Free Where Lilacs Still Bloom by Jane Kirkpatrick Page A

that’s resourceful of you.”
    “I’ll be able to pay for my own piano lessons.”
    “Piano lessons, eh? You have a talent for that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s no better lesson than learning to give your best to your employer. So what will you be doing?”
    “Helping Mrs. Klager,” Ruth said.
    “Mrs. Klager?” He glared at his wife.
    Her mother said, “Two of the Klager girls are getting married, and she needs additional workers. Mrs. Klager was awful poorly last summer and nearly died.”
    “God punishes when we’re wayward,” he said.
    “But not all trouble is punishment, you said that yourself,” her mother said. “When you lost your job in Ontario and we had to come to America, you said it was God’s plan.”
    He squinted at Ruth. She stepped back, swallowed, let her mind drift.
    Ruth saw Mrs. Klager’s garden as shapes of color just as she noticed the shapes of most of her world.
    She’d been attracted to the Klager yard the very first time she rode with her family past the picket fence. “Look there,” she’d pointed.
    “It’s not polite to point,” her mother said.
    “But see? That garden in front of the house is shaped like a flatiron.”
    Her father had slowed, and the vibrant colors clustered inside that household shape made her wonder what the namesof all those blooms might be. She saw a woman bent to the tall grasses and three other girls with hats and gloves working silently together, backs up, then down; kneeling, then standing; hoes digging, then offering a leaning post. A wind chime of laughter floated toward Ruth and her parents as the horse plodded by. Ruth twisted to watch the women as their buggy rolled past. Imagine, people working together without hearing, “Keep your head up; don’t look down so much. Pick up your feet; you walk like an elephant. Take your fingers out of your mouth. Straighten up.” These were daily admonitions from her father, and her mother repeated them when he wasn’t present, adding a few of her own. Her mother spoke more softly, but the piercing felt as painful. She knew they wanted the best for her; she trusted that. She thought this might be how they expressed their love for her, wanting to shape her into the perfect girl. But she wasn’t, would never be, the shape they wanted.
    “Get your father a cup of coffee.” Her mother’s words brought Ruth back. To Ruth’s father, her mother said, “Perhaps Mrs. Klager having a need our daughter can meet is part of God’s plan as well. And it pays for the lessons.”
    “She’s not a good influence, eh?”
    “I can think for myself, Papa. It’s being charitable, helping another. You say we should. That way I can stay and go to school here in town. I won’t have to—”
    “No, no, now that goes too far. You’ll continue to go toschool as we plan for you. What would people say if you worked and lived in town instead of on Martin’s Bluff?”
    “But I can’t work the Sabbath,” Ruth said.
    “She needs more experiences.” Her mother poured cream into her husband’s cup. “And staying with the Klagers is a way to do that.”
    “What’ll you be doing? How does all this happen without my knowledge?”
    “Watering plants, Papa. Carrying buckets. It’s good work. I’m strong.”
    Her father sipped his coffee. “We’ll see. Let’s go home now.” He put the pie plate in the sink. “A snake to worry about, eh? Right in my own backyard.”
    Ruth didn’t know if he referred to her or to Mrs. Klager.

F IFTEEN

B OTH V EXING AND P RIVILEGE
Hulda, 1904
    T he future sons-in-law stepped forward to help put finishing touches on the yard where they’d be married. Fred Wilke, who would wed Lizzie, farmed for the Goerigs but he had a passion for travel, something Lizzie loved too. She took pleasure in visiting faraway places, and Fred promised he’d take care of that wish.
    Nell Irving Guild was Delia’s choice. A farmer like Frank, he had the kindest eyes, and he treated