“Deacon . . . bishop . . . preacher . . . preacher,” he repeated, looking down at Sassy, wondering how long before her little legs and paws would give out. Might need me to carry you, he thought, remembering the afternoon his father had pulled him in a wagon over to the pond and showed him how to skip stones. He smiled at the distant memory, wishing he might have another day like that with Dat.
Sassy began to meow; it sounded like crying. He picked her up and snuggled her under his chin. It was time to have a look-see, make sure that stray black-and-white border collie he’d seen down the way wasn’t standing out in the road again, where the horses and buggies came tearing down the hill.
He knew the most dangerous spot was right close to where the road met up with the old one-lane bridge spanning Conestoga Creek, before the road came to a T on the other side of the bridge. One turn, to the right, took you past a cemetery on a hilly slope. The other way, to the left, took you toward Brownstown and Joe’s wonderful-gut store. Small Jay knew that much, for sure, but little else when it came to directions and where roads went. The fastest way for him to get to the store was hitching up his father’s pony to the little cart, which he’d done since second grade at the one-room schoolhouse. His mouth watered at the thought of the store’s candied caramel apples and jelly beans.
“I must be Joe’s favorite customer,” he announced, laughing, then thought how sad it was for others who didn’t get free goodies. “Why does Joe give them just to me? Why do ya think, Sassy?”
She looked at him, narrowing her pretty yellow-green eyes and meowing like she understood. Small Jay couldn’t help but believe she did. It was like they had their own private language.
Tired already from limping along, Small Jay wished he had brought the pony cart, now that his mind was on the Amish general store. He liked to open the front door to make the bell above it ring . . . too high for him to reach up and grab it and ring it for dear life, like he sometimes dreamed of doing. That bell had such a tempting sound. Listen to me, it seemed to say. Sometimes, when he didn’t see Joe around or standing by the cash register, Small Jay would open the door several times in a row, simply to hear it ring.
Just then the sound of a horse and carriage, clippity-clop, wheels clattering against the pavement, caught his attention, and as the buggy drew closer, he knew enough to move farther onto the dirt shoulder of the road.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was his father’s older brother, Uncle Jake Bitner, and waved. His namesake’s long white beard was the first thing he spotted as the carriage came near. That, and the sunburned hand resting on the wide-open window.
All too suddenly, the old feeling of terror came and made him tremble—a secret worry that the hitch might break and the carriage come careening down the hill, out of control, and smash into him and Sassafras. Of course, there was a brake on the buggy, but what if the driver forgot in the midst of the fright?
Small Jay held the cat tighter, letting the leash dangle as he stepped off the roadside and waited, his heart pounding in his ears.
“Mighty fine day ’tis, ain’t it, young Jake?”
“Hullo, Onkel,” he said softly, his voice in his toes as the carriage passed by.
Just that quick, his pulse calmed and he felt better, seeing the back of the buggy make its way down the incline to where the road leveled out near the paved bridge ahead.
“All right, Sassy. Safe now.” He set her down and wound the leash around his right hand, having tossed his stick somewhere but not remembering when or just where. Sassy sniffed at a patch of grass and sat down, staring at something behind the box-shaped hedge. “What’s a-matter?” he whispered as her intent gaze moved from one side of the dark green hedge to the other.
Then he heard the subtle sound of a dog digging and panting from behind the leafy green wall. Right quick, Sassy arched her back and began to hiss and spit. “Oh now,” he said softly, reaching down to tickle his cat under the chin. She raised her head to his touch, and he squatted down to do so longer, even though it hurt his bad leg.
Suddenly the gate between the two long hedges opened, and out sprang the border collie. The beautiful dog came right over to Sassy and sniffed, then tentatively nuzzled her nose. To Small Jay’s astonishment, she nuzzled right back!
“Ach, never seen anything like it.” Small Jay couldn’t get over the instant attraction between the two. For some reason, the sight of the big dog and his own petite cat made him think of pretty Gracie Yoder, two grades younger in school last year. Gracie was the only girl who’d ever talked to him during recess. True, he was sweet on her, but he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but his loyal cat. Now that he was done with school, he wouldn’t get to see the soft-spoken redhead much anymore other than at Preaching service twice a month.
“You’ve made yourself a friend, Sassy,” he said, reaching to let the dog sniff his hand, then gently petting its head. He looked down at the dog’s collar and saw the oddest name: Allegro.
“Ain’t heard that before,” he said, straightening to ease the weight on his bum leg. In fact, he wasn’t even sure how to say it.
As if the collie had heard something on the other side of the road, he turned away and started in that direction. When the dog crossed the road, he seemed to wait for them, panting with what looked like a smile until Sassy walked Small Jay over there to be with Allegro once again.
“Good boy, come home now!” A man with a hoarse-sounding voice was calling to the dog. He called again before he began to play a mouth organ, the sweet strains filling the air.
Lo and behold, the dog obediently scampered toward the man, who looked about the same age as Dat’s twin brothers, maybe in his late fifties. Except this man wasn’t a speck of Amish. He had the start of a salt-and-pepper beard and a thin, graying moustache. His mostly light brown hair was thick and wavy, unlike Small Jay’s twin uncles, who were balding on the top of their heads, and his eyebrows were so thick Small Jay could see them from this distance. But what caught Small Jay’s attention even more was the old pair of trousers that looked ragged on the hems, and the drab gray shirt with a black bow tie neatly tucked beneath the collar.
Bow-tie man also had a worn leather Schnappsack slung over his right shoulder, and he gripped it with one hand like some fancy Englischer women clutched their pocketbooks. The man took a step, stumbled, and then while he was trying to catch his balance, slipped and landed on his backside with a yelp.
Small Jay ran over and tried to say something, but his tongue was all tied up. The poor man was lying there while the dog licked his face, not moving until he turned to look up at Small Jay and smiled. “Slippery here.”
Small Jay felt he ought to reply. “Your dog sure likes ya.”
Rolling to his knees, then pulling himself up to his feet, the man brushed himself off and nodded. “It is frequently said that a dog is a man’s best friend.”
Unless your best friend is a cat, Small Jay thought.
Bow-tie man said good-bye, patted his dog on the head, and turned toward the pebbled lane leading to the stone mill—the large four-storied Old Brownstown Mill.
Eyeing the bridge, Small Jay walked over there, first picking up a few stones from the side of the road to toss into the creek. The sound of the plunk from high above, on the bridge, made him curious to know how deep the water really was.
Small Jay looked across the road toward the man with his black-and-white dog and directed Sassy to the side of the road, where Mamm had always taught him to walk against the traffic. “Keep your eyes and ears wide open,” she’d urged.
His father never told him things like that. Yet his mother had insisted this was important.
Small Jay leaned on the cement wall and turned to see where the man and the dog had gone. He was surprised to see them slip inside the abandoned mill on this side nearest the millrace.
When he leaned down to choose a few more pebbles, he noticed a white envelope caught between a bush and the edge of the bridge. “What’s this
?” He dropped his stones and reached for the envelope, trying to read the name and address centered there: Dr. B. L. Calvert. The postmark was Amsterdam, March 1958, but he could not make out the address.
Without thinking, Small Jay pulled the letter from the open envelope and began to read.
My dearest darling,
I trust you and your traveling companions are doing well. What an ambitious schedule you face!
Just this morning, while visiting in Amsterdam, I explored the Rijksmuseum, where you and I have strolled together, marveling at the Dutch Masters. Remember “The Merry Fiddler” that first took our breath away? It is so lifelike, and the violin seems to leap out of the canvas, my dear! It made me recall our passion for violin sonatas. And all the while, I counted the hours until we are reunited.
Oh, how I wish I could be with you, but that simply isn’t possible, and my prayers follow you always.
The remainder of the letter was smudged and unreadable. Small Jay looked around to see if someone had dropped it on the way over the bridge. But he saw no one, even farther down the road.
He felt sheepish, having read as much as he had, even though he hadn’t understood a few of the words. Quickly, Small Jay pushed the letter inside the envelope again and returned it to the bushes, just like his schoolteacher had always taught the class to return things that didn’t belong to them.
Distracted once more by the call of the creek, Small Jay picked up a handful of stones and hurled the first one over the bridge with all his might, thinking again of his Dat and their fun together. So long ago.
Chapter 4
Marlena awakened early the next morning, her first thoughts of Luella. She knelt at the bedside and offered a silent prayer, asking the Almighty to take care of her sister. With every ounce of trust she had, Marlena tried her best to believe in divine intervention.
Solemnly, she rose to dress, then brushed her waist-length hair. She wondered if taking care of her sister’s baby might not be an opportunity to show love for Luella. And to help out—to the best of her ability—as a kind and compassionate Aendi to Angela Rose. Then, surely, once her sister had recovered, they could attempt to mend their fences and forgive each other, the way God intended sisters to do.
“It’s long overdue,” she whispered as she threaded the twisted sides of her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck.
There was plenty to feel nervous about—an infant she’d had very little contact with was arriving today. And for just how long, she didn’t know. Although Marlena had helped with her youngest sister, Rachel Ann, who was now eight years old, Marlena didn’t have much experience with babies to draw from like her many female cousins back home.
She did recall the one and only time she’d held tiny Angela Rose, something akin to looking into the face of a wee angel, the bundled weight in her arms ever so light. For that brief moment, she’d experienced the feeling of being responsible for another person—“the dearest child,” Luella had called her baby girl.
But Marlena also remembered being glad when her sister reached to take Angela back, relieved because she wasn’t sure how to calm her if she should cry. Still, Marlena had blinked away tears that day at this new little girl added to their extended family. “Dat always wanted there to be more of us kids,” she’d heard Luella say when they were growing up. But Mamma had been very ill during her pregnancy with Rachel Ann. The midwife had suggested, after the difficult birth, that frail little Rachel might have to be the last Wenger baby—something that was made certain a few days later, when Mamma had to undergo an emergency surgery.
Hurrying downstairs now, Marlena made a nice hot breakfast for her and Mammi—fried potatoes, dippy eggs, and slices of ham. Deep in thought, she said very little as they sat down at the table.
After the meal, Mammi softly read Psalm 24. “ ‘The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. . . .’ ” She bowed her head following the reading and prayed a blessing over the day, and over Luella, too. “O Lord in heaven, we give Luella into Thy loving, wise care. We don’t know all the ins and outs of her suffering, but Thou dost, dear Lord. Please be all that Luella needs this day: body, mind, and spirit. Guide the hands of the doctors and nurses in charge of her. We ask all of this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and wonderful Savior . . . and our Healer. Amen.”
Since her parents joined their new church, Marlena had grown accustomed to hearing prayers similar to this said aloud. That particular issue had been one of many that caused her father to butt heads with two of the ministerial brethren in the Old Order Amish church. But all of that was between her parents and God.
Speaking to the Almighty like a close friend seems downright haughty, she thought.
———
When the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, Marlena rushed out to pick the day’s batch of juicy red strawberries, hoping to beat the sun’s intense heat. She’d slipped on her worn-out brown penny loafers to protect her bare feet, something she’d learned from Mammi Janice. Moving slowly through the patch, Marlena enjoyed the earthy smell, eager to see each new bright red appearance, cupping her hand around the vines as she went. A long garter snake slithered boldly past her, out of sight in a jiffy.
On the way back to the house, she carried the bucket brimful of glistening berries, glad to have finished the week’s ironing so there was time for baking while her grandmother was in town buying a diaper pail, cloth diapers, and other baby toiletries in case her aunt happened to overlook bringing enough.
A fresh batch of shortcake is in order. In fact, she could just imagine serving the dessert with the fresh strawberries—topped high with whipped cream—to Aunt Becky Wenger Blank, who must have recently learned to drive, since she was bringing Luella’s baby on her own from Mifflinburg.
Will she stay the night, too?
While washing the berries, Marlena decided it was a good idea to freeze the excess, since there would be plenty more in the days to come for strawberry jam. Lord willing.
Just as she’d finished putting the shortcake batter into the belly of the cookstove, the phone rang. Since Mammi was still away, Marlena hurried to reach for the black wall telephone. “Martin residence.”
“Marlena . . . hullo. It’s Nat.”
Her heart did a leap, and she grinned into the receiver. “Oh, is it ever nice to hear from you!” She’d never heard Nat’s voice this way, and she quite liked it.
He paused, then continued. “Listen, I called because I hoped my letter to you arrived all right.”
“Jah.”
“And . . . along with that, I wanted to say how sorry I am ’bout your sister.”
“You must’ve heard right quick.”
“Your father dropped by and asked mine for prayer,” he said, sounding more serious. “Our whole family’s mighty concerned.”
“This means a lot.” She was truly taken by his consideration. “I believe she’ll recover, don’t you?”
“We hope and pray the Lord will raise her up.”
“As a testimony to divine healing,” her grandmother might have added. But that wasn’t an emphasis of the Old Order church. No, the testimony of God’s goodness and grace was to be seen in the lives of the People, set apart from the world in every way.
Her lip quivered at the thought of something happening to Luella. She simply could not bear it.
“I miss you, Marlena. I hope ya know.”
“Miss you, too.” She envisioned Nat holding the phone uneasily, there in his father’s barn—this call was quite the exception. Then she went on to say that Luella’s baby was coming to stay with her and Mammi. “Till Luella recovers.”
“Well, the baby will have plenty of love there, I’m sure.”
They said a few faltering good-byes, and it was all she could do to relinquish the telephone, staring at it in disbelief as she hung up.
Nat actually called!
Oh, if only the summer might fly by. She imagined what it might be like
if he should come to visit, there in Brownstown. Unlikely with his father’s farm to tend. So she couldn’t get her hopes up.
Still, if nothing else, the notion of such a visit was heartening. Nat would come to see me if he could. I just know it!
After her morning quilting class, Ellie worked in the kitchen with her older daughters and watched her son refill Sassy’s bowl with fresh food. “I had seven quilters today,” she remarked to the girls, wishing Marlena might have been able to come. She understood, though, having heard from Janice Martin about the impending arrival of Marlena’s baby niece.
Ten-year-old Julia quit sweeping in the corner of the kitchen. “Wish I could’ve gone to your class,” she said.
Ellie blew her middle daughter a kiss. “You can in due time, my dear.”
Through the kitchen windows, Ellie could see Roman loading the hand-built wooden crib and then the mattress into the back of the market wagon. He hadn’t complained about loaning it to the widow for her great-grandbaby while the baby’s mother was hospitalized. Ellie shuddered at the young Mamma’s plight and offered a silent prayer for a quick mending of limb and spirit. And most of all, for divine peace.
The back door slammed shut, and seven-year-old Sally flew into the kitchen, her brown eyes shining. “Dat needs some help,” she declared, ready to turn and run back out.
“Doing what?” asked Ellie with a glance at Small Jay.
“Just steadyin’ the crib while he drives.”
Small Jay struggled to stand. “I could do that.”
Ellie sighed, concerned. “Wait just a moment while I talk to your father.”
“Jah . . . all right!”
His enthusiasm pained her as she went outdoors and paused by the side of the market wagon. “Roman, is this something Small Jay might do?”
Her husband must have caught the tone in her voice. Their eyes met, and he nodded, albeit reluctantly, and gave a long, exasperated sigh. “I’m willin’ to give it a try.”
The Love Letters Page 3