A child’s shoe hung from a string with a note attached: “Found at Siesta Key Beach.”
A larger piece of paper caught Natalie’s attention, and she read it aloud.
“Fish fry benefit for the Miller family, Saturday, Pinecraft Park. Eight dollars a plate, catfish, hush puppies, corn on the cob, potato salad, and roll. From 5 until ? Music in the pavilion by the Mullet and Stoltzfus families. Bring your own lawn chairs.
Oh, is this our Miller family? I didn’t know about this. It’s tonight.”
“Maybe they didn’t say anything, thinking it would appear as if they were asking for your donation.”
“Maybe. But I’ll come. I’d love to hear some live music and help them, too.” Natalie knew the family’s medical bills had to be astronomical, with the combination of Rebecca’s head injury and her broken leg with surgery. And, the physical therapy and follow-up appointments.
“All right, let’s see about your P.O. box, plus sending another ad to The Budget.” It took only a few moments for Natalie to open her post office box and compose another ad similar to the first one.
She hadn’t thought about the family being reluctant to call. But then, she was a stranger to them. They likely didn’t know she existed. “I can only hope this will help.”
“This time, I know it will.” Imogene smiled at her and gave a firm nod.
Once back home, Natalie pulled out the box from her father. She’d left her mother’s cape dress and prayer covering inside after she’d pulled out the quilt top. The quilt top? It had been easier to deal with. Simply begin working on it, with Rachel’s help.
And what a quilt it was going to be. She planned to treasure it, forever, and hang onto the memory of her mother with its stitches. But the clothing? She tried to imagine her mother in the dress, a much younger version of her mother, anyway, yet couldn’t.
Natalie set the box on the bed and pulled out the dress. Hand-stitched. She held it up to her. She was a few inches taller than her mother, but the length was forgiving. Hems were easy to fix, compared to quilting.
She slipped out of her work clothes and pulled the dress over her head. Nope, no curves visible in this. Which was fine with her, but she didn’t think a dress like this was meant to flatter.
She ought to look up the word, flatter, to see what it meant. The round neckline was higher than she was accustomed to, but not strangling by any means. Just plain, simple.
Natalie stepped in front of her dresser. If she walked through Pinecraft right now, she’d look much like the other women did. Except her hair fell past her shoulders, not quite halfway between her shoulders and her waist. Didn’t Rachel and Katie swoop it up behind in a bun or knot of some kind?
With the help of a scrunchie, Natalie made a makeshift bun with her hair. Now, for the kapp. She placed it over the bun and tried to make it look not lopsided.
The look was complete.
Her neck felt cool, with her hair up. Sometimes she wore a ponytail, especially when working out, but to dress this way all the time . . . It definitely felt cooler to wear the dress than capris, or shorts.
Natalie stood sideways, trying to catch a side view of her hair, but was unsuccessful. She found a hand mirror in a drawer and used it instead. She knew the women wore head coverings because of what the Bible said in Corinthians somewhere about a woman’s hair being her glory.
Natalie had never been a hat or cap person. She removed the prayer covering gently and set it on the dresser, then shrugged out of the dress.
Was this for her, or wasn’t it? If her grandparents contacted her, should she wear this out of respect for them? But then, she wasn’t Amish, or even Mennonite.
What would Jacob think of the dress?
She scratched that last thought, and got back into her regular clothing. She hung her mother’s dress in her closet, beside the skirts and blouses that made up her Sunday wardrobe.
16
Pinecraft Park brimmed with Amish and Mennonites from every order and district. Rows of prayer coverings glowed white in the remainder of the sunlight as their wearers stood in line for the fried fish supper. February had come with a balmy night, and Natalie left her jacket at home in faith the warm breeze would continue. She found a place to park her car in a small lot at the south end of the pavilion.
A line of bicycles had formed not far from an enormous fryer, with Henry Hostetler at the controls, and Betsy Yoder piling food inside Styrofoam containers with fold-down lids. Another woman next to Betsy was taking cash and making change. Those with to-go orders pedaled off on bicycles or walked from the park. The rest of the crowd busied themselves with finding a place to sit in the park’s pavilion before the music began.
In this crowd, much like at the Haiti auction, the attire varied from cape dress to capris, to blue jeans, to the rare shorts outfit. Natalie smiled at Imogene, who took photos of the hodgepodge lineup, and then hopped out of line to get a close-up shot of Henry. Today his tropical print shirt was a vivid turquoise, in contrast to his black trousers and suspenders.
“Catfish?” Henry asked when Natalie reached the fryer. “We’ve got fresh hush puppies, too.”
“And potato salad,” said Betsy.
“I’ll have some of everything,” said Natalie. “It looks delicious. I can never eat enough fish.”
“You should come fishing with us sometime,” the woman standing beside Betsy said. “I’m Rochelle Keim, but you can call me Chelle. My great-nephew has a boat.”
“Natalie Bennett. I’d love to go fishing. I haven’t gone in ages.” Not since her father’s last trip east, right before he remarried.
“I’ve been hearing good things about you from the Millers.” Chelle accepted the cash Natalie offered, then gave her change.
“Oh, I see.” She didn’t want to squirm. “Well, they are a terrific family. Rachel has been especially helpful to me in finishing my mother’s quilt.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve done a world of good for them, too.”
Betsy smacked a dollop of potato salad in the food tray with a bit of force, then folded down the container lid. The tab broke and the lid sprang up. “Ach, let me get a fresh container.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Natalie. “I’m staying here to eat and to listen to the music. I don’t have far to carry it. It was nice meeting you, Chelle.”
“Same here.” Chelle smiled. “Imogene, you should come fishing, too, sometime.”
Henry muttered where he stood at the grill, something about a boat being overrun with womenfolk.
“Ah, Henry, you know you don’t mind,” Chelle chided, but she grinned at the older man.
“I would love to come fishing. Unless I get seasick.” Imogene pointed at the tray. “Can I have double hush puppies and no potato salad?”
“I don’t see why not.” Henry grunted and scooped some fresh fish from the fryer, laying them on a metal rack to drain before Betsy swooped them up into a food container.
Imogene and Natalie strolled from the food line, laughing.
“Henry seems like a growler, but he’s really not.” Imogene led the way to their chairs, already waiting for them in the pavilion.
“No, I can see that. And it’s sweet and kind, what he’s doing for the Millers.” Natalie smiled, her stomach grumbling at the aroma of the freshly fried fish fillets with all the trimmings. Betsy had snapped the lid to her container, and Natalie hadn’t missed the reaction to Chelle bringing up the Miller family.
She wanted to take Betsy aside and assure her she was no threat to any type of relationship between her and Jacob. Would that type of confrontation be expected or approved in their circle? Anyway, it would at least clear things between her and Betsy. She liked the younger woman and wished Betsy would relax more around her.
A quartet of bearded musicians took the small platform in the pavilion and began tuning instruments. Banjo, accordion, a pair of acoustic guitars. And a washboard. Natalie glanced at Imogene.
“A washboa
rd, imagine that,” Imogene mumbled around a bite of food. “I’m ready to hear whatever sounds it makes.”
Natalie shook her head. “I saw one on a show once, it was more for keeping time than anything.”
“That, and giving a little homespun flavor.” Imogene tore into a hush puppy.
“Good food, great company, a beautiful evening,” Natalie observed.
“Simple, but perfect.”
“That it is.” The warm breeze teased the ends of Natalie’s hair and she released a contented sigh. Her life hadn’t been terribly complicated up until now, but moments like this were ones she wanted to write on the calendar and always remember. Even with the uncertainty of her family’s whereabouts, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be at this given moment. Especially since opening that box at Christmas time.
Thank You, Lord. She didn’t know what tomorrow held, but tonight promised plenty of joy, laughter, and fun.
A familiar-looking troupe in two cape dresses and aprons, two sets of suspenders, and one beard walked onto the pavilion’s pavement. The Millers. Rachel looked efficient and proper as always, herding Zeke in the right direction, with Jacob giving Rebecca protective glances as she maneuvered with her crutches. He carried a folded lawn chair under each arm.
Zeke broke from the group. “Miss Natalie, Imogene!” He skidded to a stop in front of them, nearly colliding with their knees and almost sending their fish suppers airborne.
“Zeke.” Natalie grinned. The little boy threw his arms around her neck, and she hugged him with her free arm.
“I missed you.” His brown eyes were round as little marbles. “I have to go to school every day, but I want to stay home and watch you sew.”
“Well, I’ve missed you, too.” Natalie glanced up to see Jacob approaching. “But, of course, you should be in school. Maybe there will be one day, like now, when I can see you when there’s no school.”
“Come, Zeke,” Jacob said. “We need to get our suppers.” His blue eyes glowed in the twilight and Natalie couldn’t help but smile up at him. Zeke gave Natalie one more hug, then scurried back toward his father. She glimpsed a flash of smile in her direction before Jacob turned away with Zeke.
“He likes you. I can tell.”
When had Imogene’s voice reached such a pitch? For some reason, her voice boomed louder among the group gathered in clusters to hear the music.
“Zeke stole my heart from the first time I saw him.” Was it not quite two months ago when she’d walked into the hospital on Christmas night?
“I wasn’t talking about young Zeke.” Imogene gave her a sideways glance. “I was talking about his father.”
“Oh, well, um . . .” Natalie grasped for words, but found she was mumbling instead. “He’s Amish. Aren’t Amish supposed to be nice to people?”
“Not that nice, normally.” Imogene waved her fork.
“But . . .” Her cheeks flamed.
“So, you like him too, then.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Well, you’ve obviously considered it. And you’re glowing like a candle right now.”
Natalie placed her fork on her plate, now balanced on her knees, and touched her flaming cheeks. Not her and Jacob. No.
“Imogene, you’re awfully sweet, but I’m here because of my family, and Rachel’s helping me with the quilt.”
“Huh.” Imogene nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
Natalie took a bite of catfish and let the breaded seasonings dance on her taste buds for a few moments. “What about you, do you have a family?” She realized she didn’t know much about Imogene other than she was a fixture in the village and loved photographs which she sold in a Sarasota art gallery.
“Of course, I do. Everyone has a family.” Her eyes sparkled. “We all come from somewhere.”
“No.” Natalie had to laugh. “I mean, a husband, children, or anyone here in the village?”
“A husband? Oh, no. I never married.” Imogene shrugged. “And that means no children, of course. But I have cousins who come to visit Pinecraft sometimes. I enjoy seeing their children and grandchildren.”
“Do you ever feel alone?”
Imogene shrugged. “Sometimes, I do. But then, I start counting my blessings and I see how many people God has blessed my life with. There are people I help, the discouraged and those who feel they’ve lost their way. As if they’re all alone, too.”
Natalie nodded. It was easy enough to slip into the muddy pit of loneliness and turn inward. She’d done so for a few years, especially since leaving the circus.
“I understand. When I was on the road, with the circus, it was easy to be caught in the moment and not think about being alone. City after city, we’d travel. I loved it. And then . . .” She reached for her foam cup of iced tea and took a swig through the straw.
“And then?”
“I got hurt, needed surgery, and the doctor told me my performing career was over. It slowed me down long enough to visit church with my friend Grace. I blamed God for a long time, but finally realized it wasn’t His fault. He was more concerned with my heart than my physical body. It was the true priority. Still, sometimes though, I’d love to be out there again, under the lights . . .”
“I love watching the circus. It’s amazing how everyone does their tricks.”
“We have our spring exhibition coming in about eight weeks. The students get to show their skills and the instructors take a turn. It’s open to the public, and we’re raising funds for our scholarship program and equipment.”
“Ooh, I would love to come.”
“Well, I’ll make sure you get a ticket.” She smiled at Imogene. Maybe the woman was what some would call an “odd duck,” but she was truthful, kind, and sweet, all earmarks of a faithful friend.
“So,” Natalie continued, “the people you help. Do they live here in Pinecraft, or are they just passing through?”
“Some are on vacation and some just pass through.” Imogene looked thoughtful. “Sometimes former Amish will know about Pinecraft and come down here, thinking they can do whatever they want and it won’t matter. But that’s not true. Even in this more liberal environment, we don’t forget who we are.”
Natalie nodded. “Yes, I’ve noticed that.”
“I might not be Amish anymore, but I still think of myself as Plain.” Imogene shifted her chair closer. “It is heartbreaking, so heartbreaking, to hear of those who want to leave the Amish, or the Mennonites, and leave God behind, too. Legalism hurts more than it helps. I try to explain this to as many as I can, and tell them not to leave God behind, but in the end, the decision is up to them.”
Natalie tried to imagine leaving behind everyone she’d ever known, cared for, loved, all because she couldn’t measure up or didn’t want to live by those regulations.
“Now, some leave for education.” Imogene popped the last hush puppy in her mouth and chewed.
“I could understand that,” Natalie said. “No formal schooling past eighth grade.” Her own mother had homeschooled her while they were on the road, and in the end, Natalie ended up getting her GED at sixteen and then began to perform full-time.
“Good evening, we are the Stoltzfus cousins and we are from Ohio,” said the oldest man of the quartet, standing on a makeshift stage.
“Good evening,” some in the crowd chorused back.
The music began, a sweet cacophony of amateur, yet earnest playing. Now this was what Natalie had come to hear. Some of the songs she’d never heard before, and after the first two were completed, the little band had warmed up to become quite a talented group.
“Let’s have some help from the rest of you. If you could join in with us, better yet, come stand with us,” said the oldest gentleman. “That way we can all hear each other and blend. You, sir, there in the second row. I can hear you fine from here. Would you join with us, please?”
A familiar form shifted to a standing position, shoulders lowered. “I can’t say as I’m a good
singer, but I do enjoy singing.”
Jacob. Natalie glanced at Imogene, whose eyes twinkled. Imogene said something in Pennsylvania Dutch, then chuckled at the sight of Jacob taking his place beside the washboard player.
He should have assembled the family in the back row. But then, he’d have to hear the children talk about how they want to see everything better, and of course Henry had somehow finagled things so he, Mammi, and the children had nearly front row seats to hear the musicians. Mammi beamed as he stood and moved to the front of the pavilion.
The old man with the washboard grinned at him. “Never played a washboard before, have you?”
“Can’t say as I have.” And he wasn’t planning to start now, but he didn’t say that aloud.
“You just sing along and we’ll be fine here.”
They began a familiar Amish song, in Pennsylvania Dutch. One big difference, though: Jacob had never heard the sound of musical instruments accompanying such a traditional song. Faster, too, than the usual slow and methodical sounds. The tune almost made him pause, but then he hadn’t been pulled from the group to stand there staring at the musicians.
He tried to forget he was in the pavilion in Pinecraft Park, at a fundraiser and singing to help his family. His family. He thanked God for the provision. For one of the first times since arriving in Florida, he didn’t feel the struggle against his surroundings or his circumstances.
Rebecca gravely injured, yet now healing. The family delayed in Florida for months, but God had given him a job. His financial obligations had soared, far more than at any time in his life, but with the help of friends like Henry and his home district, this mountain would be removed.
He sang the words of thanksgiving, pouring out from his insides. He dared not glance at the group assembled in the pavilion, but instead pretended no one but him and the four other singers were present.
But one glance betrayed him.
He saw Natalie sitting beside Imogene, not far from the edge of the pavilion. She was smiling, the same smile she’d worn the day she walked into the hospital room, but this smile had another ingredient he hadn’t seen before.
A Season of Change Page 15