by Mary Ellis
Indeed. Nathan clenched his jaw and squirmed in his chair. He had no business here with these Englischers. He had nothing in common with them.
“Nathan?”
His head snapped up. Patricia and the others were staring at him.
“I asked if you would like to comment on Bob’s story. Something he said seems to have touched a chord. Or maybe this would be a good time for you to share your story.”
Nathan breathed through his nostrils like a bull and considered running for the back door. But the fact that his horse and buggy weren’t parked outside kept him in his seat. “My wife, Ruth, died in childbirth a few weeks ago. Our first baby. My son is fine. His name is Abraham.” He spoke in quick, short sentences. When it felt as though he hadn’t spoken for his allotted time he added, “We met at a church social. That’s it. End of story.”
Eight pairs of eyes watched him, expecting more details. After an uncomfortable silence, Patricia asked, “Is there something you wanted to say about Bob’s sharing?”
He closed his eyes, feeling irritation gather deep within his gut. “It seems to me that if the good Lord gave you and your wife forty-nine happy years together, that should be enough. What’s so important about seeing some fancy wall in China or spending a lot of money on some golden party to impress your friends? You should be grateful for what you had. Period.”
Bob cleared his throat. “I know that’s how I should feel, but some days I just can’t. I miss her so much. I always thought I would go first. I don’t know how to live without my Maddy.”
“You get up and go about your day. You do your work and fall into bed at night too tired to think about things.” The words bubbled forth of their own accord. He felt color rise in his face like turning up a kerosene wick.
“Nathan, take a deep breath and try to relax.” Patricia Daly spoke in a soothing tone usually used to quiet rambunctious children. “You’re getting yourself worked up, and we’re all friends here.”
He shook his head. “You are all friends here. And that’s fine. This sort of thing probably works for Englischers, but it seems to me that you’re telling family secrets that you shouldn’t and you’re spending far too much time dwelling on the past.” He struggled to his feet. “What’s done is done. Nothing is going to change the past or bring back the people who died. I don’t care if you talk from now until the sun comes up tomorrow.” He set the hat he’d been fiddling with back on his head. “I’m going to walk home, Mrs. Daly. Please stay with the group. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but frankly, the exercise will do me far more good than sitting here chawing all night.”
He practically ran for the door. Whatever new recipe Mrs. Baker had for cheesecake would remain a mystery to him. He strode down the pebble driveway, past the red geraniums and purple pansies, past the silly ceramic deer smiling from the garden, and past the spinning sunflower. The cool night air felt wonderful on his overheated skin. A full moon rising above the horizon would light his path home. But the first of many prayers he uttered on that long walk was one of gratitude that the meeting had been moved from its usual location in downtown Wooster to a home closer to his own.
Twelve
Abby waited at her usual table in the visitation room. Her thirty-minute visit would begin as soon as her guest walked through the doorway. But no matter how she stared at the metal door, no loved one for her appeared. Her new cellmate, Rachelle, a young woman with blond hair and crooked teeth, was seated nearby, chatting away with her boyfriend. She had been arrested for shoplifting for the second time and would spend sixty days here before being allowed to go home. The girl explained that if her ex-husband would pay the back child support he owed, she wouldn’t be forced to steal the new clothes and video games her kids needed. Abby chose not to mention that video games weren’t necessities of life, and neither was new clothing. Even though shoplifting broke the Eighth Commandment, perhaps Rachelle wouldn’t appreciate advice from a person charged with two felonies, including drug possession.
Each time the door swung open Abby’s heart skipped a beat. How she longed to see her ehemann. She had begged for understanding in her last letter but received no reply in return. Does he still love me? Because she had refused the judge’s offer of awaiting the trial at home, she wondered if Daniel’s heart had hardened during the past week.
With the sound of a scraping door, Abby glanced up to find her wait for answers would soon be over. Daniel Graber entered the common room and strode toward her table. Then, with a breath-stealing rush, she saw he held the hands of her two kinner. Laura and Jake let go of his hands and ran toward her wearing bright smiles and their Sunday best.
“Mamm!” they chimed in unison and flew into her arms.
She hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t prepared to feel their arms around her neck or smell their sweet baby-fine hair. And she certainly wasn’t ready to answer their questions.
“They can only stay a few minutes,” said Daniel, his expression somber. “Then they will sit with Catherine in the hallway while you and I talk.”
While her face lay buried against Laura’s neck, Abby asked, “My sister is here? Let her come in too. There are more chairs, and I have so much to thank her for.” She hugged Jake until he squirmed in protest.
“She can’t, Abby. There are limitations. This isn’t a quilting bee, where it’s the more, the merrier.”
He didn’t raise his voice, yet she heard the bitterness in his soft words. “Yes, of course,” she said, keeping her focus on the children. Has Jake grown taller during the past weeks? Is Laura thinner? Hasn’t she been eating properly? For five minutes, however, she asked no questions. Instead she listened to jumbled tales of spilled ice cream, swimming lessons in the neighbor’s pond, loose teeth, and burnt cupcakes. Abby tried to divide her attention equally as both clamored to fill in the details of their lives…lives she was missing.
All too soon their visit was over. “All right, that’s enough. Laura, take your bruder’s hand and go back out to your aunt.”
Abby clung tightly to her children until Daniel pulled them from her grasp. Slumping into her chair, she forced air into her lungs with deep, hard breaths to regain control. They waved their little hands until Daniel nudged them through the doorway. “Danki for bringing them to see me,” she said once he sat down opposite her.
“I thought seeing your kinner might do you some good—and maybe bring you to your senses.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure if it helps me forebear or makes things worse.” She felt her throat turn dry and raw. “It’s good to see you, Daniel. I know it’s a long drive on busy roads to come here.” She reached for his hand. It felt limp against her palm, but at least he didn’t pull back from her.
“It’s not that far. I left early this morning. Good thing your lawyer called me on your cell phone or I wouldn’t have known what to bring.” He clucked his tongue. “I had to find the kinner’s birth certificates or they wouldn’t have been allowed to see you. I had to prove they were my children. What did they think? That I would pick up just anybody’s kids along the route to bring for a jail visit?” His expression reflected utter confusion.
Abby understood his frustration. So many of the English ways were confusing, but dwelling on them wouldn’t help. “Guess who came to visit me?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I would expect your attorney.”
“Besides him.” When Daniel offered no second guess, she continued. “Dr. Weller. I had added him to my initial list on a lark, never thinking he would really come.”
Daniel shrugged. “If he would have shown up that night, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
Abby gripped her trousers beneath the table. “It wasn’t his fault. He had an emergency to attend to that night.”
“Why did he come see you?”
“To tell me that nothing could have saved Mrs. Fisher, and that I did nothing to harm her. He came to set my mind at ease.”
> Daniel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And did he succeed? Is your mind at ease, Abigail? Do you feel better knowing that you’re likely going to prison for helping a woman who would have died anyway?”
“I’m glad I didn’t make matters worse.” Her shirt began to stick to her back. “What would you have had me do? Sit there and do nothing while she bled to death?”
“I think you should have called an ambulance before you left our house, despite what Nathan Fisher said. Then this mess would have fallen to the paramedics instead of you.”
She had often wished the very same thing. “What I chose to do is in the past, and God’s will prevailed with Ruth Fisher.”
He leaned across the scarred tabletop. “You’re right. Nothing can be solved by rehashing the past, but you need to start thinking about the present.” He pulled his hand from hers and grasped her sleeve. “Your children need you. Your sister works hard, but she’s not you. They need their mamm.” Silence spun out between them while the other groups talked quietly. “I need you, Abby. Come home to us. Let’s put this behind us, at least until your trial. You don’t belong here with these other people.”
She scanned the group of inmates and visitors. Some were laughing, some teary eyed, while others appeared as relaxed as though chitchatting over pie in their kitchens. Were these women any different from her? As time wore on, she didn’t think so.
“Apparently, I do belong here. The judge will only release me if I ruin another’s reputation. She will lose her license, Daniel, and may face jail herself. That’s not fair.”
“Not fair? That nurse had no business giving that syringe to you. She should lose her license. You weren’t trained to give injections.”
“I watched her do it so many times.” She rubbed the back of her knuckles.
“I watched the vet deliver a foal by cesarean section a couple times, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to try that myself.”
“Giving up her name won’t affect the outcome of my case. My trial will be set within a couple months. My lawyer won’t try to delay it for any reason.”
His complexion darkened. “Your loyalty rests with an English woman you used to work with? A nurse who has already retired? What does she care about her license anyway?”
“She had planned to fill in at the birthing center when they are short on staff. Besides, the court will go harder on her than me because she’s a registered nurse.”
Daniel’s head reared back. “Have you given no thought to your reputation in the community? And what position this has placed your daed in? What if the district decides to shun you? What will that do to your children? Doesn’t my opinion as your ehemann count for anything?”
Abby didn’t meet his gaze. She couldn’t look him in the eye without breaking down. Truth was, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about the Amish community or her father. She had blocked them out to stay strong, but her avoidance wasn’t fair to Daniel. “I shall deal with the elders in due time. My daed has not visited me, nor has any Amish person other than you.”
He slicked a leathery hand through his hair, which had become more peppered with gray. “Do you not love me anymore, fraa? Do you no longer respect me or my opinions? Are you not willing to honor the vows you took before God?” His voice grew harsher with each subsequent question.
Abby couldn’t hold back her tears. They ran down her cheeks and dropped onto her drab green shirt. “I still love you, Daniel, with my whole heart. I’m the one who’s no longer worthy of respect. Forgive my weakness and indecision. I long to be restored to my family…to come home.”
“Your thirty minutes are up, Mr. Graber,” a guard called from the doorway.
Abby flinched, first from the interruption and then from Daniel’s expression. “Titus chapter three instructs believers to submit to the government and its officers. If you want to come home so badly, then do the right thing.” He glanced at the guard. “I need to be on my way, but I’ll return as soon as possible.”
For one brief moment, their gazes locked and she saw the heart of the man who had picked her wildflowers in spring meadows, thrown pebbles at her bedroom window when she was sick with the flu, and cried at the births of their children. Then he put on his hat and strode from the room with a stiff-legged gait. He didn’t look back.
Abby shuffled to the other door across the room. After a short tap, she was taken back to her cell. Her stomach churned with hollow emptiness while her eyes couldn’t seem to focus. She stretched out on her bunk and closed her eyes. The solitude didn’t last for long. Her young cellmate flounced into the tiny room within ten minutes.
“Hi, Abby. Got a headache?” asked Rachelle.
“Jah, I guess I should have eaten some lunch.”
Rachelle emitted a snort. “Yeah, right. My old man gives me a headache too, as well as in another part of the body.” She stepped onto the bed frame and swung up to the top bunk. “I saw your old man giving you grief during visitation.”
“That wasn’t my father,” Abby corrected. “Daniel is my husband.”
“Both breeds of men have been known to wreak havoc wherever they go. You need to stand up for yourself. He doesn’t understand what it’s like in here. This ain’t exactly a day spa.”
Abby rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips, wishing the woman had chosen TV over female bonding. She had only a vague idea what a day spa was, but she didn’t want an explanation. “Daniel only wants me to put the needs of my family first.” She struggled to a sitting position. “To mind him the way I promised I would.”
“Mind him?” Rachelle squawked like a crow. “Or what, you’ll get a spanking?” She shifted onto her belly so she could hang over the edge and peer at Abby.
“It’s part of the marital vows.”
“Not in most weddings anymore,” said Rachelle, shaking her head. “I realize you drive a horse and buggy and wear old-fashioned clothes, and that’s all well and good. I respect that, but obeying somebody for no reason other than because they are male has got to go. You must stand on your own two feet, even if they are wearing high-top shoes.” She grinned before pulling back to a prone position, restoring Abby’s semblance of privacy.
And it was a good thing, because her tears returned with a vengeance. Abby pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. Her cellmate was yet another person telling her how to think or feel or act.
This Englischer, as well-meaning as she might be, couldn’t imagine what her world was like. And though she’d been gone barely a month, Abby was having difficulty remembering the familiar details that had sustained her for years.
Catherine Yost had known better moods than the one she was in. Yesterday she had traveled over bumpy roads to downtown Wooster and never saw her sister. She would have appreciated five minutes even if Daniel had wanted the lion’s share of the time. Seeing that Abby was thriving would have eased her mind. While they were young, her sister never ate properly if she was upset. Hopefully, Abby hadn’t wasted down to skin and bones with her current circumstances.
During the drive home, Daniel had answered her questions with grunts, sighs, and one-word responses. He had said only that Abby looked well but wasn’t listening to reason. “You would do well not to become as stubborn and willful as your schwester,” had been his final words on the subject. Jake and Laura, buoyed by their brief visit, received no more information about their mamm than she did.
Daniel Graber set his jaw so tight, a nervous tick in his cheek appeared. And he had clenched the reins as though expecting wild mustangs to suddenly bolt for freedom. The children soon grew tired and dozed off in the backseat, so Catherine stared at the passing scenery with no desire to irritate a crabby man. She’d slept fitfully last night, dreaming of building snowmen with Abby on crisp winter days and then drinking cups of cocoa by the woodstove while their socks and gloves dried.
This morning at breakfast, her brother-in-law’s mood hadn’t improved. He remained cordial but silent as he wolfed down oatmeal and toas
t like a starving stray dog. She might not have minded a few complaints about burnt bread or too much maple syrup in the oats, but Daniel was a troubled man with no relief for his woes in sight.
Her disposition was in for a treat, however. After she fed the children and fixed a plate for Isaiah, she found him already on the porch. Two shirt buttons were open, his sleeves had been rolled to the elbow, and his damp hair again sported no hat. But the quiet man was wearing a smile as he waited at the table, fork and knife in hand.
She regretted not spraying on a little body mist, a birthday gift from Abigail. “Good morning, Isaiah,” she mouthed, setting down his food.
“Gut morn!” He nodded and pulled the plate and bowl closer.
Catherine perched on the edge of the bench. For some reason, watching him eat fascinated her, despite the fact that he did so same as everyone else. Midway through his meal he gestured with his fork toward the porch steps. Four pails had been lined up by size—two large and two small.
“Buckets,” she said, stating the obvious. She walked over to look into the first. A thin layer of blackberries, plump and juicy, lined the bottom. “Yummy,” she declared before the first ripe berry passed her lips. She didn’t speak again until she had consumed half the contents. “I love blackberries,” she mouthed, returning to the table. “They’re my favorite fruit.” He might not have been able to read lips well, but her licking each fingertip managed to convey the message.