Hidden Life (9781455510863)

by Senft, Adina

  “You can’t leave Whinburg.” Carrie’s tone brooked no argument. “It’s unthinkable.”

  “I would go where Grant goes,” Emma said, controlling the wobble in her voice, but only just. “It would break the piece of my heart that the two of you live in, and Mamm, and the Kinner here. Now I know how Ruth felt,” she whispered.

  “It won’t come to that.” Amelia hugged her. “I think your plan is a good one. Tyler West must know his business. If he thinks the Englisch would buy your book, then they will.”

  “And maybe we should encourage the men to hire Grant for lots of building projects once he’s on his feet,” Carrie said. “I bet Melvin would bring it up with all the people he talks to, once they’re done talking about pallets.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Emma told her. “And now that I’ve finished unburdening myself, why don’t we get to work on these borders? At this rate we’ll only have one feather to show for our afternoon together.”

  As Emma got out the marking pencils and tape measure, she reflected that she had much more than that to show for an hour spent in her friends’ company.

  She had a basketful of encouragement, and a room full of loyalty. Whatever the bank thought of their ledger book, at least she knew one thing. She and Grant were rich in everything that really counted.

  “It’s been a long time since I rode in the back of a spring wagon,” Grant called through the rolled-up rear window. “I feel like a sack of potatoes.”

  “Your eyes are much nicer, though.” Emma flapped the reins over Ajax’s back and started him up the lane. The sound of Grant’s laughter brought a welcome lift to her worried spirits.

  She was trying not to borrow trouble—worrying about the future meant you didn’t have enough faith in God’s keeping—but the more she tried not to think about what awaited them at the bishop’s home, the more the doubts and secondary plans and fears buzzed in her mind, like flies that would not be shooed away.

  Luckily for Grant’s patience, the Lapp farm was only a mile or so down Edgeware Road, and Ajax set a brisk pace. She had worried about Grant’s leg, stuck straight out in the back of the wagon with no support, but he had wedged it securely between a crate full of coffee cans filled with nails and a rolled-up canvas tarpaulin. Short of her overturning the wagon, his leg was immovable until she came to help him.

  She pulled to a gentle stop in Daniel’s yard and looped the reins over the rail. “You stay here,” she told the horse as she patted his ribs. “We won’t be long.”

  She slid the tarp out from between Grant’s legs and helped him slide out the back onto one foot, then handed him his crutches. “I hope you didn’t get any slivers.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” His eyes crinkled with humor and she took her place beside him, walking slowly to match his hitch and swing.

  Mary Lapp met them at the door. “Guder Mariye, Grant. It’s nice to see you, Emma. Come in.” She stood aside as Grant negotiated the porch steps sideways, using his crutch to hop up one at a time. The Lapps held church in the machine shed, which had a nice big wheelchair ramp, but that didn’t help their guests now.

  “The men are in the front room,” Mary told them. “I’ve got coffee on. It will just be a few minutes.”

  Emma wasn’t sure she could swallow anything, but she thanked her anyway. And then she was in the front room, where Daniel Lapp located a hassock and slid it under Grant’s leg. She sank into the chair next to him and folded her hands in her lap, each gripping the other as she tried to relax.

  She’d known these men all her life. They were all friends of her father’s—especially Moses Yoder, who had grown up with him and had even been Newesitzer at her parents’ wedding. They would understand. Surely they would allow her to help.

  Daniel Lapp cleared his throat. “Guder Mariye, Grant, Emma. How is the leg?”

  Grant shifted so that he sat a little straighter in his chair. “It’s as well as can be expected. The doctor tells me I have another eight weeks in this cast, and then he’ll put me in a walking cast. I hope that allows me to work.”

  Moses nodded sympathetically. “It is difficult to be forced to rest. Not everyone enjoys it.”

  “I cannot enjoy it,” Grant said bluntly. “Every day I’m in this cast is a day I cannot work. And my financial situation is such that eight weeks without work means I will miss at least two mortgage payments. I may not be able to catch up quickly enough to prevent the bank from foreclosing.”

  “Is it as bad as that?” A frown gathered between Daniel’s eyes. “You have no savings?”

  Grant shook his head, and explained to them what he had explained to Emma. When he stopped and drew a long breath, Moses spoke. As the deacon, he was responsible for the finances of the Gmee. Fortunately for them all, he had a gift for management—of his farm, of his family, and of the tithes that came in monthly.

  “Are you asking this congregation for a bridge loan, then, Grant?” His tone was cautious, his eyes concerned. “Because if you are, I am very sorry to have to tell you that we cannot use the gifts of the family of God for such things.”

  Before he finished speaking, Grant was shaking his head. “Nei. That is not it at all. I would not ask the congregation for anything more. They have paid the hospital bill for me, and that is enough.”

  “Then what?” Abram Steiner, father of Brian and his brothers, was preacher. Confusion fought with calm in his expression. “What would you ask of us, if not money?”

  “Permission,” Grant said. “And a little patience.”

  “Go on.” Daniel glanced at the others and sat back. Emma could see him wondering if at last they were going to get to the reason she was here. It wasn’t normal for a man to consult with the elders about finances with a woman who wasn’t yet his wife.

  “As you know, Emma and I plan to be married in November. I have told her everything, even the possibility that she may not have a home to come to if I cannot see a way out of these troubles. And yet, she tells me she is still going to go through with it.” He smiled at her, and even stern Abram Steiner’s mouth softened. “But Emma has a talent—something that could bring in enough money to tide us over until I am fully able to work again.”

  “A talent?” Moses Yoder, who had known her in her cradle, gazed at her, puzzled. “Sewing? Cooking? Many of our women have something of this nature on the side, but I do not see it satisfying the bank if the situation is as grave as you say.”

  Grant glanced at her, and Emma gathered her courage. “Neither of those. My talent—what God has given me—is writing.”

  Silence. Perplexed, the elders gazed at her.

  Oh, Lord, please, if ever there was a time for You to give me words, it is now.

  “I have written a novel,” she said slowly. “Earlier this year I sent it away to a contest, just to see how it would do. It placed in the top seven, and a literary agent from New York wrote to me to offer to represent it. Sell it. To a publisher.”

  “Tyler West,” said Moses in the manner of one who has figured out the answer to a riddle at last. “And did you accept this offer?”

  Emma decided to leave out the details about going to New York. Best to stick with the essentials. She shook her head. “At the time of Eli and Amelia’s wedding, he came to Whinburg to try one more time to convince me, but I had already put the book on the altar of sacrifice. It was enough to know it could be published. I didn’t need to have it actually be published.”

  Abram shifted in his seat. “I do not see what this has to do with Grant’s money troubles.”

  “It is this,” Grant said. “Tyler West was confident he could sell her book. Apparently the Englisch are very interested in how we live, and her book is about Amish people. If he does this, then the money would be enough to get us over the hump, with maybe a little left over to begin housekeeping.”

  Abram’s brows had begun to climb at sell her book. “Am I hearing this correctly? You would have this book published, with your name on
the front for all to see? How does this fit in with Gelassenheit, Emma Stolzfus?”

  “It would not be my full name,” Emma said weakly. She had been wrong to hope. Abram was even more conservative than Daniel, and he would sway them against the plan. “It would only have E. Stolzfus on the cover. That could be a man or a woman.”

  “Regardless, our people do not publish books and put them out for sale in shops.”

  “We would not be doing it. The publisher does it.”

  Daniel held up a hand. “I must confess this concerns me—a woman of my district speaking out by means of a book. And you say it’s about Amish people? Are any of us in this book?”

  Abram’s cheeks reddened and before he had a chance to say whatever burned on the tip of his tongue, Emma blurted, “No one from Whinburg is in the book. I made it all up. The town, the people, the—the horses. A person might recognize a turn of phrase or a description of a house, but there is nothing offensive in it. Nothing recognizable.”

  “Lies,” Abram muttered. “She puts lies on paper and expects us to give her permission to sell them.”

  “It’s not lies,” Grant put in gently. “It’s fiction. Like what I read to the Kinner of an evening, from the library. Like the stories Jesus told His disciples. And it seems to be the only path open to us—other than letting the bank have the house and going to live in Paradise with my people.”

  Moses, who Emma knew had hired Grant to reroof his hay barn as soon as the leg healed, straightened. “We do not want to lose a good carpenter, Daniel,” he said to the bishop in a low tone. “Grant’s work is known well outside Whinburg Township, and many churches would be glad to get him. But that doesn’t mean I want them to have him.”

  “His place in one district or another is God’s will,” Daniel said, but Emma could see he was thinking hard. His gaze flicked up and met hers. “And how is this becoming to a modest woman, to offer her money to a man to whom she is not married?”

  “It is Emma’s choice,” Grant said before Emma could gather a soft answer. “But if you wanted to marry us next Tuesday, that would solve that question.”

  Moses Yoder gave a bark of laughter, and Abram glared at him. “It was a serious question. It should have a serious answer.”

  Grant sobered. He was just trying to lighten the mood. Oh, I hope that wasn’t a mistake. Abram is becoming stricter the older he gets.

  But it was her answer to give.

  “If the Gmee permits me to do this thing,” Emma said, “I choose to give Grant the money. With it, we will be able to make a home together in November, and won’t have to move away from family and friends we have known all our lives. Without it, I…” Her throat closed, and she swallowed desperately. “Without it, well, we will put our trust in God.” Say it. You must tell the whole truth. “I feel that He has given me a talent for a reason. If now is the time that I take that talent out of its napkin and put it to use, then I feel I must at least try.” She looked down at her hands, knotted together like snarled yarn. “Tyler West may not be able to sell the book. If not, then that is God’s will, too.”

  Again a silence fell, only this time it was full of thought. At length Daniel looked up. “We must discuss this and pray together, and weigh what you have said. Grant, I will come by the house tomorrow and let you know our decision.”

  “Denkes,” Grant said. “We appreciate you taking the time away from your fields to listen.”

  Oh, if only they would, Emma thought as she drove the spring wagon back the way they had come. If there was ever a time for someone to listen, surely it was now.

  Chapter 22

  Emma could hardly get the baking done fast enough.

  She’d got up at five and mixed up the bread, and while that was rising, got a batch of doughnuts going. When they came out of the deep fryer, it was time to put the bread in the oven, at which point Lena came into the kitchen.

  “My, you’re getting an early start.”

  “I want to take these doughnuts over to Grant.”

  “Before he’s even had his breakfast?”

  Emma glanced at the clock on the shelf over the stove. “He eats with the children, and they’re up early.”

  “Emma, I was teasing.”

  With a sigh, Emma poured Lena a cup of coffee and settled at the table, where she’d already laid out the ingredients for a cranberry square and one that tasted like pecan pie—both of which were easy to cut and transport.

  “Daniel said he would give us the elders’ answer this morning. If I don’t keep myself busy, I’ll go crazy waiting until a decent time to drive over there.”

  Lena put a hand over hers—a hand that was worn practically transparent from hard work for her family. “Whatever happens, it is God’s will. You and I must both be willing to accept it.”

  “I am.” Emma turned her hand over until it was palm to palm with her mother’s. “But if they don’t let me do this, I don’t know if I can bear to move away and leave you.”

  “You will be moving away anyway.”

  “The other side of the settlement is not Paradise, Pennsylvania.”

  “But in both cases, I will be well looked after. Katherine and Joel are fitting out the Daadi Haus at their place even now. It’s cozy and all I have to do is open a door to join them for meals, or for the Kinner to come and visit. There is no need for you to feel you cannot leave.”

  “Yes, there is.” Emma smiled at her, even if it was a wobbly excuse for one. “I will miss being with you. We’ve had good times here.”

  “And we will have good times in your home with Grant when I come to visit, and at Katherine’s when you come to visit us.” Lena squeezed her hand and released it. “Now, finish your coffee and I’ll help you mix up these squares. Grant must be partial to pecans if you plan to use that whole sack.”

  By ten o’clock, when the carpentry crew that started at seven had been in the habit of breaking for coffee, Emma’s bread was cooling on the counter, the doughnuts had been dipped in powdered sugar, and the squares had cooled enough to be cut and stacked in an airtight container.

  Ajax couldn’t trot fast enough for her. But it would be foolish to make him break into a gallop—racing buggies was for teenage boys who still believed they were unbreakable, not for women of a certain age who had the life they dreamed of just up ahead. She tied him in Grant’s yard and let herself into the kitchen, her carry basket filled with bread and goodies over her arm.

  Christina Hoff, with Zachary in her lap, looked up when Grant did. “Oh, hello, Emma. Grant was just telling me he was expecting you any minute.”

  She managed a smile, but her whole being was focused on Grant’s face. Was it relaxed because Daniel had set his mind at rest? Or was it tense because he didn’t know how to break the news to her?

  “I’m expecting the bishop at any moment, too,” he said. “Whatever you’ve got in that basket will be just the thing to offer if he’s hungry.”

  He had not come yet. There was no news.

  She tried not to feel let down. If he had not come, then there was still hope. Even though their decision was already made, for good or ill, she could still have hope as long as she didn’t know what it was.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right with Zachary all day?” Christina went on as if there had been no interruption. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take my three to the dentist, and it’s all I can do to manage them.”

  “Of course.” Grant blew bubbles in the angle between Zachary’s neck and his shoulder, making him giggle with delight. “We’ll have a good time together, the five of us.” He set the little boy down, and Zachary trundled off to the box under the window where the children kept their carved wooden toys, blocks, and puzzles.

  When Christina finally let herself out with a cheery wave and set off across the field that separated the two places, Emma felt as if she could breathe again. With a glance at the clock, she said, “I will be offering him lunch if he doesn’t come soon.”

  “Pati
ence, my Emma. Bishop Daniel is a busy man. Come and sit here by me, and tell me what you have in that basket.”

  She sat in the kitchen chair next to his, and he slid an arm around her shoulders. Leaning into him, she buried her nose in his shirt and breathed deeply. Then again, maybe it would be better if the bishop could take his time.

  “Bread,” she mumbled into his shirt front. “And doughnuts and pecan squares.”

  “Food fit for a king.” He had taken a breath to say something more, when they both heard the crunch of wheels in the lane and the jingle of harness.

  Emma sat up ramrod straight and leaped to her feet, narrowly missing a pile of blocks that Zachary was stacking next to her chair.

  “Emma, breathe. Whatever happens, it is God’s will. We must rest in that.”

  She showed Daniel into the kitchen and he bent to shake hands with Grant. “Don’t get up. I will not take long—the vet is coming to look at one of the horses and I must get back.”

  Emma stood next to the stove, wishing there were somewhere useful to put her hands.

  “We have prayed about this, Abram and Moses and me, and we have come to the conclusion it would be a greater sin to uproot your family and lose you to the good folk of Paradise than it would be for your wife-to-be to have her name on an Englisch book.”

  Emma’s breath went out of her in a rush, and tears of gratitude sprang into her eyes.

  “We feel that as long as the name on this book is E. Stolzfus and no one can identify our community by it, there is no harm in allowing her to help financially now as opposed to when she is your wife. But Grant—” He held up a hand. “The church’s portion must be given first. This money, whatever it amounts to, must be tithed.”

  “Of course,” Emma blurted. It had not occurred to her to do anything else. “Denkes, Daniel. You don’t know what this means to us.”