The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy)

by Beverly Lewis

  Looking down now at the dinner plates, she knew that if she followed her impulse this minute, she might not finish making supper tonight. She might also regret switching off the burner and heading like a hornet to Mattie's room. But at the moment, Hen didn't care about the consequences. She went to her daughter's closet and pulled down the little suitcase and started stuffing in her pajamas and a set of clean clothes. She felt an urgent need to save her little girl from MTV and all the other distressing things Brandon allowed into their home.

  He doesn't know the first thing about holy living - or child rearing!

  When Rose arrived home from her date close to eleven o'clock, she was shocked to see Hen's car parked near the woodshed. A strand of dread ran through her as Silas walked her to the back door.

  Why's Hen here at this hour?

  "Did ya have a nice time?" Silas paused near the step, his eyes crinkling as he looked at her.

  "Ever so nice."

  His face burst into the dearest smile. "You're very sweet, Rose."

  She put her head down, the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Denki," she said quietly, hoping she was doing right by acknowledging his compliment.

  Was he leading up to the courtship question? She certainly didn't think this was leading to his popping the question - not as proper as he was about everything else. Surely he would approach that like any other Amish young man, by shining his flashlight on her window and asking her to be his wife in the privacy of the house.

  When she raised her head, he was still smiling. Then, tapping his straw hat rather comically, he said, "Gut Nacht, Rose Ann .. till next Sunday Singing. I hope you'll be there."

  A whole week away. Though she felt quite ferhoodled, she thoroughly enjoyed this newfound giddiness. Silas waved fondly and she watched him hurry down the lane to the road, where he'd left the horse and buggy. Oh, to think Silas Good liked her ... and very much, too!

  Maybe he's ready to get serious and settle down! she thought, not wanting to move from the spot.

  Silas had just turned twenty-one, after all. Like her, he'd joined church several years earlier, so he didn't have to wait to be baptized to move ahead with marriage. She suddenly felt peculiar about rushing ahead in her thinking.

  Turning toward the house, Rose's gaze fell on Hen's car again.

  When she let herself into the house and tiptoed upstairs to her bedroom, she could not believe her eyes - Hen and little Mattie Sue were sound asleep in her bed. "Goodness' sakes," she whispered, baffled. "They're stayin' all night?"

  Then, lest she awaken them, she carefully opened her drawer to find her nightgown and noticed the pile of quilting squares there on the dresser, the ones for the wall hanging Hen wanted to make for Mattie's room. Wondering why Hen had brought them, Rose carried her nightclothes downstairs to the room where her mother rested by day.

  Hen and Mattie Sue ... here?

  It didn't take long for her to surmise the possible cause as she lay on Mamm's daybed, covered by three layers of homemade quilts. Most likely Brandon had rejected the idea of his wife's working in the Amish community. But what could've possessed him to ask Hen - and Mattie Sue - to leave?

  Rolling over, she didn't care to contemplate Hen's plight anymore. It blemished her wonderful-good evening with Silas. Oh, she wanted to hold this date near to her heart ... cherish their night under the white full moon, with the invisible nocturnal creatures humming their lovely song all around them.

  Glory be, Rose thought, not one bit sleepy. 0 Lord, do I dare trust my heart?

  Hen awakened early to the medley of frogs and birds. How long had it been since she'd really listened to the sounds of morning? Lying next to Mattie Sue, she looked affectionately at her little girl, all curled up in a soft bundle there in Rose's bed. The happy memories of growing up in this house came rushing back - of learning to cook with her mother and Mammi Sylvia, of helping to whitewash the fences with Rose, and of gathering eggs with her best friend, Arie, whenever she'd spent the night.

  "Idle hands are the devil's workshop," her mother had often said. So Hen had kept busy from dawn to dusk, just as all the good folk of the church district did.

  If any leisure time was left, it was spent walking in the meadow, visiting relatives, or going over to the little Quarryville library behind the police station to check out library books with Rose. Certainly there was no television or radio to lure them to sin.

  Or MTV!

  She lifted a strand of Mattie's pretty hair from her cheek, slipping it behind her tiny ear. "I want you to learn the Old Ways," she whispered. "My already too-fancy girl."

  The thought of asking God to forgive her for deserting His ways crossed Hen's mind. She lay there, keenly aware of her sins against the Almighty One.

  She let her eyes roam about the room where she and Rose had made up fanciful stories and said their prayers before falling asleep in this very bed. The place where she'd ultimately revealed the secret of her forbidden beau. "I really love Brandon," she remembered saying to her wide-eyed sister.

  She and Rose Ann had been close from the day of Rose's birth, when her mother had asked Hen to help name the pretty little baby girl who'd arrived at the end of a whole string of brothers and one sister. At just five years old - close to Mattie's age - Hen had taken her baby sister in her arms and looked down at the tiny pink face. "She's a rosebud" was the first thing out of her mouth.

  Delighted, Mamm had agreed the baby's name was to be Rose. Ann was added for her mother's sister Anna, although her mother had been concerned people might end up calling her Rosanna instead. Yet it was their mother who had begun referring to Rose as Rosie, dropping the middle name Ann altogether.

  Hen shifted to face the windows, looking through the narrow space between the shade and the windowsill to the old oak tree, its branches nearly close enough to touch the house. Nature was on the very brink of turning to radiant autumn. The glory of fall. She brushed away a tear as she recalled her youthful love for that one beautiful and impulsive season.

  It had been in early October that she'd attended her first Singing. Eli Mast had driven her home that night. The hardworking boy had raised a variety of animals - goats, sheep, peacocks, and all kinds of chickens - with his father and older brothers. Eli was pleasant enough, even a good conversationalist. But she hadn't felt a speck of emotion for him, daydreaming instead about the outside world and what it might have to offer. It wasn't any wonder that Eli had eventually lost interest in her.

  Other Amish boys had followed, but no one had captivated Hen's imagination - or her heart - until Brandon Orringer had rescued her from the blizzard.

  "And the rest, as they say, is history," she muttered into her pillow, assuming Brandon would be fuming about now. She'd told him she needed some time alone and would be heading to her father's before ushering confused little Mattie out of the house and into the car.

  Reliving the scene now, Hen was surprised her husband hadn't tried to talk her out of leaving. Perhaps when she returned, he would not confront her about staying the night with her family. Not a single time since they'd married had he come with her to visit here, nor had he accompanied her and Mattie Sue to see her brothers and their families. Only once, when they were first engaged, had Brandon ever stepped foot into her father's house.

  My dear childhood home ... Her own radical change in perception was startling.

  Mattie stirred in her sleep, and Hen stroked her long hair. Eventually they would return home, and Mattie Sue would once again be exposed to all the unwholesome forces Brandon thought of as simply entertainment. How was Hen going to protect her child's heart - her very soul - with Brandon working against her?

  As for herself, tomorrow marked the start of Hen's job. Allowing her to work at Rachel's Fabrics was the least Brandon could do. And if he truly understood her motivation, he certainly would.

  Looking again at her daughter's sweet face, Hen was torn. The job would fulfill her need, but it would do little for Mattie Sue. She couldn't take
her away from Brandon like she had during last night's meltdown.

  Getting up, she found her robe and slippers and crept down the hall to the large bedrooms that had been occupied by her brothers before they married. One of the rooms had been set up as a sewing and craft area, but the other room was entirely vacant, a shell waiting to be filled. She wondered why her parents hadn't furnished it for guests.

  Moving toward the stairs, Hen assumed her sister had slept in Mom's daybed downstairs. Feeling a little guilty for taking over Rose's bed, Hen looked in on Rose, who was just waking up, burrowed beneath the quilts. "Good morning, sunshine," she said, going to sit on the edge of the bed. "I hope you don't mind giving up your room last night."

  Rose yawned and stretched her arms. "Well, I won't if I get it back," she said. "But, seriously, you have me worried, sister."

  Hen looked away, suddenly unsure of herself.

  "You didn't run away from home, did ya?" Rose reached for her hand.

  Hen grimaced. "I was much too hasty," she whispered, sorry for what she'd done.

  "You're married now, Hen. You have to make lemonade ... or however the saying goes, jah?"

  Hen considered that. "I miss spending time with my family." She paused. "Something's changed in me. I really don't know when it happened."

  Rose stared, her big blue eyes boring a hole in Hen's heart. "You are returning home today - going back to your husband?"

  Hen nodded. "Sooner or later."

  "Won't he be worried?"

  "Well ... Brandon knows where Mattie Sue and I are staying."

  "He let you?"

  She sighed. "We were very guarded about what was said in front of Mattie Sue."

  "Poor little girl." Rose sat up in bed. "So, are you helpin' Mammi Sylvia make breakfast this fine mornin'?"

  "This must be a no-Preaching Sunday, then?"

  "Jah."

  Perfect, thought Hen as she rose and went to the door. "I'll wake up Mattie Sue - she'll want to help make the pancake batter."

  Rose pushed her waist-length hair back over her shoulders and offered a worried but faint smile as Hen left the room.

  Emma was frowning at him as Solomon opened his eyes and awakened from a deep sleep. As his wife always wanted the shades up, the dawn was already inching into the room, about to spill forth with sunshine. She liked the shades that way even at night - "so I can see the stars," she would say.

  "You all right, dear?" He reached for her slight hand.

  "Our prodigal's returned," she said, sniffling. "Hen seemed to be cryin' last night, when she first arrived. Did ya see?"

  He'd noticed the swollen red eyes, all right. His heart had lurched, seeing Hen's car pull into the lane yet again. Right away, he knew it wasn't a good sign. Especially her staying the night.

  "I'm betwixt and between, Sol," whispered Emma, her lower lip trembling.

  He touched her ashen face.

  "Never thought we'd see this day."

  He hadn't expected it, either. Yet, here they were with Hen - and her little girl - in the house she'd run from more than five years ago. Oh, the years of sorrow that had ensued for the daughter they'd lost. Lost to us ... to God and the church. "What's a father to do?" Sol's throat ached, but so as not to worry Emma, he pulled himself together.

  Getting up from the bed, he went to the window and looked down at the barnyard. Soon the sky would brighten and another Lord's Day would begin.

  "How long will she stay?" Emma said from the bed.

  He turned around. "The question is: How long do we dare let her?"

  "'Tis a knotty problem." Emma coughed twice and he went to her, lifting her gently out of bed and carrying her in his strong arms to the upholstered chair he'd placed nearby for her comfort. He lowered her into the seat and reached for her favorite eggshellcolored afghan to lay over her lap.

  "Might it be just a lover's quarrel?" he suggested, but the gnawing in his stomach told him differently.

  "Hope so." Emma folded her hands and began to move her lips silently in prayer.

  Befuddled, Solomon headed down the hall to the bathroom the bishop had allowed them to install following Emma's accident. "The Lord's sure got His hands full with our Hen," he whispered.

  Hen had planned to return home soon after the breakfast dishes were washed and dried and put away, but Arie Zook and her mother, Ruth, dropped by, of all people. Hen flinched as they walked toward the house, carrying a pie basket. The two hadn't spoken since Hen had run off to marry Brandon. Oh, but she should've known she would bump into Arie eventually.

  How will Arie react to seeing me?

  Surely the pending encounter wouldn't top the awkwardness of the breakfast she'd just endured, despite the delicious pancakes and eggs. She stiffened, recalling how Dawdi Jeremiah had studied her with a searing gaze, then looked sympathetically at Mattie Sue. No doubt he and everyone else were dying to ask what the world they were doing there without Hen's husband, staying the night like that.

  She could just imagine the words buzzing around in his head. But it was her dad's inordinate emphasis on the weather during the meal that had been really annoying. Her sister had seemed to pick up on the strange dynamic happening at the table - at one point, Rose had even rolled her eyes at her. No, today's meal had been nothing like the other evening at supper, when the atmosphere had been so relaxed and joyful, full of pleasant small talk.

  They must think I'm ferhoodled, leaving my English life for even a single night.

  Freckle-faced Arie stepped inside the house behind her mother, her reddish brown hair neatly swept up in a bun beneath her Kapp. Petite Arie hadn't changed much at all since Hen had last seen her.

  Quickly, Hen put on a smile. She wondered what her former friend might be thinking of her, but there was no addressing that, of course. She'd always hoped there might come a day when Arie would forgive her - accept her as an Englisher. But when Arie caught her eye, she looked away.

  Ruth gave a curt nod to Hen, then promptly lost herself in conversation with Hen's mother there in the middle of the kitchen. Holding her breath, Hen felt nearly as if she weren't present. Yet she couldn't blame Arie for rejecting her. After all, Hen had abandoned their friendship, even breaking their girlhood pact.

  Sighing, she remembered the sun-dappled August morning she and Arie had gone together to BB's Grocery Outlet, not far from Quarryville, to pick up several cases of dented canned goods for Hen's ailing aunt. It was during the buggy ride there they'd promised to be each other's wedding attendants when they were brides. Hen had even suggested they have a double wedding, if it happened they got engaged around the same time.

  "How about I serve up some of this pie, Emma?" Ruth's voice interrupted Hen's reverie. And just that minute, Mattie Sue came flying into the kitchen, her grin revealing that she'd heard about the unexpected treat.

  "Aren't we still full from breakfast?" Mamm said, a twinkle in her eye.

  "One small sliver won't add too many pounds," Ruth said and went to the utensil drawer to get the knife.

  Hen wished she'd taken Mattie home immediately after breakfast. What now?

  Rose was already setting dessert plates out and placing them around the table. Glancing at her, Rose pointed to a spot. She's telling me to stay, thought Hen, scooting onto the wooden bench with Mattie Sue next to her. As a barrier ...

  Everyone else gathered at the table, as well. Hen thought of saying something to Arie, but she decided not to force conversation. If Arie only knew how much I miss Amish life ... Hen sighed, eager for this encounter to be over.

  As soon as she'd finished the apple pie, Mattie Sue asked to go and see the barn kitties. "Please, Mommy?"

  "We're heading home soon," she said quietly, getting up from her place on the bench.

  Mattie pouted. "Aw, Mommy, why?"

  Here we go again, she thought, hoping Mattie wouldn't cause a scene. Especially not now.

  "You've seen the kitties this morning already," she said gently, taking her daughter b
y the hand and moving toward the stairs. When she got to Rose's room, she closed the door behind them. "Listen to me, Mattie Sue ... you will not argue when I ask you to do something. Do you understand?"

  Mattie backed away and went to sit on the floor - her typical response. At least she did not thrash her arms and throw a fit, but she was already starting to cry. "I want to go home!"

  "We're leaving right now." Hen began to pack their belongings. She put Mattie's two dolls in her daughter's arms and asked her to carry them. Thankfully she obeyed without complaint. Hen was glad to have the chore of loading up the car to occupy them, in spite of the embarrassment of having to haul their suitcases past Arie and her mother. The pair was still sitting at the kitchen table as Hen and Mattie went through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Rose came running after them. "I don't know how they knew yous were here visitin'," she said breathlessly.

  "Well, maybe they didn't. Maybe it was just a coincidence."

  Rose shrugged. "The grapevine's a fast communicator, though. Someone might've spotted your car."

  "That's all right." Hen got Mattie Sue settled in the backseat, then closed the door. "It really doesn't matter."

  Rose hugged her. "Did ya say good-bye to Dat yet?"

  "No ... should l?"

  "Might be a gut idea." Rose hung her head. "I mean, the way he seemed all out of sorts at breakfast."

  "I figured you noticed." Hen glanced at the back porch. "Stay here with Mattie for a sec, all right?" And Hen trudged off to talk to her father, sidestepping the chucking rooster.

  Solomon had walked up and down the backyard in his bathrobe and oldest slippers for more than an hour in the middle of the night. Now here was Hen coming toward the porch, looking like she might burst into tears. "Weeping, comin' and goin'," he muttered to himself, rising and putting down his paper, Die Botschaft.