Saturday.”
M.K. sighed and Jimmy blew air out of his mouth. Edith spun on her heels.
“Jimmy! Come along!” His mother’s voice sailed from the buggy.
Jimmy leaned close to M.K. and squinted at her. “You’re making those big words up.”
She squinted back at him. “What big words?”
“No lo contend and feet accomplished. You were throwing them around awhile ago.”
“They’re in the dictionary,” she said sweetly. “Right in front of the word snitch .”
8
D uring breakfast the next morning, the baby woke up and started to wail. The entire family covered their ears as Sadie tried to settle him down.
“You know,” Amos said, “I hadn’t thought about this for years, but Menno used to yell like that.”
Sadie’s head jerked up. “Really?”
“Yes, just like that. As if someone was pinching him.” He smiled wistfully. “He had colic. We tried everything. Even tried all kinds of formulas—just like you’re doing.”
Fern leaned forward in her chair. “Did anything work?”
“Let’s see. It was awhile ago, you know.” Amos looked up at the ceiling, as if watching a memory pass overhead. “Goat’s milk.” He looked pleased. “Worked like magic.” He snapped his fingers.
Fern looked at him as if a cat had spoken. “And you’re just thinking to offer that up now?” She reached over and scooped the baby out of Sadie’s arms. “Go to Ira Smucker’s right now and get fresh goat’s milk.”
Sadie hesitated. “Let M.K. go.”
Fern sighed. “Fine.” She turned to M.K. “Get a couple of clean jars from under the sink. Lids too. Tell Ira you need the freshest milk he’s got. See if he’ll even milk a goat for you while you watch. And then bring that milk back here. No lollygagging.” She gave M.K. a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen.
M.K. huffed. “I don’t lolly and I don’t gag.”
The baby took a few gulps of air and started to wind up again, like a siren. M.K. grabbed the jars and lids and darted out the door.
Not thirty minutes later, Ira Smucker returned with M.K. in his flatbed wagon, with large containers of sterilized goat’s milk, still steaming, and a goat. Fern and Amos went out to meet them.
“It’s nothing,” Ira told Fern when she thanked him for being so thoughtful. “This goat is a good milker and has a sweet disposition too. Goats can be pretty ornery.” He sneezed a loud sneeze, whipped out his handkerchief, and covering his nose, honked once, then twice.
“That’s good to hear. I had a very unpleasant experience with a goat once.” M.K. nodded in solemn agreement.
Ira put the handkerchief back in his vest pocket. “If the milk agrees with the baby’s digestion, I thought it’d be easier to have a goat here, rather than having to keep sending M.K. trotting over the hill for fresh supplies.” He led the goat off the wagon and handed the rope to M.K.
“Take her to that far pasture,” Amos said. He turned to make sure M.K. was headed to the right pasture and was surprised to see her losing a game of tug of war with the goat. The goat had dug in its heels and wouldn’t budge, despite M.K.’s efforts to pull it forward. Amos went over to help her and M.K. thrust the rope in his hands, scowling.
“I never did like goats.” Suddenly her attention was riveted to the wagon where Fern and Ira were standing. “Would you look at that? Who would have believed it?”
“What?” Amos looked to where her eyes were fixed.
“Why, Ira Smucker’s ears are burning up red. Redder than a beet.”
Ira sneezed again and honked into a handkerchief.
“Well, maybe he’s sick,” Amos said.
“Oh no. It’s just like Gid. His ears go as red as a tomato every time he gets around Sadie. Like father, like son.”
They locked the goat into the pasture and M.K. went skipping off to the house. Amos turned back and watched Fern and Ira talking. She was laughing at something he said. What could he have said that would be funny? Ira wasn’t
M.K. sighed and Jimmy blew air out of his mouth. Edith spun on her heels.
“Jimmy! Come along!” His mother’s voice sailed from the buggy.
Jimmy leaned close to M.K. and squinted at her. “You’re making those big words up.”
She squinted back at him. “What big words?”
“No lo contend and feet accomplished. You were throwing them around awhile ago.”
“They’re in the dictionary,” she said sweetly. “Right in front of the word snitch .”
8
D uring breakfast the next morning, the baby woke up and started to wail. The entire family covered their ears as Sadie tried to settle him down.
“You know,” Amos said, “I hadn’t thought about this for years, but Menno used to yell like that.”
Sadie’s head jerked up. “Really?”
“Yes, just like that. As if someone was pinching him.” He smiled wistfully. “He had colic. We tried everything. Even tried all kinds of formulas—just like you’re doing.”
Fern leaned forward in her chair. “Did anything work?”
“Let’s see. It was awhile ago, you know.” Amos looked up at the ceiling, as if watching a memory pass overhead. “Goat’s milk.” He looked pleased. “Worked like magic.” He snapped his fingers.
Fern looked at him as if a cat had spoken. “And you’re just thinking to offer that up now?” She reached over and scooped the baby out of Sadie’s arms. “Go to Ira Smucker’s right now and get fresh goat’s milk.”
Sadie hesitated. “Let M.K. go.”
Fern sighed. “Fine.” She turned to M.K. “Get a couple of clean jars from under the sink. Lids too. Tell Ira you need the freshest milk he’s got. See if he’ll even milk a goat for you while you watch. And then bring that milk back here. No lollygagging.” She gave M.K. a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen.
M.K. huffed. “I don’t lolly and I don’t gag.”
The baby took a few gulps of air and started to wind up again, like a siren. M.K. grabbed the jars and lids and darted out the door.
Not thirty minutes later, Ira Smucker returned with M.K. in his flatbed wagon, with large containers of sterilized goat’s milk, still steaming, and a goat. Fern and Amos went out to meet them.
“It’s nothing,” Ira told Fern when she thanked him for being so thoughtful. “This goat is a good milker and has a sweet disposition too. Goats can be pretty ornery.” He sneezed a loud sneeze, whipped out his handkerchief, and covering his nose, honked once, then twice.
“That’s good to hear. I had a very unpleasant experience with a goat once.” M.K. nodded in solemn agreement.
Ira put the handkerchief back in his vest pocket. “If the milk agrees with the baby’s digestion, I thought it’d be easier to have a goat here, rather than having to keep sending M.K. trotting over the hill for fresh supplies.” He led the goat off the wagon and handed the rope to M.K.
“Take her to that far pasture,” Amos said. He turned to make sure M.K. was headed to the right pasture and was surprised to see her losing a game of tug of war with the goat. The goat had dug in its heels and wouldn’t budge, despite M.K.’s efforts to pull it forward. Amos went over to help her and M.K. thrust the rope in his hands, scowling.
“I never did like goats.” Suddenly her attention was riveted to the wagon where Fern and Ira were standing. “Would you look at that? Who would have believed it?”
“What?” Amos looked to where her eyes were fixed.
“Why, Ira Smucker’s ears are burning up red. Redder than a beet.”
Ira sneezed again and honked into a handkerchief.
“Well, maybe he’s sick,” Amos said.
“Oh no. It’s just like Gid. His ears go as red as a tomato every time he gets around Sadie. Like father, like son.”
They locked the goat into the pasture and M.K. went skipping off to the house. Amos turned back and watched Fern and Ira talking. She was laughing at something he said. What could he have said that would be funny? Ira wasn’t
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