by Amy Lillard
Wiping away a tear, she removed the second quilt, a four-patch made with reds, yellows, and blues. Gracie would never have thought to put the prints and colors together, but it was interestingly beautiful. She wondered if Beth made it. If so, Henry definitely got his creative side from her.
Below the quilts she found a stack of thin hardback books. Maybe one would contain recipes. She lifted them out and set them to one side, opening the first one to a random page to see what it contained.
Words. Just lots and lots of hand-written words. But they didn’t seem to be recipes. She thumbed through it a little more, but the writing all remained the same. Neat, dainty, and she wondered if it was an indication of the woman herself. She would save these for the children. They might call Gracie Mamm now, but there was another woman responsible for them being there, and she wanted to make sure they didn’t forget her.
Gracie set the first book aside and picked up the next one in the stack. She flipped it open to the same thing, lots of words, probably Beth’s feelings on this and that. It was good that she had written stuff down. A lot of women wrote daily about how they felt, how a Bible verse affected them, things their children did, both funny and momentous. The very thought made Gracie smile. With a child like Henry, she was bound to be very busy.
Then her gaze snagged on one word. Samuel.
She couldn’t say why she saw it, it was just there, as if it had jumped off the page to get her attention.
2 Samuel.
A Bible verse.
Beth had written down a Bible verse. Perhaps it meant something special to her. Gracie, feeling a little like a sneaky thief, read on.
For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again.
I feel a little like water that has been spilt. I am spread out, too thin, and no one is able to make me whole again. I pray and pray, but God doesn’t answer. Or perhaps His answer is no. This is something I have to bear alone.
I try my best not to let the children see it. Or Matthew, but I can tell he knows something is wrong. I know something is wrong. I just don’t know what to do about it. Why am I so sad? Why does everything have to be so hard? Every footstep I take, every chore, every meal I must prepare, diapers to change, mouths to clean, bottoms to wipe. This should be a joyous time. My family is budding, and I have the baby girl I have always dreamed of having since I was little, learning at my mother’s side. But I’m not happy. I’m tired. I’m weary. Sometimes I just want to lie down and die.
Gracie dropped the book into her lap and covered her mouth with her hands. Beth had been depressed. She hadn’t wanted to burden Matthew with the extent of her sadness. She hadn’t known what to do. But none of that meant she did actually walk into the water and drown herself on purpose.
But it certainly fit. Gracie couldn’t deny it any longer. She couldn’t pretend that Matthew had been mistaken. No, it wasn’t clear proof, but it was awfully close.
She pushed herself from the floor, then she placed the quilts back into the chest. She checked on Baby to make sure she was still sleeping soundly, then she picked up the books and headed down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty
He hadn’t gotten the hay all cleaned up, and he thought perhaps he had left a little as a warning to himself. A reminder of that time. Gracie was a woman. And women were fickle, strange creatures. Sometimes he wondered what God was thinking when He decided that Adam needed a helpmeet. Maybe He thought Adam needed to be a little crazy. Not that Matthew would ever tell a soul about his musings.
But driving him out of his mind seemed to be Gracie’s goal in life. She was the most amazing cook, she was so good with his children, and just as he thought he might fall in love with her she started talking about God’s will. How could that be anything less than a means to shove things aside and not deal with them? Mule got sick? God’s will. Buggy wheel broke? God’s will. Wife walks into the creek and drowns herself?
He had to put a stop to his own thoughts. God didn’t will Beth to die. He didn’t will him to marry Gracie, and He certainly didn’t will for them to fall in love.
Mainly because Matthew was the only one who had.
Yesterday his heart had nearly stopped when he came in just before supper and found her and the children gone. His first thought was that she had left him. The Amish might not be able to divorce, but that didn’t mean they had to live in the same house. But he shook the thought away. She hadn’t left him. He only thought that because it was his biggest fear—that he lose her and the children. Any of them. He couldn’t stand the thought. So when no one was home at a time when supper was usually almost on the table, he sort of went a little crazy. He had lost Beth; he couldn’t lose Gracie and the kids too.
But if she hadn’t left, why wasn’t she home? It was late and getting later by the minute. And with every second that passed he created worse and worse scenarios in his head of all the things that could have happened to them in a buggy on the back roads of the community. And what if this time there was no friendly Eugene Dover to help her?
He’d almost passed out when he saw the buggy coming down the lane. Gracie was in the driver’s seat, Stephen next to her as usual. She had turned around a little on the bench and was looking behind her, laughing at something someone had said, probably Henry.
The anger took over for a moment until she spoke in that sweet voice of hers. From that moment on he simply wanted to hold her close. His children were fine and ran off to get ready to eat. He wanted to grab them and hug them, but he let them go. But Gracie, he could hold her close.
So he had scooped her up into his arms and pulled her to him. He felt her surprise in the stiffness with which she held herself. It took great effort to let her go, and he knew in that moment he had done the worst thing he could possibly do. He truly had fallen in love with his wife!
To say the words was ridiculous.
He loved her. And it broke his heart. How could he keep the promises to himself and give her the life that she had dreamed of? His heart and his mind warred with each other. He loved her. How was he ever going to have any peace?
“Matthew?”
He whirled around. Gracie stood there behind him, a stack of books in her arms. Her cheeks were wet with tears and more continued to fall.
“Gracie.” He rushed to her, wanting to take her into his arms, stopping himself just in time. “What’s happened? What’s the matter?”
His heart sank as he realized something could be wrong with one of the children. Someone hurt or worse.
“Gracie?”
She took a shuddering breath and tried to smile.
His heart’s pounding slowed a bit.
“I found these.” She held out a stack of books he had never seen before. “They belonged to Beth.”
He took the books from her. They felt heavy in his hands, though they weren’t that large. Weighty and warm, as if they held an energy all their own.
“Maybe you should read them,” she said.
“Did you?” he asked.
“A bit, but . . . I’m not sure it’s my place to see it first. Maybe not even at all.”
He looked down at the books, unsure if he wanted to see what they contained.
“And I owe you sort of an apology. I didn’t read much, but I saw enough to know that you were telling the truth about Beth’s state of mind after she had the baby.”
“So you believe me?” he asked.
“I believe that she may have harmed herself. That it’s possible. But I also know that you have no proof.”
He scoffed. “I don’t need proof.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head, then opened them again as if she had realigned everything in her mind. She gave him that sweet, gentle smile. “I know that you don’t believe her death was part of God’s will, but it can’t be anything else. And until you understand that you had no part in it, we can never be a true family.”
* * *
Fickle and strange didn�
��t even begin to cover it.
Matthew stored the books in his room, contemplating whether he should even read the words or not. Not was winning. Reading Beth’s feelings from her last days wouldn’t change anything except to maybe make him feel that much worse, that much guiltier for the role he had played in her death. Reading them wouldn’t bring her back. Some things were best left alone. But he stored them in case he wanted to read them a little later. Who knew? He just might. But for now he was better not knowing.
Then something overcame him. He picked up the book on the very top of the stack and opened it to a random page. Inside was a sketch. A small drawing of the baby’s face. Below it Beth had written Grace Ellen Byler and under that the words I love you.
I love you so much, she had written. More than you will ever be able to understand. That’s why this is so hard for me. I love you and yet I can hardly bring myself to hold you. I want to, but you feel unnatural in my arms as if you belong to someone else. As if you truly are someone else’s baby. But I look into your tiny face and I know that you came from my body. Even with those blue baby eyes, the resemblance is there. You are my child. And yet I feel you hate me.
You always seem to cry when I’m near. This breaks my heart and drives me further away until I want to take you to the house of someone you can love and leave you there so you’ll be happy. But then I will be unhappy. Oh, what is the solution here? How can I live if you hate me so? How did I become so unworthy?
Matthew dashed the tears off his cheeks and continued to read. Her words and thoughts were like a train wreck, tragic and sad, but as horrific as they were, he was unable to look away. He continued to read the jumbled message she tried to leave for them all.
I think perhaps you know. Somewhere in your baby wisdom, your instincts that God gave you when He sent you down to earth, you know that I’m not going to be able to take care of you. You can feel it when I hold you and my hands tremble. When I try to love you, but it comes out all wrong. You’re a baby, but you are smart. You know when someone’s no good. How can I ever be good enough for you?
He snapped the book closed, unable to read any more. He knew those feelings, those very ones that Beth was talking about. He felt the same thing when he held the baby. He wanted to hold her and have her not cry, not try to get away from him. He wanted just once for her to accept him as her father. She had taken to Gracie well enough; what was wrong with him?
He put the book back on top of the stack and left them there on the floor by his bed. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with them, but it was as good a place as any for now. Then he made his way back down the stairs.
The house was strangely empty. No twins running in and out. No Stephen telling them to stop, no Henry egging them on. No beautiful fussy baby. No unorthodox wife, also lovely, and more than he could have ever hoped for. Where was everybody?
He went out onto the back porch, but no one was hanging clothes on the line. Someone had been, for they still flapped in the breeze. But these days there was always a load hanging out to dry. With two adults and five children the laundry never seemed to stop.
Matthew came back through the house and out onto the front porch. The front yard was quiet as well. Well, relatively speaking. A gentle breeze blew the leaves in the trees, creating a soft rustle that soothed the frayed ends of his soul. Birds chirped merrily from their branches.
He regretted reading what he had of Beth’s journal and at the same time, he had no regrets at all. Maybe one day he could sit down and read them all and maybe he would truly understand what she had been going through and why she felt the need to end her life. Jah, he still thought she ended her life. But in all honesty, did it make a difference? She was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.
“Hey, Pepper.” He reached down to scratch the dog behind the ears. She let out a soft ruff, then raced off the porch and over to the shade tree on one side of the house. Under the tree in one of those bright plastic contraptions the baby sat, once again propped up with that weird pillow and gnawing on her fist. Gracie had told him that she thought the baby was teething, but he hadn’t taken her seriously. It was too early for all that. Wasn’t it? Not according to the amount of saliva the child was producing.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” he asked.
Her head wobbled as she struggled to turn and get a good look at him, and when she did her lower lip thrust out and the crying began.
What had he done now? Nothing. But that wasn’t what he was going to do now.
He marched forward and lifted her from the contraption. Her feet got tangled up and the cloth of the seat caught on her diaper, but somehow he managed to pull the squalling baby free.
“Shhh . . .” he soothed. He cradled her close. Lifted her until she was lying next to his shoulder. She pulled back, kicked her feet and otherwise fought him as if he were a known kidnapper come to get her.
She’s four months old, he told himself. She doesn’t even know colors yet. Some said babies couldn’t even see colors at this age. He didn’t know where he heard that, and he wondered if it was true. And how would anyone know? It sounded like one of those things Gracie was always talking about. He would ask her later, but for now he had a crying baby to attend to.
He patted her back as he walked to and fro, pacing with her as he did his best to soothe her.
She cried on, but he wasn’t dissuaded.
“It’s time to stop crying.” He paused. Had he really not said her name since her mother died, as Gracie claimed? That couldn’t be, that just couldn’t be, but he tried to remember a time in the last four months when he had said her name. There were none. Ever since Beth had died she had become “the baby.” But no more.
“It’s time to stop crying, Grace. Baby Grace. You have a wonderful, beautiful life. You have a mamm and a dat, four brothers who love you—though I will admit, you’re going to probably hate them in about fifteen years. But we can talk more about that when the time comes. You have a great dog. Just don’t tell her I said so. And you have no reason to cry. I love you,” he said. “I love you so very, very much, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make you happy. You got that?”
Sometime during his speech, her sobbing stopped, trickled away and now all that was left were a few stray tears wetting her chubby baby cheeks.
“That’s better.” He kissed those remaining tears away, then blew little raspberries in the crook of her neck like he had seen Gracie do.
She made a strangled noise, and he pulled away, trying to discover what was wrong with her. But it was nothing. She was smiling at him, reaching out to touch his face with her slobbery fingers. He laughed and she made that same noise again. She was laughing at him and he swore he had never heard a sweeter sound.
“What’s going on?”
He turned as Gracie came around the house. The bottom half of her skirt was wet and the boys followed behind her. Each one of them was wet in varying degrees. Henry seemed to bear the most water and mud. No surprise there. And he held a dirty rag underneath his chin. He and Thomas wore identical impish smiles, though Gracie didn’t appear as charmed by whatever had just transpired. Stephen and Benjamin looked outright annoyed. Matthew had never been happier to see them in his life. They were beautiful and now he had a deeper appreciation for them all.
Gracie said they couldn’t be a family until he understood God’s will. This moment in time was all he needed. This moment. His entire life had been building toward this moment. Everything that happened had led to this moment, standing in the side yard. His baby girl, for once not crying at the sight of him. His boys, wet, dirty, some annoyed, others happy with whatever mischief they had caused. His wife, his beautiful, wise wife leading the way.
“What happened?” he called.
Her eyes widened when she saw that he was holding a gurgling, laughing Baby Grace. “Not anything as interesting as what happened up here.”
“Just making peace,” he said with a smile. She was smart and
would figure out the rest. He was just glad that he had broken free from whatever was holding him back from having a normal relationship with his daughter. Something had shifted for them today. For him even. The sky seemed bluer. The sun brighter and everything a little sweeter. Maybe because of Beth’s journal. Who knew? Whatever the reason he was grateful. He settled Grace into the crook of his arm and turned his attention to his wife. “You?”
“Henry decided that it would be fun to set some crawdad traps at the creek.”
He frowned. “We don’t have any crawdad traps.”
“Right. So he and Thomas decided to make some. Don’t look at the screen door.”
“Henry.” His voice was both a warning and a chastisement.
“Sorry, Dat.” Henry said the words without removing the rag. There was a story there, but Matthew knew they would get to it in time.
“But when they got down to the creek, they got their feet stuck in the mud. And they called for help,” Gracie continued.
“You went down to the creek by yourselves?”
“Sorry, Dat,” Henry said.
“Me too,” Thomas said.
“So Stephen and Benjamin went down to help them and—”
“Wait. Let me guess. They got stuck in the mud too.”
“Right. Then I had to go down.”
“But you didn’t get stuck?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Grace of God.”
He chuckled lightly, then stopped himself. It really wasn’t funny. They had broken the rules, but he was grateful that they had all come out of it okay. “I guess we need to go inside and talk about this screen door and boys going down to the creek without an adult.”
“Aww, Dat,” Stephen protested. “Me and Benjamin wouldn’t have gone down there if Henry and Thomas hadn’t already been there. We were trying to help.”