Hester on the Run Page 17

  Inside, the light was so dim, Hester had to blink her eyes to be able to see anything. After a minute or so, she could see the long, high counter along the side, the form of a man behind it, and a knot of Indians talking in low, guttural tones.

  The smell that assaulted all of them as they stepped inside came from the great pile of furs in a corner of the room, tied in bundles with heavy string, a great stinking heap of them. Noah and Isaac held their noses, rolled their eyes, and made gagging sounds, until Lissie plucked at Hans’s sleeve and whispered to him about the boys’ bad behavior.

  Hester had never seen so many objects in one place. Her large, dark eyes roamed every wall, taking in the bolts of fabric, rope, plowshares, lanterns, hooks, utensils, tools, rakes, pitchforks, dishes, books, long rifles, and evil-looking pistols.

  There were barrels of molasses and herring and pickles. Drums of vinegar, barrels of sugar and flour and salt. Tentatively, Hester reached up to touch her cap and adjusted it slightly.

  One Indian who caught sight of Hester stopped and stared. Speaking rapidly to the others in his group, they all turned and stared, their black eyes keen, their bodies held very still.

  They were tall with straight black hair tied with lengths of rawhide. They wore linen shirts, leggings made of deerskin and brown, beaded moccasins on their feet. Heavy ropes and necklaces made of bear claws, bear teeth and shells hung from around their necks. Each had many bracelets of Dutch beads strung around both wrists.

  Hester lowered her head. Her stomach flopped when one of them approached the family. He spoke to Hans, who spread his hands and shrugged.

  “Come.” The Indian led him to the counter and began a series of rapid-fire questions, which the owner of the trading post translated to Hans in German.

  Yes, Hester was an Indian. A foundling. She was fifteen, maybe older. They had never been sure of her birth date. Yes, she was Amish.

  After this had all been translated back to the Indians, they nodded eagerly and became quite excitable. They came to stand close to Hester, examining her with their eyes, reaching out to touch her, but stopping before they actually made contact.

  Hans fought to remain calm, the looming fear of losing her seeming like a sudden reality.

  The Indians were quiet, well-spoken, and strong. Their bodies were honed to perfection by long hunts, their travels through the forest, their way of moving constantly.

  Hans thought they were likely of the same tribe as Hester as he observed their stature, the contour of their faces, the way they walked.

  When he felt it was polite, he pointed Hester toward the fabric, in spite of the Indians’ interest in her. They chose bolts of linen to make knee breeches and shirts, shortgowns and dresses for the little ones.

  Hester could not help but look longingly at some purple fabric, too, the shade of violets nestled between their waxy green leaves in early spring. Her eyes begged Hans. At first he shook his head no. But when she bent her head gracefully, the thick lashes sweeping her cheeks, and when a painful blush crept across the swell of her face, he caved in, sinking like a man caught in quicksand.

  He bought a plowshare, a length of rope, and a new axe blade. He bought hard candy for the little ones. Lissie pouted prettily until he bought a beautiful square of fabric for her.

  They sat beneath the shade of a great locust tree behind the trading post. Hester spread a cloth on the ground, and they ate bread and some dried deer meat.

  It was very good. They were all hungry, so everything tasted especially fine out in the open air, away from the pile of furs, thinking of the new colorful fabric they had just bought. The dried venison was salty and tough. They chewed it for a long time, finally washing it down with spring water, which Hester had put in a wooden pail with a tight-fitting lid, then wrapped in heavy coverlets to keep it cool.

  It was a wonderful day.

  Hans asked Hester how she felt about the Indians who were so like her. She kept her face averted and said she didn’t know. She couldn’t sort out her feelings yet. It was too soon. The Indians had not repulsed her; neither had they attracted her.

  She knew her skin was the exact same shade of brown, her hair straight and sleek and thick. God had created her an Indian. And he loved her. He loved her enough to have her be discovered by Kate, a childless mother whose arms had ached to hold an infant of her own. But then he’d taken Kate away. She’d figure it out later. Today was too perfect.

  They traveled on to Berksville, where a group of houses huddled in tired rows lining a dusty street, like maids trying to appear as wealthy women.

  Hester knew now why they were called false fronts. A lot of Amish people had false fronts—perhaps English people, too—appearing to be a lot more than they really were. Behind the fronts were the brownish, gray-weathered lumber buildings that looked exactly alike, but people couldn’t see that. Only God did.

  In Berksville, Hans bought a great copper kettle that cost a lot of money, he said. He also said it was a necessary item, one that would pay for itself at butchering time, and in the fall, when they cooked apple and pear butter.

  The children saw a livery stable, a hotel, and a drunken man who was weaving in and out of other pedestrians’ paths, singing a ribald song at the top of his lungs, hiccupping in between his off-key words.

  Hans’s face became set and severe, thinking how he’d brought his innocent children directly into the maw of the world. What if Noah and Isaac wanted to try that? Well, he certainly couldn’t say he had always abstained. But that was in the days of his youth, when the Amish leaned toward tolerating youth who sowed a few wild oats before they were ready to settle down.

  They met an English couple walking arm in arm, chatting happily, their faces turned toward one another, and Hans experienced such a pang of pain, he thought he would fall down in the dusty street. How he missed those moments with Kate! Hunched over on the front seat, he became weary of life with such an uncertain future before him. Yes, he needed a wife, a helpmeet, a fine Christian companion. The thought settled into his brain, bringing a kind of hopelessness he hadn’t thought possible.

  He glanced over at Hester, who sat like stone, her perfect profile etched into his heart, impossible to remove and as lethal as smallpox.

  He heard the children’s noise in the background. Lissie was seated in the copper kettle, wagging her head in time to the song they were punching out in various keys. He smiled to himself.

  The sun was not yet setting when they crossed the river again. Hester watched for the flaming head of Padriac, but only the old man rose from the stump he was seated on, shuffled over, and poled them across.

  It was not yet dark when tired Dot and Daisy pulled the spring wagon up to the barnyard. They stood with their heads drooping, eagerly awaiting the removal of the heavy leather harness and a long, cool drink of water from the trough, a fine pile of oats and corn, and a forkful of hay thrown across the stable door.

  CHAPTER 16

  ALMOST TO THE DAY, A YEAR AFTER KATE’S DEATH, the deacon, Amos Eash, announced the upcoming nuptials of Hans Zug and Annie Troyer.

  The well-trained congregation remained in their seats, faces solemn, showing no emotion. The number of the last song was given out, and the slow rhythm of German singing followed. No one cracked a smile.

  The children had been told the evening before. Noah’s face closed like a book. Just folded up, unreadable. Isaac searched Noah’s face to see what his own reaction should be. Finding no clue, he shrugged his shoulders and figured Noah would let him know sometime.

  Lissie jumped up and down and clapped her hands in excitement. Then upon finding out who the bride was, she wrinkled her nose and said, “Ew. Why her?”

  The three boys, “the stair steps,” as they were often called—Solomon, Daniel, and John—said it was all right and that it would be nice to have a mother again.

  The three little ones jumped up, eagerly imitating Lissie. But they were confused by her nose-wrinkling and went outside to play.r />
  Hester said nothing. She watched Hans’s face, and thought he had done well, asking Anna Troyer. She was young, never married, slim as a rail, and probably prettier than Kate had ever been. She had brown hair, the color of most white people’s, and a round, comely face, if not beautiful. Yes, Hans had done well.

  Like a stone rolling off her young shoulders, the burden of keeping house, the washing, the baking, just everything slid off as she thought of having a mother in the house.

  The wedding could not be soon enough for Hester. The Amish neighbors gathered around and planned a “sewing” for Hans’s family.

  One day after another marched by in quick succession, unraveling life as Hester knew it.

  After a year on her own, she was the one in charge. She decided when to do the washing, when to light the bake oven, when to put in the bread and cakes. The wood was chopped and carried in under her supervision, the bedding washed in her time.

  Now and then Rebecca swooped into the house, a great beaked crow of disapproval, shouting at the children, simpering with pleasure at Hans’s appearance, and sending Hester to do the meanest tasks she could think of. The farm had to come up to Annie Troyer’s standards, and she was fastidious, Rebecca said. She came from Germany, where the people worked hard, lived clean, and never shirked a duty. The children would have to live up to her standards now.

  The day arrived when Hans brought Annie to meet the children, only a few hours after Rebecca prodded her horse down the road, the house cleaned to her satisfaction.

  He unhitched Dot with Annie’s help, who seemed flushed, radiant, and eager to help. Together, under Hester’s watchful eye, they entered the house, Hans stepping aside, a hand on Annie’s back, to introduce her to the children.

  She was thin as a rail like a young sapling. Her skirts hung straight and full, touching the heels of her shoes, her cape pinned close under her chin, falling across her shoulders, revealing not the slightest hint of a womanly figure. Her eyes were large and set far apart, her whole face quite comely except for the uneven row of teeth that revealed themselves when she smiled.

  Hester watched warily as she shook hands with Noah, then Isaac, saying softly, hardly above a whisper, “How do you do?” The boys nodded awkwardly, the late afternoon sun’s rays illuminating their tortured eyes as they searched Annie’s face for signs of approval.

  When Annie reached Hester, she put out her hand yet again, grasped Hester’s in a firm grip, and said, “Hester.” Hester’s eyes met Annie’s with a flat, expressionless appraisal. She held her lips straight and taut. Annie was struck by her beautiful face, crowned by a sheen of black hair, while noting that her cap was too far back on her head. Hester’s eyes were like the eyes of a cat, mere slits, awaiting its prey, Annie thought. Her knees went weak.

  Hans saw. Ah. Hester didn’t like Annie. A fierce possession welled up in him, and he was strangely comforted. His heart was a tangled mass of knots, a disorderly jumble of feelings he was struggling to unravel. The display of animosity in front of him only heightened the tension by far.

  His heart pounding, he smiled untruthfully while showing Annie the remainder of the rooms. He sat with her at the clean plank table and laid out his plans for a new stone house. When the children gathered around shyly, Annie lifted little Emma onto her lap, and they resembled a family.

  The wedding was held at Dan Troyer’s, and a fine one it was, everyone said.

  The great house was emptied of its furniture. The summer kitchen filled up with women, who, although dressed in their Sunday finery, cooked and stewed and baked as the wedding guests were seated in the main house on hard, wooden benches. The gathered community listened to the traditional sermon as the minister spoke of creation, of Ruth and Samson and Tobias of the Apocrypha.

  Hans was large and dark-skinned, his full cheeks flushed with color, his eyes bright with renewed vigor. His Annie sat beside him, meek, quiet, her eyes lowered, dressed in a navy blue dress and black cape and apron, pinned snugly about her neck. Her white head covering hid most of her brown hair.

  It was a solemn occasion. The children were in everyone’s thoughts and were being closely observed. Poor motherless little ones. The women sized them up, clucked their tongues, said the little boys didn’t look happy. Ach, Annie would be good to them, poor little boys.

  That Hester. Good luck with her, they said, shaking their heads. Annie would have her hands full with that one. Well, they never should have raised her. She was, after all, an Indian. Mark my words, she’ll bring sorrow on the family. So the talk drifted in half-whispers behind palms held sideways, as people are wont to do on occasions such as this.

  Hans ate turnips with dark streams of browned butter running from a pool on top of them. He ate large spoonsful of roasht, the traditional chicken filling, with rich brown gravy, and shredded cabbage mixed with vinegar and sugar.

  There were cakes and pies, cookies, stewed apples, and apple butter bread.

  Annie smiled, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the tools people had brought as gifts. She gazed at her new husband and felt a lucky girl.

  Hester sat with her friends but remained strangely silent most of the day, except when she answered questions or lifted the corners of her mouth in a half-hearted attempt at gaiety. This was not what she wanted. She wanted Kate, her mother. Her loyalty, her love, was with Kate. Why had they gone that day? If they never would have picked raspberries and disturbed the mother bear, Kate would still be here.

  The wedding songs rose and fell as the guests sang lustily. The children ran outside to play, eating all the cookies and doughnuts they wanted with not a care in the world.

  Hester thought of the old Indian woman and wondered if she was still alive. Suddenly, she had an overwhelming urge to see her and to visit the magical place. She knew without question that she must go. She needed her in a way she could not understand.

  “Hester?”

  She looked up.

  “Come. The girls are getting ready to go to the table.”

  Hester shook her head.

  Annie’s sister, Barbara, questioned her with lifted eyebrows.

  “I’m not sixteen.”

  “Oh, but you may go to the table with a boy.”

  “Going to the table” meant standing in a group with other white-faced, nervous girls, waiting for a single young man to reach for her hand, then lead her to the table and join in with the hymn-singing. She wouldn’t be able to participate, being an Indian. No boy would choose her to accompany him to the table.

  She shook her head.

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  Hester lowered her head. “No one will want me.”

  Barbara was shocked.

  “Oh, but that’s not true.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Why, no.”

  Hester wanted to believe her. Her friends prodded until she gave in, standing miserably behind the rest of the colorfully clad young women who giggled and made small talk, trying to appear nonchalant when, in truth, they were bordering on hysterics.

  Who would ask for their company? Would anyone? Would it be the one they preferred, or one they could barely tolerate?

  Hester’s heart pounded as she stood in the room upstairs. The young men would come trooping up the stairs, their hearts pounding as well, jostling, joking, combing their hair, bending to check their appearance in small mirrors, held discreetly.

  Hester almost elbowed her way out of the room. She wanted to flee, to run and run and run out of sight, away from this ghastly wedding, this disturbing, unnerving day, when her father took this questionable, skinny girl to be his wife, her mother.

  The first young man appeared. Gigantic, wide-shouldered, his head scraping the low ceiling, his hair as black as midnight on a rainy night, his eyes as brown as a shelled walnut.

  One glance, and Hester’s eyes fell.

  His eyes surveyed the room from left to right and back again. He stepped forw
ard. Softly, he made his way through the over-eager young girls, parting them, his eyes telling them to step back.

  Hester could not look up. Her eyes were held by the hem of the dress in front of her. When the skirt moved aside, she saw a white sleeved arm, a large brown hand extended, the fingers long, tapered, the nails clean and cut evenly.

  She hesitated, unsure. She waited for another girl’s hand to take the one that was offered. When none appeared, she looked up, afraid of making a mistake. The brown eyes looking down at her were the gentlest thing she had ever seen.

  Slowly, trembling, she placed her hand in his. She was led away, the girls parting for them, faces showing the extent of their congratulations or misery. He took his time, walking slowly, holding up his hand so she could easily descend the narrow staircase.

  Heads turned at the first couple’s approach. There were broad smiles of approval, eyes following their every move. This was a wedding, and matchmaking and romance swirled in the very essence of the room.

  Other couples followed, but Hester was guided to the bench by the wall, facing the wedding guests.

  Gracefully, she slid into her place on the bench beside him. Her shoulder touched his solid one. Quickly, she leaned away, lowering her eyes, folding her hands in her lap. She felt as if her breathing brought no oxygen to her body, as if her heart would lose its power to keep going. There was no way she could speak to him.

  He propped his elbows on the table. His shoulder came solidly against hers, and he kept it there. “Hello,” he said, very softly.

  Hester only nodded. She had no power to speak.

  “Can you say, ‘Hi’?” he asked, so gentle, so easy.

  She nodded again.