Miriam's Quilt Page 2

  “Is that you, Miriam?” she heard Mamm call from upstairs.

  Miriam skipped up the stairs and found her mamm in the little boys’ room, making up beds with her brothers Callie and Isaac.

  “Pull it out, Callie,” Mamm said. “Make a square corner. Miriam, how was work?”

  “Wonderful-gute. We sold seven quilts,” Miriam said, helping Isaac with his pillowcase.

  Callie pulled the edge of the sheet from under the mattress and fanned it up and down. “I can’t do the corners right.”

  “I’ll help,” Miriam said. “Tuck it under the end of the bed first. Good. Now pull out the corner. Make a little fold. Jah, like that. And under.”

  Mamm examined Callie’s perfectly mitered sheet corner. “Very good, Callie.”

  Miriam mussed Callie’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss on the cheek. He dodged her lips and giggled.

  “Do you want me to start supper?” Miriam said.

  “There is meat loaf in the icebox and potatoes,” Mamm said. “I was about to stick them in the stove. But will you check on your sister? She looked out of sorts when she came in from work today.”

  Miriam seized Callie around the shoulders and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey!” he protested.

  Miriam simply smiled and waltzed out the door. At nearly nine years old, soon Callie wouldn’t allow kisses at all. She had to steal them while she could.

  Miriam was the oldest child of Mamm and Dat’s left at home. Her two older brothers, Marvin and David, were married and both lived in Ohio. Marvin had two children, and David had married in January. An eight-year gap fell between twins Yost and Susie and little brothers Callie, Isaac, and Raymond. “You take them as they come,” Mamm had always said.

  Miriam knocked softly on Susie’s bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” said her sister.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Cum reu.”

  A pair of twin beds sat in the small bedroom Miriam shared with Susie. Burgundy-and-navy Log Cabin quilts covered each bed. Miriam and Susie had made the quilts together four years ago. Miriam still loved to walk into the room and let the rich colors saturate her senses.

  Susie must have just washed her hair. She sat on the edge of the bed clutching a towel and letting her hair drip onto her clothes and the bed. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she sniffled at regular five-second intervals while staring at the opposite wall.

  Miriam sat next to her on the bed and put her arm around Susie’s damp shoulder. “You are ice-cold, Susie,” she said.

  Susie tightened her fist around her towel and kept staring at the same spot on the wall.

  Miriam put her hand up to Susie’s forehead. No fever, but she did look a little green around the gills. “Are you feeling chilled?”

  Susie’s answer came out like a groan. “I wanted to feel clean,” she said. Tears flowed anew down her face.

  “Cum,” Miriam said, taking her hand. “Dry off your hair and get into your nightgown. I am sending you right to bed.”

  Miriam’s decisive tone shook Susie out of her foggy mood. She stood and wrapped the towel around her hair. Miriam went to the bureau and pulled out Susie’s flannel nightgown she wore during the cold winter months. Susie mechanically raised her arms, and Miriam helped her pull the nightgown over her head. While Susie stood motionless, Miriam took the towel from her head and pressed strands of Susie’s hair between folds of the towel until it was sufficiently dry.

  She directed Susie to sit on the bed and began to comb through her sister’s long golden tresses. Susie sat speechless with her spine rigid, her shoulders pulled back. She made no acknowledgment of Miriam’s presence except a light hand on Miriam’s knee.

  “Do you remember when Callie got gum in his hair and we had to shave most of his hair off?”

  Susie nodded.

  “Mamm almost cried when all those beautiful blond curls fell to the floor. Your hair is like his—the color of sunshine.” Miriam deftly fashioned Susie’s hair into a braid. “Now,” she said, “lie back and try to rest. I will make you some chicken soup.”

  Susie squeezed Miriam’s hand before she could pull away. “Miriam.” An idea seemed to flicker in her eyes but died. “Denki.”

  “You are welcome. I want you to feel better.”

  With urgency, Susie pulled Miriam toward her. “Miriam, have you ever done something really, really bad?”

  Miriam went cold, and her mind began to race. What had Susie done? Had her sister fallen into wickedness?

  “We all do things we wish we hadn’t,” she finally said.

  “Not you, Miriam. You are perfect.” The sincerity in her voice made Miriam want to blush.

  “Ach, no. None is perfect but God. You should have heard my thoughts on Saturday for a certain ill-mannered young man at the auction.”

  “You are perfect, Miriam.” Susie turned her head away and looked out the window. “I wish I were you.”

  “Why would you ever wish to have my stick-out ears? Or my freckles? You are the prettiest girl in our family.”

  Susie shook her head and started to cry again. “I wish I were you.”

  Miriam rubbed her hand up and down Susie’s arm. “What is wrong?”

  “I—I—I cannot say.”

  “Susie, tell me.” Susie’s idea of wickedness was taking more than her share of butterscotch pie at supper. She was probably feeling ashamed for having an unkind thought toward one of her brothers.

  A tear fell to Susie’s lap. “I am so tired.”

  “Rest. Chicken soup will take a half hour.”

  “Will you put paprika in it?”

  “Of course.”

  In the kitchen, Mamm popped the meat loaf into the belly of the wood cookstove. Miriam pulled a saucepan from the cupboard. “Susie is not feeling well,” she said. “I put her right to bed.”

  Mamm furrowed her brow. “Three days in a row now. I told her she should have stayed home from work.” Mamm wrapped the potatoes in foil, stuck them into the stove with the meat loaf, and went upstairs to check on Susie.

  Miriam chopped carrots and celery and set them to boiling. Then she picked last night’s leftover chicken from the bones and set the meat ready to plop into the water when the vegetables cooked soft.

  Hearing a soft knock at the front door, she left Susie’s soup to simmer and headed to the great room.

  Miriam opened the door to a stone-faced Seth Lambright standing on the narrow porch. He seemed as uncomfortable about seeing her as she was him.

  The corners of his lips turned down slightly. “Your dat said he would leave money for me.”

  No “Nice to see you today, Miriam,” or “How are you?” The boy’s conversation skills were seriously lacking. Of course, he’d made it very clear on Saturday that he’d rather converse with anybody but her.

  “You’re a snob, Miriam Bontrager.”

  Why would he scold her, when they’d hardly ever spoken?

  A small envelope lay beside the mail on the small table in the great room with SETH LAMBRIGHT written across it.

  Miriam snatched it from the table and shoved it into Seth’s hand.

  “Denki,” he said, stuffing the envelope into his pocket. Before she could shut the door on him, he said, “Your dat wants to buy you a horse as a wedding present. The money is a down payment. I have two mares about to deliver. Do you want to come over sometime and pick a foal?”

  The horse wasn’t even born yet? How did Dat know she wouldn’t need a horse for another two years? Ephraim and Dat must have talked behind her back. The thought irritated her like an itchy collar. Her marriage plans were personal. How could Ephraim reveal something that important to her dat without consulting her first?

  Seth waited for her to answer, and the corners of his mouth dropped farther. “You don’t have to make an excuse for my benefit. If you don’t want to come, don’t come. I can choose the foal for you. And in spite of what you think, I know enough about horses to
pick a gute one.” Indignation smoldered in his coal-gray eyes, and he turned on his heels and marched down the steps.

  “I wasn’t going to make an excuse,” she said, chasing him down the steps.

  “I wasn’t even thinking such a thing.”

  “Don’t bother smoothing things over. I already know how you feel about me.”

  “Stop right there,” she said, raising her voice to a level she seldom used except to call her brothers from the pasture for supper.

  Still frowning, he squared his broad shoulders and faced her. He stood tall, considerably taller than Ephraim, so he towered over Miriam like a sycamore.

  His height did not impress her. “Tell me what I have done to deserve your dislike.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because…I’m a person who… I try to be nice to everybody.” She blurted out exactly what she thought. “Everybody likes me.”

  “And you are astounded that I don’t.”

  She knit her brows together. “I—I suppose so.”

  “It is unfair to blame you for my own weakness. I know I shouldn’t, but I get riled up when you look down your nose at me.”

  Miriam lifted her chin. “Maybe you are bitter because everybody else has it so much better than you do.”

  He shook his head. “That is exactly what I mean. I do not think everybody has it better than I do. You are the one who thinks everyone has it better than I do.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You watch my family from a distance, feeling sorry for our misfortunes but staying far enough away that our bad influence does not rub off on you. You don’t even dare sit by my sister at gmay. It is primary school all over again.”

  Miriam pursed her lips. “I have never shown anything but compassion for your family.”

  “Oh, jah, you look down from your high-and-mighty perch—as if you are doing me the biggest favor in the world just by acknowledging me.”

  Miriam remembered her conversation with Ephraim and felt her face get hot. “It sounds like you do not need my compassion. You have plenty of self-pity.”

  “I hope I am past my own pity, but I cannot abide yours.”

  Again he tried to escape, and she darted into his path, determined to talk him out of his dislike. “When your mamm felt poorly, our family brought supper to your house every Wednesday night for two months.”

  “Then why did you never set foot in our house?”

  Miriam clenched her fists. “I came every Wednesday.”

  “You stood at the front door and handed food to my sister.”

  Miriam wanted to deny it, but she stopped short, unable to recall ever seeing the inside of the Lambrights’ home.

  “Why didn’t you come into our house?”

  “I don’t remember.” Miriam stepped closer and narrowed her eyes. “You are holding bad feelings for something that happened five years ago?”

  “Last month your cousin Rebecca had you and me coupled up for her wedding.”

  Miriam’s heart thumped in embarrassment. “How did you know that?”

  “Levi let me look at the list the day before. But then you must have seen the list too, because the next day we weren’t coupled up anymore.”

  “I asked her to put me with Adam Yoder because he is so shy. I wanted to help him out of his shell a bit.”

  “Your brother Yost and my sister Laura were coupled on Rebecca’s list. But that changed by the time of the wedding too. It seems you don’t want any of the Lambrights associating with your family.”

  Embarrassment rendered Miriam speechless. There was no way to defend herself. She had asked Rebecca to change the couples for the wedding. And she hadn’t done it because of Adam Yoder’s shyness. She’d worried what people would think of her if she were coupled with Seth. And Yost? She had wanted him to be coupled with JoAnn Kiem, the deacon’s daughter.

  She had to go on the offensive before he saw the truth of his words in her eyes. “If all you want to do is insult me, don’t come here again.”

  Seth studied her face and slumped his shoulders in surrender. “I am sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You are right. I have held this grudge when I should have forgiven. I can’t control your actions. I can only control my own, and I should know better. Forgive me for offending you.” He kicked the dirt at his feet and turned away from her. “You can still come see the foal, if you like.”

  She watched him ride away on his beautiful chestnut horse, outrage warring with shame inside her.

  “I can’t control your actions. I can only control my own, and I should know better.”

  The disrespect! Talking as if he were a martyr made to suffer at Miriam Bontrager’s hands—“Oh, surely I must forgive Miriam. Her nature makes it impossible for her to ever change. She doesn’t know any better.”

  She seriously considered staying home from the gathering tonight. She didn’t want Ephraim to see her so angry.

  But the sting of Seth’s accusations overshadowed her anger. Was she the proud girl Seth accused her of being? Her conscience weighed upon her like a full bucket of milk; there was no denying that she’d regarded Seth Lambright and his family with a sense of superiority.

  Did other people think her as prideful as well?

  The very thought sent her marching to the house. The screen door slammed behind her as she rolled up her sleeves, pulled a bag of noodles from the cupboard, and poured its contents into the soup. While the noodles cooked, she opened a can of pumpkin and whipped up three loaves of pumpkin bread to put into the stove when the meat loaf finished cooking.

  While dinner baked, Miriam ladled the soup with extra paprika into a bowl and took it to Susie’s room. Susie lay back on her pillow with her eyes open. She sat up when Miriam came in.

  “Denki, Miriam. You are so kind.”

  Miriam laid the tray over Susie’s lap. “I am not kind. I just told Seth Lambright to never come to our house again.”

  “The horse boy?”

  “He said I am a snob. It made me so mad, I almost closed the door on him.”

  Susie caught her breath, and her mouth fell open. “A snob? How could anyone say that about you? I never would have thought that Seth Lambright could be so mean.”

  Susie’s indignation cheered Miriam considerably.

  “Next time he comes over,” said Susie, “I will give him a stern talking-to.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.”

  “Remember in grade school when Davie Shirk stole my lunch and threw it in the mud?”

  “Jah.”

  “Yost and his friends helped me attack him with snowballs after school.”

  “I chastised you both,” Miriam said.

  “Jah,” Susie said. “If Miriam won’t do it, then I know I shouldn’t do it either. Seth Lambright is safe from me. Even if he deserves a few snowballs.”

  Chapter 3

  Miriam’s steps echoed through the quiet house as she tiptoed into the kitchen after returning home from the gathering. Despite her determination not to go, Ephraim had showed up at the door at exactly six fifteen and wouldn’t hear of her staying home.

  Yost sat at the table eating a piece of pumpkin bread.

  “Gute bread,” he said, motioning to her with his butter-covered slice.

  “I got angry today,” Miriam said. After Seth riled her up this afternoon, Miriam had made three loaves in her indignation. She took one loaf to the Dennings, her Englisch neighbors across the road, and Mrs. Denning told her she was the nicest young lady in the neighborhood.

  The nicest young lady. Take that, Seth Lambright.

  “You cook when you’re angry?”

  “And when I’m not.” Miriam cut herself a slice of bread, poured two glasses of milk, and sat at the table with Yost. Yost was Susie’s twin brother and, at seventeen, had grown to almost six feet.

  “I thought you said you would come to the gathering tonight,” Miriam said.

 
Yost ran his thumb up and down his glass. “I had other stuff I had to do.”

  “Like what? Clipping your toenails?”

  The corners of Yost’s mouth turned up. “Plucking nose hairs.” He took a swig of milk. “How was the gathering?”

  “Abner Yutzy conked Lizzie Zook on the head in volleyball.”

  “He’s such a show-off,” said Yost, “just because he is tall. I never like to be on his team. He is a ball hog, plain and simple. Thinks he is the only one who can get the ball over the net.”

  “He spiked it so hard that Lizzie didn’t have time to duck. She had to sit out the rest of the game.”

  “Did you tell him to take it gentle?”

  “We tried. But during the third game, little Sue Lyn Sensenig hit the ball harder than I’ve ever seen a girl hit it. I think she surprised herself. It flew straight up into Abner’s face and whacked him squarely in the nose.”

  Yost laughed. “Did he cry?”

  “Like a calf stuck in a fence. He might have broke it. It bled something crazy.”

  “Serves him right,” Yost said, finishing his last bite. “That boy would spike the ball at his own mammi to win.”

  “Don’t say such things, Yost. It’s uncharitable.” Miriam sighed and arched her back to stretch the tight muscles. She had rocked the Weavers’ new grandson for practically half the gathering. He was cutting teeth and as fussy as a grumpy bear. Miriam had taken the baby so his mamm could pass out lemonade, and then she cuddled and bounced and entertained him while everybody sang. Ephraim wasn’t happy having to share Miriam’s attentions with a baby, but Miriam was determined. Keeping the baby happy proved to be exhausting, but a less thoughtful girl would have given up after a few minutes.

  “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”