Chapter 6
Being pregnant was harder than it looked.
Sitting at her grandmother’s kitchen table and sipping tea, Beth was trying her very best not to throw up.
But as her grandmother kept talking about hens and eggs and Sunday suppers, all while washing the fronts of all the kitchen cabinets and doors with vinegar, she was starting to think it was inevitable.
Why her Mommi thought that discussing the possibility of butchering a hen was a suitable topic, Beth had no idea.
Happily oblivious to Beth’s gurgling tummy, Mommi continued. “That’s why I told your Dawdi this Sunday might be the day to do it. What do you think?”
She was thinking that she would happily hand over her last real-estate commission if her grandmother would speak about anything else. Flowers, perhaps. The weather. World peace?
Mommi put her washrag down. “Well?”
She had no idea what she was supposed to say. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m sorry, I seemed to have zoned out for a minute. What do I think about what, again?”
Her grandmother sighed as she propped both of her hands on her hips. “Roasting Anna.”
Roasting. Anna. It took a second to put the two words together . . . and then it all made sense. In absolutely the worst way possible. “Are you referring to the hen that vexed Kelsey so much?”
“Well, jah, Beth.”
She was beginning to feel queasy. And hot. And possibly hormonal, because all she could seem to think about at the moment was her younger sister confiding in a chicken. “I don’t think—”
“Come now, you haven’t gotten attached to that hen as well, have ya? Dawdi and I have told you from the beginning that it wasn’t wise to grow attached to livestock.”
“I know, but Anna is special.”
“No, she isn’t. What do you think? Does roast chicken sound good for Sunday supper?”
Her stomach groaned in protest as saliva pooled in her mouth. Panic set in, thanks to her new friend—tears. Yep, she was about to burst into hot, horrible, noisy tears, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. “No, Grandma. You can’t cook her!”
Her grandmother looked alarmed, but after a brief pause, her expression turned more serious. “Child, I know you think animals should be coddled and such, but that ain’t our way. You need to remember that if you aim to become Amish.”
“Surely one can be Amish and not enjoy killing pets with names.” She swiped off a pair of tears.
“Anna never had a name until you all got involved.”
“You know Kelsey named her. Kelsey needed a friend when she first got here. She’s special.”
“You might think so, but she’s also a chicken.” Her grandmother shrugged. “Beth, dear, you know what I mean. Anna was never meant to live to a ripe old age.”
She knew they needed to switch topics fast. But first, she had to say the right thing. “I think you need to rethink your plan. Hurting that hen will make Kelsey upset. Really upset.”
Her grandmother frowned as she dipped her washrag into the sink and wiped down the front of a cabinet. “To be sure. That’s why I don’t think we should tell her until after supper.”
No. Way. First of all, she wasn’t going to be able to handle the stress of knowing that her grandmother was about to make her sister cry. And secondly? Secondly, she honestly couldn’t handle two conversations about killing chickens in one day.
“You’re going to tell Kelsey while we’re doing the dishes?” she joked.
“Nee, child. I thought I’d bring it up during dessert.”
“Dessert? No. No way.”
She paused. “Whyever not? We’re having baked custard. All those eggs in that dish are a perfect reason to bring up a useless hen.”
Her stomach gurgled. Loudly.
Beth’s armpits were getting damp, too. Now feeling queasy and a little gross, she frowned. When was the last time she’d broken out in a sweat without exercising? Ugh. “Mommi, if you bring up anything about Anna’s demise, Kelsey will start to cry.” Just like she was doing.
Her grandmother’s back was still facing her. “If such a thing brings on tears, then she’s going to have to get thicker skin,” she announced as she scrubbed. “She’s an Amish wife now, ain’t so? She needs to stop thinking that all food comes in plastic containers.”
Beth didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. Desperate to move on the conversation, she blurted, “If you make Kelsey cry over egg custard, then Richard is going to get upset with you.”
Her grandmother chuckled. “Surely not. He was raised on a farm, Bethy. He’s used to such things.”
“That might be, but he’s also very smitten with his newlywed wife. He likes her happy.”
“To be sure, but—”
“Nee, Mommi. Richard really likes my sister to be happy. He’s extremely protective over Kelsey. Why, I’ve seen our mild-mannered preacher cast more than one dark look when someone corrects her Pennsylvania Dutch.”
Tossing the rag in her wash bucket, Mommi sighed. “This is true.”
“Mommi, I don’t know much about raising chickens, but I have spent a lifetime doing my best to take care of Kelsey. She might have a husband now, but I still hate seeing her upset. For everyone’s sakes, don’t bring up killing Anna again. As in Don’t Do It.”
“Don’t kill Anna?”
“Yep. That bird might be a royal pain, but you’ll be glad you didn’t hurt her in the long run. Kelsey comes over to visit the hen.”
Dipping the washrag into the soapy water again, Mommi grunted. “You might be right.”
“I know I am. I think you should wait.” A really long time. Months.
“Wait to tell Kelsey, or wait to wring that chicken’s neck?”
That question! The vision it produced in her head!
And just like that, she couldn’t handle it. Feeling her stomach churn and the muscles clenching, she ran to the bathroom as fast as she could.
She barely had time to get on her hands and knees before she lost everything in her stomach.
When the episode was over, Beth collapsed against the wall with a moan. Attempted to catch her breath. She felt so bad. And she’d felt so bad for days and days now, too.
She wished it would end. No, she wished she had some control over her body. That would be a wonderful thing.
Had her mother gone through this very same thing? She couldn’t remember her mom ever mentioning it. If she had, she had no idea how she’d gone through this four times.
“I am sorry, Bethy,” Mommi said from right outside the door. “I keep forgetting that your stomach is still giving you fits. I shouldn’t have brought up butchering Anna.”
As another wave of dizziness riled up, she lost her temper. “For heaven’s sakes, Mommi. Stop! Don’t talk about hens or eggs or chicken for the next six months. Please.”
“That won’t be necessary. Before you know it, you’ll be feeling right as rain again. This is just a fleeting sort of thing.”
“I don’t know. It feels more like an entire pregnancy thing. Like a nine-month penance thing.”
“A penance? For what?”
Beth was so glad that her grandmother was standing on the other side of the door. “You know. For being stupid and careless one night.”
“The Lord don’t hand out punishments for imagined bad behavior, child,” Mommi replied in a chiding tone. “He especially don’t dole out babies for imagined wrongs.” In a softer tone, she added, “They are a blessing. All babies are.”
“I know.” Wiping her eyes—because why wouldn’t she now be crying ugly tears?—she murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired of not feeling well.”
Her grandmother opened the door, studied Beth sitting on the floor. No doubt looking like she was at death’s door. “Oh, Beth.”
“I know. I feel so miserable. Like, really bad.”
Instead of giving her a sympathetic hug or offering a cold soda, her grandmother leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. “Beth, dear, you’ve hardly left this house from the time you got here.”
“I know.”
“You’re used to being busy. I think sitting on this farm ain’t helping your mood much.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I think you need a change of scenery.”
She agreed. “Maybe I’ll visit the bike trail and see if Jonny needs any help.”
“I doubt he will, child. It ain’t like you are going to start washing bicycles or repairing gear shifts. Besides, I think you forgot that he and Treva just went down to Pinecraft for two weeks.”
“Oh. I had forgotten.” She got to her feet, went to the sink, cupped some water in her hands and took a sip, swished it around, and spit.
Her grandmother wrinkled her nose.
“Sorry. I’ll clean the sink in a minute.”
Mommi’s voice softened. “Maybe you should visit the library. Or the coffee shop and visit with one of the girls working there. That will do you some good.”
“Thanks for the suggestions, but I already have a book to read. And, sorry, but I don’t want to sit in a coffee shop for an hour. I can’t drink much coffee,” she added, as she washed her hands and dampened the towel and pressed it to her cheeks.
Reaching out to another towel rack, her grandmother pulled off a towel and handed it to her. “I guess not,” she said. “We need to do something for you, though.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Bethy, you just got sick in the powder room.”
“I feel better now.” Gazing at herself in the mirror, she saw that there were now twin spots of color on her cheeks.
Whether it was from getting sick or not, she had to admit that she did look a little better.
Not quite so pale and ghostly. Pleased, she walked into the hall. “I’m sorry I ran in there like that.”
Mommi waved a hand. “You couldn’t help it, child.”
“After I brush my teeth, I’ll go help with some dusting.”
“Nee. Wait a moment.” Looking delighted, Mommi snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. I think you should reach out to Junior to see if you can be of some help to him.”
Junior, Patti’s client? “Doing what?”
“Doing any number of things. He has a booming candlemaking business, you know.”
“Booming?” That sounded a bit generous. Not to be mean, but it was an Amish-run company. Didn’t that mean that there wasn’t much to it?
“Very much so. Junior’s company sells candles all around the country.”
“I didn’t realize he made that many.”