And now another trip to the feed store was one less thing he had to worry about. The next hurdle was church. Tomorrow was Saturday. He had one day to prepare for the kind looks and sympathetic twists of the ladies’ mouths as they gazed at him. Having the entire congregation to deal with was so much worse than the pitying looks of the one or two daily visitors. It was maddening.
It had been two months since Mary had died. A brain aneurysm, they had called it. He supposed that was a fancy way of saying that her brain had started bleeding for no reason. Well, none that they could say for sure. It could have been the strain of the pregnancy. Or something she was predetermined to suffer from. He wasn’t so sure about that. Wasn’t that a scientific way of saying God’s will? Even then, none of it mattered. Understanding what had happened to Mary wouldn’t bring her back. So he’d only halfway paid attention when they were telling him. Or maybe it was the sheer weight of his grief that had wiped it from his memory. What did it matter, now that his Mary was gone?
She had been six months pregnant, and he couldn’t help remembering that if she were alive today, she would be as round as an apple and glowing like the other women he had seen this far along. He was certain she would be crocheting this or that for the baby, planning, but not too much. It wouldn’t do to appear arrogant, like they were taking God’s blessing for granted. And they had wondered if maybe . . . just maybe . . . the baby might come a little early and be born on Christmas Day, sharing a birthday with Jesus. Now, he had heard some of the men in town debating on whether or not Christmas Day was actually when Jesus was born, but it didn’t matter. It was the day when everyone celebrated, and that was enough for Levi.
And he missed her. He missed Mary every day. He had hoped some of the pain would have eased by now. Or maybe he was expecting too much from himself. Right now he just wanted to go home, away from all the talk of Jesus and Christmas, away from all the pretty red poinsettias and English chatter of Santa Claus and hide away until it was all over.
He turned down the dirt lane that led to his house. The road needed to be graded. It was “rough as a cob,” his grandmother would have said. He smiled at the memory. Just one more person he had to miss this holiday. He should go back into town in a day or so and find someone to help him with the road. But he wouldn’t. It could wait.
When he saw the buggy parked in front of his house he almost pulled back on the reins and turned his wagon around.
Miriam Elizabeth Yoder, most always known as Mims, stood next to the buggy, hands planted on her hips. His sister. His nosy, busy, bossy sister who meant well, but liked to bully him, and anyone else who would allow it.
“Levi Yoder.” Her look was stern, her mouth set in a thin line.
He cringed as he pulled the horse to a stop. “Mims.” He gave her a nod and hopped down from his wagon.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Town.” He didn’t mean to be curt, but like half of his family, she treated him as if he were a fragile piece of china that would shatter if a person looked at it too hard. The other half acted like nothing had happened. He didn’t know which was worse. He was struggling to find his way, and as much as he loved his family, they were not helping in that process.
“I came over.”
“I can see that.” He pulled the fifty-pound bag of dog food from the stack of supplies in his wagon and carried it toward the barn. Puddles waddled out from inside, her tail wagging her entire body despite the added weight around her middle.
“Le—” Mims started, then broke off. She shook her head. “I was concerned about you.”
“I’m fine.” He shifted the bag of food to his shoulder and reached down to pet the freckled dog on the head. Puddles, an Australian cattle dog, had been Mary’s dog, and the pooch grieved for her mistress almost as much as Levi did. “Come on, girl,” he said, then led the way into the barn.
He half expected Mims to follow him, but she didn’t. Yet she was still waiting there by her buggy when he came back out.
“We should talk about this, you know.” Her words were like a puzzle with a few missing pieces, but he understood her meaning.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He picked up the sack of feed corn. It wasn’t his best solution, but he hoped it would keep weight on the few heads of cattle he had decided to keep during the winter. He supposed if they preferred to roam for grass, he could feed it to the chickens and the ducks. And he wasn’t coming up with things to think about, so he didn’t have to sit around and miss Mary.
“You can’t just lock yourself away.”
He didn’t know why not. There were several members of their community who were committed to staying at home on all days except for church Sundays. Granted, they were eccentric at best, a little off in the head at worst, but he could deal with that label. In truth, he didn’t care one bit what people thought of him.
Well, maybe a little, but since he had lost Mary, he cared less and less.
He made his way into the barn and out again before
