We’ll have the rest of our lives for that.
All of the house’s big rooms have been set up for dining, and I sit with Simon, Gramm and Abram at a private corner in the dining room, as is traditional. An overabundance of food is served by my new neighbors, so kind in volunteering to move the serving along. The roast chicken is tender and delicious, the mashed potatoes are creamy and buttery on my tongue. The clang and clatter of utensils against plates, happy conversations drifting along the beams of the ceiling above us; it is the happy sound of community, of shared fellowship.
The sound of Amish life.
Abram excuses himself from the table, very quietly and gracefully disappearing into the kitchen.
Where’s he going? I wonder. But I don’t give it too much thought. He’s very nearly a man now, and I know that he’ll go on to do well in whatever path he chooses. He’s mature, intelligent, loyal; he will be a good and decent man and I am proud to be his older sister.
I am glad to have been able to be there for him, even if our parents and older sister never were and, as much as I hate to admit it, probably never will be.
Their loss, I can’t help but think. And not the only one.
A small shatter leaks up from the sounds in the kitchen, a bottle breaking.
Abram, I think to myself.
Simon looks over to me. “He wouldn’t have been juggling bottles in there? Not during the wedding feast?”
“Sometimes he can’t help himself,” I say. Maybe not so mature yet after all, I have to say to myself as I rise and cross to the kitchen.
“Don’t scold him,” Simon says, “he’s worked hard, can’t blame him for blowing off a little steam.”
I can’t help but smile. Simon, so patient and kind, loving and nurturing. My daed would have thrown a fit at the juggling itself, never mind the destruction of a perfectly good bottle of just about anything. Even a bottle of air would have been worth more to my daed than Abram’s dignity or happiness or even a lingering shred of comfort while in his own home.
But not Simon.
Simon is a real man, and I know I’ve chosen well, and that we’ll have a wonderful family with well-loved and well-adjusted children. And that’s all I ever really wanted.
Maybe we won’t encourage them to be juggling so much, I decide as I step into the kitchen, ready to reassure Abram that whatever he broke, it’s okay and that he should come back and enjoy the feast.
But I don’t have a chance to say any of that, which is just as well because none of it would be appropriate.
Because Abram didn’t break anything.
Lilly stands there with a guilty expression, skin even paler than usual, mouth open slightly, eyes opened very wide, sweat collecting on her forehead. Abram holds up a broken bottle, reading the label.
“Ipecac?” Abram says, “What’s that?”
The muttering and mumbling of Gramm’s friends in the kitchen, shaking their heads, tells me they know what ipecac is.
“It makes you vomit,” I tell Abram, noticing that Lilly is still standing where she dropped and broke the bottle. Next to her, a brimming bowl of my Whoopee pie filling sits, either waiting to be tainted or having just been corrupted.
Lilly points at Abram, her hand shaking from nerves and adrenalin. “He did it, I caught him! He wanted to ruin your wedding, Hannah. It must be...”
“Are you that bent up about Simon, Lilly,” I ask, “that you’d come here to poison my wedding guests?”
“Your wedding guests!” Lilly’s voice gets louder fast, quivering with rage so tightly controlled that, now as it spills out, threatens to crack Lilly apart in the process. “No! No, Hannah! First of all, this should be my wedding! These should be my wedding guests, and Simon should be my husband.”
Simon starts with, “Lilly,” but she ignores him, focusing all her anger on me.
“You think you can waltz into my town and take everything away from me? My friends, my man, my whole life?” By now she’s screaming, and the kitchen is slowly filling with awkward spectators to her breakdown, Gramm, Jessup, even town elder Olaf Thompson.
Lilly looks around, taking in the grim faces of those who look upon her with new eyes, saddened at her deterioration, disappointed with her failure. And I can see that, as the seconds tick by, their condemnation of her is sinking into her brain. It’s flooding her mind with every nightmare she’s ever conceived, all seemingly coming to fruition in a single, terrible moment.
Her head starts shaking, muttering, “No, oh no, oh no...” Her voice rises with her increasing despair, the truth of her shattered reality falling down around her like the sharpest shards of glass, cutting her absolutely to ribbons on their way to the ground at her feet. Now she stands before us, bleeding by her own hand, cut down by her own anger.
She has been fighting God.
And she has just lost.
Lilly’s declarations of, “No, no, no, no...” get louder fast until they are ear-splittingly loud, a terrifying scream of rejection and humiliation. She pushes through the crowd, her sobs following her as she disappears into the house, through the various rooms. When the door slams in the distance and her shrieking fades more quickly, I know she’s left the house.
The stunned muttering of the community quickly replaces the joyous din of their carefree conversations. But that’s not what concerns me. I know Lilly cannot shatter my joy, however often or however hard she has tried.
Jessup pushes up to us, his arched eyebrows pleading his innocence. “I didn’t have any idea, Simon, I swear it.” He turns to me and says, “Hannah, please believe me...”
“I do believe you, Jessup, of course.”
He adds, “And I’m so sorry, for what she did. She said she was over it, really...”
Simon adds, “It’s not your fault, Jessup, really.”
We stand together in our mutual discomfort, the fidgety nervousness of his sudden insecurity. We want to ease his discomfort, of course, and I quickly realize there’s only one real way to do that.
I say, “Why don’t you go to her, Jessup?” He looks at me in growing but relieved confusion. “You love her, Jessup, and that’s what she needs now, love.”
He looks at me, and then at Simon. Simon smiles and nods at him, and so do I. Jessup says to Simon, “Still friends?”
“Of course, Jessup,” Simon says, “always.” After a tense silence, he adds, “Go on, Jessup. Don’t make her suffer.”
Jessup thinks about it, his head moving quickly up and down to tell me he knows we’re right, that he knows where is place is, by Lilly’s side. He runs off, and Simon and I join hands and share a smile.
Simon says, “It’s okay, everyone, there’s still plenty of food and pie filling, let’s all get back to celebrating, shall we?” Everyone nods and murmurs their agreement before shuffling back to their tables in the various rooms of the house. I turn to Simon, unable to smile. He says, “I’m sorry, Hannah, I really am.”
“It’s not your fault, Simon. I insisted on inviting her; I suppose I was asking for it. And you? Well, you were honest with her, what more could you...?”
“Not Lilly,” Simon says, almost a whisper. “Your parents, Rebecca - I’m sorry they’re not here, I know how that hurts you.”
Now I do smile, but there is little mirth in it. There is love, but it is bittersweet.
“Hey,” Simon says, his eyes wide and hopeful, “I’ve got an idea!”
Ten minutes later, we’re heading out of our house in a long, sloppy line, several people thick. Simon and I are in front with Abram, and behind us our friends and neighbors carry casseroles, pies, pitchers, plates of chicken, beef and venison.
The summer heat is slipping away, the breadth of the day becoming a slender dusk, that thin line between the long day and the seemingly endless night. We march down empty streets, because most of the town is at our wedding, and a lot of them are now on the move behind us.
Not far into our journey, we pass Jessup and Lilly, standing on the s
ide of the road, their lips locked in a deep and passionate kiss. It’s easy to imagine their conversation in our absence:
“Lilly, what’s come over you?” Jessup likely said.
“I know, I know, you hate me now too!” she probably shrieked, stomping away and not even daring to turn and look Jessup in the eye. “Why don’t you all just go away and leave me to die?!”
Finally, Jessup catches up to her and spins her around. “Why would you say that?”
“Because that’s what you want, that’s what you all want.” She starts crying, pushing her words out through the straining tears and throat-wrenching sobs. “Why not? She’s here now, little miss perfect, there’s no room for me here anymore. Just leave me alone, Jessup!”
“No, Lilly, listen to me! Nobody wants to lose you, least of all me.” He looks deep into her eyes, putting his hand on her cheek. “And there is room for you, Lilly.” He takes her hand and puts it on his own chest, his hand over hers. “Here, Lilly, there’s room for you here.”
She looks at him, confusion pushing through the years of experience and recollection. He looks deep into her eyes and she begins to understand. “You, Jessup?”
“Yes,” he says, knowing her thoughts and not needing her words. “Very much.”
She looks at him, head turning slightly as if for a new perspective. “How long...?”
“Always, Lilly, since...always. And I always will.” Her mouth opens slightly, eyes puddling with glistening relief as their lips get closer and then closer still.
Until they can’t get any closer.
About three minutes later, we approach. They barely notice us, but once they do they only smile and nod and keep on kissing. I think they fall into the ranks somewhere toward the rear of the parade.
I’m glad for them, and happy to have them join us.
We finally find ourselves walking up my family’s driveway, that long and lonesome trail that leads to the Schroeder residence. They can see us coming, I’m certain of it. They couldn’t miss us - a parade of almost a thousand people, maybe more, heading straight for them with the slow certainty of fate, unavoidable, uncontainable.
I’m nervous as I approach, my legs becoming numb. I can’t deny it; I’m afraid. I’m afraid of my daed, and I guess in a way I always have been. I’ve never been able to face him down, and when I finally tried I was kicked out of the family.
Maybe that’s the way it should be, I have to say to myself as that dreaded destination gets closer and bigger in front of me. Maybe I don’t belong in this family. Maybe I should just leave them to themselves, the way they want us to. Granduncle Zeek wanted the same thing. And if that mania for solitude is our family’s curse, perhaps I should just let them deal with it themselves. I can’t save them, and I don’t dare sacrifice what I’ve found in the name of their selfish, unending misery.
It’s not what I want, but if it’s what they want, who am I to deny them?
But Simon squeezes my hand and says, “Don’t be nervous.”
“Nervous?” I lie, instinctively, “I’m not...okay, I guess I am a little nervous.”
Abram looks at me. “S’okay, Sis, we’ll take care of you.”
With that, I have the strength to go on, all the way to the front door. I knock and wait, then knock again and wait again.
Still no answer.
The masses of Lancaster residents gathered in front of my father’s house mumble and shake their heads. They’re already and once more judging my family without knowing all the facts, without knowing the tortured truths behind them.
Even I don’t know them fully, I realize now. But I’m going to try!
I knock on the door again, then stand back. I don’t expect the door to open and when it doesn’t, I’m not surprised. I step further back and the crowd does the same, giving me room which they seem to know I’m going to need as I cup my hands around my mouth and open up my throat.
“We’re here because we want you to join us! Daed, Mamm, Rebecca, this wedding can’t go on properly without you! We will leave if you force us to, but we’re asking you please to reconsider.”
No answer, just the motionless expression of that old, sad house, impervious to our joy.
I go on: “You don’t have to worry, about whatever’s happened in the past. That’s all over now, as far as I’m concerned. It’s a new day, and it’s time for us all to rise to it together.”
Still no answer.
“Daed,” I say, “I know you did your best, and I...I love you for that. Now come out and take your place in the family of this community, and in our family.”
I can sense him stirring in that house, fists clenching, maybe releasing.
But fists just the same.
I say, “Mamm, you’ve worked your whole life to keep the peace in our family, and you are a good and dutiful wife and mother. You have everything to celebrate and every reason to feel God’s love. Please don’t hide from it in that house, please don’t hide from us!”
There is rustling in the house, but I can’t quite make it out. I hold my breath and pray for God to soften their hearts toward me, at least for the sake of my kid brother Abram, whom I choose to leave out of it. If I am to face failure here, I want that failure to be all of my own and none of Abram’s.
With little choice, I move forward.
“Rebecca, I know you can hear me!” I call out. “Rebecca, you have to know that I never meant to hurt you. I fell in love, that’s all, and I know you’ll find love too because that is God’s will for you. Please don’t fight God on this, Rebecca. You can hate me if you must, reject me, despise me, but not God! Please, Rebecca, not God!”
I can sense the sorrow growing in the crowd behind me, I can feel their sympathy, even their empathy. Well, I wonder, why not? We all suffer from the same afflictions, the same pains; we all must endure similar trials and challenges.
It brings us together. I’ve always believed that’s why God allows such things, among numerous other celestial purposes that I can only speculate upon.
I add, “All I want is for you to be happy, Rebecca. And if that means that we leave here now and I never come back, then that is what I will do. But I’ll be doing it for you, Rebecca, not for myself. And if it’s what you want, I will do it.”
Silence answers me, cold and heartless and vacuous, like the growing emptiness in my heart and in my soul. I’m just glad I’ll have Simon and Gramm and Abram and others in the community to share my life with, my triumphs and tragedies, but it saddens me that I cannot and will not count my own parents or older sister among them.
And nobody will ever take their place.
I turn, ready to lead our wedding party back to our house - where we should have stayed, I now have to assume.
“Hey,” Simon says, once again reading my mood, sensitive to my feelings and perceptive of my truest needs. Once he’s secured my attention, he adds, “You did your best. I’m proud of you, and I love you very much.”
Sometimes, that’s all a person needs to hear.
Then the house’s front door opens behind us and my sister calls my name. “Hannah?” she says, her voice weak and cracking, her skin pale from a lack of sunlight. I turn and run to her as she repeats my name, a beckoning, her arms open to me. She steps down the porch steps and meets me as I fall into her arms. It feels so good to be close to her again, as I’ve never been before. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. Her chin presses against my shoulder, her tears smearing my cheek.
“Hannah, I’m so sorry,” she says, rasping in my ear. “I don’t hate you, I don’t, I don’t I don’t I don’t...”
“It’s okay, Rebecca, I know, I know...”
“How could you? I’ve been a terrible sister; an awful, selfish person. I owed you so much more, you and Abram, and I let you both down.”
“No, Rebecca...”
“Of course I did! I let Daed shower all his love on me, and leave you with nothing but chores and threats. I should have protected you, the way
you protected Abram. You were the sister I should have been, you’re the person I always should have been, the person I wanted to be.”
I squeeze her even tighter and she responds in kind. I’d always wanted to hear her say these things, I have to admit, even though I derive little joy from hearing them now. But I do feel the joy of my sister’s release, of her letting go of all those years of pain. My sister is turning a corner, she’s saving herself from herself. And for that, I am eternally grateful. Even on this joyous day, this is a moment to remember.
And the day isn’t over yet.
Olaf’s nephew steps forward, genuine concern in his expression as he gazes into Rebecca’s eyes. “Excuse me,” he says, “I...my name is Beau Thompson and, well, if there’s anything I can do...”
Rebecca looks at him, stunned by the power of his attractiveness, of his presence, his appearance suddenly before her like a dream come true. A twinkle returns to her eyes almost instantly, a little girlish half-smile curling up on one side of her mouth as she brushes her hair back over one ear.
Abram and I exchange a congratulatory wink, each saying to the other: Mission accomplished!
My Mamm is the next one out the front door, running down the steps to join her two daughters in a loving, lingering embrace. She’s already crying, and by the time she joins us there is no room for words. Her feelings are too big, her emotions are too strong.
The moment is too big, too important, too powerful for mere words. Words would only diminish the promises of love and loyalty that our souls confess. Our lips are stilled, our tears speak for us.
And our blood.
Abram joins us and we stand, four members of a five-person family, reconstructed by love and loss and longing, at long, long last.
But still short by one.
We turn, the four of us, with Simon and the rest of the community drawn to the house once more, and the strident, solitary figure standing in the doorway. We all fall silent as my daed glares at us.
Whoopie Pie Secrets Page 9