by Sarah Price
All for the love of a child that the mother would never meet, Faith realized. A child that, even now, was all but neglected, being watched by a neighbor woman, while the family mourned the loss of the mother.
Faith stood in the barn, breathing in the sweet scent of hay emanating from the square bales that someone had stacked against the wall. She could barely smell the cow manure, for it was a scent that she had grown immune to long ago, at her own father’s farm. But there was something about hay that always put her in a better mood. It smelled like summer, fresh and clean. Full of the promise of renewal; of sustained life.
She reached out her hand and touched the bales, loving the prickly feeling of the hay on her skin. It reminded her of a time when she was younger, running barefoot through the Yoder’s hayloft, taking turns with Rebecca on the rope swing that her daed had hung from the rafters. Sometimes, when they landed in the piles of loose hay, they would find big spiders in their clothing and the girls would scream, running out of the barn and looking for James or Aaron to brush off the scary looking creatures.
She smiled at the memory.
With a deep breath, Faith turned to leave the barn. She knew that she had to return to the house, face the relatives and share their grief. Yet, she dreaded it. She stood out among all of those Amish people. When they had been younger, the differences hadn’t seemed so meaningful. Now, time had widened the gap in a way that was far too obvious to Faith. She wanted the day to end so that she could escape to her parents’ farm, crawl into her bed, and try to forget the fact that Rebecca, her best friend, was permanently gone.
Quietly, she stole back into the house, avoiding the main room where the two tables were set. Instead, she went into the kitchen and stood at the counter, staring out the window. She looked at the view of the back paddocks and wondered how many times Rebecca had stood there, pausing from her chores to do just the same thing: watch and reflect.
“You need to eat, Faith,” someone said at her elbow.
Faith glanced to her side to see Lydia, Manuel’s sister, holding a plate of food. But she had no appetite. In fact, she hadn’t for days. “No thank you,” she managed to say.
“You’ll get sick and what help will you be to Rebecca then?”
The question struck Faith as odd. What help could she be to Rebecca at all anyway? Rebecca was dead. Her husband would tend to the farm and her mamm would most likely move in for a while to help with the kinner. Surely one of the sisters would care for the infant. Faith had nothing left to give to the Yoder or Petersheim families.
“I reckon none, whether I eat or not,” Faith retorted, immediately hating how sassy her words sounded.
Lydia gave a tsk-tsk with her tongue, clearly disapproving of what Faith had said as much as how she said it. “And I reckon she’d be right disappointed to hear you say something like that,” Lydia said, her voice low. “I heard what her last request was. Her mamm told me. I know that her dying wish was not for you to starve yourself all together nor to turn your back on her family.” Then, without another word, she thrust the plate at Faith and turned around, clearly done with the discussion.
Feeling rebuffed, Faith glanced at the plate in her hand and immediately felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t eat, not now. In fact, the way she felt at the present moment, she doubted she’d ever be able to find her appetite again. But she knew that Lydia was correct. Despite the lump in her throat and the pain in her stomach, she picked at the food, forcing a spoonful of the chow-chow and pickled beets into her mouth but avoiding the rest. Setting the plate on the counter, she turned and walked away, hating the way that she felt: angry and bitter for the loss of her friend, a friend that she had lost to both time and death.
It was Anna who approached her. Tall, willowy Anna with the big blue eyes that so resembled her father’s. She wore a black dress and there were dark circles under her eyes. Like the others, there was no expression on her face. Blank. It was almost as if she was looking through Faith, not seeing her.
“May I talk to you, Faith?” she asked, her voice soft and flat.
“Oh Anna,” Faith said, placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
Anna nodded her head twice but her expression never changed.
“How are you holding up?” It was the only thing that Faith could think to ask.
The girl shrugged. No response.
Faith wished that she could take back the question. What a stupid thing to ask, she scolded herself. How could any twelve-year old be holding up? Trying to salvage the exchange, Faith switched directions. “What did you want to talk about?”
“The baby,” she said. “Who’s going to take care of that baby?”
That baby. That still unnamed baby. That baby that somehow seemed to be getting the blame for everything, despite the fact that she was responsible for none of it. “Why, your aendis, I suppose.”
Anna raised an eyebrow as if silently questioning Faith’s answer.
“Why do you ask, Anna?”
“Summer’s coming. That’s busy time on the farm, ain’t so? They have their own little ones to watch and farms to manage. I don’t want to be stuck tending to that baby by myself,” she said, her voice still soft and flat.
Careful, Faith warned herself. This is dangerous ground. “Your grossmammi will help out, too, Anna. You won’t be alone,” she said. “I am sure of that.”
But Anna surprised Faith by disagreeing. “Nee,” she admitted, shaking her head. “She’s not well. And Daed’s mamm died when I was younger.”
“So what’s really bothering you, Anna?”
“You’ll come by and visit? Mayhaps even help a bit, ja?”
The question jarred Faith. Without Rebecca, what was the motivation? She hadn’t been particularly close to the children. They had always been so quiet and reserved whenever Faith came around which, admittedly, had been less and less frequently. Of course, Anna was the oldest and Faith had a special relationship with her, having known her for the longest time, of all the Petersheim children. But, in all of her years, Anna had never truly sought out Faith. Now she was requesting that Faith would visit? Request Faith’s help?
“Well I…” Faith simply didn’t know how to respond. “I…”
Anna frowned, obviously disappointed in Faith’s response, or lack thereof. “You are my mamm’s best friend, Faith. Mayhaps I need you,” she admitted. “So that I can still know my mamm and feel her presence.”
“Yes, Anna,” Faith heard herself say. “Of course I’ll come by and visit.”
Satisfied, Anna nodded her head and, without another word, turned to walk back toward the other Amish people who, having finished their meal, were now standing around in small groups, offering words of comfort to Rebecca’s husband, parents, children and siblings. Faith watched as Anna joined them, a small flock of people immediately turning their attention to her, the first-born child of the deceased.
For a few moments, Faith stood there, watching the transformation in Anna. Just a few days ago, she had been an innocent eleven-year old, wide-eyed and quiet, drinking in all that she could from her mamm. Today, she was the matriarch of the little Petersheim family. After the first few months, it would be Anna in charge of laundry and meals, sewing and gardening. Indeed, Faith realized, a heavy burden had befallen those slender eleven-year old shoulders. No wonder she wanted Faith to come by and help. She would need someone to lean on, to confide in.
Her eyes drifted to Manuel. He was standing among Rebecca’s family, Gideon and Sadie by his side. Seven-year old Sadie was leaning against his leg, her head tipped forward as she stared at the ground. Gideon, at ten years of age, was trying to stand on his own as he grappled with his own feelings. But Faith could tell that he was struggling. A strong hand placed on his shoulder by his daed was enough to give the boy more strength. He stood a little taller and seemed to breathe easier, just knowing that his daed was nearby.
She had to leave. She couldn’t stay there for one more
minute. Yet, exiting was going to be a problem. She would have to interrupt the family, say her final condolences and goodbyes to Rebecca’s parents, children, and husband. Anna’s words rang in her ears and she knew that the promise she had made would have to be honored. She just didn’t know when she would be able to do so.
“You are leaving, then?”
Manuel looked up when James said those words to Faith. His eyes tried to focus as he studied Faith’s face.
“I best get going, yes,” she affirmed.
“Nee,” Manuel said firmly. “You should stay. We’ll be alone soon, just the family. Rebecca would have wanted you to stay for a while.”
Faith wanted to argue but the look in his eyes prompted her not to. Like Anna, there was a pleading tone to his voice, something unsaid but with a hidden need for Faith to be around. With a simple nod, she took a step back, her arm brushing against James’ as she took her place among Rebecca’s family.
It was after everyone else had left, with only Manuel and the children and Rebecca’s immediately family remaining behind, that Faith realized her place among these people. She had known Rebecca for almost twenty-five years. Twenty-five long and mostly happy years. She had been friends with Rebecca, growing up alongside of her. She had spent nights at the Yoder’s home, attended church services with Rebecca when they were younger, giggled into the night as they talked about other children, and ran across the pastures that separated their homes. Indeed, Rebecca had always considered Faith as part of the family. Only now, Faith realized, so did the rest of the people in the room.
Manuel stood up while the others sat around the living room. He crossed the floor and stopped before the large clock that hung on the wall. Faith hadn’t realized that it was still idle, not working. When Manuel reached up, touching the hands and pushing them to point to the correct time, she remembered that the clock had been stopped when Rebecca had died. The others bowed their heads for a moment, quietly reflecting on what that moment meant. Time had stopped when Rebecca died but now, with the family looking on, Manuel was signaling that it was necessary for time to start again. Life was for the living, not to be left mourning the deceased. So the clock started to tick again.
Manuel returned to the circle of family, some sitting on the sofa and chairs in the kitchen while others had pulled up a bench to sit upon. He paused and placed his hand on James’ shoulder, forcing a smile at his brother-in-law, before he took his seat on a folding chair next to Faith. He neither looked at her nor did he speak. But there was something calming about his presence beside her. Something both of them sensed, without communicating.
You take care of my children, Rebecca had said. You help Manny.
If only she knew how, Faith thought. In her world, she would feel comfortable talking to him. In her world, she would be able to console him. Yet, as much as Faith had grown up among these people, she knew very little about such matters. Her time had always been spent with Rebecca, giggling and laughing as young girls did. Aside from their close and friendly interaction as girls, teenagers then young women, there had been but little exploration of the actual culture in which Rebecca had been raised.
So when she excused herself to step outside, needing a breath of fresh air and a moment away from the suppressive heaviness of the room, she was surprised to see that Manuel had followed her. She was standing on the porch when she heard the door open. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that it was Manuel and, immediately, she cast down her eyes.
“It’s hard in there, ja?” he said softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t blame you for needing to get away.”
She wasn’t certain of how to respond. Instead of saying anything, she turned her head to look at the sky. The sun was setting behind the house and the sky before her was getting darker, taking its evening purple shade. The trees looked black and somber as the daylight faded away.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” She heard the words before she realized that she was the one who had actually expressed them.
“God called her home,” he said. Despite the simplicity of the words, she could hear the sorrow in his voice. “It’s not our place to question His reasons, Faith. I have to remind myself of that.”
She looked at him, surprised at his confession. In all the years that she had known Manuel, he had never spoken so openly to her. Instead, she had always visited with Rebecca, spending her time with her friend and rarely any time interacting with Rebecca’s husband.
“I came out here to tell you something,” he offered, his voice gruff and low. He was staring at her, his blue eyes sad and watery. “I cannot thank you enough for what you did to help Rebecca. Not just now,” he said. “But you were always there for her. And these past few days…” He hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Ja, vell, I just want you to know that you will always have friends and family here among us and among the Amish community, Faith.”
His words surprised her. She had done no more or no less than she would have done for anyone else, perhaps less because she had felt intimidated around his family. The baby had certainly helped keep her busy as she had taken charge of tending to her while the others focused on the viewing and funeral arrangements until Rebecca’s mamm took over the infant’s care. “I don’t know what to say to that, Manuel,” she replied softly. “But I thank you for these words.”
He nodded and backed up, reaching a hand behind himself for the door handle. Opening it, he started to turn as if to enter then, thinking twice, he looked back at Faith. “I know you’re uncomfortable in there,” he said. “You don’t have to stay, Faith. You’ve done more than enough to honor Rebecca and help her family.” He gave her a forced smile before he slipped through the door, hesitating just briefly to see if she intended to follow.
Taking a deep breath, Faith reached out her hand and placed it on the doorframe. She saw a look in his face, almost relief, when he realized that she was going to follow him back inside the house. Despite wanting to leave, wanting to put as much distance as she could between herself and the Petersheim farm and the memory of her best friend’s death, she felt obligated to continue honoring Rebecca by doing the very thing that she had requested upon her deathbed…helping her best friend’s family.
Chapter Three
It had been two months since Faith’s last visit to the Petersheim’s farm. With each passing weekend during that time period, a new wave of guilt overcame her. Yet, as more and more time separated her from the funeral, the harder it became to find a reason or the rationale to visit. However, when the school year had just ended, Faith knew she had no further excuses not to honor Anna’s request. With ten weeks of summer stretched out before her, Faith talked herself into taking the ten-minute drive to Manuel’s farm on the first Monday of her summer break.
The house appeared quiet. Despite the fact that the children were not outside playing, everything looked eerily the same. Laundry was hung on the line, drying in the warm summer sunshine. There were flowers planted around the porch, mostly pink and white, Rebecca’s favorite colors. A fat cat lounged in the driveway, licking at its white paw before swiping at its ear. When her car pulled up to it, the cat lifted its head, stared defiantly at the vehicle, then lazily stood up, arched its back, and sauntered toward the barn.
Indeed, it was as if nothing had happened, as if time had continued without any recognition of what had occurred just two months ago.
Anna was the first one to greet her. Having just celebrated her birthday, the girl looked older than her twelve years, a plain white handkerchief covering her hair, tied primly under her chin. Her green dress was dirty and she had black circles under her eyes. But when she recognized Faith, she smiled and waved cheerfully.
A new wave of guilt washed over Faith. How could she have deserted Rebecca’s children? Why had she waited so long to come visit?
“Oh Faith!” Anna gushed, rushing out to meet her in the driveway. “It’s just right gut to see you!” In an unusual display of affection, Anna
pressed her body against Faith’s, hugging her lightly. She had lost weight, that was the first thing that Faith noticed. The second thing she noticed was how she clung to her, as if just needing that closeness with another woman, even if only for a few stolen seconds.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to stop by,” Faith said, knowing how lame the words sounded when she said them. She felt guilty for having delayed in checking in on Rebecca’s family. Every weekend, she had a different excuse. But none of them made up for the lost time that, she could see, had aged young Anna’s face.
Anna didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she pulled away and smiled up at Faith. “That’s OK. You’re here now.”
Together, they walked toward the house.
“How is everyone doing?” Faith asked, not knowing how else to break the ice.
Anna glanced toward the barn. The expression on her face told Faith all that she needed to know. With a shrug, Anna turned back to look at Faith. “School’s been out for a while so we’re all pitching in to help.”
It was a weak response and they both knew it.
“The baby?”
Anna took a deep breath and clucked her tongue, too much like her mother for Faith’s taste. The child had aged, that was obvious. “Ruthie? She’s finally sleeping through the nights,” she admitted wearily. “Most nights, anyway.”
“Who tends to her?”
Anna paused at the door and lowered her eyes. “Me now.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Not going back to school in the fall. Teacher is coming here on Saturdays to work with me.” She lifted her head. “I only have to get through the next two years. Bishop says if I can get to fourteen, I’ll be just fine but Daed can’t do it all by himself. He needs my help.”
Without another word, she opened the door and passed through it. Faith followed, her heart in her throat at the thought that young Anna had to sacrifice her youth and her education in order to help the family. With so many aunts and cousins, certainly the Petersheims and Yoders could find a better solution? Still, Faith had always believed that the Amish took care of their own. If the teacher was willing to homeschool Anna, that was just what would be done. No questions, no complaints. Just compliance.