Hold your horses, girl.
She swallowed hard and took her place at the table beside Zeke once again. “All right, you heard your daed—did I say that right?—Let’s clean these fish.”
“You sound funny trying to talk Plain.” Zeke laughed for the first time since grief showed up at lunchtime.
Natalie let herself laugh. “Okay, I hope you’re not squeamish, but now we need to cut its belly and take out the insides. We don’t want to eat those parts.”
Zeke shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
“Thank you for coming,” Jacob told Betsy. He strode toward the back door of the house and paused at the back step.
“I know you’ll have a lot of people coming through over the next few days, but seeing as I’m someone from home, your home, I wanted to make sure you know my family will be here for yours.”
He pulled open the back door and regarded her with blue eyes, rimmed in red. “My mammi will appreciate that.”
It was her turn to touch his arm. “I saw you, holding her hand.” She regretted the words as soon as they darted from her mouth.
“It was nothing.” He looked down at her hand, but made no move to touch it. Then he looked down at her face.
“She’s not like us, Jacob. She’s not Amish. She can’t begin to understand how it is for us, what is required, what’s expected.”
“Some of her beliefs are very similar to ours.”
“Her life is not simple and she is not Plain.” Well, she might as well say it now as opposed to later, before she lost her nerve. “What do you think your family, and worse, the bishop would think if they’d seen you? Sarasota is very worldly. I’ve seen it firsthand. But I haven’t forgotten who I am.”
“Neither have I.” He frowned. “You won’t say anything, will you?”
“Of course, I won’t. It’s not my place. But surely, surely, Jacob, isn’t there someone Amish who is more suitable? Someone who understands the great responsibility of raising your children in our ways. Someone like . . .”
“Someone like you?” The question hit her like a stray volleyball, skimming the net and smacking her in the face.
How close he’d been to the truth. Betsy sucked in a breath before replying. “No, I meant someone like Hannah.”
“There will never be anyone like Hannah.”
“No, she was practically perfect at everything she did.” Betsy kicked a stone from the back step. Not like her, elbows and arms in the way all the time, a fair-to-middling seamstress, a bit distractible when it came to housework.
Jacob gently pushed her hand from his arm. “Elizabeth Yoder, you are kind and thoughtful and selfless. But I’m not ready to choose another wife yet. I know I have to, but like I tell my brother and the rest of my family, I still need time. I won’t have a marriage of convenience to someone solely for
the sake of my children. It wouldn’t be fair to the woman, whoever she is.”
She nodded, her cheeks seared as if she’d been in the sun all afternoon. “I understand.”
“Let me have time.” He drew in a deep breath. “Right now, I have to see to burying my daadi.”
11
Grace let Natalie reschedule her Friday morning adult silks classes to attend Isaiah Miller’s funeral. She wasn’t immediate family, but all the same, she felt like she should be there.
Natalie wore a black skirt, calf-length, with a white blouse topped by a black bolero jacket, and her dark low-heeled sandals. It was the most conservative and appropriate clothing she could find in her wardrobe. She put up her hair in a simple French twist. It was as if summer had come to Sarasota for one day and the humid breeze kept her neck somewhat cool.
When her mother died, she’d worn a red silk Japanese tunic over black leggings for the private service. Mom’s choice.
“Celebrate my life, not my passing. Wear something pretty and fun,” Mom had told her during those final days, right before the pain was relieved only by keeping her unconscious.
At the cemetery, Natalie almost blended in among the dark clothing. She didn’t venture close to the graveside, by the Millers, but instead she searched for a familiar face. There was only so much room in the Sunnyside Mennonite cemetery, which was the final earthly resting place for some of the Pinecraft Plain people.
There was Imogene in a black cape dress and carrying a gigantic parasol to block out the sun. Natalie ambled to her side.
“Why, hello, Natalie,” Imogene whispered. “You’re just in time. The bishop is going to read some Scriptures, some of Isaiah Miller’s favorites.”
“Good.” A few glanced their way, but Natalie ignored the looks and strained to see the Millers.
“The whole family is here and just in time. Rented two vans and drivers.” Imogene shifted the parasol so Natalie had her own patch of shade. “You’ll come to the meal at the church, won’t you?”
“I didn’t bring anything. I would have, if I’d known, but I didn’t have a way to reach them, and—”
“Never mind. You bring your sunshiny self and that’ll be plenty.”
Natalie nodded, and listened to the bishop speak. Pennsylvania Dutch, of course.
“He’s reading from the book of John, chapter fourteen,” said Imogene.
“Let not your hearts be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my father’s house, there are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, that when I come again, I will receive you unto myself, that where I am you may also be,” Natalie whispered. She’d clung to those words for comfort. If it were not so, I would have told you.
A permanent home, no more good-byes. No more parents leaving children, or worse, children leaving parents before their time was truly done. What a close call, for little Rebecca Miller. No more pain, or tears.
But Natalie wanted some of that here, some of home. It was one thing to think of eternal rest and those “blessed reunions” the bishop spoke of. However, what about now? These people seemed to have some of that, even in their grief.
Natalie wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She glanced at some nearby faces. She wasn’t the only one in the group with stained cheeks.
Another reading, this one from the book of Psalms, or so Imogene told her.
Amid the head coverings and straw hats surrounding her, perhaps one of them knew her grandparents. When someone had arrived from Pinecraft Park that fateful lunchtime, bringing news of Isaiah Miller’s collapse, Natalie’s quest didn’t seem as high a priority. For the Millers, anyway.
Even if her grandparents had known of her mother’s illness, Natalie doubted they would have come to the funeral service for Kat Bennett last summer. They’d only known Katie Yoder, and she was dead to them before she physically passed away.
How could someone shun a loved one? How many of these around her had done the same? She couldn’t fathom turning a shoulder, literally or figuratively, to her flesh and blood. Yet the people she now found herself immersed among might have done the same to some of their family members.
Someone, Imogene, if Natalie remembered correctly, had told her that shunning was supposed to be a way to encourage fellow Plain people to repent, to return to their faith and fellowship, to be restored.
The bishop’s voice continued, Natalie understanding “Isaiah” and “Miller” easily enough. Then he punctuated his words with, “Ah-men.”
“Amen,” Natalie echoed with the others.
They made a silent procession back to their hired vehicles, some to their bicycles; others headed toward the nearest bus stop—again, Imogene offered an explanation.
“I have my car.” Natalie gestured to where she’d parked along a side street. “Would you like to ride with me?”
Imogene nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure the van will seem less crowded without me and I’m not a fan of the city buses.”
“So, you said the meal is at a church? One in Pinecraft, I assume?” Natalie popped the locks on the car.
“
That’s right. The spread is laid out at the Tourist Church. It’s large enough and easy to get to for most of us. It’s where the Pioneer Trails buses stop,” Imogene explained. “Oh, but you’ve never been out to meet one of the buses yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“For some of us, it’s the highlight of our day. What a sight it is. I’ve seen everything from people to potted plants to caskets come off the buses. You have to come meet the bus sometime. Speaking of which, I picked up an extra copy of The Budget for you, so you can see our newspaper.”
Natalie negotiated her car down the street, then headed in the direction of Pinecraft. “Well, thank you. I do need to write the ad Rachel and you and I were talking about, the other day . . .”
“Seems to me like there’s been many days since then and now.”
“It does.” After Monday afternoon and helping Zeke clean his fish, she’d helped him clean up and bring the plateful of fillets into the house. She’d left without further explanation, but assuring a heartbroken Rebecca she’d be back soon.
The familiar city passed by the car windows, the trees dripping with Spanish moss, the rest of Sarasota going on with life as they knew it. Except for one Amish family, losing its patriarch.
“So, the Millers tell me you work for a circus?”
“I did—I teach at a circus school here in the city. I love working with the children—teaching acrobatics, juggling, but mostly aerial silks. I worked for a circus for many years, starting with my parents, but then I had to stop a few years ago.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.”
“It was my ankles. I’ve had surgery, but they’ll never be up to the rigors of regular performing.” She could say it now almost glibly, whereas a few years ago she thought it was a death sentence.
“Sometimes the circus comes to Pinecraft and performs a few routines. Not the whole circus, of course. There’s not enough room. But one year, we got to see a high-wire act. Nik Wallenda came.” Imogene shook her head. “I don’t know how he does it.”
“Me either. I’d much rather be up there with silks to hold me.” Natalie flipped the turn signal to head onto Bahia Vista. “I was just thinking. In a couple of months, one Saturday in April, we’re having our spring exhibition at the school. It’s our student show, and we faculty even get to perform. I can get you free tickets—and for anyone in Pinecraft who would like them.”
“Oh, fun, fun.” Imogene beamed. “I would love that.”
“You just take the bus down Bahia Vista, it’s as easy as pie to get there . . . now which street do I turn on? I see Yoder’s coming up on the left.”
“Take the light at Big Olaf’s and head left, and then we’ll take a quick right on the side street and come to the church parking lot from behind.”
“All right.” Natalie tried not to nibble her lower lip at the thought of seeing Jacob at the meal. A recollection from Monday drifted through her mind. Her words with Jacob, the touch of his hand. Was it her imagination, or had he felt something too? She tried to shrug it off. Sometimes attraction was natural. That didn’t mean someone had to follow that attraction. No, it was impossible for the two of them.
Anyway, she wasn’t looking for love, she was only looking for her family.
Jacob sat with Rebecca and Zeke at one of the long tables set up at the Tourist Church. More food, more love and concern, poured out for the Miller family.
He’d eaten some meals since Monday, even managed to eat the fillets Natalie had helped Zeke prepare for cooking. Her help had been a good distraction, especially for Zeke. Aside from the fillets, though, he didn’t really remember eating much else.
Death was a part of life; they all knew it, from losing Hannah and the children losing their infant brother at the same time. Times like this, though, gouged up those wounds afresh.
Ah, Lord, forgive me for mourning too long. If Hannah were here, she would know exactly what to say and do. Now his grandmother would know aloneness after more than sixty years of marriage.
Sixty years. There she sat, at the opposite end of the table. She caught his eye and gave him a slow smile and nod.
“Well, Jacob, I can’t say but you still being here with your grandparents was a blessing in disguise,” said Henry Hostetler, clad in white shirt and black trousers and suspenders today. “Do you think you’ll be here much longer, or will you be leaving for Ohio soon?”
He felt his parents’ eyes on him. They’d come for the funeral, of course. “Rebecca’s still not ready to travel, not that far of a trip. I’ll feel better once the neurologist clears her, especially from her brain injury.”
“I wish you were coming with us, now,” his mother interjected.
“By spring, maam, spring.”
“Mr. Hostetler is right, though,” his father said. “It makes the family feel better, knowing you’re here with your grandmother. So, your work is going well?”
“It is.” He glanced at Henry, who nodded.
“He’s one of the best helpers I’ve ever had. In fact, I’m considering expanding the business and a good partner would definitely be a blessing.”
“But it would mean . . .” Jacob began.
“It would be a permanent position,” Henry said. “Year-round here, not just winter. I have plenty of work throughout the city.”
“Son, I don’t know if it’s wise.” His father frowned. “It’s one thing to vacation here, yet another to live here all the time. No offense meant, Mr. Hostetler.”
“None taken. It can be quite a culture shock if you’re not used to it.”
“Right now, my main concerns are taking care of Rebecca and providing for my family while I’m here. And, of course, being here for Mammi.” Jacob could see both opposing sides. Florida, though, was only supposed to be a two-week vacation. Now here they were, going on five weeks away from Ohio and everything familiar. In a way, it was a good thing. But the cost pained him still.
He blinked when he saw a figure pass by the table. Then he blinked again, not quite sure of who he saw.
Natalie, wearing black and her hair up. He almost didn’t recognize her, but she was one of the few women not wearing a head covering. She walked with Imogene, who stopped every few paces to say hello to someone and pull Natalie into the conversation.
He caught her eye, and she gave him a slight wave and a nod before she continued along. He hadn’t noticed her at the service, but evidently she’d been there, judging by her respectful clothing. She stopped at his mammi’s side. His maami stood to whisper something in her ear, at which Natalie smiled and said something in reply.
Her short black jacket covered a white shirt almost like a man’s shirt with a straight hem and cuffed sleeves. She reached up and tucked some hair over one ear.
Hannah had wayward locks she had always tried to keep pinned into place, but a few refused to submit to the hairpins. She used to make the same gesture Natalie did now.
“Daed, I’m not feeling too good.” Rebecca pulled on his sleeve. “My head hurts.”
He tore his attention away from Natalie and touched Rebecca’s forehead. “Ach, your forehead is warm.” Then he touched her cheek. “I should get you home.”
“Is everything all right?” his mother asked.
“Rebecca’s not feeling well,” Jacob replied. His mother was well-intentioned, of course, but he could take care of her fine. Most likely, the events of the week had caught up with her. Quite frankly, too, he was ready to be done with the crowd and be back at his grandmother’s house, which had been invaded again, this time by the entire Miller clan. One of his other brothers had even borrowed a pop-up trailer from the Mullets, the Mennonite family who lived around the corner, and the trailer now sat in the side yard.
He wheeled Rebecca from the room, with Zeke following. “You can stay with your grandparents or cousins. There won’t be anyone to play with at the house.”
Zeke tugged on his sleeve. “I want to be with you, Daed.”
“All right,
then.”
He angled the wheelchair over a low curb. It wouldn’t take long, and they would be home after a short walk.
“Jacob.”
Natalie had followed them from the building. She caught up with them within a few steps.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I know my mammi appreciates it.”
Natalie nodded. “It was a nice service, even though I couldn’t understand some of it. I was with Imogene, and she helped with a bit of translation.” She pulled some invisible hairs over one ear this time. She’s nervous. A trio of Amish men chatted ten yards or so away, standing among a herd of bicycles. One glanced their direction, then back at his friend.
“Miss Natalie.” Zeke gave her a hug, and she hugged him back. “Rebecca’s sick.”
“Oh, no.” Natalie squatted beside Rebecca’s wheelchair. “Jacob, she’s burning up.”
“My leg hurts.”
“Yes, I’m taking her home for rest, and medication.”
“Please, let me give you all a ride there. I’m ready to leave.”
“But the dinner—”
“I’ve eaten already. I don’t mind taking you.”
“All right, then.”
They followed her to her car, where they arranged Rebecca on the backseat, with Zeke beside her. Once inside and next to Natalie in the front seat, the car seemed much more confining than Henry’s van.
Jacob found himself again on the receiving side of someone else’s kindness. Natalie maneuvered along the side street, then back onto Bahia Vista. A few pedestrians in their Plain clothing waved. He didn’t recognize them, but waved back.
What would people think, to see him riding alone with the Englisch woman? Betsy had peppered him with questions the other night. Her questions were reasonable, her heart open before him, even with her roundabout way of speaking. She said she understood he wouldn’t marry someone for convenience. Maybe some could, but not him.
Betsy deserved to have someone love her. So did Natalie.
Natalie had never mentioned a boyfriend or any love interest, but then it had never come up in conversation with his family, and rightly so. Married men didn’t discuss such things with unmarried—or married—women. But then, Jacob wasn’t married. Not anymore.
A Season of Change Page 11