She probably hoped Esther would drop dead.

“Beth's calling Zach.” Esther handed the phone to Holly.

The cow bent its neck to examine its injured leg.

“I can't believe I was so careless,” Holly said, her voice thick.

Esther wanted to agree with her, but pressed her lips together.

“What if they have to put the cow to sleep?” Holly said.

Irritated as she was, Esther couldn't stop herself from trying to soothe Holly. “Let's not go rushing to conclusions.
Alles ist ganz gut
—all will be well.”

“I hope you're right.” Holly wanted Esther to be right? A first since leaving Seattle.

As they waited, Zach called to report he'd just finished tending a mule a couple miles away.

In spite of her clashing emotions, Esther's heart went out to Holly, who'd always adored animals. As a girl, she'd been inconsolable when her dog died; Esther should have given her daughter another puppy right away. One of Esther's customers owned a litter of ten-week-old Yorkshire terriers and had offered to trade a pup for a quilt.

Ach, Esther made so many mistakes raisin' her girl. When Holly was a youngster, Esther should have remarried to give her daughter a father figure. Dori and Jim knew a single widower, an orthodontist, and had set up a blind date one evening at their house, although Dori claimed she'd simply invited two friends at random over to dinner. Esther found Michael a nice enough fellow. She might have eased into more than a platonic friendship if she'd spent time with him, like sinking into a hot tub and growing accustomed to the heat. But she'd declined his invitation for a movie the next weekend, and meeting for lunch at the Sunflour Bakery Café the next month. Eventually he gave up asking—a relief for Esther.

“I didn't expect to see Zach again so soon,” Holly said, glancing up and down the road. “Does he strike you as being stuck on himself?”

“You mean conceited? No, just the opposite. Why must you find fault with every man you meet?”

“I don't. For instance, I like Nathaniel King just fine.”

“I can give you ten reasons why Nathaniel's wrong for you.” Esther wouldn't mention her personal incentive—not that she would accept his unconvincing marriage proposal since she'd found he'd been deceiving her with his covert land purchase. How could she trust him again?

Minutes later, Zach's pickup zoomed down the road and came to an abrupt halt. He jumped out and rushed over to inspect the restless animal.

Zach ran his fingertips down the cow's side. “What have we here?”

She lowered her head and began munching grass at the side of the road, bless her heart. He thoroughly but gently examined the cow's rear quarters.

“We got lucky,” he said. “The wound is superficial.”

“But she's limping.” Holly's hand moved to her neck. “Are you sure nothing's broken?”

“In my humble opinion she's fine.” His voice sounded confident, maybe a ploy to calm Holly's nerves. He strode to his pickup and returned with disinfectant and ointment.

Esther was tempted to describe her daughter's negligent driving, but knew better than to mention how she'd struck the cow and then careened into the ditch. If using a cell phone while driving were against the law in Pennsylvania, as it was in the Northwest, Holly might be given a citation, her license revoked, and her insurance rates skyrocket.