The Parting

by Beverly Lewis

  Better to find out now. Yet she wouldn’t dare say such a thing.

  She held Nan for a good long time, offering her presence, which, as she remembered when she’d experienced her heartbreak, was all she’d needed from her own mamma.

  At long last, when Nan’s tears were brushed away and her nose red with the blowing, her daughter surprised her by revealing her beau’s change of heart, after proposing marriage.

  Dishonorable, Betsy decided then and there, battling her ire.

  But there was more. Another girl had caught the boy’s eye . . . the deacon’s niece, as Nan described her. “She took my dear beau away.”

  “Ain’t much dear ’bout him, I daresay.”

  “Oh, but he was, Mamma. He was.”

  She couldn’t bear to see Nan this way, distressed over the worst of the bunch, for sure. Time for Betsy to share something of her own Rumschpringe days.

  “Joshua was my first beau ever,” she began, hoping to get Nan’s mind off her obvious melancholy. “He was everything I thought I wanted and much, much more. . . .”

  Their parents were downright strict about when Joshua and Elizabeth could do their courting—Sunday night Singings only. Betsy was “awful young,” or so her mother thought initially, pleading with her father that just because Betsy’d turned sixteen, the expected age to begin courting, she wasn’t ready to be dating yet. But tradition won out over her mother’s insistence, and her father permitted her to start going to the various youth activities, where she met Joshua Stoltzfus, the best-looking boy in the whole church district.

  They dated for nearly six months, marking each and every month’s anniversary with intense emotion and promises of love. But, alas, when a new family moved into the area, renting a farmhouse from Englischers that was already wired for electricity, Joshua offered to help uninstall it. While doing so, he met and fell in love with the second of their six daughters.

  “In the end, though, I was ever so glad it happened thataway,” Betsy admitted.

  “Why, Mamma?” Nan said.

  “Well, think of it . . . what if Josh hadn’t gotten his swivel neck straightened out before we got married? What then?”

  Nan blinked her weepy eyes. “I s’pose, for one thing, I would never have been born.”

  Betsy chuckled. “You can say that again.” She sighed at the memory. “I lost track of Joshua and his family some years after they moved to the Finger Lakes area of New York to help some of their elderly relatives. I heard later that he and his wife never had any children at all.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t end up with that boy,” Nan was saying, a peek of a smile appearing. “You would have been unhappy all of your days without all of us, Mamma.”

  “’Tis true.” She kissed Nan’s forehead. “I say, be glad this beau of yours left when he did. Count your blessings, dear. All right?”

  Nan was nodding. “When you put it that way, jah, I can see things . . . for what they are.” She brushed away a solitary tear. “Or were.”

  “That’s my girl.” Betsy patted Nan’s hand and went to stand in the doorway.

  Smiling, Nan replied, “It was good of you to dredge up your past like that for me.”

  “Ach, our little secret. How’s that?”

  Nan’s smile was complete this time. “Jah, our secret.”

  With that, Betsy made her way down the hall to Nellie’s room. There, she leaned on the doorjamb, thinking now of Suzy and her Rumschpringe. Her mind still played tricks on her at times, because if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d just seen Suzy hurrying down the hall and into this very room . . . her waist-length hair, the color of corn silk, floating behind her.

  But she’s gone for good, she reminded herself, moving to the antique dresser and staring down at the small blue plate, remembering the notes Suzy and Nellie had left for each other there. Roses are red, violets are blue, wildflowers are best, and so are you! Suzy had once written to Nellie.

  Going and sitting on Suzy’s side of the bed, she felt glad to be able to help Nan through her heartache. If only the brethren would agree to push back the Rumschpringe till the youth were older . . . some of this heartache might well be avoided.

  Betsy wanted to protect all of her girls for as long as possible. Nearly all the women her age said the same about their daughters. So it was. Most had grown up by experiencing both the heartbreak and the delight of dating. Sadly, there was very little in between.

  Caleb felt sure he was lost, though he’d traveled this way at least once before. But no, he must have blocked out the memory of that night completely. He wouldn’t let the chuckle that came just then escape his lips, however, for neither did he want to dwell on that particular date, nor did he wish to explain to Nellie Mae why he was suddenly so amused. Now this girl sitting next to him was as sweet as the cherry pie she baked. She was much too good to lose—he sensed it as clearly as he knew he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere several miles back.

  He’d known the horse fences and expanse of cornfields along the road back yonder. But nothing at all looked familiar now, although it was difficult to see much in the murky night, what with the moon hiding behind a thick covering of high clouds. Even so, he had earlier recognized Preacher Manny’s house and Preacher Lapp’s spread of land, too . . . and Bishop Joseph’s, evidently gone out west for some peace of mind. It was no wonder the bishop had a hankering for time away. According to the grapevine, several meetings a week were happening, the dissenters taking advantage of the bishop’s absence.

  A pair of ring-necked pheasants scuttled along the lowlying brush, across the roadside gully. Caleb steadied the reins and watched as the twosome began to rise almost vertically, a loud whirring in their wings. He was now certain he did not recognize a single landmark, though he knew by the stars he was heading east, away from Nellie’s father’s house. The farther away they went, the longer it would take to return. He was mighty content to ride onward with Nellie snuggled next to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her arm on his, their hands intertwined beneath the heavy lap robe.

  “Have you ever thought you knew where you were headin’ only to find out you really had no idea?” he asked her.

  “Well, you could take that two ways.” She sat up straight, releasing her hand from his and stretching a bit.

  “I don’t have the slightest notion where we are.”

  She laughed softly. Her gentle laughter was like the rippling music in the mill creek near where he’d met her on their first date, the destination he’d contemplated taking her yet tonight. It seemed to suggest she almost enjoyed the prospect of wandering together.

  He felt emboldened. “Jah, I admit it—we’re lost.”

  “We could go back and try to find where it was we lost our way.”

  He chuckled. “But how’s that any fun? Don’t you want to keep going and find out where we’re headed . . . eventually?”

  “If you’ve got all night, I s’pose.”

  “All the time in the world.”

  They both laughed at that and he leaned against her arm, wishing her hand was available now. He decided to wait till later, at the millstream, to hold her hand again . . . assuming they ever found their way back. And if they didn’t, well, they’d simply ride all the way to Delaware. They’d bump into a major highway somewhere along the way.

  The thought of riding aimlessly into the night with Nellie to talk to was as delicious a thought as his mother’s schnitz pie. How was it he had missed her all this time? It was as if he’d just met Nellie, even though they had grown up in the same community.

  He had courted several girls for short periods of time over the past year. Only one had he deemed worthy to take to the lovely, secluded setting behind the mill, but in the end even she had been too eager for words of love, and he had held back, more hesitant as time went by.

  Nellie, for her part, was unpredictable, sometimes warm toward him and other times almost distant, as if she were testing the
waters. Even so, conversation between them generally came easily, which again was a change from the other girls he had courted. He’d been quick to discover he had not loved any of them. Caleb was waiting for the girl with the missing puzzle piece that matched his heart perfectly. Was Nellie that girl? To think she’d been here all along, awaiting his notice.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked. The bricks he’d heated before heading over to Beaver Dam Road to fetch Nellie had not held their warmth as he’d hoped. But maybe that had more to do with the strength of the cold and not the short time the bricks had been in the fire.

  “I’m fine, Caleb. How ’bout you?”

  “My toes are a smidgen cold, that’s all,” he said. So are my hands, he thought, reaching for his gloves tucked under the seat and putting them on. He would be practical, as he usually was. Practicality reigns, his father had always said in regard to women, though his father had courted and married a girl far different from Nellie. His choice . . . we all choose.

  Seeing a cluster of lights up ahead, he decided to turn soon, and coming upon an extra-wide intersection, he maneuvered the horse into the fan-shaped turn, mindful not to tip over the buggy—something he’d done upon first receiving it from his father. Won’t make that mistake twice.

  Now they were heading northwest. Caleb directed his horse to gallop, speeding up the ride. He didn’t want Nellie to be too tired before they stopped at the spot he’d chosen . . . if they found it. The question was how she would respond to what he had in mind.

  Had it not been for her sister’s untimely death, Nellie might be more outgoing, perhaps. He understood her grief, for it had not been too many years since his young nephew had fallen to his death inside a silo. Weeks had passed before Caleb could begin to think of much beyond Henry’s accident.

  We can’t wish our loved ones back. Suzy’s early death was God’s plan for her, he thought. The same went for young Henry.

  Caleb had decided not to bring up Suzy at all tonight—not unless Nellie herself happened to. So far, that seemed unlikely, especially since he suspected her tears earlier were related to that sister.

  He reached to open his glove compartment, removing a tin box containing more than a half dozen cookies, fresh this afternoon from his mother’s oven. “Would you like a treat? Mamm’s peanut butter cookies.”

  She accepted one. “Your mother must enjoy bakin’, too.”

  “It would seem so. Every time I head into the kitchen, she’s opening the oven door, pushing something in or taking something out.”

  “Sounds like me in the early morning. Of course, my customers like having a variety of choices. I keep a running list of their favorites.”

  He was engrossed by Nellie’s talk of baking and running a business on her father’s property.

  “Have you ever run out of pastries?”

  “Sometimes, if a customer places an unusually large order, but I generally don’t run low till late in the afternoon.”

  “So you estimate everything that will sell in one day’s time, then?”

  “Oh sure. But the best part of the work is all the fun I have talkin’ with customers.”

  “How many are English?” Secretly he wondered how comfortable she was with worldly folk.

  “Well, there are the regulars from up and down the road. Whenever they have company or folks droppin’ by, they bring them over and go hog wild in my shop.”

  He loved the way she expressed herself so clearly. Nothing timid about Nellie, and she was not only interesting, but ever so appealing to look at, too. Apprehension reared its head, and Caleb could hear Daed’s words now—should Daed ever put two and two together and realize his youngest was seeing Suzy Fisher’s sister. You’re courtin’ Nellie Mae, sister to that lost soul? Ach, Caleb, use your head . . . don’t let me down. We’re Yoder men, staunch followers of das Alt Gebrauch—the Old Ways.

  He hoped the rumors about Suzy would blow over before his father could speak such harsh words to him. Anxious to get his mind on more pleasant things, he asked Nellie, “What’s your favorite cookie?”

  “To eat or to bake?”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Why, sure. I enjoy baking lots of cookies, especially my thin sand tarts, but I much prefer biting into a thicker cookie.”

  “Jah, substance in a cookie’s a fine trait.” He offered another peanut butter cookie from his stash. Come to think of it, substance aptly describes Nellie, too.

  “What’s your favorite, Caleb?”

  “Chocolate chip first and peanut butter second.”

  She let out a giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You.” She was still laughing.

  “Let’s see . . . I’m funny because I answered your question?”

  “No, because you’re so thorough.” She smiled at him. “You’re quite funny.”

  “No one’s ever said that before.”

  “It’s a very nice thing, believe me.”

  “If you say so, it must be.” He would not restrain himself any longer. He slipped his arm around her. “You’re ever so good, Nellie Mae.”

  She briefly leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “We’re no longer lost, I see,” he said, recognizing a signpost now. “Would you like to walk awhile?”

  “I wore extra socks, just in case.”

  “So did I,” he admitted, finding it encouraging that she’d planned to be out with him a long time on this, their second date of what he hoped would be many.

  CHAPTER 18

  When Reuben confronted her, Betsy was reluctant to acknowledge that a sales representative had dropped by ten days ago. “The man was here but a few minutes,” she reassured him.

  “When were you goin’ to tell me?”

  “Wasn’t . . . I s’pose.”

  He shook his head and smiled at her. “Well, ain’t you the case?”

  “What did Ephram tell you, anyways?” She was curious, having heard a bit of gossip from her daughters-in-law at a recent quilting. According to Martha, there was a growing group among them who favored using tractors.

  Reuben scratched his long beard. “Ephram’s not at all interested in fancy farm equipment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Not worried, no. Just wonderin’.” She finished brushing her hip-length hair, noticing in her small dresser mirror the streaks of gray intermingled with the flaxen . . . and the ever-widening middle part. Goodness, she had been pulling a comb down that part for nigh unto forty-eight years now, next birthday come July. “I am awful tired,” she said.

  “Before you sleep, let me pray for you,” Reuben said.

  “Whatever for?”

  He inhaled slowly, his eyes solemn. “Aw, now.”

  She felt immediately sorry and stretched out her hand. “Reuben . . .”

  “That’s all right, love. I’ll be prayin’ for ya on my own.”

  She knew he would, because she’d awakened in the night to him kneeling at the bed, hands folded, lips moving in the lantern light. Not wanting to disturb him, she’d tiptoed around him, heading down to their one and only indoor bathroom. It was as if Reuben took the verse to “pray without ceasing” literally.

  Truly, Betsy didn’t know how to view what was happening. It seemed all encompassing—either he had his nose in the Good Book or his nose pressed into his hands as he prayed. Highly unusual, she was ever so sure. She guessed if she contemplated God’s Word long enough, she might give herself over to it, too, and get herself into the hot water her husband surely was headed for. For now she felt too drained of energy to walk such a road herself.

  With talk of Reuben’s parents moving as soon as next month into the Dawdi Haus next door, Reuben would have more than his share of work to tend to. And less time for reading and praying. . . . Doubtless his father would intervene, as well, if Noah Fisher realized what Reuben was daily studying.

  Her husband had become ever so considerate since memorizing Scripture, doting on her n
ow more than ever. There was no question Reuben’s devotion for his God had filled him to the point it was spilling over to her.

  Just so the brethren don’t come round asking questions once he starts sharing Scriptures with our sons. . . .

  She thought of Rhoda, Nan, and Nellie, having observed their reactions to the twice-daily readings and their father’s expressive table blessing before the meal. None of them had said anything, but if it continued, Nellie would likely be saying something—and not any too kindly, knowing that one.

  Betsy pushed her pillow beneath her head, seeking a comfortable position. Nellie was out with a beau again tonight, she was quite sure. Looking over at Reuben, still leaning against the side of the bed in prayer, she wondered if she ought to ask him to remember both Nan and Nellie in beseeching the Lord God and heavenly Father this night. One for a shattered heart . . . the other for strength for whatever was to come.

  The long ravine toward the old gristmill—now a knittery—was nearly too dark to walk through. Nellie picked her way over the uneven ground near the bank of the millrace, glad for Caleb’s foresight in bringing a flashlight. So far she was enjoying herself, yet in her happiness she felt a touch of sadness, too.

  Regardless of time’s passage, she struggled some with the notion of enjoying herself at all. Nellie contemplated the peculiar feeling, wondering why she felt guilty to be getting on with her life. Was this a common thing for people who’d lost loved ones?

  Neither Rhoda nor Nan had voiced any such thing. But now Mamma . . . she might understand.

  Nellie wanted to fully delight in Caleb’s attention; he had long been the boy she’d dreamed of. There were times when she felt completely at home with him. At other times, she felt less relaxed with him than with other boys. Was she bracing herself for future questions about Suzy? More likely she was nervous about the lie she’d told him. If, indeed, it was a lie, which she must find out somehow.

  She breathed in the cold air and held it. Enough of that thinking. Then, letting the air whoosh back out, she wanted to pinch herself. Was it too good to be true the way Caleb looked at her? Would she ever awaken from this wonderfulgood dream?