The Love Letters

by Beverly Lewis

  Roman rose suddenly with a groan and walked the length of the house to the kitchen. She could hear the water running in the pump sink and wondered if her husband was washing his hands or running water over his head.

  Marlena found what Mamma had chosen to pack of Luella’s ever so surprising: several cape dresses, along with aprons, too. “Things my sister stopped wearing when she left home,” Marlena said to herself.

  There were also bright-colored floral and striped dresses, and even a few scarves, as well, all modern and in the latest style. And two sets of embroidered pillowcases Luella had sewn as a girl.

  The postcards and letters Mamma had mentioned were in the bottom of the box, secured by a rubber band. Seeing how thick the stack was, Marlena removed the rubber band and flipped through them, glancing at the back and seeing that each was written to Luella from Olive Hendrickson. Marlena could hardly believe she was looking through Luella’s personal mail.

  After putting them in sequential order, she began to read. It seemed that each time Olive and her family were on vacation, Olive sent a postcard to Luella. In some cases, there were letters with postcards tucked inside. Only occasionally were the messages written from Olive’s home—those featured details about school grades, plans for college, and a note about meeting a boy . . . and later, the joyful message: I’m getting married. How I wish you could come to the wedding!

  One of the last letters in the pile described Olive’s tour of the Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico. A postcard of the chapel was enclosed. Olive and her family had been deeply touched by the story they were told of a passerby on a donkey, who’d ended up staying in the chapel for months to build a staircase for the choir loft—one with no visible means of support. Before the anonymous man’s arrival, everyone had thought it would be impossible to fit a staircase into the small space.

  I really felt something, Luella. Something real and powerful—like I was seeing the result of a miracle. Anyway, I stood in the middle of all those tourists and found myself lifting my heart to heaven. I can’t explain what I was feeling, but seeing that work of art, and being told that the creator of the incredible staircase was an answer to many prayers—you know he disappeared, never to be found?—well, I’m telling you, it stopped me in my selfish tracks. Okay, I’ll just say it: The story made me want to believe in God with everything in me.

  Do you have any idea what this means?

  Marlena reread the postcard and wondered if Olive’s experience was something akin to how the people must have felt seeing the angels near the Brownstown church steeple. She considered Olive’s reaction to that miraculous staircase, not forgetting what Mammi Janice had told her: “Wise folk never reject the possibility of miracles.”

  Not many months after the Santa Fe letter and postcard, Olive wrote again:

  I want to help those who need it most, Luella. Life’s too short not to make a difference in this world. My husband and I have decided to commit to giving a year to missions, if we’re selected.

  P.S. I’ve never felt so happy!

  Marlena stared at the postcard. “Luella never mentioned her continuing friendship with Olive,” she whispered, picking up the brightly colored dresses. What could she do with these worldly dresses, and the Amish ones, too, especially since Luella had been much taller and thinner than Marlena? She wondered if any of Olive’s correspondence had rung true for her sister. Had the more recent letters and postcards made any impact on her life?

  Searching again through the box and suddenly feeling energized, Marlena yearned to read more from Olive. But she found only the loud dresses and the pillowcases.

  Going to the back porch, she sat with her grandmother, who looked so peaceful there with her big Bible open on her lap. “I feel like I never really knew Luella.” Marlena folded her arms.

  “Why’s that?” Mammi rocked harder, as if trying to rouse herself.

  Marlena told of the correspondence from Olive, particularly the insightful moment in New Mexico.

  “Plenty-a folks’ hearts are moved, even changed, by signs and wonders,” Mammi said, turning to her. “But remember what the Lord Jesus said to Thomas? ‘Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet believe.’ ”

  Marlena hadn’t heard or read that verse in years. Momentarily she wondered what Nat would think of Olive’s so-called enlightenment in Santa Fe, or the possible miracle that precipitated it. She made a mental note to ask him when she returned home at the end of summer.

  She was aware of the sounds of twilight—a train rumbling in the distance, crickets and birds calling between trees, and the echo from a mouth organ in the direction of the Bitners’ place.

  It saddened her to dwell on Luella’s funeral, but what had taken place at the burial service was both special and beautiful. She had been standing back away from the freshly dug grave, holding sleeping Angela Rose, when, at the designated time for the final prayer, her father stepped forward, next to Simon Ranck. But rather than the preacher, her father had begun to speak. “We have brought up our daughter in the fear and admonition of the Lord, and do now commit her soul to our loving heavenly Father, who sees and knows all things, including the intent and longing of the heart. . . . Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.”

  He paused, head still bowed so low that his beard pressed against his black vest and frock coat. “The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord lift His countenance upon you and give you peace.”

  Marlena had been astounded at such a departure from anything she’d ever witnessed at a burial. Was Dat’s blessing as much for us as it was for Luella?

  Presently, Mammi closed her Bible and rose to go inside, and Marlena followed. Instead of preparing for bed, she headed upstairs to look in on Angela Rose before going to open the balcony door at the end of the hall. She stepped outside and could see much of the fertile land her grandfather had carefully tended for years. Dawdi took the care of God’s earth seriously, she recalled. Like a calling, he’d said.

  Marlena thought again of Olive Hendrickson’s lovely postcards and felt the lack in her own sisterly connection with Luella. Even here at Dawdi’s tranquil farm, meaningful conversations between them had been few and far between. Pondering these many things, Marlena found herself missing what might have been.

  Chapter 24

  The next day was a quiet one for Marlena and Mammi, although busy with washing. On Wednesday Marlena awakened at dawn to the happy sound of babbling mixed with babyish giggling. She slipped out of bed and peered down into the crib and saw that Angela Rose had managed to free her little feet from the drawstring gown. The little darling was sucking on the toes of her right foot.

  “Now, that’s one way to start the day. Just how do those little piggies taste, huh?” she asked, kissing the bottom of one foot. “Can I have a bite?”

  Angela reached up to touch Marlena’s nose with her slobbery fingers, laughing right out loud.

  “Ach, such a tease you are!” She picked her up and, after dressing her for the day, carried her downstairs to see Mammi Janice, who was already cooking eggs.

  She relayed what Angela had been doing with her toes, which seemed to trigger a bit of baby talk from Mammi. Squelching her own silly laugh, Marlena observed the playful interaction between the two; she couldn’t remember her grandmother carrying on so with any of her grandchildren.

  Later, at one point during breakfast, Mammi took the spoon and played like it was a buzzy bee, leaning her head forward and frowning when Angela Rose’s tiny mouth refused to budge. After repeated tries, Angela’s mouth finally popped open, and she took her warm rice cereal at last.

  “She’s a stubborn one, ain’t so?” Mammi said.

  Marlena agreed. “Not surprising, I guess.” Yet she couldn’t help smiling. Was Mammi’s new exuberance a hopeful sign that she was overcoming her loneliness for Dawdi? The truth was, Angela Rose had brought delight into their shared sadness.

  It won’t last much longer, she thought suddenly. No matter how much we love her.
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br />   At Mammi’s prompting, once her niece was down for a nap, Marlena set out to the Bitners’ house for the hour-long quilting class. She noticed Sarah Mast hurrying into the lane on foot and was happy to see her. She’s going too!

  She observed the lively energy of a handful of other young women just ahead of her. Two of them wore the floral-print dresses so typical of Mennonites like Mammi.

  Sarah turned around and burst into a smile. “Hullo, Marlena. Looks like you’re joining us today.”

  “Jah, I told Ellie I’d come if I could, and today’s the day.” She caught up to Sarah. “I didn’t have time to cut any squares, though.”

  “Well, I’m sure that won’t matter.” Sarah waved to the others and commented to Marlena how warm it already was this morning. “And it’s still only nine o’clock. Say, how’s your little niece? Thought you might have her along.”

  “I did think of it, but she’s starting to get into a gut napping schedule, which is a blessing.”

  “Maybe sometime you’ll bring her, then?”

  “We’ll see.” If she’s still around to bring . . .

  Ellie was standing in the doorway of the little Dawdi Haus, smiling her welcome. The cozy place was situated on the south side of the main farmhouse and surrounded by colorful annuals of many varieties, as well as pots of bright pink geraniums on the porch. Ellie showed them into the front room, smaller in scale than her own and with a large rectangular sewing table set up in the middle of the floor.

  “The quilting frame will go there, once we’re ready to work on a big quilt, but for now we’re just talking ’bout patterns and piecework,” Ellie said after she introduced Marlena to the other young women. Most of them were neighbors Marlena had come into contact with here and there, but she knew no one as well as Sarah Mast.

  Ellie’s instructions were clear and thorough; she was a good teacher and took time for the benefit of the girls there who weren’t Amish to describe layouts for the Double Nine Patch quilt and the Diamond in the Square. She also gave ideas for making a crazy quilt, although it wasn’t necessarily an authentic Amish style. “Even so, some of us like to experiment with designs and loud colors,” she said with a wink.

  The girls sitting across from Marlena smiled in unison, as if recognizing this as a shared secret desire.

  “And we mustn’t forget tied quilts, which are fun to make and quick, too.” Ellie glanced at Dorcas, who was nodding her head. “Just ask my daughter here how easy they are to make up.”

  Dorcas turned pink in the face.

  Later, while Ellie displayed some of her own quilts, pointing out the intricate stitching on the backing, Marlena had an idea. “What about a keepsake quilt?” she asked quietly. “Has anyone here made one?”

  Ellie said she didn’t know of any particular pattern. “It’s an interesting idea, though. Why don’t ya draw a sketch of what it might look like?” she suggested. “And bring it to class next week.”

  After the group dispersed, Marlena was delighted when Sarah asked to walk with her as far as her grandmother’s house. She told her about getting some of Luella’s dresses, both Plain and worldly. “I wasn’t sure what I’d do with them, considering everything, but I’m thinkin’ now of making a crib quilt for her baby.”

  “That’s a wunnerbaar-gut plan, Marlena. I can’t wait to see the piecework all laid out.”

  “It’ll take some doin’, cutting the pieces from the dresses.” Marlena smiled. “Well, you know . . . we’re all busy this time of year.”

  “Is your Mammi able to help some with pickin’ garden vegetables or canning?”

  “She does what she’s able. Since Angela Rose arrived, she’s been spelling me off when the baby is napping,” Marlena said. “Like today.”

  “I’d be happy to help with Angela sometime, or bring over supper—whatever ya need,” Sarah offered.

  Tears sprang to Marlena’s eyes. “Denki.”

  “Well, I’ll drop by sometime and we can decide what day is best.” She asked if Marlena was coming to the needlepoint class on Friday. “You’d love that, too.”

  “I’m sure I would.” Marlena meant it. “Must be mindful of all that’s needed of me just now, ya know.”

  “Well, I hope to see you before next Wednesday. All right?”

  “Sure, come by. Mammi thinks so much of you and your family.”

  “Oh, and before I forget, Luke wanted me to invite you to visit our church sometime, if that’d interest ya.”

  Marlena had to laugh a little. “What’s one more church, jah?”

  “Nee, I’m sure that’s not what he was thinkin’ at all.”

  Marlena hadn’t forgotten Luke’s good-natured comment about the several churches she’d attended. “Mammi likes going to her meetinghouse, of course, and it’s gut for me to attend with her. But thanks anyway.”

  Sarah nodded and waved. “Something to think about, if you want to learn more about our small New Order Amish group.”

  Why would she suggest it? Marlena wondered as she turned into the driveway. She wouldn’t think of letting Mammi go alone to church. Still, she thought it was awful nice of Sarah to invite her. Luke too.

  After the students had gone home, Ellie and Dorcas swept down the walls in the front room, then washed them thoroughly. That room and the one directly behind it were the two largest downstairs, where the actual gathering would take place on Sunday morning. Only three days after today to get everything in tip-top shape, Ellie thought, feeling like she was racing the clock.

  As she worked, Ellie couldn’t stop thinking about the poem in Boston Calvert’s letter. She felt compelled to put those words into action, especially today. There had been even more girls from outside their Old Order community at this morning’s class, and she was now on edge about Roman’s reaction.

  There’s no question he’ll disapprove.

  Had Roman observed any of her students coming or going? She knew for sure both Small Jay and Boston had seen the young women filing into the Dawdi Haus. While she was welcoming her students, she’d seen her son and Boston making their way toward the well pump, Boston playing his harmonica. Small Jay had called to her when the music stopped and held up two big Thermoses, saying they needed some cold water for the men who were working in the hayfield.

  Boston seemed to be quite disoriented—he’d called her Eleanor yet again. Small Jay had mistakenly thought the prescribed tincture and tea were starting to help the man’s memory, but that was not at all true, nor to be expected after only a day. The sad truth was there were good days and bad ones for poor Boston.

  And who is the Eleanor he refers to occasionally? Was she Boston’s daughter or a niece? He spoke of her nearly in the same breath as Abigail. Ellie remembered how Boston had repeatedly interrupted Small Jay that morning while her son read another letter. The man had appeared to be upset and confused, though unable to say why. But oh, her son was doing so well with his pronunciation of English words, and reading cursive, too. Marlena really wished Roman might overhear him reading sometime. So smoothly.

  Ellie hadn’t been able to stay around for much of that particular letter, rather going out with the girls to pick lettuce, kohlrabi, radishes, peas, and cut rhubarb before her quilting students arrived. Always plenty of rhubarb this time of year! But what details she’d heard kept nagging at her. Abigail had thanked Boston for “writing your exquisite melody.” So now Ellie assumed Boston knew how to play and write music, of all things. Yet when Small Jay had asked that very question, Boston brushed it off as if he had no knowledge of any such thing. Still, did that mean anything on a day when he couldn’t even remember his dog’s name?

  Ellie went now to wash the soil from her garden vegetables at the well pump between the house and the stable. When Roman wandered over, she decided she would not talk up to him when he broached the topic of her quilting class. If he does. She purposed in her heart to be kinder to him from now on. Like when we were first married.

  Sure enough, Roman restated
his staunch position: “Ellie, I’ve told ya before, I’m not keen on ya havin’ close fellowship with women from other churches.”

  She nodded and realized it was time to show her submission to his wishes. “If you’re unhappy with certain students from other Plain groups comin’ to my classes, I could give up teachin’ to please ya, Roman.” She swallowed her sadness, secretly hoping he might back down.

  “Would ya, now?” He went to sit on the nearby wooden bench.

  “Jah, if it would make ya happier. You ain’t so much these days.”

  He was silent for a time, folding his hands, his arms resting on his legs as he hunched forward. Then, just when she was convinced he wasn’t going to say another word, he glanced up. “Well then, Ellie, let it be known you won’t be teachin’ anymore.”

  Her heart crashed to the ground. Stunned, she set the large bowl of vegetables down and said nothing. She washed her hands in the cold water from the pump, splashing it onto her cheeks and into the crooks of her elbows. The welcome chill cooled her from the heat and humidity and kept her tears locked up so her husband could not see her bitter disappointment.

  For pity’s sake, what have I done?

  Chapter 25

  At noon Small Jay walked out to the porch and gathered up Boston’s dinner plate and utensils to carry inside to Mamma, then returned to his friend.

  “Your mother is one remarkable cook,” Boston said, patting his stomach.

  “Jah, for sure.” Small Jay had his mind on other things. “Mamma says we can take the pony cart down to Joe’s again.”

  “What does Eleanor need at the store?”

  Small Jay didn’t correct him. He’d tried doing that before and apparently it just made things more maddening for Boston. Coming closer, Small Jay whispered, “I need to run a secret errand. Once I get the pony hitched up, I’ll tell ya all about it.”

  Boston frowned. “You have a pony?” His eyes looked so glazed over, Small Jay wondered if it was a good idea to take him along.