by Kelly Long
Abel shrugged. “I didn’t know Gott makes quilts. I’m going to make Aenti Lilly a card.”
“That would be great.” Grace was proud of her son for thinking of such an idea. Then she turned to Seth. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For cherishing our wedding promise so dearly.”
She watched him flush with color, and he nodded vaguely.
“Hey,” Abel cried. “Can I paint it? Can I paint the card?”
Grace looked at Seth and noticed his jaw tighten.
“Maybe not, my sweet. You can be so much more personal—more you—with a drawing.”
“That’s not always true,” Seth said evenly.
Grace could tell that he was not going to let the matter drop.
Alice came up and joined them. “Well, I got ten new Pink Lady customers. The collagen-boosting products are going to do well among the Amish.”
Grace forced a smile and tried to concentrate on her friend’s words—anything to avoid the storm she felt was coming with Seth.
When they arrived home, Abel scurried off in search of paper and pencils. Alice went up to her room to plot her new Pink Lady orders, and Violet, as usual, was off somewhere. Grace hadn’t seen her since the Meeting.
Grace sank down onto the couch. She was always tired after sitting on the backless benches of Meeting. And although the gatherings were fun, they too seemed tiring today.
Seth sat down in the chair opposite her. “Grace, you know he could’ve painted the card.”
“He could have,” she murmured.
“What’s the difference between painting and doing a coloring book?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Well, we need to talk about it,” Seth said. “You have to understand that this is part of who I am.”
Grace opened her eyes. “But it’s a secret part.”
“Oh, and you don’t have secrets?”
“Yes, I have secrets, but I don’t want to keep them.”
“That’s not true.” He shook his head. “You want to keep them like the bear that’s got hold of the beehive. He may get stung to death, but sometimes it’s a reflex not to let go.”
“That’s not fair, Seth. It’s not fair to compare what happened to me for nine years to your painting.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Because what you do makes you happy. It wasn’t the same for me.”
He moved suddenly, kneeling in front of her and framing her with his long arms. He looked up earnestly into her face. “I’d like to make you happy, Grace,” he said.
She gazed down at him in confusion; this was more difficult than the idea of him losing his temper. “Seth, I don’t know what—”
“I just want to love you and understand you better,” he went on. “This painting thing is important because it’s a source of tension between us.”
“Seth, I can’t agree with you because I don’t know what the bishop would—”
She broke off as Abel came running into the room with his hand-drawn card. He went to Seth. “I made a tree for Aenti Lilly, and I put a baby under the tree so a new baby will grow—maybe as big as the tree.”
“It’s fine, sohn. She’ll love it.”
Grace noticed, with some hurt, that Abel did not tilt the card toward her.
CHAPTER 40
Seth went to the bedroom to change his shirt. He picked a green one to wear to Jacob’s, then happened to glance at the bureau drawers. One of them was half-open and askew instead of neatly closed as both he and Grace kept them.
He felt a chill go down his spine. Tobias Beiler had surely been in the house again. He closed his eyes, trying to think, trying to pray. Then he heard Grace knock softly on the door.
“Seth, I—are you angry? Please, may I come in?”
He hurried to close the drawers, then went to open the door. She looked up at him with anxious eyes.
“I’m coming, Grace. I’m almost ready. Please, go outside with Abel and get in the buggy. I’ll be along.”
Seth drove without thinking, his mind occupied with other things. How could he make his home more secure without alarming Grace and Abel? How could he reconcile this disagreement with Grace about the painting?
All husbands and wives had disagreements, but the painting seemed so fundamental, so intrinsically part of who he was. There was a time when Lilly had actually wanted him to come to the school and teach the children how to do it. But his own wife . . . it felt as if she wanted to take something from him. Something precious.
Yet his conscience prodded him. He wanted to take her past from her. And how much more problematic and wrenching a thing to take from someone . . .
He glanced sideways at her and reached out to grasp her hand. She turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She nodded. “Me too.”
It made him feel a bit better, but it did nothing to resolve the deeper issue.
When they arrived at Lilly and Jacob’s, Grace was surprised to be greeted with smiles from both of them. Lilly looked wan and pale but still happy somehow. Jacob, too, had a peacefulness about him as Grace presented the various casseroles that had been given that afternoon as tokens of love and goodwill.
“Sit down, sei so gut,” Jacob invited. “We have a lot to tell you.”
“How are you, Lilly?” Grace asked softly.
“I am well. We both prayed about this last night and feel that this is not so much a loss but an opportunity for us to grow closer in love.”
Grace saw Seth pass a hand over his eyes. “A painful opportunity, though. We are so sorry,” he said.
Jacob laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t, Seth. It’s all right, really. There will be plenty of other chances for you to be an onkel.”
Grace smiled at her brother-in-law. “You are both so brave.”
Lilly shook her head. “Nee. We know there will still be much grieving to come, but when the Lord takes away, He always gives back. We need to believe that.”
“Well, you’re stronger in your faith than I am.” Seth caught his bruder close for a hug and then came to Lilly to do the same. Grace embraced them both, then gave Seth a look to say they probably should leave.
Jacob led them to the door and caught Grace’s arm. “Visit, Grace, will you? She’ll need it later.”
“I give my word,” Grace said. She followed Seth to the buggy.
They didn’t talk much on the ride home. Seth seemed deep in thought—probably marveling, as she was, at the united front Jacob and Lilly brought to their difficult situation.
Seth pulled the buggy close to the house and came around to help Grace down. When he touched her arm, she felt the warmth of his hand linger, almost as if he were touching her to make sure she was real.
She wanted to comfort him somehow, say something, but then her feet touched the ground and the moment had passed.
Seth unhitched the horse and saw to its needs without a thought to what he was doing. He felt tired and drained. The loss of Jacob and Lilly’s baby had affected him more than he realized, and he wondered, for the first time in his life, about the sovereign hand of Gott.
He’d heard other people pose such questions: If God is good, then why does He let bad things happen? Seth didn’t know the answers, not by a long shot. But he had seen how the foal sometimes did not get to its feet, could not nurse, was turned on by its mother . . .
This was all part of nature, and the mystery of things unseen.
But still it didn’t answer the unanswerable question. He thought about the quilt image he’d given Abel earlier—the pattern that only God could see.
Perhaps it was the best he could do.
Grace looked up as her father-in-law came in the door.
“Hiya,” Samuel Wyse said. “Mary’s having a nap. She spent a couple of hours with Lilly early this morning, and I thought I’d look for some coffee and a bit of company.”<
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“Sit down.” Grace waved him to the table. “Please.”
“How about some baked beans too?” Alice offered. “I made them this afternoon. Baked beans are a great comfort food, and you folks could sure use a bit of comforting.” She slid a plate in front of Samuel as Grace filled his cup.
Seth came in, greeted his daed, then went to the sink to wash up. Grace went to his side and touched his arm lightly.
“Seth, do you want some coffee?”
“Jah, danki.”
For once he wasn’t looking intensely at her, but seemed distant and removed. He sat down across from his father and Alice plied him with baked beans.
“What ails you, sohn?” Samuel asked.
Seth let out a breath. “I’m struggling, I guess, trying to figure out why Lilly lost the baby. I’m weary of hearing that sometimes what looks like a mess is really God’s will.”
His daed nodded. “In the middle of the mess, Seth, there is majesty.”
“I don’t know.”
“There’re some so-called Christians who would say she lost the baby because of sin in her life—that God is punishing her for something unconfessed,” Alice said.
“Silas Beiler would have said that too,” Grace added softly. “He believed that misfortune befell people because they deserved it for sinning.”
“I don’t understand how someone could be that off in the head, in the heart, to consider such a thing.” Seth’s voice was tight. “Jacob and Lilly are gut people, the finest I know.”
“Sohn.” Samuel laid a weathered hand on Seth’s arm. “This is not about punishment.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“Sometimes bad things happen in our lives,” Samuel went on. “What matters most is how we respond to the bad things. Now, I could say that I’ve been cheated out of a grandbaby and spend my time being mad at God, or I can trust Him that there’s something better.”
Grace watched Seth draw a deep breath, then he looked straight at her. “The pastor at the church in town talked about how we can’t be separated from God’s love—nothing can separate us. So I guess this wrestling with Gott won’t separate me either.”
“Nee,” Grace whispered. She felt a surge of hope when she saw the spark return to his blue eyes.
Nothing can separate us . . .
CHAPTER 41
The next day a pink flyer arrived, advertising the annual mud sale and spaghetti dinner that the Amisch would host in conjunction with the Lockport volunteer fire department.
“It’s in two weeks,” Alice said. “So tell me about my first mud sale.”
Grace refilled their coffee cups.
“I didn’t get to go to them in Middle Hollow, but I’ve heard they are a great place to get just about anything a person could imagine: quilts, preserves, sheds, livestock, cabinets, mirrors, firewood, plants—ach, anything!”
“Isn’t it a little late for a mud sale?” Alice asked. “The grass is pretty green.”
“Jah, but this spring was so rainy that the actual mud was too much, so they postponed it. But I expect the ground will get pretty muddy still, with five hundred Englisch and Amisch people traipsing about.”
“I’ve heard the food is good,” Alice said. “What all do they have besides spaghetti?”
“I don’t know.” Grace smiled. “Pot pie, barbecued chicken, kettle cooked chips—I suppose we will eat ourselves silly.”
Alice sighed with satisfaction. “Now that I can do.”
When Jacob walked into the barn his first morning back, Seth had to restrain himself from hugging him. He wanted to act normal, to respond like old times. But there was something changed in his brother’s face—a calm maturity, as if he’d been tried by fire and not found lacking.
“Hey,” Jacob said softly.
“Hey.”
Seth cast about for something to say, feeling unusually tentative. Jacob smiled at him.
“Seth, it’s all right. You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves. I took some time, wrestled it out with Lilly and der Herr, and I’m okay.”
“I hate to see you hurt. I’ve always hated it. Like the time you had your ribs broken by that stallion—”
“But this didn’t break me, I promise. Now, tell me how Grace is and how things are moving along.”
“We fight about the painting. It subsides, then flares up.”
“Like many wounds,” Jacob observed.
Seth looked at him intently. “My painting is not a wound.”
“It’s a secret well kept, though. What does the Bible say? ‘What I tell you in darkness; proclaim in the light’? Maybe you hug it to yourself, and that contributes to the wound between you and Grace.”
In his brother’s words, Seth heard an echo of his own accusations to Grace the other night. Had he been doing the very thing he had accused her of?
“You know, your cheek pulses when you think,” Jacob said. “I’m surprised Mamm and Daed never figured it out while you manufactured excuses for our lateness with the girls.”
“Yeah, the girls . . .”
“Regrets?”
Seth sighed. “Some.”
“Then try to put all of your ‘practice’ into good experiences for your fraa.”
“You’re right,” Seth said. “I guess something positive can come out of this, after all.” He grinned at his brother. It was good to feel as if balance had been restored between them.
The day of the sale loomed quickly. With her ankle finally healed and free of the cast, Grace had spent much of the week making baked goods to be auctioned off.
“All of the money goes to support the volunteer fire department,” Grace told Alice. “We’re really blessed to have them.”
“I should say so,” Alice said. “You don’t need a barn burning around here.”
“Whose barn is burning?” Seth asked from the doorway.
He came in and casually brushed his knuckles against Grace’s cheek. “There’s some stuff up in the attic that Mamm and Daed want to donate to the sale. Want to come help me look?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said. “Abel—”
Alice picked up their coffee cups. “You go on. I’ll wash these up and then get Abel. I promised to make salty-oily play dough with him this morning.”
Grace followed Seth up to the third floor. She hadn’t been up in the attic yet, though she knew she would spend a lot of time there in the fall when it was time to dry the root vegetables.
“Jacob and I used to play up here a lot. Mamm would have a fit because she was afraid we’d knock the onions down. But mostly we spent time scaring ourselves and fooling around among all of the old chests and things.”
Grace was out of breath by the time she gained the top step to the attic.
“It’s a climb, isn’t it?”
Grace nodded. She stood there for a minute, gazing around at the wide expanse of the center room. Remnants of dried vegetables still lined the edges of the walls. There were several old trunks and a massive wardrobe against one wall.
“There are two other side rooms off of this one.” Seth opened a panel hidden cleverly in the wall, concealing the entrance. He gestured to the opening. “Want to hear a secret?”
“Okay . . .”
Grace lifted her skirt and navigated through the space. She could spend days up here, just opening the trunks to see what was inside. But not today.
She stooped to get through the small door in the wall, then stood fully erect and followed her husband.
Sunlight streamed in through a window and played across the dusty wooden floor. Boxes of strange bird feathers were strewn about—even a peacock feather.
“Daed used to tie flies,” Seth said. “He used the feathers for the lures.”
They passed a massive wooden desk, complete with dozens of compartments and cubbyholes. Grace thought it had to have been put together on the spot—she saw no way it would have made it through the door. An old spinning wheel, more chests, and a faded upholste
red rocker took up more space.
“This is a huge room.”
“I know.” Seth smiled at her and dropped into the rocker. He gave it a few experimental moves, apparently pleased with its creaking, then patted his lap.
“Come and sit down,” he said. “I want you to hear the secret.”
She hesitated, then gingerly smoothed her skirt and perched herself on his knees. “Well, all right . . .”
He pulled her back against his chest and slipped an arm around her.
“Listen,” he whispered.
She tried but only heard her heart in her ears. “I’m listening.”
“No, really listen.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath, and then she heard it: the sound of the faint wind outside whistling like a melody under the narrowed eaves of the room. It was delightful, and if she tried, she could imagine herself atop a mountain with the wind dancing about her, free and beautiful.
“Jacob and I used to come up here at night and scare ourselves with the wind whipping around. Sometimes it sounds like crying, but mostly it’s a joy to hear.”
She sat listening for a few minutes, gradually pulled into the warmth of his nearness, the earthy scents of horse and barn and the faint spice of soap.
“What are you thinking about?” he said.
Grace felt like a little girl caught with her hand in a jar of sweets. “Um . . . the sound of the wind.”
He laughed low. “Grace Wyse, I do believe that you are sinning.” He touched her lips lightly with one finger. “Repeat after me: Thou shalt not lie.”
Seth braced his feet on the attic floorboards and tried to focus on the old spring poking him in the back—anything to distract him from the tiny curl that had escaped her kapp.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Alas, given your propensity for sin, my sweet, I am forced to tell the truth. I’m thinking about you.”
“Well, stop it.”
“I can’t. Not ever.” He rocked forward and nudged her with his chin. “Kiss me,” he said.
“From what I hear, you’ve had more than enough kissing in your short life.”
“A fact you should appreciate.”
She turned to him with genuine curiosity. “Why?”