A Wedding Quilt for Ella (Little Valley 1)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Why had the God of her people done this? They taught He held all things in His hands and could do what He wished. Why then has He chosen to take Aden? Why has He snatched Aden away before I could be his wife, spend time with him in a married state, and at least bear his child? To have his child now would ease the pain. To have a little piece of Aden, perhaps a son to carry on his name, his memory, and his looks would be a comfort. Now there would be nothing. It is as if Aden has been wiped off the face of the earth without any trace left behind. How could the earth be any darker—or crueler—than it is now?

  Not only had God let her down, her faith had let her down too. If it were not for tradition, she would already have been married.

  “You have to be twenty-one, Ella.” She could still hear the voices. “We all have to be. It’s the way of our people. It’s the blessing the forefathers left—where children learn to serve at home before they take on their own responsibilities.”

  Well, it had been no blessing to her. She had waited for more than two years and longed to share more with Aden than the infrequent embrace he gave her or the momentary kiss he allowed. She didn’t want to breach the sacred privileges of married life. She had just wanted to marry him then, when they had first confessed their love. And they would have but for the rules. Now, it would never be possible. Soon they would bury his body and throw dirt on his brown wooden casket. The image was too awful to imagine, and she almost cried out.

  No, I can’t think that. Stop it. He’s not dead at all.

  Yet she was now going to where she would see for herself that Aden was dead. That dreaded moment lay ahead. It would be an awful moment of beholding his face frozen in death, his eyes forever closed, his lips hard, and his arms frigid and unable to ever move again. Why did God so abruptly, with no attempt to warn me, take him away? The question would not let her go.

  “Why was I not allowed to marry Aden?” she whispered. The words came from tense lips that already knew the answer, yet the words must be said or something inside of her would surely break.

  Her dad’s head turned slightly, but he said nothing.

  He heard me. “We had wanted to marry a long time ago,” she said, loud enough for her parents to surely hear. “You knew that. Why couldn’t we have been married then? I’d have his child with me now. Wouldn’t that be better than this?”

  “There is no answer to this,” her dad said, turning his head to look at her.

  Tears swam in his blue eyes. Ella’s cries filled the buggy, rang in her ears. The pain was simply too much. Her people and her God had failed her—had left her alone.

  Mamm reached back and gently gripped her shoulder. “We do what we know is best, and God decides from there. Even if you had been married to Aden, it still would have hurt this much—even more perhaps.”

  “I would then have had his child,” Ella cried.

  “Yah, this could be true,” Daett said, “but we do not know. There are many, even among our people, who have no children. We can only know what is now, what happens this day, and what Da Hah has given. It is best you accept what His hand gives, even the sorrow.”

  “Yah,” her mother said, “your daett knows what he speaks of.”

  “I only know how much I miss Aden,” Ella said. “Why would God take him from me?”

  “Are we not from the dust of the ground,” her father answered, “frail and feeble and made by Da Hah’s hands? Such questions, it is not our place to be askin’.”

  “Yah, but I ask them,” she said, her voice resolute.

  “Then Da Hah must answer them,” he replied. “I cannot.”

  “It is a fearful thing,” Mamm said, her voice tense, “to be questioning the Almighty.”

  “Yah,” Daett said, “it is. Yet He has pity on the widows and the orphans. Da Hah knows your heart is broken. Ask of Him. Perhaps there will be an answer we know nothing of.”

  Ella settled back into the buggy seat. Yah, her father seemed to understand. Perhaps God wouldn’t judge her harshly for her questions. She wiped her hand across her face, blowing into the handkerchief. Mamm took a deep breath in the front seat.

  Daett pulled the buggy lines right at the next turn, and the gravel road rattled under the buggy wheels. They drove in silence across the open stretch of field and down the curves leading to the little creek.

  The stream ran with clear water. Here and there, the spots sparkled where the sun’s rays made their way through the tree branches and bounced off the ripples. Aden and she had stopped here many times on a Sunday afternoon, tied the horse to a tree, and walked along the banks.

  Aden would take her hand as they talked about the future. Lately it had been the wedding, but Aden had once asked her, “Would it be too much for you if I were ever to be ordained a minister?”

  “You…a minister?” She asked, knowing her face had registered the surprise. “You should not speak of such things. Is not the lot a sacred thing?”

  He had laughed and answered, “Yes. And I do not desire it, nor am I looking for it. I just have this feeling sometimes. Like I hear my name called out by the bishop who says I’ve got the three votes. Then I walk up front to pick out the book. I must say that I wake up in a cold sweat—right scared stiff.”

  “It’s just you’re dreaming, then,” she said, pulling his arm closer to her. “You would be making a good preacher, though.”

  He glanced at her. “Now, now,” he said, “answer me. What would you be doing if that was to happen? Could you take being a preacher’s wife? Would you be sorry you married me?”

  “I’d never be sorry I married you,” she said. “Never. I’d marry you right now. Yah, now, if I could!”

  He had laughed that great sound that rolled off into the trees. It was as if the waters in the little steam joined in with their twinkling murmur.

  “You are too gut for me—much too gut,” he said, looking her full in the face until she dropped her eyes. Then he swept her up into his arms and gently kissed her, setting her heart to pounding like a freight train on the valley tracks. Then ahead of them lay the long months of waiting for their wedding.

  “You used to come here?” Mamm said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Ella nodded, her eyes staring at the rushing water.

  “It will be like this often,” her mother said softly. “Each place, each day, each sound…Something will come to remind you of him. It will be like this until time can have its way and heal. So it is for all of us. Da Hah will bring healing for the hurt.”

  “Aden will be in heaven,” Ella said, her voice firm. “He was too gut not to be.”

  “We must only hope he is,” her mother said, turning around to look at her.

  “You must let her talk, Lizzie. Yah,” her dad said, “Da Hah will understand that. He knows she hurts.”

  “I know he’s in heaven,” Ella said. “I just know he is.”

  Her mother turned back around, her face grave. The buggy wheels rattled on the gravel as they passed Ben Raber’s place with his Hickory Rockers for Sale sign out front. Ella saw Ben look out of the window of his shop and then pull back when he saw who was in the front seat. Ella leaned back as well. People would know who drove past, but they didn’t need to see her.

  That poor Ella. She could hear the voices now. Almost married, she was. And so suddenly he’s gone.

  The other schoolhouse, the one on the corner, came into view. Aden’s parents’ place was across from it. Ella took a deep breath. The body of what once was Aden was in there, and she would have to see it.

  Eight

  Noah Yoder drove the buggy onto the yard of the Wengerd’s place and stopped by the sidewalk. One by one, buggies ahead of them parked in a long row beside the barn. Ella made no effort to get out until Mamm undid the vinyl door snaps and stood there waiting.

  “You have to come. You can’t stay here,” she whispered.

  Ella nodded. She pushed up on the seat with her hands and made her legs move under her. On the step down, she nearly s
lipped, and her mother caught her hand.

  “Do be careful,” Mamm said. “You don’t want to be injuring yourself.”

  Mamm didn’t release Ella’s arm until they were at the walk. Behind them Daett drove forward to find a place to park and unhitch.

  At the front door, Ella and Mamm were met by Aden’s mother, Lydian, who motioned them inside. “He’s still not here,” she said.

  Ella squeezed her eyes shut, stepping up into the house. She would have to find a way to bear the next few hours.

  Mamm spoke first. “What a shock this was when Albert brought the news.” She put her hand on Ella’s shoulder, pulling her to a stop.

  “I know,” Lydian said, shutting the front door, stepping in front of Ella, and embracing her. “This is so hard for all of us, and I know you loved him as much as we did.”

  Ella opened her eyes, taking in the darkness of the room, a single kerosene lamp burning on the counter. She returned the embrace. This was Aden’s mamm, and she must also be hurting.

  Around the living room, benches were set up. The bedroom door directly in front of them was open. That must be where the body would be taken. Daniel, Aden’s younger brother, stood against the wall. His girlfriend, Arlene, sat in front of him. They came slowly toward her and then shook her hand. Other black-clad people stood, murmuring words she could hardly hear. When no one stood in front of her anymore, she wearily lowered herself down on a bench.

  “The funeral will be tomorrow,” Lydian whispered. “We have sent the word out, but I didn’t know if it reached you yet.”

  “No, we didn’t know,” Mamm said, shaking her head, “but we figured on it.”

  “Lunch is ready. They brought in sandwiches. Some of the others have eaten already. There’s no line at the moment,” Lydian said, motioning toward the table. Behind them the door opened, and Ella’s daett entered. He came to stand beside Mamm as she led Ella toward the table. Ella glanced over to where the sandwiches, soup, and crackers were set out. She shook her head and whispered, “I’m not hungry.”

  Mamm took her hand, insisting, and Ella gave in. What was the use?

  “You’ll be needing the strength,” Mamm said, “even if it doesn’t feel so now.”

  Ella took the round bowl her mom held out for her. She filled it with a little soup and several crackers. A sandwich was pushed into her other hand. They walked over to the benches and sat down. A few bites later, she still found it difficult to swallow. The rich soup felt like paste in her mouth, the sandwich dry. She was ready to stand and return the bowl to the table, eaten or not, when the long black Englisha hearse pulled into the yard.

  Aden’s body had arrived. She choked, placed the bowl on the table, the half-eaten sandwich beside it, and had no strength to even think of removing it. Several of the men in the room stood, picked up their hats, and went outside.

  Through the window, Ella watched as the long wooden box was removed. With their black hats on their heads, the men gathered on either side of the coffin, bore the load, and stepped toward the front door. She stood, sobbing openly and hiding her eyes with her hands. Arms closed around her to help her move out of the way and over to the other side of the table while the procession slowly passed.

  Ella closed her eyes, listening to the sounds in the house. How had she dared make such a fuss? She waited, her hands still on her face. They would just have to think what they wanted to. The sounds of bumping and scraping coming from the bedroom soon gave way to silence. The room where she stood also became quiet. The time had come to view Aden and acknowledge in their time-honored tradition what the hand of God had left.

  Ella felt the hands of others helping her to sit. She opened her eyes. How much she wanted to rush out of the house but could not. Aden’s parents stood beside the bedroom door, their arms around each other. She tried to breathe as they walked forward, heads bowed.

  Their backs disappeared through the doorway. This was their son, and they would be together to see his departed face. The minutes passed as their muffled sobs rose and fell. No one would interfere or hasten the time they needed.

  When they came out, their arms still around each other, their faces red from tears, Daniel made a motion with his hand toward Ella. As a sibling, he or one of the other children could have gone next. He was offering her a special place of honor. He knew and respected the deep love Aden and she had shared.

  Ella rose, and her Mamm stood with her. This also was in order. It was gut that the mother should accompany her daughter to see the man who would have been her son-in-law. With Mamm’s hand on her arm, the two approached the bedroom.

  Through the open door, Ella saw the side of the wooden coffin, its plain wood sanded and varnished to a dull shine. She was about to see Aden, and yet, in reality, Aden was gone. What remained would only look like him. She dared her eyes to turn and see.

  They had turned him so that his face looked away from the doorway and toward the window where the light streamed in. The wooden lid was ajar, laid back across a chair. She approached and sought his face, her breath a rough rasp in her throat.

  The sunlight fell full across his face, illuminating his stubble of a beard and flushing his cheeks, just as she remembered him when he had been alive. She quietly gasped, reaching out with both hands to touch him, but Mamm pulled her back.

  “He’s gone, Ella,” she whispered. “You mustn’t touch him.”

  “I loved him, Mamm,” she said, reaching again.

  “Aden’s in the hands of Da Hah, and you must be leaving him there. Yah, it is for the best.”

  “But I wanted him as my husband,” she said, catching her breath. “Why must this be?”

  “That is not for us to decide,” her mom said, pulling Ella tight against herself. “Now we can only cry our tears.”

  Ella stood for a long time, the tender touch of her mamm on her arm. Long moments passed while those in the living room waited quietly. Time would never move again for her. This was the moment given to her to sorrow, to weep, and to know the pain…for after tomorrow, life must go on again.

  After a time, Mamm gently tugged on her arm and tenderly pulled her away.

  “Others will be needing to come,” Mamm whispered, guiding her out of the room and back to the benches.

  They waited in silence for the long hours of the afternoon while those in the room took their turns walking through the bedroom.

  Eventually Ella whispered to her mom, “I’m okay if you and Daett want to go back home and help with the chores.”

  Mamm nodded and stood. She walked over to where Daett sat. Ella couldn’t hear what they said, but soon her mother returned and shook her head. How blessed she was with such a mamm. Her parents had decided to stay with her even with the pressing duty of home and the farm.

  When supper, which was brought by the neighbors, was served, Ella tried again to eat and managed to get some of the food down. After supper the official time of viewing started. Long lines of men and women formed outside and passed through the bedroom. Enough stayed to fill the benches inside, causing others to move on out to the yard.

  Few words were spoken to Ella or to others from the family. The visitors shook their hands, embraced them, and extended comfort by the power of their presence and their willingness to be there. Dora, with Eli and Monroe, arrived just before dusk. They passed through the line, and Ella rose to join them.

  She wanted to see Aden again when the sun was no longer on his face. Perhaps it would be different now. With Dora beside her, she didn’t pause long, resolving to return later, to come back when there was enough time to be alone with him.

  “It’s such a sad thing,” Dora said when they had taken their seats again. “I’m so sorry it has to be happening to you.”

  Ella nodded, squeezing Dora’s arm. It is gut to have a sister who cares.

  “It should be happening to me,” Dora whispered. “I’m the real bad person. You and Aden were the gut people.”

  Ella shook her head. “It wasn�
��t me. Aden was the gut one.”

  “I hope you’ll be findin’ someone as gut as he was,” Dora whispered.

  Ella shook her head. “There will never be another one. I loved him, Dora—really loved him.”

  “I know that,” Dora said, nodding. They wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders.

  Both of the mamms made their way over and sat beside them, one on each side. Neither woman said anything. They just sat in quiet support.

  When the crowds thinned out an hour later, Ella leaned toward her mother and said, “Perhaps I should bring in my clothes from the buggy. I’m staying for the night.”

  “I expect so,” Mamm said, nodding.

  “I’m sorry ‘bout the chores,” Ella whispered. “I’ll help after the funeral…something extra, perhaps. Yah?”

  “You shouldn’t even think about this,” Lizzie said. “Dora and the boys…we can handle things. You don’t have to worry.”

  It was gut for her mamm to say it, but the guilt and pain didn’t go away. Slowly Ella got up. Eyes from all over the room turned to look at her as she went outside to get her night bag.

  When Ella returned, Aden’s mom met her at the front door and whispered, “Up the stairs. The spare bedroom is in the back.”

  Ella made her way slowly back through the benches, maneuvering around the gathered women and then upstairs. Likely she wouldn’t spend the night up here, after all. Surely some visiting family would need the space, and she could just as easily sleep downstairs on the couch. Aden’s body would be closer to her that way.

  By eleven o’clock only the family—including Aden’s older married siblings and their families—was left in the house, and the benches were moved back against the wall. Aden’s daett gathered the family around for a Scripture reading before some of them would leave.

  With a solemn air, he read from the last part of the first chapter of Job. “Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, and said, ‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.’ In all this, Job sinned not nor charged God foolishly.”