Читать книгу Plain Admirer - Patricia Davids - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Roman sat at the kitchen table that evening with his parents after supper was done. His conversation with green-eyed Joann earlier that day hadn’t helped him come to a decision. He wasn’t sure what to do. What would be best for him? What would be best for his family?

Although he lived in the dawdy-haus, a small home built next to his parent’s home for his grandparents before their passing, he normally took his meals with his family. He waited until his younger brother left the kitchen and his mother was busy at the sink before he cleared his throat and said, “Daed, I need to speak to you.”

“So speak,” his father replied and took another sip of the black coffee in his cup. Menlo Weaver was a man of few words. Roman’s mother, Marie Rose, turned away from the sink, dried her hands on a dish towel and joined them at the table. Roman realized as he gazed at her worried face that she had aged in the past months, and he knew he was the reason why.

He took a sip of his own strong, dark coffee. “I spoke with Onkel Otis today,” he said.

“And?” his mother prompted.

“He offered me a job.”

There was no mistaking his father’s surprise. Menlo glanced at his wife. She kept her gaze down. Roman knew then that it hadn’t been his father’s idea. That eased some of his pain. At least his father wasn’t pushing to be rid of him.

As always, Menlo spoke slowly, weighing his words carefully. “What was your answer, sohn?”

Roman knew his father well. He read the inner struggle going on behind his father’s eyes. Menlo didn’t want his son to accept the job, but he also wanted what was best for Roman. “I told him I’d think it over.”

His mother folded her dish towel on her lap, smoothing each edge repeatedly. “And have you?”

“Of course he’s not going to take it,” Menlo said.

Roman knew then that he had little choice. His father would keep him on, but the cost to the business would slowly sink it. If Roman had an outside job and brought in additional money for the family, they could afford to hire a strong fellow with two good arms to take his place and make the sawmill profitable again.

He looked his father square in the eye. “I’ve decided to accept his offer. I hope you understand.”

Menlo frowned. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Roman didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“You’ll come back to work with me when your arm is better, ja?”

Roman smiled to reassure him. “Ja, Papa, when my arm gets better.”

Menlo nodded. “Then I pray it is a good decision and that you will be healed and working beside me soon.”

Roman broached the subject weighing heavily on his mind. “You will have to hire someone to take my place. Andrew and you can’t do it all alone.”

“We can manage,” his father argued.

“You’ll manage better with more help. Ben Lapp is looking for work. He’s a fine, strong young man from a good family,” his mother countered.

Menlo glanced between his son and his wife. He nodded slowly. “I will speak to him. I thought you were going to tell us you had decided to wed Esta Barkman.”

Roman had been dating Esta before the accident. He’d started thinking she might be the one. Since the accident, he’d only taken her home from church a few times. It felt awkward, and he wasn’t sure how to act. He didn’t feel like a whole man. He avoided looking at his father. “I’m not ready to settle down.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” his mother said. “I’d like grandchildren while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

“Leave the boy alone. He’ll marry soon enough. The supper was goot.”

“Danki.” She smiled at her husband, a warm smile that let Roman know they were still in love. Would Esta smile at him that way after thirty years together? He liked her smile. Her eyes were pale blue, not changeable green, but it didn’t matter what color a woman’s eyes were. What mattered was how much she cared for him.

He wanted to wait until his arm was healed before asking her to go steady, but his mother was right. He wasn’t getting any younger. Now, more than ever, he felt the need to form a normal life.

Menlo finished his coffee and left the room. Roman stayed at the table. His mother rose and came to stand behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “I know this is hard for you, but it will all turn out for the best. You’ll see.”

If only he could believe that. Ever since he was old enough to follow his father into the mill, Roman had known what life held for him. At the moment, it felt as if his life had become a runaway horse and he’d lost the reins. He had no idea where it was taking him. He hated the feeling.

“Are you worried about working for my brother? Otis is a fair man.”

“It’s not Onkel Otis I’m worried about working with. It’s his employee, Joann Yoder. She’s taken a dislike to me for some reason.” It was easier to talk about her than about his self-doubts.

“Nonsense. I can’t imagine Joann disliking anyone. She’s a nice woman. It’s sad that no man has offered for her. She has a fine hand at quilting and a sweet disposition.”

“Not so sweet that I’ve seen.”

“She is a little different. According to her sister-in-law, she spends all her time with her nose in a book or out roaming the woods, but it can’t be easy for her. Be kind to her, my son.”

“What do you mean it can’t be easy for her?”

“Joann gets shuffled from one house to another by her brothers. I just meant it can’t be easy never having a place to call home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She’s much younger than her brothers. When her parents died, her brothers decided she would spend four months with each of them so as not to burden one family over the other. I honestly believe they think they are being fair and kind. I’m sure they thought she would marry when she was of age, but she hasn’t. She’s very plain compared to most of our young women.”

“She’s not that plain.” She had remarkable eyes and a pert nose that matched her tart comments earlier that day. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Perhaps because she seldom looked up.

His mother patted his arm. “She’s not as pretty as Esta.”

“Nee, she’s not.” He rose from the table determined to put Joann Yoder out of his mind. He had much more important things to think about.

* * *

“Joann, we’re going fishing. Come with us.”

Looking up from her book, Joann saw her nieces come sailing through the doorway of the bedroom they shared. Ten-year-old Salome was followed closely by six-year-old Louise.

Joann didn’t feel like going out. Truth be told, all she wanted was to sit in her room and pout. Tomorrow they would all travel to Sunday services at the home of Eli Imhoff, and she was sure to see Roman Weaver there. She had no intention of speaking to him.

On Monday, she would learn if she still had her job or if she had lost her chance to buy a home of her own. Last night she prayed to follow God’s will, but she really hoped the Lord didn’t want Roman to take the job any more than she did. She had tried to find pity in her heart, but the more she thought about him, the less pity entered into the picture. He seemed so strong, so sure of himself. She’d made a fool of herself trying to talk him out of working for Otis.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

Because he was infuriating, that was why. And when he turned his fierce scowl on her, she wanted to sink through the floor.

“Come on, Papa is waiting for us.” Louise pulled at Joann’s hand.

She shook her head and said, “I don’t think I’ll come fishing today, girls.”

“You love fishing, Aenti Joann. Please come with us,” Salome begged.

Louise leaned on the arm of the chair. “What are you reading?”

Joann turned her attention back to her book. She’d read the same page three times now. “It’s a wonderful story about an Amish girl who falls in love with the Amish boy next door.”

“Does she marry him?” Louise asked.

Joann patted the child’s head. “I don’t know. I haven’t finished the book. I hope she does.”

Louise looked up with solemn eyes. “Because you don’t want her to be an old maedel like you are?”

Joann winced. Out of the mouths of babes.

“That’s not nice, Louise,” Salome scolded. “You shouldn’t call Aenti Joann an old maid.”

Louise stuck out her bottom lip. “But Papa says she was born to be a maedel.”

Joann was well aware of her brother’s views on the subject of her single status. Perhaps it was time to admit that he was right. A few months ago, she had cherished a secret hope that Levi Beachy would one day notice her. However, Levi only had eyes for Sarah Wyse. The two had wed last Christmas. Joann was happy for them. Clearly, God had chosen them for each other.

Only, it left her without even the faintest prospect for romance. There was no one in Hope Springs that made her heart beat faster.

She closed her book and laid it aside. “Salome, do not scold your sister for speaking the truth.”

Joann wanted to know love, to marry and to have children, but if it wasn’t to be, she would try hard to accept her lot in life. When did a woman know it was time to give up that dream?

Salome scowled at Louise. Louise stuck her tongue out at her sister and then ran from the room.

Salome turned back to Joann. “It was still a rude thing to say. Never mind that baby. Come fishing with us.”

Joann shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“But your new fishing pole came. Don’t you want to try it out?”

Joann sat up. “It came? When?”

“The mailman brought it yesterday.”

“Where is it?”

Salome pointed to the cot in the corner of the upstairs bedroom. “I put it on your bed.”

“It’s not there now. It wasn’t there when I went to bed last night.”

“Maybe Louise was playing with it. I told her not to,” Salome said, shaking her head.

Joann cringed at the thought. If the younger girl had damaged it, she wouldn’t be able to get her money back. She’d foolishly spent an entire week’s wages on the graphite rod and open-faced spinning reel combo. In hindsight, it was much too expensive.

Oh, but when she’d tried it out in the store, it cast like a dream. Maybe she should keep it.

No, she gave herself a firm mental shake. She couldn’t afford it now. If her hours were cut, she would have to make sacrifices in order to keep putting money in her savings account. Otherwise, she faced a lifetime of moving her cot from one household to another.

Salome dropped to the floor to check under the other beds in the room. Finally, she found it. “Here it is.”

Joann breathed a sigh of relief when Salome emerged with the long package intact. Taking the box from her niece, Joann checked it over. It bore several big dents.

“Did she break it?”

“I don’t think so.” Joann carefully opened one end and slid out the slender black pole. The cork handle felt as light and balanced in her hand now as it had in the sporting goods store. She unpacked the reel. It was in perfect shape.

From the bottom of the stairs, Joann heard her brother call out, “Salome, are you coming?”

“Yes, Papa. Joann is coming, too.” She ran out the door and down the stairs.

Joann stared at the pole in her hands. Why not try it out once before sending it back? What could it hurt? It might be ages before she had a chance to use such a fine piece of fishing equipment again. She bundled it into the box, grabbed her small tackle box from beneath her cot, exchanged her white prayer kapp for a large black kerchief to cover her head and hurried after her niece.

On her way out of the house, Joann paused long enough to grab an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table. Outside, she joined the others in the back of the farm wagon for the jolting ride along the rough track to a local lake. It wasn’t far. Joann walked there frequently, but she enjoyed sitting in the back of the wagon with the giggling and excited girls at her side.

The land surrounding the small lake belonged to an Amish neighbor who didn’t care if people fished there as long as they left his sheep alone and closed the gates behind them. Joann had been coming to the lake since she was a child. Joseph Shetler, the landowner, had been friends with her grandfather. The two men often took a lonely little girl fishing with them. Occasionally, Joann still caught sight of Joseph, but he avoided people these days. She never knew why he had become a recluse. He still came to church services, but he didn’t stay to visit or to eat.

The wagon bounced and rumbled along the faint wheel tracks that led to the south end of the lake. It had once been a stone quarry that had filled with water nearly a century ago. When they reached the shore, everyone piled out of the back of the wagon and spread out along the water’s edge. The remote area was Joann’s favorite fishing place. She knew exactly where the largemouth bass, bluegill and walleye hung out.

She’d spent many happy hours fishing here peacefully by herself, but each time served to remind her of the wonderful days she’d spent there with her grandfather. He had been the one person who always had time for her.

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his craggy voice. “See that old log sticking out of the bank, child? There’s a big bass right at the bottom end of it. Mr. Bass likes to hole up in the roots and dart out to catch unwary minnows swimming by. Make your cast right in front of that log. You’ll get him.”

Joann smiled at the memory. It had taken many tries and more than a few lost lures before she gained the skill needed to put her hook right where she wanted it. Her daadi had been right. She caught a dandy at that spot.

She was always happy when she came to the lake. She kept a small journal in the bottom of her tackle box and made notes about of all her trips. She used the information on weather conditions, insect activity and water temperature to compile information that made her a better angler.

Normally, she released the fish if she was alone. Today, she would keep what she caught and the family would enjoy a fish fry for supper.

When everyone was spreading out along the lakeshore, she said, “I haven’t had much success fishing on this end of the lake. The east shore is a better place.”

“Looks goot to me.” Hebron threw in his line.

Joann shrugged and headed away from the lake on a narrow path that wound through the trees for a few hundred yards before it came out at the shore again near a small waterfall. This was where the fishing was the best.

Carefully, she unpacked her pole and assembled it. From her small tackle box, she selected a lure that she knew the walleye would find irresistible and began to cast her line. Within half an hour, she had five nice fish on her stringer.

She pulled the apple from her pocket and bit into the firm, sweet flesh. The sounds of her crunch and of the waterfall covered approaching footsteps. She didn’t know she wasn’t alone until her brother said, “Joann, I’ve been calling for you.”

Startled, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Hebron, I didn’t hear you. What do you need?”

“We’re getting ready to go. The fish aren’t biting today.”

“I’ve been catching lots of walleye. Have you tried a bottom-bouncing lure?” She set her apple beside her on a fallen tree trunk and opened her tackle box to find him a lure like the one she was using.

He waved aside her offering. “I’ve tried everything. What’s that you’re fishing with?”

“An orange hopper.”

“I meant the rod. Where did you get that?”

She extended her pole for him to see. “I ordered it from the sporting goods store in Millersburg.”

“Mighty fancy pole, sister.”

“It works wonderfully well. Try casting it, you’ll see. You’ll be wanting one next.”

“My old rod and reel are good enough.”

She turned back to the water. “Okay, but I’m the one catching fish.”

“Be careful of pride, sister. The Englisch world has many things to tempt us away from the true path.”

“I hardly think a new fishing pole will make my faith weaker.”

“May I see it?” he asked.

“Of course. You can cast twice as far with it as your old one. Give it a try.” She handed it over, delighted to show him how well-made it was and how nicely it worked. She picked up her apple and took a second bite.

Hebron turned her rod first one way and then another. “A flashy thing such as this has no place in your life, sister.”

“It does if I catch fish for you and your children to eat.”

“Are you saying I can’t provide for my family?”

“Of course not.” She dropped her gaze. Hebron was upset. She could tell by the steely tone creeping into his voice.

He balanced the rod in his hand, nodded and drew back his arm to cast.

Eagerly, she sought his opinion. “Isn’t it light? It really is better than any pole I’ve owned.”

He scowled at her, and then threw the rod with all his might. Her beautiful pole spun through the air and splashed into the lake.

“No!” she cried in dismay and took a step toward the water. The apple dropped from her hand.

“False pride goes before a fall, sister,” Hebron said. “I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed you to keep such a fancy Englisch toy. Already, I see how it has turned your mind from the humble ways an Amish woman should follow. Now, come. We are going home. I will carry your fish. It looks as if God has given us enough to feed everyone after all.” With her stringer of fish in his hand, he headed toward the wagon.

She stood for a moment watching the widening ripples where her rod had vanished. Now she had nothing to return and nothing to show for her hard-earned money. Like the chance to own a home, her beautiful rod was gone.

Tears pricked against the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

* * *

Late in the afternoon on Saturday, Roman took off his sling and began the stretching exercises he did every day, four times a day. His arm remained a dead lump, but he could feel an itching sensation near the ball of his shoulder that the doctors assured him was a good sign. As he rubbed the area, the uncomfortable sensation of needles and pins proved that the nerves were beginning to recover. He had been struck by a pickup truck while standing at the side of his buggy on a dark road just before Christmas. The impact sent him flying through the air and tore the nerves in his left shoulder, leaving him with almost complete paralysis in that arm.

Dr. White and Dr. Zook, the local physicians he saw, were hopeful that he would regain more use of his arm, but they cautioned him that the process would be slow. Unlike a broken bone that would mend in six or eight weeks, the torn nerves in his arm would take months to repair themselves. Even then, there was no guarantee that he would regain the full use of his extremity.

Roman tried to be optimistic. He would work for his uncle until his arm was better. When it was, he would return to working with his father in the sawmill as he had always planned. He held tight to that hope. He had to.

The outside door opened and his brother Andrew came in. He held a pair of fishing poles in one hand. “I’m meeting some of the fellows down at the river for some fishing and a campout. Do you want to come along?”

Roman put his sling back on. He didn’t like people seeing the way his arm hung useless at his side. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. It will do you good. You used to like fishing.”

“I like hunting, I like baseball, I like splitting wood with an ax, but I can’t do any of those things. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only got one good arm.” The bitterness he tried so hard to disguise leaked out in his voice.

“You don’t need to bite my head off.” Andrew turned away and started to leave.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Andrew’s eyes brightened. “Then you’ll come? There’s no reason you can’t fish with one arm.”

“I’m not sure I can even cast a line. Besides, how would I reel in a fish? That takes two hands.”

“I’ve been thinking about that and I have an idea. It only takes one hand to crank a reel. What you need is a way to hold the rod while you crank. I think this might work.”

Andrew opened his coat to reveal a length of plastic pipe hooked to a wide belt and tied down with a strap around his leg.

Roman frowned. “What’s that?”

“A rod holder. You cast your line and then put the handle of your pole in this. The inside of the pipe is lined with foam to help hold the rod steady. This way it won’t twist while you’re cranking. See? I fixed it at an angle to keep the tip of the rod up. All you have to do is step forward or backward to keep tension on the line.”

Roman looked at the rig in amazement. “You thought of this yourself?”

It was a clever idea. It might look funny, but the length of pipe held the rod at the perfect angle. “It just might work, little brother,” Roman said.

“I know it will. With a little practice, you’ll be as good as ever. Come with us.” Andrew unbuckled his invention and held it out.

Roman took it, but then laid it on the counter. “Maybe next time.”

He didn’t want his first efforts to be in front of Andrew and his friends. A child could cast a fishing pole but Roman wasn’t sure he could.

Andrew nodded, clearly disappointed. “Yeah, next time,” he said.

He left Roman’s pole leaning in the corner and walked out. After his brother was gone, Roman stood staring at the rod holder. He picked up his brother’s invention. Surely, he could master a simple thing like fishing, even with one arm.

There was only one way to find out. After checking to make sure no one was about, he gathered his rod and left the house. Since he knew Andrew and his friends were going to the river, Roman set off across the cornfield. Beyond the edge of his father’s property lay a pasture belonging to Joseph Shetler. Wooly Joe, as he was called, was an elderly and reclusive Amish man who raised sheep.

It took Roman half an hour to reach his destination. As he approached the lake, he saw Carl King, Woolly Joe’s hired man, driving the sheep toward the barns. Roman knew Carl wasn’t a member of the Amish faith. Like his boss, he kept to himself. The two occasionally came to the mill for wood for fencing or shed repairs, but Roman didn’t know them well. When Carl was out of sight, Roman had the lake to himself.

He glanced around once more to make sure he was unobserved. In the fading twilight, he faced the glasslike water that reflected the gold and pink sunset. Lifting his rod, he depressed the button on the reel and cast it out. He hadn’t bothered adding bait. He wasn’t ready to land a fish and get it off the hook with one hand. Not yet.

He slipped the handle of his rod into the holder his brother had made. It was then he discovered that actually reeling it in wasn’t as difficult as he had feared. When he had all the line cranked in, he pulled the rod from the holder and flipped another cast.

This wasn’t so bad. Maybe he should have brought some bait. He’d only reeled in a few feet when he felt his hook snag and hang up. He yanked, and it moved a few feet but it wouldn’t come free. What was he snagged on?