But not a single line of reasoning seemed to faze Zach— he was single-minded. He must have Suzy’s bracelet.
Chris ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up. He worried that Zach seemed in danger of losing his sense of reason. His brother’s grief was spiraling off into something weird.
Struck with how helpless he felt, he began to pray.
“Father in heaven, I ask for divine comfort for Zach, in Jesus’ name. Let your light spring to life in his heart and mind. Soothe his pain, and help me be the brother and friend he needs to walk along this hard path. Guide me and let me know when to silently support him and when to offer words of comfort. I’ll thank you for it. Amen.”
Leaning his head into his hands, he remembered an evangelist at the Tel Hai campground who said that when you extend yourself to those who are suffering, you find out who you truly are. You discover yourself . . . what you’re made of.
He decided he needed to be more patient and understanding with his brother. Here he was complaining to himself, wishing Zach would snap out of it. But he hadn’t ever experienced firsthand what Zach was dealing with. He’d never loved a girl that way. Nor had he called upon the Lord for his life mate, fasting and praying for days like Zach had. How quickly the answer had appeared to come . . . only to be taken away!
God’s ways are always higher than ours. Knowing full well that his parents had prayed since his birth for the young woman who would someday become his wife, just as they had for each of their sons, Chris realized he’d never once prayed that way.
What am I waiting for?
He felt convicted suddenly. Compelled by it, he bowed his head again, this time with deep gratitude for God’s ongoing providence. He didn’t ask for his future bride to be outwardly pretty, as Suzy Fisher had been, but he did ask that she be a partner in whatever ministry he would eventually be called to. “Protect her from sin and harm . . . and may she not be discouraged in seeking your will for her life, Lord . . . wherever she may be. These things I pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
“I never thought my own brother would tell my secret!” Rhoda bemoaned her state to Mrs. Kraybill that morning.
She told how she’d bundled up earlier to trudge through knee-deep snow to the very same brother’s house before dawn. “I startled James and Martha but good.”
“And why was that, may I ask?”
Rhoda fought the urge to weep. “I asked to move in over there—they’ve got two spare rooms off the sunroom downstairs.”
Mrs. Kraybill frowned and tapped her well-manicured fingernails on the table. “I assume you’ve given this some thought, Rhoda?”
“All night long I pondered it.”
To think Mamma, Nan, and Nellie Mae were all witnesses to Dat’s words . . . and mine, she thought ruefully, reliving the suppertime feud.
“Mamma made a noble attempt at breakfast . . . asked me to apologize to my father.” She stirred sugar into her black coffee. “But I haven’t changed my mind. Honestly, I’m more than ready to start over somewhere new.”
“Well, I do hope you’ll continue working here—for us.”
Mrs. Kraybill searched Rhoda’s eyes. “You have a car payment now, remember.”
She remembered, all right. It was the main reason she hadn’t asked to stay with the Kraybills, even for a short time. She needed pay, not free room and board. “I’m rather strapped now, ain’t so?”
Nevertheless, she was fond of her beautiful car—a black-and-white four-door Buick LeSabre with under thirty thousand miles on it. It was fully loaded with whitewall tires, a 335 Wildcat engine—whatever that was—power steering and power brakes, and a radio. “The works,” Guy Hagel had told her.
Mrs. Kraybill smiled kindly. “You’re a determined young woman, Rhoda. I believe you’ll do well in your new life.”
It was time to spread her wings, anyway, regardless of Dat’s probing words. Maybe the car purchase was exactly what she’d needed to propel her away.
“Would you mind ever so much helping me move my things to James and Martha’s?” she asked. “I’d be very grateful.”
“I’m happy to help.” Mrs. Kraybill rose to pour herself more coffee. “I do have to ask you—are you still thinking of keeping your car here?”
Rhoda nodded. Was Mrs. Kraybill concerned she could encounter trouble with Dat somehow? “Don’t worry ’bout my father comin’ over here and giving you a tongue-lashing. That won’t happen, I promise you.”
Mrs. Kraybill appeared relieved.
I’m old enough to make up my mind, Rhoda thought, rising to clear the cups and saucers off the table. No mat-ter how hard Nan tried to talk me out of leaving last night. And no matter how sad Mamma and Nellie Mae looked at the breakfast table!
The snow had stopped altogether by midafternoon, and Rhoda was pleased Mrs. Kraybill consented to go home with her, having left her two preschool-aged children with the neighbors. The eldest was headed to a friend’s house after school. They were picking up two suitcases full of Rhoda’s clothing and personal belongings, including her necklaces, which left the bureau mirror looking mighty bare.
She was relieved that Nellie Mae and Mamma remained out in the bakery shop, not coming inside for a last-ditch effort to keep her home. Even so, Nan came running upstairs, tears glistening in her eyes. She stood out in the hallway with her hands clasped, staring in at their room.
“If you find more of my things, just box ’em up, Nan,”
Rhoda said, hating to be so pointed. Nan didn’t deserve to be treated this way, but if Rhoda appeared any other way but deceptively strong, she would surely break down and start crying herself.
Mrs. Kraybill carried down the first suitcase, leaving her alone with Nan, who leaned forlornly against the doorjamb.
“Listen, I just don’t fit here anymore, and I’m tired of hiding the real me. I’m going to the new church now—with the tractor folks, I’ve decided.” Rhoda exhaled forcefully.
“Nellie Mae doesn’t see eye to eye with our parents, either, but they are a lot more patient with her. . . .”
“Oh, I think Nellie will come around in time.”
“Well, I won’t. Give up my perty car for a horse and buggy? Not on your life!”
“Rhoda, please.” Nan touched her arm.
“No. I’ve had it with livin’ like this. I’m not cut out for the Plain life. I have to get out or suffocate!”
Nan sniffled, her sobs coming in little gulps. But that didn’t keep Rhoda from reaching for the remaining suitcase and marching past her dearest sister, right down the stairs.
Nellie comforted Mamma as they stood at the bakery shop window, observing Rhoda and their English neighbor load the last suitcase. “She’s really leaving. I’d hoped she’d change her mind.” Nellie’s throat ached.
“Me too.” Mamma reached for her hand. “I should have let her move into James’s old room like she wanted.”
“This isn’t your fault, Mamma.”
“Still, I’m takin’ this much too hard, I fear.”
“Oh, Mamma, no. You love Rhoda—we all do. She’s making a mistake, that’s certain. Of course you feel ever so bad.” She led Mamma away from the window.
All Nellie and Mamma could do was pretend not to wince at the sounds of Mrs. Kraybill closing the trunk of her car and the slamming of two car doors—shutting them out.
Reuben stood near the window in the haymow, leaning forward to watch his eldest daughter making the worst mistake of her life. He wished he might retract last night’s statements, yet he felt strong in his stance. Rhoda needed to find where she fit into the family of God, certainly, but she also needed to be less bullheaded.
Will she learn anything worthwhile out there with Englischers?
Betsy had made a point earlier this morning before they’d ever gotten out of bed. “You’re doin’ to Rhoda just what your parents did to you . . . and all over a difference of opinion.”
So his wife was put out with him, too.
&n
bsp; Betsy’s right. He removed his black hat and held it over his chest—over his heart—as Mrs. Kraybill pulled her car forward and turned around, heading down toward the road.
God be with you, little girl. . . . Flee to anner Satt Leit— the other kind of people—if you must.
He prayed it might prove to be beneficial in the long run. After all, the apostle Paul had relinquished the degenerate man over to the devil for the salvation of his soul.
Reuben moved away from the window and pulled himself together. It wouldn’t do for the feed salesman, expected any minute now, to see him all broken up like this.
At half past nine Friday, the twins were back in their playpen for their morning nap. Rosanna was well occupied with bread baking and dinner making, thinking of Elias as she worked. Her husband had been extra kind this morning at breakfast, holding his son and going out of his way to make over both babies, which had started the day on a sweet note.
Seeing his gentle way with the twins made her long to be in his arms again. Instead, she’d made his favorite breakfast of German sausage, three fried eggs, and blueberry pancakes.
He always took his coffee strong, with only a spot of cream, but oodles of sugar.
They’d talked congenially, all forgiven. The only thing Elias had to say with any connection to Cousin Kate was that he’d noticed she had cut back on her multiple visits, giving them a reprieve of sorts. Here it was already Friday morning and she’d dropped down to one daily visit since Tuesday. “What the world?” Elias had asked, chuckling.
She’d told him about giving Kate the instructions for making blessed thistle tea—“just the thing for Kate’s baby blues.” Again, he had laughed heartily, and they’d both assumed the herbal tea was doing its job.
“Hopefully,” she muttered to herself, rolling out whole-wheat dough for a large beef potpie. She best be getting it in the oven before long or Elias would be twiddling his thumbs when the time came to sit down to eat the main meal of the day.
Carefully she lifted the dough from the counter, pressing the top crust over the beef and home-canned vegetables before poking holes in the top with a table fork.
Glad the snow had ceased falling yesterday, Rosanna yearned for a long, brisk walk, though that was not possible just yet. Still, she thought ahead to the day when Eli and Rosie would be able to walk along and keep up with her on a mild winter’s day. And come summers, too.
She imagined all the fun the twins would have growing up here—little Eli helping Elias tend to the animals and working the land together as father and son. Such a wonderful-good team they’d be. She would have herself a grand time teaching Rosie to bake breads and pies, passing along everything she knew about quilting and sewing and tatting and cross-stitching to her darling little girl.
Oh, such fun!
Stooping to open the oven, she slid the potpie inside, wishing dear Mamma could see her now. Was she looking down from on high? Safe and sound in the arms of the Lord God . . .
Thinking on this, all of a sudden she missed holding her wee babies and went to the next room to look in on them. She cherished watching them sleep or drink from their bottles. Fortunately, they had become quite attached to the latter, especially Rosie, since Cousin Kate had ceased nursing her.
Hearing a muffled noise outside, her heart sank. Cousin Kate had arrived . . . right on time.
She put on a smile and hurried to the back door to greet her cousin, who had little blond, blue-eyed Rachel with her again, seemingly as happy as ever to see Rosanna. Kate gave her a quick hug. “I’m feelin’ ever so good today. How ’bout you, Rosanna?”
Kate chattered on about her morning—the baking she’d already done, with some help from niece Lizzy, who was old enough to act as a regular mother’s helper and who babysat the younger children each morning when Kate came to nurse Eli. Rosanna had been wondering how Kate was keeping up at home.
Sitting down with two-year-old Rachel on her lap, Kate seemed calmer than on previous visits. Curious, Rosanna asked, “Did you happen to try that tea recipe?”
Kate said she had, offering a smile. “I’ve been drinkin’ it several times a day, as a matter of fact . . . awful nice of you.”
They talked about various kinds of herbal teas and how they were reported to help what ailed you. Rosanna actually found herself enjoying this visit, mostly because Kate hadn’t rushed into the other room and focused her attention on the babies, or purposely awakened them. It was ever so nice to sit and talk together, like they had long before the twins were born.
Soon they were all three sipping hot cocoa, little Rachel blowing softly on hers while sitting up close to the table on Kate’s lap.
So far, it was almost as if Eli and Rosie were of no interest to Kate today, for she said not a word about them. Surprised, Rosanna wondered if she was going to simply ignore the fact that the twin babies were napping in the next room.
It was Rachel who asked in her tiny voice, after the hot cocoa was finished, “See Bobblin, Mamma?” Rosanna’s imagination flew to Eli and Rosie’s second birthday. She assumed Rosie might look a lot like little Rachel, who was now wriggling to get off Kate’s lap, wanting to have a “look-see” at the babies.
Kate rose with her daughter and carried her to the doorway. Then she turned and asked, “Is it all right, Rosanna?”
Before Rosanna could think to say not to awaken the babies this time, she agreed. “Why sure . . . show her the twins.” But she needn’t have worried, for Kate merely held Rachel up to look at them.
“Babies sleepin’,” Rachel whispered, holding her pointer finger up to her mouth. “Shh,” she said in such a darling way, Rosanna nearly forgot the previously upsetting visits.
Kate straightened and headed back to the kitchen with Rachel still in her arms. “When do ya plan to go to a quilting bee next?”
Rosanna wanted to go soon if the weather cooperated. Her neighbor to the east had offered to baby-sit at least one of the twins so she could handle the reins on the buggy whenever she wanted to get out of the house. “Where’s the next one to be?”
“At Esther Fisher’s.”
“That’d be right nice.”
Kate eyed her for a moment. Then, looking away, she added, “Might be best if you don’t go a-quiltin’ with the New Order womenfolk, though.”
“Oh?”
Kate put her daughter down to toddle about. “Bishop Joseph ain’t exactly putting his foot down about it, askin’ for separate work frolics just yet. But even so . . .”
“Jah, once the ninety days is past . . . what then?” Rosanna sighed. “Hard to know what’ll happen.”
“Well, one of two things, I daresay. Folk will either be in or out.” Kate’s gaze was scrutinizing.
“In” meaning the old church, thought Rosanna wryly.
Long after Cousin Kate and Rachel left, she pondered the peculiar change in Kate’s demeanor, especially toward the babies. More than anything, she’d wanted to urge Kate to keep drinking more of the blessed thistle tea before she left, but thought better of it.
CHAPTER 22
On Saturday Chris Yoder reluctantly drove his brother to Marsh Creek State Park as promised. With their dad’s camping hatchet on the floorboard, Zach was determined to dig up whatever had frozen into the ice and debris under the rowboats.
All week Zach had talked of little else other than cutting the shiny thing loose, obsessed with the idea of retrieving it.
Chris was sorry he’d ever suggested going to the lake in the first place. If Chris had his way, they would simply wait for Mother Nature to do her work in a few short months during the spring thaw.
But Zach was not at all interested in waiting.
“Do you ever wonder where heaven is?” Zach asked suddenly. He was staring out the car window. “Up from our planet . . . or out from the solar system on the other side of the sun or something?”
He’d never even considered it.
Chris didn’t answer, but Zach continued anyway. “Heaven’
s closer now. . . .”
Because of Suzy, thought Chris.
“She went too soon—I feel cheated, you know?”
He figured Zach would feel this way, and most likely for a long time, too. Chris didn’t say what he was thinking— that there would come a day when his brother would love again. “Yeah. I’m not surprised.”
Chris pulled the car into a parking spot near the rowboats. He turned and put his arm on the back of the seat, leaning toward his brother. “Listen, I can’t possibly know what you’re feeling, Zach. And I can’t imagine the pain you live with, either.” He glanced at the lake. “I wish we’d insisted on safety that day. . . .”
Zach nodded. “Yeah. Pure stupidity.”
“Well, I bear the responsibility. I know that.”
“No, we’re all guilty . . . we should’ve known Suzy couldn’t swim. She never had a chance.” Zach pushed his door open and climbed out.
Chris got out on his side and quickened his pace to catch up.
Armed with the hatchet, Zach strode to the boats and knelt on the ground. “Hey, it’s still here!”
He chopped away at a small cube of ice-encrusted snow and debris, the glint of gold at its center. “Let’s get this home and thaw it out.”
Zach was more intense than Chris had ever seen him, cradling the chunk of ice and snow like a trophy. He carefully set it in an old cooler in the trunk, and they drove back home.
Together they entered the house quietly, hoping not to run into their mother. Zach carried the cooler upstairs. Chris followed behind him, unwinding his scarf as he trudged up the stairs.
He found Zach in the bathroom, running water over the block of ice.
“You could just wait—it would melt on its own.”
Zach paid him no mind, intent on his mission.
Chris hung around, hoping Zach wouldn’t be devastated to find an earring or coin or something of even lesser value stuck in there.
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