by Linda Byler
Mam sighed and shuddered, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Now come, Mandy. Your turn to bathe now. Lizzie, you go help Emma pack your things in your little suitcase, then you can have your bath.”
Lizzie blew her nose on some bathroom tissue and went to find Emma. She was bent over their bed, arranging nightgowns, socks, and a comb and brush neatly in a small blue suitcase. She looked up as Lizzie entered and said, “Lizzie, it’s just awful; Mommy Miller died.”
“I know,” Lizzie nodded.
“I pity Doddy,” Emma said wisely.
Lizzie bit her lip, nodding her head up and down in acknowledgment. “One thing for sure, Mommy Miller probably went straight to Heaven because she was so good and quiet and kind.”
“I know.”
Mam bustled in, putting their navy blue dresses and black capes and aprons carefully on top before closing the suitcase. As was the custom, Mam would wear her black dress for a long time, and the girls would wear black capes and aprons to go to church, instead of the usual crisp white organdy. That was a symbol of mourning, to show grief and respect to the memory of the deceased.
· · · · ·
After riding in a vehicle most of the night, the whole Glick family was very rumpled and tired when they reached Uncle Homers’ house, where they would sleep. Dat and Mam went to be with Doddy Miller for a short time during the night, so the girls had to stay with Aunt Vera.
She was bustling about, as usual, clucking over the girls, helping them into their nightgowns, lighting lamps, and asking if they were hungry or thirsty. Lizzie was so tired, but it seemed like a long time since she had her sandwich for supper. She whispered to Emma, “Are you hungry?”
“Kind of,” Emma whispered back.
Aunt Vera was knocking on MaryAnn’s bedroom door. MaryAnn was their only daughter, and Leroy was their only son. They had just two children. MaryAnn was older than Emma and Lizzie, but she was always friendly. She had been chubby like Lizzie, but when she became older, she didn’t eat very much anymore. Mostly apples and things Lizzie didn’t like, so now she was thin. Her waist was so small, Lizzie was amazed, wishing her waist was so little. But it was too hard eating only apples, so she didn’t worry about it very much.
MaryAnn came out of her bedroom, pulling on a soft lavender housecoat. Her hair was not combed, but she was pretty anyway. She smiled at the girls and told them to come with her. Aunt Vera was tying on a head scarf on her way out the door to go down the hill to Doddy Miller, Mam, and Dat.
“Do you want some hot cocoa?” MaryAnn asked.
“You don’t have to make cocoa,” Emma answered.
Lizzie wished Emma would not have said that. She should have said yes, because that would be good. But, of course, MaryAnn didn’t make any, and Lizzie was disappointed.
“Well, here. You can have some cookies, and we have leftover date pudding. You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?” MaryAnn asked.
Before Emma had a chance to say, “No,” Lizzie said quite clearly, “Yes.”
MaryAnn smiled again, getting down three dishes from the kitchen cupboard. She filled them with spoonfuls of moist date and nut cake, mixed with sweet whipped cream, and carried them to the table. It was delicious, and Lizzie would have eaten more, but she was ashamed to ask. Mandy did not finish hers completely, so Lizzie ate that, too.
After a cold drink, MaryAnn led them to the spare bedroom, where the blankets and sheets were turned down, so inviting and clean. Lizzie yawned as she crawled into that smooth bed and could barely remember if she was asleep before or after her head touched the cool, sweet-smelling pillowcase.
· · · · ·
That was a long, sad day. Lizzie did not like sad funerals, because there were so many people and everyone cried. Well, not quite everyone. Lots and lots of people shook her hand, asking her name and who her parents were. Doddy Miller’s house was packed with people wearing black, crying and blowing their noses, and talking and talking.
Lizzie and Emma had to sit on a bench for a very long time, until they became too restless, then Mam let them go outside for a while.
Doddy Miller was so sorrowful that he didn’t put his cane around their necks or say, “Goobity, goobity.” It seemed so strange to be at Doddy’s house and nothing was the same.
When it was their turn to see Mommy Miller in her coffin, Lizzie felt awful. She did not want to go into that room, but knew there was nothing else to do, so she followed Emma. Everyone looked so sad and weary, standing in that bare room, looking at poor Mommy. They spoke in hushed tones, of how young she looked, what an exceptional lady she had been, and how she no longer needed to suffer here on earth. Lizzie just looked from the farthest corner and was relieved when they were allowed to go back out to the living room.
They found their cousin Hannah with Leroy and MaryAnn, so they all walked up to Uncle Homers’ house for a while. They talked about school, and things that had happened since the last visit. Emma told them about Dolly running away when Mam and Dat were in Ohio, and how Lizzie had caught her. MaryAnn thought Lizzie was very brave, catching a pony in the dark.
After that, the Jefferson County cousins arrived, so Lizzie was happy to be with Edna. They had lots to talk about, until they all had to go sit on a bench at Doddy Miller’s house.
After spending the night at Uncle Homers’ again, they all got up very early, eating a quick breakfast, and hurrying around the house, getting dressed, washing dishes, and preparing for the funeral service. It was held at a neighbor’s barn, swept clean and prepared. Long rows of benches were set on the wooden plank floor, which were soon filled with hundreds of people, the men on one side of the room, the women on the other.
Lizzie sat close to Emma, and listened carefully to what the minister was saying. She loved to hear the Ohio people talk, because they had such a different accent. This preacher’s hair was cut differently, too. His bangs were shorter and cut around his head, like a bowl, which looked different than the ministers at home.
Lizzie could understand almost everything he said, because he talked loudly and clearly, pausing after an especially informative lesson. She liked his eyes, because even when he spoke of serious matters, they twinkled at the corners. Lizzie guessed he must be a kind man, like Jesus was.
The congregation filed past Mommy Miller’s coffin at the end of the service, viewing her for one final time. The family was heartbroken, sobbing out their grief at the loss of a very dear mother. Lizzie cried, too, but not too long, because she was watching other people cry. She wondered why some of them didn’t cry, and others cried a lot. She guessed some people became sadder when someone died, and others didn’t care as much. She had heard Dat tell Mam once that an English lady had to go to a hospital because she couldn’t cry. She kept all her sorrows bottled up inside, and she became sick. Lizzie hoped everyone would be alright after the funeral, because some of those boys were not crying at all.
The funeral procession wound slowly along the gentle hills, along dirt roads, and past fields of brown corn and green hay. The Glick family rode in someone else’s surrey. That was what two-seated buggies were called in Ohio. They had very narrow bottoms, built out farther to accommodate wider seating space. Lizzie always felt as if she would fall out on the road if she didn’t sit in the middle.
Dat drove this borrowed team, with Mam sitting beside him. They didn’t talk much, and sat quietly as the horse followed the team ahead of them.
“Why do they call these buggies ‘surreys’?” asked Lizzie.
“I don’t really know,” Dat answered. “Maybe that’s just what they were always called, ever since they started to build them.”
“Ours at home are called a “dach-veggly,” right?” she asked.
“Yes,” answered Dat. “Do you know what that means in English?”
“Roof wagon.”
“Yep.”
“A wagon with a roof on it.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Look!” Mam pointed ac
ross the field. “That’s where I grew up. The old home farm.”
The girls strained forward, peering between their parents’ shoulders, to see a white barn and a two-story white house nestled in a grove of trees. It looked quiet and peaceful, an unhurried simple farm, where Doddy Miller had milked cows and kept a few pigs and chickens. There was a small grade where the lawn sloped down beside the house, and Mam told them it was the little hill that Mommy had told them she would throw them down if they misbehaved. Mommy was only teasing, of course, Mam said, but it still brought back warm memories.
There were huge pine trees surrounding the graveyard, and they bent and sighed in the autumn breeze. As they buried Mommy Miller, the minister’s voice rose and fell, while the pine trees swayed, almost as if the trees were part of the group of mourners.
Lizzie shivered under her wool shawl as she watched the men shovel the cold, wet earth into the deep grave. She could not bear to look at Doddy Miller, bent over his cane, his white beard and hair blowing in the wind. His white handkerchief was held to his nose while tears coursed freely down his weathered face.
All his life he had lived here, and now he was alone, which was so unbearable to Lizzie. She pitied Doddy Miller so achingly that she felt almost weak with emotion. She wanted to go stand beside him and touch him, but it was not proper, so she stayed. But for her, a love that was strong for her beloved Doddy only deepened as she watched him mourn his departed wife. Lizzie wished she could stay in Ohio with Doddy, eating Swiss cheese and Trail bologna, but she knew she had to go home with Dat and Mam and go to school.
After the graveside services, they were served a meal at the same farm where the funeral service had been held in the barn. Lizzie was so hungry and cold that she thought the food was the most comforting, delicious thing in the world.
Hannah, Edna, and Lizzie stood together afterward, talking quietly. Edna told Lizzie that Dat had told Uncle Eli that they were thinking of moving to Jefferson County.
“Move?” Lizzie was astounded. “You mean our whole family? To live there? But where would we live?”
Edna giggled. “I don’t know for sure, Lizzie. Maybe they’re just thinking about it, and it isn’t even serious. But you could.” Her eyes twinkled at Lizzie, but Lizzie did not smile back. She was too busy wondering why nobody had ever said anything to her. They shouldn’t plan these things without telling her and Emma.
“We’d have so much fun, Lizzie!” Edna was saying.
“Mm-hmm,” Lizzie answered absentmindedly.
But on the way home from Mommy Miller’s funeral, Lizzie told Emma that it wasn’t right if parents planned to move without telling their children. Emma said that was the parents’ business, not Lizzie’s. And Lizzie firmly resolved to run away and live with Doddy Miller if Emma was going to stick up for Dat and Mam and want to move to Jefferson County.
chapter 21
Thinking of Moving
Two trips to Ohio had been very expensive for Dat and Mam, and times were hard for them because of the harness shop not having as much business over the years as they had hoped for. Mam worked hard alongside Dat, sewing halters, blacking harnesses, and waiting on shoe customers. Dat remained hopeful, until the day when they could no longer pay their bills. There was hardly anything in the pantry to put in their lunchboxes in the morning, and when Mam baked, it was always shoofly pie or sugar cookies, because those ingredients didn’t cost as much as cocoa powder or chocolate chips.
Emma and Lizzie sat on their bed one Saturday afternoon, sorting their stickers and erasers from school. Emma had more stickers, because she saved hers, storing them in a small greeting card box on her side of the bed. The sun streamed through the sheer pink curtains at their window, making their room seem sunny and cozy. They never thought much about being poor, because it was just a way of life. As long as Mam was happy and Dat did not become too worried, their life took on its normal contentment.
Mam had started making hand-tooled leather wallets. She started with a rectangular piece of soft leather, imprinting it with a plastic pattern of deer, pheasants, horses, or birds. She could add initials of a person’s name, so that it became personalized.
Lizzie loved to drape herself over the oilcloth-covered kitchen table as Mam bent over her work. She had different steel tools that gouged or shaded patterns into the leather. A flat deer became one that stood out from the leather, with realistic muscles and a background that actually seemed real. With a little twist of a certain tool, the deer’s antlers stood out, looking so genuine that it never ceased to amaze Lizzie.
Mam had started this wallet making to acquire some extra money to buy Christmas gifts and necessities she would otherwise have gone without. She enjoyed her work, often working late in the evening after the girls and Jason were sound asleep in their beds.
Emma was humming softly, while Lizzie paged through her old coloring book. Their quiet was interrupted by the steady tap-tap of Mam’s rubber mallet as she started hand tooling more wallets.
Emma sighed. “I wish she’d stop pounding if Jason is asleep,” she said, putting three apple stickers on a separate pile.”
“Give me one of your apple stickers, Emma. I don’t have one,” Lizzie said.
“Alright.” Emma handed her a green one.
“Not a green one!”
“Which one do you want?” asked Emma.
“That one.” Lizzie pointed to a shiny red one.
“No, Lizzie. Teacher Katie gave me that one for 100% in arithmetic two mornings in a row.”
“You probably cheated, Emma. How could you have 100% two times in a row?”
Tap, tap, tap, tap. The pounding increased, until Emma jumped up, scattering her stickers.
“She’s going to wake Jason; I just know it.”
“Emma, let her go. She makes lots of money with those wallets. We’re going to be rich, then we won’t have to move to Jefferson County,” Lizzie said.
Emma bounced back on the bed. “I want to move to Jefferson County.”
Lizzie stared at Emma. “Do you?” she breathed.
“Sure. It would be more fun than spending another summer in this hot house on top of the harness shop.”
“But … Emma! We’d have to have a new school, new friends, and a new teacher. And their dresses are so long and they wear black coverings and … and Emma, I’ll never be able to wear high heels as long as I live.”
“Lizzie,” Emma said, shaking her head, “you don’t have to wear high heels. You are almost ten years old, and you still think you have to wear high heels.”
“Not English ones—just Amish black ones.”
“I know how you are, Lizzie. You’d clack your heels down as hard as you could, so people would look at your shoes.”
Lizzie watched Emma sorting sitckers and didn’t say anything. She knew she would not clack her heels hard—just enough so that they sounded a wee bit fancy. Not much.
“But Emma, in Jefferson County we couldn’t even have a refrigerator.”
“So? I’d rather have a big cooler like Uncle Elis have in their pantry.”
“You mean their ‘butry’?” Emma looked at Lizzie, and they burst out laughing.
“They do say ‘butry,’ don’t they?” Lizzie gasped.
“They do. But, did you ever notice how cold their drinks are? A lot colder than ours.”
“Well, if you had a butry with a cooler in it, I guess we could learn to like it. But Emma, their long dresses and stuff!” Lizzie wailed.
“Well, Lizzie Glick, you just have to stop being so fancy sometime, anyway,” Emma said flatly.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
There was nothing much to say, so Lizzie got down her book, flipped on her back, and started reading. Her book was not very interesting, so she was just about to put it away and go find Mandy, when she heard the kitchen door swing open and Mam exclaim loudly in an enthusiastic voice. They heard a man’s low voice and then the unrestrained laugh of their Uncle Eli.
They
turned to look at each other and said at the same time, “Uncle Eli!” Quickly, they jumped off their bed, Emma stashing her stickers in the sliding door of their bookcase bed. Lizzie stuffed her coloring book in her drawer, and they yanked open their bedroom door, hurrying to the kitchen to see Uncle Eli.
He was delighted to see the girls, shaking their hands, while Mam beamed, her hands folded across her stomach. Dat came pounding up the steps from the harness shop, his face alight with welcome. Everyone loved Uncle Eli, because he was a large, friendly man, who laughed so easily that it seemed to roll from his stomach with no effort at all. He never seemed to have any worries, and his smile was always there for everyone, his eyes crinkling at the sides more readily as he grew older.
He shook hands with Dat, laughing easily as he told him how good it was to see them all. Dat laughed too, just because that’s what everyone did with Uncle Eli. Mam hurried to put on the coffeepot, and set out sugar cookies and some cheese for an afternoon snack.
Lizzie and Emma scooted back on the bench along the wall, eager to hear the conversation, because Eli always knew lots of things, making Dat laugh as easily as he did.
“Yessir, Melvin, I had to stop in for a minute. I can’t stay long—my driver has his wife to worry about, can’t stay out ten minutes longer than he promised her, or he’s in trouble, mind you.” His eyes crinkled almost completely shut, and his stomach shook as his laugh rolled out over the table. Lizzie smiled, then she laughed out loud, just because his laugh made everything so funny.
They talked of everyday things, Mam’s voice chiming in, quite unashamedly, because Eli was, after all, her brother. They teased each other about their weight, and Dat smiled, seeing how happy Mam was.
After a while, Uncle Eli said soberly, “Now, Melvin, I want to tell you the real reason I stopped in. Now, this is not to tell you what to do or anything.” He stopped, shaking his head from side to side for emphasis. “But Atlee Yoders are moving back to Ohio. They have homesickness for the old hometown, I guess,” he said, chuckling. “But … here’s what. That basement house will be sold over public auction, and you have a chance to buy it as well as everyone else. It’ll go cheap, Melvin, mark my words, because not many English people want a basement house.”