The First Love Read online

  “Goodness, who is he?” Maggie whispered without thinking.

  “Who’s who?” Grace asked, seemingly distracted by tonight’s crowd, her eyes wide as she scanned the basement room.

  Maggie ignored the question and straightened a little, raising her hand to wave at one of their cousins as he came down the stairs and joined the unfamiliar young man.

  Grace frowned. “Are you ignoring me, sister?”

  Maggie shrugged and turned a smile on her. Gracie could be as sweet as honey, yet at times she was a little too determined for answers. “Do you have your eye out for anyone special, Gracie?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Grace raised an eyebrow at her. “I might, but whether he has his eye out for me is another matter.”

  Maggie shifted in her seat, thankful to be free of her cane this night. Try to enjoy the evening, she thought.

  Rachel loved the sounds of Joseph’s small farm, especially the cheery birdsong. She was sitting with her husband on the back porch, enjoying a fresh batch of homemade vanilla ice cream drizzled with rich chocolate syrup. As a relative newlywed, she valued these quiet moments alone with Joseph, few and far between though they were. Rachel felt she gained more knowledge of him when they were together like this. When the children were around, which was most of the time, she felt like a bride in need of a honeymoon, but she’d never shared this with him and never would, not wanting to seem to complain. Is it natural to want Joseph all to myself sometimes? she wondered.

  “Maggie must be feelin’ better tonight,” Joseph said, his straw hat perched on the porch rail.

  She agreed. “It seems so.”

  Joseph gave her an endearing smile. “I’m real thankful, since we just never know how she’s gonna feel. I remember how she used to scamper and play like all healthy children—even climbed the tallest trees in this yard.” He gestured toward the old oak trees. “She certainly didn’t come into the world sickly.” He went on to say that his aunt Nellie believed Maggie was inclined toward arthritis because of the prevalence of the disease in the family’s previous generation.

  Rachel spooned up another bite of ice cream, listening.

  “Various relatives in the family suffer with it.”

  Rachel considered that. “Grace says Maggie got a diagnosis some time ago—ain’t that right?” She didn’t mention that Grace sometimes seemed to pamper Maggie, which seemed odd when Grace was younger by more than a year.

  “Well, it took trips to several doctors—one an osteopathic physician. It was confusing to Sadie Ann and me that each doctor had a different opinion.”

  “Were tests done?” Rachel asked.

  “Most definitely. The sedimentation rate—or sed rate—in her blood was elevated when Maggie suffered with severe pain.” Joseph paused for a moment, then placed his empty bowl on the porch floor. “But since she was in her early teens, it was considered to be juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, something she might possibly outgrow. Of course, we were also told it could become worse.”

  Poor, dear girl . . .

  “One doctor even said she could be crippled by her thirtieth birthday . . . suggested that a drier climate might be something to consider.” Joseph shook his head and looked at Rachel. “’Tween you and me, it’s a blessing that all the other children are so fit.”

  Not having heard any of this before, Rachel’s curiosity rose, and she decided to seek out Nellie’s opinions about Maggie’s health . . . find out how it varied from day to day. If it can vary, maybe it can go away for good, she thought hopefully, wondering how she might help.

  4

  During the evening table games, Maggie thought she felt Jimmy’s eyes on her, but it would never do to look his way, not even a glance.

  After an hour or so of games, Hannah Mast, the deacon’s wife, suggested they sing the birthday song for all those celebrating a June birthday. They did, everyone looking at Maggie and another fellow born that month. The minute that song was finished, one of the more confident fellows led out in a thank-you song to the deacon and his wife for hosting this Singing, and all joined in.

  As they sang, Maggie recalled the first time Jimmy Beiler had sought her out . . . before a rug-braiding frolic right here at the deacon’s house, more than a year ago. Jimmy had driven his mother and two sisters over and dropped them off, while Maggie had ridden over in the pony cart, since the walk was too far for her. Lo and behold, Jimmy had abruptly halted his horse on the road just to strike up a conversation, his brown bangs ruffling in the breeze. Maggie remembered it as though it had happened last week, the recollection warm and ever so special. “Was nice seein’ ya at Singing last Sunday, Maggie,” he’d said, sporting a contagious smile. “Real nice.”

  That grin still captured her attention every time she ran into him—at Saturday market, Sunday Singings, and especially before baptismal class. Too often to simply chalk it up to chance. . . . And he never failed to take a moment to say hello and visit for a bit.

  What if he asks me riding tonight . . . for the second time? she wondered, having mixed feelings about what it might mean if he did. Secretly, she wished she could somehow know if he had been sincere in his initial invitation months ago. On the other hand, she feared the thought of his interest in her—what a burden it would be to him if they ended up together!

  Truly, it was best for all if Grace might include her in the ride home with whoever invited her sister out this night, because Maggie did not want to end up alone.

  ———

  The singing of hymns and gospel songs lasted an hour and a half, and then Deacon Mast and his wife served homemade root beer floats and cookies as the youth lingered for another hour or so of fellowship.

  Maggie spent the time chatting with three of her girl cousins while Bishop Lantz’s youngest grandson, Martin, led Grace over to one of the corners to talk. Maggie was also conscious of Jimmy’s proximity, though for now he remained with other fellows his age, including the unfamiliar red-haired fellow, who had reappeared and was again sending glances Maggie’s way—so frequently that Maggie felt certain even Jimmy had noticed.

  Nee, she thought, wishing she could crawl into the woodwork.

  A few minutes passed, and the tall redhead walked to her table. He was certainly from another church district, because his hair was cut slightly shorter, though still in the bowl cut her father and brothers wore.

  Just then, Jimmy made his way over to visit with one of Maggie’s second cousins, Deborah Esh, a year older than Maggie. Goodness, Maggie felt uneasy at seeing the two of them together; it took everything in her to focus solely on the smiling young man sitting down across from her. She needed to be polite.

  I should’ve stayed home, she thought.

  “Hullo,” the redhead said as he folded his hands on the table. “Someone told me your name is Maggie.”

  She nodded; the basement was abuzz with conversation. “And what’s yours?”

  “Timothy Blank,” he said, “from Leola.”

  “Near the big turkey farm there?” She paused for a moment, hoping someone else might catch his eye, but his attention only seemed to increase. Finally, she said, “My Dawdi Mast lives in Leola. Do ya know of a Reuben Mast?”

  Elbows on the table, Timothy frowned and rubbed his chin. “Not sure. There are a number of them. Where’s your Dawdi live?”

  She strained to hear him. “I’m sorry . . . it’s so noisy here.”

  Seemingly frustrated, Timothy motioned for them to leave the table and go to a quieter area to talk.

  She hesitated. Is this wise?

  Then, thinking of Jimmy and Deborah just across the room, she decided to give it a try. After all, today had been one of her better days.

  Maggie rose slowly to join Timothy, stepping gingerly at first, but on the way, she began to limp forward and almost stumbled. She stopped suddenly, fighting for balance, and he turned back, confusion etched on his face.

  “Ach, sorry . . . I’m ever so dabbich!” She tripped over her to
ngue, too, trying to explain.

  Timothy’s look of disappointment, or shock, one of the two, made her cringe inside. “Do ya need help?”

  She shook her head. “Nee, I can manage.”

  And with that, he nodded awkwardly and excused himself.

  “What was I thinkin’?” she murmured, wishing she’d just stayed put at the table. Where it’s safer, she thought, not blaming Timothy Blank for abandoning her, upsetting as his reaction was. What young man would want a sickly sweetheart, after all?

  Cautiously, she made her way back to the table again. Preoccupied with what had just happened and the notion that Jimmy might be pursuing Cousin Deborah, Maggie forced herself to turn her attention to the girls there, who were talking about watching some chicks hatch yesterday, and how they’d enjoyed the glee in their younger siblings’ eyes as the wee birds began to peck their way out of the shells. She remembered the first time she’d witnessed this remarkable happening. Mamm held my hand as we watched in awe until the tired little chicks finally emerged from their broken shells, she recalled, missing her mother all the more. She was so whole and energetic then.

  When it was time to disband, Grace came over and mentioned that Martin Lantz had offered to drop Maggie off at home before he and Grace went riding for a while in his courting carriage. As they prepared to leave, Maggie purposely avoided looking toward Jimmy and Cousin Deborah, but she couldn’t help hearing Jimmy’s hearty chuckle as she headed outside with Martin and Grace. It made her heart pound with sorrow. He’s found someone better for him, Maggie decided, guessing Jimmy had seen her earlier with Timothy.

  I did the right thing, turning Jimmy down that time, she reminded herself, relieved and yet crushed all at once. I would never be able to cope with the needs of a husband and children of my own.

  Two days later, Maggie was sitting in the kitchen, lightly sprinkling the clean clothes from yesterday’s wash before rolling up each dampened garment for Grace to iron. An hour prior, Rachel had left with the family carriage to take some homemade ice cream to a neighbor.

  Now that they were alone, Maggie wondered what Grace might say about her first date with good-looking Martin Lantz. Thus far, Grace had been mum about it, and Maggie was hesitant to probe.

  They worked without saying a word until Maggie finally broke the silence. “I’ve decided not to go to Singings anymore,” she said flatly.

  “Wha-at?” Grace looked shocked. “You don’t mean it.”

  “There’s no reason to go . . . never was.”

  Grace frowned. “Are ya feelin’ worse again?”

  Maggie nodded. “And let’s be honest: Why would any fella our age want to court me?”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie-bird.” Mamm’s nickname for Maggie had slipped from Grace’s lips. “Ach, I mean . . .” Grace was red-faced as she set down the iron.

  “It’s all right. It’s nice to hear it again,” Maggie said.

  Grace walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. While the water ran, she took down a tumbler from the cupboard and filled it with water. She was obviously upset, and when she turned around to face Maggie, she said, “It’s still so hard without Mamm.”

  Maggie nodded, but she couldn’t talk about their mother right now without getting emotional, so she quickly changed the subject to exactly what she hadn’t planned to voice. “I’m guessin’ you had a nice time with Martin Lantz after Singing.”

  Grace’s face flushed all the more, and now her eyes sparkled. “I didn’t realize how much I would like him.”

  “Well, you can’t really know a fella till ya spend time with him,” Maggie replied. “Isn’t that what Great-aunt Nellie always says?” she said of Dat’s elderly aunt, who lived with her blue-gray cat in the attached Dawdi Haus. A short hallway connected the gregarious woman’s dwelling to the front room of the main house, and sometimes the cat wandered over against Dat’s wishes.

  Grace continued to smile as she picked up the iron again and began to press Dat’s white dress shirt.

  She’s already smitten. Maggie was glad for her sister, who’d only been attending Singings for a short time.

  After a supper of fried chicken and mashed potatoes with rich, creamy gravy, Maggie followed Dat out toward the stable with her cane. He slowed his pace to accommodate her, and she was touched by his kindness as he talked about his workday at the gristmill.

  The early evening sun beat on the old stable, its long wooden slats gray and tattered. “Nearly a relic,” Dat had described to his father-in-law last summer during a picnic, when they were discussing the possibility of tearing it down and rebuilding. Although not trying to eavesdrop, Maggie had overheard them while sitting on a lawn chair not far from young Miriam, who was playing with paper dolls on an old blanket after they’d all eaten rhubarb pie and ice cream.

  Inside the stable were stalls and feeding troughs, as well as an area used for storing harnesses and driving lines and gear. But because extra money was hard to come by, no such demolition had yet taken place.

  Waiting for the right moment to say what was on her mind, Maggie took down one of the grooming brushes from the pegboard and made her way into the first stall. There, she talked softly to Buster, one of their road horses, as she shuffled to his side. She could hear her father getting the water buckets and heading out to the hand pump.

  Gently, she began to brush the horse, still murmuring and enjoying Buster’s company as she got up the nerve to ask her father about going to the tent revival meeting with Cousin Lila tomorrow night.

  Rachel was so grateful that evening for Grace’s earlier help with all the ironing. Grace had even hung everything up in the respective bedrooms during the space of time Rachel had gone with ice cream to visit Ruth Zook, who was suffering with a badly sprained ankle.

  Ruth, my very own matchmaker, she thought of Joseph’s longtime neighbor. Truth be known, Ruth had met Rachel’s older sister Sarah on one of the occasions when Sarah had come to town to sell her homemade relish at market. There, Sarah and Ruth struck up a friendship, and one thing led to another. Soon they were concocting a plan for Ruth and her husband to invite Joseph for dinner on the same evening they invited Rachel. Sarah had set the whole thing in motion, even paid for the driver to bring Rachel to Lancaster County for the meal and take her home. The idea of a blind date, so to speak, had been a real challenge for Rachel, but she had trusted her sister’s judgment from the start. After all, Sarah’s own marriage was wonderful, and Rachel hadn’t dated since her late teens.

  Rachel smiled as she recalled meeting Joseph for the first time—and the flutter of nerves she’d endured prior to that day.

  None of it would have been possible without Ruth, she thought fondly, hoping the ice cream she’d taken today had perked Ruth up.

  Rachel had gone at the request of Hannah Mast, who’d called for a card shower for Ruth during a work frolic at the deacon’s house last week. Soft-spoken Hannah had urged the womenfolk present to either go and visit Ruth or to send her a pretty card.

  I wish there were more I could do for her, thought Rachel, knowing her own responsibilities kept her mighty busy.

  Just then, Rachel spotted her husband out at the pump, filling buckets of water, the sun still relatively high in the sky. How quickly he won me over! She remembered how attentive Joseph had been at that blind date supper at the Zooks’, sitting across the table from her—the way he asked questions that put her at ease. Things like “What sort of flowers do ya plant in your garden back home?” and “Do ya have a favorite meal to cook?” The latter had made her smile inwardly . . . it was obvious that Joseph was interested in having a cook of his own.

  Watching him now, Rachel wanted to drop everything and help him, but Miriam came rushing down the stairs and into the kitchen, her blue bandanna slipping back, revealing her middle part. The darling girl wrapped her slender arms around her. “Can I help ya with the dishes, Mamma Rachel?”

  It warmed Rachel’s heart to hear Miriam already use Mamma so freely;
the girl seemed the sincerest of the children in her affection. To think Rachel might never have had a family apart from marrying Joseph. “I’ll wash, and you dry. How’s that?” Rachel proposed.

  A cheery smile appeared, and Miriam hurried across the kitchen to the apron drawer, where she pulled one out and promptly tied it around her tiny waist. Then she removed a fresh tea towel from the next drawer up. “Can we make bread tomorrow mornin’?” she asked, leaning against the counter, looking up at Rachel.

  Rachel nodded and smiled as she finished heating water to add to the water she’d run in the sink.

  “Mamm always said I talked a lot . . . sometimes got on her nerves, Dat would say.”

  “I’m sure your Mamm enjoyed hearin’ what you had to say, just as I do.”

  “Well . . . I’ve never said this before,” Miriam said matter-of-factly, her tea towel poised. “I’m real glad Dat married ya.” Her little eyes blinked fast.

  Rachel’s heart was filled with tenderness for her stepdaughter, and she struggled to hold back her tears of joy. Mothering this one, and spending time with her, was truly a delight.

  While her father lugged in one of the buckets and filled the water trough in Buster’s stall, Maggie finally asked, “What would ya think if I went to the tent meeting tomorrow night?”

  “You want to go to the revival?” Dat replied, his nose twitching a bit.

  Maggie nodded, her throat turning dry.

  Her father was still for what seemed like a long moment. Then, drawing a breath, he said, “What’s your interest?”

  “Cousin Lila was talking a lot ’bout it.”

  Dat frowned hard. “And she wants you to tag along, is that it?”

  Maggie felt as if her words were locked up in her throat somewhere.

  Removing his straw hat, Dat swatted at a fly. “I don’t see how goin’ to an outsiders’ meeting is a gut idea, daughter.”