Chapter 24
Adam stood outside Dawdi Ike and Mammi Becky’s bedroom door. He wished they were sleeping in the living room—at least then he could watch until he could see their chests rise and fall and know they were alive. Seeing Mammi on the kitchen floor had terrified him.
He didn’t hear any movement. Hopefully they were settled. Mammi had seemed tired but fine the rest of the day, and she and Dawdi were in bed by eight. Dawdi had reassured both of them the bed wasn’t too high, but Adam had put a step stool by it, just in case.
He wandered into the kitchen and checked the clock. Eight thirty. He might as well go for a little walk. He didn’t remember deciding he’d walk by Lu’s, but as the last of the twilight waned, that was where he found himself. At her gate.
He peered toward the house. A bit of light cast across the back porch from the kitchen. Lu was most likely already in bed. He quietly called out, “Joanna.”
No one answered. He passed the garden and squinted toward the porch. Someone sat in one of the rocking chairs, a figure too small to be her Dat. “Joanna?” he asked, his volume just above a whisper.
“Jah,” she answered. “It’s me.”
“Is it all right if I join you?”
“It’s all right, although I’m not very good company.”
“What happened?” Adam reached the top of the stairs.
Instead of answering, she stood. “There’s one piece of cobbler left. I’ll get it for you.”
“Nee.” He motioned toward the chairs. “Could we talk first?”
She sat and without any prompting told him about Jacob showing up at suppertime. “I’m not sure exactly what happened—but Jacob had already eaten, so I think Dat had just told him to be here, to talk.”
“How did it go?”
“Horribly. Dat seemed to think he could force Jacob into courting me again.”
Adam could only imagine how that made her feel.
“I asked him about Veronica.”
“You did?” He admired her boldness.
“Jah. He said it was none of my business.”
Adam shook his head. “He’s a jerk.”
“At one point I thought maybe he wrote those letters—you know, the ones at work.”
Adam nodded, suddenly feeling cold even though the evening was still hot. And muggy.
“Jacob said he didn’t write them—and, obviously, he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t care enough to write something so thoughtful. I don’t think he ever did.” She leaned forward, clasped her hands, and turned her head toward Adam. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Without hesitating, Adam said, “Nee. Absolutely not.”
She stood, seemingly flustered, perhaps because she’d been vulnerable in sharing what she had. “I’ll get you that cobbler,” she said as she headed for the screen door.
As she stepped into the house, Adam groaned.
What had he done? He couldn’t fathom why she’d thought, even for a moment, the letters were from Jacob.
Didn’t she know his handwriting? Adam had seen Jacob’s notes at work.
They were barely legible. Perhaps she thought he’d spruced up his writing for the letter.
Adam’s face grew warm. That was exactly what he himself had done.
He needed to tell her the letters were from him.
He had to apologize for lying to her too.
A minute later Joanna returned with a huge piece of cobbler and a glass of water.
As she put the water on the table, a racket startled him.
“What was that?” Adam asked.
She handed him the cobbler. “My Dat.” She sat and pointed to the upstairs window overlooking the porch. “He’s snoring.”
“He sounds like a bear.”
“Jah. He acts like one too.” Joanna began to rock. “All the anxiety I felt growing up came back tonight.”
“What was the anxiety about?”
“How unpredictable he is. I never knew what to expect—I felt especially anxious when I answered the door and Jacob was standing there. When I was young, one week Dat would want to build a new shed. The next week he’d want to sell the farm.
Then he’d want to plant wheat instead of corn.
He couldn’t stick to one idea for long. But he had one long-term hope—that we would all live on one humongous farm, with him and the boys all farming together. ”
“Lack of land is why they all moved to Maine?” Adam asked.
“Jah. After he sold most of the farm on the west side of the county, he had enough to buy one farm in Maine and put a down payment, which included Leon’s savings, on the other. Now he wants to buy a third one there.”
Adam had so many questions, but none of them were his business. He took a bite of the cobbler. It was delicious. After he swallowed, he told Joanna so.
“Denki,” she said. “It’s Mammi Lu’s recipe.”
He ate another bite. Then he asked, “Have you gotten back to reading, besides the gardening book? And the architecture one?”
“Nee, I haven’t read a novel in a really long time.” She began rocking harder. “What are you reading?”
Pleased that she asked, Adam answered, “Persuasion. I just finished it.”
She stopped rocking. “Did Jane Austen write it?”
He grinned. “Jah. Have you read it?”
“I haven’t, but I’ve been meaning to.” She returned his smile, although hers was faint. “I’m kind of surprised you read it.”
“I really like Jane Austen, thanks to you,” Adam said. “I’ll loan it to you. Mammi Becky won’t mind.” Adam felt the book would be the perfect peace offering after he confessed to her he was Someone Who Cares. “It’s an old copy—small print and a little musty.”
“I don’t mind. What’s it about?”
Adam paused a moment. He didn’t want to scare her off from reading it.
It was about a woman whose family had high expectations and gave minimal acknowledgment, while trying to persuade her not to marry the man she loved.
And the story included well-written and transparent letters.
He cringed. That was something he certainly hadn’t emulated.
He had to be honest with Joanna, tonight.
No matter how difficult it was to tell her.
He cleared his throat. First he needed to answer her question. “Persuasion is about a lot of things, but mostly about a couple who get a second chance.”
Without warning, Joanna started to cry. Adam put the cobbler down and reached for her hand.
She took his and sputtered, “I don’t want to get back together with Jacob, honestly. I’d just like to know why he broke up with me.”
Joanna’s hand was surprisingly soft for how hard she worked. He held it gently, even though he wanted to hold on tight, thinking that whatever Jacob’s reason, it would probably be better if Joanna didn’t know. But he didn’t tell her that. But maybe she couldn’t move on without knowing.
“Dat wants me to move to Maine. He said I wouldn’t have any trouble finding a husband there.
” She lifted her apron with her free hand and wiped her eyes as Adam registered what she was saying.
She couldn’t move to Maine. She dropped her apron.
“As if being married to who-knows-who will solve my problems.” She shivered, and not for the cold.
The heat hadn’t abated. “I don’t want to move to Maine.
I don’t want to leave Mammi Lu. And I really like my job, plus we have the Pequea Creek house to fix. ”
Adam said, “I don’t want you to move to Maine either.”
Joanna continued to cry.
Adam waited patiently. He was comfortable with tears—he’d learned to be as a boy when his mother used to cry.
Joanna wiped her eyes on her apron again and asked, “Do you remember when you said we couldn’t just be friends? More than once.”
“Jah,” Adam said.
“Can we now?” she asked. “Because I really need a friend.”
“It was stupid of me to say that. And jah, we can be friends. We are friends.” He scooted to the edge of his chair and held her hand a little tighter.
“You’re the best friend I have in Lancaster County,” she said. “Besides Mammi Lu.”
Adam knew he needed to say the right thing. “You’re the best friend I have here too.” Actually she was the best friend he had anywhere, but he didn’t want to scare her. “And I feel the same way about Mammi Becky and Dawdi Ike as you do about Lu.”
They held hands for a what seemed like a long time. Adam couldn’t tell her he’d written the letters, not now.
Finally, Joanna said, “You should finish your cobbler.”
“Only if you’ll share it with me.” He let go of her hand and picked up the plate again.
Then he cut a bite with his fork, scooped it up, and extended it toward Joanna.
She hesitated but then opened her mouth.
He fed her. Then he took the next bite and continued to share with her until it was all gone.
“Denki,” she said. “That went down better than I thought it would.”
Sunday morning as Dawdi walked with Adam to the edge of the pasture to water the steers, he asked, “How was Joanna last night?”
Adam gave him a questioning look. “How’d you know I saw her?”
“Lucky guess. I heard you come in late.” Dawdi moved slowly. “How’s she doing with her Dat around?”
Adam exhaled. “Nehemiah hopes Jacob and Joanna will get back together. He asked Jacob over for dinner.”
“How did that go?”
“Not well.”
When they reached the pasture, Dawdi leaned against the fence. “If you still care for Joanna, you should let her know.” Had Dawdi overheard the conversation in the van three years ago too? Or was Adam just that obvious? “Don’t let any more time go by.”
“She’s not over Jacob.”
“I’m not saying you have to ask her to court you.” He smiled slyly. Jah, he’d overheard the conversation. Or else Mammi had told him. “But let her know you care.”
“She knows. We’re friends.”
This time Dawdi Ike laughed. “Well, that’s progress.”
Adam laughed too. Dawdi had definitely heard the conversation too—and remembered it.
Dawdi put his hand to his chest as if the laughter had hurt. “Maybe let her know you hope to be more than friends someday.”
“I already tried that once.”
“Son,” Dawdi said, “believe me, if you want to have a future with Joanna, it’s time to let her know. Give her space but be honest with her before she ends up five hundred miles away. Nehemiah is pretty headstrong.”