The Keeper Read online

  “That’s just it! He doesn’t even care that he makes us the laughingstock of Stoney Ridge! What happened last month at church was . . . outrageous!”

  “Plenty of folks brew root beer,” Amos said. He gave a mock scowl as M.K. double-jumped his checkers.

  “But look at the aftermath . . .” Julia stopped short as she noticed that M.K. was listening. Listening hard.

  “What aftermath?” Amos asked.

  Julia looked away.

  “Paul Fisher canceled the wedding,” M.K. whispered to him.

  Amos looked at Julia, shocked. “What?! When?”

  “Postponed!” Julia hurried to amend. “Paul postponed the wedding. There’s a difference.” She glared at her sister. “You were eavesdropping on Sadie and me in the kitchen just now, weren’t you?”

  M.K. studied the checkerboard with great interest.

  Amos frowned at M.K. “Why don’t you go downstairs and help Sadie with dinner?”

  “I happen to have some real interesting news I might be willing to share and instead I get sent away, like a dog,” M.K. said glumly.

  “What’s your big news?” Julia said, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

  Amos looked over at Julia. “Is it true about the wedding? Does Paul really want to postpone it?”

  Julia tucked her chin to her chest. She gave a brief nod.

  “And you think the reason is because of Uncle Hank and the exploding bottles?” Amos asked finally, sounding pensive. “Paul’s no stranger to Uncle Hank’s ways.”

  “What else could it be?” Julia said. She turned to M.K. “What news did you hear at school today?”

  M.K. shrugged. “I might have heard a few things. Got me to thinking . . . maybe . . .”

  “Maybe . . . what?” Julia asked.

  M.K. lit up like a firefly. “Jacob Glick called off his wedding to Katie Yoder. And Henry Stoltzfus broke off courtin’ with Sarah Miller.”

  Julia tilted her head. “What? All of them? But . . . why?” She paused. “Oh . . . you don’t mean . . . don’t tell me!” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

  M.K. nodded, pleased to deliver the news. “He’s back. The Bee Man is back.”

  “Ah,” Amos said, leaning back in his chair. “That explains quite a bit.”

  “It’s happening all over again,” Julia said. “Just like last year.” Her sadness over the postponed wedding dissipated. In its place was anger. Hot, furious, steaming-like-a-teakettle anger. Directed at the Bee Man.

  Amos brightened. “Maybe it wasn’t your Uncle Hank’s fault at all that Paul wants to postpone the wedding!”

  “He certainly didn’t help matters,” Julia said crossly. “And then along comes the Bee Man this week to really seal the deal.”

  “Or not,” M.K. added helpfully.

  2

  If asked, folks would say that Sadie Lapp was solid and practical, on the quiet side, and that she was a fine example to today’s youth. Or if they were feeling less generous, they said that Sadie was a girl no one ever had to worry about.

  What they didn’t know about Sadie was that she had a deeply romantic side that she tried to keep well hidden. She felt nearly as bad as Julia about Paul’s perpetual cold feet. How could he do such a thing to her sister? Twice, now. After all, getting married was the biggest thing that could ever happen in a girl’s life. A dream come true. To marry the man you loved. Sadie could hardly imagine how it would feel to be a bride—though she did try. She had such dreams for her own wedding. She’d already planned the menu, chosen her material for her wedding dress, added special treasures to her hope chest. She had everything ready and waiting.

  Everything but the groom, M.K. frequently pointed out.

  It was never too soon to plan for such a big event, Sadie would say in her defense. Weddings took a great deal of planning.

  Sadie wondered how she would feel if she were in Julia’s situation. She thought it would be like an arrow had been shot through her from front to back, leaving her with pain, longing, regret. Julia had looked so sad during dinner and excused herself after eating only a few bites of casserole.

  Sadie put her fork down and leaned back in her chair. She glanced at Uncle Hank, seated across the table, scraping crumbs of gingerbread off his plate with the back of his fork. He managed to put away a lot of dinner, despite the day’s tragedy. He wanted seconds on everything except the Ham ’n’ Noodle casserole. He had always reminded Sadie of a character from the Bible, a prophet, or maybe a shepherd, with his longish hair and untrimmed beard. She could see Uncle Hank was completely unconcerned about Julia’s change of circumstances. So was Menno, Sadie’s brother, who was preoccupied with helping himself to a second piece of cake. Uncle Hank held out his plate to Menno to be served.

  Surprisingly, M.K. seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She looked up the stairs and back at Sadie. “I could take Julia some cake. She likes your gingerbread.”

  Sadie brushed M.K.’s cheek with the back of her hand. “I think she just wants to be alone.”

  “Our Jules is better off without Paul,” Uncle Hank said as he reached across Menno to grab the bowl of whipped cream. “Them Fishers always think they’re something.” He dropped spoonfuls of whipped cream on his fresh slice of gingerbread.

  “Amen to that,” M.K. muttered under her breath. “Especially Jimmy.”

  Sadie elbowed her to hush.

  “Well, it’s true,” M.K. said. “In school today, Jimmy Fisher put a black racer snake in the girls’ outhouse.”

  “That is pretty low,” Menno said in his slow, deliberate way.

  “You can say that again,” M.K. said.

  “That is pretty low,” Menno repeated, ever literal. “That must have scared the snake.”

  M.K. stared at him. “The snake? It scared the living daylights out of me.” She coughed. “I mean, out of the girls!”

  Sadie cut the last piece of gingerbread cake—after all, why save it?—and slipped it on her plate.

  Julia couldn’t sleep. She was assaulted by an avalanche of thoughts, rolling, tumbling. How could life change so fast? This very morning she had woken earlier than usual, so filled with joy she could have burst. A taste of something unspeakably sweet—a wedding—and then, this afternoon, she had lost it. Paul took her dream and broke it like a fistful of spaghetti over a pot of boiling water. Snap, in half. Gone.

  All thanks to the Bee Man.

  Out of the blue, the Bee Man arrived in town and filled Paul’s head with doubts. Paul had never been particularly confident. She knew that he had difficulty making even the smallest decision, let alone a firm decision about a wedding date. The Bee Man had a way of bringing doubts into Paul’s mind—just enough doubts to convince Paul to postpone the wedding . . . again.

  The bishop’s sermon two Sundays ago was about the necessity of loving one’s fellowman. Not only did Julia not love the Bee Man, she thought she might hate him. Wholeheartedly hate him! She knew it was wrong to hate anyone, but how could she love someone so despicable? How was it even possible? She knew that with God all things were possible . . . but this?

  She couldn’t get that exasperating man out of her head. After two years, the mental ledger of her grievances against the Bee Man had grown thick with entries. Finally, she decided to commit this big mess to prayer. She believed in prayer. Prayer worked.

  She bowed her head and asked God to help her love the loathsome Bee Man and to give her the strength she lacked. “Amen,” she said and snapped her head back, smacking the back of her head on the headboard of her bed. “Ouch!” She rubbed her head where it hurt. Really, wasn’t this also the Bee Man’s fault? Everything about that man created trouble—even thinking about him inflicted pain. Who was he, anyway? Where did he come from? She had always noticed how the Bee Man skillfully deflected questions about himself. Even her father—who knew him better than anyone in Stoney Ridge—was reluctant to ask the Bee Man anything of a personal nature.


  Julia had known Roman Troyer—the Bee Man—for six summers. He seemed to be particularly fond of Windmill Farm and spent time with the Lapp family each year, and still she didn’t know a single thing about him other than he went from town to town with his bees. And he was Amish.

  What pleasure did Roman Troyer take in breaking up her engagement to Paul? Twice! What did he hope to gain from it?

  The sounds of Sadie and M.K., as they changed into nightgowns and brushed their teeth in the hallway bathroom, drifted through the transom above her door. She heard Sadie remind M.K. to scrub her face because no boy would look at her twice with that milk mustache. M.K. answered back by saying she didn’t want a boy to look at her, not even once.

  Julia’s eyes flew open. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Of course. Of course! How could she not have realized? It was all so simple—as plain as day. Roman Troyer was in love with Julia himself.

  Too bad, Bee Man. I’m not interested. I never will be! She wasn’t going to let Roman Troyer stand in her way with Paul Fisher.

  Her thoughts drifted back to Paul, feebly telling her he wanted to postpone the wedding. What would Paul tell others? Her mind was racing—she felt deeply humiliated. But on the heels of her humiliation was an overwhelming sorrow. She loved Paul. Would he ever be ready to get married? Or would he always just like the idea of getting married?

  She sighed. A more courageous woman would have told Paul to forget it. A tougher woman would have told him in no uncertain terms what he could do with this halfhearted plan to postpone. But Julia was neither brave nor tough. She just wanted Paul back. She wanted things back the way they were, yesterday, or last week. Before the Bee Man arrived.

  Oh Paul. What was he doing tonight? Was he at home with his family, or out with his friends? He had to be missing her. He had to be thinking about her. He was in love with her! She was sure of it. Tomorrow, Julia decided, he would come to Windmill Farm and tell her it was all a big mistake.

  Prayer worked, she reminded herself. And so she prayed. Please please please please please please please.

  The last chore of the evening was to move the three cows out to the pasture with the creek flowing through it. It was usually Menno’s job, but he told M.K. that he had something he needed to do first, and then he disappeared with a trowel in his hand.

  M.K. opened the gate and pushed the rump of the first cow, Pizza. If she could get Pizza moving along, chances were good that Pepperoni and Linguica would follow behind her. They used to have thirty cows, a herd, and it was M.K.’s job to name each new calf. Her father had given her that task the year her mother had passed, and M.K. felt very important whenever a cow was due to calve. After her father’s heart started to act up last year, he sold the dairy cows and sheep at an auction. It broke M.K.’s heart to part with the animals. “Just for a little while, M.K.,” her father had promised. “Just until I’m back in the saddle, fit as a fiddle.” He let her keep a few—her favorites—as long as she promised to care for them. And she did, most of the time, unless she forgot and then Menno would remember. Caring for the animals was the main thing on his mind.

  Where was Menno, anyway? She hitched the lock on the gate behind Linguica and ran up the hill. Menno met her as she reached the barn, near Julia’s garden. M.K. gasped. In his hands were Julia’s prized pink Parrot tulips, dug up, with bulbs attached. Julia loved those tulips! This very morning, she had made the whole family come to the garden to admire them. They were in their glory. At their peak!

  “Menno, what were you thinking?”

  He looked pleased with himself. “Julia is so sad. These will cheer her up.”

  “Oh, they’ll be sure to get a reaction out of Julia! If I were you, I’d hide out in the hills for a few days.”

  Menno looked confused and M.K. was just about to explain when she heard Sadie call out to them from the kitchen window. Menno spun around on one heel and headed toward the house, and M.K. shook off her shock and followed him. Let Sadie untangle this. Sadie made things clear to Menno. He walked into the kitchen, dropping clumps of dirt from the tulip bulbs wherever he went. M.K. came in behind him, stepping around the clots. Boys. So messy!

  Sadie was at the kitchen sink, soaking the last few dishes from dinner. She caught sight of what was in Menno’s hands and froze. She threw a questioning look—filled with horror—at M.K., who shrugged her shoulders.

  “They’re for Julia,” Menno said. “To make her happy again.”

  Sadie put the dish towel down on the counter and exhaled a deep sigh. “Let’s get those into a pitcher of water, Menno.”

  He walked over to the counter and placed the tulips down. “You fix ’em and I’ll take them up to Julia.”

  Sadie found a glass pitcher and started to fill it with water. “She’s sound asleep, Menno. Let’s wait to show her the pretty flowers until the morning.”

  He tossed M.K. a smug look. “Mary Kate thinks I should hide in the hills.”

  “No, you shouldn’t hide.” Sadie cut the bulb off of each tulip stem. “Once Julia recovers from the . . . surprise . . . I’m sure she will think they’re a lovely gesture.”

  And then she added, so softly that M.K. thought she might have imagined it, “I hope.”

  Gray light streaked the windows. Julia showered, turned off the water, stepped out, dried off, and ran a comb through her chestnut-colored hair. She’d always been secretly proud of her hair, thick and sleek and luxurious. She took a washrag and wiped the steam off the mirror. She didn’t look too bad, did she? Tired, a bit frayed on the edges, but nothing that would frighten the birds off the trees, as her father used to say about people who didn’t feel up to snuff.

  Fooling yourself, her reflection said. Sore head, sore heart.

  In the kitchen, Julia threw herself into a chair, bone-weary after a sleepless night.

  “You look lovely, Jules,” Sadie said, coming in from the other room with a basket of laundry in her arms. “You’re the prettiest girl in our church. Paul will come to his senses soon.” Sadie quietly folded the stiff, dry towels and piled them on the table.

  Julia made herself smile at her sister. That was an interesting thing about Sadie, she observed. Sadie spoke with a quiet certainty as if she knew what she was talking about.

  “I was just going to bring breakfast up for you. In case you’d rather not see anyone . . .” Sadie’s voice drizzled to a stop as she fastened her eyes on Julia’s face. “I only meant, you can take a day off, Jules.”

  Julia didn’t want to talk, and Sadie—despite the subject of Paul Fisher hovering over the table like a hummingbird—wouldn’t make her. Sadie knew that you didn’t need to talk all the time. She had a great sense of stillness, making it very restful to be near her.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Julia picked up a towel and started to fold it as Sadie poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. Then she put bacon in the fry pan. The hot bacon sputtered and popped, so Sadie cracked the window open to fan out the smoke. Julia took a sip of the coffee and spit it out. Grounds were floating on top. This time Julia had no trouble smiling. No sisters could be more different, Julia thought as she spooned out the grounds. Sadie had always been most like their father, a peacemaker. She was quite lovely in a round, soft sort of way, with curly light brown hair, a round face covered with freckles, and a shy, friendly smile, mild-mannered and dreamy. A listening person. She was of a fearful nature, but she knew that about herself and said it wasn’t such a bad way to be because it led to so many nice surprises when frightening things didn’t happen.

  Julia glanced out the window. M.K. was having trouble coaxing the cows out of the barn into the paddock. The silly animals milled in a stubborn bunch, jamming the opening and squeezing her against the doorjamb.

  M.K. would be twelve come winter. Too soon to tell what kind of woman she would grow into, but Julia thought M.K. took after their mother, at least in personality. Maggie Zook Lapp had been known as a woman who had a curious way of thinking.
r />   Menno appeared at the barn door and pushed the cows through, rescuing M.K. Julia’s heart ached sweetly as she watched Menno’s gentle ways. Nearly seventeen, Menno had the body of a man, but his mind hadn’t developed quite as far.

  To an outsider, Menno seemed like any other healthy, handsome young man. But when he spoke, it was obvious that he was different. You’d know from watching or even talking with him briefly that something was unusual. The wheels of his mind turned slowly, cautiously. The doctors never could decide what exactly was wrong with Menno. The consensus was a lack of oxygen caused brain injury during birth.

  Unless it was something he felt passionate about, Menno wasn’t much of a talker, but he hummed. He was always humming from memory, and off-key, every tune that he ever heard. Uncle Hank had taught Menno to be a first-rate birdhouse builder. He sold the birdhouses at Julia’s farm stand and also at the hardware store in town. Menno loved birds. His favorite book was Bird, Birds, Birds! and he spent far too much time at the telephone shanty by the schoolhouse listening in to the Audubon Rare Bird Count. He loved all animals, dogs and birds best of all.

  The one thing that defined Menno’s life more than any other was his relationship with animals. He held them, raised them, loved them, cared for them, healed them.

  Julia smiled as she saw Menno and M.K. race up to the house, like they always did, eager for breakfast.

  As M.K. and Menno reached the kitchen porch and pulled off their shoes, the front door banged open.

  “ANYBODY TO HOME?” boomed Uncle Hank, who always spoke as though he were addressing the deaf.

  “Oh no . . . not this early.” Julia sighed and rubbed her forehead. Uncle Hank had always been a sore trial to Julia, but the exploding bottle incident put him on very thin ice. Not that he was aware of it.

  “Come on in, Uncle Hank!” Sadie said.

  Uncle Hank stood in the doorway, grinning like he just tagged everyone in a game of hide-and-seek. In his hand was the lit stub of a cigar.