Neat flowing script gave a return address in Ohio. The same handwriting had directed this envelope all the way to her:
Miss Natalie Bennett
P.O. Box 149
Pinecraft, FL
“Yes, yes, it is.” Her voice trembled worse than her hands, and she flew outside into the sunlight
She didn’t trust herself to drive, but instead leaned against the driver’s door. The envelope opened easily enough and a short note was enclosed inside, in the same precise lettering.
Dear Miss Bennett –
I am Anna Yoder, wife of Samuel Yoder, and I once had a daughter named Katie. I read your advertisements in The Budget, and I believe I am the person you seek. I am most commonly known as JoAnna because of my cousin Anna also marrying a Yoder first.
I understand you have been searching for me for some time. If you are ever in the Holmes County, Ohio area, my door is open to you.
Respectfully,
Mrs. Samuel (JoAnna) Yoder
Her grandmother was alive. Grandma. Mammi. Natalie hugged the letter to her chest and choked back a sob. No, it wasn’t an enthusiastic letter, by any means, but JoAnna, or Anna, had said her door would be open.
No mention of what had happened to Samuel, or if he was still alive, or if he was against (or for) the idea of meeting Natalie.
Her knees shook. She read the letter again. She had to tell Rachel, to find Imogene—both instrumental in helping her in this search.
She had a grandmother who would at least see her if she was in the area. Hadn’t Grace said something about her taking some time off, a vacation? She never took time off.
Natalie carefully backed out of the space and drove to the Millers’ home. The sky looked bluer, the palm trees more joyful, the yellowy-orange of the grapefruit more vivid.
She parked at the familiar home and scurried to the front door, then knocked.
A smile appeared on Rachel’s face when she opened the door. “Natalie, please come in for a moment. I’m about to go to a friend’s house for supper.”
“All right. I won’t be long. I wanted to let you know that I received a letter from my grandmother today, JoAnna Yoder, of Holmes County, Ohio.”
“Oh, wonderful news for you.”
Natalie handed Rachel the short note, and the older woman scanned it. “Oh, she must be happy to hear from you. You’re going to Ohio, aren’t you?”
“I was thinking about it . . .”
“I would go. Her home is open to you.”
“I—I feel like I have a family. I don’t know why she took so long to write, but I’m glad she did.”
“You must let Imogene know. Every time I’ve seen her in the last week, she’s asked about you.”
“I . . . I’ve been busy with class, and the quilt is finished.”
“And, Jacob is gone.”
Natalie swallowed hard. “Yes, I . . . I miss him, and the children.”
“I think you should know something. My family lives but one county over from your grandmother, in Tuscarawas County, not far from the Sugarcreek area.” Rachel adjusted her kapp and gave Natalie a pointed look.
“I didn’t know that. I’m not big on Ohio geography.”
“Well,” Rachel said as she picked up her house key, “if you go to Ohio, you must let me know. I have some of the children’s things to return to them. Clothing, before it’s outgrown.”
“I . . . I’m not sure if I should—”
“Humor an old woman. We Amish honor our elders and listen to them.” Rachel poked Natalie’s shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you know when I go. Maybe you’d like to ride along with me?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Natalie followed Rachel back into the sunshine. “You’re sure?”
“Pinecraft is my home. I don’t need to travel hither and yon.”
“Well, if I go to Ohio, I will make sure I deliver whatever it is the children have left behind.”
23
Betsy Yoder has stayed in Florida,” someone said at the Sunday after-service meal, plenty loud enough for Jacob to hear at the men’s table.
“How are you holding up, Nora?” another female voice asked. “Surely she will see the sense in returning to Ohio.”
“I am fine, fine,” said Nora Yoder.
Jacob tried not to lean closer to the women’s table so he could hear more. He’d hurt Betsy, but he’d tried to tell her before. And this time, when leaving, he knew he’d sent a clear message: they were not to be.
So far, no one had tried to nudge anyone in his direction, not counting the new family that had moved to the district with a daughter of marrying age. He’d seen the young lady at the church meeting. It was hard not to notice her, with a similar lithe figure to Natalie’s and hair the same shade of brown, almost familiar brown eyes.
But no, she wasn’t Natalie.
“I had my hopes,” continued Mrs. Yoder. “But, things don’t happen as we expect or hope. Gotte’s wille be done. Betsy is insisting on remaining with her Aenti Chelle.”
“It’s a shame,” one voice whispered. Jacob wanted to turn around to find the voice’s owner, but he dared not. “I know she had her heart set on Jacob Miller.”
“Ach, Jacob Miller,” Betsy’s mother murmured. “I don’t know if I would wish my daughter to become a mother straightaway after saying her wedding vows.”
“He needs to find someone, soon,” continued the whisperer. “It’s not the right order of things. Those children need a mamm and a proper bringing up. Katie has her own brood to watch over.”
“And Katie is happy to help her bruder-in-law as long as she is needed,” Katie said, loud enough for almost everyone to hear.
At that, the group of biddies hunkered down and began eating their meals, and Jacob frowned. Gotte, I’m not trying to be obstinate here and only please myself.
Why then, the indecision?
He took another bite of pie. Because he didn’t want to go through losing someone again. You never knew when someone’s days on earth “were complete” and you’d be left putting your world back together again.
He thought of Mammi Rachel, facing life without Daadi in Florida. The house must feel so empty now. He understood that feeling.
While every inch of his home in Ohio was as familiar to him as his own hands, Pinecraft had been a distraction. In some ways, it had helped ease the pain to be in strange surroundings.
No fresh reminders of what he’d lost. Unlike the last several nights as he tried to sleep, covered in a quilt he and Hannah had received as a wedding gift. All throughout the house, wherever he stepped, simple handwoven rugs covered parts of the hardwood floors. The utensils by the stove—Hannah had had her favorites.
Enough.
He made himself stop pacing the floor in his mind.
“Are you back at the cabinet shop, Jacob?” he heard the bishop asking.
“Yah, Bishop Graber. Part-time to start, which will change, I hope. For now, though, Rebecca has a few more physical therapy appointments and at least one final neurologist appointment.” He started in on a piece of pie, apple. The freshly made ice cream was turning into a puddle of creamy vanilla, but it didn’t matter to him.
“That’s gut, gut to hear.” The bishop nodded and tasted his own bite of pie, his long beard bobbing up and down has he chewed.
He appreciated the bishop’s concern for the family’s economic well-being. The security of his Order had been one of the many reasons he stayed. They had helped immensely with Rebecca’s medical bills. But Jacob could have never voiced his doubts and questions as he had to Henry in Florida. His faith had been shaken, yet still remained. He wished he could find better answers to more questions.
Before leaving for Florida, he thought he had an answer to the most pressing question in his life. Well, an obvious answer. But as time passed, the answer seemed to elude him again.
The remainders of the meal were soon cleared away, and chatter among the younger
people was about a singing tonight.
“Are you going to the singing, Jacob?” Jonah Yoder, Betsy’s younger brother, asked.
In his periphery, he saw the new girl take notice of Jonah’s questioning. Brown eyes looked at him.
“I doubt it,” he said aloud. “I’m too old to go to a young people’s singing and the kinner need me.”
“All right. Well, see you around.” Jonah tromped back toward his friends. The new young woman still stared at him. He might as well acknowledge her with a nod, which he did.
Her face bloomed red and she whirled around to face the women’s table and pick up an empty plate.
There. It was done. Let the speculations begin, or not.
Daed wasn’t the same since they had returned to Ohio. Rebecca was used to his sadness after Mamm died, but this was something different. She missed her mamm, but didn’t cry like she used to.
She sat between her Aenti Katie and her grandmother at the women’s table. They kept asking her if her leg hurt, but she was fine.
Then someone started talking about Betsy Yoder and Daed. Rebecca wasn’t so sure she wanted Betsy to be her new mamm. Not that she had a choice. Once, before the accident, she was sure she could help take care of her Daed and the house and finish eighth grade someday, without a mamm’s help. Now, she knew it. They didn’t need anybody.
“So, Rebecca, what is your favorite game?” a young woman across the table from her asked. They had moved to Ohio only a few weeks before Rebecca and her family had come from Florida.
“Jump rope,” Rebecca replied. “I once jumped over two hundred times in a row without stopping.”
The woman’s brown hair reminded Rebecca of Natalie, but her voice was all Amish. The varying accents in Florida had sounded funny to Rebecca at first, but the longer she was away from Ohio, she didn’t have to listen as hard to understand. English was much easier for her now, and even Zeke was ahead of his class in his English skills, now back in Ohio.
“My name is Anne,” the young woman said.
Rebecca knew that already. She hadn’t missed the nudges Anne’s mamm had given her in their direction. Anne must be old enough to get married.
Then someone started talking about Betsy and Daed. Rebecca ate her last bite of roll—her grandmother always made the best ones—and heard the conversation down the table. Then when Aenti Katie spoke up, Rebecca wanted to clap her hands and cheer like at the circus.
Yes, they were doing fine without anyone.
As the meal ended, Rebecca stood up from the long bench, careful not to wrench her hip. Someone walked up to her daed and asked him about going to a singing.
A singing? But it wouldn’t be like the ones in Florida. She missed the park and all its goings-on, especially the music on some nights with the happy banjo, and what they called bluegrass music. It made her want to hop and skip and clap her hands.
Anne’s gaze drifted in Daed’s direction to where he sat with the men. She’d seen the look before, when she would bring chicken feed out to the hens and they saw she had a pan in her hand.
Daed refused the man’s invitation and Anne looked disappointed. She blushed, red as a berry, and turned to pick up a plate from the table. Then, she squared her shoulders and whirled back around. She glanced at Rebecca, then marched over to where Daed stood.
Rebecca did the only thing she knew to do at the moment. She grabbed her forehead and sank to the ground, screaming.
Natalie found the green fields of Ohio a beautiful sight, but she missed her palm trees. The GPS chimed more directions, taking her deeper into Amish country. Her destination had seemed to confuse the unit at first.
Destination: Her Amish family, in Ohio. The GPS at least located the road, if not the exact mailbox.
Once she had cleared her schedule with Grace, she had written her mammi a letter, saying she would be in Ohio in mid-April, and would be coming by the house on the second Saturday of the month. She received a short reply, saying she would be home and expecting her visit.
Natalie pulled off the main highway. Breathe, breathe. According to the now not-confused GPS, she would arrive at the farm in approximately five minutes.
She had dozens of questions, especially about her mother, but no idea if her grandmother would be willing to answer them.
Lord, help me. I have no idea how this journey will end, but please, let it be a beginning. She gripped the steering wheel tighter to keep her hands from shaking.
Family, real family. Not that Dad wasn’t. Of course, he was and always would be family.
But maybe this family wouldn’t have room for her, much as her father’s new family didn’t have room either. She’d taken Grace’s suggestion and talked to Dad in a roundabout way about a trip to California. Dad had talked about how busy they all were. So that was her answer.
“Destination ahead.”
Indeed. The next driveway had a simple sign at the edge: “Fresh vegetables; honey; soaps; fried pies.” The mailbox said Yoder.
Natalie turned and negotiated the driveway, with fences on both sides. On one, a pair of horses raised their heads to study the vehicle, then dipped their heads to the ground for more grass. On the other side, young corn stalks waved in the breeze.
After the driveway, came an open yard area with several buggies parked beside a barn. Beyond this drive, it extended and Natalie glimpsed at least one more house farther along. Anna, or JoAnna, Yoder had said that her house was the first one.
A cat streaked across the farmyard and shot into the barn. Nope, probably not many motorized vehicles traveled this yard, not counting tourists who came through during the summertime to purchase goods.
Natalie killed the engine, then smoothed her hair.
Here goes . . .
She remembered the first—and last—time she’d tried trapeze. She was four. Dad had insisted; Mom had begged. All Natalie understood was the sensation of her stomach dropping into her feet as the world turned upside down and she reached for her father’s hands to catch her, but felt only air.
Dear Lord, please catch me with this one.
She ambled up to the main door, trying to pretend she was merely calling on Rachel Miller, or seeking out Imogene’s house, although she’d never seen it.
Anna Yoder answered after only one knock. “Please, come in.”
Natalie stepped into the main room, lined with chairs. The chairs were all occupied by more Amish. Only two chairs remained vacant.
“Let me look at you.” Anna clasped Natalie’s hand, and squinted. “My eyesight’s not what it used to be, but, yes, I see her in your eyes, your mouth. Pretty hair like her, too.”
“Thank you for letting me come.” Natalie found her voice and tried not to study the others in the room. She couldn’t see approval or disapproval, not with the quick glances she was giving them.
Maybe she should have worn the cape dress.
Maybe she should remember to breathe.
“Please, come, sit down.” Anna moved to the pair of vacant chairs and patted the one she didn’t sit on. “We have many things to talk about. You must have questions.”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Natalie took the seat beside her grandmother, her mammi, that’s what the Millers called their grandmother. “I . . . I only learned right before Christmastime about my mother’s, uh, past. She only said she’d grown up in Ohio and—well, we always visited my father’s side of the family. He was an only child, and had a few cousins.” Now, she was blabbing. She closed her mouth.
Natalie glanced around the room and counted. Four couples.
Anna nodded. “These are my children and their spouses.”
Her aunts and uncles. Natalie tried not to stammer the obvious, and only nodded. “I’m Natalie Bennett. I—I wish my mother had told me about you a long time ago.”
The oldest man spoke. “I am your Uncle Isaac, and this is my wife Emma. We have four children, one about your age, and two grandchildren.”
“Your children, my cousins. Cous
ins? I have cousins.” Natalie struggled to suck in more air. She sounded like a babbling fool.
“Between all of us,” said Emma Yoder, “you have seventeen.”
“Oh.” Her heart swelled. These were her people. Strangers, yes, but they shared the same bloodline. Oh, Mom, why’d you do it?
The answer was simple. Mom would never be satisfied with an existence like this in Ohio.
“And, your mother, how is she?” asked Anna.
“She . . . she passed away last July.” Natalie’s throat cracked. “I wish I could have brought better news.”
When Anna and the others in the room said nothing, Natalie continued.
“She had cancer, and didn’t suffer for too long. She fought it for a year, or more. We were very close.” Glancing around the room, she realized another person who should be present, wasn’t. “And, my grandfather? My daadi?” She’d guessed the answer all along by what Anna hadn’t said in her brief letters.
“He died two years ago. He had a full life before he left this one,” was all Anna said.
“I’m glad he had a full life. My mother did, too. I know her life wasn’t one you’d approve of—”
“She could have come back anytime she wanted to,” said the youngest-appearing of the men. “Right, Mamm?”
“You’re right,” Anna said. “My door was always open to the repentant soul.”
Natalie nodded. “I—I found you through help, with friends of mine in Pinecraft, in Sarasota. They were the ones who suggested putting an ad in The Budget.”
“Pinecraft, eh?” said the youngest son. “We were there this winter, with our children. Right before Christmas. Visited some friends and distant cousins for a week.”
They’d been in Pinecraft, and what timing. Natalie nodded.
“So, why seek me out now, Natalie Bennett?” Anna’s eyes probed Natalie’s face, but she didn’t flinch.
“Like I said, I didn’t find out until right before Christmas that my mother had grown up Amish.” She explained about the quilt top and the dress and prayer covering, and the paper torn from a Bible page. “My parents divorced about five years ago. Dad’s on the West Coast, remarried, and has another little family. And me . . .” She shrugged.
A Season of Change Page 21