The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  Dat’s gray-flecked brown hair was all matted down after a hard day of toil. A ridge could be seen across his bangs when he removed his hat. His serious eyes signaled to Rose that he wanted to talk privately with Hen.

  “Won’t ya sit for a spell, Dat?” Rose said, still standing.

  He eyed the two of them. “Don’t mean to interrupt yous.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” Rose moved toward the door. “I’ll come see ya another time, Hen.”

  Dat reached for a chair and sat down with a sigh, putting his hat on the table in front of him. “No need to leave on my account.” He looked Rose’s way.

  Hen gave her an apprehensive stare as Rose waved good-bye and headed for the back door. What sort of trouble is brewing now?

  Hen’s father shifted his hat on the table and looked up at her. His black suspenders were a bit frayed and his green shirt sleeves were rolled up close to his elbows. His brown eyes were sunken.

  “You look tired, Dad,” Hen said, going to the kitchen to pour some mint tea for him, even though he hadn’t indicated he wanted any.

  “That I am.”

  She carried the drink to him and set it before him on the table. “This might help perk you up.”

  He thanked her, then hung his head. “Oh, daughter, I hardly know how to tell ya what I came to say.”

  She froze, her hands gripping the back of the chair.

  “Brandon stopped by here today, while you were gone.”

  Her heart caught in her throat, not just because of what her father had said, but because of the way he frowned so deeply. “He did?”

  Dad deliberately folded his hands on the table. “He didn’t want you to receive this in the mail.” He paused to pull a folded envelope out of his pants pocket. “I haven’t read it, but he told me flat-out, he’s ready to file for divorce.”

  She winced like she’d been slapped. Divorce?

  He held out the letter. “He said everything you need to know is in here.”

  “Did Brandon say anything else?”

  “Just that his lawyer would handle everything.” Her father’s face looked gray.

  Brandon’s own brother, no doubt . . .

  “Ach, why’s he moving so fast?” she whispered.

  She opened the letter to see the first line, Dear Hannah. Such a shock. He’d used her full name, a name he rarely spoke, as if he were writing to someone else. She made herself slow down and read every life-altering word. You’ve abandoned me, Hannah, taking our daughter with you. And for no logical reason. What other choice do I have?

  She read on until she arrived at the final line of the hurtful note: If you aren’t home here with Mattie Sue by a week from this Saturday, I will file for divorce, as well as make a custody complaint.—Brandon

  When Hen finished, she struggled to keep her lip from quivering, not wanting to break down in front of her father. “How will I manage?” she said softly.

  “Just as I’ve always said: with God’s help.”

  Dad lifted his hat and fingered the brim. “I worry if Brandon has his way, he’ll try and get sole custody of Mattie Sue.” He inhaled deeply.

  She dreaded the thought. “He said that?”

  “I have a real bad feeling ’bout the whole thing, Hen. ’Specially if yous can’t find some way to patch up your differences.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then told her what had happened to a young couple out in Wisconsin. They’d fought bitterly over the custody of their children, so fiercely that in the end the court had to determine the living arrangements for the little ones.

  “Having the court decide—people who don’t even know us—is the last thing I want.” Hen coughed and struggled to find her voice.

  “Of course ya don’t.”

  Mattie Sue doesn’t deserve that, she thought.

  “Might do the two of you some gut if ya went over there to fix him a nice hot dinner real soon.” Dad sighed.

  “And stay the night?” she blurted, then pursed her lips.

  “Well . . . just think back to how things were when you first married. ’Nuff said.”

  She shrugged his words away. It hurt too much to remember those carefree days, filled with love and reckless abandon. She’d married Brandon fully knowing how very English he was—at the time, it had been part of the attraction. In her heart of hearts, she knew going back to him and making the best of things was the right thing to do. But she was just stubborn enough to want to cling to her hope of returning to a simpler life—for Mattie Sue, and for herself.

  “If he pushes you into court, you’ll go without a lawyer. No one should represent you but yourself.” This wasn’t a question but a statement. “ ’Tis our way, ya know. No pitting kin against kin.”

  Oh, Hen knew. Yet without legal representation, she didn’t see how things could possibly turn out in her favor. “Jah . . . I know, Dad . . . and I fear that.”

  Her eyes locked with his, and a helpless gasp escaped her lips.

  “Brandon’s bound and determined to raise Mattie Sue as a fancy girl, I daresay.” He sighed. “Wants nothin’ to do with Plain life.”

  She recalled Brandon’s heated account of his run-in with the bishop before they married—how it had left Brandon with no desire to interact with the Amish ever again. It had confirmed in his mind what he’d always thought: that their beliefs made them narrow-minded and backward. The truth was, Bishop Aaron Petersheim had been so indignantly opposed to Hen’s plans to marry that he’d attempted to run Brandon off the premises the one and only time he’d agreed to visit her family.

  Hen’s eyes fell again on Brandon’s letter. Did the bishop foresee then what a mess everything would become?

  Chapter 2

  What’s on Dat’s mind? Rose wondered as she made her way down the back steps.

  She’d seen the grim look in his eyes and worried it was something concerning Hen’s husband. What else could it be? Now that she thought of it, Mamm had mentioned a car coming into their lane earlier, while Hen was at work. But Mamm hadn’t said who it was or if someone was simply turning around in the drive, lost. That sort of thing happened often on Salem Road, so Rose hadn’t thought much of it. Till now.

  When she arrived at the main house, Mamm was entertaining Mattie Sue in the kitchen, beneath the golden light of the tall gas lamp. Mamm was smiling as Mattie showed her how to make twin babies using a white handkerchief, as though Mamm hadn’t made them herself for Hen and Rose years ago. “I learned it at Preachin’ service,” Mattie was telling her. “From Becky Zook.”

  “Well, isn’t that something.” A soft chuckle escaped Mamm.

  “Jah . . . and Becky’s only three.”

  “Arie Zook’s little girl?” asked Mamm, referring to the daughter of Hen’s childhood best friend.

  Mattie Sue nodded.

  Rose stood there quietly on the summer porch, watching and smiling. It did her heart good to hear Mamm enjoying herself so. And what an expressive child Mattie Sue was. Like Hen had been growing up, Mamm often said.

  Mattie raised her sweet face to her grandmother’s. “Are Becky and her baby brother going to the wedding tomorrow?”

  “Why no, dear one. Weddings are for grown-ups and courting-age young folk.” Mamm touched Mattie’s blond hair, which was wound in tight braids around her little head.

  “What’s courting?” Mattie Sue asked innocently.

  “Well, now, let’s see . . .”

  Rose figured her mother might be relieved if she made her presence known just now. She scuffed her feet on the porch and opened the kitchen door. “Hullo, there.” She went over to greet Mamm, touching her arm. “How are ya feelin’ this evening?”

  “Oh, perty gut . . . right now, at least.”

  She glanced at Mattie Sue, who was swinging the hankie. “I’m rocking the baby cradle,” her niece announced, grinning at Rose.

  “I need to polish my shoes for the wedding tomorrow,” Rose said, heading for the stairs.

  Mattie Sue
jumped up and followed Rose all the way to her bedroom. “Oh, can I help, Aendi?”

  “Well, sure, honey. You can tell me when they’re nice and shiny . . . make sure I do it right.” Rose leaned down to get her for-good black leather shoes from beneath the bed. Years ago, she’d seen a bride and her attendants modeling some fancy ones in a magazine. She remembered being surprised at the delicate white satin shoes, with their slender heels. An English wedding, like Hen’s . . . Sometimes Rose wished she’d never laid eyes on those worldly shoes, because the memory came pretty close to tempting her. After all, her newly sewn dress would look mighty nice with nearly any shoe but these heavy black ones.

  “Don’t ya need some old newspapers?” Mattie Sue asked. “Mommy always polishes Daddy’s shoes like that.”

  Rose looked over at her new dress and full apron hanging on the wooden peg, then down at the black shoes. “Follow me, Mattie Sue.”

  “Ach, downstairs again?”

  “We’ll polish them out on the porch.” Rose couldn’t help but smile as her niece followed, chattering all the way, some Deitsch mixed in here and there.

  She’s becoming like the rest of us. . . .

  Hen felt like a wounded child as she sat with her father at her kitchen table. Fear encompassed her, as if she were cornered and had nowhere to run. Truly, I’m up against a stone wall. “I should’ve married inside the Amish church,” she admitted.

  “None of that matters now, Hen. Brandon’s your husband and you must make peace with him. There’s no other way.”

  She pursed her lips, trying to keep from sobbing.

  “Let’s take this before the Lord in prayer,” her father said and bowed his head. “O God and Father in heaven,” he began, “we come before you now, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. . . .”

  Hen soaked in every heartfelt word, grateful for this time with her father, so deeply moved by his concern. As for herself, she quickly wiped her tears away before he said amen.

  “Let’s trust the Lord for the outcome, whatever it may be,” her father said firmly, getting up from his chair, then reaching for his hat. “May God’s will be done in all of our lives.”

  “Denki for coming over, Dad. It means a lot to me.”

  Before leaving, he turned. “You’ll put on a cheerful face for Mattie Sue, won’t ya?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Well, ya simply must.” He reached for the back door.

  The minute he was out of sight, Hen picked up the letter from Brandon. Hands trembling, she sank into a chair and reread the sharp words he’d penned.

  Esther’s wedding day dawned with an overcast sky. The wind came up abruptly when Rose Ann and the family were about to sit down for breakfast, and dark clouds threatened rain. “If we have a downpour, it’ll bring all the remaining leaves down with it,” Dat said.

  Meanwhile, Mattie Sue was over in the corner with Mamm, who was in her wheelchair. Mattie fussed about her hair being pulled back too tight. “I can’t even frown,” she complained.

  Rose remembered how very taut Mamm had twisted the sides of Rose’s own hair when she was little, wetting it down to make it stay “just so” all day long. Sometimes Rose could scarcely blink her eyes while she sat beside her father during Preaching. Mamm thought rutschich Rose sat more quietly next to Dat, on the side of the room with the men and little boys—sometimes right near Nick Franco, who made silly faces at her. Rose remembered having to hold her breath so she wouldn’t burst out laughing in the middle of Bishop Aaron’s long second sermon.

  “Just be patient, it’ll loosen up,” Mamm told Mattie Sue, glancing at Rose.

  “How soon?” Mattie put her little hands on her forehead and moved her fingers up and down.

  “Pushin’ on your forehead won’t help none,” Rose told her.

  “Ach . . . what will?” Mattie asked. “I’m getting a headache.”

  “By the time you’re done eatin’ breakfast, you’ll forget all about your hair,” Mamm suggested. It was the exact thing she’d always told Rose.

  But Rose remembered all too well that hair pulled back so tight hurt for a good half a day or longer. Rose recalled taking her little hair bob out and then saying it got caught on the rafters in the haymow. Right quick, she’d had the soapiest tongue of any dishonest child living along Salem Road.

  Pushing aside the unfortunate memory during the silent table blessing later, Rose changed the subject. “Mattie Sue, can ya tell Dawdi what ya helped me do last evening?”

  “We shined up Rosie’s shoes for Esther’s wedding.” Mattie Sue dipped her head more rambunctiously than necessary, wrinkling her nose and forehead.

  Still hoping to loosen up her hair, thought Rose.

  “Did ya, now?” Dat grinned, looking at Mattie between bites of waffles and scrambled eggs.

  “She’s Cousin Esther to you, honey-girl.” Mamm wore a frown.

  Mattie Sue must not have understood. “You should see ’em, Dawdi. They’re just like new.”

  “Well, almost,” whispered Rose from her seat on the wooden bench, thinking again of the worldly shoes in the magazine.

  Hen came in through the back door, clutching her shawl tightly about her. “My, the wind sure is kicking up!” she exclaimed.

  Mamm stared out the window at the trees swaying hard. Squirrels were racing for shelter, and the windmill spun like a giant whirligig. “Such a dreary day for a wedding,” she said.

  “Jah, and with the crowd Esther’s family is expectin’, I daresay the guests will spill over onto the framed-in porch,” Rose added.

  “That’s why they built the temporary walls—in case of nasty weather like this,” Dat said, mentioning he’d gladly take Rose over there in the family buggy and drop her off. “It’s no day to walk.”

  Rose assumed he would return home right away to Mamm. Since Mamm wasn’t up to going, Dat wouldn’t think of attending the wedding, even though Esther was Mamm’s niece. Instead, Dat had plans to load the wheelbarrow full of compost to mulch their flower beds and the now-harvested vegetable garden.

  “Sure looks like rain’s comin’,” Dat said, gawking toward the window, seemingly preoccupied with the weather. “It’ll raise the water table, for sure.”

  “Be sure and take an umbershoot,” Hen said, offering a smile.

  Mattie’s head popped up. “Umbershoot? What’s that, Mommy?”

  “What’s it sound like?” Hen tweaked her daughter’s nose.

  “Um . . . could it be an Amish umbrella?”

  That brought more smiles and laughter. Dat clapped his hands and leaned his head back in a way Rose hadn’t seen him do since before Hen married.

  “Well, I sure hope the rain clouds blow over,” Rose said.

  “Jah, no sunshine on the weddin’ day . . . no happiness for the marriage. Or so they say,” Mamm noted.

  “How sad.” Rose felt sorry for Cousin Esther. After a quiet moment, she said, “It’s just superstition, ain’t?”

  Mattie Sue’s big eyes looked mighty serious.

  “Puh!” said Mamm, aware of her granddaughter’s curious gaze. “Why sure . . . who could possibly know such a thing?”

  After the breakfast dishes were all done up, Rose Ann pondered what Mamm had said. She hoped for her cousin’s sake that it was a false notion. She’d heard plenty of superstitions growing up, but most didn’t prove true. Still, as she took her time dressing, she hoped her own wedding day might be as sunny a day as she knew Dat and Mamm’s had been. Lord willing.

  Chapter 3

  Rose Ann waved to her father as he backed the horse

  and buggy slowly out of her cousins’ lane. The threatened rain hadn’t yet come, but she carried along her umbrella for good measure.

  Up ahead, Cousin Esther’s paternal grandparents were stepping out of their gray carriage. It warmed Rose’s heart to see spry, gray-headed Daniel Kauffman smile sweetly at his petite wife before heading off to the horse stable.

  “Daniel and Mimi have alway
s been a couple to imitate,” Rose recalled Mamm telling Hen just last week. Rose had guessed at the time that Mamm was trying to encourage Hen to be more attentive to her own husband.

  Presently, Miriam leaned heavily on her cane, waiting for Daniel to return. Rose hurried to Miriam’s side and offered her arm to the darling lady. With a smile, Miriam nodded and they moved forward together. Slowly, cautiously, Rose led her toward the farmhouse, where the wedding was soon to take place.

  “Wie geht’s?—How are you today, Miriam?” she asked.

  “Ever so excited to see Essie and John tie the knot—and on Thanksgiving Day, yet!”

  Rose agreed. “They’ve known each other since they were youngsters.”

  Miriam’s eyes sparkled. “I daresay they’ve had eyes for each other a gut long time. Gracious me, and I did near the same thing—picked out Daniel to be my beau during school recess long ago.”

  Rose listened with a smile. How quickly does sixty years of marriage pass? She wondered how she and Silas would look or act when they were well into their eighties. Would they be as openly affectionate as Mimi and Daniel?

  As they approached the house Rose spotted a stand of goldenrod, turned all but silver in the recent wet, chilly weeks, and shivered at the thought of colder weather ahead. How nice if her mother could find solace in Mattie Sue’s company.

  If Hen stays put longer . . .

  She really had no idea what Hen was planning, though it was certain that if Brandon and Hen parted ways for good, the ministerial brethren would want her to stay under Dat’s roof and patriarchal covering. Before matters reached that point, however, Hen would probably be advised by the bishop and his wife to do everything in her power to reconcile with her husband.

  She reached for the back door and held it open while Miriam lightly thumped her cane on the linoleum as she walked into the summer kitchen, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Guder Mariye—good morning—to everyone,” Miriam called, and Esther’s married sisters hurried to greet her.

  Once dear white-haired Miriam was settled comfortably into a rocking chair, Rose Ann excused herself and headed upstairs to Esther’s bedroom. She was eager to see her cousin wearing her plum-colored wedding dress and full white apron. The bride was most likely finished putting all twenty-seven straight pins into her dress and apron . . . and soon to spend her final moments as a single woman with her mother. Rose couldn’t help wondering if Esther was having any second thoughts.