A Wedding Quilt for Ella (Little Valley 1)

by Jerry S. Eicher

“We’re going to play in the barn,” Mervin said, already following Norman in that direction.

  “Okay,” Daniel said, watching as the boys rushed through the barn door. It was a strange Sunday, a very strange one, indeed.

  Arlene met him at the door, holding it open with her hand, a smile on her face. She is such a sweet girl, so tender and kind. Now, if I could just find the words to express my feelings. Aden wouldn’t have had any problems doing that.

  “How’s the day been?” she asked as they moved into the living room. “We thought of comin’ over but figured the house was full with family. Aden’s death was such a terrible shock to all of us.”

  He nodded. “Daett took it pretty hard, and Mamm did too, of course. Poor Ella, she took it hardest of all, I think.”

  “I imagine so. And you? Aden and you were close, yah? Are you okay?”

  “Still hurts some,” he said, “deep down inside of me.”

  She reached for his arm and squeezed it. “I would think it would. I don’t have an older brother, but it must be awful hard. At least you have good hope for Aden. He wasn’t wild or anything like that.”

  “Nah,” he said, smiling crookedly, “I suppose even Stutzman would think there was good hope.”

  “Preacher Stutzman?”

  “Yah,” he answered with a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t worry about what he thinks,” she said. “Half the church has no hope according to him.”

  “You think he has hope for himself?” Daniel asked, the thought just presenting itself.

  “One would think so. I would certainly imagine so with the way he talks and all.”

  The front door opened suddenly, and Norman burst in with Mervin close behind.

  “Daniel believes what we’ve seen in the sky,” he said to his sister, great joy in his voice.

  “I thought you were going to play in the barn,” Daniel said.

  “We had to come and tell Arlene. Nobody else believes us,” Mervin said.

  “So why did you two tell Daniel, then?” Arlene asked, tousling the younger one’s hair. “Those were just clouds in the sky, moving along with the storm.”

  “I saw real angels, and Mervin saw them too,” Norman said, his voice firm. “They were really angels, flying across the sky.”

  “Maybe they were,” Daniel said, tilting his head. This strange Sunday made about anything seem possible.

  “See?” Norman said, pouncing on the words. “He believes us. I knew someone would.”

  “Then thank him and go play,” Arlene said not unkindly, but her voice was skeptical.

  “Yah, he believes us,” Norman said as he turned and went back out through the door and headed in the direction of the barn, Mervin in tow.

  “We’ve been hearin’ about those angels since before lunch,” Arlene said when they were gone. “I hope they don’t tell it around school. Norman’s liable to, though, if I know him.”

  “They’re boys,” Daniel said. “I think people will understand that they think they saw something that looked like angels.”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “You want to stay in the living room? Mamm and Daett are taking naps.”

  He nodded. Aden would have had something clever to say at just this moment. Something nice, no doubt, but he couldn’t think of anything, and so he just followed her and took a seat on the couch.

  There were steps from the upstairs, and Daniel turned when the door opened.

  “Greetings,” he said as Arlene’s married sister, Naomi, appeared with her baby in her arms.

  “Expected it was you,” she said, taking a seat on the other couch and setting the baby on the floor on his stomach. He promptly began to crawl toward the kitchen.

  “Is Duane around?” he asked.

  “He was here for lunch, but he takes his Sunday nap better at home,” Naomi said. “He’ll be back later.”

  Arlene gasped as a chair clattered over in the kitchen, followed by the cries of the baby. Naomi jumped up and rushed out, lifting the baby up to examine him carefully.

  “Is he hurt?” Arlene asked.

  “Nah,” Naomi said, righting the chair. “He’s just started that lately, pullin’ on things till they tip over. I just didn’t think he’d try it out on chairs yet.”

  “Rowdy already,” Arlene said, laughing.

  “He’s just being a Hostetler,” Naomi said, her voice indignant. “I’m hoping he will start taking a little bit after our side of the family—just a little, little bit. You know we are the nice side.”

  “So what do you think of the boys’ story about these angels?” Daniel asked Naomi.

  “Oh, I guess there could be somethin’ to it,” she said. “Norman seems so sure of himself.”

  “What do you mean, ‘somethin’ to it’?” Arlene asked, her skepticism obvious.

  “If they really saw angels,” Naomi shrugged, “it could be a sign of things to come.”

  “Yah, you’ve always been into the old wives’ tales, Naomi,” Arlene scoffed.

  “There’s somethin’ to such tales,” Naomi said. “I’ve always had that feelin’ about them.”

  “So what would this mean?” Daniel asked. “A sign of what?”

  Naomi had no hesitation in her voice. “Three angels probably means three deaths. These things often come in threes anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t be placin’ much stock in that foolishness,” Arlene said.

  Daniel let the matter drop, and the conversation turned to other subjects as the afternoon passed quickly. He left the house with Arlene at five-thirty. She snuggled up close to him in the buggy, pulling the vinyl buggy blanket tight up to her chin.

  “We’ll be needin’ the summer blanket soon,” she said.

  “I know,” he said and laughed, remembering how he had somehow known she’d be asking for the wool blanket soon.

  As they pulled in the driveway, the youth were still milling around the yard. Obviously they had arrived at the singing in plenty of time for supper. Daniel dropped Arlene off at the end of the sidewalks and headed for the barn.

  Two boys came over to help him unhitch. Apparently rumors had already started. “Daniel, do you think Aden’s death is a start of the string of three things?” the oldest asked him. There was fear in the air already.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but it might be best not to speak of such things.”

  They held the shafts for him as he led the horse forward. He found a good place to tie the horse not far from the sliding doors.

  When he entered the house, Daniel caught sight of Arlene across the room deep in conversation. Hopefully she wasn’t talking about Norman’s angels. There was no sense in adding fuel to this fire.

  Eighteen

  Clara slid into her school desk on Monday morning, the echoes of the bell still in her ears. Teacher Katie walked briskly to the front of the classroom and called the first-grade English class forward. The little guys jumped into the aisle and hurried forward. Two of them almost ran, but Katie gave the offenders a stern “no-running” look, and they slowed to a walk.

  “Are your assignments done?” Katie asked over the sound of tablets opening. Heads nodded vigorously as they passed their papers forward.

  Clara watched the first graders a few more minutes and then turned back to her own classwork. Seated in front of her, Amanda had her English book open and her tablet set beside it. Amanda diligently wrote the words of a story to fulfill the class assignment.

  Clara looked down at her own tablet. The picture of the house she had drawn was in it. Would Ella still want the drawing now that there would surely be no wedding quilt? She hadn’t dared ask yet, but because Ella had wanted the drawing, she kept it.

  Ella had refused to go along to the singing on Sunday night even though both of her brothers and Dora went. Dora had even made a special effort to persuade Ella but to no avail.

  This morning it had been Dora’s turn to prepare breakfast, and Clara had helped. Their conversation hadn’t gone well, t
hough.

  “Some of the young folks think this might not be the end of things,” Dora had whispered to her in the flickering light of the kerosene lamps. “Aden’s death could be the start of more to come. Some think it could be the dreaded series of three. I sure hope they’re wrong, but my own feelings say it might be so. I can see that these kinds of things never stop with just one. So who will it be next? That’s the question. It could be someone young or old. Clara, it could be anyone Da Hah comes calling for.”

  Dora’s eyes had looked large, dark, and gloomy in the dim light of the kitchen, as if she thought Clara might even be next in line to have dirt shoveled on her.

  When they were all seated at the table, her dad led out in prayer. His voice was deep and full of comfort, and she listened to the words, feeling a little better. Still, she had wanted to ask her mom if she thought Dora’s idea of more deaths was true, but it was too hard to get up the courage.

  Usually, for such hard questions, she’d ask Ella but not this time. I miss the Ella from a few days ago. The happy Ella—the Ella who was so glad to be alive—surely wouldn’t think three people needed to die because Da Hah wanted to take them.

  Clara jerked herself out of her thoughts before Katie scolded her for staring into space. A quick emotion urged her to pull the drawing out of her tablet, quietly crumple the paper in her hand, and at recess drop the offensive paper in the wastebasket. She shifted on the seat, hesitating. The drawing of the house, including the red barn and farm animals, is so beautiful and peaceful. Slowly she reached for the paper, pulled it out, and held it in front of her. She ran her eyes over the drawing again. It is lovely. The picture is as well drawn as I remembered. So this is evil? Katie apparently thinks so or at least she thinks it is wrong in some way. Preacher Stutzman is sure to agree with her. His voice had thundered at the funeral, and she now drew her breath in sharply at the memory.

  Do I dare have an opinion of my own about this drawing?The question seemed to pull her to the edge of a mighty cliff above a vast canyon with no way to see to the other side. Something deep in her mind warned of danger and calamity if she tried to cross. Yet the other side called her.

  Clara looked at the picture again and then around the schoolhouse. No one seems to be paying any attention. No one will know if I did or did not destroy the drawing. If I do not destroy it, am I, Clara Yoder, committing a great sin? From what she could see, the answer was yes. With a deep breath, Clara took the leap because there seemed no other right choice. I will not destroy this drawing. I like it, and if that is evil, then it will just have to be. Her breath came fast as she waited, wondering at the sinfulness of her decision. Is the page going to disappear in front of my eyes, taken away by a God who would save me from myself? Anything seemed possible, yet the page stayed where it was, and soon her hands ceased to tremble.

  A little rush of joy rose in her heart, but Clara stopped it. Why should I be happy for my disobedience? At the moment it’s enough that the drawing is mine to keep. Tonight I will take the drawing home again and see if Mamm thinks it should be used on the quilt. If she objects or thinks Ella doesn’t want it now that such sorrow has come, then the paper will take its place in my dresser for safekeeping.

  That decided, her thoughts returned to the present assignment. The class had an assignment to write a short composition about frogs or any other small pond dweller the pupils wished to write a story about. Since Friday, the encyclopedia volume on frogs had not been available from the library bookshelf. She had seen Paul and then Ezra use the book, and now Amanda had the book beside her on her seat. Apparently quite a few of the eighth graders planned to use frogs as their composition subject.

  She would simply choose another subject. The paper needed to be done before noon, which left her just enough time.

  All at once it finally occurred to her what she should do. I’ll take special care to not write well. Then Katie won’t think I’ve made a display of my natural talents. That solves things for the present assignment and perhaps for the future. If another drawing comes up, I’ll do the same or take the good one home and do a lesser one for schoolwork. To Clara, this seemed a sensible decision.

  With a glance around, she saw the coast was clear to retrieve an encyclopedia from the library bookshelf. No one else was on the floor. Katie’s rule said that students didn’t have to ask permission to use the library during school hours, but they could only be on the floor one at a time.

  Ready to stand, she caught Paul watching her from his seat behind her. She stopped, frozen for a moment. He had been watching her for some time already. Likely he even saw her look at her picture and put it back into the tablet. Does he know what went through my mind? Is he going to tell on me?

  Clara searched his eyes, and he slowly smiled. The warmth was really gut to feel. His eyes spoke approval of her, of her person, even beyond her actions. She flushed a deep red.

  She glanced away and stood to her feet. Katie had just dismissed a class, which she hadn’t noticed in the confusion of her emotions. The pupils moved down the aisle on the other side of her, but the rule would still be violated if she made her way to the library now. Clara caught herself in time and waited by her desk until everyone was seated.

  Katie looked at Clara and nodded her thanks. It felt good to have Katie’s approval. Perhaps I’m not an evil person after all, even if I like what is forbidden.

  With the last of the class settled in their seats, she continued to wait. Katie would want to call the next class, and with her on the floor, this would complicate the situation. Again her judgment was correct. Katie smiled and nodded as she called for the third-grade English class. They weren’t quite as quick on their feet, but the class got up and moved forward.

  Across the aisle, she caught sight of Ezra, who was seated in the seventh-grade row. The intensity of his eyes drew her. They were sad, solemn, and filled with longing as if he wanted something badly but was certain he would never obtain his goal. Clara looked away quickly. What could Ezra possibly want so much?

  He had trouble with grades. Perhaps he wants better grades like Paul and I earn. Maybe he saw my drawing and wants to draw, or perhaps his family is having money problems. They do seem to be quite poor.

  Clara glanced at him as she moved into the aisle, but he had his gaze on the top of his desk. Up in front, Katie gave instructions to the third-grade class. Ezra suddenly looked up at Clara, and she read the answer to her question in his eyes. The floor grew fuzzy in front of her, and she reached out to grab a desk to steady herself. “Sorry,” she whispered to the girl seated in it and then moved on.

  Paul admired her, but Ezra’s eyes reflected need—stark soul need. Clara moved down the aisle and stopped in front of the row of library books. They swam unsteadily before her eyes. Surely, I don’t need to be afraid of Ezra. I’ve known him for years! He is kind to a fault, quiet, and never draws much attention to himself.

  Her mind searched for answers, as her eyes searched for the P encyclopedia. She would simply look up pond quickly and see what creatures inhabited its waters. In normal conditions, she could come up with some choice on her own right quickly, but now was not normal. Her fingers flipped through the pages and found the right one. A picture of a great blue heron stood right there, its legs stuck deep in the pond water. That was her answer—plain, easy, and simple. She replaced the book, pulled out the H encyclopedia, and took it with her.

  Passing Ezra, he met her eyes again.

  How strange the world is. It might be best to stay completely away from all boys. She walked back to her desk, sat down, and with a focus on her assignment, she began to work.

  Nineteen

  Clara walked slowly up the long hill from the schoolhouse, her lunch pail swinging at her side. The beat of horse’s hooves on the road made her turn around and step toward the ditch to let the buggy pass. She waved, recognizing Karen Byler, who lived at the bottom of the hill, and her oldest daughter, Betty.

  When they had passed, Cla
ra stepped back out of the ditch. Where did Karen and Betty go? Their house was within sight on the other side of the hill, clear at the bottom of the valley, but the church district line passed between them. Perhaps they went to visit relatives for the day

  She skipped a few steps. The day had been a gut one at school, especially the English composition assignment. Katie had given her paper a ninety-five and another smile to go with it. Amanda had also gotten a ninety-five, as did Paul. Clara felt as though she accomplished what she set out to do by not writing as well as she knew she could.

  All she’d had to do was stay with the facts from the encyclopedia, place quotation marks around the direct copy, and add a few of her own thoughts. No embellishments or ventures into story form, and Katie had liked the paper.

  Still, how easily she could have made so much more out of the assignment. Clara slowed down, looking over the valley. With a little more effort, I could have written a much better paper. I can easily see a great blue heron flying across the pond in search of its next meal. He is hungry, and his name is Moses. With his long legs sticking out behind him like the rod the preachers said Moses always carried around, he flaps along.

  A night of hunger has Moses’s stomach in knots. In the last pond, all the fish fled and hid under the logs. Still Moses is very hungry. The desperation increases at the next pond and still no fish. Moses is ready to do almost anything to find food, even fly off in search of a new pond if he has to. Clara envisioned it all. Moses lands on the new pond and meets Henry, the bullfrog. Henry feels sorry for Moses and helps him find fish.

  It would have made a great story if Katie had let me write it and even draw pictures to illustrate it. But, of course, that’s not to be.

  In sight of the house, Clara quickened her step. Her imaginary story had given her courage to face what she needed to do. Because she had decided not to crumple and throw her drawing of the house in the wastebasket, she wanted—even more than before—the drawing used in some way.