The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  Rose found her cousin alone in her room, which was as neat as always. There was a newly crocheted doily on the dresser, and positioned in its center was a pretty oil lamp Rose had never seen before. A gift from the groom?

  “I’m awful jumpy, Rosie,” the bride whispered as they embraced. Her golden-blond hair was parted nice and straight down the middle and smoothed back neatly on the sides, where it twisted perfectly. Despite her nerves, Esther’s blue eyes twinkled.

  Rose touched her arm. “Maybe when you catch a glimpse of John, the jitters will go away.”

  A smile brightened Esther’s pretty face. “Oh jah, just the thought of my dear beau . . .” She gripped Rose’s hands. “Denki . . . ever so much.”

  “He loves ya, Essie . . . just remember.”

  Esther’s eyes glistened with happy tears, and she reached into her left sleeve to find an embroidered white handkerchief and pulled it out. Dabbing at the corner of her eyes, she nodded her head. “You’re right. I have nothin’ to worry about.”

  Rose led her to the window, and together they peered down at the many buggies already parked along the side yard. “See all the folk coming to join in the celebration for you and John? It’s wonderful, ain’t?”

  Esther looked at the sky and grimaced. “Sure hope it doesn’t rain and spoil our day.” Her breath formed a circular blur on the pane.

  The dark clouds did look ready to burst open at any moment. Rose tried to distract her by pointing out the English couple coming toward the house. “You must’ve invited Donna Becker and her husband.” She’d seen them get out of their car, parked along the side of the road.

  “Mamma did,” Esther said. “She knows Donna through Rachel Glick, who owns the fabric shop. Her cousin, ya know.”

  “Oh, Donna’s as nice as can be. She lives neighbors to Gilbert Browning, the widower I work for Wednesday mornings.”

  “Why, sure . . . I’d forgotten that.” Esther went on to say she’d heard through the grapevine that Gilbert had a special daughter named Beth. “I hear she loves comin’ to your place and seeing the foals.”

  “Does she ever,” Rose agreed. “And we love havin’ her visit, too.” Rose had actually been planning something of a surprise for Beth, but she hadn’t yet breathed a word to anyone. Very soon, she planned to talk to Dat about her idea.

  Esther made a little squeal of glee. “Well, lookee there!” she said, her forehead close to the window. “My cousins from Wisconsin came for the wedding. Just think, all that way!”

  Rose saw a family of seven walking up the lane. “Didn’t ya know they were coming?”

  “Not for certain, no.” Esther straightened and gave Rose a quick hug. “Oh, wait’ll ya meet my cousin Peter. He’s quite handsome—and fun-loving, too! I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls a prank or two on my groom.” Her face flushed pink. “If he wasn’t my own relative, oh goodness, would I ever be smitten!”

  The wind rose up at that moment, and the eaves creaked. Esther’s scrutinizing gaze lingered on her till Rose looked away. She wasn’t at all interested in Esther’s Wisconsin cousin. But since Esther hadn’t been going to Singings here lately, she most likely didn’t know of Silas Good’s recent interest in Rose. ’Tis best to keep mum on that.

  Just then, a knock came at the door, and Esther’s mother poked in her white-capped head. “Are ya ready, Essie?”

  It was Rose’s hint to leave the room. “Happy wedding day,” she said with a smile.

  “Denki, Rosie.” Esther’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll remember what you said.”

  “All right, then,” said Rose happily as she departed the room for the stairs.

  Hen sat in her small kitchen sorting through the piecework for her Double Nine Patch bed quilt, trying not to dwell on Brandon’s startling threat. Such a dreadful recourse. Had he forgotten he’d suggested she take some time to come here?

  She wondered—was his change of mind and heart because he was weary of waiting for her return? He must be annoyed she hadn’t gotten her fill of all things Plain by now. Her husband must be at a loss, thinking, What else can I do?

  On top of all that, there was her father’s admonition to consider. Should Hen stick her neck out and make a private visit to Brandon? Was it possible that might still do some good? Or might I mess things up even more than I already have?

  In her distress, she looked at the assortment of colorful squares. Soon she’d be ready to lay them out on the floor. She had finished the quilted wall hanging for Mattie’s room and was pleased with the outcome. Now she imagined how this completed quilt would look and hoped that, with Mammi Sylvia’s expert help, and possibly her mother’s, too, it would turn out nicely. Might very well be my way to sanity.

  She struggled with the thought of returning home even for a few hours, let alone for good. In the weeks she had been living here, Hen had thoroughly embraced the Amish ways, as had Mattie Sue. Still, a hot homemade dinner might be a nice gesture, especially on Thanksgiving evening . . . assuming Brandon was even home. Yet, how much could a single visit accomplish?

  I won’t know unless I go. . . .

  Hen rose from her spot at the kitchen table and went to the window to look toward the field. The lonely old phone shanty stood a long way from the house. She could almost hear Brandon’s response. “He’ll wonder if I’m simply reacting to his note if I call,” she muttered, frustration rising as she thought about it.

  She must get her emotions in check or find herself giving in to anger. Going to sit in the front room, Hen bowed her head. Lord, our marriage is in pitiful shape. She sighed, greatly relieved Mattie Sue was over next door with Mamm, reading a picture book.

  Hen reached for her Bible and opened to the first psalm. Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly. . . . She paused, realizing anew that her own father was one of the wisest men she’d ever known. “With a name like Solomon,” she whispered, wondering if her father might somehow get through to Brandon. Her husband just didn’t seem to understand the comfort she found in her faith and a simpler life, nor her desire to keep Mattie Sue untainted by the world. Or was it that he didn’t care? She felt sure he was itching to hurry off to his lawyer brother.

  The thought of calling Brandon made everything Hen had set out to do thus far seem for naught. Yet should I sit idly by and allow my worldly husband to pull all the strings?

  Rose stood across from her cousin Melvin as the wedding party gathered before the bishop. She observed the service with rapt attention, especially the bride and groom, who answered each of the important questions—their vows to each other—with such solemn expressions.

  When the bishop placed Esther’s small hand in John’s, joy shone from the couple’s faces. The man of God encircled their clasped hands with his own during the blessing, and Rose couldn’t help wondering what Esther was feeling this very minute.

  Will Silas and I be so in love on our wedding day?

  She held her breath as the bishop offered the final prayer. “I desire for this couple, O Lord, a good start for their marriage, unswerving middle years . . . and a most blessed end, when one of them breathes his or her last on this earth. This I pray through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  Rose felt a jumble of emotions—more anxious than ever for her own wedding—as she turned to follow Esther and John to be seated again with Melvin and the other two attendants.

  Just then, she caught sight of a young woman sitting back near the kitchen with Deacon Esh’s wife. Her hair was a rich, deep brown, parted just so, and her brown eyes were bigger than Rose recalled. Rebekah Bontrager . . . Rose remembered her clearly despite the passage of years. And regardless of her Amish attire, she was anything but plain. Somewhere along the way, Rebekah had become a beautiful young woman.

  From across the room, Rose offered a smile, and Rebekah nodded slightly and smiled back.

  At that time, one of the several visiting ministers was asked to give a testimony commenting on the various sermon points; then seve
ral more were invited to add their remarks, as well. All of them offered good wishes to the newlyweds and extended the Lord’s blessings on their union.

  Bishop Aaron motioned for Esther’s father to stand and address the People, which he appeared to do gladly. Later, though, when John’s father rose to speak, he was overcome with emotion, his voice turning husky as he thanked everyone for coming to witness his son’s and now daughter-in-law’s vows.

  The bishop offered a few more words of admonition before the People turned in their seats and knelt for prayer as he read from the Christenpflicht. After the benediction, the gathering came to a close once the final hymn was sung in unison.

  The solemnity of the celebration made Rose mindful that this marriage represented that of the Lamb of God—Christ, the Bridegroom—to His church. And she sensed great awe, even a hush, in the crowded room.

  Upstairs, Esther and John gathered all the single wedding guests—both fellows and girls—into the hallway and began randomly pairing them for the feast, an age-old tradition. Until the barn Singing, much later, the assigned couples were to spend the rest of the afternoon and the evening meal together, as would each of the couples in the wedding party.

  Rose was suddenly aware of the splashing sound of rain against the windowpanes. It was good the downpour had held off, not disturbing her cousin’s wedding vows or the special blessing that followed.

  Leaning against the door to Esther’s bedroom, she didn’t take much interest in the usual matching-up process, knowing she was already obliged to be with Melvin Kauffman. Nice as her cousin was, he certainly wasn’t anything like her betrothed.

  Esther turned to whisper something to her new husband, John, and the two of them, cute as could be—their heads close together—decided who to further match with whom.

  About that time, Silas came running up the stairs, late. Where’s he been? Rose wondered, hoping to catch his eye. But he wasn’t looking her way, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember seeing him in the congregation during the sermons given before the wedding vows. Maybe he had been helping the hostlers, who were assigned to feed and water the many driving horses.

  Now Esther was in the process of choosing Peter Riehl, her good-looking cousin, for Arie Zook’s younger sister Leah Miller. Christian Petersheim had taken a real shining to brown-eyed Leah, and Rose had seen them together at quite a few Singings during the past year or so. For these weeks since his death, Leah had worn a black dress and apron, even though she hadn’t actually been engaged to Christian, as far as Rose knew. Rose couldn’t help wondering if Leah would still be wearing black today if she weren’t at Esther’s wedding.

  Esther beamed as she eyed the happy couples lined up all the way down the hall. Already, several of the girls were blushing happily at Esther’s choice for them. And more than a few of the fellows seemed mighty pleased, too. Some of them were even discreetly reaching for their girl’s hand, behind the girls’ skirts. But all of that would cease the minute they descended the stairs for the feast. For not having gone to many Singings lately, Esther certainly had a good idea of what was what between some of the courting couples.

  Rose smiled to herself. Has John filled Esther in, just maybe?

  At that moment, Rose realized Silas was without a partner. Instinctively, she stepped forward, then blushed a little, realizing what she’d done as Silas caught her eye. Fortunately, Esther seemed to recognize Silas’s dilemma, as well, and glanced around the room in search of an available girl.

  Just then Rebekah reached the top of the long stairway. “I have no partner,” she said demurely and out of breath.

  “Well . . .” Esther started to say, looking around her to see if Rebekah was indeed the only young woman left. Then she motioned for Silas to take his place beside Rebekah. “We’re all set, jah?”

  With an apologetic look at Rose, Silas moved toward his partner. The predicament was clearly not his doing, and Rose smiled back to let him know she understood. He warmly returned her smile, a silent exchange that did not appear to be lost on Rebekah. Rose’s heart was warmed, though her blush returned as Rebekah’s questioning eyes came to rest on her.

  Slowly, Rose turned and there was Melvin offering his arm. With one more look back at her beau, she followed Esther’s brother down the hall and around to the stairs when it came their turn.

  Once they were seated downstairs at the Eck, the beautifully decorated corner reserved for the wedding party, Rose glanced at Esther, who was expressing her delight at one of John’s surprise wedding gifts to her—a pretty set of floral china, which had belonged to his grandmother. A service for twenty! Simply beaming, Esther made over the lovely plates, matching cups and saucers, and every imaginable service bowl and meat platter while her mother and sisters looked on.

  Rose turned to chat politely with Melvin about the freshness the rainy weather had brought to the day, and how very happy the couple looked. The time passed pleasantly enough, and the feast was soon over. Like many couples, Melvin and Rose moseyed outside, and later, when the newlyweds came outdoors to pass around bars of chocolate to the guests, Rose spotted Silas and Rebekah talking over near the old well pump.

  Goodness, Rose never would have expected her beau to look so animated. He was motioning back at the house as if he was trying to make a point of something rather important. The more Rose watched, the more uneasy she felt. It was clear that Silas was quite comfortable talking with Rebekah, and obviously whatever he was telling her was greatly appreciated. Even so, Rose checked her concern and reassured herself that there was doubtless plenty for them to catch up on, since they had been childhood friends.

  That’s all it is.

  She turned back to Melvin, who was talking about a horse auction he’d seen advertised in the Lancaster Farming periodical that he was planning to attend next week in New Holland, along with Silas. “He’s lookin’ to buy a new trotter—he and his Dat,” Melvin remarked.

  Silas had said as much recently. “Jah, they’ve been looking to purchase a new mare soon,” Rose said, thinking Silas might want to get things lined up well in advance of their marriage. He was like that.

  “Well, now, how would you know ’bout this, Rose?”

  She blushed, having forgotten herself for a moment.

  Melvin leaned over, peering at her comically. “Any idea?”

  “Mind your own Bisness,” she said, laughing.

  “Say, now. Who’s that girl Silas is with?” Melvin craned his neck to see.

  “Rebekah Bontrager . . . visiting from Indiana. I forget the name of the town.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s certain no one could forget her.”

  Rose looked right at him. “Seems you did. Rebekah grew up near here, but her family moved away when she was in second grade.” Back when we were both tomboys . . .

  Melvin was still gawking. “I knew I’d seen her somewhere.”

  “She’s your age.”

  “Twenty-one and still single?” He whistled. “Boy, oh boy . . . how’d she ever manage that?”

  He obviously didn’t mind making a fool of himself, carrying on so. “If you’re that keen on her, why don’t ya go over and introduce yourself?”

  He turned and grinned, seemingly pleased at her suggestion. “You know, I just might do that.” And off he went.

  “Perfect,” Rose whispered, going inside to warm up. “Maybe we’ll just swap partners for the rest of the day.” Oh, what she wouldn’t give for that!

  Chapter 4

  An afternoon wind swept across the backyard as Hen made her way past the corncrib, toward the lifeless brown meadow where the phone shanty stood, smack-dab in the middle. She shivered, wondering how long before the first snowflakes would fall and cover the countryside with glittering layers of white. She and Brandon had enjoyed several such Thanksgiving Days just playing with little Mattie Sue, keeping warm by the living room fireplace . . . and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

  Hurrying now against the c
old, she arrived at the shanty. Promptly, before she lost heart, she dialed Brandon’s number. The phone rang once . . . twice . . . then three times. Each ring made Hen second-guess her resolve.

  After seven rings, she presumed he was gone from the house. Still, she let the phone ring a few more times. He’d never been interested in traveling to visit his family for the holiday, but she wondered if their recent separation had propelled him out of town to his parents’ place.

  The phone continued to ring.

  He might be watching football. . . .

  Eventually, she hung up and stared at the receiver, feeling drained, as if her very future hung in the balance before her. Dad was right. Isn’t he always? She should not have waited this long to contact her husband again, especially on a holiday.

  Heavyhearted, Hen pushed open the wooden door and trudged back over the stubbly field, toward the house. The rain had turned to a mist, and she hadn’t bothered to bring her black outer bonnet, or an umbrella. She thought of Mattie’s cute remark this morning about the “Amish umbrella.” Then, just as quickly, she sighed, sad about her daughter’s plight, torn between two parents—and two vastly different lifestyles. If Brandon follows through with his terrible threat.

  When Hen arrived at the Dawdi Haus, Mattie Sue was carrying around her favorite stuffed animal, a dog she’d named Foofie, with the sweetest brown patch over its eye.

  “Can I go over to Mammi Emma’s and read to her again before supper, Mommy?” she asked. Mattie Sue liked to pretend to read to her grandmother, which entertained Hen’s mother no end.

  “Sure, honey,” Hen replied vaguely, an idea forming. “Let’s see if maybe you can stay and eat there, too.” She’d heard that two of her brothers and their families were bringing food for her parents, to go with the roast turkey her grandmother was making—an informal Thanksgiving gathering, since they rarely made much of English holidays.