Chapter 2
Moses bent down to squeeze through the barbed-wire fence, pulling his tool kit through after him.
He tossed the canvas bag up onto the wagon bed and then hopped up on the seat.
The cattle had been working on the fence, trying to get past to the field of oats beyond, and he’d had to reinforce it again.
Dawdie always complained about the cattle who were too greedy.
Miri’s heifer was the ringleader, though.
She was always leading the way, trying to trample down a perfectly good fence to get to the oats and forcing Moses to bring some extra hay to keep the cattle happy, even when they had a fresh, lush pasture.
Moses looked toward the house. Tabitha Schrock had come by to look at the healthy members of the herd a half hour ago, and she’d told him which signs of illness to look for. So far, though, she agreed the cattle in the pasture looked to be in good shape. Dawdie would be happy to hear that.
Moses was tired and starting to get hungry.
Chances were, Miri would be making soup or something for his grandfather.
She always added something on the side for him—a fried egg sandwich, a piece of fried chicken.
. . . It was strange having Miri Schrock, the girl who’d competed with him in school, feeding him at mealtime.
Despite her modest skill in the kitchen, Miri hadn’t changed a whole lot from grade school.
She’d been a tomboy then, and she was a tomboy now.
He’d spotted that split in her dress that she’d sewn up so she could do chores more easily when she would come by the farm and help out as a way of paying for the board of her three head of cattle.
Dawdie had set up a deal with her: Her cattle could stay, but she had to pitch in.
Well, apparently, at first the deal had been that she needed to provide him with baking once a week in exchange for board, but Miri wasn’t much of a baker.
So Dawdie adjusted the terms. She seemed thrilled with the new arrangement, and Dawdie had enjoyed having Miri around.
Honestly, it was more modest to have Miri’s dress split than to lift it up past her knees when she needed to get over fences and stiles. But since they’d asked her to help out indoors with Dawdie’s decline, Dawdie had become her obvious priority.
As it should be. She was there to take care of him.
His grandfather had asked for Miri Schrock specifically, and he refused to have a granddaughter or other family come to serve him in that capacity.
It was Miri or no one, and since Dawdie had desperately needed help, they had no choice but to go along with his wishes.
Poor Dawdie. The doctors had found an inoperable tumor in his liver, and there wasn’t anything to be done.
They said it would progress quickly, and that was a blessing.
Dawdie had always said he wanted to go on his feet.
He said not to feel too bad if they found him in a field one day because he went doing what he loved.
But Dawdie wasn’t out in a field, tramping around in the fresh pasture, checking calves, and fixing fences.
He was in a hospital bed set up in his sitting room that used to house elders’ meetings and church services.
Dawdie hated being sick, and he couldn’t push through this one.
Gott, give Dawdie strength for a few more years, Moses prayed for the umpteenth time. Heal him. Let him go on his feet like he always wanted.
He flicked the reins, and the horse plodded forward.
Maybe this would just be a bump in the road.
Maybe in a few months, he and his family would be helping to clean up Dawdie’s property to host a church service again, how he’d always liked.
Dawdie wasn’t ready to go, and Moses wasn’t ready to face a world without him in it just yet. They all needed a bit more time.
He spotted Miri coming past the barn. She was still a ways off, but she had that long, purposeful stride that was only possible because of her split skirt, and her way of holding herself made her seem taller than her slight stature. She stopped and shaded her eyes, then waved a hand over her head.
He flicked the reins again, speeding the horse up in its walk.
With a wagon, he didn’t dare get the horse to trot—he’d just get jostled right onto the ground—but he could speed up a bit.
What was happening? Was Dawdie okay? Or maybe Tabitha had found more problems with the sick cattle. Neither possibility was reassuring.
Miri started walking again in his direction, and when they finally met in the middle, they were a good way from the barn and the far field. Just the two of them in the middle of some scrub and a steady, grass-scented breeze.
“Hi,” he said.
Miri was breathing hard, and she shaded her eyes again to look up at him as he reined in.
Miri had a clear, direct way of staring at him, and her eyes were filled with clashing emotion.
A stray tendril of hair had slipped free of her kapp and fell down her neck, and her cheeks were flushed from her brisk walk in the heat.
“Come on up,” he offered. “What’s the matter?”
“Your dawdie . . .” She ignored his proffered hand and instead climbed right up. “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure how to tell you, but . . . he died.”
“What?” Moses’s stomach dropped, and for a moment he felt light-headed. “Are you sure?”
“Yah. Tabitha was there, and she checked his heart with her stethoscope and . . . Moses, I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll go check together,” he said.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, exactly. But he didn’t want to go find his grandfather’s body by himself. He signalled the horse to walk, and as they jostled forward, her arm brushed against his.
“We need a doctor,” he said. “That’s what we need. Maybe he’s just really sick.”
It was possible, and if that was the case, it would be terrible to leave his elderly grandfather suffering.
“Nee, Moses. I thought so, too, at first. But he’s gone. Tabitha went to go call the doctor at the phone hut, though, so a doctor will be on the way.”
So Dawdie was really gone. And Miri and Tabitha were thinking ahead—that was good, because he wasn’t sure that he was going to be able to.
“I was talking to him about the cattle,” Miri went on. “I thought he was listening to me like usual. You know how much he likes—liked—to hear about the herd. I was telling him what Tabitha had said, and . . . then Tabitha asked if he was okay. And I thought he was just resting his eyes.”
“He’s alone right now?” Moses asked.
“Yah, there was no choice.”
Of course there hadn’t been. He knew that, but thinking of his frail grandfather lying there alone—even dead—tore at his heart something fierce. Had the day really come this soon?
Either Moses or Benuel would inherit, and whoever got the land, they’d split it between them.
Moses wanted to farm, and Benuel wanted the eastern pasture and cornfields for his own purposes.
He wanted to make some little cabins like the ones at Friesen Lake and host tourists who wanted to experience Amish life.
They’d be right next to a running farm, and Moses and Benuel would take them on tours and bring them on hayrides and have corn roasts.
All those plans sounded a whole lot more exciting when they thought of it happening farther in the future.
But now? Benuel was newly married, and his wife was expecting their first baby.
They thought they’d be doing this when Benuel had a few kinner, and they were old enough to open gates.
These cattle, the farm . . . It was all their responsibility starting now.
The horse carried them down the beaten path toward the cattle barn and horse stable.
The herd spent most of their time in the pasture, summer and winter, but the cattle barn was used for the animals that needed some extra care.
When they arrived at the barn, Moses jumped down to unhitch the horse and send him into the horse pasture away from the building where the sick cattle were being housed.
Tabitha had been clear that they needed to keep the healthy animals as far from that barn as possible.
When he closed the gate, Miri fell in next to him as they headed back toward the house. Tabitha stood on the porch, having returned from making her call apparently, and he felt better knowing she was there.
“What was the last thing he said to you?” Moses asked suddenly. It seemed like something he should know.
“He asked about the cattle . . .” Miri sighed. “And the cost of Tabitha’s vet visit.”
A lump knotted his throat. Good old Dawdie. Sometimes Moses felt like the man loved the cattle more than his own family.
“Moses, I didn’t know he was close to passing away. I wouldn’t have been chattering at him from the kitchen if I knew. I would have been holding his hand and reciting some Bible verses for him.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“I’m not sure that it is,” Miri replied.
“He was your grandfather, but he was my friend too. I’m going to miss him.
” Emotion choked her voice. “I knew that he would likely pass under my care. I wanted to be with him when it happened. Or for you and your family to be there. I didn’t want him to be alone, and I feel like I let him down. ”
Had Dawdie suffered? He hoped not. The thought of death and dying made his skin run cold.
Mammi had passed away many years ago, but Dawdie had been by her side, and she’d said something about being ready to go.
Dawdie said she opened her eyes as if she saw something wonderful, then heaved a deep sigh and shut them again.
And then she was gone. Had it been an easy passing for Dawdie?
Had he seen something wonderful before his last breath?
They headed up the steps, and Tabitha held the door open for them silently. Moses gave her a nod and headed into the sitting room. Dawdie was in bed, eyes shut, one hand lying across his stomach.
“Dawdie?” Speaking out loud felt wrong, even as he saw him. There was something different about his grandfather—something in the stillness and in his slack mouth, his false teeth poking out just a little bit too far.
He reached out and touched his grandfather’s hand. It was cool and inert. He brushed a hand over his grandfather’s head. A few wisps of white hair ruffled in the breeze coming in through the window. Miri had been right, of course. Dawdie was gone.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand over Dawdie’s. He wasn’t sure what he felt in this moment—grief, of course, but also a bit of shock.
“I’m so sorry, Moses,” Miri said softly.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“The doctor is on his way. He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Tabitha said. “I can go by your parents’ farm on my way home and let them know so they can come help you prepare for the funeral.”
“Danke,” he said, his voice sounding strangled in his own ears. “I appreciate it.”
Tom Yoder had been a kind and beloved member of this community, and a lot of people would miss him.
But he’d also been a daet and a dawdie to his family.
He’d been full of gruff advice and adventurous stories.
He’d been passionate about farming and his herd of cattle, and he’d never stopped trying to instill that passion in his grandsons.
“You are never closer to Gott than when you are close to the earth,” he used to say.
“Gott created us from the dirt, and when we care for the animals Gott gave us, we are following his commission given to Adam in the garden. Gott is waiting for us right there in the soil and the work. It’s where he speaks. ”
Moses had never fully understood his grandfather’s passion, but he’d respected it. For Dawdie, the farm had been more than a home, more than a job . . . it had been a sanctuary.
And now Dawdie had passed from this earthly farm to his heavenly home.
“Rest in peace, Dawdie,” Moses whispered, dashing a tear from his cheek.