The Parting

by Beverly Lewis

  When he pointed his flashlight to shine directly on her path, Nellie Mae was brought out of her reverie. Oh, how she wanted this night to last and last. Such a romantic setting, one Caleb must have picked just for her.

  He laughed softly. “It’s so beautiful—private, too. My sisters and brothers and I sometimes ice skate on the pond, over yonder.” He asked where she and her sisters liked to skate, and she mentioned the pond not far from their house. He nodded and said, “I’d like to bring you back here when it’s sunny. I think you’ll come to like this place as much as I do.”

  She wouldn’t ponder whether he’d brought other girls walking here in this secluded area. Not when he was seemingly quite content to be with her now.

  He reached for her hand and once again she thrilled to his touch. Will this always excite me so? Careful to guide her and keep her from slipping, Caleb shone his flashlight as a guiding beacon.

  Soon they came upon a lively stream and stopped to listen to its murmuring as it spilled over rocks, making its way south below them. Nellie wished for a moon—the surrounding trees and shrubs suddenly seemed ominous and too black. She shivered, fearful.

  “What is it, Nellie?”

  “I . . . uh, it’s awful dark out . . . is all.”

  They were deep in a dense covering of trees, the stream nearly at their feet. “I’m here with you. Don’t be afraid.”

  She held tightly to his hand. “Honestly, I was never scared of the dark . . . well, before . . .”

  “Before Suzy drowned?” His question came without warning.

  She looked up at him, overwhelmed, and shrugged, afraid another discussion about Suzy might begin.

  “I can see why you’d feel thataway.” He led her toward the millstream, making no further comments about Suzy to her surprise and relief.

  Then he leaned down to place the flashlight on the ground, pointing it toward the water. Straightening, he turned to her, a smile on his face. “I want to ask you something, Nellie.”

  She held her breath.

  “Will you be my girl? Will you go for steady with me?”

  All during their lengthy ride tonight, she’d considered what it would be like to be without Caleb, as before . . . her heartfelt longing to know him. She did not want to return to those days.

  “Will you, Nellie Mae?”

  Only one answer formed on her lips. “Jah, Caleb . . . I will.”

  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek, then let out a whoop and a holler.

  She laughed out loud, his delight mingling with her own.

  All the way back to the horse and buggy and on the long ride home, too, she considered that she knew for the first time what Mamma had meant. You’ll know when the right boy comes along. . . .

  Nellie Mae’s heart sang and her toes wiggled as the buggy flew through the wee hours. Caleb Yoder was going to court her, and in due time, she would become his bride. Nothing could possibly stand in their way.

  CHAPTER 19

  Nellie sensed an air of anticipation in Mary Glick’s house on Thursday morning. The place was abuzz with chatter and delicious treats as she, Mamma, and Nan arrived for the quilting bee, eager to stitch together a wedding-ring quilt for a new bride-to-be. Though the girl wasn’t related to Nellie, she was one of Rosanna’s many first cousins, and Nellie looked forward to seeing her dearest friend here today, too.

  Standing in the tidy kitchen to warm her hands near the stove, Nellie overheard Susannah Lapp’s mother talking about their bishop. “He’s under the weather out there in Kalona. I daresay he and Anna’ve been gone a mite too long, jah?”

  “Sure seems so” came the reply. “Next thing he’ll be stuck out there, being ill ’n’ all.”

  Susannah’s mother sighed loudly. “Time he gets home again.”

  Uncle Bishop must surely be perturbed to have to remain so far away, Nellie thought. Or is he lingering on purpose? She moved away, lest she give in to the temptation to eavesdrop—a fault she disliked in others.

  Mary Glick’s front room was filled with a large quilting frame and twelve chairs set up around it. There were six piles of fabric stacked on the wooden settee, neatly folded and sorted by color. “Looks like there’s another quilt in the plannin’, too,” Nellie remarked to Nan, who was more pleasant and cheery today than she had been in a good while.

  “Wonder when they’ll start doing the piecework.” Nan inspected the brightest colors, choosing a bold plum color and holding it up. “What would I look like in a dress made out of this shade of purple?” She held it under her chin. “What do you think?”

  The image of Iva Beiler at the last Singing flickered through Nellie’s mind. “Why, it’d look plain worldly, wouldn’t it?”

  “Amishwomen in Holmes County wear cape dresses of this color,” Nan said. “And even brighter colors, too.”

  “How do ya know?”

  “From my circle letter.”

  Nellie found it odd that Nan should write to someone so far away. “Who in your letters is from there?”

  “No one.” Nan was still fingering the radiant fabric as if she was coveting it. “One of my friends in Paradise seems to know all about the doings out in Berlin and Sugar Creek. That’s all.”

  Nellie nodded. Funny how the grapevine worked—it had a way of piping in the tartest hearsay . . . and the sweetest. But the words coming from right behind her now were more surprising than sour or syrupy.

  “I’ve just found out the most exciting news,” Kate Beiler’s mother, Rachel Stoltzfus, was saying. “My daughter Kate is carrying twins.”

  “Ach, really?” said her friend.

  Rachel was beaming. “Who would’ve thought?”

  “Twins?” Nellie murmured, eyeing Rachel. Was Kate’s mother aware of the arrangement her daughter had made with Rosanna?

  Nellie Mae couldn’t help but think now of Kate’s having shown early. And here lately she’d looked as if the baby was coming any day instead of close to Christmas. Nellie craned her neck, looking for Rosanna, who still had not arrived. When Nellie asked, neither Nan nor Mamma had seen her.

  The fact Rachel had ceased talking about the babies and did not say a peep about Kate and Rosanna’s agreement made Nellie wonder if Rachel knew anything more.

  Has Kate informed her mamma?

  Soon they all sat down, and Nellie saved a spot for Rosanna, who, according to her mother, was most definitely on her way. A small scrap of somewhat mismatched fabric was peeking out between two others right in front of Nellie. Only a few of the older women kept this tradition alive; Mary, for one, liked to have a slight imperfection in every quilt.

  When a full hour passed with no sign of Rosanna, Nellie presumed she wouldn’t be coming after all.

  Is she home sewing up double of everything? Or is she so stunned about twins, she’d rather stay put? Nellie truly hoped Rosanna was all right.

  As much as she was fond of babies, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it would mean to care for two newborns at once. Of course Mamma knew all about that, having had Thomas and Jeremiah first off.

  She wondered what Rosanna would do with twins instead of a single baby. Kate, too—would she change her mind? Surely she wouldn’t split up the babies between the two families. Even so, Nellie had heard of such a thing—parents who couldn’t provide for their triplet babies dividing them among the mother’s other siblings.

  Raising them like cousins.

  Nellie tried her best to focus on making the tiny quilting stitches expected of her, but her hand shook as she contemplated dear Rosanna’s possible response to such news.

  If she even knows yet. . . .

  Rosanna listened with both ears, unable to edge in a word as Kate sat across the kitchen table, eyes glistening. “Listen,” she finally managed to slip in, “I’ll take all the wee babes you want to give.”

  Kate’s eyes grew wide and solemn. “Honestly?” She brushed away her tears. “You have no idea what you’re sayin’, Rosanna.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, but I do.” Rosanna knew she could care for twins. In all truth, she’d care for as many as God saw fit to give her. “I’m ever so glad you stopped by, cousin. You almost missed me.”

  “Jah, there’s a quilting, and I’m sorry to keep you from it.”

  “No worry.”

  Rosanna noticed how Kate cradled her stomach. How must it feel to carry two babies?

  “All right, then,” said Kate. “It’s settled.”

  They went on to talk of booties and blankets and all the many items of clothing the little ones would be needing. Rosanna mentioned having made one afghan so far; there was ample yarn to make another. “I have plenty of time to get ready, Kate. Don’t fret.”

  Kate sighed, looking toward the window. “I don’t know what John will say . . . if they’re both boys.”

  “You haven’t discussed that with your husband?”

  “Oh jah. He just hasn’t decided what we oughta do, well, ’bout you and Elias getting both of them.”

  Rosanna felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. What’s Kate saying?

  “I know what we talked about, but—”

  “Well, I just don’t understand,” Rosanna interrupted, terribly confused. Her cousin seemed befuddled. Was this unique to expectant mothers or had the news of twins somehow addled her? She couldn’t recall Kate behaving like this before—wavering back and forth. No, Kate had always been one to make up her mind and stick to it.

  “We’ll talk it over more, John and I.” Kate rose slowly and headed for the door.

  Rosanna choked down her emotions and followed her waddling cousin out the back door and down the walkway. “Take good care now, ya hear?”

  Kate nodded.

  “Come over anytime.”

  “I’ll visit again . . . help you sew up some baby clothes.” Kate waved, a half smile on her face.

  “That’d be fine.” Rosanna’s heart sank as she wondered how many more times Kate would second-guess her offer.

  Reuben never even heard Preacher Manny open the barn door and step inside. He was busy pitching hay to the mules when he looked up and saw the preacher there.

  “Well, you almost scared the wits out of me,” Reuben said, trying not to let on how jolting it was.

  “I called out to you more than once. Didn’t ya hear me?”

  “No.” Then Reuben noticed that Preacher Manny seemed more shaken than he was gruff—as white as if he’d had himself a nightmare.

  “Reuben . . . I don’t know who to tell this to,” Manny began.

  Leaning on his pitchfork, Reuben observed a twitch in Manny’s jaw. “What’s a-matter, Preacher? You got troubles with your hay crimper again?”

  “Naw, ain’t that.” Manny grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “You got yourself some pain? I say get your wife to rub that hot oil on your back and shoulders again.”

  Manny removed his felt hat. His bangs were smashed flat against his forehead, and he seemed terribly restless, even troubled. “It’s not a pain in my neck, though it could turn out to be.”

  “You all right?”

  “In a bit of a quandary, really.” He hemmed and hawed. Looking at Reuben, he asked, “Is there someplace we can go and talk?”

  “Well, I—”

  “I want to speak as a cousin and a friend . . . leavin’ the preacher part behind for now.”

  Reuben was immediately concerned. He hoped this wasn’t more talk about which farm equipment to allow in their Ordnung next month when they would vote on additions and such. By the look of Manny’s sober expression, Reuben couldn’t begin to guess what was up unless it was something of that magnitude. “Why, sure . . . let’s walk out to the woods a ways.” He poked his hayfork down into the loose pile.

  “No need callin’ attention, jah?” Manny added quickly, falling in step.

  As they walked, Manny explained that he had begun regularly reading the Good Book, poring over it, as it were. He hesitated before adding, “I don’t know any other way to say this, but a light’s turned on in me.”

  Reuben felt a shiver of recognition . . . and excitement. Emboldened, he asked, “Where were you readin’, Manny?”

  He turned and looked hard at Reuben. “You mean to say you ain’t goin’ to ask me what I was doin’ reading and studying thataway?”

  “Nope.” Reuben was itching to tell his relative what he himself had done, hoping that maybe Manny had also uncovered some previously unknown kernels of truth.

  A smile spread across the older man’s face. “Well, now, Reuben Fisher, what’re you sayin’ to me?”

  “Just that I believe I understand, Preacher . . . er . . . cousin.” He took a gulp of a breath. “You see, I know exactly what you mean by that light goin’ on.”

  Manny stopped walking. “Ach, can it be?” His words came slow and solemn. He was nearly gawking now as he looked Reuben over but good.

  Reuben couldn’t keep his grin in check.

  “Well, then, you must be saved, too. Ain’t ya?”

  Reuben wanted to fess up with everything in him, though he knew there would be no turning back. “Jah, and I read the whole book of John, mind you. Ever look closely at chapter three?” He didn’t know why, but he was whispering now, when he wanted to holler it out.

  Manny blinked his big eyes. “I believe God directed me to talk to you, Reuben. Jah, I believe He did.”

  Reuben listened, comprehending. “I’m mighty glad ya did.”

  “I, too, read that chapter . . . and then the entire Gospel of John.” Manny was grinning himself.

  Reuben clasped his arm. “It’s so good to know we’re brothers in this.”

  Then Manny began to tell about his most recent circle letter, which shared that a half dozen preachers across the country—“including out in Ohio, too”—believed the eyes of their understanding had been opened. “All in a short space of time.”

  “Really? Must be some sort of awakening, then.”

  Manny’s face lit up. “Bishops are havin’ dreams of the Lord with outstretched hands, showing them His pierced hands and feet. ‘For you I died so that you might have eternal life,’ He’s telling them. Others are being drawn to the Scripture, devouring it like starving men.”

  Reuben nodded. “That’s me.”

  “What about us havin’ a Bible study? For anyone who’d like to attend.”

  “Well, I don’t have to tell ya what the bishop will say.”

  “Bishop’s gone . . . and may not be back for some time is what I hear.”

  Reuben still felt they should make an attempt to get a sanctioned gathering. “Whether or not we have his blessing is one thing—”

  “We’ll never get it, Reuben.”

  “You goin’ to write him and ask permission, or should I?”

  Manny shook his head. “It’s a waste of time for me to try.”

  Reuben could see where this was going. “Well, since Joseph’s my elder brother, I s’pose . . .”

  Manny nodded, smiling. “Jah, that’s just what I was thinking.”

  He’s mighty glad to be off the hook, thought Reuben, wondering how to explain to Bishop Joseph their desire to study Scripture.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nellie struggled with a feeling of distress all that next Friday morning after the quilting as she pondered the goings-on in the house. What had caused her father to develop his strange obsession with the Bible? They read twice each day as a family now, but then Dat spent several more hours reading and studying on his own, hurrying through his chores to do so.

  Peculiar . . . and worrisome.

  She wanted to talk with Mamma about both that and Dat’s fancy praying, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise the topic. Oddly, her mother seemed to be in compliance. Mamma was known for often speaking up, yet in such a gentle way that Dat could never scold her for being less than meek.

  She recalled the night Dat had first read from John to them—how vulnerable she’d felt kneeling at her bed, weeping int
o her hands. It was impossible to forget her longing at that moment . . . how she’d wished for the Lord God to soothe, even mend, her guilty heart. Like a young child in need of loving help.

  Nellie forced her thoughts back to taking note of the varieties of muffins, whole wheat rolls, and cupcakes already dwindling fast this morning. She began to count the dozens of cookies.

  Hearing a car pull into the lane, she looked up to see a group of five women enter the shop. “We saw your cute little sign out front,” said one.

  “Hope you don’t mind if we come in,” said another.

  “Make yourselves at home,” Nellie Mae replied.

  “Do you sell to non-Amish?” a third woman asked, the tallest and youngest-looking of the bunch.

  “Everyone’s welcome,” said Nellie.

  A redheaded woman who looked to be in her thirties was the first to order, requesting a half dozen of Nellie’s morning glory muffins. The Englischer got to talking about recipes with her three friends while Nellie filled the order.

  “Will that be all for you today?” Nellie asked.

  She raised her eyes to Nellie’s. “Actually, I was wondering where I might get my hands on some authentic recipes.”

  Nellie smiled. “Well, if it’s Amish recipes you’re after, I have plenty in my noggin.” She tapped at her temple. “What would you like—hot dishes, baked goods . . . desserts?”

  The woman brightened. “A general question first—do you use shortening or butter for your cakes and sweet breads?”

  “Well, that depends on what we have on hand,” Nellie answered. “There are times when I use lard, too.”

  The redhead was now eyeing the sticky buns, tapping on the glass counter with her long pink fingernails. “And do you use store-bought flour or grind your own?”

  “Oh, either’s fine,” Nellie said. “We don’t mind going to the grocery store for things, but we like to make do with food off the land.” She paused to determine their interest before continuing. “Each family puts up about a thousand jars of vegetables, fruit, and preserves every year at the harvest.”

  “What about your delightful language?” the oldestlooking woman in the group asked. “Is there any way to learn it?”