The weeks after the wedding sped along. Winter set in, and Reuben and Jerusha Springer made visits to their friends and neighbors, who gave them gifts. With the help of their families and the community, Reuben spent many days working on a house situated on the creek that ran through her father’s property.
By spring they were ready to move. On a day in early April, when flowers were blossoming and songbirds had returned to make their nests in the willow trees, Reuben took her from her father’s house to their new home. As he took her in his arms to carry her across the threshold, Jerusha asked him to wait.
“Before we go in, my darling,” she whispered in his ear, “I have something to tell you.”
“At a moment like this? What can you possibly tell me now?” he asked in surprise.
“Reuben...we’re going to have a baby.”
Reuben’s eyes opened wide, and a huge smile broke across his face. His arms tightened close around her, and he buried his face in her shoulder. She could feel quiet sobs shake his shoulders, and then he looked up with tears lining his face.
“Thank you, my darling wife,” was all he said, and then he carried her across the threshold. And Reuben and Jerusha entered into a season of their lives filled with great joy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
To Every Thing There Is a Season
SUMMER IS A LOVELY TIME OF YEAR in Apple Creek. Long, languid days are followed by clear, warm evenings. The night sky is brilliant with stars. The fields and orchards around the village are bursting with life. And for Reuben and Jerusha, even after all the summers they had experienced in Apple Creek, the summer of 1944 held a special splendor.
A great part of their happiness was focused on the child growing within Jerusha, and even more, God seemed to reach down from His throne and mark each day with an overpowering sense of wonder and destiny. The war raged on in the Pacific and Europe, but it didn’t seem to touch Apple Creek. Instead, peace and joy filled the village.
Reuben spent most of his time in the fields, cultivating the potatoes and vegetables and watching as the heads of wheat and the ears of corn began to fill and grow heavy, portending a bumper crop. Sometimes he paused in amazement at the richness all around him, and the words of a Hebrew blessing he had learned from his childhood friend, Sammy, often came to his memory.
“Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, bo’re p’ri ha-adama.”
“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who creates the fruit of the ground.”
Each morning Jerusha rose early to milk the cows and goats and churn some of the rich cream into butter, leaving the rest for Reuben to bottle and sell in town. Jerusha loved those early mornings. The cool stillness was a mantle of tranquility that sheltered her world and her baby with serenity. Even the songbirds seemed to speak of God’s loving-kindness. Often, at the end of a sweltering day, Reuben and Jerusha sat on their porch as the cool evening air brought them relief and stillness settled over their land, bringing peace.
Sometimes Reuben sat quietly, not speaking, but smiling while Jerusha fanned herself and chatted about the events of her day. Or Jerusha listened to Reuben speak about the crops or expected weather patterns. Sometimes she thought about the times before their marriage when she sat enthralled as Reuben poured out his dreams and ambitions and shared his knowledge of music and art and even other faiths—but those times were now locked away in Reuben’s heart, and he spoke of them no more.
Eventually that wonderful summer drew to a close, and the leaves began to turn gold and red. The fields groaned with the richness of the harvest, and the Amish brought their horses and their combines and began to reap the fruit of their labors.
As at no other time, the reality and necessity of their decision to remain separate from the world came upon the Amish men. Life was work, and work was with their hands and animals and simple machines. They became one with the land, moving on it in unison, pushing their strong bodies to the limits of endurance. Yet even as they struggled, they rejoiced in the power they had together in a world given to them by a loving God.
Reuben worked dawn to dusk beside the other men as they moved from field to field, harvesting corn, wheat, potatoes, and barley in such abundance that more buildings were quickly constructed to contain it all. Often the men stopped at the end of a day and stood with their hats in their hands while the sun set in the west, and they sang together of God’s goodness and blessing.
As the fall turned toward winter and the mornings began with a chill, Jerusha began to look forward more and more to the birth of their baby. The harvest was in, the fall weddings had taken place, and now Jerusha was in the last days of her pregnancy. She had put on weight and felt awkward and unlovely, but Reuben paid more attention to her and saw to it that she was comfortable and cared for. Most of all, he expressed his love for her in a hundred simple ways, from helping with housework to bringing her small gifts. One day she found a wonderful handcrafted cradle beside the bed. It was made of clear pine and detailed beautifully, and she realized that Reuben must have worked on it for months.
From time to time, Bobby came by to visit. Those were good times, for Reuben loved Bobby like a brother, and because her husband did, Jerusha grew to love Bobby as well. He was a gentle man, very solicitous of her condition and always ready with a kind word or a smile. They would have dinner together, and then he and Reuben would sit and talk while Jerusha worked on a quilt or sewed clothing for the baby.
Of course, Bobby and Reuben didn’t speak of the war except in general terms, but Jerusha knew they shared an unspoken bond of suffering.
Bobby was in awe of Jerusha’s quilts and always asked to see them. This caused Jerusha no little embarrassment, for she didn’t want Bobby to think of her as proud or ambitious. But she would bring out some of the quilts and let Bobby admire them. Reuben would grumble about “pride going before a fall,” but Jerusha noticed he beamed as he spoke.
Jerusha looked forward to Bobby’s visits because they were the only times she caught glimpses into the hidden part of her husband. As he and Bobby talked, sometimes they slipped into a discussion about the world outside Apple Creek, and from time to time the talk developed into a disagreement. Bobby would take the side of technology and science and wonder aloud how the Amish could do without so many modern conveniences. Reuben would stand for the ways of his people.
In those times Jerusha would see both how deeply her husband understood the world and how much he had placed his life under the laws of their order. She saw that in many ways he had become legalistic in his approach to their life. If there was a rule or a dictate of their faith governing any circumstance or issue, they followed that rule without hesitation. Once Bobby challenged him directly when they were talking about whether Jerusha would go to the hospital to have the baby. Reuben had told Bobby that she would have her baby at home in the old way.
“We don’t need an Englisch doctor to deliver our baby,” Reuben said. “We’ve been delivering babies at home for at least three hundred years.”
Jerusha added, “Not only that, but we have a wonderful midwife here in the village who has delivered dozens of babies. I’m strong and in good health, and my baby will be perfect in every way. And he or she will be born at home.”
Bobby started to say something but then thought better of it when he saw Reuben’s face signaling an end to the discussion.
“Well, you folks know what’s best for you,” he said and then deftly turned the talk in another direction. “So, are you hoping the baby will be born on Christmas day?”
Jerusha blushed. “It’s very possible, although that’s in the Lord’s hands.”
In the Lord’s hands, thought Bobby. Reuben used that expression when I left him in the hospital and came home. And now it seems that the Lord he trusted has come through for him in a big way.
“Well, that would be a great Christmas gift for everyone, especially Uncle Bobby,” he said.
“We want you to be more than the baby’s
uncle,” said Reuben. “We would be honored if you would be a godparent. It means that you would become more closely associated with our family and would help with our baby’s future if anything happened to us.”
Bobby’s mouth dropped open. “But Reuben, I’m not of your faith. How would your community feel about that?”
“You’re family to me, and I believe it is so with my wife,” said Reuben quietly. “It’s our prayer that eventually you’ll come to a relationship with God, but that’s your choice. We know you’re a good man. You’ve been a brother to me. So if you will consider it, we would be honored if you agreed.”
Reuben looked at Jerusha, who nodded her agreement.
“I’m the honored one,” said Bobby. “And yes, I will accept that responsibility. As I told you on your wedding day, if there is ever anything you need, or any help that a friend can give, please call on me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jenna
THE GREAT THANKSGIVING STORM had entered its most ferocious stage. Friday had been bad, but the worst of the tempest occurred on Saturday as blizzard conditions prevailed throughout Ohio. By late in the day, snow depths reached twenty inches in eastern Ohio, and in some locations, drifts were piling up more than twenty-five feet deep. Winds as high as sixty miles per hour blew down wires and trees. Many buildings collapsed under the weight of the snow. A state of emergency was declared, and the Ohio National Guard used Jeeps to transport people to hospitals and to deliver food to rural homes. Apple Creek was an out-of-the-way village, and most of the people were fending for themselves, so the sight of Bobby Halverson’s plow out on the road was comforting and let people know they were not alone. But most of Apple Creek simply stayed indoors and prayed that the storm would soon pass.
Bobby left the Springer place and headed over to Dutch’s garage. Dutch saw the plow pull up in front and came outside, wiping some oil off his hands with a dirty rag.
“Hey, Bobby, the old hunk-a-junk is still running, I see,” he shouted up.
“Don’t talk so loud, Dutch. She’ll hear you, and you’ll hurt her feelings. She’s been running good, and I don’t want you upsetting her!”
Dutch laughed and said, “What can I do for you today, Hoss?”
“Fill ’er up with number one diesel, please. And you didn’t happen to come by any glow plugs, did you?”
“Not in this storm. Everything is shut down tight. I won’t be getting up to Wooster until the middle of next week. That is, if this monster ever blows over. Pull her inside and I’ll gas her up in the garage. And I’ll give those plugs the once-over.”
Dutch went inside and rolled up the garage door. Bobby pulled the tractor inside, and Dutch rolled the door back down with a bang.
“You’re lucky I’m here. I got bored at home and came over to work on that forty-one Merc I got stashed in the back. But it’s too blasted cold, and I was just about to pack up and leave.”
“Should I leave her running?” Bobby asked.
“Nope. She’s warmed up pretty good, and I got plenty of starter if she stalls.”
Bobby shut off the engine and climbed down while Dutch pulled the hood open and began to check the plugs. After a few minutes he looked over and made a wry comment.
“She’s doin’ pretty good for a rust bucket. These plugs are still pretty beat, but they seem to be working. I’ll gas her up. By the way, shouldn’t you be letting the county boys do the plowin’? It’s gettin’ pretty stiff out there.”
“I’m looking for Jerusha Springer. She and Henry Lowenstein got in a wreck, and Henry had to walk into town to get help. It’s kind of a long story, but before we could get back to help, Jerusha was gone. She either tried to walk out herself and she’s lost in the snow, or someone came by and found her. I’m driving up to Wooster to check the hospital, and then I’ll let the sheriff know what’s going on. After that I’m going to go up to Kidron Road and see if I can find any trace of her. It was pretty dark when Mark Knepp and I got there last night.”
“Well, that’s a real kerfuffle, Bobby. Anything I can do to help?” Dutch asked.
“I can’t ask you to follow me around in this storm, but you could drop by the Springer place and check with Hank Lowenstein in a while.”
“Will do,” Dutch said as he pulled a hose out from beside a drum and stuck it into the fuel tank. He pumped the handle on the barrel and started filling the tractor with diesel. In a few minutes the plow was topped off, and Dutch closed up the hood.
“Just keep ’er runnin’,” he said. “The plugs are almost shot, and if she sits too long in this cold and you lose power in your battery, she won’t start.” Dutch reached up on a shelf and grabbed a spray can. “If you do get stalled, spray this ether in the port. It just might get her goin’.”
“Thanks, Dutch,” Bobby said as he stuck the can behind the seat.
“You’re welcome. Just stay outta’ trouble and don’t stall her. I’ll see you later.”
Dutch grabbed the door chain and rolled up the metal door. Bobby reached out of the cab and grabbed Dutch’s outstretched hand. He shook it and then headed out into the storm.
Bobby turned onto Dover Road. Wooster was only eight miles, and the road had been kept pretty clear, but it took him about half an hour to get there. His first stop was at the Wooster Hospital. He left the tractor running by the door and popped inside to see if anyone had brought Jerusha in. The admittance nurse checked the records, but there were no Amish women in the hospital. He left his dad’s phone number in case anyone brought Jerusha in and then headed over to the Wayne County Sheriff’s Office. The sheriff, a gruff old World War I vet, commiserated with Bobby but let him know that the sheriff’s office was stretched pretty thin already and really didn’t have any spare people to send with Bobby.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own, son,” he said as he spit a wad of chew into a pot beside his desk. “Just let me know what happens. She could have been picked up by someone who got her indoors and we haven’t heard, or in this storm...” He paused when he saw the grim look on Bobby’s face. “Well, let’s hope for the best. Thanks for helpin’ out with your plow. I know a lot of folks down in Apple Creek speak pretty highly of you.”
“Thanks, sheriff. I’ll keep you informed.”
Bobby climbed back up on the tractor and headed toward Kidron Road. The old tractor chugged along, but every few minutes the wind gusts pushed it toward the ditch, and Bobby had to hang on to the wheel with all his strength to keep it on the road.
After about an hour he arrived back at the scene of the crash. The car was almost completely covered by snow, but Bobby dug down, pulled the door open, and looked for any clue as to Jerusha’s whereabouts. He found nothing except a large empty cardboard box with “Rose of Sharon—quilt by Jerusha Springer” on the side. As he held the box, his hands began to shake. He felt short of breath and dizzy. Suddenly the tension and stress of the previous two days overcame him. He began to sob uncontrollably. He pushed his way out of the car, staggered a few feet, and fell to his knees in the snow.
“Jerusha, where are you?” he screamed into the howling wind.
Bobby knelt in the snow and wept. He managed a prayer but felt as if there was no answer. The wind only increased in its fury, and the snow continued to fall out of a baleful sky.
Jerusha was beginning to worry. She had used up more of the wood since dawn, and the pile was shrinking. The little girl remained quiet in her arms as she slept. Jerusha realized the girl was thirsty and hungry. She gently laid the little girl down. There were a couple of empty beer cans in the corner, and she picked one up and went to the door. She opened it just a crack, packed the can full of snow, and brought it over to the stove. She put the can on the flat plate above the firebox, and in a few minutes the snow had melted into water. She took a swallow and almost retched at the stale taste of old beer and dirt.
Ugh! Good thing I didn’t just give that to Jenna—
She caught herself.
Bobby
Halverson’s off-the-cuff prophecy came true. Jerusha’s baby was born on Christmas Day 1944. The labor was short and the delivery easy, and Reuben and Jerusha’s little girl was born early in the morning at home in the Springers’ big bed. She was strong and healthy, and when the midwife slapped her little bottom, the lusty cry was like an angel’s voice to Jerusha. Reuben took her in his strong arms and blessed her.
“Loving God, thank You for the gift of life and for bringing our little girl safely into this world. May You bless her and keep her and help her to grow loving, strong, and healthy in Your love, now and always. Amen.” Then he placed her in his wife’s arms. Tears started in Jerusha’s eyes as an overpowering love for the little girl swept over her.
“She’s so white and lovely,” she whispered. “What shall we call her, Reuben?”
“Well, the Celtic name Gwynwhyhar means white, fair, and smooth. That’s a mouthful, so we could use the short version. Gwynwhyhar became Guenivere and then Jennifer and finally Jenny or Jenna. Shall we call her Jenna?”
“Jenna...Jenna,” Jerusha repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. “It’s perfect. She’ll be Jenna Springer, fair and lovely all her days.”
As the days passed, Jerusha and Reuben felt as if they had never been without this beautiful child. She was so easy to care for and so sweet in all her ways from her first day, the Springers could only take joy in caring for her. She loved being held and cooed and gurgled softly when her daed picked her up. She nursed easily and then fell quietly asleep in Jerusha’s arms.
Even at night when it was time to feed her, the soft little voice called out to them instead of jerking them abruptly from sleep. Jerusha sat with her and stared at her features, running her finger over the soft bow of her lips or smelling the sweetness of her skin. Occasionally Uncle Bobby dropped by with some vague reason why he had to talk to Reuben, but Jerusha knew he came for Jenna. She would smile and admonish him as he stood expectantly, shifting from one foot to the other.
A Quilt for Jenna Page 18