Finished with her task at last, Marlena unplugged the iron and set it on the counter to cool, then returned to fold up the wooden ironing board covered with a thick terry cloth towel secured beneath by thumbtacks. She carried it into the large pantry off the kitchen. “I’ll run over to Ellie’s now, Mammi.”
“Don’t forget the egg money, jah?”
Marlena retrieved the money and waved. “I’ll be back right quick.”
Her grandmother let loose a chuckle. “I’ve heard that before, so just take your time.” She paused and looked wistfully at the ceiling, smile lines gracing her face, then looked back at her. “I daresay something ’bout that big farm calls to ya. Ain’t so?”
Marlena shrugged. She couldn’t deny feeling drawn to other Amish folk there in Brownstown, like Ellie and her young girls, and Small Jay, too. But this particular summer—right this minute, in fact—she’d much rather be hurrying off to see her darling beau.
Chapter 2
Ellie tensed when her broad-shouldered husband snapped his black suspenders and turned to stride off toward the barn. She stood watching at the back door and saw Small Jay in Roman’s path, near the latticed pump house, waiting to ask the same question he asked almost every day.
“Guder Mariye!” Small Jay called out to his father.
“Hullo there, Jake.” Roman tousled the boy’s cropped blond bangs.
“Could I help ya, Dat?” Small Jay asked eagerly. “I could water the mules or groom Razor, our pony, or even—”
“Not today,” Roman replied, hustling past him.
Small Jay’s shoulders visibly slumped. “All right, then.”
“That’s a gut boy,” Roman said over his shoulder as he headed to the barn.
Ellie sighed and returned to the kitchen counter, where she was rolling out two crusts for tonight’s strawberry-rhubarb pie. No matter how shorthanded Roman was outdoors, he continued to refuse their son’s offer to help. “It takes more time with him than without him,” Roman had claimed to her in the privacy of their bedroom.
She was weary of their ongoing disagreement about the same thing. Certainly she understood, at least to some degree, why Roman stood his ground on this. Even so, she had pleaded with him numerous times to find something Small Jay could do. “He’s becoming a young man, after all,” she’d urged.
And she heartily disagreed with Roman’s recent suggestion. She would not consider having their daughters help with farm chores in Small Jay’s stead . . . out there in the hayfield, or cultivating potatoes, or carrying wood to mend fences, or whatever else her husband had in mind. Girls’ work was alongside their mothers, and there was no changing her mind otherwise.
On top of all the regular daily chores, she and Roman were scheduled to host the Old Order Amish Preaching service in a mere two weeks, which meant a thorough cleaning, washing ceilings, walls, windows, and windowsills. Every plate in her kitchen, all the glassware, and every single teacup and saucer, too, had to be washed and dried and put away—all essential duties to ready their home for its transformation into the temporary house of worship.
Straightening her long black apron, Ellie scuffed her bare toe on the wide-plank floor on her way to the front room. At the southernmost window, she stopped and squinted into the sunshine, wondering where Small Jay would take Sassy off to this morning—what private adventures they would encounter. Then, hearing the cat’s meowing, she saw her son sitting right under her nose, there on the front porch steps, just grinning and talking Deitsch to the small cat perched on his shoulder. She listened more closely and was taken aback to realize Small Jay was singing his father’s praises.
“Dat’s best friends with the bishop,” Small Jay bragged to Sassy. “And Dat’s so strong. Why, he could lift a buggy with one hand if he wanted to.”
Just imagine, Ellie thought, tears coming.
She watched as Small Jay lovingly stroked his cat. Truly, Sassy was about the only thing that could put a smile on those cheeks anymore. Her son had walked that cat all over God’s creation ever since school ended back in May and Small Jay graduated from eighth grade. Forlornly, Ellie wondered when it would fully dawn on Small Jay that he really didn’t fit in on the farm, or with his father. Will he ever?
What could she do to help him become stronger, if not smarter? Was there anything? Thus far, not a single medicinal tea or herbal concoction had healed his mind, or the unique way he perceived his life and surroundings. Truth be told, Jake was a special gift from the hand of almighty God, and neither Roman, nor anyone else, had the power to alter the truth of the matter.
Our lives never returned to normal after he was born, she thought, slipping down into the hard chair near the window. She’d never forgotten the look of sheer dismay on Roman’s face the day their Jake came into the world. Quickly, they both had realized something was amiss, even without the midwife saying so. Their son was born alive, but he’d held on by an unraveling thread, not taking his first breath quickly enough or wailing like healthy newborns. And oh, the frighteningly sallow color of his tiny angelic face.
She recalled their son’s babyhood, the odd way his eyes were always wide open when nursing, or how difficult it was for him to sit up without support, long past the time when most babies’ backs were strong. Jake had walked late, too, not till he was nearly twenty months old. And when he had cried, it sounded like a bleating lamb.
With all of her heart, Ellie had hoped Small Jay had not retained a mental record of her and Roman’s tentative looks in those early days . . . nor the choked words uttered by his father. Just how many memories were locked away in Small Jay’s innocent mind before he could even speak?
Yet, what of now and the daily disappointment Roman scarcely concealed from their son? Oh, what Ellie wouldn’t give for her husband to be proud of this dear boy who believed his father walked on water.
Ellie jerked to attention when she heard a knock at the back door. She guessed it wasn’t one of Roman’s brothers. No, the menfolk who helped her husband typically came and went as they pleased, tracking into her tidy kitchen for hot coffee or cocoa in the wintertime, and homemade root beer or iced meadow tea the rest of the year. She’d quickly learned as a young bride that this was the way things would be, and she’d trained her daughters, Dorcas, Julia, and Sally—twelve, ten, and seven, respectively—to help with the constant redding up. Ellie so disliked a messy house.
Making her way to the back door, she perked up to see their neighbor’s granddaughter. There was no getting around the fact that Marlena Wenger could turn any man’s head. She was tall and willowy, truly beautiful when she smiled, a hint of what looked like scattered sunbeams in her light brown hair. “Hullo, Marlena! You never have to knock,” Ellie said, pushing the door open, pleased for the company. “Kumme in for a spell, won’t ya?”
“Denki.” The young woman gave her a winning smile and offered a wrapped loaf of bread. “Mammi’s out of eggs. And I brought you something.”
Ellie looked at the warm bread in her hand and thanked her. “Ain’t you nice.”
“It’s the raisin bread you enjoyed last time,” Marlena said, following her into the kitchen.
“Meindscht sell noch?—Do you still remember that?”
Marlena nodded. “It’s right moist, too. Saw to that myself.”
“Let’s have ourselves a buttered slice,” Ellie remarked, placing the loaf of bread on the counter and opening the utensil drawer for a knife. “What do ya say?”
“I shouldn’t stay long. . . .”
“Your grandma won’t mind, will she?” Ellie said, feeling the urge to go overboard to welcome her. “I can pour you some cold meadow tea if you’d like.”
“Denki. Tea’s fine.”
“Gut, then, we’ll have us a chat.” Ellie sliced the warm raisin bread, which smelled heavenly. The luscious aroma brought back memories of her girlhood visits to her maternal grandmother, half a mile away.
“We’ve seen Small Jay out walkin’ lately.”
Ellie glanced toward the window. “Have yous noticed how he always heads in the same direction, down the road toward the old Brownstown Mill and the bridge?” She placed the bread slices on an oval plate and carried it to the table, setting it near Marlena. “I have to say it worries me a bit. But at his age, I need to give him what freedom I can.” She sighed. “How’s your Mammi doin’ these days? I need to go an’ visit her again soon.”
“She’d really like that.” The young woman stopped talking, glancing toward the pond out the window.
“Is there anything I can do for her?”
Marlena shook her head slowly. “Not sure there’s anything that’ll heal her broken heart, ya know. She still can’t see how she’ll get along without my Dawdi.”
“Nee . . . can’t imagine how she must feel.”
“Seems to me she’s waiting to . . . you know . . . waiting for Dawdi . . . to see him again.”
Ellie nodded and felt sorry for her neighbor. “Maybe in time, she’ll feel more like herself.” But she really wondered, knowing Janice Martin’s fondness for her late husband.
She poured some meadow tea for Marlena and then for herself at the table before sitting down, aware of the empty chair at the head, where Roman always sat. The thought momentarily crossed her mind that she might’ve sat next to Marlena for their visit. But she changed her mind right quick, imagining Roman’s reaction if he unexpectedly happened indoors. After all, it wasn’t too long ago that Marlena had switched head coverings to the Beachy Amish Kapp. Roman frowns upon such higher church folk, she thought.
“Mammi Janice said something ’bout you having a sewing class in your Dawdi Haus next door,” Marlena said. “Is that right?”
“Well, it’s quilting on Wednesday mornings and needlepoint on Fridays. Maybe you’d like to join us.”
“Denki, I’ll see if I can get all my work done.”
“Just come whenever you can. How’s that?”
They finished their tea and Ellie ended up savoring two slices of Marlena’s delicious bread, spread with more butter than necessary, but it wasn’t every day she had a chance to sit and catch her breath like this.
“Are your girls away today?” Marlena asked after thanking her for the tea and getting up.
“They’re over helping their Aendi weed the family vegetable garden this morning—my sister down the road and around the corner. She lives in one of the houses near the old mill.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that mill,” Marlena admitted. “It’s real perty with all of those windows, some of ’em gabled. Must be nice and light inside.”
Ellie agreed, and after Marlena paid her for the eggs, Ellie walked her out the back door and down the porch steps. She said good-bye and stood there, observing the lovely young woman head for the pastureland between the house and the willow grove. “Kumme again soon,” she called after her, wondering if Marlena would show up for the morning classes.
A gem of a girl, thought Ellie as she turned toward the house. To think Marlena had left her serious beau behind to come help her grandmother. Although Ellie had heard some gossip at a canning bee last week that Marlena’s parents were hoping she’d forget about her boyfriend and turn her back on the Old Order Amish for good.
I sure hope not, Ellie thought.
Marlena was certain Mammi would be restless by now, wondering how long before she’d return. My grandmother talks confidently, but there’s such pain in her eyes.
Picking up her pace, Marlena took into account the many chores still ahead of her. “I might’ve stayed too long at Ellie’s,” she muttered.
She hurried through the willow grove, looking about her and thinking again of Small Jay. Ellie had said his wanderings worried her sometimes, yet Marlena had no spare time to devote to keeping track of the lad, although she surely would if she could. Scanning the area thoroughly, she glanced over near the glistening pond but saw no sign of him.
Rounding the house as she came in from the east meadow, Marlena heard the phone ringing and was glad for her grandmother. Someone to talk to . . . a church friend, perhaps.
She dillydallied, going to the potting shed to sweep the floor, then taking the broom over to the gazebo to sweep that, too. Marlena recalled overhearing her father tell Mamma that, after Dawdi Tim’s sudden passing, his four sons arrived at the farm, some of them mighty upset. Apparently, Dawdi had made some unwise business decisions in recent years, so his boys had swooped in and hauled away hundreds of hens and every last one of the nanny goats, and the tractor, too, selling them at auction. Thankfully, her grandfather had owned the farm and, while it was highly unusual to purchase life insurance, it was required by the bank in order to get a loan. So Mammi Janice had nary a financial worry after those debts were satisfied. And being the good steward she was, she’d rented the farmland to an Amish neighbor the Bitners knew.
Carrying the broom back to the white shed, Marlena hung it on the designated peg and made her way toward the house. “Now to pick strawberries,” she said to herself.
When she turned around, she was startled to see her grandmother outdoors, moving hesitantly as she came this way. “What is it, Mammi?”
Mammi’s eyes fixed on hers, and her shoulders slumped as if an unseen weight was about to crush her. “Your sister Luella’s been in a car accident.”
Marlena gasped. “Is she all right?”
“She’s seriously injured.”
Marlena’s mind was reeling.
“She was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital,” Mammi said, voice trembling as she placed her hand on Marlena’s arm. “Honey-girl, let’s go an’ sit for a bit.”
Pulse racing, Marlena followed to the porch, finding it hard to think, let alone to be still. Suddenly she remembered her older sister’s baby, and worry squeezed her heart. “Was Angela Rose riding with her?”
“Thankfully, no. The baby was with a friend.” Mammi reached down to lift the edge of her apron to her face, fanning herself. “Praise be.”
More concerns came to mind. Luella’s husband, Gordon Munroe, possibly didn’t know any of this, and Mammi’s silence surely signaled similar worries. There must be a way to contact him through various military channels, but Marlena didn’t know anything about that process or how long it might take.
Nearby, a bee hovered over the red, white, and pink petunias. It was strange to hear the distinct sound of this lone bee, Marlena thought, her heart elsewhere.
“Your aunt Becky is planning to bring the baby here tomorrow.”
It was no surprise that her father’s youngest sister would step in to help, but . . .
“Here?” Marlena sputtered.
Mammi put her hands to her plump cheeks and moaned softly. “Gordon’s parents left for a two-week Mediterranean cruise, so they’re out of reach.”
They sat quietly for a time until Marlena spoke at last, struggling for the words. “Mammi, will Luella be okay?”
Mammi lowered her head for a moment and sighed deeply. When she lifted her eyes again, there were noticeable tears. Even so, she said quietly, “Let’s hold our dear Lord’s hand in faithful trust, my dear girl. That’s all I know to do.”
Marlena nodded, yet it wasn’t always easy to trust when things looked so bleak. Oh, she hoped her parents were with Luella at the hospital right now.
Mammi looked over at her, her gaze tender as she blinked back tears.
Aunt Becky’s bringing the baby to me. Marlena couldn’t fathom why Mamma wouldn’t take her. She was unable to decipher such news. “I guess I’m the one they want to take care of Angela Rose,” she said in a near whisper.
“Just till Luella’s better.” Mammi reached for an embroidered hankie from her apron pocket and dabbed at her blue eyes. “Your mother has her hands full with your younger siblings and all the summer canning and whatnot. You know that, dear.”
Oh, she knew. And she wouldn’t shirk her duty in caring for the little one, even though she’d only laid eyes on the baby once, a few
days after Angela Rose was born. Her fancy niece had been dressed in a tiny pink outfit complete with bows. Heaven knew five-month-old Angela Rose needed someone to tend to her.
“Where can we get a crib by tomorrow?” Marlena said, resigning herself to doing what she must as they rose and headed inside to resume their morning chores.
My poor sister!
Chapter 3
Small Jay tiptoed, mimicking Sassy as he moved along the road, stepping around a pothole, the cat’s leash slack. He’d purchased the bright red leash at Joe Stoltzfus’s general store with the coins that jingled in his metal bank, after he’d pried the seal from the base of it. He didn’t remember how long ago that was, but he’d had it in his mind for the longest time that there must be a way to keep track of Sassy when he took her outside.
If I could just grow a few more inches . . . maybe then Dat would let me help, he thought. Someday, when I’m stronger and smarter.
He swung a long stick in slow circles over his head with his free hand, pretending he could stir up those fluffy white clouds. Why did they sometimes look nearly close enough to touch, especially just after dawn?
“Deacon . . . bishop . . . preacher . . . preacher,” he chanted happily in Deitsch as he looked over the fields to the farmhouses ahead. It was curious, really, how all the ministers in their church district lived neighbors to each other. He imagined what it’d be like for all four men to go hunting in the fall, coming together for something other than the house meetings every other Sunday.
Small Jay had, in fact, seen the deacon and one of the preachers over at Joe’s General Store, not chewing the fat but chewing on black licorice. Getting it on their beards, he remembered with a grimace.
He considered what he’d once overheard their old deacon telling his mother. “Everyone has a purpose in life. A task only he can do.”
Mamma had started to cry, and Small Jay had backed out of the room, feeling sorry for her, wondering why she was so upset. That night he’d prayed, “Help Mamma not to feel so sad. Make her as happy as I am when Sassy’s lickin’ my bare toes!”
The Love Letters Page 2