The stranger who used to be me.
Soon she could no longer drink the tea without sugar, so she spooned up a bit from the salmon-pink Carnival glass bowl. She studied the delicate bowl, remembering the day she’d found the old piece at an estate sale not far from Salem Road.
Three years ago . . .
The day had started out with a chilling drizzle and wind, and Hen had bundled little Mattie Sue up very well to drive the back roads near her father’s house. She’d seen in the paper that the Hank Smucker family—Amish she’d known growing up—were clearing out a farmhouse: Everything goes! the ad had declared, and she hoped to look for a matching sugar bowl and creamer to replace the cheap set broken in the move to their new house.
While she drove, the clouds pushed back to reveal sunshine, warming the day at last. At the sale, Hen put Mattie Sue in her umbrella stroller, freeing up Hen to browse among the many knickknacks. She’d noticed several sets of cut-glass salt and pepper shakers, as well as old sugar bowls and creamers, and had experienced a few pangs of homesickness for the farm—and for her family.
Two full years had passed since she’d seen both sets of grandparents, or her married brothers and their wives and children.
Hen had held the lovely Carnival glass sugar bowl and remembered filling a similar bowl for her mother, hearing Mamm comment with a chuckle on all the sugar they must consume in a single day. “Dawdi Jeremiah says sweets make the world go round,” her mother had often remarked, a twinkle in her eye.
Round is right, Hen had thought with a smile.
She liked the etched designs and the color of the set, so she’d purchased it and watched with interest as gracious, plump Mrs. Smucker carefully wrapped the pieces. All during the drive home, while Mattie Sue slept in her car seat, Hen reflected on all the wonderful things she’d already begun to miss.
The early rumblings of my yearnings, Hen thought now as she set down the dainty sugar spoon. She held the cup and saucer to her lips and took a small swallow. Her eyes scanned the room for other treasures she might not want to leave behind should Brandon have his way and divorce her.
But no . . . she didn’t really care much about material possessions. Let him have the things they’d cherished as a couple. Even though she had been the one desirous of collecting teacups and saucers. Looking again at the beautifully arranged tea tray, Hen changed her mind just that quick and couldn’t help wishing she might keep at least some of her nicer things. Items with family stories behind them . . .
Brandon was talking to Mattie Sue in the kitchen. It sounded as if they were playing a game. Leaning back on the sectional, Hen closed her eyes and wondered what might’ve happened if she hadn’t attended the Amish household sale that day. Would I be where I am now? Or did simply having a child trigger my latent longings?
An hour passed, and Hen heard Brandon cajoling Mattie to wear her modern clothes to her Amish grandfather’s farm. “That way you’ll have something to wear next time you visit me here.”
Hen wondered how Mattie Sue might reply.
“But I like my dress and apron.”
Hen heard Brandon moan. “No more talk about this. Keep the clothes.”
She half expected Mattie to complain as before but was surprised when she said nothing. Hen gathered up her things, waiting for Mattie Sue to reappear in the room.
What nerve of him to pressure their daughter about her clothing! He reminded her of a spoiled child. No wonder Mattie behaved the way she sometimes did. Hen could not imagine being in Mattie’s place, being treated so poorly as a youngster. No, if anything, her own childhood had been remarkably happy.
I want that for Mattie Sue, too. But am I willing to risk losing her altogether?
Later, Hen secured Mattie Sue in her booster seat and they drove the old byways leading to Salem Road. The thought of acquiring a family lawyer of her own crossed her mind, if only fleetingly. Such a move would terribly offend her father. But what sort of mother did not protect her child from the reprimands and demands of the likes of Brandon Orringer? Had he changed so radically during their separation, or had he always been this heartless and scheming?
Chapter 16
Late Saturday afternoon Rose found her father in his woodworking shop sawing a board in two. She waited till he noticed her standing there quietly before asking permission to take Beth for a ride in the pony cart, “as a surprise.”
He flicked sawdust from his beard. “Would she enjoy that, ya think?”
“Oh, I know she would.” Rose reminded him of Beth’s fondness for the new foals, and the horses, as well. “She can hardly wait to help me water them every morning.”
“Well, take things nice and slow, ya hear?” He turned back to his work, then looked over at her. “You’ll be in charge of the reins, jah?”
Rose guessed what Dat meant and nodded.
“All right, then,” he agreed.
She noticed how tired he looked. Worry could wear on a person, she knew, thinking how concerned they all were for Mamm. Especially Dat.
Later, when she went looking for Beth, she found her in Mamm’s room, sitting with the chair pulled up next to the side of the bed, reading a prayer she’d written from her blue notebook.
“Denki ever so much,” Mamm said, reaching for Beth’s hand. “Your sweet prayers most surely touch the heart of God.”
Rose stood at the door, observing the endearing sight. When Beth looked up, Rose beckoned for her to come to the doorway. Gently letting go of Mamm’s hand, and taking time to tuck it back under the quilts, Beth came over to Rose. “I have a little surprise for you,” Rose whispered.
Beth glanced back at Mamm, who’d already closed her eyes. “Your grandma says she thinks your mother’s pain is less when she’s lying down,” said Beth.
Mammi Sylvia wasn’t the only one who thought this; Rose did, too. “Hen will look in on Mamm now . . . so you and I can go out to the horse stable. All right?”
“What for, Rosie?”
“It’s a secret. Get your coat and scarf and follow me.”
With a limited amount of daylight hours, there was precious little time for Beth’s first-ever pony cart ride. Even so, Rose led her to the horse stable. Beth’s face shone with glee as she steadied the large pony while Rose hitched it up to the cart. “Oh, Rosie, I’m so excited!”
“Me too. It’s something I’ve been thinking ’bout for a while . . . and now that you’re staying with us for a few days, it’s the perfect time.”
When the hitch was secure, Rose threw a woolen blanket inside the wooden cart her father had made years ago. “We’ll ride around the barnyard,” Rose said, helping Beth inside, then raised her skirt and climbed in beside her. “It’s a bit tight in here . . . but we’ll manage.”
Beth gripped the side and her melodious laughter lifted to the air. “This is wonderful-gut.” She mimicked Mattie Sue’s choice of words, giggling with each step of the pony.
“Are you all right?” asked Rose. “Do ya want to go a little faster?”
Nodding, Beth asked, “Can he trot?”
“He sure can.”
“Then let’s go!” Beth shouted.
Rose hadn’t felt this happy in some weeks. She clicked her tongue and off they flew, laughing all the way.
Around the barnyard they went, though one time was not enough for Beth, who kept asking for “once more.”
As they went, Rose recited the only rhyming prayer she’d ever memorized. “A Horse’s Prayer” had been penned by an unknown author, and the bishop’s wife had comically recited it through the years. Nick, too, had sometimes said it in an entertaining singsongy fashion that Rose had never forgotten: “Uphill wear me, downhill spare me. On the level let me trot. In the stable forget me not.”
Beth giggled at the poem and asked Rose to repeat it, which she did.
Around they went, and they might have made three complete circles past the barn and surrounding buildings, but as they came back toward the driveway the second
time, Rose noticed a car pull up slowly to the house. Who’s this? She’d seen Hen’s car behind the grove of trees, so this was someone else stopping by.
A woman got out and Rose recognized Donna Becker.
“Is she coming to visit me?” Beth wondered aloud.
Rose had an odd feeling seeing Donna there, but dismissed it as she and Beth climbed out of the pony cart. Quickly, they walked over to greet Donna. “How’ve ya been, neighbor?” asked Rose.
“Oh, I’m just fine,” Donna said, glancing at Beth. “But I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Beth stiffened where she stood near Rose. “Is my grandpa getting worse?”
“Yes, Beth. Your father called and said he is struggling . . . he’s very low.”
“I dreamed he died last week,” Beth said sadly. “I don’t like those kinds of dreams . . . especially when they come true. Sometimes they do.”
Rose startled at this; she had read about people who had such premonitions in dreams, much like Joseph in the Bible. Was Beth one of those?
Rose slipped her arm around Beth’s shoulders, stepping near. “We’ll take care of Beth as long as need be.”
Donna smiled in the fading light. “That was the main reason Gilbert called—to ask if you’d mind keeping her at least another week.”
Rose looked toward Dat’s woodshop. “I’m sure it’s all right, but I’ll let my father know.”
“My grandpa’s going to die.” Beth’s voice was flat and low. “I just know it.”
“Your father asked for your prayers,” Donna said. “He said the time may be near. . . .”
Beth did not cry as Rose expected. Instead, Beth raised her face to the sky and whispered something Rose couldn’t make out.
“Well, I should get back to my husband.” Donna patted Beth’s arm and held Rose’s gaze for a moment. “I’ll be in touch again when there’s further word.”
“Denki,” Rose said, her arm still around Beth. Then, after Donna had backed out, Rose asked, “Are you all right?”
“This has happened before,” Beth said. “Why do I have dreams about people dying?”
“Your grandfather might get better,” Rose said, feeling sorry for her. Beth sounded so heartsick. “When did you last see your grandpa?”
“Daddy and I haven’t seen him and Grandma for a long time. They used to visit us in Arthur—ya know, in Illinois, where we moved from. But that was when Mommy was still alive.”
Rose recalled Beth saying she and her father would have to live with her grandmother if her grandpa passed away. But seeing how stressed Beth was, Rose did not think it wise to mention that.
Suddenly, she realized how much she would miss seeing Beth if the Brownings moved. Too many losses lately. Rose thought sadly of both Christian and Nick as she helped Beth back to the pony cart, where they realized they were in no mood for more riding. So Rose unhitched the energetic young horse with a little help from Beth. When they’d finished, she and Beth walked arm in arm back to the stable, leading the pony.
On the morning ride to Preaching service the next day, Beth was filled with questions about the Amish church, asking Rose one thing after another. Wearing the blue for-good dress Hen had sewn for her, Beth looked authentically Plain, sitting with Mattie Sue in the small space at the back of the buggy. She and Mattie Sue bobbed their heads up and down, mimicking the horse, which struck Rose as humorous.
Later, after the three-and-a-half-hour service, Rose commented to Hen how surprised she was at Beth’s quiet demeanor during the hymns, prayers, and the two sermons. “She seemed to soak it up, like she comprehended the order of service—and even some of the German, too,” Rose remarked.
“Beth does seem to be in harmony with folk,” Hen replied. “In one accord, like the bishop says.”
During the third seating of the common meal, when the younger children were served, Beth and Mattie Sue sat next to each other at the table. Several of Silas Good’s younger school-age nieces were perched on the long bench near them, smiling and enjoying the light meal of bread and Schmierkees, dill and sweet pickles, and red beets. There was snitz pie for dessert, which brought smiles to everyone’s face.
Rose had been very surprised, earlier, to see Annie Mast’s fair-haired mother sitting with Silas’s mother during the table seating for the adults and ordained brethren. Never before had Rose seen the Masts and Goods this chummy, talking with their heads together, laughing and smiling. She couldn’t help recalling Silas’s strange visit to Rebekah at the Masts’ the other day.
Much later, after she helped clear away the cups and saucers and table knives, Rose lost track of Mattie Sue and Beth amidst the many young people. She had a hankering for some fresh air, though it was almost too cold to venture outside. Nevertheless, she and her sister-in-law Suzy—Enos’s wife—took off walking across the back lawn, toward the barren fields.
“You look like you lost your best friend,” Suzy said, her light blond hair neatly parted down the middle.
“I do?”
“You looked glum all during Preaching. Somethin’ wrong?”
You weren’t paying attention to the sermon, Rose thought, but she dismissed it and said, “I’m worried ’bout Mamm. So is Dat.”
Suzy indicated that Enos had said as much. “Evidently, Sol went around and told the boys how poorly she’s been doing.”
“All of them?”
Suzy nodded.
“Dat can scarcely bring himself to leave Mamm’s side anymore.” She shared with Suzy how Dat was constantly checking on Mamm. “It’s takin’ a toll on him—on all of us.”
“He’s here today, jah?”
Rose nodded. “Mammi Sylvia stayed home with Mamm.”
Suzy sighed and looked sad. “Are ya sure nothin’ can be done for her?”
“It’s been years since she’s seen a doctor.” Rose paused and glanced at the sky. She shivered. “Only the dear Lord knows what’ll happen. Our lives are in His hands.”
“That’s right.” Suzy looked her way, offering a faint smile. “Still, ’tis awful hard seein’ her suffer.”
Rose agreed as they walked all the way up to the windmill, then headed back toward the house, the air damp and mighty nippy for wearing only shawls. Her mind wandered to the torn picture of what was probably Nick’s parents, nestled where she’d placed it with his childhood notes to her. Such thoughts seemed to crop up so unexpectedly, and at the oddest times.
“I hear ya have Beth Browning as company,” Suzy said, bringing her out of her musing.
“Anymore, she’s nearly like family.”
Suzy nodded. “I just hope it’s not too taxing for Emma, having a stranger underfoot.”
“Actually, Mamm seems to find some comfort in Beth. And it’s uncanny how drawn Beth is to her, too.”
“I feel for ya, Rosie.” Suzy stopped walking and faced her, touching her arm. “You and Mamm are so close after the many years you’ve looked after her.”
Rose nodded. “But I sure won’t be the only one missing Mamm when it’s her time.” She sighed. “Sometimes I honestly think she’s anxious to go Home to Jesus.”
They rounded the barn at the southeast corner. From there, Rose could see Silas with a group of other young men his age, including Annie Mast’s younger brother Benuel. Fleetingly Rose wondered if Silas might be asking Benuel about Rebekah, who was not in attendance today. Without a doubt, Rebekah was at home with Annie and the twins and would be for a number of weeks yet.
Will she get time off to go to Singings while she’s here? Rose wondered, hoping now that Rebekah wouldn’t show up.
Silas glanced her way and nodded his head, eyes smiling. Her heart swelled and Rose could hardly wait to see him at Singing tonight.
Dare I ask him about Rebekah? The last thing Rose wanted was to stir up trouble. Nevertheless, her curiosity nagged her.
She spotted Annie Mast’s mother and Silas’s mother walking toward the corncrib, talking earnestly. And near the woodshed, Rose’s father and
Reuben Good were chewing the fat, while the bishop stood alone over near the stable.
What’s going on?
Chapter 17
The afternoon had grown increasingly colder, and all but a few families had headed home to milk cows. The bishop and Solomon were folding up the last table and bench for the family who had hosted the service. They would soon resume their normal life once again—at least until the barn gathering for the young folk later this evening.
“Well, the ministers next district over want me to go to Philly and talk to Nick . . . and bring him home,” Bishop Aaron told Solomon. “Like the Good Shepherd searching for a lost sheep, I s’pose.”
“Oh? I’d guessed it was only hearsay that Nick’s hidin’ out there. So he did go to Philly, then?”
“Won’t know for certain unless I go. But who’s got time to hunt down a needle in a haystack?”
Sol held his tongue, sensing his friend’s need to talk.
“Knowin’ Nick, I doubt he’d fess up to anything significant regarding Christian’s death, anyway . . . assuming there’s anything to say.” The bishop rubbed his long beard. “Waste of time, the way I see it.”
“But if it helped save your ministry, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
Aaron wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “There’d be no forcin’ Nick to come clean about what he did . . . or didn’t do. The men demanding this really have no idea who or what they’re dealing with. Nick’s as rebellious as the winter is long.” He sighed. “But that’s what they seem to want. That, and for him to repent fully and join church.”
“Same as what you always wanted for Nick, ain’t?”
Aaron sighed loudly. “What I want now doesn’t seem to matter.” He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. “Between you and me”—and here the bishop glanced over his shoulder—“I think some of them are a-hankerin’ for a squabble.”
“Why’s that?”
The bishop folded his arms across his burly chest. “Got themselves a long memory, I daresay.” Fed up as he no doubt was with the demands of the other brethren, he seemed strangely resigned. “It’s all bound up in the past.”
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