Keeping Secrets (11 page)

Parents shushed their crying babies. Fathers with crying two-year-olds looked to give the children to their mothers, who may have been upstairs with other tiny siblings. So an aunt or grandmother scrambled to relieve the father of his unhappy offspring. After questioning the child closely, she’d offer a drink of cold water or a small container of pretzels or fruit snacks.

When the minister rose to begin the sermon, the congregation grew quiet, eagerly awaiting his words. He did not disappoint. The graying patriarch expounded on the word of God in a dynamic, undulating voice that gripped his listeners.

Sadie noticed a disturbance on the bench where the younger girls sat, a few rows ahead. Anna was extremely restless, her head turning first one way, then another, fixing her cape, then her covering.

Sadie became uncomfortable. What was wrong with Anna? It seemed as if she could not sit still for a minute. Her face was pale, and she kept grimacing in the most unattractive manner.

Just when Sadie could stand it no longer, Anna rose and made her way carefully between the rows of girls, making a hasty exit up the stairs.

Sadie thought no more about it, guessing that Anna went to the bathroom, and resumed singing. When they stood to hear the Scripture, after kneeling in prayer, Sadie went to the
kessle-haus
for a drink of cold water and noticed that Anna was not among the girls her age. As she turned to go upstairs through the kitchen, she lowered her eyes demurely. She did not want to meet Mark’s eyes, already feeling flushed as she walked past him.

She closed the door firmly, went softly up the stairs, and turned the knob of the bathroom door. It was locked. She stood back, her arms crossed, waiting until the bathroom was unoccupied.

She heard the water running, a pause, then Anna, very pale, opened the door. Sadie looked at her closely, noticing the swelling of her eyes. Was it just the warm summer weather?

“You okay?” she asked.

“Course, why wouldn’t I be all right?” Anna said, her voice strained. Hoarse? Had she been crying?

Erma Keim thumped her way upstairs, and Anna pushed past Sadie, quickly disappearing down the stairway.

Sadie and Erma entered the bathroom together, Erma saying quite loudly, “Something smells bad! Eww! Someone threw up or something!”

Sadie winced, never knowing Erma to be tactful. She sniffed, then pushed aside the lace curtains to open the window wider.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“I just can. Hey, my job at the produce market is coming to an end in September. Do they need someone down at Aspen East, where you work? I need to get serious about a job.”

Sadie smiled to herself, knowing they were not supposed to discuss business or monetary concerns on a Sunday. But typical Erma, speaking loudly what was on her mind, no matter the day or the circumstances.

“I can check for you.”

At the thought of Erma Keim and Dorothy Sevarr together in one kitchen, Sadie resigned herself to culinary war, with Dorothy defending her kingdom as queen of the domain, and the invading Erma trying to steal the crown in the first week.

The room was becoming quite warm. Women groped in their pockets for a square of folded, white handkerchief, lowering their faces to wipe discreetly at the perspiration beading their foreheads.

Little boys sat patiently beside their fathers, their bare feet swinging, their bangs dark with sweat, as the fathers swiped at their collars, loosening them slightly. The tired and restless babies grew too uncomfortable to sleep, while mothers patiently held them, their eyes a picture of submission.

The second speaker, a shy young minister who had only been ordained a few years ago, droned on. His monotone voice led the older men down a ramp slick with sleepiness, lassitude, then sleep, until they jerked back to consciousness—and embarrassment.

The minister did the best he could, Dat said. The Lord had chosen him, and someday, he’d overcome his quietness and shyness. Dat always had a soft spot for Phares Schlabach, who Dat said was truly humble, a good servant in the Lord’s vineyard. And don’t you kid yourself; if you paid attention, he said some profoundly interesting things, pointing out bits of Scripture no one else thought about.

Dat was like that. He respected and admired the quiet ones. The simple men of the community who struggled to make a living were often overlooked. They stayed in the background, smiling, and thoroughly enjoying the more talented storytellers who drew all the attention.

Dat said his girls would do well to marry a man like Phares.

After services, Sadie helped set the long tables with the Sunday dinner they always ate at church. The women spread long, snowy white tablecloths on benches elevated by wooden racks to form tables. For each place setting, they supplied a small plate for pie, a cup, knife and fork, and a water glass. Along with plates of sliced, homemade bread, the women served butter, jam, cheese, peanut-butter spread, pies, pickles, sweetened little red beets, and plates of ham.

It was the traditional meal at every church service, and so delicious each time. It was more like a snack or a hurried lunch. There were no elaborate dishes. They did no cooking, except to make a large pot of coffee. But it was a church dinner, a taste of home and community, a meal shared after services, as talk and laughter moved among the good food. Everyone ate hungrily and revived their spirits.

Sadie and her sisters washed dishes, filled water glasses, served coffee, whatever was necessary. They talked with their friends as they held fussy babies so mothers could sit down to eat in peace.

Erma Keim dashed among the tables, every movement well calculated, the picture of efficiency. Sadie couldn’t help but wonder what that presence would accomplish down at the ranch. But she dismissed the notion quickly at the thought of Dorothy’s snapping eyes and her unladylike snort.

“They need pie on the men’s table,” Erma said, whisking past with an empty water pitcher held aloft.

Sadie turned to the pie rack to extricate one, then slid out another before turning to head for the men’s table, where she found Reuben enthusiastically spreading a huge glob of the peanut-butter spread on a thick slice of whole wheat bread. She held her breath as he lifted it to his mouth, then grinned when he gave her a thumbs-up sign, peanut butter spread all over his fingers, the knife, and his face.

Sadie chose to walk home in spite of the heat. It would be worse, packed in the surrey with her sisters, Reuben yelling and complaining as always. Rebekah said she would accompany her and invited her friend Clara and, of all people, Erma Keim.

“Why Erma?” Sadie hissed behind a horizontal palm.

“She gets lonely on Sunday afternoon,” Rebekah said quietly. “Besides, you’re almost the same age. Both entering spinsterhood.”

There was no time for an answer. Erma caught up from the rear in long, purposeful strides, her face alight with the prospect of spending an afternoon at the Miller home.

“Boy, that pie was nasty!” she bellowed into Sadie’s ear. “Must be Ketty was baking again!”

Sadie shrank from the grating sound of Erma’s raucous laugh, but smiled politely.

“Poor Fred Ketty.”

The whole afternoon was spent in the kitchen, making popcorn loaded with melted butter. They tried all different kinds of seasoning, laughing uproariously when Reuben sprinkled hot pepper sauce on top of his dish, then raced for the water faucet, his tongue on fire.

Mam even joined in the fun, and Dat read
The Budget
, grinning behind it, sometimes lowering the paper to peer over his glasses when Erma said something exceptionally peculiar.

There was no doubt that she eyed the world in a different light and with strangely colored lenses. Men were a huge bother, not worth the ground they walked on, except for Moses in the Bible, Abraham Lincoln, and maybe John F. Kennedy, although he was a Democrat and they were a bit liberal for her taste. She thought the locals all looked alike in their cowboy hats, though the hats vastly improved their faces, which, the way they spent all their time outdoors, resembled the surface of the moon.

Not one boy had ever asked her out. Not one. She was as uncaring about that fact as she was about her looks, though Sadie wondered if this was really true.

She made a homemade pizza from scratch that tasted better than anyone’s, she assured them airily. She ate four square slices of it, belched, wiped her mouth, excused herself, and decided it was time to go home.

“I know we’re not supposed to call a driver, but I don’t have a horse and buggy, so how else am I supposed to get home?”

With that, she marched to the phone shanty and called her neighbor lady, then sat on the porch swing to wait for her.

“Why don’t you go along to the supper and singing at Melvin Troyer’s?” Leah asked.

“Me? You want me to? Nah. People would say I’m setting my hat for Yoni’s Crist. He’s 40 now, did you know that? Everybody thinks he should ask me for a date, then, you know, marry me. I wouldn’t take him. He has no ambition. You can tell by the way he walks that he doesn’t like to get up in the morning. Not for me, no sir.”

Sadie laughed. “Come on, Erma. I’m going to set up a blind date for you.”

Erma leaped out of the porch swing, coming down squarely on both feet, her hands in the air, her mouth open wide.

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Come on, Erma. Please? We’ll get a driver and go to Critchfield. You pick your favorite restaurant, okay?”

“No. Absolutely not. I do not want a man. Certainly not Crist.”

“Why not?”

“I told you why not.”

“If I ask Mark Peight to go?”

Erma’s eyes narrowed. She plopped back on the swing.

“Sadie Miller, you are crazy for hanging out with that guy. If anyone is shooting horses around here, it’s him. He’s not really right, is he? Good-looking, yes, but he scares me.

“
Upp
, here’s my driver coming. Hey, thanks for the popcorn. I had fun. Come see me sometime. I live behind my Dad’s house now. In a trailer.”

“Do you really? We’ll come see it,” Leah assured her as Erma was off in a cloud of dust.

The supper and singing proved uneventful. Mark Peight was absent again. He never came to the suppers and singings anymore, which irked Sadie more than she cared to admit.

What did he do on Sunday? Why didn’t he ask for an ordinary date like normal people? He probably had some deep, dark secret of his own, like Erma Keim thought.

Sadie played volleyball. At supper with her friends, she sat at the singing table and sang with everyone else, her thoughts far away.

Was she crazy, the way Erma Keim said?

She watched Yoni’s Crist Weaver. He was tall, wide in his shoulders, dressed nice enough, with a receding hairline. Actually, his hair, what there was of it, was thin and brown. His eyes were pleasant, not too close to his nose, which was large and took up a lot of room on his face. He seemed shy, quiet, not very comfortable in the girls’ presence. Sadie thought he’d make a wonderful companion for the boisterous, colorful Erma. She would fill his days with her never ending viewpoints, and her unique take on life would completely change him. Wasn’t there an old saying about opposites attracting?

Later that evening, Sadie sat at the kitchen table with Rebekah, drinking a Diet Pepsi, munching on “old maids,” the leftover unpopped kernels of popcorn that remained in the bottom of the bowl.

“You should somehow get her fixed up a little. How would you go about telling her those limp coverings are simply a disaster?” Leah giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Her hair is worse. Hasn’t she ever heard of hair spray?”

“She has a nice figure, she’s thin, at least, but her feet are so scarily big. I bet she wears a size 11 or 12.”

“That’s okay. Crist is bald almost, and 40.”

“They’d be so cute together.”

“I don’t believe her one bit about men.”

“I don’t either.”

Sadie looked at the clock.

“Shoot. Midnight,” she said, yawning.

“Where’s Leah?”

“I have no idea. She was talking to a group when we left.”

They drained their Pepsis, wiped the table, and were just ready to go upstairs to bed when headlights came slowly up the drive.

“Hmm, Leah,” Rebekah said, watching as the buggy approached.

Then, “Oh, my goodness! The… They’re going to the barn. I bet you anything Kevin… Oh, my!”

Catching Sadie’s sleeve, she tugged, and said, “Come on, Sadie! He’s coming in! Quick!”

Together they dashed up the stairs, flung open the door of Sadie’s room, and collapsed on the bed, giggling like school girls. They heard Kevin’s deep voice and Leah’s nervous laughter.

The girls whispered about the lack of cookies or bars in the house, anything Leah could serve to him on that first, much-anticipated date.

“There are chocolate whoopie pies in the freezer,” Sadie said.

“He doesn’t want a frozen whoopie pie.”

“They’re best that way.”

“Well, go down and set one on the table for him.”

They dissolved into giggles imagining Leah’s anger if they did something so completely senseless on her very first date.

They were both sound asleep when Leah finally came upstairs. She had managed well on her own, asking him politely if he wanted a snack, which he declined, saying he ate a big helping of cheese and pretzels at the singing. Really, he was far too nervous to eat anything after working up the nerve to ask Leah if he could take her home.

Sadie arrived at work the following morning in a state of melancholy. Not only had her younger sister been on a date, but she seemed to be back to square one with Mark.

When Dorothy fussed and fumed, Sadie became more irritated than usual and told Dorothy she needed to get more kitchen help or retire. One or the other, take your pick. She meant every word she said, and when Dorothy sat down on a kitchen chair and ignored her the whole forenoon, Sadie didn’t care.

Marcellus and Louis came to the kitchen with Jim. The kids were sweet and clean, with only a hint of the usual anxiety in their eyes. Sadie turned on her heel and started savagely stacking dishes in the commercial dishwasher. She resented the way Dorothy turned into another person the minute the children made an appearance.