Mattie seemed perfectly content in the backseat with her doll and perked up when Hen mentioned the kittens. Caught up in her own little make-believe world, perhaps Mattie Sue had been spared the earlier heartbreaking conversation between Brandon and herself.
Hen was also grateful Brandon had stayed around longer than she'd expected. He'd lingered over his second cup of coffee after breadfast. In fact, her husband had been downright pleasant at the table, interacting with Mattie Sue more than usual. For an instant, Hen had wished they might somehow frame the happy moment for always.
How will he manage his meals? she'd thought as she cleared the table while Mattie went to her room to play.
When he was done eating, Brandon hadn't rushed off to work as was typical but had taken time to kiss her and say he loved her. "Don't be away too long, Hen," he'd said amiably, although his expression looked tense.
His words had echoed in her thoughts as she'd made quick work of organizing a week's worth of underwear and pajamas for both her and Mattie Sue. She'd left nearly all of their English clothing, planning to sew Amish attire for both of them as soon as she was settled at her parents' home again. Besides, she didn't know if she could bear spending more time than necessary in her and Brandon's lovely bedroom, reliving their happier days as she went from dresser drawer to closet to suitcase.
By the time she turned into her father's lane, Hen felt almost too limp and emotionally spent to walk. The future seemed at once joyful and heartrending. Glancing at the house, she saw the orderly lineup of wash hanging out to dry. She wondered if she should talk first to her dad about staying so as not to upset her mother. After all, he'd said last visit they were "always welcome," but he surely didn't mean on a long-term basis.
Getting out of the car, Hen looked across the meadow toward the bishop's big spread of land and his beautiful farmhouse. What would the man of God say about Brandon's encouraging this trial separation? Hen cringed at the thought. She felt as ferhoodled as ever she'd been, wanting what she missed about the Amish community, yet already sorely missing her husband. How was Brandon doing right now? Could he pull off this workday, knowing he would return tonight to an empty house?
How long would it take for her to yearn again for the English life - or would she ever? From now on, every moment, every single day must count toward Mattie Sue's training in obedience and selflessness.
Hen dismissed the idea of going directly to speak with the bishop, although she desperately wanted his wisdom as soon as possible. Once she had her parents' consent, she would go and confess her sins, then ask for his wise counsel and prayer.
A superstition she'd heard from Aunt Malinda came to mind as she walked with Mattie Sue across the backyard. "To keep a child from being homesick, offer a drink of cold water immediately upon arriving at a new location."
She guided Mattie to the well pump and gave her a drink from the dipper. Then they headed to the barn to see the promised kitties. She collected her thoughts in the midst of the musty-smelling barn as her daughter made over the little mouse-catchers. Hen had asked her father to remember her in his prayers the last time they had visited. But never had she guessed she'd be right back here on his doorstep, asking if she and Mattie Sue could stay.
A lot can change in five years, she thought, looking affectionately at Mattie Sue, the precious result of her and Brandon's love. I'm doing this so you can know the God of your forefathers, my dearest girl....
"Mommy?" Mattie Sue looked up at her. She held a tiny gray kitten in her hands.
"Yes, honey."
"Why doesn't Grandma Emma let kitties in her house?"
"Well, because they're happier out here with their brothers and sisters." All twenty of them.
"Do you think Grandma would let me take this one inside - just once?"
Hen knew all too well that her parents were sticklers about keeping cats outdoors. "Your grandmother isn't well, sweetie ... so let's not worry her with your favorite kitty."
"But, Mommy - "
She shook her head. "Remember, it's important to obey," she told her. "It's not pleasing to God to whine and carry on, hoping you'll get your way."
Mattie's big eyes blinked slowly.
"When I was a little girl your age, my father or mother told me something once and that was the end of it."
"Did you ever get spankings?" Mattie Sue asked.
"Not after the first few, no." Hen sighed, remembering. "Aunt Rosie and I were expected to mind right away. We didn't argue with our parents."
"Why'd you get spankings, then?"
She smiled. "I needed to know what it felt like to be punished ... for what I did wrong."
"Oh." Mattie's eyes were sad.
"My dad - your grandpa Solomon - believes that our heavenly Father wants us to obey Him. It is always best."
"Why?"
"Because it makes God glad."
Mattie Sue thought about that. "Daddy never spanks me."
"No . . . " She wished Mattie Sue were younger. Already, Hen had her work cut out for her. "When we love God, we want to obey Him ... always." The words sounded right, but her life with Brandon was the poorest example of this. Hen was a terrible role model for her daughter. Yes, she had much to make up for, and not only her daughter's shoddy rearing.
Sighing, Hen bent down for the gray kitten's older brother, a larger black cat, and picked him up, stroking his neck. "Let's leave the kitties out here to play while we go in and see Grandma Emma."
"Okay, Mommy." Mattie Sue set the kitten down, took Hen's hand, and walked toward the sliding barn door without a single fuss.
I'll talk to Dad in a little while, she thought, feeling terribly chagrined.
The Brauchdokder massaged Rose's leg in downward strokes from the bruised area, gently at first, then stronger each time he repeated the movement. Rose cried out with pain as Eli's massage became deeper ... nearly unbearable. Afterward, he placed first a cold pack on the elevated knee, and then a hot compress, alternating back and forth for nearly an hour before wrapping her knee in a soft bandage.
By the time Nick returned, Rose was able to gingerly hold her weight on the injured leg without severe pain. She'd almost forgotten how useful therapeutic massage could be to a strained and bruised muscle. Mammi Sylvia would've remembered, she thought as Nick offered to pay the old-timer for his services.
The gray-haired Amish doctor looked at Rose with watery blue-gray eyes. "This is Sol Kauffman's daughter, ain't?"
Nick said she was as Rose nodded.
"Well, then, you owe me not a dime," the doctor said with a toothless smile.
"Denki, so kind of you," Rose said softly.
"Can she use her bad leg?" Nick asked, coming over to offer his arm.
"Prob'ly not just yet." The doctor had urged her to keep her leg elevated and stay off it for twenty-four hours, using cold and hot compresses. "Why don't ya just pick her up and carry her... like ya did before?" The old man grinned.
Rose felt embarrassed when Nick didn't hesitate and leaned down and lifted her right up into his arms. She smiled all the way out to the market wagon, where she could see that the rain had already come and gone. She didn't mind that the wagon seat would be wet - at least she wouldn't have to walk home.
"Better not get used to this," Nick teased, laughing.
"Don't ya worry!"
When they got to the wagon, he set her down carefully.
"Denki for rescuing me ... comin' along when ya did."
"I go that way a lot. Besides, I had a feelin' you were in trouble."
Rose didn't ask what he meant. Today Nick was oddly different - so unlike himself. She guessed he was merely worried. What else could it be?
At the stoplight in downtown Quarryville, Rose noticed a handful of tourists strolling across the walkway in front of the wagon. Suddenly one of the young men focused his attention on her, his camera pointing. "Ach, no!" She turned her face as she'd always been taught to do.
Nick called to him. "You
there - keep on walkin'!"
But the fellow ignored him and came closer to Rose. In fact, he walked right up to the wagon, repeatedly snapping pictures. "Never been this close to real Amish before," he said. "My friends back home won't believe it!"
Nick stood and leaned over the side of the wagon. "I said to keep walkin', ya hear?"
The light turned green, and except for the one with the camera, the tourists scampered across the street. As Nick signaled for the horse to move forward, the man ran around to the back of the wagon. With a gleeful look in his eyes, he grabbed hold of the side and leaped in.
"Better hang on," Nick hollered. "There's a steep hill comin' up."
"Take me to your leader," the tourist said, laughing. "The bishop, right?"
"Nick ... let him out," Rose pleaded.
"I'll show him!"
"No, Nick. Please!" She glanced back to see the young man sitting in the wagon box, hanging on to the sides. "Turn the other cheek, Nick ... like we've been taught."
But Nick urged the horse to a gallop.
"Whoa ... okay, okay!" the tourist called.
Rose could stand it no longer. She called for the horse to halt, but with Nick's hands at the reins, Pepper just kept charging forward.
"Let the man get out, Nick. I beg you!"
Finally, when Rose was certain Nick was too stubborn to budge, he halted the horse a good half mile away from the intersection. Without saying a word, he hopped down from the wagon and ran around to confront the tourist. "Hand over the camera," he demanded as the man climbed out of the wagon. " `Make not a graven image,' the Good Book says."
The man stared at him, openmouthed, not comprehending whatsoever.
Rose turned away, unable to watch. But she heard the camera hit the pavement, followed by what was probably Nick's boot smashing it. "There, that'll teach ya," he said harshly.
"Hey! You stupid - " A string of curses followed.
Rose spun around, embarrassed, as she watched the tourist flail his arms and shout at Nick.
"You little creep - you owe me a new one!"
Nick stepped closer, as if daring the man. But the tourist stumbled back up the road. "I thought you Amish were pacifists," he yelled over his shoulder.
"C'mon, Nick - let's get goin'!" she called, hoping he might get back into the wagon and they'd be on their way. The altercation had made her head throb even more than her wounded knee.
Then, lo and behold, she saw Silas Good's father, Reuben, getting out of his parked buggy behind them. He spoke sternly to Nick. "I want a word with ya, young man!"
Nick quickly pushed his ponytail under his straw hat.
Reuben Good stood near his horse, waiting for Nick to walk to him. "The bishop won't be taking too kindly to any of this."
"Well, he ain't here, now, is he?" Nick said.
Rose held her breath, stunned he'd talk up so to Reuben.
"I'll remind ya to respect your elders," Reuben said. "And to remember to do unto others as you'd have them do to you."
Even though he'd just demonstrated his rebellious side for all the world to see, Rose felt horrible for Nick. In a way, he'd only done what he had to protect her, however misguided his actions.
Just then Reuben raised his eyes and spotted her sitting there in the wagon.
Ach, no! Now Rose wished for sure she'd chosen to lie down in the back of the wagon instead of perch high in the seat. Would've been far better to look half dead this minute!
It was all Hen could do to carry on a merely casual conversation with her grandmother and mother while Mattie Sue played with blocks in the corner of the kitchen.
Mammi Sylvia didn't come right out and ask what had brought Hen here today, but her puzzled expression indicated she sensed something was up. She talked of the approaching work frolic this Saturday, when even a few of the men were planning to help make many quarts of applesauce. "Aunt Malinda's coming," Mammi said. "She'll be so happy to see ya ... if you happen to stop by."
Mom didn't say much, and Hen heard her groan several times. She wished something could be done for the pain. But even the specialists her mother had seen following the accident had been at a loss for ideas when medications turned out to have too many unwanted side effects. Poor, dear Mom ...
Mammi Sylvia showed Hen the pretty red and navy blue quilted potholder and a cross-stitch sampler her mother was working on, "just since you were here last."
Mattie Sue looked up from stacking blocks and came running over to see, as well. Hen tested the waters. "Look, honey, you can learn to do this, too," she said, glancing at her daughter's little hair bun and Kapp. So far, neither Mammi Sylvia nor Mom had remarked about Mattie Sue's Amish attire, nor Hen's own upswept hair.
It must pain them to see me like this, knowing I'm not really Plain, she thought. Might be confusing, too.
Hen told Mattie Sue about the starter patch she had begun when she was only six. "How would you like to learn to quilt like Grandma Emma someday?"
Mattie Sue grinned and nodded her head. "Maybe I could put a kitty on it."
Hen looked at her mother. "Can you tell she has kittens on the brain?"
"Well, there are worse things," Mammi Sylvia said, smiling.
Mattie's eyes brightened, and Hen could tell she was on the verge of asking if she might bring one of the barn kittens into the house.
Hen made eye contact and shook her head quickly. Surprisingly, Mattie Sue dropped the idea and returned to her building blocks. Meanwhile, Mom mentioned offhand that she'd kept some of Hen's dresses. "And your old aprons, too ... if ever you'd like to have them."
Would she ever! She might have to pin the waist a bit looser, but if all went well, she could simply wear those, as well as use them to make a pattern for sewing more. "That's good to know," she said, trying not to let her excitement show.
Mom glanced her way, tears springing up in her eyes. "I saved them, as well as your woolen shawl and your best black leather shoes. Still have many of your hope chest items, too."
"How thoughtful of you." Hen went to her and kissed her cheek. "I'm really grateful."
Mammi Sylvia looked like she might drop her false teeth. And right about that time, Dawdi Jeremiah wandered over from next door, asking when the noon meal would be served. "Same time as always," Mammi Sylvia informed him comically. She glanced at Mom, and the two women exchanged knowing smiles.
Her grandfather pulled up a chair and sat next to Hen. "Fancy seein' you here again ... and lookin' mighty nice, too."
Mighty Plain, he means.
Dawdi clapped his hands for Mattie Sue to come and sit on his lap. "Both of yous look real gut, I'll say," he added.
Hen hoped Mattie wouldn't blurt out that they'd piled their belongings in the car. Not before Hen could talk to her father. Mattie crawled onto Dawdi's lap, content to play with her greatgrandfather's suspenders and to tickle his long beard. Hen was embarrassed when Mattie Sue asked if she could wear his hat.
"Why, sure ... if I can find it," he said.
"Now, Jeremiah, she oughtn't be wearin' your hat," Mammi Sylvia piped up.
"Ah, don't be so superstitious!" he snapped.
"Why, Great-Grandpa?" asked Mattie Sue.
"Downright silly, 'tis," Mom said. "That's what."
Hen smiled as a great sense of belonging filled her. She remembered where she was the very first time she'd heard the saying that putting on a man's hat meant you wanted a kiss from its owner. She had been very careful which young man's hat she'd picked at one particular barn party, years ago.
"I'll show ya what it means, little girlie," said Dawdi, who planted a kiss on Mattie Sue's cheek.
Mattie's eyes widened. Then she asked, "Can I have a butterfly kiss, too?" She giggled in Dawdi's arms.
"Well, hold still now." Dawdi leaned his face close to Mattie's and fluttered his eyelash against her cheek.
"Do it again!" came the childish plea.
Mom offered a sweet smile through pained eyes, and Hen leaned back
in her chair, absorbing the serenity of the house. Ah, peace at last, she thought, wishing there was a way to share with her husband how truly wonderful she felt here.
Rose sat beside Nick in the market wagon, relieved the morning's events were past. As they rode, she pondered what Nick had meant earlier by saying he'd had a feeling she was in trouble. There had been one other such time he had shown up and helped her out when she didn't see how he could've known. Like certain twins, she thought.
Shrugging off the peculiar notion, she asked if he might be able to go over to fix the railing and paint the front porch at the Browning house soon. "It's an eyesore."
"Once we're done fillin' silo, I can," he said.
"Gut, I'd appreciate it."
He smiled. "If you think it needs doin', then I'll see to it."
"Aren't you cooperative today?" she teased.
"Aren't I always?"
She had to laugh. "Not with that poor tourist you weren't."
"But didn't you see what he was doin'?" Nick was suddenly red-faced. "He wouldn't stop taking your picture. He deserved to lose his camera."
It was impossible not to think of Reuben Good just then. "Well, I don't think the tourist thought it was necessary."
"What do I care?" Nick shot back.
"And Reuben ... wasn't he a bit startled?" She looked at Nick, whose countenance changed before her eyes.
"Let Silas's father think what he wants." He hissed Silas's name.
She stared at him, completely astonished.
"What're you lookin' at?" he muttered.
"Just forget it." And all the way home, Rose wondered how soon before she would hear, through the grapevine, about Nick's misdeed in Quarryville today.
Even though he did it on account of me ...
Rose could kick herself for not watching where she was walking earlier - and falling like that! And she fumed at Nick's reaction to the scolding from Silas's father. Any other God-fearing Amishman would have said the same.
When they made the turn into Dat's driveway, she saw Hen's car parked near the back sidewalk, and something sank in her. She must've groaned inadvertently, because Nick asked if she was all right.
The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy) Page 15