Wonderful Lonesome (22 page)

Her left foot went forward, then her right, and she counted her paces toward Willem. When she knew he had seen her, she started counting again at one.

He slid off her horse to greet her.
“Gut mariye.”

“Good morning.” Abbie hid her nervous hands in her plenteous skirt. “Are you checking traps?”

He nodded. “Are you well?”

“Very.” She ran her tongue over the back side of her lips. “The Holy Ghost has convicted me that I have acted unkindly toward you and Jake. Please forgive me.”

She looked into his eyes reflecting the growing light.

“Of course I forgive you, Abigail. I know that some of my choices make you unhappy. I never mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” She hardly heard her own voice.

“If I catch a coyote, you will be the first to know.”

She smiled, wondering if he could tell how hard it was for her to do it. “Would you like to come to supper tonight? I know Levi would love to see you. We all would.”

“And I would love to beat him at checkers, but I am afraid it cannot be tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I have a meeting in town.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just a meeting, Abbie.”

She refused to lose her temper. “About Jake’s church, I suppose.” The Amish rarely held meetings in the evenings, when they preferred to be with their families. Were the Mennonites going to disparage the value of family?

“Yes.”

She maintained a pleasant tone, determined not to hollow her request for forgiveness. “Another time, then.”

Willem could hardly keep his eyes open when the meeting began thirteen hours after he found Abbie at the edge of the field. Other than minimal attention to farm chores that could not wait, Willem spent the day digging lignite. In mid-September residents carried out load after load of coal for cooking and heating through the winter. So far Willem’s labors had yielded little coal for his own use.
English
customers with larger homes to heat were pleased with his efforts, and between cash and foodstuffs, Willem was optimistic about the coming cold season. The ravine harbored ample coal still.

The meeting was small, only Jake, Willem, and one married couple who lived in Limon. They met in Jake’s sitting room.

“Thank you for coming.” Jake smiled at his guests. “Tonight we remember that where two or three are, there Christ is also. Though we begin with a small group, we know the harvest is ripe. Many souls need the ministry that we begin together.”

“Are you expecting many others to join the church?” James Graves put his palms on his knees as he asked the question.

“We will see how God leads,” Jake answered. “At every step, we will be grateful for what God provides.”

James turned to Willem. “My wife, Julia, and I have known the Mennonites before, but I am surprised to find an Amish man here for this first meeting. Are you planning to convert?”

Willem cleared his throat. “Jake and I have talked a great deal. I feel I understand the Mennonites well. We love and serve the same God.”

“Do others of your people feel the same way? I’ve heard that you don’t really have church.”

“It is true that we do not have a minister,” Willem said, “but we are people of deep faith.”

Jake spoke. “I have been visiting Amish families. Willem is right. They have deep religious conviction, and I intend to respect them. I will not try to coerce any of the Amish to join us.”

“Then why were you visiting them?” James asked.

“I want them to know they are always welcome. That’s all.”

Julia pressed the point. “But do you think some of them will want to join us?” She turned to Willem. “Are you going to join us, or are you merely curious?”

Willem glanced at Jake. “As Reverend Heatwole suggested, I will be waiting on God to make His will plain to me.”

Jake suggested that the group take time to pray about the adventure of beginning a new church in Limon and led aloud in prayer. Then he moved the meeting on to other matters. Where would they hold services? How would they let the townspeople know of the new church? Did the Graveses have any names to suggest that Jake call on to make a personal invitation? Did any families in town have spiritual needs that a new minister might meet?

Willem said little during the course of the meeting. He had offered to make some notes of the conversation, and Jake supplied paper and a fountain pen. If James Graves tried to return to the subject of the Amish, Jake graciously redirected the conversation. Willem recorded Jake’s questions and the answers that emerged from the Graveses.

By the time Jake closed the meeting in prayer, the sun was well on its way down. Willem hung two lanterns from the front of his wagon for the drive home and allowed his horse to set her own pace. He did not hear the coyotes while he was in town. Only when he was a few miles west of Limon, halfway to his own land, did he hear the mix of howling and barking.

So far Willem had not promised Jake anything, and Jake did not press for a commitment. If only Abbie would say she would come with him. But with Abbie or without her, he was not sure how much longer he could stand not to hear the Word of God preached. Even if he began with a tiny congregation, Jake planned to hold his first service within a few weeks. Willem was fairly certain he would be in the congregation that day.

With a basket of warm muffins, Abbie walked down the lane from her home to the main road, crossed to the other side for a fifteen-minute walk, and turned down the lane to the Miller farm. She had offered to take a buggy over to fetch Ruthanna, but her friend had assured her Eber would bring her and come back for her later. When she reached the house, she found Mary and Ruthanna sitting at the table drinking coffee. Mary gestured toward a third cup, and Abbie sat in front of it.

“I just made them.” Abbie unfolded the towels wrapped around the muffins and was pleased to see that the baked goods still steamed slightly.

“They smell delicious.” Mary inhaled the fragrance. “Wherever did you get blueberries?”

“
Mamm
had one last jar from last year.” Abbie pulled a muffin open.

“Did either of you manage to have anything to trade for Ordway fruit this year?” Mary filled Abbie’s coffee cup.

Ruthanna nodded. “I don’t know how he did it, but somehow Eber convinced Mr. Gates at the mercantile to give him some on credit. I’ll be canning all next week.”

“I’ll help you,” Abbie said. “We’ll just have to be sure to choose a different day than when
Mamm
wants to can. She managed to coax a few more beans and squash out of her vegetable garden, and we’re hoping to trade eggs for fruit.”

“The rain last week must have helped,” Mary said. “It wasn’t much, but it was something.”

“Every drop helps.” Abbie flung doubt out of her tone. “We have potatoes, too. Plenty to share, I think.”

“Little Abe pulled up half of what I planted.” Mary stroked the head of the little boy playing with a wooden spoon at their feet. “But Albert says we’ll get some produce somehow.”

“We should make a canning schedule and make sure everyone’s pantry is stocked.” She sighed. “If only we had half the irrigation the Ordway settlement has.”

“The Mullet sons went down for a month’s work to harvest,” Ruthanna said. “Perhaps when they return there will be extras for everyone.”

“God will provide.” Mary picked up her son. “He looks like he’s been eating dirt.” She moved to the water barrel, where she stuck the hem of her apron in to dampen it and scrubbed at Little Abe’s cheek. He protested by leaning away from her at a precarious angle. When his mother set him on the floor again, he toddled away from the table.

Ruthanna felt so enormous and full of child that she could hardly imagine her waist would ever again slim down the way Mary Miller’s had after Little Abe was born. Her feet swelled more every day, and the baby kept her awake at night. Life had slowed to doing only the next thing she could see that needed doing, and she hardly thought beyond the end of the day. She cleaned the cabin, made sure Eber ate and rested, and tried to rest herself in the afternoons when it seemed that the baby was less active. The heat was becoming too much. By midday the house was stifling and did not cool again until after the sun set and the evening winds blew. At home Ruthanna kept a clean, damp rag within reach to wipe across her face as often as she felt the need.

While Mary and Abbie chatted about how the settlement families would get fruits and vegetables to can for the winter, Ruthanna put a hand across her tightening belly. Against her will her entire body contracted and she found it hard to breathe. Pain wrapped itself around her midsection, rising in her back and making her gasp before circling around to the front again. These pains were happening every day now, one every few hours or several close together.

“Ruthanna, are you all right?” Abbie’s voice cut through the pain in a distant sound.

“Breathe, Ruthanna,” Mary said. “Don’t close your eyes. That only makes you feel the pain.”

Ruthanna had not realized her eyes were closed, but she forced them open to see her two friends leaning across the small table, inspecting her. At this unnaturally close angle, their eyes seemed awkwardly wide and the furrows in their brows alarmingly deep.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say.

“False labor,” Mary diagnosed. “The same thing happened to me before my time.”

Ruthanna nodded. “Esther tells me it is quite common.” If this was false labor, she dreaded what true labor would feel like.

“How much time do you have left?”

Mary took her hand, and Ruthanna kept herself from crushing her friend’s fingers as the pain finally subsided.

“Less than two months.” Esther Weaver had birthed many babies besides her own, including Little Abe. Ruthanna had no one else to trust in these matters, so she repeated the calculations Esther had made long ago.

Before Ruthanna’s train trip to Ohio marked off the distinction between life there and the hardship of the Colorado plain.

Before Eber got sick and exhausted the hope she had stored up for their future.

Before Jake in his kindness nevertheless made people nervous about his intentions.

“I’m all right,” she said again, and Mary released her hand.