As soon as she got back, he would move all her stuff, little or a lot, to Mammi and Dawdi’s house. She wasn’t staying here one more night.
How much longer would he have to wait for her? He was already so antsy he thought he might go crazy. Fern needed to know he loved her, and she needed to know it now.
He stood and peered at the rustic shelves. They were clean. Fern’s doing, no doubt. He turned the water can upside down and examined the cracked ceramic flowerpots. He hesitated when he felt something inside one of the pots. With his heart beating in his throat, he pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. “John” was written on the outside. Reuben fingered the paper for half a second, wondering if he should read what was meant for Fern’s bruder, but his curiosity got the better of him. If he took it to John, John would let him read it anyway, for sure and certain.
He unfolded the paper, filled with Fern’s slanted handwriting.
Reuben blinked, and a tear splashed onto Fern’s letter.
He wanted to reach into the page, grab her hand, and scold her for believing that she wasn’t good enough. She was too good for Reuben, and everybody knew it but Fern.
He moaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. It was his doing. He’d been all smiles with Sadie and left Fern to walk home by herself. He’d cared more about what Matthew and Aaron thought than about Fern’s feelings. What had he done but make her believe she was nothing?
And last night, he’d told her so to her face.
Reuben had no strength left for standing. The cot creaked angrily as he sat down on it.
The girl whom he had always counted on had given up on him.
There was no hope left.
He buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a little child.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Fern stepped off the bus and blinked in the bright sunlight. After changing buses three times, she still had to walk another three miles, but at least she was in Sugarcreek and closer to home with every step.
After hours of breathing in the stale, stifling air of a Greyhound bus plus two stinky city buses, Fern found the shade of a maple tree and took in the fresh spring scent of new leaves and lilacs. She told herself it was so, so gute to be home, even though she felt nothing but profound fatigue and breathtaking emptiness.
Stretching her shoulders back, she rotated her neck to work out the kinks she’d collected from her long ride. Oy, anyhow. She hated, hated, riding the bus. Would it have killed her to stay two extra days in Bonduel? At least then she would have had John for company on the return trip.
Jah. It probably would have killed her.
She should never have gone to Wisconsin in the first place. She’d been conceited to think someone like her could help Reuben. She couldn’t even talk him into forgiving her bruder. She had convinced herself that Reuben had wanted her there, and she’d been foolish enough to be taken in by his smiles and his exceptional kindness. Too late she had realized that he was being nice to her, not because he particularly liked her, but because he had a gute heart. Sadie and Esther hadn’t been the only ones taken in.
Fern couldn’t blame Reuben. He was affectionate, charming, irresistible. Irresistibly handsome. He had no idea how many girls fell in love with him just because he gave them a smile or a kind word. Fern had wanted to believe. She had talked herself into hoping that Reuben took her to McDonald’s and fixed her bike because he liked her, and she had no one to blame but herself for the pain that stabbed like a knife to her heart. Every moment spent with Reuben in Bonduel had only made her love him more and made the heartache that much more difficult to bear. She should never have gone. The pain would linger for a very long time.
She’d spent the first three hours of the bus ride crying her eyes out, despite the best efforts of the nice Englisch lady who sat next to her. The older woman had offered Fern her phone, her tissues, and her Flamin’ Hot Crunchy Cheetos, which Fern ate even though they set her mouth on fire. She’d learned never to refuse food, especially when you didn’t know where your next meal was coming from. Fern thanked Gotte that she had possessed the presence of mind to bring two bottles of Wally Schmucker’s water with her. The Cheetos were bearable washed down with something cold.
Well. Lukewarm. She’d never had a fridge in the little storeroom she’d slept in. The water was only cold when the nights were.
Fern’s feet felt as heavy as if she had a brick tied to each ankle. Three miles was an eternity when she hadn’t slept since Sunday morning and hadn’t eaten anything since the Cheetos hours ago.
She squared her shoulders and wrapped her arms around the canvas bag that held the few clothes and other personal items she’d taken from Bonduel. In less than an hour she’d be home. She could take a nap and eat herself silly. She planned on using the last of her paycheck to buy three Sausage McMuffins, two large fries, and an extra-large lemonade, and she wouldn’t share her fries with anyone, not even her little niece Lily Rose, who loved French fries.
Okay. She would share with Lily Rose, but only because Fern had missed her so much.
Fern shook off her heaviness as best she could and put some spring into her step. She was going home. What could be better than seeing Mamm and Dat and hugging her many nieces and nephews and shoveling manure? It was time to move on with her life, without another thought for Reuben Helmuth.
Tears sprung to her eyes. Ach, du lieva. Resolving to put Reuben out of her mind was much easier than doing it. Maybe she’d buy four Sausage McMuffins.
She sniffed and wiped her nose with the nice Englisch lady’s last tissue. Sausage McMuffins would only serve to remind Fern of the times Reuben had taken her to McDonald’s and then watched to make sure she ate enough. She’d never forget the tenderness in his eyes when she’d fainted or the look of eager anticipation when he bought her a chocolate sundae pie at Burger King.
She’d never be able to eat fast food again.
Fern took a deep, shuddering breath, and willed herself to stop thinking about Reuben. It was too hard to walk and cry at the same time. She couldn’t breathe well with a stuffy nose, and she’d surely trip if she didn’t keep a clear eye on the road. Besides, she was out of water. If she didn’t want to get dehydrated, she’d have to stop the tears.
Trying to make herself feel numb, Fern took one determined step in front of the other. The houses thinned out the farther she got from the bus station, and the pastures and fields were abloom in their late spring splendor. She passed Pettys’ house. Mr. Petty was an Englischer who bought a shoat from Dat every spring, then raised and butchered it every winter. The Barkers had painted their house last year, wanting light brown, but the color had turned out to be closer to pink. The Millers raised horses, and the Broom-fields kept a few dozen chickens. Fern hopped the fence and trudged across the Masts’ cornfield, being careful to step in the furrows and not trample the young cornstalks. Fern and her siblings had used Masts’ field as a shortcut for years with the Masts’ permission. Every time Fern cut across their field, she pulled a few weeds as payment for letting her tromp across their property.
She paused as the first whiff of the pig farm greeted her, stinging her nose and calling forth a flood of beautiful memories. She had never minded the smell of the farm, though the neighbors sometimes complained. Of course, Fern’s being a pig farmer’s daughter was one of the reasons Reuben was too gute for her, but she would be ungrateful if she didn’t acknowledge that the familiar, acrid odor of manure meant there were hogs to fatten up and pens to clean. It also meant there was plenty of work to do and food on the table. Fern would never take a full stomach for granted again.
Especially today.
Her empty stomach lurched as if she were still sitting on the bus. Reuben Helmuth stood in one of the hog lots holding a shovel and shooting the breeze with John. Was she having a nightmare? Hadn’t she left them both back in Bonduel?
Didn’t Reuben hate the very sight of her brother?
For sure and certain she was dreaming.
/>
Dreaming or not, under no circumstances was Reuben to see her. Not only did she look a fright after the long bus ride, but she was in no condition to have any sort of a conversation with a boy who found a pig farmer’s daughter repulsive. She’d burst into tears or wither under his upturned nose. She couldn’t do it.
Just. Could. Not.
She wanted to kick herself for taking the shortcut. If she’d gone the long way around, she could have strolled up the road and slipped in the front door, out of sight of the hog lots behind the house. She stopped and crouched next to the Masts’ short corn plants. They’d give her little protection, but at least she wouldn’t be standing out in the open where Reuben was sure to see her. All he had to do was turn his head a few inches to the left.
Sweat trickled down her back. She could still turn around and go back the way she had come, but her legs shook from hunger and fatigue, and she didn’t know if she’d make it to the house before collapsing in a heap by the side of the road. Although, if she did collapse in a heap, maybe the garbage truck would come by and pick her up and Reuben would never have to lay eyes on her again.
Nae. Some well-meaning neighbor would find her before the garbage truck did.
To her right stood a thick stand of trees. If she could make it to the shelter of the trees, she could skirt around the fence line and get close enough to the house to make a run for the back door.
Keeping low to the ground was more challenging than Fern had anticipated. Her knees protested with every step and her back was already sore from sitting on a bus for what seemed like days instead of hours. She caught her breath twice when it looked like Reuben might glance her way, but he seemed to be engrossed in a very serious, very important conversation with John and wasn’t paying attention to much else.
Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, she slipped behind a clump of aspens, spied out from between two of them, and in profound relief, saw that Reuben wasn’t looking in her direction. His gaze pointed toward the road that ran in front of Fern’s house, looking for something. Or someone.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Was he looking for her?
Of course not. Reuben would be happy to have Fern King out of his life forever.
She tiptoed through the undergrowth, trying hard not to make a sound—her pulse pounding against her ears was loud enough. Once she got to the edge of the trees, she made sure Reuben and John weren’t looking, then took a deep breath, leaped over the barbed-wire fence, and made a run for the house. An overhanging tree branch caught her bonnet and ripped it off her head as she ran. She didn’t pause to rescue it. All that mattered was making it to the safety of the house before Reuben caught sight of her and started scowling.
She had always been a fast runner, but her legs felt like jelly and her feet were still dragging those bricks. She gasped as Reuben turned his head. A tree root reached out to grab her foot, and she made a spectacular dive headfirst into the grass. Thank the Lord, she caught herself with her hands and elbows. The pain traveled up her arms. Ach, vell. Better a skinned elbow than a skinned face.
“Fern!” Reuben called as he sprinted in her direction. “Are you all right?” Concern and something like hope joined together on his face, as if he was happy to see her but sorry she’d fallen. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe he was happy she’d fallen and sorry she wasn’t still on that bus.
“Fern, what happened?” John said, coming up behind Reuben and propping his hands on his hips. He chuckled. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it.”
Reuben knelt beside her and tried to help her up. She nudged his arm away, irritated that the mere brush of his hand against hers made her heart gallop around the meadow and down the lane. His concern deepened and there was no mistaking the hurt that flashed in his eyes. What was he up to?
She managed to sit up, but her legs refused to obey the simple command to stand. It frustrated her to no end that she had nearly made it to the house without being seen. She would have bawled like a baby if Reuben hadn’t been kneeling there, a witness to her grand and painful humiliation.
“Fern, are you okay? Can I help you to the house? Do you need something to eat?”
Jah. She wanted a whole loaf of Mamm’s honey-whole-wheat bread and a gallon of raspberry lemonade. She did not want to eat one more helping of humble pie. Couldn’t Reuben leave her alone to let her wallow in her misery?
“I tripped,” she said. Reuben was undoubtedly laughing at her even though he didn’t make a sound. John made no attempt to be quiet about it. Her brother was the most insensitive, aggravating boy in the world. She regretted being related to him.
“Here,” Reuben said, trying to take her hand without permission again. “Let me help you into the house. You need to eat. Your mamm made stew.”
Stew sounded like about the best thing in the whole world right now. Too bad she couldn’t make it to the house to eat.
“Can you stand up?” Reuben said. She wished he’d stop with the compassion. It was an act, and she couldn’t bear the mockery anymore.
“You and John go back to what you were doing. I’ll make it to the house on my own.”
“I don’t think you will.” Reuben flashed a beautiful, tortured smile that normally would have turned her knees to mush and her heart to tapioca pudding. The little pieces of shattered glass that were her hopes and dreams crumbled to dust and blew away. Oh, how she loved him! Why hadn’t she taken the long way around? Why hadn’t he stayed in Bonduel?
He bent down, gathered her into his arms, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. She should have resisted the tenderness of his touch. Any surrender of her precarious control would only hurt worse in the end. Instead, she melted into his embrace, wrapped her arms around his neck, and let herself savor the protection and warmth of his strong arms. It was only for a few seconds. She would play the fool in exchange for a few glorious moments of nearness to Reuben Helmuth. She’d never get so close again.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?”
“I had breakfast.” A very early breakfast. Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. They were delicious.
“You need to eat,” he said, his tone laced with anxiety but without a hint of scolding. Was he back to playing the worried older brother?
No matter how hard she bit down on her tongue, she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. She buried her face in his neck so he wouldn’t see, but he’d surely notice the wetness seeping into his shirt. Oh, sis yuscht!
“Shh, heartzly. Please don’t cry,” he said, soothing her as if she were a child.
John disappeared as Reuben carried her up the porch steps and into the kitchen.
Mamm stood at the kitchen sink washing the supper dishes. She turned when she heard the door open. “Fern!”
Reuben kicked a chair out from under the table and set Fern into it. Mamm rushed to Fern’s side and cupped her hand around Fern’s cheek. “Ach, my little bitty. We’ve been waiting for you since daybreak. I was so worried. Are you hurt?”
Fern threw her arms around Mamm, and the tears flowed like water from a faucet. “I’m okay, just happy to be home.”
Mamm pulled away from Fern and gave her the once-over, clicking her tongue and frowning reproachfully. “But you look so skinny. Did Barbara not feed you? You should have come home sooner.”
“Jah,” said Fern. “I should have.”
The lines burrowed deeper around Reuben’s mouth. For sure and certain he was wishing Fern had never gone to Bonduel in the first place.
“You look exhausted,” Mamm said, patting Fern’s cheek.
Fern nodded. “I need a bowl of stew and a long nap.”
Mamm’s eyes darted between Fern and Reuben, and she seemed to force a smile. “But . . . now I must go upstairs. I think I left some water running.” Before Fern could protest, Mamm backed out of the room and started up the stairs. “I’ll be back. See that she gets something to eat, Reuben.”
“I will,” Reuben
said, nodding as if he cared about her, as if her mamm’s request was his only desire. He tenderly took Fern’s hands and turned them palms up. She shivered at his touch. “Ach. You’re bleeding.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t see the elbows. “It’s not even enough for a Band-Aid,” she said, pulling from his grasp. She would not let Reuben lure her in, no matter how handsome he was or how concerned he seemed. She was the pig farmer’s daughter. She must keep reminding herself or get hurt worse than she already was. Why had Mamm left her alone with him? She’d had enough of Reuben to last three lifetimes.
He went to the sink and wet one of Mamm’s good towels, then brought it back to the table and dabbed at the blood oozing from the scrapes on her palms. She didn’t dare lift her eyes to his face. “There,” he said. “Almost as good as new.” Except for the towel. Mamm would not be happy about the bloodstains. “Do you want a Band-Aid?”
“Nae, denki.”
He paused for a minute, probably wondering why he was tending to Fern King, the toilet cleaner, instead of flirting with the minister’s daughter or painting Sadie Yoder’s mailbox, but she wouldn’t look at him, so she couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Fern laced her fingers together and sat in silence as Reuben moved about the kitchen as if it were his own, filling the kettle, turning on the stove, retrieving the herbal tea from the shelf. When the water was on to boil, he poured leftover stew into a pot and set it next to the tea kettle. He turned and smiled at her. She’d never seen any expression so profoundly sad. She couldn’t bear the beauty of it and looked away.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering how John and I got here before you did,” he said.
“You must have hired a driver.” She sounded mousy and frightened, as if one scowl from Reuben would break her like a twig. Maybe it would.
Or maybe she was more durable than that.
“When I found out you had gone, I raced to the bus stop with Dawdi’s horse. Rhubarb used to be a champion, you know.” He frowned and cleared his throat, probably remembering that Fern hadn’t been invited to the buggy races and didn’t know how fast Felty’s horse could run. “Your bus had left by the time I got there. I rode back to Huckleberry Hill, packed my things, and called a driver. My mammi sends her best and asked me to give you a pot holder. It’s in my suitcase.”