The Love Letters Read online

  Small Jay worried about Boston’s ability to do so. “You want me to ask Dat if you can work for him?”

  “I will speak to him . . .” Boston paused as though struggling to find the right word. “Well, directly,” he added at last.

  Small Jay could see by the look of anticipation on his face that Boston meant business. Just maybe, this might make it possible for him to stay longer.

  “But before I do”—and here Boston reached down for his bag—“will you read another letter from Abigail?” He frowned hard. “Or is it Eleanor?”

  He doesn’t remember her name!

  Boston shook his head. “I’m all mixed up again today.”

  “Maybe not,” Small Jay replied. “I mean, if you think you are, then you ain’t nearly as confused as ya think. Verschteh—Understand?”

  A grin spread across the man’s face. “Quite brilliant, young man.”

  That brought a good laugh.

  “Which letter should I read next, Boston?”

  The man shrugged his frail shoulders. “Why don’t you choose one this time?” He opened the satchel wide and encouraged Small Jay to reach inside.

  Small Jay felt candy wrappers, snippets of papers, and what looked like a clean pair of folded trousers. Choosing a letter toward the top, Small Jay wondered what had happened to the extra changes of clothing Boston had mentioned. “Did ya leave your other clothes at the mill, maybe?”

  Boston stared right through him, like he hadn’t heard at all.

  “What about takin’ a shower? It might be time.” Small Jay pointed in the direction of the makeshift shower in the barn, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings. “I’m sure Dat won’t mind. Mamma might actually be glad. She sure is when I clean up.”

  At that, Boston looked worse than ferhoodled, which made Small Jay nervous. Was he ill? He looked around to see if Dat was anywhere nearby, in case they needed to run down to the phone shanty to call an ambulance. “Can ya hear me, Boston?” He waved his hand in front of the man’s eyes. “Boston?”

  The man shook himself. “Sorry . . . so sorry.”

  “What happened just then?”

  Boston was silent, his eyes cloudy again.

  Not sure if he should repeat his question, Small Jay began to read the letter dated February 15, 1961.

  My dearest darling,

  I must confess that I observed the startled look that came over your face yesterday when we met with your doctor. During this difficult time, please cling to the promise of our love and our wonderful life together. We’ll focus on what we have, as well as the beauty of God’s creation all around our homes here in the States and overseas. Let us be thankful for our many gifts and talents, far-reaching as they have been and continue to be. I’m not ready to throw in the towel and say the best years are behind us. Remember that your doctor hasn’t come to a firm diagnosis, though he shares our concern over your pronounced confusion and forgetfulness.

  Neither of us can refute that we’ve suffered our trials, but staying close has made us all the stronger. Never forget what we promised long ago: to take care of each other until the end.

  Nothing really has changed. We still possess all that is essential for our daily joy. We have great music, spontaneous laughter, good literature, and most of all, through God’s abundant grace, we embrace our deep faith.

  I’m writing this note and tucking it into your briefcase, hoping it raises your spirits during your morning break, dear. How I want to see your endearing smile return!

  Yours always,

  Abigail

  Small Jay refolded the letter and handed it back to Boston. “Ach, I think this woman loves ya like no other.”

  “Hmm . . . I do like her choice of words.” Boston looked toward the meadow, lost in thought. “How can I meet her?” He wore a mischievous grin now.

  “All the letters so far are from Abigail.” Small Jay considered that Abigail might be Boston’s sister—perhaps even a twin. Even with those other possibilities, Small Jay guessed it was Boston’s wife who’d written the love letter. But was she still alive?

  “Who’s Eleanor, then? Do ya remember mentioning her just now? You wrote her name on a piece of paper with funny marks on it.” He wondered if he should keep prying. “Is she a relative or friend?”

  But Boston was preoccupied again. He ran his fingers along his dirty shirt collar and talked under his breath. Then he searched in his bag, seemingly distressed.

  “Did ya lose something?” Then it hit Small Jay. The bow tie was missing!

  “It must be here somewhere,” Boston said.

  Small Jay looked toward the barn. “Did your tie fall off in your sleep, maybe?”

  Boston’s head popped up. “How could you have known what I was thinking, young man?”

  Small Jay shrugged and grinned, because he felt even more connected to this wonderful friend. “I don’t know; I just did.”

  Boston’s eyes twinkled. “Well, my bow tie can wait. Right now I’d simply like to sit here with you a little more while Allegro naps.”

  “Sounds gut to me,” said Small Jay.

  They talked further, and Small Jay asked if he’d ever wondered why a pony never grew up to become a horse. Boston chuckled and said he’d wondered that himself on occasion.

  “I asked my father ’bout it once,” Small Jay confided.

  “And might I ask what sort of answer he gave?”

  Small Jay wondered if Boston had already guessed how things were sometimes with Dat. The man could be awful quick when his mind was working right.

  “Come, now,” Boston said. “A smart young man like you. Surely your father had something to say in response.”

  No one ever talked to Small Jay like this. “I honestly don’t remember,” he said, not sure where to begin. And next thing he knew, he was telling Boston how he wished he could talk this openly to his Dat. “But I’m like en Eiszappe—an icicle—around him. Too frozen to say what I want to.”

  Boston nodded his head. “Just remember, we’re haunted most by the things we never attempt, rather than the things we attempt and fail.”

  Small Jay let his brain work on that.

  “I believe in you, young man,” Boston said, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “Therefore, I encourage you to venture forth boldly.”

  Frowning, Small Jay admitted he didn’t understand.

  “Step out in faith, as the saying goes,” Boston declared. “If you do it in the right spirit, God will be with you.”

  Small Jay considered this, the idea of freezing up around Dat still skulking like a cat in the back of his mind. But maybe he could do something when he saw his father next. Just maybe.

  ———

  Ellie stood behind the screen door, wiping away tears. It was impossible not to detect the friendship developing between her son and this poor homeless man. Small Jay had been craving Roman’s attention since he was a toddler, and here was this stranger, trusting their son to read such a beautiful and moving love letter aloud. And to think they were talking of Small Jay’s desire to talk freely with his father.

  One of the letter’s phrases still rang in her memory. Neither of us can refute that we’ve suffered our trials, but staying close has made us all the stronger. . . .

  How she wished for a relationship with Roman like that. Dabbing at her wet face, she dropped the hem of her apron and returned to heating the water for the dishes, glad the girls, who were clearing the table, hadn’t asked her what she was doing hovering over there. Eavesdropping, in all truth.

  Later, while Boston played his harmonica for Small Jay, who looked a bit dazed from the music, perhaps, Ellie slipped out to the barn and searched the area where Boston had slept, looking for the man’s lost bow tie.

  Chapter 18

  Midmorning that Sunday, Ellie’s older cousin Ada and husband Reuben and their four school-age girls arrived to visit. After cheerful greetings all around, the grown-ups sat on the back porch talking and eating watermelon while al
l seven girls perched like birds on the steps, chattering low. The oldest of Ada’s girls, eleven-year-old Lyddie, opened a small white drawstring bag and dumped out metal jacks and two red rubber balls into her lap. Instead of playing jacks right away, however, they started counting them in Deitsch, heads touching as they pressed closer, giggles scattered between words.

  Just before the game commenced, the youngest girl, Betsy Anne, just six, opened a crinkled paper bag and daintily removed her collection of Royal Crown soda pop tops. Ellie’s daughter Sally leaned to see, her mouth wide.

  “The king of sodas,” said Dorcas, glancing over her shoulder at the adults. “Where’d ya get those?”

  Betsy Anne shrugged. “Dawdi likes the taste.”

  “Fifteen cents at the pop machine near market,” Julia added. “Mighty sweet . . . and has a gut zip to it.”

  Ada laughed softly and reached for her pocketbook, where she removed a whole stack of S&H Green Stamps and offered to share some with Ellie, who said she had plenty and thanked her.

  Ellie had to smile; she was pleased they were all having such a happy time. She leaned forward to catch her husband’s eye, where he sat the farthest away in the row of rocking chairs. He was talking with Reuben, who, like them, had worn his Sunday best, even on this very muggy Lord’s Day—black broadfall trousers and matching black vest over a long-sleeved white shirt and black suspenders.

  “Have ya seen our son lately?” Ellie asked.

  Roman shook his head, pointing toward the barn. “He hasn’t been gone but a few minutes.”

  “We’ve got us a visitor,” Ellie told Ada.

  “Oh?”

  Ellie explained about Boston as gracefully as she could with all the children sitting within a few yards. “He’s asked if he might work round the farm, at least for a little while . . . says he doesn’t want to take our generosity for granted.” Going on, she revealed that the man spoke kindly, even cleverly, but was often terribly mixed up. “And quite forgetful.” Ellie glanced at Roman and leaned closer to Ada so she could talk even more softly. “We suspect it’s memory troubles of some kind . . . maybe a medical condition.” Ellie didn’t feel at liberty to reveal the contents of the love letter she’d overheard that morning, but she had seen enough of Boston to come to this conclusion on her own.

  Ada adjusted her royal blue cape apron, which matched her long dress. “Maybe just take him over to see der Dokder . . . Isaac King’s real schmaert ’bout fixin’ folk up, ya know. Might be that all he needs is some herbs to stimulate the blood flow to his brain.”

  “But it isn’t senility, we don’t think—he’s not old enough,” Ellie said. “Small Jay says he seems fine one minute, and then gets confused and quite frustrated the next. Boston struggles with his words at times, too. He’ll be talkin’ and then seem befuddled ’bout how to finish his sentence.” She went on to share quietly that Small Jay had befriended Boston nearly a week ago.

  “Ach, really?” Ada placed her hand on her cheek, looking downright puzzled herself. “Not to be ill-mannered, but how does young Jake know the difference ’tween clear-minded and otherwise, ya know?”

  Ellie looked away, refusing to let Ada get the better of her. “I daresay Small Jay’s shown himself to be pretty discerning in all this,” she said, keeping her tone pleasant.

  “’Tis gut to hear.”

  Ellie hoped to goodness there would be no more pointed questions. She happened to notice Small Jay coming across the yard with Boston, who seemed more steady today than yesterday. “There they are,” she indicated. Small Jay had finished off his cereal and strawberries right quick that morning to be excused to sit with Boston on the porch while the man finished eating, she recalled. Being around Boston certainly hurried her son up at mealtime.

  “He sure looks cleaned up,” Ada noted. “Thought ya said he was a beggar.”

  “I never said that.” Ellie shook her head, noticing Boston’s change of clothes.

  “And you’re gonna let him stay on?”

  “That’s up to Roman.”

  The hum of chatter subsided on the porch as Small Jay approached with their unlikely guest. “Hello. This here’s our friend, Boston Calvert,” her son declared, and while Boston offered a wave, he looked around as if disoriented.

  “Would ya like some watermelon?” Ellie asked suddenly, rising even before they answered.

  “I’ll go an’ cut some more slices, Mamma,” Dorcas said, hurrying to the screen door.

  “Denki, dear.”

  “That’s one sweet daughter you’ve got,” Ada said.

  “Denki, Ada. They’re all sweet. Just like your girls.” And my son . . .

  Ellie noticed how flushed yet pleased Small Jay looked, like he’d been out in the barn helping feed or water the animals, which got her wondering. Is this what it’ll take for him to get his dearest wish?

  ———

  On this visiting Sunday, Small Jay found himself wondering what it’d be like if Cousins Reuben and Ada had birthed sons, as well as daughters. All those girls piled up together there on the porch steps made a barrier to the back porch, and it annoyed him but good. Couldn’t they see that poor Boston needed to rest a spell? But no, his sisters and girl cousins just sat there jabbering, unaware. As usual, he wasn’t about to say anything, so he and Boston went to sit on the wooden bench that surrounded the oldest tree in the back lawn. It was a bench his grandfather on his mother’s side had built out of old wood a few years before he passed away. There in the wonderful-good shade, the grass felt cool against Small Jay’s bare feet.

  “Sorry there ain’t enough chairs to go round,” he said while they waited for their watermelon to be served.

  “What’s that?” Boston looked tired, and Small Jay wondered if he’d been able to sleep soundly in the dusty barn.

  “That’s Mamma’s cousin and family.” He motioned toward the adults. “Today’s for visitin’. We have Preachin’ next Sunday, like I told ya.”

  “I don’t recall that.” Boston sighed and leaned forward. “I wonder where my dog’s gotten to.”

  Small Jay looked around.

  “Not sure, but I don’t see Sassy, either. Maybe they’re in the stable.”

  Boston nodded absently and straightened his bow tie, which Mamma had managed to find in the stable. “The last I saw him, he . . .” He left the thought hanging.

  Small Jay felt sorry for the man. Boston sometimes seemed to disappear right in the middle of a conversation, something Mamma said Small Jay himself was known to do.

  “Does my hair look shaggy?” Boston asked suddenly, touching his head.

  “Mamma could cut it for ya if you want. I know she would.”

  “Well, at least it’s clean now.” He craned his neck toward Small Jay. “Thanks for directing me to the barn shower.” He glanced toward the outhouse. “And the outdoor facility, too. Which, by the way, has an issue. Someone should know . . . ” Boston stopped midthought, same as he’d done several times since the noon meal.

  Small Jay gave a little laugh. “I know just what you’re talking ’bout. One of our barn cats took to the toilet paper and ripped it to mincemeat. Shredder’s in trouble with Mamma, for sure and for certain.”

  Boston chuckled. “You knew exactly what I meant.”

  Small Jay nodded and said he’d have to go out there with a wastebasket and pick up all the snibbles. “This just keeps happenin’.” His attention was caught by his sister, who handed the plate of watermelon slices to Mamma. His mouth watered at the sight of the delicious cold treat. When his mother came to serve them, Small Jay smiled up at her as she offered the first slice to Boston. “Denki, Mamma.”

  “This might not be the most comfortable spot for yous.” She glanced up at the tree. “But it’s nice an’ shady.”

  “We don’t mind,” Small Jay said, though he was sweating like a pig.

  “I beg your pardon, miss. Are you Eleanor’s sister?” Boston asked, his slice halfway to his mouth. “You look very much l
ike her.”

  “I’m Ellie,” Mamma said, smiling sweetly, “but that’s all right. Lots of folk confuse me with someone else they know.”

  Boston sighed. “Well, there is no excuse on my part. I do apologize.”

  Small Jay was truly glad when his mother asked Boston when he’d last been to a doctor. Boston was quick to say he hadn’t the slightest remembrance.

  “More than a month ago?” Mamma persisted, wiping her brow with a hankie she’d pulled from her long-sleeved black Sunday dress.

  “Maybe we could just see if Dr. Isaac can take a look at him,” Small Jay suggested as he turned toward Boston, who’d leaned forward to devour the watermelon, stopping now and then to spit the seeds between his feet.

  “And what would you think of that?” Mamma asked Boston.

  “I think this watermelon is the best I’ve ever tasted.” He smacked his lips, Mamma’s question clearly flown from his mind, like dandelions gone to seed in a breeze. “Thank you, Miss Eleanor.”

  Small Jay and Mamma exchanged worried glances.

  “Boston really needs to visit Dr. Isaac, Mamma,” Small Jay insisted.

  The man looked peeved suddenly. “I’m quite present here. Why discuss my wishes in the third person, as if I’m absent?” He paused, frustration adding to the lines on his face. “That’s what happened with dear Abigail. She’s no longer present, either. And Eleanor is gone, too. They all are.”

  Mamma bit her lip, and tears filled her pretty blue eyes.

  “We should see Dr. Isaac tomorrow,” Small Jay said. “Just ’cause Isaac couldn’t help me doesn’t mean he can’t help Boston.” He honestly didn’t care if his friend was sitting right next to him eating his watermelon clear down to the rind; Boston seemed to be getting worse before their very eyes.

  “We’ll see what your father says.”

  “All right, Mamma.” Small Jay hoped with all his heart that his parents would help his friend. Someone has to!

  Chapter 19

  As planned, Vernon Siegrist arrived to drive Marlena and her grandmother at six o’clock the next morning, just as the sky was brightening. Robins warbled loudly in the tree near the east side of the house, welcoming daybreak, and in the distance, a neighbor’s rooster crowed repeatedly. Mammi mentioned to Marlena as they exited by way of the back door that today’s washing would have to wait till tomorrow. Caught up as she was with solemn thoughts, Marlena hadn’t even considered the weekly chore so ingrained in their routine.