The Love Letters

by Beverly Lewis

  “I think I’d do almost anything for Angela.”

  “I believe you would, dear.” Her mother paused a second. “Which leads me to the next thing. Maggie Zimmerman wanted to talk privately with me yesterday at market.”

  Nat’s mother?

  “Evidently Nat’s been talking to his father ’bout your attending the Mennonite church there.”

  “Ach, no, Mamma.”

  “It does seem Nat and his parents are worried you’re being heavily influenced toward a higher church.”

  One that isn’t as humble and traditional as the Old Order Amish, thought Marlena. “Jah, I can understand why they’d be concerned.”

  “I’m not sure who’s more upset, Nat or his parents.”

  “Maybe all three,” Marlena said, her heart pounding in her ears. If they only knew the whole of it . . .

  “From what Maggie said, I honestly suspect her son’s frettin’ the most.”

  Nat had never been enthusiastic about her leaving for the entire summer, and his last letter had left no doubt about the reasons behind his concerns. “Even so, Nat knows this arrangement won’t last forever. He and I’ve already discussed it.”

  Mamma shifted away from that subject and talked instead of how much Katie and Rachel Ann missed Marlena. In turn, Marlena asked about her brothers, as well.

  Then, after a time devoted to a few everyday things, her mother said, “It seems only the dear Lord knows how long you’ll have Angela Rose now. Are ya sure you can manage with everything else you’re doin’ there . . . for my mother?”

  Marlena assured her that she was just fine. “Angela’s little face brightens up every time she sees me, Mamma. She’s beginning to respond to me in a way she doesn’t with anyone else.”

  “I daresay she’s bonded in a short time. That’s gut . . . and bad.”

  “She needs me, Mamma.”

  Her mother sighed into the phone. “I hope you won’t be heartbroken in the end.”

  “That’s kind of you, Mamma. And thanks for lettin’ me know about Gordon’s parents’ request. I feel so sorry for them, I do. But I can’t say I understand them . . . not wanting their granddaughter with them, at least not just yet.” Marlena fought back tears, trying to imagine what Luella would think if she knew. And Gordon, too!

  “Your father and I are prayin’ for you every day, Marlena.”

  She thanked her mother, said “I love you,” and then they hung up.

  Marlena sighed as she thought of Nat and his parents, but presently she cared more about the news regarding her niece. She headed upstairs to see Angela Rose, who was beginning to stir in her sleep. Despite all the uncertainty, Marlena wouldn’t think of turning her back on this precious baby, seemingly so alone in the world. “I’ll take gut care of you, for as long as the Lord permits,” she promised the little one.

  Chapter 32

  Mamma’s words played continuously through Marlena’s mind while Angela napped. She did not want to harbor any frustration toward Nat or his parents, but she couldn’t deny that she was feeling drawn toward things that would only confirm their fears. Even so, Nat and I are going to be married, she thought. Aren’t we?

  When Angela Rose opened her little peepers and grinned over at Marlena seated on the bed, she went to her. “We’re goin’ for a Sunday afternoon stroll, little darling. And I have a surprise for ya.” She dressed Angela in the navy blue baby bonnet she’d purchased on the sly at Saturday market. “There. Now you can easily pass for an Amish baby.” She picked her up and kissed her soft, warm cheek.

  “You’ll fit right in with all the other little ones out havin’ an airing today,” she said, carrying Angela downstairs to tell Mammi where they were going.

  “I surely hope you can find some shade somewhere. It’s mighty warm out there,” Mammi said.

  “I know just where to go,” Marlena assured her. And she did, taking the main road a short distance, then turning onto the tree-lined back road that eventually led past the old mill where Boston had stayed. She’d decided not to go all the way down the hill in this heat, however.

  Still pondering her mother’s phone call, Marlena knew better than to let things simmer, lest her frustration turn to anger. She began to pray like Mammi, whispering her cares to the Lord above, laying them all out like quilt squares. She also pleaded with God to steer her footsteps—for always. “And give my beau Thy understanding.”

  She felt sure that if Nat could just experience either her parents’ church or Mammi’s here, he’d appreciate the second thoughts she sometimes had about joining their more traditional one. “How can I move ahead with baptism back home, dear Lord? How . . . after what I’m learning?”

  She recalled the verse Mammi had read before breakfast that morning, from John chapter seven, verse thirty-seven: “If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.”

  After closing the Bible, Mammi had gone on to say that her own spiritual thirst was quenched once she believed and made the decision to drink from the living water. “I’ll never thirst that way again,” Mammi had said with tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks.

  “More than anything else, I want the living water that Jesus offers,” Marlena said into the air now as she pushed the stroller.

  Tears threatened, and she let them fall. And the more she prayed, the harder she cried.

  Small Jay and his father had gone walking along one of the shady field lanes the mules crossed daily, except on the Lord’s Day. There, the corn was waist-high to Dat.

  “I heard something at the shared meal today, Jake. And I’m gonna ask ya about it straight out.”

  Small Jay turned to look at his father.

  “The grapevine has it you snuck Shredder over to Abram Mast’s.”

  Small Jay was surprised to hear this; he’d mistakenly assumed this would be about Boston’s outburst in church. “Jah, I did,” he fessed up.

  “Supposedly Luke got a letter . . . one you wrote yourself?”

  Small Jay nodded solemnly. “Is des Druwwel?”

  “Nee, you ain’t in trouble.” Dat stopped walking and looked down at him. “Just wonderin’ why ya didn’t come to me first.”

  Small Jay shrugged, feeling like he’d done something wrong. “I figured Shredder was done for.”

  Dat shook his head. “Not a schmaert Kaader like that.”

  “Well, he seemed dumm to me. He kept doin’ the same thing, Dat. He never learnt.”

  His father burst out laughing. “I like that, Jake . . . I certainly do. Mighty discerning.”

  Small Jay nearly asked right then why his father never used his nickname, but it had been such a long time since Dat had done anything with him like this, he didn’t want to spoil the moment.

  “Next time there’s something on your mind,” Dat said, starting to walk again, “will ya look to me first, son?”

  He felt he ought to pinch himself to see if what he was hearing was true. “I’ll remember.”

  “Des gut.” Dat put his big hand on Small Jay’s shoulder.

  He felt mighty pleased as he realized that it must be all over the place about the letter he’d written to Luke, and Shredder going to live over there. Maybe even half of Brownstown had heard about it.

  Swallowing several times, Small Jay noticed Dat had matched his own stride with his as they walked slowly back toward the house. Truly, it was nearly the best day of his life.

  Marlena stared up at the tall rattling windmills as she pushed the baby stroller, recalling how, as a little girl, she liked to see the sun bounce off Dawdi’s, squinting up as she pointed to it. “Perty Windmiehl,” she’d say over and over, grinning through missing front teeth.

  Marlena also remembered both her and Luella helping Mammi Janice by pushing the old lawn mower, their small hands side-by-side on the wooden handle. At one farmhouse along the road, she noticed a pair of black field boots on the porch steps, and a long fly strip hanging near the door. Seeing the boots reminded her of trying to walk in Dawdi’s ol
d ones and toppling out of them, giggling all the while. Seems like just yesterday . . .

  Marlena gazed out across the lush hayfields, still daydreaming. After this sacred day of respite, haying would commence. Men would be cutting once the early dew dried tomorrow, swirls of insects flying out from the remaining tall hay. Rabbits and groundhogs were discovered in there, too, sometimes before it was too late.

  She saw mothers out walking now—Amish and English alike—pushing baby carriages or pulling wagons filled with youngsters shielding their eyes from the sun. Some of the women called “hullo,” and she waved back.

  As she walked, Marlena considered how endearing and inquisitive Luella had once been before she’d turned sullen in her teens and quickly became disinterested in anything that wasn’t English.

  While brooding over the past, Marlena saw Luke Mast coming this way. His head was down as he walked on the opposite side of the road, his lips moving like he was talking to himself.

  Should she speak first? He had been such an attentive listener the last time they’d met by happenstance in the van. Now, though, Luke was intent on working something out, so lost in thought he appeared to be.

  She wiped her face, drying her tears, and just then he looked up. “Hi, Luke,” she said.

  “Wie bischt, Marlena?” He smiled and crossed the road to her.

  “I’m all right, and you?”

  He glanced at the sky. “Sometimes it’s easier to pray out here with the birds and the breezes, ya know.”

  “I’m finding that to be true, too.”

  He nodded and met her gaze. “There’s somethin’ real inspiring about sharing one’s heart with the Creator when surrounded by His creation.” He leaned down to smile at Angela Rose and tap gently on the top of her little blue bonnet. “This is your niece, ain’t?”

  “Jah, and I’ll tell ya she’s one happy little girl today.”

  “Happy’s always gut.” He crouched down. “Are ya catchin’ any perty butterflies today?” he asked Angela.

  She let out a baby-sized giggle.

  “Hey, I think she likes me.” Luke chuckled. “I’ve got two nieces your age, little one,” he said, making a silly face for Angela.

  Marlena had to smile. “She’s wearin’ her Amish bonnet for the first time . . . dressed part English and part Plain.”

  Luke glanced up at her. “What’s it matter at this age?”

  Marlena was surprised. “’Course, I guess Angela Rose really is half Amish and half English, considerin’.”

  “Bring her over and we’ll teach her to milk cows next.”

  Marlena laughed. “I’m thinkin’ she might be a little young yet.”

  “You’ve got a point there.” Luke stood up, eyes twinkling.

  “Well, I’d better let ya get back to your prayin’.”

  Luke removed his hat and fanned his face, then put the hat back on. “Would ya mind if I walked with yous a little ways?”

  She shook her head, guessing he wanted to finish their conversation from the other day. But as they went, she quickly discovered he had other things on his mind. It seemed he needed to get something off his chest about a young woman he was fond of, but who was in love with someone else. “And she’s prob’ly in the dark about how I feel,” he said, folding his arms as they walked.

  “So it might be best not to say anything,” Marlena said, “considering ya want to respect that, jah?” Luke hadn’t asked for her opinion just yet, but she’d given it anyway.

  “That, and not make a fool of myself.” He shrugged. “I’ve considered any number of things, but I want to do what’s respectable.”

  Marlena recalled seeing the pretty brunette riding with Sarah and Luke. The day Aunt Becky brought Angela Rose to Brownstown. Of course, Marlena wasn’t going to embarrass Luke and mention her. “Does your sister Sarah know how ya feel about the girl you’re sweet on?”

  “No one knows. That is, no one but you.”

  Why’s he telling me? She felt pleased that he found her to be trustworthy. “I’ll keep mum on this.”

  He nodded. “Now ya know what I was praying ’bout before.”

  Fleetingly, she thought of telling him about Nat Zimmerman’s concerns as to where she went to church, wondering what he might think of all that. But it was enough that Luke had already shared so freely.

  Chapter 33

  The very next evening, Roman surprised Ellie by urging her to invite Boston to join them at the supper table. Happily, she complied.

  After the silent prayer of thanksgiving, there was some lighthearted talk about Boston’s ever-increasing beard and moustache. His thick eyebrows rose at the children as he remarked that he hadn’t seen a single upper lip sporting hair anywhere at yesterday’s Preaching service. Then the topic of his bow tie—missing yet again—came up when Small Jay asked about it, but Boston didn’t seem worried.

  “Do the men of your community ever wear ties to adorn their Sunday shirts?” he asked.

  “Some church districts allow it,” Roman spoke up, “but ours is considered a low church, so we’re more traditional—and simple and modest.”

  “What do you consider a high church?” Boston asked, eyes serious.

  “Some call it progressive,” Roman told him. “They go softer on the Ordnung, allowing telephones, holding Sunday school on the between Sundays, even lettin’ some members drive cars, of all things.”

  He’s thinking of my sister Orpha and her husband, Abram, thought Ellie, wondering how far Roman would take this conversation.

  Boston bobbed his head, his expression playful, and asked if it was permissible to request seconds. Roman said it was fine, and then he, too, helped himself to more of the ham loaf and mashed potatoes and gravy.

  At the end of the meal, Boston offered hard candy to everyone, beginning with young Sally. “I purchased it at Joe’s store the other day with your young man here.”

  Sassafras came meowing over like she wanted some, too, and Boston patted her little head while the girls thanked him repeatedly.

  Ellie noticed how quiet Small Jay was. Quiet and pensive. So far, this has been a different kind of summer for him . . . for all of us.

  When the chatter died down, Roman mentioned that the farrier would be coming tomorrow to scrape the horses’ shoes and to check if they needed new ones. Immediately, the girls asked if they could go out and watch. Roman paused a moment, his eyes lighting on Small Jay. “Don’t ya think it’s your brother’s turn this time?”

  Small Jay made a little gasp. “I’d like that, Dat. I would!”

  Ellie smiled at their boy and her husband, then nodded her approval.

  “Maybe Boston would like to go with ya, too,” Roman said just before folding his hands and bowing his head, ready for the second silent prayer.

  Ellie followed her husband’s lead, thanking God for their scrumptious meal, and for Roman’s budding interest in their son.

  Between baking two loaves of bread and doing all the ironing Tuesday morning, Marlena also took time to play with Angela Rose, thrilled at her progress in trying to push onto her knees. “You can do it, sweetie,” she encouraged her, clapping when she’d get up on her hands and knees, only to flop down on her tummy again. Marlena was careful not to applaud when Mammi was around, guessing she might frown on it. Even so, Marlena knew firsthand that her own mother had coddled Katie and Rachel Ann till they were each two years old, the age when training in character development and yielding to authority began in earnest.

  So I’ll spoil you for a little longer, she thought, enjoying Angela Rose’s dovelike cooing.

  The mail came early that morning, and Marlena spotted a letter from Nat. She couldn’t open it fast enough and begin to read.

  My dearest Marlena,

  How is your little niece faring? Truth be told, I was surprised to hear your sister’s baby is still in your care. No doubt, though, you’re eager to return Angela Rose to her rightful place with her father’s family. An Englischer child belongs
with her people, after all.

  I’ve looked to my own father for some advice concerning several things, Marlena. And since you and I are planning to join church together, I do expect you to stop attending Mennonite services there in Brownstown. Frankly, it gives everyone here the wrong impression, and Dat says nothing good can come from flirting with the edges. It’s essential for our future as man and wife that you hear me out on this, or we’ll need to discuss our future together.

  Marlena reread the last lines, attempting to comprehend. Not only did Nat seem certain that Angela Rose did not belong with her, but he was clearly displeased to hear that Marlena planned to continue to attend church with her Mammi—so much so that her beau seemed to be giving an ultimatum. Yet, why now? Surely this was all due to his father pressing him. Marlena recalled what her mother had mentioned when she’d called.

  Distressed, Marlena wasn’t sure why it was so necessary for her to quit going to Mammi’s church now, when she would only be in Brownstown a couple more months. Oh, in her heart of hearts, Marlena realized she was reluctant to stop attending any sooner—the words the preacher said each week were a bright spot in the midst of her grief and confusion over first Dawdi’s and then Luella’s death. How can I possibly give that up?

  “Or Angela Rose, should it come to that,” she whispered.

  And all the rest of the day, Marlena felt covered by a dark and dismal cloud.

  Wednesday morning, when Sarah Mast was dropped off by her mother in the family carriage, Marlena had already decided to pour her melancholy about Nat’s letter into a sketch for the baby quilt’s design. Thoughtfully, Sarah brought along a few crazy quilt sketches, one of which her cousin had made.

  The two of them laid out the piecework and took turns holding Angela Rose. Later, they had some of Sarah’s wonderfully moist midnight chocolate cake while Mammi Janice embroidered pillowcases on the back porch, humming hymns.