“How is she?” Ella asked.
“She’ll be okay, ma’am. Her blood pressure was still high enough, so they’ll wait until she gets to the hospital for the necessary blood transfusion.”
“What caused the problem? Was it more than a miscarriage?”
“The doctor thought it was cervical shock,” she added cautiously. Ella knew it was probably against the rules for the nurse to say much, but sometimes with the Amish community, the medical personnel bent the rules.
The nurse added, “You and that man of hers did good work tonight.”
“Thank you,” Ella said, as the nurse, her teeth chattering, disappeared back into the building.
Now what am I to do? Ella wondered. Moonbeam is near exhaustion, and home is a long way. Yet there is little choice in the matter. We have to return home.
“Are you up to it, old boy?” she whispered to Moonbeam.
He snorted.
She climbed into the open wagon. She allowed Moonbeam to take his time on the road. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, reaching back later for the one she had rubbed him down with. What did it matter in this cold? Even when she saw blood splatters by the light of the faint starlight, she pulled the blankets tighter around her body.
They made the last hill up Chapman Road at a walk. Ella’s hands were almost numb. When they got to the barn, she managed to unhitch the horse without lights, guided by memory and the light from the stars. She quickly wiped Moonbeam down and put him into his stall. Finding the grain by groping with her hands in the darkness, she gave the horse a huge scoop. She heard his rapid chewing as she left and shut the barn door. He had earned the extra food and then some. Glancing at the wagon on her way to the house, Ella walked on past. Tomorrow she would take care of the cleaning.
The kerosene lamp still burned on the first floor, so Ella entered by the upper door, retrieved the light, and carried it downstairs to her own quarters. Tomorrow would be another day, full and urgent as usual, but now she needed to sleep.
Eighteen
Saturday Ella baked bread and tended to the cleaning up of Ronda’s blood-soaked sheets from her miscarriage. She did the washing and, every so often, glanced out the window toward the road in the hopes someone would arrive with some news. By evening she was resigned that no news was probably good news and went to bed early.
Sunday morning she awoke before the sunrise. She stirred under the covers, sat up slowly, and reached for a match to light the kerosene lamp. With the wick lit, she wrapped herself in a blanket and moved from the bed to the stove. Ella tried to open the stove, but the lid slipped out of her hand and clattered to the concrete floor. Peering into the stove, she saw a few live coals left in the ash bed. She added small slivers of wood first, then larger ones as the flames steadily grew. Picking up the fallen lid, she waved her hand to drive back the stream of smoke before replacing it.
She returned to the bedroom and chose a dress to wear. She put it on while standing as close to the stove as she could. Today was preaching Sunday, and she likely would hear news of Ronda there, if someone didn’t stop by this morning. In the hopes that Joe might bring Ronda home today, Ella went upstairs and lit the fire in the stove. At least it would take the chill out of the house.
She opened the front door to check on the weather. The slight warming trend from yesterday had held overnight, the frost-covered thermometer reading twenty degrees. Faint streaks of light touched the cloudless horizon. She wanted to step outside to watch the sunrise. Surely that would calm her spirit for the Lord’s day, but instead, she closed the front door and walked to the front window. The view was the same, and here she could enjoy the faint warmth from the stove. She didn’t want to get chilled or catch cold. Ella watched as the light grew slowly, flooding the horizon with pale colors of red and orange. The blaze of the rays grew brighter and brighter until the sun peeked over the horizon. She glanced away.
Was that how Da Hah was? Did He give a little hope, and then a little more, and then help would finally arrive? Her mind turned to the problem of Robert. What should she do about the Englisha visitor? Was there even anything she could do? She gathered her courage. She needed to know what was going on with that man. Today was the day to find out just how far Bishop Miller’s plans had gone. Had he listened to Robert’s story and then sent him on his way afterward? Or had the bishop led the man on to thwart her plans?
No word had reached her of a strange Englisha man in the area, but she might not hear. She rarely got out, and Bishop Miller lived two districts north. The simplest solution would be to attend church in Bishop Miller’s district and see for herself. Her presence would cause no undue questions, as many people visited friends and relatives across district lines.
The sun was now fully up, and Ella took a deep breath. It was a beautiful morning, perfect for a day trip north. But what if Robert were there? She held her hand against her pounding heart. That would only mean one thing: He really was joining the Amish. That was something that couldn’t happen without the bishop’s extraordinary support.
Do I dare go? Ella let her breath out slowly. Yes, I will! The house can keep itself for the day.
She walked over to Ronda’s stove and added a few pieces of wood, making sure the damper was tightly closed. Going downstairs, she gathered the eggs and bacon for breakfast. A good breakfast might build her courage. The water bucket was empty. She’d planned to replenish the bucket last night but had forgotten. Pulling on her coat and boots, she ran outside, pausing at the sight of the barnyard. She should harness Moonbeam now. He could wait in the stall, and she would be saved time later.
She left the bucket sitting in the snow and headed to the barn. If Joe and Ronda had been in the house, she wouldn’t have continued running. Joe might consider it improper. Breathless, she arrived, pulling in deep breaths of the morning air. Joy surged through her. Was this a sign her trip would be a gut one today? That no surprises would be revealed? Wouldn’t that be a relief? If that happened, perhaps she could even believe the bishop meant no harm in his pursuit of Ivan’s discipline.
Moonbeam greeted her with a shake of his head. Ella rubbed his neck. “Have you recovered from the race to the clinic the other night? You’re a gut horse. Did you know that? You did really well. I’m thinking Ronda has much to thank you for.”
He whinnied as if he understood, and she laughed. The harness went on quickly, and Ella stepped out and shut the stall door. “No oats this morning.” She shook her finger at him. “You don’t have to run like that again, and I hope not for a long time. And I don’t want you taking me for a fast ride on a Sunday morning.”
He bobbed his head, and she rubbed his neck again, the glossy hair under her fingers hiding ripples of muscle. Ella blew a breath of air at him, patting his nose. “You be a good boy now. In a little bit you and I are off to Bishop Miller’s church. What do you think of that?”
He snorted loudly, bobbing his head again. Ella laughed again and slapped him gently on his withers. She definitely needed a grown-up to talk to—anyone other than children and horses. Is Ivan the talkative type? Aden had been, but Ivan? She really didn’t know yet. At times he seemed to have secrets inside that produced long moments of silence.
When she returned to the water bucket, the snow underneath had melted, leaving little mounds of slush clinging to the bottom. Ella wiped them off with her hand as she walked to the outside spigot, breaking off the ice hanging from the spout before pulling up the handle to fill the bucket.
Back inside the house, she set a pot of water on the stove to heat before fixing her breakfast. She ate, cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and checked the stove one more time. A glance at the clock showed the time was still early, but why not leave now and perhaps drive a little slower and enjoy the beautiful morning? It sure beat waiting alone in a quiet house.
On the walk to the barn Ella paused, struck with doubt. Was this a foolish thing to do? What if someone asked her why she had come? “Just visiting” might
not be such a good answer after all. Did she have any relatives in that district who might serve as an excuse? There is an uncle on Mamm’s side of the family who lives in the northern districts, but not in Bishop Miller’s. Well, I’ll think of something, she decided.
Ella continued to the barn. She led Moonbeam out of his stall. He held his head high when she tried to slip the bridle on. “Come on, boy! It’s going to be a nice drive.”
He shook his head, but lowered it when Ella tugged on his mane. She slipped the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. She led him to the buggy. She held the shafts up, guiding Moonbeam underneath with the other hand in one clean motion. Fastening the tugs, she threw the lines inside and climbed up. She tightened the lines, and Moonbeam took off with a jerk, lifting his feet high. Turning left at the driveway, Ella pulled the buggy blanket up tight and settled in for the long ride.
The wind had driven the snow into tall drifts wherever trees stood in the ditches. The snowplows had made matters worse by piling the snow higher. Four miles north, the little creek looked frozen solid, without even a bubble of water popping up.
Ella held back on the reins as several buggies came up behind her and passed when the road widened. Most of the drivers were young boys, and she used her bonnet to shield her face. When they were out of sight, Ella pulled back even more on the reins. Moonbeam shook his head, but gave in, slowing down.
Dull hoofbeats came from behind, and she slapped the reins, startling her horse. He leaped forward. Keeping a good pace now, she drove down the side roads, the line of buggies becoming longer the closer she came to the house where church was being held. At the next road she turned, pulling into a barnyard already filled with buggies. Her presence as a single female was immediately noticed when she passed the front sidewalks and parked by the barn. Before she stepped out of the buggy, three young boys made a quick dash in her direction. Ella welcomed them with a smile.
“Good morning,” they said in unison.
“Good morning to you. And my, that is fast help.”
“Ach…” one of them said. “Gut lookin’ girls are worth it.”
He looked young and harmless, so Ella joined their laughter.
“You’d better not let Lucille hear that!” one of the others cautioned.
“You got that right,” the first young man muttered. “But it’s still true.”
“Just put my horse someplace where I can find him easily,” Ella said turning to go. “Not all the way back in the barn.”
“Don’t worry,” the third one said, smiling. “We’ll take care of you.”
Ella wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders, pulled her bonnet forward, and walked in front of the long line of men and boys. Hopefully Bishop Miller wouldn’t notice her in all the comings and goings. She didn’t dare look for Robert. Would he really be here? The idea was preposterous. He’d have to learn the language. He’d have to learn and obey all the rules of the church, many of them recited by memory as the need arose. It would be enough to drive anyone to distraction—unless they had been raised in the faith.
The screen door slammed repeatedly ahead of her as shawl-clad women in a long line entered. Ella stood behind the last one, returning the muffled “Good morning.” The woman turned to look at her because her voice and face were only slightly familiar.
Inside, most of the women were stacking their shawls and bonnets on the washroom table, the pile high already. Ella placed her wraps to the side on the floor. Hopefully she would be able to find them easier after the noon meal as the rush began for home. The pile on the washroom table could easily become a jumbled mess when someone pulled their items from the middle or bottom.
In the kitchen, the women lined up against the wall, the young girls off to one side. Ella shook hands with a few of them, and then took her place among the women her age. As a visitor, it was the other women’s place to come to her. Not that she felt like a visitor. She knew enough of the faces to feel at home.
As if by an invisible signal, the line began moving toward the benches. Ella followed. Is Robert here? Her heart pounded as she kept her gaze focused away from the line of boys already seated on the other side.
Nineteen
The first song was announced by a firm male voice that echoed through the house. In the rustle of the pages, Ella dared look around for the first time. The young boys sat on the first benches; the older ones further back. She recognized the faces of the three young men who had helped her unhitch. They were looking nervously at each other, likely still in the aftereffects of boy-talk from outside.
Ella saw no one with the familiar face of Robert Hayes. Why she had even imagined he’d be here seemed laughable now. And how would she know him if he was, since he’d have to be in Amish clothing?
The song began, and Ella found the words on the page. The girl beside her shifted on the bench, her fingers wrapped around her side of the songbook, a slight smile on her face. Ella could easily see the girl had been watching the older boys’ bench. Involuntarily, Ella glanced in that direction.
It was hard to tell which came first—the shock of what she saw or the immediate racing of her heart. There, amid the single young men, sat the Englisha Robert! He was focused on the songbook, so Ella had plenty of time to fully take in his odd appearance. He was dressed in full Amish dress, his white shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. His black vest and pants were obviously new. His smile was triumphant and mischievous when he suddenly raised his eyes and caught her looking at him.
Ella’s fingers lost their hold on the songbook, and she knocked the book out of the other girl’s fingers. It clattered to the floor. Snickers rose from several children behind her. They were quickly muffled by their mothers. Ella had a sudden urge to leap up and declare her personhood violated by the affront of being stared at by Robert, but she froze instead. The girl beside her glanced strangely at her. She picked up the book from the floor and offered Ella her side again. It was a gesture of grace. Ella took it, but it seemed that nothing could still the pounding of her heart.
So the bishop was up to exactly what she had imagined. He was going to help Robert join the Amish—something that would surely take a long time. The bishop would use that time to tempt her, and then he would pull the rug out from under Robert when she fell. Robert, in his innocence, had said too much, and he would be the one to pay the most. Ella set her lips firmly and held her hand to her heart, hoping to still it. Bishop Miller would never separate Ivan and her through this transparent ruse. How the bishop figured she would marry him after this was all over was indeed a puzzle. Of course, he had always been confident of himself. But this pushed the limits even for him.
The girl beside her glanced up, and Ella was sure she made a strange sight, her face no doubt as white as a sheet. She tried to join in the singing as if nothing had happened. Her eyes fixed on the white page in front of her. She sang of the martyrs who gave all for their faith, but her mind wouldn’t allow the words to register. She only saw Robert’s face and his happy smile. If he could only see what lay ahead, he wouldn’t smile like that. She certainly couldn’t tell him without an admission of her attraction toward him. That would no doubt shatter his faith about as much as would her accusations against Bishop Miller.
The ministers came back downstairs, a long line of dark suit coats and somber faces. Bishop Miller didn’t preach. Apparently this Sunday wasn’t his turn. Ella kept her gaze on the speaker or the floor—and as far away from Robert’s bench as possible. What he thought of this wasn’t her concern. She hadn’t approved of his venture, had indeed made that plain at her place. He was now on his own.
With the last sermon finished, testimonies were asked for—from Bishop Miller and two older men from the congregation. Bishop Miller gave his quickly, and so did the next man. The last man took his task as guardian of sermon purity more seriously. He spoke at length, summarizing the sermons, adding a few points of his own, and then pronouncing his blessing. The clock on the wall
showed a quarter after twelve, and the last song still wasn’t sung.
Ella wondered what Robert thought of the service. How does he like the hard benches? If he was staying with Bishop Miller since he left her place, this couldn’t be his first Sunday service. What kind of man would attempt such a great and radical change in his life? She mustn’t think about him! She’d already shown too much concern for a strange man. He was making his own way.
Her concern was Ivan, his church troubles, the girls, and how to make sense out of her life in that regard.
The last song was announced and begun. By the time the first two stanzas were sung, the clock read half past twelve. Ella could hear the sighs of relief from the children behind her when the last note died. Bishop Miller announced the close of the service, and the boys filed out first, followed by the girls.
Ella presented herself at the kitchen for table duty—visitor or not. The tables had already been set up by the men. Ella chose to wait on the women’s table. As Bishop Miller’s guest, Robert was likely to make the first table, and he was to be avoided at all costs.
In the buzz of the women’s conversation, Ella picked up snatches here and there.
“He’s stayin’ at Bishop Miller’s place.”
“He just came in from nowhere. Something about his mother knew some Amish people.”
“Yah, I can’t believe it either. Who would have thought such a thing possible? He’s actually planning to join.”
“Our own boys are tempted to leave…and here is someone from the outside…”
“Bishop Miller says he believes his story, so I guess that’s good enough for Bert and me.”
“What if he’s after one of our girls? Who knows what Englisha boys think. Look at what happened to Noah Yoder’s boy, Eli.”
Ella Finds Love Again (Little Valley 3) Page 12