The Love Letters

by Beverly Lewis

  “Wait here and I’ll come back for ya.” He smiled at the man, feeling downright sorry for him. “Maybe you could have yourself forty winks on the drive, jah? A little snooze, ya know.”

  Boston’s face relaxed into a smile, and he leaned his head back against the rocker and was asleep nearly that quick.

  It took only a short time to hitch up; then Small Jay walked out to the outhouse. There, he removed the rock he’d pushed in front of the door and inched it open just enough to see Shredder sitting there, the yellow-green eyes shining like the cat had expected him.

  Small Jay noticed there was not a single piece of torn paper anywhere. “Prob’ly ’cause of Dat’s clever idea,” he muttered. Out of necessity, his father had enclosed the shelf, making it impossible for the cat’s claws to have a heyday again with the paper. However, this didn’t mean that Dat wasn’t still eager to wring Shredder’s furry neck.

  Small Jay removed Sassy’s collar, already snapped to the red leash, from his pocket and talked softly to the wicked creature while he slipped the collar around his neck. “There now, let’s take ya for a nice walk to the pony cart. I want ya to meet the mouth organ man.” He had it all planned now, right down to the minute. “My father’s gonna have a fit if I don’t get you out of here.”

  He could see Allegro nosing around the barnyard. Shredder hissed loudly, then hacked up a hairball, which made Small Jay laugh.

  Shredder strained against the leash, twisting and turning to bite it like a puppy might. It was obvious Shredder wasn’t used to being confined, and as Small Jay tapped Boston gently on the knee to wake him up, he was glad they didn’t have far to walk. As soon as they were all piled into the pony cart, Small Jay asked Boston whether he wanted to hold the ornery cat or take the reins.

  Boston reached for the driving lines, and they were off. “Which way shall we turn, young man?” he asked, seeming more alert again.

  Small Jay pointed to the left, and quickly Razor pulled them down the hill, past the old mill, across the stone bridge and the mighty creek below, and over toward Joe’s store. To attempt to control Shredder’s wild movements, Small Jay had wrapped the leash tightly around his hand till he had a powerful-good grip. Even so, Shredder scratched at Small Jay’s arms and legs.

  “Keep goin’,” he told Boston as Joe’s store came into view. “Where we’re headed first is up a ways yet.”

  Just then Shredder began to howl. “Sei schtill—Be quiet! I’m savin’ your life, cat.” One of many lives, if you’re lucky, he thought, tightening his hold on Shredder all the more.

  When they arrived at the Mast farmhouse, Small Jay asked Boston to wait there in the cart. “I’ll be right back,” he said, taking the lines from him and tying the pony to one of the pickets on the whitewashed fence. “Come along, Shredder. I want ya to meet your new master.”

  Luke must have seen him coming and waved as he approached. “I got your note ’bout Shredder. I’ll be glad to take him off your hands.”

  “Just a warning, the second he’s let loose, he’ll scram. If you’ve got some catnip, that’ll help.”

  “Oh, we’ve got plenty.” Luke smiled. “And some cats like sweet cream, too, jah?”

  “Not sure about this one.”

  Luke leaned down to size up Shredder. “By the looks of him, I’d say he prefers mouse meat.”

  “He is a barn cat.”

  “Ain’t like your civilized Sassafras.”

  “Nee, Mamma would never let Shredder in the house. Niemols!” He’d tear up everything in sight, thought Small Jay with a grimace.

  “Looks like he’d like to scratch my eyes out,” replied Luke.

  “He will, too, if I don’t take him off this leash.”

  “Maybe his name’s his downfall. Ever think of that?” Luke tilted his head as he scrutinized the cat. “He needs a name he can live up to. He’s mighty tall, even when he’s sittin’. And grand, too. Like he thinks he’s the king of the world.”

  Small Jay wasn’t sure what Luke meant.

  “Maybe King’s a better fit.” Luke reached for the leash.

  King, thought Small Jay. He followed as Luke led Shredder, or King, around to the back of the house. In short order, the unruly cat was eating out of Luke’s hands, so to speak, licking up the fresh cream Luke had poured into a bowl there on the warm sidewalk near a purple-martin birdhouse.

  Feeling mighty good about this, Small Jay figured everything was going to work out fine. He remembered to thank Luke, then added, “Keep that cat collar and leash. It’s all right with me.” With that, he backed away slowly, gritting his teeth and hoping King Shredder would stay put. Then he turned to head down the driveway to the pony cart.

  Boston’s chin was resting on his fist as Small Jay untied Razor. He crawled into the cart just as Boston was waking up.

  “Now off to Joe’s store,” Small Jay said and explained that he’d given Sassy’s collar and leash to Luke Mast.

  “Ah, so you wish to purchase a replacement?” Boston asked as they made the turn onto the road.

  “They’ll help Luke keep that ornery cat in tow till he gets used to bein’ round his new home . . . I hope.”

  Boston yawned.

  “Luke was kind enough to save Shredder’s life, so it’s the least I can do.” King Shredder, thought Small Jay, grinning to himself.

  In Joe’s parking lot, they got out and tied up Razor to one of several hitching posts. Small Jay asked if Boston had any sugar cubes left in his pockets.

  “What are you referring to, young man?”

  Small Jay reminded him of his purchase last week, but Boston didn’t seem to know a thing about it, and Small Jay decided to drop it. It’s like he just plain doesn’t remember.

  They made their way up the front steps, and suddenly Boston stopped. “Now, wait a minute. I do believe I gave all those sugar cubes to your father’s mares over the last few days. You see, son, when I have trouble sleeping, I go and talk to the horses for a time.”

  “And feed them sugar cubes?”

  “That’s right.” Boston waved him on into the store with the very welcoming bell over the door. “So I may need to stock up.”

  Small Jay smiled. He remembered!

  All afternoon, while Ellie cleaned and scrubbed the house, she felt like a Dummkopp. Why had she opened her mouth to Roman, offering to give up something she held so dear?

  Three of her younger sisters and four female cousins arrived to help finish washing all the windows inside and out. They also spent hours weeding and edging flower beds—peonies, chrysanthemums, and painted daisies—and even used the push mower on the lawn. A couple of them went to the cellar and swept the place out good and washed down the cement walls, too, then dusted and reorganized the glass jars of preserves, fruit, and vegetables from last year’s canning season. Things were coming together nicely, and it was only Wednesday.

  I should have time to write letters to my students tonight, so they receive them in Friday’s mail, Ellie thought dejectedly. Suddenly it struck her that some might not get their mail delivered in time, and what then? Her needlepoint class was scheduled for this Friday morning, after all.

  She groaned loudly, catching herself too late, and her cousin Lizzie wanted to know if she was all right. How can I be? But Ellie just kept shining windows, her arms beginning to play out. Her attempt to be respectful to Roman’s wishes had ended in the worst possible result. Yet she knew she’d brought it upon herself.

  How will I get word to my students in time?

  “Dat, has Shredder turned up yet?” wide-eyed Sally asked at supper. She was having trouble cutting her meat, and Julia leaned over to help.

  Ellie was pleased to see her girls looking out for each other. She noticed Small Jay paying no mind to the table conversation, lost as usual in his own world of thoughts.

  “That’s one duckmeisich Kaader—sneakin’ tomcat,” Roman declared, his tumbler of root beer in hand.

  “He just up and disappeared?” Dorcas
paused in her eating. “Mighty handy, ain’t so?”

  Our perceptive girl, thought Ellie, wondering what Roman would say to that.

  “We’ve had enough talk ’bout that ornery cat. It’s time we start preparin’ our hearts for the Lord’s Day comin’ up,” Roman said, changing the subject.

  Dorcas nodded humbly.

  “Jah, and dessert’s a-waitin’,” said Sally. “Ain’t so, Mamma?”

  This brought out the sunshine all around the table, and Ellie was somewhat relieved.

  In the middle of their supper, the phone rang and Mammi Janice motioned for Marlena to answer it. “Martin residence. This is Marlena.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal,” her mother said.

  “That’s all right. We’re almost finished.” Marlena glanced at her grandmother and mouthed that it was Mamma. “It’s always gut to hear your voice.”

  “Yours, too, dear.” Her mother paused a second. “I know you remember meeting Patricia Munroe at the funeral. Well, she called a little bit ago with news that Gordon is officially missing in action.”

  “Oh no. They can’t find him after all these days? I thought they were tryin’ to—”

  “It’s more serious than that,” Mamma interrupted. “Patricia said the transport plane he and other soldiers were flying in was shot down.”

  Shot down?

  Marlena gripped the phone. “Are ya sayin’ Gordon’s just lost, then? Not . . .” The lump in her throat kept her from saying what she was thinking, hoping it wasn’t true.

  “I asked Patricia the same thing.”

  “Well, he and the other soldiers have to be somewhere.”

  Her mother explained what little she’d been told. “It’s such a difficult area to search, and in enemy territory, too. Gordon may have been captured. We simply don’t know . . . and might never know.”

  “Do his parents know this yet?”

  “Jah. They’ll get back from the Mediterranean as soon as their ship reaches port and they can arrange for a flight home.”

  Marlena’s mind was spinning. Gordon was feared dead—undoubtedly his parents would be coming for Angela. “Oh, Mamma, after Luella’s accident . . . now this . . .” Her voice failed.

  Her mother was silent, too.

  Marlena’s lip quivered and she turned away to hide the tears springing up. “Honestly, I don’t see how we can possibly give Angela up,” she said softly into the phone.

  “Believe me, I understand. But Patricia will be callin’ back in a few days, once Gordon’s parents are finally home and settled . . . ready for Angela Rose. So I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

  After they said good-bye and hung up, Marlena filled Mammi in on the call, but she had no desire to finish eating supper. She wandered to the front room and out to the front porch swing, feeling almost as sad as when she’d heard of Luella’s passing. That Gordon had been lost in battle and might have died was terrible news indeed, but foremost in her mind now was the idea of surrendering her little niece to people who hadn’t even bothered to come to their own daughter-in-law’s funeral. Surely they could have gotten home from Europe somehow.

  Marlena bowed her head and wept. She tried to process this latest jarring news and realized her mother hadn’t said anything about stepping forward to take Angela Rose herself. Surely she and Dat hadn’t resigned themselves to Anderson and Sheryl Munroe bringing up Angela as a fancy Englischer?

  Marlena tensed up at the thought. Considering they’d lost Luella so completely to the world, wouldn’t her parents want to do everything possible to keep their flesh and blood in the Anabaptist way of life?

  Chapter 26

  That evening, Ellie heard Boston playing his favorite melody on his mouth organ again, beautiful yet heartbreaking. She and Roman had quietly slipped out the front door to the porch while the girls did up the supper dishes. Roman had suggested they spend some time alone, something that rarely happened anymore.

  Together, they relaxed on the old glider, Ellie on one side and Roman on the other. She felt glad it was just the two of them; so many things were on her mind.

  But it was Roman who was first to speak. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said, eyes fixed on their sprawling front yard. “Wasn’t sure ya knew that Jake’s been helpin’ Boston do some of the chores.” He folded his arms across his old white work shirt. “Chores Boston is doin’ in exchange for room and board.”

  Ellie wondered what to say.

  “Strange as it seems, the boy’s able to do more lifting and whatnot than I thought . . . and for longer, too,” Roman said. “More strength in those arms than I would’ve guessed.”

  Ellie was heartened but held back.

  “Jake’s mighty fond of Boston. Which ain’t gonna be so gut when Boston leaves.”

  “Jah, when that day comes, it’ll be hard for our son,” she agreed.

  “I really think we should figure out a way to help Boston get back to his family or friends—move this along, ya know. Someone must be out there wonderin’ what’s become of the man.”

  “I’ve thought that, too,” Ellie replied.

  They talked about what they were willing and able to do under their church ordinance as far as searching. Getting the authorities involved, or not.

  “Jake told me just yesterday that he’s gathering snippets of information . . . I think that’s how he put it,” said Roman.

  “He said that?”

  Roman nodded and glanced at her for the first time since they’d sat down. “The boy’s surely not bright enough to do somethin’ like that, is he?”

  Since her husband scarcely ever asked her opinion, Ellie felt tongue-tied for a moment. “Well, he’s smart in some ways but struggles in others, as we both know.”

  “But what sort of clues—or snippets—could he be getting from Boston?”

  “Maybe they’re from the love letters,” she admitted.

  “The what?”

  Ellie told him about the clutch of letters in Boston’s satchel. “He says he doesn’t know who the letters are from, exactly . . . what his relationship to the woman might be. Boston really doesn’t remember much at all, I’m afraid.” She continued, telling Roman that both she and Small Jay thought the letter writer, Abigail, was Boston’s wife. “But she might be deceased now. On the other hand, he also talks ’bout a woman named Eleanor, but Small Jay and I really can’t figure out who that might be.”

  “I guess that explains some of what Jake’s sayin’.”

  Ellie smiled a little, pleased to hear Roman talk this way after all the years they’d been at loggerheads over their son. She ventured out on a limb and asked, “Since Boston’s workin’ for ya, have you given any thought, maybe, to lettin’ him sleep next door?”

  Roman’s eyes locked on hers. “What ’bout those sewing classes you’re havin’ over there?”

  “But . . .”

  A long silence passed between them. Then Roman said, “Well, never mind, I daresay Boston can sleep over there.”

  Ellie’s heart leaped up.

  Roman continued. “I nearly forgot you’re quitting your classes.”

  “I do plan to, but there’s a hitch with this Friday.” She described her quandary.

  “How’s that a problem, Ellie? Just tell any of the girls who might show up for the last class.”

  She nodded compliantly but was annoyed when Roman got up right then and went into the house without even looking her way or saying more.

  I brought this on myself.

  ———

  By the time Ellie managed to compose herself and return to the kitchen, the place was spotless, and the girls were out playing hide-and-seek in the backyard. Roman’s allowing Boston to sleep in the Dawdi Haus, she thought, watching her husband put up a rope swing on one of the sturdiest limbs on their old oak tree for the girls. Ellie stood behind the screen door now, listening while Boston played the lovely tune over and over. Small Jay sat transfixed next to his friend the harmonica player, keepi
ng him company there on the back porch while Allegro and Sassy snoozed at their feet.

  It was hard not to simply ask Boston if she might just sit down and read through all the letters he kept in his bag—one after another. The fact that he wanted someone to read them aloud caused her to wonder. Does he realize how personal they are?

  Ellie wondered how she’d feel if such special correspondence belonged to her. She pondered this till the tears welled up. If she were the one suffering with a waning memory and was lost from home, would she realize the letters might be the only tangible link to her beloved . . . or to her family?

  She was certain Small Jay believed this. Even so, it was beyond her how on earth their son could make heads or tails of it all.

  Marlena found her grandmother sitting outdoors in the gazebo with her Bible after Angela Rose was asleep for the night.

  “I’ve been doin’ nothing but praying while you put Angela to bed,” Mammi said before Marlena even brought up the phone call again.

  “Our family needs prayer,” she said, sighing. “Guess we’d better start getting Angela’s things packed and ready.”

  “I’ve wondered if Gordon’s parents might try to come home sooner if something has happened to him.” Mammi’s voice sounded so frail. “We must pray earnestly for them. Ach, receiving such news . . . their son over there in a terrible war. No wonder they want their grandbaby with them.”

  Marlena nodded. She certainly couldn’t deny them such a comfort. Angela Rose would bring Gordon’s grieving parents some much needed solace. “If only they had the dear Lord to lean on just now,” she said quietly, more to herself.

  “Well, they do, my dear. He’s closer than a brother, our Good Shepherd, everything their hearts long for.”

  “Do ya think they understand how to reach out to Him?”

  “That’s what we’re here for, Marlena. To point the way and be the light they need.” Mammi wiped her eyes. “We’ll do all we can to show kindness when they come. They may never experience God’s love otherwise.”