A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

  The man stopped the buggy in front of the house and Joe managed to slink down to the ground, dragging his bad leg along, and rested on his cane while the man retrieved his pack.

  The younger woman leaned toward him from the back seat. “So will your wife join the Amish?”

  “I’m not sure.” Joe met her eyes. “Will you?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” she answered and then leaned back against the seat.

  Joe smiled at her and then thanked the man and his wife. “Gott segen eich,” he said.

  “God bless you too,” the younger woman answered.

  Elmer handed Joe his pack, and he slung it onto his back. Then he started toward the house, choosing his steps carefully. As he reached the front steps, the door flew open.

  “Joe!” Faith froze in the doorway for a moment and then rushed toward him. “Thank the Lord you got our letters and came home. Dat is hanging on by a thread. You’ve made it home before he passes.”

  17

  Leisel

  That’s all for tonight.” Aenti Suz stood.

  “No!” I gasped. “You have to tell me what happens. Which Martha is my grandmother?”

  Aenti Suz shook her head. “You’ll have to wait. I’m going to get to bed. Our guests are leaving in the morning, and I need to clean the place before the next group arrives tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You can’t,” I said.

  She smiled wryly. “Of course I can. I’ll tell you the rest soon enough. Just be patient.” She headed inside, calling out, “Gut Nacht,” over her shoulder.

  I stayed on the porch. I was shocked that Dawdi Joe had been in the thick of battle. And I still couldn’t get over that he’d rushed into marrying an Englischer. Thankfully, I’d been sane enough to step back from Nick and see things clearly once he’d decided to join the military. Dawdi Joe had been young and away from home. It was his first time falling in love.

  Obviously, Lt. Shaw wasn’t my grandmother. The other Martha had to be, which meant Lt. Shaw must have died in Europe. Probably from illness, but perhaps from a bomb or an accident. I shivered. I’d grown to like her and obviously Dawdi had loved her. Life was full of heartache. That was all there was to it.

  For a moment, I felt a deep longing for Nick. What was officer training like for him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he would soon be studying to become a nurse practitioner. Many of those programs were now doctoral level.

  I thought of my professional life and how I’d changed in the last three months. I was just so thankful I’d passed my test and could pay off my student loans now that I barely thought about what my professional goals used to be. What had changed? My shaken confidence? Nick betraying me? Meeting Stephen? My deal with God?

  Perhaps all of those things together. At one time, Nick had referred to me as a golden girl, saying I had the ability to succeed at anything I attempted. I’d never agreed with him, but whatever I’d had at one time I’d lost.

  I sighed as I stepped into the house. Life was all about change. Nothing stayed the same. Desires came and went. It was all part of growing up and accepting reality. But if that was true, why did I still feel numb, even when I knelt beside my bed at night to pray?

  The next day at the clinic no one mentioned my scrubs, but after work I stopped by Marie’s on the way home. Her teenage helper had taken Caden to the park, and Marie was playing her keyboard and singing “Amazing Grace” when I knocked on the door. It was the first time I’d heard her sing since she’d been diagnosed.

  When she answered the door, I asked if she had a Mennonite dress I could borrow until I could make one.

  “What in the world?”

  “And a Mennonite Kapp,” I added.

  She pointed toward the couch for me to sit. “Leisel, what’s going on?”

  I explained to her what the doctor requested.

  “And you’re happy to go along with that?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about joining your church, and I can understand his point, as far as it making the Amish and Mennonite patients more comfortable.”

  “Well, jah, that makes sense. But what about you? What makes you feel comfortable?”

  I smiled. “Well, I did grow up Amish. Wearing a Mennonite dress won’t be a big deal.”

  She had an odd expression on her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Oh, I was just remembering when you came home from Pittsburgh that first Christmas wearing a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a beanie over your long blond hair.” She sat on the opposite side of the couch. “Of course, at the time, I was judgmental and thought you looked awful, but the truth was you looked completely at ease. Totally natural. Like that was the way you were meant to dress all along.”

  I bristled. “I thought you’d be happy to have me dressing more conservatively.”

  She exhaled and then said, “It’s not as if you dressed immodestly in your jeans and sweatshirts. What I’d really like is for you to be dressing a certain way for the right reason.”

  “And you don’t think putting patients at ease in the clinic is the right reason?”

  “I’m not even sure if I think you working in the clinic is the right thing. It seems as if you gave up a lot to come home and care for me.”

  I squirmed under her steady gaze. “What?”

  “Have you heard from Nick?”

  “No!” I crossed my arms.

  She sighed. “I’ll loan you a Kapp and dress. You might look on Etsy to buy your own, if you don’t want to make them.” She gave me a sassy look. “I remember how much you like sewing.”

  I tried to smile. “I was hoping Mamm would help me. Or maybe you.”

  “Don’t count on our mother helping you—I think you’d have to join the Amish to get a positive reaction from her. And, honestly, I buy my dresses now.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I’d rather spend my time playing with Caden. Or spending time with Gordon. Or playing my keyboard. As much as I used to like sewing, my priorities have definitely changed.”

  I began wearing a cape dress and Kapp to work the very next day. The doctors both thanked me. However, I didn’t see that it made a big difference with the patients. Speaking Pennsylvania Dutch really seemed to be the bigger factor. But still, I wore the dresses.

  I confused all the guests who stayed in the Dawdi Haus. They’d see me come home wearing the dress and then later see me in my jeans. Each time, I explained my predicament. I’d grown up Amish but hadn’t joined the church. I now attended a Mennonite church and would probably join. I worked at a clinic that served the Amish. I was sure they saw me as wishy-washy.

  Over time, I stopped changing into my jeans and just kept the dress and Kapp on. Mamm seemed to like that, although every once in a while she told me she still had faith I’d join the Amish.

  David started coming down every other week to see Aenti Suz. At least that’s what I thought, until one Saturday afternoon, Aenti Suz excused herself to go clean out the Dawdi Haus for guests who were coming in the next day. Instead of asking David to accompany her, she suggested he play a game of Scrabble with Mamm.

  That surprised me. The next time David came down, he seemed as attentive to Mamm as he did Aenti Suz. And Mamm seemed to brighten a bit. She became more talkative and didn’t spend as much time in her sewing room.

  One afternoon after work, in mid-September, I came home to find Mamm in her rocking chair, crying. Fearing something horrible had happened, I rushed up the stairs. “Is it Marie?” I asked. She’d just finished her radiation and had a PET scan the week before. We were waiting for the results.

  Mamm shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking.”

  I sat down in Dat’s rocking chair. “What about?”

  “Your father.”

  My heart melted a little. She never talked about Dat.

  “I have so many regrets,” she said.

  I froze. Did she want me to ask more? Or simply pat
her hand and leave her alone? Shifting into Nurse Leisel mode, I decided to act as if she were a patient. “What do you regret?”

  “Not appreciating the life I had. Not realizing you girls would be grown so soon. Not thinking your Dat would die so young.”

  “You couldn’t anticipate Dat dying when he did,” I said. “And I think most parents probably are surprised by how quickly their children grow up.”

  “Your father tried to warn me that you three would be adults in no time, but I was so focused on making sure you didn’t stray that I barely appreciated how strong and determined you were becoming.” She turned toward me as tears rolled down her cheeks. I’d never seen Mamm cry, not even when Dat was so ill. Not even when he died. I was taken aback at first, not sure what to do. But then I thought of her as a patient again and simply took her hand, hoping she’d keep talking.

  “He invited me to go to Haiti with him. I used you girls as an excuse, but Suz would have watched over you. Back then, I simply didn’t want to go, so I didn’t. But now I wish I’d at least considered it.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Why do you think you didn’t back then?”

  She remained silent for a long time, and I began to wonder if I’d insulted her. Finally, she said, “Fear, I suppose. Every time he went away to serve somewhere, I feared he wouldn’t come back, that he’d be harmed somehow. I was afraid if I went too that something might happen to both of us—or to you girls.”

  Mamm was admitting to her fear. I nearly fell off the chair. “Because when you left to go to the hospital to have Jessica something did happen to Rebecca?” I asked.

  She nodded. “But it was more than my fear for our family. I was afraid to go to Haiti—to see so many people hurting. I felt I’d be more of a hindrance than a help.” She rocked faster.

  Honestly, I couldn’t see Mamm helping in a disaster zone like that, and I wondered why Dat would have even suggested it. Perhaps simply to give her the chance to serve in such a way? Or perhaps he wanted to share the experience with her.

  But I’d never seen her excel in a crisis. When Dat was dying, I dreaded when she came into his study, where we’d put the hospital bed. She would worry out loud in front of him: How would the finances of the farm work out? What should she do about me taking my time to join the church? She’d bring up silly details too, like the barn needed to be painted and the garden plowed. He was so patient with her, explaining where he kept all of the paperwork and that he would talk with Arden about painting the barn, which couldn’t be done until summer, and plowing the garden, which could be done in a week or so.

  One time, Dat told Mamm how sad he was to be leaving her behind. “Bethel, I’m sorry I won’t be here to help you.”

  Mamm just nodded. She had seemed far more focused on her growing loss of security than she was on Dat’s pain.

  “Your father was the first person I felt safe with.” Mamm stopped rocking. “I was never sure that my own father could care for me, and then he died when I was still a Youngie, which furthered my insecurity. Afterward, my older siblings did care for me, but I often felt unwanted. Like a burden. Your Dat changed all of that for me.”

  I could definitely see the impact Dat had on her life. But although I loved my mother, I couldn’t see how she impacted his life. She was fifteen years younger than he was, a homebody, fearful, and not inquisitive about the world or the farm or healthy living or really anything. She spent all of her spare time quilting—which was valuable but didn’t make for a lot of conversation.

  I wasn’t sure what to say to her. She was being transparent with me for the first time in her life, and I was dumbfounded. Eventually, she got up to go check on supper.

  My conversation with Mamm did inspire me to do something else I’d been meaning to do for a while. I took my laptop to the coffee shop and signed up with an organization called Mennonites Serve to volunteer during emergencies. I filled out a form online and included that I spoke Pennsylvania Dutch and was a registered nurse. A week later, I headed to an orientation meeting at a Mennonite church north of Lancaster, admiring the cornstalks swaying in the breeze and sunflowers bowing from the long stretch of hot days as I drove through the countryside. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to serve, as I wouldn’t accrue any vacation time for a while, but I was determined to do something. Whenever that might be.

  Soon I was wearing a Mennonite dress and Kapp all the time, and I’d spoken with the pastor at Marie’s church about taking the membership class and joining. By the end of September, I’d found an apartment not far from the clinic. It wasn’t furnished, and I asked Mamm if I could borrow some furniture from the storage room in the barn. She pursed her lips and said, “No. Milton will be setting up house soon.”

  True, I’d seen him with a young woman in his courting buggy a few times in the evenings. But because Arden couldn’t take the Dawdi Haus from Aenti Suz, it wasn’t as if there was a house for Milton. Maybe he and his bride would move into the big house with Mamm, but that was completely furnished.

  Mamm, even though she’d opened up with me some, still saw me as a disappointment, that was certain. I visited a couple of secondhand stores and bought what I needed.

  Stephen borrowed a pickup and helped me move. After we’d gotten everything into my apartment, he drove to Wal-Mart so I could pick up more cleaning and laundry supplies. I had to admit, I was happy to have an electric washer and dryer again.

  As Stephen pushed the cart and I walked beside him, I spotted Nick’s father up ahead, and I resisted the urge to duck down the next aisle. I got a hold of myself, and when we reached him I said hello and introduced Stephen.

  Doug said how happy he was to see me—and meet Stephen. Then he asked if I’d rejoined the Amish. I shook my head. “But I’ll be joining the Mennonites sometime soon.”

  “Well,” he said, seeming to search for what to say, “congratulations, then.”

  I thanked him and then asked how Nick was doing, even though I felt I was stepping into dangerous territory.

  “Good.” He smiled, but sadly. “He just finished officer training. He’ll be home for a few days before his first assignment at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware.”

  “Tell him hello.” I took a step backward.

  “I will,” Doug answered. “He’ll be glad to hear from you.”

  My heart lurched. I managed to stutter, “Tell . . . tell Barbara hello too. And the girls.”

  “Oh, I will.” Again, it seemed he tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

  A couple of aisles later, Stephen asked, “What was that all about?”

  I hadn’t told Stephen about Nick. “Doug is the father of a friend of mine who recently joined the Air Force.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To pay off his student loans and get an advanced degree.”

  “I guess that makes sense. What’s his field?”

  “He’s a nurse.”

  “So you met him in school?”

  “Actually before that. He’s the one who got me interested in becoming a nurse.” I pointed toward the shortest line before Stephen could ask me another question about Nick. “Let’s get going,” I said. “You need to drop me off at the farm and get the truck returned. And I need to get my apartment set up so I can have you over for dinner tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  When he dropped me off at the house, Mamm and David were on the porch with the two Englisch ladies who were renting out the Dawdi Haus for a week. Aenti Suz wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  I greeted all of them, and the women explained they were friends, one from Kentucky and one from Ohio, and they loved meeting in Lancaster County and seeing all of the sights.

  “You’re not Amish,” the one with shorter hair said.

  “That’s right,” I answered. “I’m going to join the Mennonite church.” The script was getting old to me, but it was a revelation to each new guest. I sat down on the steps and explained that I’d
never joined the Amish. Mamm frowned, but I doubted the women noticed.

  It seemed Mamm was determined to change the subject because she pointed out that one of the women was a teacher and the other was a nurse. “Leisel is a nurse too,” Mamm said, which surprised me. She sounded matter-of-fact though, not as if she were proud of me or anything. I wouldn’t expect her to, not as an Amish mother. Especially not as my mother.

  The woman asked me where I practiced, and I told her about the clinic.

  “Fascinating,” she said. “What a perfect fit.”

  I smiled but didn’t agree. The truth was, it became less and less of a challenge every day.

  It turned out that she worked in the emergency department in a big hospital in Cincinnati. “I’ve been working there since I was your age,” she said. “My husband keeps hoping I’ll retire, but I love it. There’s never a dull moment.”

  “Cathy’s an adrenaline junkie,” her friend said and then laughed. “Some people think teaching is a challenge, but I can never top her stories.”

  “Oh, teaching has its own challenges—and stories,” Cathy said. “Don’t sell yourself short. I just always knew I was called to do this. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  The conversation soon shifted to the women’s favorite spots in Lancaster. David asked several questions, and I wondered if he wanted to do some sightseeing. By the time I’d grabbed the last of my things upstairs and come back down, the women were gone, but Aenti Suz was now on the porch. I told Mamm and David good-bye and then turned to Aenti Suz, who said she’d walk me to my car.

  “Where were you earlier?” I asked.

  “Washing a load of towels,” she answered.

  “I’m sad to be leaving before you told me the rest of Dawdi Joe’s story.”

  “Me too. We’ve both been so busy. I’ll tell you the rest soon.” She added, “I promise.”