Hester on the Run Read online

  Hester flew off the bobsled, landed in deep snow, sat up, and blinked. She watched Hans leap and flounder through the snow, his face red, his mouth open, screeching and threatening as the bewildered horses thrashed and kicked in their traces. They panicked as they became thoroughly entangled, their eyes rolling.

  Hans yelled and yelled. Kate lay in the snow, her shoulder sending out red-hot stabs of pain. She gritted her teeth against it, willing herself to stay conscious as the cold, white, whirling world spun around her. Isaac, wakened by his rude dive into the snow, cried loudly, matching his brother’s screams.

  Hester blinked again. No sound emerged from her mouth. She lifted herself to her feet, waded through the snow to comfort Noah, and then went to her mother. Bending her head, she touched Kate’s face. “Mam?”

  Kate struggled to sit up. The children needed her. She had to rouse herself. Leaving little Isaac crying in the snow, she managed to push herself onto her side with one hand. Her shoulder was fiery with pain. She was able to move her fingers, as well as bend and turn her elbow, so she figured her arm and hand were all right.

  A heavy wall of snow came roaring through the trees, the massive trunks creaking and bending. Kate struggled to see Hans and the fleeing horses then bent her attention to her throbbing shoulder.

  She concluded that nothing was broken. She was likely bruised, the joint having taken the brunt of her weight as she fell off the bobsled. She would be all right. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she bent to retrieve poor little Isaac, his teeth chattering with cold and fright. She held him against her body beneath the heavy shawl, hunching her head to the flying snow, then searching the wild, cold, unrelenting winds for her remaining two children. Hester was visible in her little black shawl and hat as she crouched over Noah, who was still crying out in terrified howls.

  “Hester!”

  Her word was whipped away by the wind. Kate realized in that instant that their situation was dire. She fought down the fear that threatened to take her common sense away and replace it with stupidity, tempting her to try walking through the snow and the drifts that would certainly and rapidly form.

  Hans would calm the team. She watched as the broken bobsled lurched, lifted, and then fell over and over, as the kicking, galloping horses drew it steadily away from them. Hans cried out as he plunged clumsily after the frantic animals.

  They had to have the horses. Could they possibly get to Doddy’s house without them?

  Kate turned her head to view the long, steep hill they had just traversed, inch by dangerous inch, and now here they were on level ground, but with a useless bobsled.

  Thank goodness, Noah stopped screaming, calming under Hester’s motherly words. Only the wind, the retreating sounds of the galloping team of horses dragging the overturned bobsled, and Hans’s cries brought Kate harshly to her senses. They were alone.

  Kate calculated the distance back to the house. Somewhere between two and three miles. Between here and there was the long incline. She had two babies and a two-year-old. There was her painful shoulder. She had nothing but the wagon robes and the deerskins. They would freeze here. Hans needed to take care of the team. She would have to provide for the children.

  Laying Isaac carefully in the snow, she moved her left shoulder gingerly, telling herself the pain was, indeed, subsiding.

  Hester stood in the whirling whiteness, her black eyes peering from beneath her hat’s rim, watching her mother, saying nothing, waiting to hear what she would say.

  “Hester, can you walk home with me?” Kate asked, her words catching in little gasps of pain.

  Hester blinked. “Ya.”

  So Kate made a sled of sorts by gathering two corners of the wagon robe together and then laying the babies on it. She shushed Noah, bunched the corners of the robe in one hand, and then bent to its weight, walking briskly as she struggled through the snow.

  She assured herself that Hans would know she was heading back to the farm. She had to. It was the only rational thing to do. They never should have started out in the first place. Anger at Hans washed over her. Jealousy stabbed her heart. Tears of rage and weakness boiled up from her pain, thinking of Hans’s undying love for his mother. Skinny, meticulous, ill-tempered, old …

  Kate caught herself, guilt stopping the flow of Adam’s nature that she knew caused these thoughts. She knew how much she resented Rebecca too much of the time.

  Her anger propelled her straight up the hill, her babies’ yowling and bouncing only adding to her strength. She was glad for her strong legs and wide backside, her powerful shoulders, her muscles tempered like a man’s from the lifting of her sturdy sons, the washing, the gardening, the cleaning.

  She stopped to catch her breath, swiping a wet, mittened hand across her running nose, her streaming eyes.

  “Mein Gott, vergebe mich meine Sinde” (My God, forgive my sins), she whispered.

  Her thoughts were of the devil, she knew, and he must be overcome by the power of Jesus Christ, she knew, too. And so she did her utmost to repent, her inner spiritual struggle matching her strides, hampered by the incline and the snow.

  “Hester, are you coming?” she called back to the small form, struggling to place her footprints in those of her mother, the dragging blankets making it much easier for her to walk.

  “Ya.”

  Hester’s voice was calm, unafraid. She was simply going about her duty, following her mother back to the house. She had to place her feet carefully, but she could do it.

  Love for her beautiful little daughter welled up in Kate as she leaned forward, pulling her sons steadily up the incline, picking her way carefully among the rocks and through the ruts where rivers of rain had furrowed deep ditches down each side.

  “Do you want to sit on the blanket awhile?” Kate asked, turning to Hester.

  “Nay. I can walk.”

  “Are your legs tired?”

  “Nay.”

  “Can we go on?”

  “Ya.”

  Hester scooped up snow with her mittens, brought it to her mouth, and took big mouthfuls. The child was thirsty, Kate realized. How did she know enough to eat the snow to slake her thirst? For the hundredth time, she marveled at the child’s common sense, the way she knew things far beyond her years.

  There was no time to contemplate these things, she had to get her babies home. Their cries of terror had turned into pitiful whimpers, sniffles, and an occasional cough, so Hester plowed on.

  The bare branches of the trees were increasingly whipped about by the force of the wind, the snow thick and whirling around them. Kate was not as frightened as she had been when they were going in the opposite direction. She knew exactly where she was and the distance she had to cover. Her shoulder had settled into a dull, pulsating pain, bearable now, and she knew she would make it home.

  When Hester lagged behind, Kate stopped, rolled her sons more tightly in their cocoon of deerskin, and then kept on going. Her hands were numb with the cold, her toes like blocks of ice, but she had no time to worry about that now.

  Chickadees fluttered by the wayside, crows cawed overhead. A red bird called from a bush nearby, and Kate did not know Hester stopped walking until she turned to see, her daughter now a small black dot a hundred yards away.

  “Hester!” she called, impatient.

  The call of the red bird was repeated, over and over as Hester resumed her little steps through the snow, her eyes alight, snapping brilliantly beneath her flat hat.

  “Rote birdy” (Red bird), she announced.

  Over and over, she repeated the call.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nay.”

  When a particularly strong gust of wind whipped the snow into a fast-moving white cloud, enveloping them inside, Hester merely sat down and buried her face in her shawl. She didn’t look up until the stinging snow had slowed, then she pushed herself to her feet and looked at Kate, as if to say, “All right, let’s go.”

  Long before the small, gr
ay house came into view, Kate dreamed of it, longed for it, felt as if she would never lift the heavy iron latch and stumble through the door.

  At first, when the house came into view, Kate could see only the walls, and then just a part of them was visible. The roof held a layer of drifting snow; the windows were frosted with snow flung against them. She felt a little crazy, as if the cabin had changed in appearance, having turned into a half-buried cave, cold and white and wet with snow.

  When she lifted the latch with frozen mittens clinging to her cold fingers, she heaved the burden of blankets and babies through the opening and collapsed beside the makeshift sled after closing the door behind Hester, who stomped the snow off her boots, imitating Hans.

  She breathed fast, then got to her feet and went to the fireplace. She uncovered the red coals, digging around in them with the poker. She added a few small sticks of wood and went to attend to her shivering, half-frozen sons. Hester walked to the fire, removed her mittens, held her hands to the warmth, and imitated the call of the red bird once more. She lifted her face to Kate and smiled the sweetest, calmest little grin she had ever seen.

  Kate bent, grabbed her daughter and smothered her in kisses. “My sweet, darling little Hester. You did so good. I love you so much. You are the very best daughter I have.”

  Hester giggled, then turned to place both palms against her mother’s cheeks inside the dripping hat. She placed her lips reverently on Kate’s, a solemn vow of love.

  Somehow, as long as she lived, Kate would remember this.

  Hans recovered the team, his lungs on fire from yelling, drawing on every ounce of his strength as he plowed through the snow and roaring wind.

  Dot, the intelligent horse, regained her sense of calm first, which helped Daisy slow her headlong plunge through the snow. The bouncing sled hampered their progress, so Hans was able to catch up with them after less than half a mile. He had to spend considerable time freeing the still-struggling horses from the broken sled. He cut his hands and pinched his fingers, but with heroic effort, he eventually freed the heaving, sweat-soaked animals from the terrifying confines of twisted harness and bouncing sled.

  He stroked Dot’s neck, praised her and calmed her down, then looped the reins across her neck and flung himself on her back, leading Daisy.

  He figured he’d find his wife and children huddled beneath the blankets. He planned on continuing the trek to his parents’ house on horseback, which might have been better in the beginning anyway. He was shocked to find no trace of his family. He sat on the horse’s back, peered through the whirling whiteness, and did not know what to make of the situation.

  Where had she gone? She couldn’t carry three children. Then he saw the indentation, the wide path through the blowing snow, all but obscured in some places. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t return home.

  He peered up the steep hill they had just slid down and thought he’d find her, that they’d resume their journey to his parents’ house. His mouth watered, thinking of the wild plum pudding, the roast turkey and stewed rabbit, the potpie made with squirrel, the applesauce and cream drizzled over the berry pie.

  The whole way home, his ill temper worsened. Kate never heard him put the horses in the barn. She didn’t know he was at home until he burst through the door, lifting the latch in the same second, a heavy, clunking sound that made her jump.

  “Kate.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you come home?”

  “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t sit in the snow with two babies. And Hester.”

  “We could have ridden the horses to my parents’ house, Kate. You know that. I’m disappointed in you.”

  Kate hung her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I want to go.”

  “But …”

  Kate floundered. She lifted her eyes to the window, the now whirling whiteness never letting up.

  “Hans, I don’t feel it is wise to take these young children out in this blizzard. God has spared us this time. If we were foolhardy enough to try again, he might not.”

  Slowly, Hans’s anger abated, and he shrugged off his steaming coat. Going to sit by the fire, he acknowledged Kate’s words with a nod of his head, but barely.

  Kate kept more thoughts to herself as she bathed both sons in very warm water, gave them chamomile tea, and dressed them in heavy flannel nightgowns before putting them to bed.

  Silence hung invisible, a spirit of martyrdom on Hans’s part, a deep shame on Kate’s. How much of her wrong decision had come from her hidden jealousy of his mother? For it had been a wrong decision, if Hans, her husband, had wanted to go.

  She made fried mush and fishly, the best cut of deer meat fried in lard, steaming hot and crispy, a pot of bean soup with rivels, the flour and egg dumplings thick and heavy in the scalding milk to cheer him, but he said he was not hungry. Instead, he watched Kate lean over her large bowl of soup, spooning it into her mouth with studied intensity. He felt an emotion close to disgust, but he read his German Schrift (Scripture) to resist it.

  Only Hester could elevate his dark mood, playfully grabbing his shirt and hanging on like an agile little squirrel.

  Kate washed dishes, listened to their play, a smile on her face. Yes, God had sent the darling girl into their lives to fulfill them. Already she was weaving her special magic in the family, a little mother to Noah, a ray of sunshine to Hans, a blessing to Kate, who needed her now, more than ever, as the familiar nausea welled up yet again.

  CHAPTER 6

  BY THE TIME ELIZABETH WAS BORN, NOAH WAS A hefty two-year-old, and Isaac had turned one.

  Elizabeth was called Lissie, after the midwife who attended the birth. Never pronounced “Lizzie,” in the refined manner of the English, she was known as “Lissie,” with the German pronunciation. A fair child with a thatch of thin brown hair and her mother’s blue eyes, she was welcomed into the family with gladness.

  Hans held her, became more familiar with her than he had with his newborn sons, but it wasn’t long until he largely ignored her.

  Hester was three years old, almost four, although Kate and Hans never knew the exact date of her birth. They calculated she may have been six weeks, perhaps a month old, when Kate found her at the spring. So on the first of March they celebrated her birthday with a sweet cake made of molasses and brown sugar.

  Little Isaac had come down with an alarming fever and cough after Kate’s trek through the snow. Onion poultices and Lissie Hershberger’s knowledge pulled him through. He remained sickly throughout that summer, crying endlessly with wheezing little breaths from his damaged lungs. Finally, at summer’s end, Mamie Troyer made a tincture of herbs learned from an Indian grandmother who was traveling through, and he became stronger.

  Noah, however, ate ceaselessly, developing a fine physique at a very young age, although his hair was still thin and very blond. He followed Hans about the farm wherever he could and did not think anything was amiss if Hans kept him at bay, barely noticing or speaking to him, rarely acknowledging him and often smacking him. He learned to wait his turn for food, to stay out of Hans’s way, never to speak unless he was spoken to, and to sleep when he was put to bed.

  With his mother, he could be more lively, ask more questions, be more playful. He never thought much about it that Hester was always granted favors and never spanked. It was simply the way of it, through a child’s eyes, his life accepted without question. He loved the dark-eyed Indian child and was too young to know she was anything but his older sister.

  By the time Rebecca arrived, Lissie was a little over a year and a half old, and Hester was already learning her numbers. From her bed, Kate taught Hester the alphabet, nursing little Rebecca as the maud, Ruth, went about running the household smoothly.

  Lissie Hershberger, however, returned to visit with Kate when Hans was out shoeing horses. She brought a box containing pennyroyal tea for Kate to drink and a determination that Kate needed to hear what she had to say. The varicose veins in K
ate’s legs were not goot, and she needed to look after herself.

  Lissie sat in the hickory rocker, drank cup after cup of peppermint tea, held little Lissie, and told Kate she had a beautiful family, she really did, but now she needed to take care of herself. She asked where Hester was. Kate told her she went with Hans to shoe horses. Lissie squinted her eyes, pressed her lips in a straight line of disapproval, and asked why Hans didn’t take Noah. Kate lowered her head as a small blush crept across her tired features. “Noah gets in Hans’s way,” she said. “He’s too small.”

  “Hmph!” Lissie snorted, which set little Lissie to giggling, reaching up to touch Lissie’s face. “That’s no excuse. Kate, I have to say this. Either you love your husband beyond all reason, or you’re just plain dumb. That Hester of yours is spoiled beyond control. Does she ever get punished for anything she does? It’s unnatural the way all of you dote on her. Believe me, your harvest will come with these poor, needy boys. Oh, don’t talk, Kate. Let me finish. I’ve been here at all the births, and nothing ever changes. Hester gets five times the amount of love and attention the rest of the children do, and you don’t notice at all. That Hester will bring you down, you mark my words.”

  Kate dropped her eyes and kept them lowered as wave after wave of color chased over her features. She plucked at the woven coverlet on the bed with work-worn fingers, pleating it nervously. Finally, she sighed, heavily.

  “All right, Lissie. If you promise not to speak of this, I’ll talk. No, I’m not dumb. Yes, I know Hans is partial to Hester. He always was, but I figure there’s nothing I can do to change that, and to punish Hester for his unfairness will only make the situation worse. He is my husband, and I have promised to obey him. His will is my will, Lissie.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  The words were short and hard, pellets of mockery now. Kate watched her fingers methodically pleating the coverlet, as if her own hands did not belong to her.

  “All I can say is, be careful with that child.”

  Kate nodded.

  The subject was dropped, conversation flowed to easier subjects, and they spoke of community news and the band of Lenape Indians who was traveling through the area and had stopped to trade furs at the trading post on Northkill Creek.