Nancy’s chest constricted, and she forced a tight smile. “Kinner, let’s stop all this fussing and crying.” She swallowed hard and fought back the tears in her eyes. “Your father had some business to attend. Now, eat your supper.”
Gracie sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Jeremy took a bit of cold chicken and chewed it slowly. The other children picked up their forks and began to eat, too. But the strained atmosphere remained. Nancy did her best to appear normal, but she knew she was failing miserably. When the baby cried from her cradle, she jumped up from the table with overwhelming relief.
“You children finish up. I’ll attend the boppli.”
Faith studied the college catalog. She’d already chosen her classes, which were basically the core classes everyone had to take. She’d had to declare a major, which was ridiculous. What difference did it make at this point? It wouldn’t affect what she had to take for at least another semester.
She tossed the catalog aside and lay back on her bed. She stared at the ceiling. All her life, she’d wanted to go to college. For a long time, she’d thought that being a vet was alluring. She certainly loved her job at Doggy Do’s. But lately, the appeal was lost. Maybe she should just become a pet groomer like the lady she worked for. She wouldn’t need a degree for that.
In truth, nothing seemed appealing to her right then. After her trip to Indiana where she tried to locate her birth mother, everything had changed. Well, she still lived with her parents and sister. She still had her job. She still had her boyfriend.
But inside, everything felt different.
After her mother’s refusal to see her, Faith had promised herself that she wouldn’t barge into her birth mother’s life by continuing her search. She had placated herself by writing to Old Mae and praying that her letters would get to her mother. But now, Faith wanted to toss aside her noble promise and rush back to Landover Creek.
What could be the harm?
She could just go and make subtle inquiries.
Faith jumped off her bed and paced a circle on her carpet. No. It wasn’t a good idea. She needed to stick with her initial decision. It had been right. And respectful. She pulled out her desk drawer and grabbed a piece of paper.
Plopping back down on her bed, she began…
Dear Old Mae (and Mother, I hope),
I know I just wrote to you recently, but I can’t seem to stop myself from writing again. I hope you won’t be angry with me. Well, I guess you don’t have to read this, do you?
I promised myself not to go to Landover Creek. But I want to. With every single cell in my body, I want to. I’m forcing myself to keep my promise, but please know, I would like to meet you more than anything. I’ve never wanted anything so much. Never.
I wonder what you’re doing today. Right now.
I hope you are happy. I hope you have a good life. I have so many questions for you.
Here, Faith stopped. Her tears blurred her vision so that she couldn’t continue. She blinked, letting them fall.
Maybe someday, you’ll change your mind. Old Mae said you had no choice but to give me away. I’m thinking that maybe you still have no choice. That’s what I tell myself. I can’t quite face the fact that you don’t want to meet me.
Oh! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t write such things.
My college classes start in a week. They’re basic. Nothing exciting, yet. I don’t know what I want to major in. I put down medicine, just because I was forced to put down something. That means a lot of science classes in my future. I’m not wild about science.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about social work. What do you think?
I could write forever, but I don’t think that would be welcome. I’m going to close and mail this right away.
Your daughter,
Faith
Chapter Three
Nancy couldn’t make herself go to bed that evening. Abel hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone. The children were in bed, and Miriam had fallen asleep at Nancy’s breast. Now, Nancy should retire. She was exhausted beyond words.
But where was Abel? Was he ever going to come home? She went to her bedroom window for the fiftieth time in the last two hours. She stared out into the darkness, praying she’d see some movement. Some indication that Abel was back. The moon was only a tiny sliver, and the stars didn’t seem to be shining much that night. They cast thin shadows on the ground, but mostly it was black out there.
Nancy couldn’t see a thing.
She turned away and stared at the lantern flickering on her bedside table. Where was he?
What was she to do? She fell to her knees and implored the Lord God for help. She got up slowly and sat on the edge of her bed. A sudden thought zipped through her mind, and just that quickly, she knew. She knew where Abel was.
Grabbing the lantern, she hurried from her room and down the stairs. She burst through the side door and ran barefoot to the barn, her nightgown flapping about her legs. She shoved the door open and stepped inside.
“Abel?” she called into the rafters. “Abel? You there?”
A soft rustling sound met her ears. She held the lamp high and searched the edge of the loft. And then she saw him. He was watching her.
“Abel!” she cried. “I’ve been so worried! You been out here all this time?”
He didn’t answer, only continued staring. It gave her the creeps, and she stepped back, though she kept the lantern high.
“Abel?” she said again. Her voice was tremulous, unsure.
His head disappeared, and she heard more rustling. And then she saw his legs appear over the edge of the loft as he came down the ladder. She tensed, having no idea what he would do or say. She watched him descend, one rung at a time. He turned and faced her direction. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t come near, but then with a sigh, he walked across the barn floor.
Her throat went dry. She felt naked standing there. Exposed. An easy target.
Abel was in front of her now. He looked into her eyes, and in the lantern’s glow, she tried to read what was there but couldn’t. He took the lantern from her and walked toward the house. She scrambled to keep up with him.
Once inside, he put the lantern down in the washroom. He splashed cold water on his face and grabbed a towel. After drying off, he picked up the lantern again and headed toward the stairs. She followed, her bare feet not making a sound.
Every day, Faith kept vigil at the mailbox. The postman delivered the mail at the end of their drive, and it usually came around four o’clock. When Faith wasn’t at her reception job at Doggy Do’s, she sat on the porch step and waited, her chin resting on her knees. Her heart would speed up whenever she saw the white and blue truck coming. She’d bide her time until he’d closed the mailbox door and drove on down the street. Then she’d jump up and race down the drive and throw open the mailbox, grabbing whatever was inside. A frantic shuffle of envelopes would tell her each day that she had no mail.
Old Mae wasn’t going to write her back.
Faith had known the chances were slim at best. But she’d hoped. She’d prayed.
But no. It didn’t look like she was going to hear from Indiana at all. Every day, her spirits flagged a bit more. Every day, her heart hurt a bit more.
But she kept writing. Yes. She kept writing.
Old Mae sat in her rocker, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. She wasn’t rocking. Fact was, she wasn’t really moving. An open letter lay on her lap, fluttering a bit as the occasional gentle breeze caught the edge of the paper.
Again. She’s written again.
Old Mae was closing in on eighty years old, and usually, she didn’t feel her age. She had a big job to do in Hollybrook. The people needed her. Why, presently there were seven women in the family way, and if her suspicions were correct, Olivia Bailer was two or three months along with her third. And the older people of the community were often sick, needing her herbs and tonics. And then there was Esther Fisher. Her rheumatoid arthritis grew worse a
ll the time. Old Mae did her best to doctor her up, but it had little effect.
Old Mae shifted in her chair, letting go of the arms and folding her hands on top of Faith Baldwin’s letter. No, she had to stay sharp. There was no one in the community to take over her task of keeping everyone well, upright, and birthed.
She glanced down at the letter. But, this… This made her feel old.
Old and sad. She felt for this girl. All she wanted was to meet her mother. And wasn’t that Old Mae’s job? To birth the children, keep them healthy, and keep families together? She shook her head. Her feelings for this Faith Baldwin didn’t matter. Her responsibility was to her people. She couldn’t betray Nancy Hershberger’s trust. It wasn’t her place.
But she could send Faith’s letters to Nancy. She could do that. Surely, Nancy would be the one to pick up the mail. Either her or her kinner. Then it would be back in Nancy’s lap. She could decide what to do about her long lost daughter.
Making the decision, Old Mae rose from her chair. Her left leg hitched a bit as she walked into her house—the house her husband and the community had built. She paused just inside the door and ran her gnarled hand down the cool white wall of her front room. Her husband had been a detail man, and it was obvious in the fine construction of the house. Each wall was smooth and perfect. Each window was snug and straight. Each floorboard shining. The house, though quite old now, didn’t creak and groan like so many other houses. It was as if it appreciated Matthew’s attention and love all those years ago and had decided to remain sturdy and perfect for life.
Ach, Matthew. How I miss you, Old Mae thought as she crossed the room to her writing table. An errant tear dripped down her face. She brushed it away with impatience and sat on her chair. Taking up a pen, she set it to an envelope, addressing it: Nancy Hershberger…
Nancy didn’t move. As far as she knew, she hadn’t moved all night. Abel had lain with his back to her. She’d listened to him breathe and known he wasn’t sleep. She longed for him to speak, to say something, anything to her, but he didn’t. Finally, she had fallen into a fitful sleep during the wee hours of the morning. She didn’t know if Abel had ever gone to sleep.
When he rose, he pulled on his clothes and headed downstairs, not even bathing. After he left, she got up and sat on the edge of the bed. What was she to do? As she dressed, a seed of resentment started. She tried to shove it down, knowing that this entire mess was her fault. She was sorry. But hadn’t she apologized to him? What more could she do? What more did he expect of her?
Couldn’t he at least speak to her? Did he plan to live out the rest of his days without saying another word to her?
She pulled on her dress and fastened it. With tight movements, she twisted a bun at the base of her neck. She jammed in the bobby pins, scraping her scalp in the process. Her lips were tight. Anger, swift and harsh, filled her.
The baby yelped from her cradle.
Nancy rushed to her, crooning and picking her up. Miriam was drenched. Her diaper had leaked out onto her nightshirt. Deftly, Nancy changed the baby, slipping a clean dress over her daughter’s head.
“There you go, Miriam.” Nancy picked her up and hugged her close. She gave her a nuzzle and kissed her cheek. “Are you hungry, little one? Want to help Mama get breakfast.”
Miriam gurgled and cooed on the way downstairs. Nancy sat in the front room to nurse her before fixing breakfast. She’s heard once that emotions affected the taste of breast milk. She wondered if hers tasted sour that morning, but Miriam didn’t seem to notice any difference and suckled happily.
After she’d burped Miriam, Nancy settled her into the highchair, tying her in with a dishtowel just in case. Then as was her habit, she sprinkled the tray with dry cereal to keep the baby busy while she prepared breakfast. A movement out the kitchen window caught her eye. It was Abel, bringing the horse out of the barn.
Nancy paused and watched his movements as he worked. She watched his muscled arms that could easily lift an entire bundle of heavy fence posts. She watched his gentle administrations to the horse as he tied her to a post. She watched him stop and look up at the sky.
Nancy’s breath caught. He was praying.
And she knew why.
She went to the highchair and picked up the baby again. She went out the front door and stood on the porch, still watching her husband. The sky was streaked pink in the east, and the light was creeping over the land, giving everything a hushed surreal look. Nancy leaned against a pillar on the porch and then she stepped down to go to Abel. The ground was damp and cool on her feet.
Miriam gave a happy yelp of greeting when she saw her father.
Abel froze and watched the two of them approach.
“Abel?” Nancy said, her voice controlled.
His head inclined the tiniest bit to the left.
“Can we talk?”
His lips above his beard were pressed into a tight line.
“Please?” Tears welled in Nancy’s eyes. She felt such a combination of love and anger toward this man in front of her. The two emotions tangled and fought within her. The fact that she was angry at all troubled her. Could she really blame Abel for being upset? Could she?
But there was a part of her that did. She couldn’t deny it.
Abel looked beyond her as if he couldn’t bring himself to truly see her right then. “I’m not ready,” he said.
“When will you be?” Nancy asked, and a burning sensation began in her throat.
“I don’t know.” He said it with a heaviness, a finality that felt like a physical blow.
Nancy backed up. She stared at him, at his fidgety stance, at his eyes that wouldn’t look at her. “Well, I hope it’s soon,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
He looked at her then, his eyes jerking to hers. In them, she saw his incredulity.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she snapped. “You’re thinking I have no right to ask anything of you. And maybe not. But I am asking. I’m asking that you give me the decency of at least a conversation.”
She was shaking, and the baby on her hip began to whimper. Nancy put her hand on Miriam’s head and caressed her fluffy hair.
“The decency?” Abel asked. The early morning light caught the red rising on his cheeks. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Jah, the decency, Abel Hershberger. I was a child at the time. A mere child.” A wave of heat passed through her. “I sinned. I know that. But I’ve repented. The Lord Gott has forgiven me.”
But had He? Her words nearly stumbled on each other when she shot them at her husband. The Bishop said God had forgiven her. Maybe for becoming with child in the first place. Yes, she supposed she was forgiven for that. But for giving her baby away? Did she need God’s forgiveness for giving the baby away? Because Nancy had never forgiven herself for it. Nor had she forgiven her mother. Or her father.
Abel took a step toward her, and Nancy only caught herself from flinching. She held her ground, shaking so badly, she nearly dropped the baby.
“You scolding me now, Nancy? Is that what you’re doing?”
She blanched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know you were a child. Or were you? Because I don’t really know a thing about it now, do I?” He raised his hand toward her and then jerked it back to his side. His face was a deep red, and he blinked rapidly. “Here I am your husband, and I don’t know a thing!”
He turned and strode back to the barn.
Nancy ran after him. “That’s why I want to talk! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
He stopped abruptly, and she nearly smacked into him. He swirled around to her. “You’ll tell me? Will you now? After all these years and not a word. After all these years. Five children later, and now I find out! Five children later!” He leaned toward her and grabbed her shoulder. “But it’s six children later for you, isn’t it?”
And then he was gone.
Huge gasping sobs shook Nancy as she stared
at the empty barn door. He hated her. Her own husband hated her. She cradled Miriam to her shoulder as if protecting her from a storm and ran back to the house. She burst through the side door and leaned heavily against the wall, panting. Miriam let out a howl and struggled to get free of her mother’s arms.
Nancy released her iron grip on the child. “Ach, I’m sorry, little one. I’m sorry.” She went to the kitchen and set Miriam up in her high chair again. Then she sank down on a kitchen chair and joined her daughter in crying.
Faith sat in her English composition class and fidgeted with the corner of her notebook. The teacher, a nice enough man in his mid-forties or so, was going over the syllabus. They would be writing five major papers that semester, along with journal entries, informal reviews, and other miscellaneous daily homework. Faith liked writing, and she did well at it. But the fact was, her mind was wandering, her heart was wandering, and she wanted to be anywhere else but there.
She’d looked forward to college all through high school. She’d never entertained the idea of not graduating with a degree. She’d never entertained the possibility of not being interested.
Yet, there she was. Sitting with as much attention as a person forced to learn about the composition of mud.
“Are there any questions?” the professor asked.
Faith blinked and attempted to focus back on the class. She glanced around at the intent faces. Some of her classmates looked almost afraid. A few of them were considerably older than the majority of the students. No one raised their hand.
“If something comes to you later, you can email me or message me,” the man continued. “All of my contact info is here for you.”
Faith picked absently at a hangnail on her left thumb. It was a bit red and slightly swollen. She glanced at her phone resting on the edge of the table. There was another half hour to go before she had Speech 101. Speech. What could she give a speech about? How her birth mother didn’t want her? How she had written five letters so far and not received an answer to any of them?
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