14
David sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee, staring out the window. Birdy was busy at the stove, stirring a pot of stew, but her mind wasn’t on dinner. He could tell by the way she’d glance over her shoulder every few minutes, lips pressed into a thin line, that she had something on her mind.
Finally, she turned to him, her voice gentle but firm. “David, don’t you think you should have a little talk with Jacob Zook?”
“Jacob Zook?” David raised an eyebrow. Jacob wasn’t exactly chatty—unless the topic was about the weather. He was a farmer through and through. “Why would I do that?”
Birdy sighed, as if wondering about her husband’s perceptiveness. “Clara’s twins are a handful. Our buggies passed each other yesterday, and we stopped to talk, but with those babies hollering, we barely exchanged hellos.”
Yes, David remembered the lung power of those two babies echoing through the store. “I’m still not seeing why I need to talk to Jacob.”
“It just seems Clara could use a little help with the babies.”
David set his mug down, getting a sense of where Birdy was headed with this. Jacob Zook wasn’t just frugal; the manwas tighter than the lid on a jar of pickles. And Birdy? Well, she was about to suggest David “encourage” Jacob to hire a mother’s helper. He could already imagine the conversation going nowhere fast. “Jacob’s not exactly fond of parting with his money,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
Birdy frowned. “If that’s the case, then he should help with those babies himself.”
“Maybeyoucould—”
Birdy cut him off with a raised hand. “I offered. Clara turned me down. She’s not easy to help.”
David stroked his graying beard, feeling a familiar sense of weariness. “And you think I should have a word with him?”
Birdy turned off the stove and faced him, her look determined. “I do. He’s a good man, David, but he’s stuck in his ways. Clara’s struggling, and he’s too focused on getting the hay in to notice.”
David sighed deeply, leaning forward. “Jacob’s not much for taking advice.”
“Tell him you had twins yourself,” Birdy said, her tone softer but firm. “Remind him how it’s double the work, and that Clara needs some help.”
David let out a dry chuckle. “You want me to say all that to Jacob? Birdy, he’s not going to listen. He’s had twins in his first marriage. He knows how much work they are. All that’s on his mind is timing the drying of his hay so he can cut it.”
Birdy came over and sat beside him, placing her hand gently on his arm. “You’re the bishop, David. That still counts for something—even with Jacob Zook. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”
David shook his head. “Being the bishop doesn’t always mean people listen. Sometimes it’s just a label.”
Birdy wasn’t giving up. “It’s a label that carries weight. You don’t need to come down hard. Just give him a nudge. Help him see things from Clara’s side. She’s doing the best she can, but ... she’s not...”
“She’s not like his first wife.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll think about it,” David said, though the idea of tackling a conversation with Jacob was about as appealing as ... well, helping cut hay. He was no farmer.
Birdy gave his arm a squeeze. “You’ll say the right thing, David. You always do.”
Did he? He smiled faintly but wasn’t so sure himself.
The next day, Annie watched the bus approach with the same enthusiasm she had for getting a cavity filled at the dentist. Without novocaine.
Gus noticed. “It’s all about getting used to the movement,” he said, after he complimented her on the wisdom of choosing a bus to practice overcoming her motion sickness. “It’s the perfect way to simulate the motion of an ambulance or fire truck, minus the sirens.”
Annie wasn’t at all convinced; after days of increasingly queasy lunch breaks, her stomach was less “eager for the challenge” and more “already regretting it.” But the last time—the only time—she’d ridden in an ambulance, she hadn’t gotten sick. Gus had been there ... and he was here today.
Maybe this could work.
They made their way to the back of the bus—he insisted the back was more realistic to an ambulance—and sat down. As the bus pulled away from the stop, she felt her hands grow clammy and moist. She curled her hands into fists and wrapped them up in her apron.
He noticed.
