Chapter 30
A noise in the kitchen at five thirty in the morning was unusual now that Dad no longer required breakfast at dawn.
In the days when there’d been many chores to do, all three of them arose before dawn.
Things were different now.
Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Bonnie trotted into the kitchen to investigate.
Her mother stood at the kitchen counter, her coffee cup in one hand and a pencil in the other.
“What are you doing?”
Bonnie pushed her hair out of her eyes.
“I’m an early riser and even I don’t rise this early.”
“I’m going fishing.”
Mom flashed her a “top that”
smile.
She managed to sound as if that wasn’t the most astonishing utterance since telling Bonnie about the birds and the bees after she witnessed two horses doing their business in a nearby meadow in broad daylight in front of God and everybody.
“I was just leaving you a note.”
Fishing? That seemed highly unlikely.
Mom was more of a you-catch-and-clean-it-and-she’ll-fry-it kind of woman.
They’d often gone camping with aunts, uncles, and cousins when Bonnie was a child.
Dad and Bonnie did the fishing, canoeing, kayaking, and swimming with the rest of the family while Mom “kept house”
back at the tent.
Give her a book and a comfy canvas chair, and she was perfectly happy to enjoy the fresh air, sunshine, and sultry breeze.
Long ago and far away.
Those days were so very long ago.
“Nee, you’re not.”
Bonnie’s eyebrows rose.
Her nose wrinkled.
“You hate fishing.”
“I’ve been invited to go fishing, and I’m going.”
Jocelyn pushed aside the pencil and paper.
She raised her chin and strode to the stove.
She picked up the coffeepot and poured coffee into a thermos.
“If you want me to put up your hair, I’ll have to do it now.
My ride is getting here around six.”
Putting up Bonnie’s hair started each morning with a ritual that prepared them both for the day ahead.
As the strength in Bonnie’s arms ebbed, she’d needed more and more help with her daily routine, especially in putting up such a large bundle of hair, but this seemed like a poor attempt to change the subject.
She suppressed a smile.
“Would your ride happen to be Theo?”
“Sit down.
I’ll get the comb and such.
Do you have a clean, pressed kapp?”
“Of course I do.”
Bonnie braced herself long enough to pour a cup of coffee.
“But it doesn’t really matter.
I’ll be here by myself.
No one will see.
I can stick it in a ponytail and put a scarf around my head and be done with it.”
Elijah and the other Miller men were out of town on the auction circuit.
She didn’t have to worry about running into him.
“Why are you such a gloomy Gilda these days? Elijah will be back before you know it.”
Too often Mom could read her thoughts.
“I’m not a gloomy Gilda.
I’m not a gloomy anything.”
Bonnie added a dollop of milk to the coffee and an extra-large spoon of sugar—just in case she really did need sweetening.
“I’ve been busy running the store, getting the books up-to-date, doing inventory, meeting with vendors.
It’s a full-time job.”
“I feel bad about leaving you here alone.”
Mom’s regretful tone matched her frown.
“Maybe I should just stay home.”
“Don’t you dare.
I have no intention of standing in the way of you getting on with your life.”
Mom froze in the middle of the kitchen.
“Is that what this is? Me getting on with my life? What would your dat think of that? Would he mind?”
Dad wasn’t like that.
He’d want a good man to fill his boots, to take care of his girls.
On the other hand, the past two years had proven that they were capable of taking care of themselves.
Together, they made a good team.
The two of them. “You know he wouldn’t.”
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
Her mother deserved to be happy.
She was too young to be alone for the rest of her years.
“I don’t wish being alone on anyone, but least of all my mudder.”
“I’ll do your hair before I go.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“I’ll be right back.”
She rushed from the room and returned a few minutes later.
She carried the empty lard can on which Bonnie’s prayer covering had been perched, filled with a comb, heavy-duty bobby pins, a hair tie, and a hairnet.
She dumped the items on the table. “Sit.”
“Mamm, it’s fine.”
“What if you want to pray while I’m gone? First Corinthians 11:5 says a woman who prays with her head uncovered is like a woman with a shaved head.”
“I’m well aware of what First Corinthians says.”
Bonnie resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.
She was twenty-five, after all.
“I’ll pray that you don’t upchuck when you have to put a night crawler on a hook.”
“I’m sure there’ll be other thingamajigs I can use instead of live bait.”
“You mean fishing lures?”
Bonnie settled into a chair.
She picked up the comb and handed it to her mother.
“Nee, I think minnows would be a better choice for largemouth bass and channel catfish.”
“Like you’re an expert.”
The feel of the comb running through Bonnie’s hair in long, even strokes was calming.
A mother-daughter ritual that went back years.
“When was the last time you went fishing?”
Four or five years.
It had been that long since their last camping trip.
Once Bonnie opened the store, she didn’t have time anymore.
Dad couldn’t get away from his work on the farm.
The older Bonnie got—and the weaker—the harder it was for her to participate in the fun. Dad insisted he didn’t mind carrying her out to the dock and depositing her in the boat, canoe, or kayak. But she’d minded. It couldn’t have been fun for him.
“You know, your dat loved spending time with you.
He loved carrying you into the water and helping you float.
He loved playing with you.”
Her mother’s voice was choked with emotion.
“He loved being your dat.
He just wasn’t the sort of man to say the words.”
Most men, especially Plain men, weren’t the sort.
“I loved it too.”
“I should’ve pushed harder for us to go.”
Mom’s voice quivered.
“We don’t realize how short time is until it’s too late.
I was selfish.”
“You’re the least selfish person I know.”
“At the time all I could think of was how I didn’t like sleeping on the ground, the mosquitoes, the flies, and snakes.”
Mom pulled Bonnie’s hair into a ponytail.
The hair tie snapped as she pulled it into place.
“But what I remember now is the grilled fish and the coffee in the cool morning air.”
“I remember Dat’s tall tales.
He always made it sound like he’d caught a whale-size catfish at the lake.”
“His s’mores were always better than mine.”
“Jah, but he always burned the hot dogs.
You never did.”
Bonnie smiled at the memory.
Her mother’s gentle chuckle said she smiled too.
“It was fun because we were together.
I wish we’d gone more.”
“It wasn’t Gott’s plan.
I really shouldn’t go today.”
“You really should.
Dat would’ve wanted it.
He loved fishing.”
“He loved fishing with you.”
“And you loved grilling the bass or breading the catfish and deep-frying the chunks so we could dip them in your homemade cocktail sauce.
The horseradish in that sauce cleared my nostrils every time.”
The memories were more sweet than bitter.
They were to be guarded and cherished.
“You loved chatting with the aenties and babysitting the little ones while they played on the playscapes.”
“I did.
You were the one who always had an excuse for not going.”
Bonnie laid the napkin on the table.
She picked up her coffee mug, then set it back down.
“It was hard to see everyone swimming and canoeing and running around free.”
“Do you think you’ll ever come to terms with it?”
“You mean with Gott’s plan for me? I don’t know.”
A person could try—had to try.
“I know I’m made in Gott’s image, but I also know I have a stubborn streak a mile long.
I want what I want.
I feel like a three-year-old on the verge of a tantrum.”
“Gott’s gracious and merciful.
He will work out what’s best for you.
But you have to love Him with—”
“All my heart, all my soul, and all my mind. I know.”
“I think you do really well.
You run a store.
You go to work every day.
You’ve made a place for other people who have disabilities to earn their keep.
I don’t see any limitations there.”
“You know that’s not where my limitations are.
Don’t pretend you don’t, sei so gut.”
Mom didn’t respond.
The seconds ticked by.
She picked up bobby pins, one by one, eight in total.
Then the net.
Bonnie touched her prayer cover.
She couldn’t see it, but years of the time-honored ritual assured her.
The brilliant white prayer cover would be neat and her hair tidy.
Her mom’s nimble fingers would make sure.
“So you need help.
I help you now.
I put up your hair.
I help with your bath.
I take care of you. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”
A daughter didn’t come out and say the obvious words: “What happens when you’re not around anymore, Mamm?”
“I know.
I won’t live forever.
But there will be others who’ll help.
Your mann’s family.
Your friends, like Opal.”
“I know. I know.”
So why did she worry?
Mom stepped back and surveyed her handiwork.
“There.
You’re ready for prayer.”
Better to enjoy this moment and let the future take care of itself.
“I’ll pray Theo doesn’t regret asking a finicky woman to go fishing with him.”
“Who said anything about Theo?”
So Mom wanted to play it that way.
“Really? How many Plain bachelors are there in our Gmay?”
“One or two, I’m sure.”
“Name them.”
“You name them.”
Mom brushed a few stray hairs from Bonnie’s shoulders.
“I’ll put the brush back.
Do you need help with your socks and sneakers? I can bring them out.”
“Mamm.
I can put my own shoes on.”
She’d been doing it for years.
With the help of a sock aid and an extended shoehorn.
“There’s no rush.
I’ll put them on later.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Or feeling guilty about courting. Don’t.”
“I’m not. I don’t—”
A knock at the back door put an end to the conversation.
Her cheeks suddenly pink, Mom rushed to the counter.
She picked up a cooler.
“I’d better go.”
“He could come in.”
“We need to get on the road.
The fish bite early in the morning.”
“As if you would know.”
Bonnie couldn’t contain a giggle.
“Try not to shriek the first time you get a bite.
You’ll scare all the fish away in the entire state.”
“I would never shriek.”
Mom lingered by the door, her hand on the knob.
“You could go back to bed.”
“You just finished putting my hair up.”
“You could go visit Opal.
Or just relax and read.”
“Opal will be visiting her in-laws.
Reading’s your pastime.”
Bonnie flapped both hands.
“Go, go, I’ll be fine.
I expect fresh fish for supper.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go, scoot, before he changes his mind.”
That possibility apparently hadn’t occurred to Mom.
The pink deepened to a rosy hue.
She jerked open the door.
“I’ll be back.”
“No rush.”
Bonnie leaned to her left as far as she dared without falling out of the chair.
Nope.
She couldn’t see who waited outside for her mother.
The door closed.
Bonnie laughed aloud.
Her mother was courting.
Could this life getting any stranger?