Kate's Song

J
ENNIFER
B
ECKSTRAND

Summerside Press™

Minneapolis 55438

www.summersidepress.com

Kate’s Song

© 2012 by Jennifer Beckstrand

ISBN 978-1-60936-639-1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

Cover design by Lookout Design |
www.lookoutdesign.com

Interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group |
www.mullerhaus.net

Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind
.

Printed in USA.

To my six amazing children and one son-in-law for constantly reminding me of what is really important in life. (Zach, I hope you get your tennis court.)

And to my husband, Gary, for being my greatest support and biggest fan. I love you with all my heart.

I express my deepest appreciation to Mary Sue Seymour for believing in me and my writing, and to Lindsay Guzzardo for her gifted editing of my work. I am enormously grateful to Priscilla Stoltzfus, Sam Riehl, and their families for welcoming me into their homes and correcting my Englisch mistakes. My five beautiful and intelligent sisters give me constant encouragement, especially Dr. Allison Sharp, my alpha, beta, and zeta reader, into whose skillful hands I trust all my work.

“Is he dead? Please tell me he’s not dead!”

Kate limped through the muddy field carrying a bag filled with most of her earthly possessions. The torrential rain pelted her face and rendered her nearly sightless. Her clothing, soaked and dripping, molded to her like a second skin, offering no defense from the biting wind. She chided herself for being so unprepared on just another refreshing Wisconsin spring evening.
Ach!
The shortcut to her home, which had made perfect sense an hour ago, now seemed
deerich
, foolish indeed.

And still the rain came. Kate might as well have been standing under a waterfall. Wiping her eyes so she could see her path, she trudged on stoically, never pausing to catch her breath or nurse her swollen leg and aching back.

The overwhelming darkness was dispelled intermittently by violent explosions of light followed by deafening cracks of thunder. Even though she knew they were coming, Kate still jumped like a skittish heifer at milking time with each earsplitting roar. The noise brought back the all-too-vivid memory of that horrible night she wanted so desperately to forget.

“Kate, get out of here.”

“No, I won’t leave you.”

“He’ll kill you.”

Shivering uncontrollably, Kate climbed over the short wooden fence that separated the Yutzys’ pasture from her
dat
’s orchard. Her foot jammed into the ground on the other side, and she groaned in pain and grabbed her knee. A wave of despair washed over her. She crouched with her back against the fence and began to weep.

“Kate, are you all right? Where did he hurt you?”

His face…

“Come away. Don’t look at him.”

“Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, the storm drowning her words almost before she could form them. “I am so afraid. Please send me Thy peace.” She gasped as she slowly flexed her leg. Eyes closed, she turned her face to the sky. “And if that is too much to ask, please just help me to stand up.”

The thought of crawling on her hands and knees through the apple trees made her want to laugh in spite of herself. “Would it be too much trouble to send Dat with a buggy and a warm blanket, Lord? And a cup of Mamma’s hot cocoa?”

No answer.

“I know, I know,” she said wryly. “Faith without works is dead.” Grabbing a fence post, she pulled herself up and squared her shoulders. The whipping wind sliced into her face like a thousand shards of ice. Her jeans were drenched and heavy, her already-aching body stiff with cold. How many more steps could she take before she froze solid right where she stood?

Keep moving
, she told herself. Less than half a mile and she would be warming herself at the big stone hearth in the front room. Even after a two-year absence, Kate remembered the interior of her home in vivid color, and she could almost smell the lavender Mamma hung near the fire and taste the hickory-smoked venison Dat cured after hunting. And the apples—apples everywhere. Even at the academy, Kate never ate an apple without being immediately transported home to the middle of the orchard.

Her younger brothers would study her face with morbid curiosity. Elmer would be the first to bring her a blanket, because he always noticed the need. Mamma would try valiantly to hide her distress at seeing her middle daughter in such a state, but she would fuss and fret over Kate as if she were a newborn
buplie
.

Dear Dat would be overjoyed to see her, although he would not let it show on his face. But his delight would evaporate the minute he saw the blackened eye and swollen lip. Kate could picture Dat clutching his heart then getting that look on his face that said he was ferociously angry but refused to respond in any way that would shame him before his family. “Are you finally going to stay home for good?” he would ask. “This is what happens when you leave to see the world.”

Kate slogged on, the promise of a warm bed the only motivation she needed to keep moving. Questions and answers could wait.

The lightning momentarily illuminated her childhood home through the bare trees, the rust-red roof in vivid contrast to the bright whitewash. Kate saw no light within or without. Her family retired early. Perhaps if she entered as quietly as possible, she wouldn’t have to wake anyone.

Who did she think she was fooling? She would wake everyone.

To her relief, she found the door well-oiled, and she slipped into the front room and let the warmth wash over her like a hot shower. After the clamor of wind and rain, the stillness of the house attacked her ears, magnifying every sound. The floor creaked softly where she stepped, the grandfather clock tocked its eternal cadence, and the glowing embers of the dying fire crackled in the hearth. Kate swayed unsteadily, dripping wet and dizzy with pain.

As she expected, she woke Mamma. “Elmer? Is that you?” her mother whispered as she came down the hall holding a kerosene lantern. When she caught sight of Kate, her eyes widened. “Well, bless my soul. It is my little Katie.” After quickly placing the lamp on the table, Mamma threw out her arms and, despite Kate’s dripping clothes, enfolded Kate into a welcoming embrace.

Mamma pulled away and put her hand to Kate’s cheek. “My poor buplie,” she said. “My poor baby. Solomon, wake up now and come,” she called down the hall, not bothering to muffle her voice in the still of the night. She took the bag from Kate’s arm and placed it on the table. Then she slipped the waterlogged sweat jacket from Kate’s shoulders.

Dat appeared, pulling up his suspenders and looking like he had been awakened from the sleep of the dead. He rubbed his eyes then focused on the girl before him. “Katie,” he said softly, “you are home.”

Overcome with relief, Kate couldn’t make her lips form a reply. Her mother, almost in tears, wrapped her in a blanket. Her three brothers came out of nowhere and stood dumbfounded, staring at her.

“Elmer, Ben, give her some room,” said Mamma, her voice trembling. “Oh,
leibe
, you are so cold. Like an icicle. Joe, put in more logs and build up the fire.” Mamma pushed the boys out of the way and pulled Kate to the hearth.

Dat said nothing, just looked at her face with eyes wide.

“What happened to Katie, Mamma?”

“Leave her be, Ben. She must get warm first.”

“How did you get hurt?” Elmer asked.

“
Oy
, anyhow, you look very bad, sister.”

Kate could not answer. She put her hand to her forehead as the room began to spin. The floor seemed to rush toward her, and the world descended into blackness.

Kate awoke with a start, the terrible dream that had seemed so vivid disappearing from her memory. Her wet clothes were gone, replaced by a soft flannel nightgown that gathered tightly around her wrists and neck. Lying in the bed she used to share with Hannah, Kate inhaled the fresh scent of pine and newly scrubbed floors. Dat would never approve of her recently acquired habit of sleeping in—too many late-night study sessions proved her undoing.

Kate gingerly rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, considering the damage to her body. She knew her right thigh sported a nasty purple mark the shape of a football; her left knee felt stiff, the bruises on her neck throbbed beneath the collar of her nightgown, and her lower lip seemed to be the size of a crabapple. Poor Mamma had probably gone into apoplexy when she saw all the injuries.

The nightmarish events of the last week rattled loudly in her head. She had stumbled into someone else’s problems and been swept away. The memory of the ordeal left her shaky and ill.

Still, she felt no remorse for what she had done. She wished to heaven that her hand had not been forced. But given the choice, she would do the same thing again—even though the violence went against everything her people believed in. She had saved a woman’s life, and Kate could not condemn herself for that.

Her old emerald-green dress and soft black apron hung on the peg next to her bed. Had they patiently waited there for two years, knowing she would return? She lifted the dress from its resting place and buried her face in the fabric. It smelled like church and Christmas, apple cider and fresh cream all at the same time.

Home. It smelled like home.

When she put it on, the knots in her shoulders untied themselves. She marveled that an old dress could have such a calming effect. After fashioning her hair into a bun, she fastened her
kapp
on her head and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.