The Parting

by Beverly Lewis

  Will Caleb ask me home from Singing by next summer, at least?

  So much time had passed already. Regardless, she was tired of going with boys she didn’t much care for, even though she had been guilty of stringing two young men along. While she’d enjoyed their company, most of the boys she’d gone with were ho-hum; none of them made her heart sing the way Caleb had the day he’d smiled at her. As with every boy around here, all had plans to farm. That was right fine with Nellie Mae. She wasn’t hoping for someone who would do things differently. All she wanted was someone who had opinions of his own, and was not only appealing but who was smitten with her, as well.

  Is that too much to ask?

  Lots of girls married simply to get hitched, and she had no interest in that. She would not marry if it meant settling for someone to cook and clean for and having a whole string of babies. She wanted what Mamma had with Dat—a steady fire between them. Even after all these years, she could see it when her parents looked at each other from across a room.

  Willing herself to relax, she sensed the buggy was warmer today than yesterday, when she’d gone with her mother to the general store in Honey Brook after closing her shop for the day. She always felt more secure when either her father or one of her five older brothers drove the team. Of course their driving was not nearly as much fun as the wild buggy driving the fellows she’d dated liked to do. No doubt such recklessness was partly to blame for several fatal accidents involving buggies and cars in recent years, not all on the more congested main roads. Surely it was good that today her elder brother—responsible husband and father of four, with another on the way—steadily held the reins, just as he did for his family.

  Who will hold the reins of my life?

  She shifted her feet, conscious of the tremor of the wheels on the road through the high-topped black shoes her mother had insisted she wear. “Too late in the season for bare feet,” Mamma had said before sending her off. “Tell your sister-in-law hullo for me, won’t ya?”

  Nellie sighed, watching the trees as the horse and buggy carried her along. She dreaded the coming winter with its lash of ice and wind. She wriggled her toes in the confining shoes, longing for the freedom of bare feet.

  Farmers up and down the long road—Amish and English alike—were busy baling hay . . . what little there was, due to the regional drought. Farther up the road, the neighbors’ apple orchard came into view. Immediately she wondered if the orchard had been affected, too. Would there be enough fruit for cider-making frolics and apple butter, come late fall? The apple harvest always meant a large gathering of young people—perhaps Caleb would be among them. A work frolic was one of the ways the young people mingled during the daytime, but it was under the covering of night that courting took place.

  She tried to shut out the surroundings and let her mind wander, imagining what it would be like to encounter Caleb at such a lively get-together. She found herself lost in the reverie, wishing something might come of it. Hoping, too, he might not be as curious about Suzy’s death as certain others seemed to be.

  Her brother spoke just then, startling her. “You’re awful quiet, Nellie Mae.”

  Ephram did not gawk at her the way he sometimes did when they traveled to and from his house. Though the visits were rather infrequent, he had been kind enough to offer to bring her back with him this morning, sparing her the two-mile walk to visit her sister-in-law Maryann. If time permitted, Nellie wanted to see her best friend, Rosanna King, too.

  Her brother’s blond hair stuck out beneath his black felt hat. The straw hats of summer had recently disappeared on the menfolk, something that nearly always caught Nellie Mae by surprise every autumn.

  “You’re brooding,” he said.

  “Maybe so.” Absently she rubbed her forehead, wondering if her frowning into the morning light had given her away.

  “Aw, Nellie, what’s troubling you?”

  But she couldn’t say, though she hadn’t been brooding; she was simply pondering things.

  She glimpsed at him, averting her eyes before daring to ask, “Did ya hear anything ’bout that meeting Dat went to two weeks ago?”

  Ephram turned right quick to look at her.

  She smiled. “Seems you did hear, then.”

  His rounded jaw fell and he turned his attention back to the road. Even though she rarely interacted with him, Nellie could see right through this brother. His dairy cattle and growing family kept him plenty well occupied these days, but Ephram had always worn his feelings on his plump face. “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asked.

  “I heard there was a gathering. All hushed up, too.”

  He shook his head. Whether it was in disgust or out of reserve, she didn’t know. Fact was, she wanted to know, but she wouldn’t press him further. Not fitting for a woman, Mamma would say—though Nellie didn’t always embrace everything Mamma thought or suggested. Even so, today there was no sense dredging up the tittle-tattle she’d heard at the bakery shop about the menfolk and their secret meeting. Likely they’d meant it to remain just that.

  Nellie wondered if this summer’s stunted crops hadn’t caused some of the recent turmoil. She’d heard there were some who were convinced the failed crops were a dreadful prophecy to the area of Honey Brook. Limited as the problem was to their area, it was as if God had issued them a warning.

  She recalled the upheaval the phenomenon had caused. As farmers, their very livelihood depended upon the success of their crops. Feed for livestock and chickens had been trucked in. And the bakery shop felt the pinch, as well, from the need to purchase ingredients, tapping into the family’s profits.

  Shifting her weight a bit, she stared out the other window. The heavy dew looked much like frost, with the biting cold to go with it; the harsh air must have sneaked up on them and fallen into the hollow while they slept last night. Summer’s end though it was, it felt like the middle of winter. And even though that meant ice and snow and wind and cold, Nellie Mae longed for this year to be over and a brand spanking new one to begin.

  Looking at her brother now, she wished he would say what he surely knew about the meeting in the bishop’s barn.

  What’s the big secret?

  Ephram was turning in where the tree-lined lane led to his house. Right away Nellie spied Maryann standing in the door, clearly in the family way as she waved a hankie-welcome.

  “Now, don’t be fillin’ her head with your s’posings and all,” Ephram warned, stepping down to tie the horse to the hitching post.

  Nellie wondered why he hardly ever referred to his wife by her name. So many of their men referred to their wives as “she” or “her,” instead of by their lovely names.

  I sure wouldn’t want to marry a man like that.

  Nellie Mae thought again of Caleb, wondering what he would say to all the gossip. Should he ever be available to talk to, would she dare ask? Or would he treat her the same distant way Ephram seemingly treated Maryann?

  CHAPTER 2

  “Oh, Nellie Mae, ever so nice to see ya. Do come in.” A glowing Maryann kissed her cheek as she came through the door.

  Nellie gave her tall sister-in-law a quick hug. “Hullo, Maryann. Nice seein’ you, too.” She shed her shawl in the welcoming warmth of the house.

  “You should come more often. Before you know it, we’ll have another little one in our midst.” Maryann’s hand briefly went to her middle.

  “Jah, and I’m looking forward to meeting him or her.” Nellie sighed. “Ach, but it seems so hard to get away these days.” With Mamma grieving hard and tongues still wagging about Suzy, Dat had made it clear to Nellie that she and she alone was in charge of handling the bakery’s customers—at least for now.

  “How is your dear mamma?”

  “Well, she struggles.” We all do.

  Maryann reached for her hand, her hazel eyes serious. “’Tis not surprising. Tell her I asked ’bout her, will ya?”

  Nellie nodded.

  “It’s good of you to visit
.” Maryann ushered her to the kitchen, where some sassafras tea was brewing and a plateful of warm oatmeal and raisin cookies graced the long table. “Care for a treat?”

  Nellie sat down, glad to be inside after the chilly buggy ride. Maryann was known to bake new cookies well before the former batch was eaten. “Don’t mind if I do.” Nellie reached for two.

  Maryann eyed her. “Oh, take more than that. You can stand a few more pounds, jah?”

  Nellie was content with what she had, as well as the cup of tea sweetened with a few drops of honey. The pair talked of all the canning Maryann had already accomplished, and the recent sewing she was doing for the children, especially for the two older ones enjoying school this fall. As they sipped tea, Maryann periodically added more honey to hers, her fondness for sweets evidently heightened by her pregnancy.

  Mindful of Ephram’s earlier warning, Nellie shied away from discussing any hearsay. Even so, she was on pins and needles trying to comply with her older brother’s wishes, all the while anxious to discover what Maryann might know.

  The house seemed too quiet, although she was sure Ephram had camped out in the front room—doing what, she didn’t know. Aside from that, the house was a large and comfortable place with a small Dawdi Haus built on one side for Maryann’s grandparents, ready for whenever they might need to live closer.

  Nellie made small talk. “Katie and Becky must be napping?”

  “Jah, tired little girlies they are. Katie’s tryin’ to catch herself a cold, seems.”

  “Sure would like to see them before I leave.”

  “I wouldn’t expect them to sleep too much longer,” Maryann said with a smile. “By the way, your friend across the road would be happy for a visit, if you have the time,” she added, as if she were aware of Nellie’s intentions. “Rosanna said as much this morning . . . almost like she guessed you were comin’.” Maryann chuckled. “The two of you have always known each other so well.”

  Nellie nodded at that. Though never as close to her as Suzy, Rosanna was as dear as a flesh-and-blood sister. The only girl in a family with a whole line of boys, Rosanna had frequently sought out Nellie’s company over the years.

  “Rosanna works hard makin’ all those quilts,” Maryann said.

  “Jah, close to fifty a year.”

  Nellie had sometimes assisted Rosanna and two of her sisters-in-law to get a quilt in the frame and done up right quick for customers. But since Suzy’s death, Nellie had been too busy with her own work to help out or visit. Now that she was here in Maryann’s kitchen, she realized how much she’d missed both women, especially Rosanna.

  Nellie finished drinking her tea silently as Maryann began talking of upcoming work frolics and the November wedding season, an obvious twinkle in her eye.

  Of course, it was best for Nellie to follow tradition and keep her interest in Caleb to herself, especially with Iva Beiler and Susannah Lapp fondly glancing his way at the last few Sunday Singings. Caleb was mighty goodlooking; no one would argue that. And while he wasn’t one to flirt like some fellows, he certainly had an engaging way. No question that the deacon’s pushy daughter was set on capturing his attentions. Nellie would never admit to disliking Susannah, but watching the way she batted her eyes at Caleb made Nellie’s fingers tingle to wipe that syrupy smile from her pretty face.

  For all Nellie knew, Susannah had already laid her trap and caught Caleb. Maybe that’s why Nellie hadn’t heard from him—he’d been stolen out from under her nose while she was mourning Suzy . . . before she’d even had a fair chance.

  She accepted a second cup of tea and glanced out the window, captivated by the first hints of fall color. “Seems autumn has snuck up on us, ain’t so?” Nellie said wistfully.

  The splendor of the season seemed less important to Maryann. “Have you heard any of the latest church rumors?” she asked in a sudden whisper.

  “Some.”

  “There’s dissension.” Maryann was solemn, leaning as close as her growing stomach allowed. “Some of the brethren don’t see eye to eye on the Ordnung.”

  Nellie moved nearer, pleased Maryann had offered this without any prompting.

  “Trouble’s brewing, Nellie Mae. For nearly a month now.”

  While Nellie was sure such trouble did not concern her and her family, she tensed up at this admission from Maryann. She chided herself. ’Tis a sin to worry.

  Afraid Ephram might overhear them, Nellie purposely stared down at the green-checked tablecloth. “Best not be sayin’ more . . .”

  Maryann slowly rose to pour more tea for herself. Then, sitting again, she glanced at Nellie and tilted her head nervously toward the doorway between the kitchen and the large front room. Likely Ephram was but a few yards away.

  Nellie changed the subject. “When do ya think you’ll be goin’ to another quilting?” She hoped to finish their gossiping elsewhere, far from her brother’s listening ears.

  At that Maryann held her sides, seemingly bursting with repressed mirth. “Aren’t you a good one, Nellie Mae.”

  Nellie smiled and gave an anxious little chuckle. She lifted her teacup to her lips, hoping her eyes might relay what was on her mind. There was precious little freedom to visit in this house.

  For that reason, she could hardly wait to bid Maryann farewell. In a few minutes she would hurry across the road and look in on dear Rosanna, who would give most anything to be expecting her first baby, let alone the fifth, as was Maryann.

  Reuben Fisher wouldn’t have thought of telling a soul, but he found himself grinding his teeth whenever one of his daughters got to talking about missing Suzy. Heavyhearted as he felt, especially when Betsy wept in his arms for their youngest, he could not bring himself to speak of Suzy. Not to anyone.

  He had heard the whisperings of the grapevine—Suzy had died because of her contrariness . . . her sightings with worldly boys, her growing secrets. It was becoming all too common for young people in Rumschpringe, the runningaround years, to sow wild oats; their Suzy’s mistake was dying in that carefree state. For that and for missing out on baptism into the church, she was damned for eternity.

  He was a father in need of solace, with no one to turn to. No one who might offer understanding for the increasing fear that filled him. No one who might give him hope. No, all he was offered was the standard answer: “This is our belief . . . and ’tis the sovereign will of God.”

  Everything within Reuben cried out against the image of his youngest burning in fire and brimstone. She was young, for pity’s sake—just sixteen . . . not quite ready for weighty matters such as joining church. Betwixt and between.

  He considered his cousin Jonathan and what he might have to say on this matter. Recently Jonathan had embraced beliefs foreign to the church’s guidelines for living—their Ordnung—and was therefore deemed dangerous. What a man chose to think about such things independent of the membership was not trustworthy at all.

  Jonathan’s wife and grown children had followed in his beliefs, standing with him in his choice of an “alien gospel,” as the bishop had declared whatever nonsense Jonathan now embraced. In fact, Jonathan’s offspring had so united with him, the People had voted to excommunicate the whole bunch.

  At least his kin sympathize, thought Reuben sadly, wishing there was some way around the shunning practices that meant ostracizing long-standing church members, treating church brothers—in this case Reuben’s own relatives—nearly as outcasts. The longer Jonathan refused to renounce his new belief and repent of it, the harder life would become. The purpose of the Bann was to bring wayward ones back to the church, where they were expected to obey the Ordnung, never to turn away again.

  Yet as dire as Jonathan’s present circumstances looked to be, Reuben could not ignore the fact his cousin fairly reeked with joy, even after suffering the shock of excommunication at the vote of the brethren and the membership. Reuben often wondered exactly what had gripped his cousin so thoroughly that he had found strength to walk away from all he knew an
d loved.

  Could it help me cope with Suzy’s death? His grief intertwined with an intense curiosity, driving him now to visit his errant cousin. Such fellowship was still allowed by the bishop, for the time being, provided there was no exchange of money or eating at the same table. Eventually, Jonathan would be cut off.

  Jonathan and his wife, Linda, greeted Reuben warmly, and after making small talk about the weather and whatnot, Reuben had nearly forgotten the bishop’s prohibition—that is, until Jonathan began reading Scripture.

  Despite Reuben’s protestations, Jonathan insisted on holding up the Bible and reading portions of it Reuben had never heard. As was their way, the ministerial brethren preached from the same biblical texts each time they gathered. Even Reuben’s own father and grandfather had kept to those limited passages during nightly Scripture reading when Reuben was growing up. Only certain chapters were sanctioned by the bishop.

  Jonathan continued to read from Galatians, chapter one. “ ‘ . . . the gospel which was preached of me is not after man. For I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.’ ” He raised his eyes toward Reuben. “See? It’s right there.” Jonathan sighed, tears welling up. “The Lord’s in those words. He’s revealing himself directly to us.”

  “You’re sure it says that?” Reuben leaned over to have a look-see. He peered at verses eleven and twelve, muttering as he read them aloud. Jonathan was not pulling his leg about what the Scriptures said, but Reuben felt his mind resist. This was not the teaching imparted to him in his youth.

  Jonathan gripped his arm. “You should look at the third chapter of John, too. It could be the difference ’tween—”

  “What?” Reuben shot back, suddenly alarmed. He’d never before witnessed such intensity in his cousin’s eyes.

  Jonathan released his hold and ran his hand through his dark beard. “Just read it, cousin.”

  Reuben was torn. Here he was talking with a blemished man, one who was no doubt trying to recruit him to the wrong side of the fence. It was a line Reuben wasn’t willing to cross.