She wrapped her arms around her middle, making her way across the backyard to the paved path that led from the dirt road in front of the house all the way back to Nellie’s cozy and quaint bakery. The shop’s sign perched above the solid structure, beckoning passersby to drop in. Like the rest of the building, it had been built by her husband and their eldest sons—twins Thomas and Jeremiah—both as strapping as they were dependable.
She smiled thinking of her double blessing, still recalling all the fun—and the seemingly endless work—she’d experienced as a new mother of only eighteen. How thankful she’d been even then for a husband who’d added to her joy with his thoughtful ways. Truly she had cared for handsome Reuben Fisher right from the start of their courting days.
Betsy suspected her daughter Nan was equally ripe for a similarly intense romance, although she had no indication from studying Nan’s blue eyes, a striking contrast to her rich brunette hair. Nan was as guarded about whom she liked and disliked as any of Betsy’s girls, just as a discreet Amish girl ought to be. No, this daughter was not about to give away any secrets with the stoic look on her face.
But now, there was definitely something going on with Nellie Mae. You couldn’t miss the blush on her cheeks. She had always enjoyed playing baseball or volleyball with the boys in the church . . . even climbing trees at times, too, which had never set well with Reuben. He wanted his daughters to be young ladies—none of this tomboy business. God made boys to be tough and hardworking, and girls . . . well, they were supposed to be soft and sweet and mighty submissive.
Of course problems arose when there was a lip and an attitude, like Nellie Mae had at times, especially here lately. Thankfully it wasn’t as obvious when Reuben was present. Betsy wished Nellie to be compliant and pleasant, but Suzy’s death must have triggered something in her. Betsy had discovered the same angry struggle within herself. “Does the Lord God see the darkness within me?” she muttered, looking at the way the light from the sun cast parallel lines on the lawn.
Suddenly she noticed a black automobile with a white top slow down and stop in front of the house. A tall man got out and stood near the mailbox, as if checking for the address. He eyed the signpost poked deep into the ground—Nellie’s Simple Sweets—the only advertising needed on the road, as word of mouth was the best source of customers.
Another Englischer, she thought, glad for the additional business. The Good Lord knew they needed to sell all their baked goods each and every day—this fall especially.
This worldly man did not look like one of Nellie’s regulars, however. He had a purpose in his stride, and a stiff brown hat on his head. Even the long tan overcoat that looked like it had leaped off the pages of a Sears, Roebuck, and Co. catalogue spoke of business.
“Hello, there, ma’am.” He stopped to tip his fine hat. “I’m looking for Reuben Fisher.” His eyes were black coals in a too-pale face.
“Who do you say is lookin’ for him?” she spouted before she could stop herself.
“Why, that would be me—Mr. Snavely, ma’am.” He quickly extended his hand.
“My husband’s runnin’ errands, but he’ll be back after a bit.” She wanted in the worst way to ask what this fancy man wanted with Reuben, all dressed as he was in creased black trousers and a worldly sports jacket beneath his open top coat. Even his long plaid tie was looped just so.
“Would you mind giving this to him?” Mr. Snavely handed her a small white card with the silhouette of a small tractor up in the corner. “I’ve been in the neighborhood. This tells how to reach me.”
She glanced at the telephone number, wishing to set him straight: They did not believe in using the devil’s tools for either business or pleasure, no matter the convenience they provided. Besides, the bishop would put the nix on such goings-on in a big hurry.
He continued to stand there, looking her over curiously. Surely it was her Plain attire that he found interesting, being a modern fellow and all. Some Englischers weren’t accustomed to the sight of Amish folk. “Thank you, uh, Mrs. Fisher?”
“Jah, that’s right.” She wasn’t about to volunteer her first name, although she herself seldom went by her given name of Elizabeth. Better she encourage this unwanted visitor to be on his way.
When Nellie spotted the Englischer shortly after she’d returned home from Rosanna’s, she ought not to have been surprised. After all, it wasn’t the first time a stranger had rolled to a stop in front of their roadside sign. All the same, she did wonder why he remained out in the yard talking with Mamma, of all things.
“What the world?” Nellie went to the shop window, glad for the short lull, and watched the man lean forward while talking with her mother, apparently handing her something. Was he someone her father knew?
The moment the man hurried back to his shiny car and took off down the road, Nellie ran straight to the house.
Mamma was shaking her head, fanning her pink face with a hankie. “We’ve got ourselves a tractor salesman in the neighborhood.”
“He wants us to buy what?” Nellie asked, shocked that an Englischer like that would feel comfortable going door to door.
Evidently the discord among them had already reached the ears of outsiders. Nellie should have seen this coming. Yet she dared not say she’d hinted at such things with Maryann over tea earlier.
Mamma rose. “Well, we Fishers will be havin’ none of this nonsense.” She opened the cupboard beneath the sink and dropped the business card into the rubbish. “You’re not to breathe a word of this, ya hear? Not even to your Dat. No need for him to know a Mr. Snavely even exists.”
Nellie Mae had never seen her mother’s eyes so dark. The pupils were nearly black—odd, since Mamma’s eyes were normally ever so blue. “Next thing People will be wantin’ electric and cars and who knows what. It’s the evil one at work among us, I say.” She reached for the hem of her apron and began again to fan her face.
“Mamma, you’re workin’ yourself up.” Nellie pulled out her father’s chair at the head of the table, helping her into it. “Just sit now.”
“You’ve got a mouth on ya, child.”
Nellie Mae huffed. “Try and be still, that’s all I’m askin’. You know Dat’s not interested in such things.”
Her mother kept fussing. “Promise you won’t speak of this to anyone. We don’t need any more worries.”
“Oh, Mamma—”
“Right now, promise me!”
Nellie was silent. Then slowly, she shook her head.
Mamma glowered. “Nellie Mae?”
She gritted her teeth at her mother’s resolve.
“Give me your word, daughter.”
Nellie had stonewalled long enough. “There—you have it.” Abruptly she hurried out the door.
Frustrated by her mother’s seemingly irrational concern, she noticed a huge flock of red-winged blackbirds appearing out of the dense grass to the east of the house. Like a small black cloud at first, the flock took shape and flew low to the ground across the expanse of pastureland and meadow before flying up, up to the tallest tree. First one bird, then another plunged in and out of sight, settling into the branches of the mighty oak tree.
Suzy had always been so fond of birds, fascinated by their migration each year, their patterns of life.
If only she were still alive . . .
What would her sister have thought of the tractor talk between their mamma and Mr. Snavely? Life had become complicated indeed since Suzy’s death.
Nellie cleared the table after supper, glad she’d taken time for a walk to calm herself down after her tiff with Mamma. Glad, too, she’d gone back inside after a while to apologize.
Presently Nan was busy heating some water while Rhoda began sweeping. As she carried dishes to the sink, Nellie observed the contrast in her sisters’ hair color—Nan’s such a rich brown and Rhoda’s a buttery blond. Like Nellie, Nan could eat anything and remain as skinny as a stick, a trait the pleasingly plump Rhoda did not share. Yet despite their
physical differences, her two older sisters could not have been closer.
The way Suzy and I used to be . . .
“Mamma’s talkin’ of having Emma come over for the whole day tomorrow,” Nan said suddenly.
“I’m not surprised,” said Rhoda, reaching under her Kapp to poke her chubby finger at her blond hair bun.
“Mamma can’t seem to get enough of that one,” Nellie Mae agreed.
“Well, one good look says why.” Rhoda had a knowing smile. “She’s a little Suzy.”
“Just so you know, Emma will have to sleep with you, Nellie,” Nan said, handing her a dish towel. “Will you dry tonight?”
“Why, sure.” Nellie meant she’d dry the dishes, but she didn’t mean the wiggle worm could share her bed. “Emma’s all over the place when she sleeps.”
“Well, why do ya think I suggested you?” To this Nan added a giggle.
“We could put her in James’s old bedroom,” suggested Rhoda, who stooped down to brush crumbs into the dustpan. “How’s that?”
“If she doesn’t mind sleepin’ in a haunted room,” Nan said over her slender shoulder.
“Ain’t haunted,” Rhoda insisted, pushing up her glasses and heading right to Nan at the sink. “Why do you make up such things?”
Nan grinned. “Ach, I say it is.”
“Well, why?” Nellie asked, bewildered at the turn in their conversation. She’d never heard Nan talk so.
Nan looked at them both, eyes serious. “Guess you didn’t know it, but Suzy went in there sometimes. Quite a lot, really.”
“Whatever for?” asked Nellie Mae.
“Maybe to hide the . . . um, smell.” Nan held up two fingers to her lips and took an imaginary puff.
Nellie felt her neck burn. “You don’t know any such thing.”
“Ach, are ya sure?” Rhoda piped up.
Nan shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Nellie was stunned. “I never saw Suzy smoke.”
“Then why did she change clothes in there so often?”
Nan smirked.
“You know this for certain?” Nellie asked.
“Jah, I saw her.” Nan rolled her eyes, as if to say, you think I’m fibbing.
To Nellie the whole conversation seemed irreverent. They had no right to speak of their dead sister this way. Nellie wasn’t surprised at Nan’s seemingly jealous streak, though.
Nan had always been envious of Suzy’s popularity, especially in school in years past. Not to mention the way Dat and Mamma had always held Suzy up as a standard of innocence, much to Nan’s consternation—at least until Suzy’s last half year.
Still, would she make this up about Suzy?
The teakettle began to shrill. Grimacing, Nan scurried to the stove and carried the kettle to the sink. She poured the boiling water into the cold and added the dish soap, swishing it around to make plenty of suds. As she did, Nan leaned over to whisper in Rhoda’s ear, but not so softly that Nellie couldn’t hear.
“I daresay Suzy was ready to jump straight to the world,” she whispered, “just weeks before she drowned.”
Rhoda’s hand shot up and clapped over her mouth. “You don’t mean it!”
Nan nodded, a glint of sadness in her eye. “Seems so.”
Before Nellie could object to the foolish speculation and attempt to scold Nan for such disrespect, Mamma came into the kitchen, hushing them all up.
But for the rest of the evening and long into the night, Nellie thought of Nan’s startling words. In some ways, she was glad Suzy’s secrets were buried with her—whatever they might have been. She trembled a bit. No, she didn’t really mean that. She would give most anything to have Suzy back, laughing and enjoying life, sharing her infectious joy. Nellie Mae would even put up with her apparent fondness for fancy English friends, if only Suzy were alive.
CHAPTER 5
The first thing Nellie Mae did Friday morning was bake more chocolate chip cookies than usual. Recently they were flying off the shelves, and she wondered why. Were fancy mothers too busy to bake once school started? Seems they’d have more time, rather than less, she thought.
Later in the bakery, she set about arranging the day’s offerings and considered the number of pies and such she could make through the autumn months if she only had more pumpkins. Perhaps Dat or one of her brothers might pick up some more at market over the weekend.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up and saw a young man wearing a black work coat and black felt hat walking toward the bakery shop. He leaned into the breeze in such a way that she couldn’t make out his face.
When he came in the door and raised his head, she was stunned to recognize Caleb Yoder, hazel eyes smiling.
What on earth? She thought her heart might stop beating.
“Hullo, Nellie Mae.” He removed his hat.
“Hullo.”
He fumbled for something in his pocket, and she assumed he was fishing for his wallet.
“I baked lots of cookies today,” she said quickly, wondering what he might like.
He fixed his gaze on her. “Frankly, I’m not here for the goodies.” Despite his words, he glanced longingly at the pies. “I stopped by on my way to do an errand for Daed.” He handed her a piece of paper folded several times. “I want to give this to you personally.” His smile spread clear across his handsome face now.
“Denki,” she said. The note felt warm in her hand, and she wished he might stay.
But Caleb glanced nervously at the door. Was he worried he might encounter other customers?
“Well, I’d better be on my way.” His eyes lingered on hers for a moment. “I’ll be seein’ ya, Nellie Mae.” With that he left.
She moved immediately to the window and watched him fairly march all the way down the drive and out to the main road, where she assumed he’d left his horse and buggy.
Jittery with excitement, Nellie Mae returned to her post behind the counter, the folded paper with her name scrawled on the top still in hand.
I was absolutely right last June. He did smile at me!
Trembling, she opened the note and began to read.
Dear Nellie Mae,
Will you go riding with me after the next Singing? If so, please meet me alongside Cambridge Road afterward, about a mile southeast of the barn. There’s a sheltered area among some trees and shrubs that will keep you out of the wind.
Sincerely,
Caleb Yoder
He was asking her in a note? This was rather unusual. Even so it was quite sweet, and Nellie felt ever so happy.
“Ach, this is unbelievable!”
She imagined how blushing pink her face must be, and just now there were customers coming up the drive, having missed Caleb by a mere minute.
She tucked the note into her pocket, her heart singing as she went about helping her customers that morning. He does like me . . . he does!
“A true miracle,” she decided of the invitation. Up until now Caleb had kept his distance, attending the same Sunday Singings but always talking to others. She would have given up all hope if it hadn’t been for that single June smile.
And now this note . . . after three months of waiting, it certainly seemed as if he’d finally decided to act. Yet could she allow herself to fully hope? Caleb had caught the eye of nearly every girl in the district, after all.
But I’m the one he asked!
To think he’d stopped by personally to invite her to ride with him after the next Saturday night Singing—one week from tomorrow!
When a break from customers presented itself, she wondered if she dared run to collect her writing paper from the house. But no, Nellie Mae didn’t need to drop everything to give Caleb her reply. He can wait for the Monday mail, she decided.
After Mamma’s noontime dinner of creamed dried beef and pan-fried potatoes, Nellie Mae was glad for some time to write her response to Caleb. Here, in the quiet bakery shop, it was private—although with its being the start of the weekend, there was no guarantee
things would remain so.
She wrote the date on her lined stationery ever so neatly. How she wished for something prettier, but this paper would have to do. There was no extra money, hers or otherwise, for frivolous things like fine writing paper.
Not like Deacon Lapp’s daughter surely has. Truth was, Susannah Lapp’s father was earning himself a bank full of money raising tobacco, even in a dry year. Others in the community grew the crop, as well, including Caleb’s father and all of her own married brothers. It was the cash crop of choice and had been around Lancaster County for longer than Sam Hippey’s ring bologna.
Nellie Mae was glad her father had never grown the smelly crop, for she disliked the suffocating scent of tobacco hanging to dry in the shed. She would never understand why on earth her brother Ephram had decided to take up the pipe when their own father had shunned the habit.
Nan startled her but good, rushing in the shop door. “Do ya need any help?”
“All’s quiet for now.”
Nan’s gaze fell to her paper and poised pen. “Takin’ inventory?”
“Not today.”
“Writing a circle letter, maybe?”
Nellie held her breath. Since Nan had been the one to bring in the mail today, she surely knew there hadn’t been a single newsy letter from their cousins. Nan was pushing.
“What, then?” Nan asked, eyes probing.
“Just a little note is all.”
Nan nodded. “Ach, if you’d rather be alone, just say so.”
Nellie wondered if she’d seen Caleb come and go, but she wouldn’t fret over that. Even if Nan had spotted him, she couldn’t know his reason for stopping by. Still, she was relieved when her sister left nearly as quickly as she’d arrived.
Only then did Nellie resume her writing.
Dear Caleb,
I would be happy to go riding with you next Saturday. I’ll meet you where you said to after Singing and wait there in the thicket along the roadside.
Sincerely,
Nellie Mae Fisher
Perusing Caleb’s note to her once more, she was thankful Nan hadn’t returned, although she could always use help if business picked up. Typically it did this time of day as English folk stopped by on their way home from school or work.
The Parting Page 4