A Simple Singing

by Leslie Gould

  “I have no idea,” Mamm said. “I gave it back to him.”

  It was my turn to purse my lips.

  She crossed her arms. “I just know he never played it after that.”

  “Because you wouldn’t let him.”

  “Marie,” Mamm said. “Don’t get snippy with me. I had your best interests in mind. Your Dat had no business doing what he did.”

  “But Aenti Suz said the bishop at the time was fine with harmonicas.”

  Mamm exhaled. “No bishop would be all right with a little girl becoming prideful about her voice, being encouraged by her own father. After I lost Rebecca . . . I could not risk losing another daughter.”

  “Mamm,” I said. “Did you think God would punish you for my singing?”

  “No, but He might for your pride. It was my responsibility to keep you from it.”

  “By doing away with any temptation? Wouldn’t it be better to teach me how to sing without being prideful?”

  “No. At the time, the best thing to do was to remove the temptation. You were too young. And—” She paused.

  “And what?”

  “Too gifted. Much too gifted for your own good. I had no choice but to discourage you. It’s not as if you couldn’t still sing at church—where you were singing with our community, not on your own. I didn’t think there was the same danger of you becoming prideful there.”

  She wouldn’t talk about it anymore that evening, but I brought the topic up the next day, as I folded towels while she sat at the table with a cup of chamomile tea.

  “Do you think Dat got rid of the harmonica?”

  “Marie,” she snapped. “I have no idea.”

  “Where would he have put it? In your room? In his study? In the office in the barn?”

  Mamm pursed her lips.

  “Do you mind if I look?”

  “What will you do if you find it? You can’t play it without talking to Bishop Jacobs first.”

  “Mamm,” I responded. “I just want to find it. That’s all.” That’s what I told myself too, but I couldn’t imagine if I did find it that I wouldn’t play it. My stomach fell. I hadn’t yet confessed to playing the instruments to Bishop Jacobs. Would I? And if I found the harmonica, would I speak with him about it too? Or hide the instrument from everyone, especially Mamm?

  I deep-cleaned the entire house, humming loudly as I did. As I worked, I searched for the harmonica. In Dat’s study. In Mamm’s bedroom. Behind the books in the shelves in the living room. Everywhere I could think of, but I didn’t find it anywhere. I continued cleaning.

  After the house was back in order, I decided to look in the barn for the harmonica. Perhaps Dat had left it there that very night that Mamm forbade us all from making music.

  One morning, after I finished hanging the wash, I continued on toward the barn. Gordon, who was in the field, called out my name. He stood on a ladder up against our old oak tree, cutting a broken branch. I waved and hurried on. At least he wasn’t in the barn. Hopefully Arden and my nephews weren’t either.

  I pushed open the door slowly and called out, “Hallo!” No one answered and I continued on in, heading to the office first, where Arden kept all of the paperwork for the dairy farm business. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and cupboards along the wall. I started looking in the cupboards first. There were stacks of papers and some boxes. I knelt to the floor and felt along each shelf, finding a few pens and paper clips but nothing else. Next I checked the desk drawers. There was a stapler, a three-hole punch, and more pens and paper clips, plus a notebook of paper. But no harmonica. The file cabinet was locked, but I doubted it was in there either. I stepped out of the office, my arms crossed. Where would Dat have put it?

  The barn door creaked, and I froze. If it was Arden, what would I say to him? I knew as soon as I heard the singing that it wasn’t.

  “Hey,” Gordon said. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Looking . . .” I uncrossed my arms. I could tell Gordon. “For Dat’s harmonica.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t in the office.”

  “That’s right.”

  Gordon leaned the ladder up against the wall and put the saw down. “There’s the storage room. There’s some old furniture back there. Maybe he stashed it in a bureau drawer or something.”

  “Good idea.” I turned and marched toward the room. We’d left a few pieces that we’d moved out of the house for Jessica’s wedding in the storage room, thinking we didn’t need them in the house.

  There were a couple of old bedsteads, tables, chairs, a couple of benches, and a few sets of bureaus. I thought of Annie and her family and wondered if any of the pieces dated back to them. Gordon opened the top drawer of a bureau and worked his way down. I squinted in the dim light coming through a high window. Up against a couple of bedsteads was a bedside table. Dat’s. It was from his and Mamm’s room. I made my way around a table and several chairs and a bench. I opened the bottom drawer first—it was completely empty. So was the middle drawer. There was no way the harmonica would be in the top drawer, but of course I opened it anyway . . . and there it was.

  I snatched it and held it up. “Here it is.” I turned around and showed it to Gordon. The weight felt so good in my hand, as did the cold metal. I ran my fingers along the comb as I made my way to Gordon, but before I reached him, he met me in the middle of the room.

  I handed it to him, and he examined it carefully. “It’s a Seydel,” he said. “An old German company. It’s really good quality.” He extended it back to me.

  I shook my head. “Play it.”

  “No, you play it,” he said.

  I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes.

  “Marie,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  I wanted to sob—but not in front of Gordon. I just shook my head and pushed the harmonica back toward him. He put it to his mouth and played a scale. He stopped.

  “More. Please?”

  He began to play again, this time “Amazing Grace.”

  It was beautiful. I closed my eyes and felt the music deep within me, remembering Dat. Remembering myself as a girl. Remembering my sisters. I began to sing as Gordon played to the end of the song. When the last note stopped, I opened my eyes.

  He handed me the harmonica. “Your turn.”

  I shook my head, but I took the instrument and slipped it under my cape into the pocket of my apron.

  “Why won’t you play it?” Gordon asked.

  “I’m not supposed to.”

  “Oh.” His eyes grew soft. “The Ordnung?”

  I nodded. “I shouldn’t have played the piano or guitar at your house. I was wrong.” But I still hadn’t confessed. “It’s just that the music makes me feel so . . . at peace.”

  Gordon nodded.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Pray about it,” Gordon advised. “And I’ll pray for you too.”

  I thanked him and then turned to leave, but then I faced him again. “Have you decided about the job at the shelter?”

  “I didn’t take it,” he said.

  “But it was perfect for you.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t feel as if the timing was right, is all.”

  I thought he was foolish not to take it when it suited him so well, but I was relieved and then concerned all at once. I greatly valued Gordon’s friendship—who else would do what he just did for me? And yet, there was no place for him in my life. At least not in my future. The sooner I truly accepted that the better.

  That night, I stuffed the harmonica into the bottom of my hope chest, wedging it into a stack of dishtowels. Every night I took it out and held it, but I never played it.

  Over the next couple of weeks, I spent my time keeping house, cooking, and sewing. I prayed as I worked, asking for God’s guidance. Several times I asked that He’d take away my desire for music, but I still thought about the harmonica with an intense longing.

  Finally, Elijah left a message on the phone for me, but when I call
ed him back he didn’t answer, even though it was in the evening. I guessed he was playing basketball.

  I started trying to avoid Gordon. Just being around him made me long to talk about music, which made me long to sing, which made me remember that evening in Pinecraft and the adoration I felt for the Lord.

  Oddly, when I thought of Pinecraft, I thought of that first. Not of Elijah. I told myself that was because I hadn’t seen him for weeks. Once he was back in Lancaster County, I’d feel differently.

  David Herschberger did come down to see Aenti Suz. He joined me, Mamm, and, of course, Aenti Suz for dinner. He was as attentive as ever, and at first, quite emotional seeing her for the first time since the bus accident. Her hair was just starting to grow back, and her Kapp mostly covered the scars, but her injury was still evident.

  However, Aenti Suz seemed distant. Not the warm and personable soul she’d been in Florida.

  I asked her about it the next day as we visited in her living room, saying that she and David were the perfect match, and I hated to see them at odds.

  “Time will tell,” she said. “I don’t want to rush anything.”

  I decided to mind my own business rather than press her. Instead, I asked why she’d been favorable of me spending so much time with Elijah when we were in Pinecraft, even though she didn’t seem to care much for him before that.

  She shrugged. “Your mother and the bishop hoped the two of you would have a chance to get to know each other. Who was I to get in their way?”

  “So what did you think of Elijah by the time we left?”

  “I think he’s a very personable young man,” she said. “Very likable.”

  “And a match for me?”

  She jutted out her chin.

  “Aenti Suz?”

  “Goodness, child, don’t put me on the spot like that. It doesn’t matter what I think.” As she spoke, Gordon walked past her window, probably on the way to the house with a question. But Mamm was resting.

  “Quick,” Aenti Suz said. “See what he wants.”

  I stepped onto the porch, calling his name. He turned around before he reached the house.

  “What do you need?”

  “Bandages,” he answered. “Milton cut his finger and the first-aid kit needs to be restocked.”

  “I’ll get them,” I said.

  After I did, I told him I’d walk back with him to the barn and take a look at Milton’s finger.

  We walked along in silence. I wondered if Gordon was thinking about our time in the storage room, when he’d played the harmonica for me. Just as we reached the barn, he cleared his throat as if he might say something. But then he didn’t. Instead, he stepped ahead of me and opened the door.

  Milton had cut his finger on a piece of wire, but it wasn’t bad. I sprayed antiseptic on it and then wrapped a bandage around his finger and left the rest of them in the first-aid kit.

  The next day, I had another message from Elijah on the answering machine in the barn, thanking me for my letter. He was sorry about the wreck and hoped that everyone was well and that Aenti Suz had recovered. He kept thinking he’d write to me, but that took too much of an effort. Then he quickly said, “Call me back as soon as possible! Bye!”

  This time, he answered. “Hey,” he said, “I’m coming home next week. Dat wants me to start helping him right away.”

  My heart raced. Finally, Elijah would be back in Lancaster County, and I could get on with my life. With Elijah here, I wouldn’t be consumed with thinking about Dat’s harmonica and music. And, honestly, Gordon. I could get back to planning my future.

  “And I’ll be taking the classes.” He paused and then continued, with a hint of teasing. “You know, the ones to join the church.”

  I knew exactly which ones. Everything was going according to plan, according to the desires of my heart.

  His voice softened. “The class starts next Sunday. That’s one of the reasons I’m coming home early. . . .”

  “Denki,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he answered.

  We chatted for a while. Billy and Paula weren’t seeing each other anymore. “Paula said to tell you hello. I helped her with the homeless youth she’s been working with the other day.”

  “You?”

  He laughed. “Jah, surprising, isn’t it? She put me in my place a couple of weeks ago and told me my ‘privilege’ was showing. She’s a bossy one, that’s for sure.”

  That surprised me to no end. I was glad Elijah had changed his thinking about the people who were served by the shelter.

  “Well,” he said. “I’ll be home next Thursday morning. Billy’s coming too.We’re catching a ride with a Mennonite family he knows. Pray we make it.”

  I assured him I would.

  “Is there a singing Sunday night?”

  “As a matter of fact there is,” I said. “At our place.”

  He groaned, and then said, “Just kidding. I can’t wait to see you, even if it means going to a singing.”

  I spent the next few days scrubbing the house from top to bottom to get ready for church at our house. Wednesday dawned bright and warm for March. Milton and Luke were tasked with cleaning out the shop for the service. When I headed out that way, I could hear them singing. Gordon’s deep baritone and my nephews’ higher pitches harmonized as they sang “Rock of Ages.” I stood on the other side of the door listening as they sang, “Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee . . .” I thought of Dat and my grandparents and great-grandparents and Sophia, of Annie and Ira too, as Gordon and the boys continued to sing.

  As their voices faded away, Gordon said, “Good work, guys. Now let’s go pick up limbs in the woods next.”

  Suddenly, being out in the trees sounded wonderful. I remembered playing tag with Jessica, Leisel, and Dat when we were little, but I hadn’t been out to the woods in years. I pushed open the door. “Need help?”

  Gordon smiled. “I’m sure you have plenty to do to get ready for Sunday.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I could use a break.” Elijah would be home soon. I didn’t need to be as cautious around Gordon as a month ago—as even a week ago.

  “Do you have boots? It’s going to be muddy.”

  “I’ll get a pair,” I answered and then hurried to the house. I reached the back porch, grabbed an old pair of rubber boots, put them on, and then traded my cape for Jessica’s old coat. When I reached the shed, the boys had finished sweeping and were chasing each other around. Gordon was closing the door.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  “Grab the wheelbarrow!” he called out to my nephews. A few minutes later, the boys came around the corner with Luke in the wheelbarrow and Milton pushing it, dipping it from side to side. Gordon came behind them, carrying the ladder and the saw. I hurried to his side and took the saw.

  The boys and I spent the next two hours collecting branches that had been torn from the trees by the ice and wind during the winter, while Gordon sawed off broken limbs. The fresh air filled my lungs, and I breathed deeply as I worked. The boys teased each other, and then, probably to distract them, Gordon started singing. Milton and Luke joined in, and so did I, of course.

  Just as we were finishing, Arden stepped into the woods. He was clearly surprised to see me. “Marie,” he said. “Why are you helping with this?”

  “It’s so nice out.” I’d taken off the coat and hung it on a branch. “I couldn’t bear to spend another day inside.”

  “Is everything ready for the services on Sunday?”

  “Not quite,” I answered. “But it will be.”

  He nodded toward Gordon. “Go ahead and stop with this for the day. Let’s get started on the milking.”

  I stepped to the ladder to take the saw from Gordon. He handed it to me, and then climbed down.

  “Don’t you need to go start supper or something?” Arden asked me.

  “I’ve got it covered,” I said. “But, jah, I’m headed back to the house
if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  He nodded.

  Arden and I were the most alike out of all of our siblings. No nonsense. Pragmatic. Strict. At least, I’d always thought we were. But the truth was, I’d had more fun in the woods than I had since my time in Florida. Life didn’t have to be all work and no play. Sometimes it could be work and play combined.

  Although I’d been quilting some with Mamm and spending time with Aenti Suz, I was lonely. And I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was missing. But I hadn’t felt that way in the woods with Gordon and the boys.

  I told Arden good-bye and then waved to the boys and to Gordon. Milton and Luke barely acknowledged me, but Gordon waved back.

  Elijah would be home the next day though, and the empty feeling that had stalked me since I got home from Florida would be gone.

  The next day, I thought of Elijah and Billy driving home as Mamm, Aenti Suz, and I washed the windows and scrubbed the woodwork. When I didn’t hear from Elijah by late Thursday, I thought perhaps he’d changed his plans, but then I had a message from him on Friday. He said he’d do his best to stop by the next day and tell me hello.

  On Saturday afternoon, Bishop Jacobs drove the church wagon up our driveway as I took towels off the line. I dropped the towel into the basket and waved. He waved back and smiled. I felt a twinge of guilt for never confessing my instrument playing to him, but then I pushed the thought aside. It would be hard to explain to him why I’d gone to Gordon’s house that day.

  The wagon disappeared on the other side of the house, and I headed across the backyard to meet him by the shed. By the time I got there, he’d jumped down from the wagon.

  “Marie,” he said. “It’s so good to see you.” Before I could answer, he continued on. “I don’t know what you did, but Elijah truly is a different man. I’m so thankful you went to Florida.” His gray eyes grew misty. “God has answered our prayers.”

  I smiled, not sure what to say, and stumbled over my words. “I-I didn’t do anything. And I think he’d already made up his mind to come back. ”

  “Well, whatever the reason—if God worked directly in Elijah’s heart or worked through you—we’re very grateful.”