Mattie Sue seemed happy at the prospect and began gathering up her books. She found her little woolen shawl and pulled it around her slender arms. “I’ll ask Dawdi and Mammi if it’s all right, jah?”
“Be sure and mind your manners.”
“Okay, Mommy.” With that, Mattie Sue stood on tiptoes as Hen leaned down for a kiss, and then Mattie Sue scampered out the back door.
Suddenly, all Hen could think of was Brandon and how very foreign her life seemed without him in it. Could she bear to live apart from him the rest of her days? Tears welled up as she went to get her own shawl and wrapped it tightly around her. The notion crossed her mind that she might be better received—once Brandon did arrive home—if she wore the English attire he was so fond of. Something less Plain. After all, here she was looking completely Amish, something she knew very well he disliked.
But now Hen felt as if she might fall into a panic if she didn’t get going. Besides, she’d left nearly all of her fancy English clothing behind.
She hurried next door to see if Mattie Sue could indeed stay with Mom and Dad. Then, heading back out toward the barn, she realized she hadn’t driven her car for several weeks. She eyed the family carriage parked in the buggy shed and wished she could be true to her determination to take the horse and buggy whenever she traveled. At least this time, she would spare Brandon the sacred Amish symbol of horse and carriage, too.
My cape dress and prayer cap will be enough to give him fits, she thought with chagrin, hoping it would not be so.
Hen unlocked her car door and got in, feeling hardly any sense of hope that her visit might turn out to be a good thing for their marriage. What’s left of it . . .
When Hen pulled into Brandon’s street, she slowed the car to a crawl. She felt terribly out of place dressed as she was, yet driving a car. Oh, the juxtaposition of Plain and fancy!
Seeing the house—their home—again gave her an unexpected twinge of pain. Nevertheless, she parked next to the curb, surprised to see a strange car in the driveway. How odd—a Maryland license plate.
Who’s here?
Curious, she got out and walked up the sidewalk, past the unfamiliar car, and as she did she noticed through the window a dress hanging in a see-through dry cleaner’s bag. A woman?
Worry shot through her, though she attempted to dismiss it. More determined than before, Hen hurried to the front door.
Then, glancing down at herself, she knew for certain she’d made an error in judgment by wearing her frumpy-looking brown work dress, with its gripper-snaps to hold on the black apron.
Even though the door was closed, from inside the house, she heard music—the rhythmic thumps of dance music.
What’s going on?
Raising her hand to ring the doorbell, Hen trembled.
When no one came, she stood there, confused. She looked at the small porch and recalled scrubbing it with a bristle broom several times each spring and summer. Unsure why she should entertain such an odd memory just now, she considered ringing the doorbell again. But the door opened. Wiggles, the cinnamon-colored cocker spaniel puppy Brandon had bought last month to entice Mattie Sue home, came running, wagging his stubby tail and barking repeatedly.
And there stood Terry Orringer, Brandon’s unmarried older sister, her slender hands sticky with dough. Hen expelled her breath with relief.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you,” Terry said, motioning Hen indoors with a sweep of her auburn hair. She looked Hen over. “Just in time for a late Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Thanks, but I really didn’t come to eat.”
“Oh, you must be here to see what’s-his-name,” Terry said over her slight shoulder, laughing in her shrill way as they both walked to the kitchen.
“Are you visiting for the weekend?” Hen asked, faltering. She’d never seen Terry’s car before. In fact, the only times Hen had engaged in conversation with her sister-in-law were at the few family gatherings she’d been to at Brandon’s parents’ sweeping estate in upstate New York.
“I didn’t think Brandon should be alone for the long weekend” came the flat answer.
Hen was uncomfortably aware of Terry’s casual jeans and comfy blue sweater . . . and her repeated glances at Hen’s Amish garb. “When do you expect him home?”
“He’s working on a project . . . at the office. So, not anytime soon, I’d guess.”
Hen remained in the breakfast nook as Terry worked and Wiggles crouched at her feet. “A project? On a holiday?” What could be so important? Unless . . . A wave of dismay nearly toppled her as she stood there, her knees locked. The fear was palpable.
“Something important, he said.”
Like filling out papers for his attorney. Hen wished Terry wouldn’t play games. Why didn’t she just come right out and say it?
Terry looked over at her, frowning as if she wondered why Hen was still standing near the breakfast table, several yards away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got to keep working here. Brandon requested dumplings instead of mashed potatoes and gravy with his turkey,” she said.
Wiggles made a little squeal sound and jumped up playfully, trying to catch the end of Terry’s apron string in his mouth.
“Oh, you silly pooch.” Terry laughed, shooing him away.
Hen remembered how much her husband enjoyed homemade dumplings at Thanksgiving and Christmas. “Brandon must be glad you’re here to cook for him.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to let my baby brother starve . . . not over the holiday.”
Hen felt the sting Terry had no doubt intended.
“Mom and Dad—and my brother here—urged me to drive up and spend a few days.”
“Oh?”
Terry stopped talking for a time, busying herself at the kitchen counter. Wiggles wandered off toward Mattie Sue’s room, down the hall.
“They must think I’ve abandoned him. . . .” Hen’s legs felt weak again as she lowered herself onto Brandon’s chair at the table.
“Well, didn’t you?” Terry stared at her, putting dirty hands under the faucet.
“Our problems are personal . . . between Brandon and me,” Hen said softly. But she knew that wasn’t true. What you did affected everyone around you. Dad had said so many times—Dad and everyone else who knew anything about relationships.
“Where’s the little cutie tonight?” asked Terry, changing the subject.
“Mattie Sue’s with her grandparents.”
“Well, in case you have any misconceived notions, Hen—we’re going to win this fight. Just so you know.”
We?
The word rang through her mind. But Hen fought the dread that threatened to overtake her, clinging to the memory of a verse in the book of Exodus—The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.
Not responding—and wishing Brandon would arrive—she noticed the newspaper with the article about ADD that Brandon had asked her to read, lying on the table. Reaching over, she picked it up, surprised he’d kept it around this long. Her hands shook, and she found it hard to breathe as she absorbed the description and behaviors associated with attention deficit disorder. Had Brandon solicited his family to help him build a false case against her?
Trying her best to push aside worrisome thoughts, she reread the first few paragraphs. Brandon had not only circled but underlined sections, complete with exclamation points.
He must think I’m afflicted with this disorder.
The paragraphs most marked up were about the impulsive behavior common in affected persons. Did her husband actually believe her present behavior was due to her having ADD?
Goodness, he’s just not listening to me!
Looking up, she saw Terry frying the dumplings she’d been rolling out, humming all the while. It shocked her that the woman could seem so cheerful, particularly after what she’d just said. Exactly why was Terry in town?
Refolding the paper, Hen took stock of her own perhaps hasty actions weeks ago, in this very house. She sigh
ed and glanced toward the hall and the bedroom where Brandon had once threatened her with a custody battle. It had been a mistake to come here, especially considering the helpless way Hen felt now. Besides, by the looks of things, Brandon was well cared for.
“We’re going to win. . . .” Terry’s words echoed in her mind.
Apparently, Brandon’s entire family was backing him, determined to help him retrieve Mattie Sue. He has more support than I do. She thought of her large Amish family, knowing full well her parents—and the bishop and Barbara, his wife—were opposed to a permanent separation.
“Have you changed your mind about staying for supper?” Terry wiped her hands on the apron she wore—Hen’s own.
She rose from the chair. “Denki—uh, sorry . . . I mean no thanks.”
Terry rustled her cooking apron about, like she was shooing flies. “Okay, so . . . I’ll tell Brandon you dropped by,” she said, sending an unmistakable message that Hen should not linger.
She nodded meekly and walked out to go to the front door.
Standing there, her hand on the knob, she looked down at her diamond engagement ring and wedding band. She’d felt so peculiar wearing them around the farm while dressing Plain. None of the married Amishwomen wore rings—not even a simple gold wedding band. Too much like the English . . .
Suddenly, Hen remembered an item she’d forgotten to pack. Something she felt she needed, especially considering the worldliness of wearing such a dazzling ring set. Let alone any rings at all.
“Uh, excuse me . . . just a moment.” She moved toward the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Terry asked.
Hen ignored her, slipping past to the familiar master suite Hen had designed and decorated herself. She was not about to ask permission to go into her own bedroom!
Chapter 5
Rose stood on the newly painted back porch watching
the rain come in torrents. The screened-in area had been turned into a place to store extra chairs and tables for the wedding day, and to lay out the rolls, pies, and cakes leftover from the noontime feast. Curious as to Melvin’s whereabouts, she looked across the glistening yard, toward the barn. There, she saw him with Rebekah Bontrager, who’d apparently become a magnet for first Silas and now Melvin. The three of them were trying to keep dry beneath the overhang of the stable.
Glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen, she spotted Leah Miller, looking dejected all by herself in the corner. Was she still missing Christian, perhaps? But wait—where was Peter, her partner for the day?
Rose scanned the large room for any sign of him. Surely he, too, hadn’t gone to cluster around the new arrival from Indiana. Of course, Rebekah wasn’t new at all. It was just that she hadn’t been in the area for years now. Guess Annie Mast hasn’t had her twins yet, Rose thought, wishing the babies would come very soon. Any moment, really.
She turned to look toward the barn again, but no longer saw Silas and Melvin . . . or Rebekah. Had they gone inside to escape the rain? She was curious, but not enough to get sopping wet. The umbrella she’d brought from home was upstairs somewhere in the bride’s bedroom. Besides, no umbrella was any match for this cascade of moisture from an angry sky.
Sighing, Rose moved back into the kitchen to seek out Leah, who was nibbling on a celery stick. “You want some company?” Rose asked softly as she approached her.
Leah smiled. “I’m glad ya came over. I thought Peter was s’posed to stay with me all afternoon. Yet here I am, stuck alone.”
Again. Rose thought fleetingly of Christian. “Oh, he may have gotten lost somewhere in this big house,” she said, making an excuse for him. “Or maybe one of his relatives has cornered him, eager for the latest news from Wisconsin.”
Leah blushed pink, her long eyelashes fluttering against her peachy cheek.
“Don’t feel too bad, all right?” Rose encouraged her. “I seem to have lost my partner, too.”
Leah asked, “Do ya think Peter will end up bein’ my date for the Singing later?”
“I wouldn’t be one bit surprised. I saw how he looked at you.”
Leah sighed. “Really?”
“You have nothin’ to worry about.” Rose smiled. “Peter’s not the only fella looking your way.”
Leah ignored the latter comment, looking embarrassed again. “Too bad ’bout the rain,” she said, changing the subject.
Neither of them brought up the wedding superstition, but it was implied all the same.
“Come, let’s go upstairs awhile,” Rose suggested, noticing one of her mother’s elderly aunts eyeing them.
“All right.” Leah followed her around the side of the kitchen and up the back stairway.
When they’d closed the door of the guest room, Rose went to sit on the tan-and-brown-checked loveseat in the corner. She plumped a pillow behind her as Leah sat on the bed. Next thing, Leah was leaning back, stretching out on the pretty quilt as if exhausted.
Rose could hear the sound of voices coming from downstairs, where the older folk must’ve decided to have an impromptu Singing of their own. She stared outside, looking at the horse stable as the old melodies rose and filled the house.
“You live neighbors to the bishop,” Leah murmured, rolling up on her side to look at Rose. “Guess I always envied you . . . so close to Christian and all. Just a meadow away.”
“He was fond of you, Leah. I saw it in his eyes.”
Leah looked away. “I miss him, every Singing I go to.”
Rose didn’t know what to say. She’d struggled for years with Christian’s disregard for Nick—it was as if he believed foster brothers were meant to be ridiculed. Surely Leah had gotten an earful from Christian along those lines.
After an awkward moment, Leah asked Rose, “How’s your sister doin’?”
“Oh, keepin’ real busy.”
“Does she like working over at Rachel’s Fabrics?”
“She seems to.”
“My sister Arie said she sees her there sometimes.” Leah paused. “It must feel gut to come home again, after bein’ out in the world.”
It wasn’t like Leah to prod. Then again, most everyone in the community had inquired about Hen lately—either of Dat or of Rose herself—presumably out of loving concern.
“I wonder what causes someone to set their sights away from the church and the People,” Leah said suddenly.
Rose shrugged. “The world tempts us, sad to say.”
“Jah. Reminds me of an interesting book my father’s reading.”
“Oh?”
“He said the book likens a person’s heart to a field. If grass seed is sown, it’ll never produce wheat or hay. You can cut the grass down real short, but the field will still grow grass.”
Rose considered this. “So they’d have to plow it all up and resow if they want something else to grow,” she said.
“That makes sense.” Leah pursed her lips. “Like the parable of the sower, ya know.”
Rose thought of Nick and wondered if he might need the soil of his heart all plowed up, too. Might that happen out in the English world, just maybe?
Hen felt unsettled, standing there in the bedroom she’d shared with Brandon for nearly their entire marriage. The same pretty spread, curtains, and rugs adorned the room, but the space felt cold and strange and it was difficult not to give in to sadness. Closing the door behind her, she heard Terry coming down the hall and locked the latch.
She’s following me.
Hen went to look in the closet. The sight of her modern clothes—slacks and tops, revealing sweaters and low-cut blouses—opened her eyes anew to her yearning to live and dress to please the Lord. She contemplated the biblical command for women to cover their head when praying. The practice had been deep-rooted in her as a child.
“Why did I so quickly abandon all of that?” she whispered, going from one drawer to the next, making the painful observation that her personal items had been removed from the top drawers of the closet built-ins. She felt a
twinge of nausea but could not imagine Brandon doing such a thing. Hopefully, he hadn’t discarded everything.
She caught herself. Why should she care? Wasn’t she set on never looking back—remaining wholly Plain?
Opening the last drawer, where she’d always kept her jewelry, she spied her rings and the pretty crystal ring holder she’d come looking for. Thankfully Brandon hadn’t tossed that aside.
A wedding gift from him. She slipped the lovely holder into her pocket and closed the drawer.
Taking a deep breath, Hen left the walk-in closet and went to sit on the bed, staring at her former spot on the left side. Brandon had always preferred the other side of the bed. Her pillow was still there, but the small framed picture of her was no longer sitting on Brandon’s lamp table. In fact, there were no pictures on display of either her or of them as a couple anywhere in the room.
She heard Terry outside the door, rustling about. And then her sister-in-law was calling to her. “Can I help you with something, Hen?” Her question was accompanied by sharp barks from Wiggles and subsequent shushing from Terry. For a split second, Hen thought of asking to take the puppy to its rightful owner. Wouldn’t Mattie Sue be tickled at that?
“I found what I wanted, thanks.” She opened the bedroom door, forcing a smile. “I’ll be on my way now.”
Hen hurried down the hall, slowing only to glance in at Mattie Sue’s room, which looked just as she’d left it. As if waiting for Mattie’s return . . .
What will happen to us? she thought with a fright. Was the help of her family, and the Lord, enough to get her through this difficult time?
Hen wondered if she might be able to delay Brandon’s deadline a week from now.
Can I buy some time until I figure out what on earth to do?
The rain drummed hard against the windows as Rose and Leah settled in downstairs again with another girl from the church district, Mandy Esh, one of the deacon’s courting-age granddaughters. The older folk were still singing their slow church songs in the front room. For a moment, Rose wished she’d joined with her many Kauffman relatives, although most were older than her parents.
The Judgment Page 4