A Wedding Quilt for Ella (Little Valley 1)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “If that’s true, then I’ll work all the time,” Ella said, “both day and night.”

  “It might be best if you depended on Da Hah to help you,” Noah said gently “He’s the one who made the heart, and He’s the one who can fix the heart.”

  Ella nodded, thankful for her dad’s words.

  They ate quickly. When the rest were done, Ella still had food on her plate. She pushed it back, saying, “I can’t finish. I’m sorry.”

  Mamm nodded. “We understand. Why don’t you go upstairs now? The girls and I will clean up the kitchen.”

  “But I should be helping.”

  “No,” Mamm said, her voice firm. “You need the rest, and a long night’s sleep is for the best.”

  “There’ll be no church tomorrow,” Ella said, her mind racing ahead.

  “Then you can sleep in, yah.”

  Ella managed a weak smile. “I’ll be up with the sun.”

  Mamm shrugged. “Then you’d best get to bed.”

  Ella nodded, pushed back from the table, and made her way up to her room. Outside, darkness had fallen. She walked over and looked out the window. The night sky was thick with stars now that the clouds had cleared. Her eyes searched the grand sweep of brilliance, her heart throbbing with pain. The night was here, and how was she to face it?

  She undressed and slipped into bed, the mattress soft beneath her. Waves of tiredness swept over her. She didn’t know how anyone could find any pleasure in such a sorrowful world, and yet at that moment she did. Sleep felt wonderful.

  Ella awoke with the sky still dark and the stars bright in the window. For a long moment, she lay still. What time is it? Her eyes searched the top of her dresser where the alarm clock should have been but found nothing. With an effort, she swung her feet to the floor, the surface cool to the touch, and sat up. I must wake up.

  A step toward the dresser revealed where the alarm clock was hidden behind two books that had been left on the dresser top. The clock hands showed a little after two o’clock. Weary, she lay back down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind went slowly over the events of the last few days—over each moment and each hour—until an urge came to write it all down.

  Ella pushed back the covers and got up again. She struck a match on the underside of the dresser drawer and quickly transferred the little flame to the kerosene wick. By the flickering light, she crept downstairs, taking each groan of the steps with bated breath. She found a tablet and pen in the living room desk and slowly made her way back upstairs.

  With the lamp on the dresser, the tablet lying on her lap, and her eyes wide awake, she began.

  Dear journal or whatever you are,

  I haven’t done this since my school years, but something terrible happened on Thursday. My beloved Aden died from a ruptured appendix, and my world has come to a screeching halt. I don’t know how to describe the pain I feel because I’ve never felt it before. It is terrible. The pain is now a dull ache. I suppose that’s because it’s nighttime, and even it must sleep. Tomorrow it will be back again like a fire in my stomach that eats all that lives.

  It has eaten my hopes, my dreams, my love, and my Aden—stolen it all away like the preachers say a thief in the night does. I still can’t believe it happened, but I know it’s true because I was there and saw Aden in the casket at his parents’ house. After they brought us the news, I had wild thoughts that perhaps it wasn’t true. Maybe it had been someone else who they mistook for Aden, but it wasn’t.

  It’s now Sunday morning after two o’ clock, and I know all too well it’s true. The funeral was yesterday, and I was there. Now I can’t sleep. My thoughts are about him, about his face, his laugh, his smile, his hands, and just about everything, I guess. I was in his room this afternoon, and it almost seemed he was there. The whole room smelled of him. The memories are still fresh, pretty raw, and very painful.

  Today, because we don’t have church and his district doesn’t either, he had planned to bring me the plans for our new house—the one he was to build on his land on Chapman Road. I sit here now, and I can almost hear his bugg wheels in the driveway if I listen carefully enough.

  I wonder what kind of house Aden planned to build. I only know the house from what he described. Aden said it was large and had plenty of room. He never said the house was for our children because he didn’t need to. I already knew. I know I would have been a good mom, and he would have been a very good dad.

  Right now the time in front of me stretches out like the Englisha’s road—on and on as far as I can see, without much meaning or end to it. Now I wonder if it was wrong to love another person so much. I don’t think I can ever love another man. I guess I’ll be an old maid.

  They say Da Hah knows what He’s doing. I suppose that’s true, even if I was angry with Him. Who wouldn’t be mad after your heart is so painfully torn apart? The preachers say we are being made into something good for eternity, something about God needing pain to accomplish His work. They say all of God’s people have always suffered and that we really don’t suffer that much.

  I’m ashamed to say that with how much I hurt inside, I doubt them.

  Choring tonight helped with the pain—for a few moments at least. Dora even made me laugh. I have a wonderful family and plan to continue to help around the house as much as I can. When I’m twenty-one in may, I don’t know what I’ll do. I suppose Daett will let me stay home and go on helping around here in exchange for my room and board.

  If only Aden were alive…

  Ella closed the tablet. She couldn’t finish the sentence. She placed the tablet in the top dresser drawer and crawled back into bed. Sleep came quickly, and she awoke with a start to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Outside, the rain lashed the window pane. Apparently the Sunday weather would match her mood.

  She got out of bed, lit the kerosene lamp again, and dressed. The tablet in the dresser caught her attention, but she pushed it toward the back. No secrets were written on it, and so what did it matter if someone saw the pages.

  Downstairs, her mom had the stove fire started, the lid still off. Ella waited as Mamm watched the flames slowly lick the dry wood and seek a path upward. She added two pieces of wood and replaced the round lid with the fire handle.

  “I’ll be takin’ care of breakfast,” Ella said.

  Her mother nodded, got her coat, and went outside. The wind blew the door shut behind her as Ella began to work quickly. The routine was familiar. Her mom had left no instructions, but that would be no problem. She would simply stick to their regular Sunday morning routine of oatmeal, bacon, eggs, and toast.

  She still had the toast to do when the washroom door slammed, and water splashed in the basin.

  “Nasty weather out there,” Dora said as she peeked quickly into the kitchen. “Wind’s all over the place.”

  “Fits my mood,” Ella said.

  “Mine too,” Dora said, disappearing. Ella heard the splash of water outside the house. Dora, at least, had enough manners to empty her basin when she was done.

  Mamm came in a few minutes later, followed by Noah, Eli, and Monroe. They washed quickly and with few words gathered at the table. Ella had just finished holding the last piece of bread over the open flames, toasting it to a light golden brown. She laid the plate of toast on the table and took a seat.

  Noah bowed his head and prayed, “We thank You, o holy Father, for this day, for the gifts and grace You have given us, for the breath in our bodies, for the food on this table, and for Your holy Son, Jesus, who walked among us. Grant us now grace for this day and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Amen.”

  Ella watched them eat. Her body was hungry, yah, but her emotions were still unwilling. She carefully slid an egg onto her plate, hesitated, and then picked up two pieces of bacon. With a piece of toast in her hand, she buttered the surface and then slowly took a bite.

  Fifteen

  Daniel awoke troubled, his mind disturbed by the emptiness of his brot
her’s room across the hall. Even in his sleep, he had sensed the grief like a heavy weight pressing down on his body He threw the covers off with great energy as if to cast the burden away from him.

  He dressed and went downstairs. His mother was up and busy preparing breakfast at the stove.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She nodded, her face red from tears.

  It occurred to Daniel that, ironically, Aden would know what to say at a time like this.

  With his coat in his hand, he went to his mom, who was bent over the kettle of oatmeal. Clumsily he pulled her tight against himself with one arm. It was the best he could muster.

  “He won’t be comin’ back,” she said, sobbing.

  “I know,” he said, his arm around her, his grip firm.

  “He was just a bobli not that long ago.”

  “I have to be doin’ the chores,” he said, starting to pull away.

  “I still have you, at least,” she said, attempting a smile.

  “You have the others too—all the rest of the family.”

  “Yah, I know. I want to be thankful for them—and you’re all precious to me—but I still will miss Aden.”

  “We all will,” Daniel said as he slipped his coat on and left.

  The lantern glowed in the barn window. His dad must already be out, but Daniel lit another lantern anyway. Neither of them had a lot of chores, but they were in different parts of the barn. As he crossed the yard, he protected the gas lantern from the rain by holding it at his side and under his coat, causing the hiss to grow louder. A brisk wind blew steady as, overhead, the sunrise slowly cast its pale light on the grey clouds.

  Yesterday morning Ella had been out here by herself to watch the sunrise. How like Aden she was in that way, much more attune to such things then he himself was. Aden had always been the one to wander the fields early in the morning and saw the first daffodils sprout along the fencerow in spring.

  Aden and Ella did things on Sundays he and Arlene never did. They stopped and walked the creek on Stoddard Road, bringing home bouquets of flowers they had found along the water’s edge for his mom. Two weeks ago Ella and Aden had brought back purple and yellow flowers. Daniel had no names for them, but Aden and Ella knew, as did his mom.

  Aden even kept a book of poems upstairs from some Englisha author named Emily Dickinson. Occasionally Aden would read selections to Ella while they sat on the couch in the living room. Although Daniel never paid much attention to them, sometimes he would walk through the house and see them laughing about the lines. His parents were open minded about most things, especially with Aden, but this book from the Englisha author came close to pushing the line, especially with his dad. Such Englisha things were best left alone in his opinion. Daniel smiled at the sky. What would Ivan Stutzman have said if he had found out? Even Aden’s charm couldn’t have gotten him out of that one.

  It was Aden who got to Stutzman, especially when Aden talked about the Amish people using tobacco products. Although Daniel didn’t think Stutzman used tobacco, the preacher had said that all plants that God allowed to grow out of the ground were for the proper use of mankind and for his benefit. He even had a Scripture to prove his point and quoted it one Sunday afternoon when the men had gathered on the benches.

  “For every creature of Da Hah is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving,” Stutzman quoted. “We don’t need any self-righteous, religious do-gooders, even if they be Amish people, speakin’ out against what Da Hah has made. Tobacco was good enough for our forefathers, and it’s good enough for me, even if I use none.”

  “I thought you might be lookin’ for an Ordnung change,” Bishop Mast had said, teasing.

  Stutzman apparently didn’t think the remark funny even when everyone else laughed. “I see no reason to be changin’,” he said. “One change is as bad as the next one.”

  Daniel opened the barn door and saw his dad at the back of the barn, his lantern hung on a nail in the ceiling. His own chores were at the other end of the barn where the horses were kept when they weren’t outdoors. Aden’s horse, as well as his own, needed to be looked after.

  What would they do with the horse? Although they didn’t need to make the decision this morning, it was just one of the many decisions—some of which were not yet apparent—that needed to be made in the days ahead. Great voids were left by his brother’s death, voids that would have to be filled by someone.

  Aden’s horse would be easy to sell if that’s what they decided to do. It was still fairly young, a fast buggy horse, and yet safe—sort of like Aden. He was steady, quick, sure, and dependable. Many of the young boys would jump at the chance to make the purchase.

  If he could afford it, he wouldn’t mind buying the horse himself. He certainly couldn’t just take the animal—even if Aden was his brother—without payment to Aden’s account at the bank in Randolph. That was the problem. He didn’t have an abundance of money, and marriage to Arlene was somewhere in the future. They had dated for two years already, but he just hadn’t gotten around to bringing the subject up. Their relationship was comfortable like that, no pressure. As far as he could see, Arlene belonged to him, and she seemed to feel the same.

  His attention was distracted by an open stall door. How did that happen?The stall doors were always kept securely fastened, double-checked if necessary, yet the door was open and bent completely back on its hinges. A horse stood inside, and Daniel moved closer for a look.

  The horse was Aden’s. It stood on all four legs but in a sprawled out fashion as if to get its stomach into a lower position. When Daniel stepped closer, the horse stayed where it was but turned its head repeatedly toward its flank. Daniel stroked its neck, and the next time the head came forward, he grasped the halter. The horse curled its upper lip and pawed the ground.

  His own horse, one stall down, stuck its head over the divider and neighed.

  “What’s the problem with you?” he asked.

  Obviously the horse was in distress. With the stall door open behind him, his mind quickly jumped to a conclusion. The horse must have gotten into the bag of oats stored on the barn floor just outside its stall.

  “Daett,” he called toward the other end of the barn, “you’d best come over here.”

  Daniel stroked the horse’s neck again and backed it to the rear of the stall.

  “We’ll take care of you, young fellow,” he said softly.

  “What’s wrong?” his dad asked. He had come up to look through the stall slats. “Heard you talk worried back here.”

  “Horse got into the oats, I’m afraid,” Daniel said, walking over to the bin where the oat bags were kept and glancing in. One bag was torn open roughly, and much of the contents were gone.

  “How did the stall door get left open?” his dad asked. “I thought I checked them all last night.”

  “I was out here myself yesterday afternoon,” Daniel said, searching his mind. “Who knows with so many people around all day.”

  “The horse is definitely foundering and bad too,” Albert said. “You’d best be callin’ the vet right away.”

  “On a Sunday mornin’?”

  “Yah, we can’t take any chances, not in the condition it’s in.”

  “Should I walk it a bit first?”

  “I’ll be doin’ that while you run and call. Stop in at the house and tell your mamm we’ll be late for breakfast—maybe by a half an hour or so. That will give me time to take the horse around the barnyard for a few walks. We might have time to eat after that while we wait on the vet.”

  “Yah, I will call, then,” Daniel said, leaving.

  He stopped at the house to tell his mamm the news.

  “It’s bad, then?” she asked.

  “I think so. I’m going for the vet now.”

  “Seems we’ve had enough tragedy,” she said, moving the pan of eggs toward the back of the stove. “Maybe the horse’ll get over it soon. I’ll keep breakfast warm fo
r you.”

  Daniel grabbed some coins out of the drawer where they kept change for such emergencies and walked down to the pay phone shack. It was a good half mile away and tucked off the road among some driveway trees. A sign on top read Pay Phone so it was accessible to anyone who wished to use it—not just the Amish. This was an important distinction to Preacher Stutzman. He believed no Amish person should solely own any portion of a phone, even if the phone was kept in a shack.

  Daniel flipped through the pages and found the vet’s number in Randolph. There was one in Little Valley, but he charged higher fees. On a Sunday morning like this, there would likely be an even greater difference.

  A woman’s sleepy voice answered, “Hello, veterinary services.”

  “I’m Daniel Wengerd,” he said. “We have a horse that foundered. Would it be possible for the doctor to come out?”

  “Certainly. I will let him know,” the woman said. “Just leave me directions.”

  Daniel spoke slowly, mapping the roads from Randolph in his mind as he talked.

  “I will have him come right away,” the woman said, the faint scratch of a pencil on paper coming over the phone line.

  “Thank you,” he said and hung up. The last of the coins in his pocket had been used, but would help arrive in time? Aden’s horse seemed to be in bad shape. How strange that a horse might die the day after its master was buried—an accident, perhaps, a curious coincidence and no more. Still, it was an awful thing.

  Sixteen

  Daniel jumped onto the front porch and opened the front door.

  “The horse doesn’t look good at all,” Albert said from his seat on the old rocker.