by Naomi King
Abby paused. The Bylers’ story, while tragic, had been the easier one to report: who wouldn’t feel sympathy for Marian and Carl? But she couldn’t skip over Zanna’s canceled wedding—kin who’d come from Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania would be wondering what had happened since then. Friends and family hereabouts would read her account with interest, as well, because of the rumors that had run rampant before Zanna’s confession on Sunday. Even now, folks speculated about what would happen to this misbegotten child: they all recalled how Jonny Ropp had left town on his sixteenth birthday only to return a few days later, showing off his fancy van and his cell phone. He’d openly belittled his parents’ dairy farming and their out-of-fashion faith.
Make believers of them.
Abby dimpled her cheek with the end of her pen. That still, small voice was reminding her that a higher good could be served with every word she wrote. As Cedar Creek’s scribe for the national Plain newspaper, she was to present local events so that all would be informed—and none would be misrepresented. The canceled wedding and Zanna’s confession were only part of the picture: she had to consider James, too. His hopes and dreams had been ripped to shreds. His family had been humiliated, and the revelation of another man’s baby had only rubbed salt in their wounds.
Abby recalled James’s stunned silence, the pain on his handsome face when she’d told him Zanna had disappeared… and his anger when he’d heard that the woman he loved was carrying Jonny Ropp’s child. No good would be served by spelling out these details for the Amish across America—especially since many women in Cedar Creek would report their versions of this local scandal in letters to their kin back East anyway. Better to give this situation no more space than she had allotted the announcement of Marian Byler’s unfortunate birthing… best to write it the way Zanna would form the rows of her rug with the big crochet hook: loose and even, with love and care.
Once again Abby put her pen to the paper:
As many of you know, the marriage of Suzanna Lambright to James Graber was called off. As with that rug I mentioned earlier, sometimes you’re crocheting along on a fast, easy straightaway and then you come to a curve: if the stitches don’t fit right, no matter how much love and effort and patience you apply, there’s nothing to do but tear out that section so you can rework it. We must believe that when our plans—for rugs, or lives—don’t happen the way we’d hoped, it’s because God has a better idea, a different path and purpose for us.
My wish for you this week: never give up or give in to despair and stuff your unfinished rug in the trash. Keep thinking on it, praying over it—as we ask you to do for the Bylers, the Grabers, and the Lambrights. ~Abigail Lambright
Abby reread the piece, smiled, and wrote a neater copy of it to send in the mail. She kept her drafts in a loose-leaf notebook, a sort of diary of her life since she’d volunteered to be the town scribe a couple of years ago—right around the time she’d turned twenty-five and realized James Graber would never see her as a potential wife. Now there was a sorry state she’d been in! A time when the rag rug of her life seemed ugly and puckered and beyond fixing. What young woman dreamed of living alone?
Yet once Abby had declared herself a maidel, she’d immediately become closer to Sam’s children at an important time in their young lives, and she’d created her Stitch in Time business. She also cherished the time she’d spent helping Dat plan her house so Owen Coblentz could build it… a cozy home that would be Zanna’s haven while she reconsidered her future, as well. Had Abby married, none of those things would have happened.
And whom had she considered for a husband? No one but James. He alone had made her heart sing. So why waste another man’s life—or your own—settling for less of a marriage than you dream of? This was the thought that had run consistently through her heart when she prayed on her unmarried state a few years ago, until she’d begun to trust the Lord’s truth for her life. This inner guidance had been a beacon ever since, and now Zanna’s situation again proved the wisdom of listening to it, and sharing it.
Abby went to the kitchen for an envelope and a stamp. It pleased her to see her sister sitting at the kitchen table with strips of fabric draped over the chairs according to color. Zanna was patiently removing the hem from a floral print dress—something she wouldn’t have spent her time doing when she was younger.
Zanna looked up, the seam ripper poised at the next stitch. “Gut thing Adah’s Mennonite friends donated their old clothes so we have different colors and more patterns. And you know,” she continued in a pensive tone, “I’m thinking the royal blue of my wedding dress would set off a lot of these quilting scraps—if you won’t be upset at me for using it that way.”
Abby hugged her sister’s slender shoulders. What a good sign, that Zanna was thinking beyond her earlier excuses for not making Adah’s rug. “Since you already snipped it into ribbons,” Abby teased, “this might be the perfect way to reclaim a dress that will never be worn. And with those shirts in the darker blue, you’ve got a nice contrast to the faded browns and grays from the donation box. Adah will be tickled.”
Zanna’s smile curved wryly. “Jah, that’s why I want to make a really fine rug and then deliver it, like you said. To see the look on her face.”
Abby heard a bit of payback in that remark, which defeated the whole principle of having Zanna make these rugs. As she thought about her response, she watched her sister cut more strips, about two inches wide and the length of the broadfall trousers she held. “If Adah’s rug turns out gut, you might make one for James and Emma’s mamm,” Abby suggested quietly. “All the rugs in their house are looking worn, and if anyone could use a gift, it’s Eunice Graber. I don’t expect she gets many.”
The slight rise of Zanna’s eyebrows told Abby she’d gotten the hint about her attitude. Zanna yanked a long section of thread from another hem, smoothed the fabric flat with her hand, and then snipped it at two-inch intervals. As she ripped the long strips, a sigh escaped her, yet she didn’t seem as hopeless or helpless as she’d been these past few days. “I could make rugs until the day I die and not repay you, sister,” she murmured. “Denki for putting up with my moods, and for helping me out of this tight spot. I don’t intend to be thoughtless or rude or—and I never in a million years wanted to hurt Barbara or Sam or Mamm. Sometimes I just don’t pay attention. I run off at the mouth without thinking.”
Abby leaned over her sister’s chair to hug her shoulders. It might not be the way the Ordnung said she was to treat her shunned sister, but wasn’t affection the better alternative to emotional distance? Weren’t approval and encouragement the quicker ways to persuade this young woman to show that same kindness to others, now that Zanna could see where she’d fallen short?
“I’d rather hear you talking this way than have you making me rugs any day,” Abby whispered. “I’ll fetch that wedding dress. Then I can be stitching the ends of your strips together so you can get a gut start on your rug before dinner.”
Zanna blinked back tears. “You’re the best sister ever. You know that, Abby?”
And wasn’t that about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her? Abby went to fetch the ruined wedding dress before this conversation turned into a crying match. The day might be blustery and bleak, but it was warm as toast in her little house. And wasn’t that something to celebrate?
A few days later, Zanna sat at Abby’s table stitching around the oval rug’s next curving edge. She carefully inserted her big crochet hook into the previous row, feeling more than counting how many extra stitches would keep the rug loose enough that it would lie flat. She’d had to rip out plenty of places and redo them to get the rug started right, yet it measured nearly three feet wide now. This project had been a better way to fill the long hours than she had anticipated: while Zanna had watched Abby make plenty of these sturdy floor mats, handwork had never been her cup of tea. She had always had someplace more fun to go, some buddy to giggle with.
But her life would never be tha
t way again.
As she glanced out at the falling snow, Zanna sensed it would be a long winter. Boring. Too quiet. Afternoons, she got so lonely she couldn’t wait for Abby to get home, or for Barbara to suggest she come over and help with the baking or cleaning.
At least the gossips and finger-pointers have stopped. And come April—
It seemed so far away, the month her baby was due. Yet as Zanna realized how much she needed to learn about childbirth, and how much money she had to tuck away these next months, her heart raced in panic. How could she possibly earn enough money—any money at all—if Sam made her stay here, out of sight?
Stop it! Just leave it be.
Zanna left about six inches of the floral strip hanging loose and picked up the last length of blue fabric that had once been her wedding dress. As she worked in the new color, carefully tucking in the edges, her mind wandered.
If you’d worn this pretty blue dress—gone through with the wedding—you’d be Mrs. Graber now. And if you hadn’t gone to see Jonny that one last time… ridden on his new Harley, hanging on to him for dear life while you couldn’t stop shrieking and laughing…
Zanna sucked in her breath. There it was again, that little tickly feeling.
Might be a sign you’re to stop thinking about Jonny and that wild ride… and what came after. It only makes you feel lonely, missing what you can’t have.
Zanna sighed. She crocheted around the small end of the oval until she reached the straight edge again. It wouldn’t be long until she presented this rug to Adah—and informed Jonny’s mamm that she’d made it especially for her. Zanna wasn’t so sure how Adah might react to that, but she wanted to see the outspoken woman’s face. She hoped Abby might say something to fill in the awkward pauses, to keep stupidity from coming out of her own mouth. Her sister had said that thinking positive thoughts, believing good things would come of this awkward situation, was the best way to handle discouraging moments. Some days she had a lot of those.
A knock at Abby’s kitchen door made Zanna turn around to see Mamm coming in, stomping the snow from her boots. “How are you, Zanna?” she asked cheerfully. “Gail brought sandwiches home from the pie shop. You might be under the ban, but you and the baby need to eat lunch, I figure. And how’s that rug coming?”
“It’s nearly finished.” Zanna closed her eyes. Things had been none too cozy between her and Mamm since she’d made her confession. She would rather eat alone… but the scent of Lois Yutzy’s fresh bread, melted cheese, and grilled onions reminded her how hungry she was.
“It’s time I closed up the greenhouse for the winter. Not a soul has wandered in there today, what with this snow.” Mamm padded over in her stocking feet and set the fat white bakery sack on the table. “Why, Zanna, what a wonderful mix of colors you’ve got in this rug! When Abby told me you were making it, and who it’s for—well, I…”
Her mother sat in the chair across the little table. Her chin quivered, and then she made a fuss of getting out the sandwiches, rattling the sack. “Mostly, I want to apologize for acting so standoffish. Making it sound like this baby is to be your punishment, or a burden you have to bear all by yourself, instead of the most wonderful blessing.”
Zanna sucked in her breath and sat up straighter.
Her mother studied her. “Need a dishpan?”
“No, no, it’s…” How did she describe this sensation without sounding ridiculous? “It’s this little tingly, feathery feeling. Probably nothing, but—”
Mamm counted on her fingers, and grinned when she got to four. “Well, now! It’s a gut thing your mamm came over today, because that’s the baby moving, Zanna,” she exclaimed. “It’ll be real to you now, letting you know it’s growing like it’s supposed to.”
“Oh!” The most deliriously happy moment she’d known in months made Zanna clap her hands together.
Mamm hopped up from her chair to hug her, laughing, rocking her from side to side. “Best news I’ve heard for days! It’s always a big moment, no matter how many children come along.” Her blue eyes shone as she smiled; her happiness made her look downright girlish again.
Zanna grabbed the nearest sandwich and unwrapped it. Ravenous, she raised it to her lips—but then she smiled at her mother and they bowed their heads. Lord, I thank You for this happy moment. And for bringing my mother here, like You knew I needed her today.
After Mamm opened her eyes, she took such a big bite of her sandwich, the melted cheese gushed out. It plopped onto her apron, yet she giggled hysterically. Zanna caught the giggle bug, too, and for the next few minutes they chewed and covered their mouths and laughed until tears streamed from their eyes.
“Ach, child, you were always the one,” Mamm said when she could string the words together. “With your older sisters, Irene and Louise, I was so set on getting everything right, doing things just so for your dat—proving myself as a young wife, you know. And then along came Sam and Abby, and I had more children than I had hands to hold onto them. And then,” she continued with a teasing smile, “there was you.”
Zanna paused with her sandwich near her mouth. “Always trouble, was I?”
Mamm squeezed Zanna’s knee. “It must have felt that way, all the times we kept after you to sit quiet in church and sent you to your room for smarting off. But you know what?”
Mamm swiped at a tear left over from their giggling spree. “You turned out to be the child who made me let go of trying to be perfect, Zanna. You made my heart skip rope to hot peppers and then jump out of the playground swing when I was flying higher than I was supposed to. Even on days when nothing was going right, I could laugh and go on—because of you, Suzanna.”
Zanna sat absolutely still, amazed by what Mamm had just said. Was this her own mother talking?
“And don’t you forget I said that, either, when I seem all cross and bothered.” Mamm smiled, dabbing at the gooey yellow cheese on her apron. “But don’t you tell Sam and Abby I’ve said that about you! They think Dat and I let you get away with too much when you were little—and they’d be jealous as all get out, hearing me carry on this way.”
Zanna smiled, just as the baby tickled her insides again. “Jah,” she murmured, still grinning. “We shouldn’t make them covet the way you’ve spoiled me, Mamm—as though you love me best. Can’t have them breaking the Tenth Commandment on my account, can we?”
Chapter 13
A week later, when Abby returned from delivering Eunice and Merle’s new clothes, she glanced into the back room of the mercantile, where huge bags of flour, rolled oats, and other staples were stacked on the shelves. Her younger sister sat at the table with a scale, surrounded by dozens of small baggies full of nonpareils, sanding sugars, and candy sprinkles in a wild array of colors. Abby loved to fill and label those little bags, as it lifted her spirits to work with the bright yellows, greens, pinks, and reds—made it feel like Christmas was right around the corner, to work with toppings that looked like holly berries and snowflakes and tiny stars. Zanna had volunteered for this job, and that was a step in a positive direction.
“Are you doing all right with those sprinkles, Zanna?”
“I’ve got a few more labels to stick on, and then I’ll put them on the shelves.” Zanna popped a pretzel-shaped cookie into her mouth. “I’ve got to head home to make supper soon, though. These cute little graham crackers won’t hold me for long.”
“Leave whenever you want, sis. You’ve been hard at it all afternoon.” Abby looked around the main room of the mercantile for their brother. She waved at Merle Graber as he followed Eunice past the refrigerated cases with a shopping cart… saw Beulah Mae stocking up on supplies for Mrs. Nissley’s Kitchen. “I might stay longer, while Sam checks in more boxes off the truck,” Abby remarked to her sister. “This cold snap’s bringing lots of folks into the store.”
The bell on the front door jangled as Adah Ropp came in, looking flustered as she grabbed a shopping cart. “We’re in for a blizzard tonight,” she announced.
“The television at the Clearwater Cafe was saying five or six inches, with a winter weather advisory through the weekend.” Adah hurried down the first aisle and tossed packages of macaroni and rice into her cart as though sleet were already nipping at her sturdy black heels. “Gut thing I worked at the cheese store today or I wouldn’t have known to stock up. I might not make it in to work tomorrow—”
“And there again,” Sam chimed in with a chuckle, “we might see nary a flake! Seems to me television gets folks all riled up by constantly repeating weather predictions that are about half right. I’ll stick to the almanac, thanks,” he added as he set out the last of the new snow shovels.
“I’m with you, Sam!” Merle said from the candy aisle. “Got plenty of achy joints to tell me the weather’s a-changin’. No need for a TV.”
Eunice’s head had bobbed as she followed this conversation from aisle to aisle. She pushed up her thick glasses. “Nothing gut comes of watching TV, Adah,” she declared from halfway across the store. “Maybe your boys would have stayed on the farm if you hadn’t taken up English ways.”
Over in the bulk cereal section, Beulah Mae Nissley hefted a big bag of egg noodles into her cart with a decisive nod of her head. “Could be James would be settled in with his bride by now if you’d applied a firmer hand to Jonny’s backside—and stayed home to raise him, Adah. Nothing gut’s to be gained by going against the Old Ways.”
Abby stood aghast, stock-still beside the storeroom door. Was the change in the weather making these women bicker from different parts of the store? Or had last month’s gossip at church, squelched by the bishop, finally popped a seam to spew out? Abby glanced at Zanna, who still sat at the storeroom table but was nearly ready to stock shelves… unaware of how the talk was heating up among Cedar Creek’s more outspoken neighbors. What a shame if her sister walked into the middle of this conversation, now that she’d acquired a more responsible, happier frame of mind.