Ruthie sat there behind the wheel, her window all the way down. “It was the nicest day so far this spring,” she said, smiling. “And to think we spent it mostly indoors.”
Grace could hear the redwing blackbirds congregating near the mill creek across the way. The air was so fresh, if not fragrant, and it held the promise of summer.
Ruthie offered Grace some raw nuts from a small plastic container as she got in the front seat. “If you prefer salty snacks, you might not care much for these.” Ruthie shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
“They’re fine with or without salt. Denki.” Grace took three. “My mother, though, loves her salt.”
“Oh goodness, and so does my husband.” Ruthie giggled, her face aglow. “He’s downright dangerous with a salt shaker.”
“I wonder if he craves iodine.” Grace had read this sometimes explained people’s hankering for salt.
“Wouldn’t be surprised.” Ruthie turned on the car radio and a clear soprano voice came through the speakers. “Oh, I’ve heard this woman before . . . wish I knew her name. Some folk say she has a special anointing.”
Grace listened intently, soaking in the soul-stirring melody and the meaningful lyrics. “I see what you mean. ’Tis wonderfulgut.”
Settling back, she enjoyed the lush landscape as they traveled past newly plowed fields and the wide millstream. Willow trees gracefully hovered near its banks, and cows dotted the pastureland in all directions. Such a short ride home by car, but she was glad not to have to walk today. Though she wouldn’t dare complain, her feet hurt.
“You worked extra late, didn’t you?” Ruthie said, reaching for more nuts.
“So I can take off a little early tomorrow . . . my birthday.”
“Well . . . happy almost birthday!” Ruthie smiled. “And let me guess . . .”
Laughing, Grace waved her hand. “No, I didn’t tell ya for any special attention.”
Ruthie looked her way again. “Well, I’d say you’re not a day over nineteen . . . if I was to try and guess.”
“That’s close enough.”
“So, will there be a family get-together?”
“Just a few of us for supper, is all.” Mamma most likely had invited Becky again, as well as the Spangler sisters from up the road. Will Jessica and Brittany bring a plant this year?
“Hope you have a real nice time.”
Grace was relieved to see the house coming into view. Birthday or not, she was rather uncomfortable talking about herself.
“Here we are. Need a ride tomorrow?”
“Only if you’ll let me help with gas.” She pulled out several bills from her wallet.
“Thanks, but really, you’re right on my way home, Grace.”
“Won’t ya please let me this time?”
“Put your money away.” Ruthie pushed her long auburn hair back over her shoulder. “See you bright and early.”
Grace opened the door, thanked her again, and said, “So long, then.”
As she turned, she saw her mother standing on the front porch, near the mailbox mounted to the railing. Grace hoped for a smile or a wave, but Mamma appeared to be immobile, like she was glued to the porch.
“Hullo, Mamma!”
Slowly her mother turned. “Gracie? Aren’t you home awful late?”
“I worked overtime to make up for tomorrow . . . remem- ber?” She headed up the steps to the porch and opened the front door. “Come . . . let’s go inside.”
“No . . . no, you go on ahead.”
Grace closed the door and touched her arm. “You all right?”
“I’ll just sit here awhile.” She smiled weakly and went to sit on the old wooden porch swing. Grace saw her chin quiver. “There are leftovers. . . .”
Grace went to sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”
Mamma placed the mail in her lap and shook her head. “There’s nothin’ you can do. Nothin’ at all.”
“Well, no—not if you won’t talk to me.” She felt the sting of guilt for having spoken so bluntly. She’d never done so before to anyone, let alone to a parent.
“Go now and warm up your supper.”
“But, Mamma . . .”
“I’m fine.” Her mother added, “I just need some time alone.”
Torn between obedience and concern, Grace rose and turned to look down at Mamma, sitting there so pitifully on the swing, completely still. She recalled how they’d swung there together, back and forth, free from all cares, so many summers ago, when Grace was little. Mamma looked as forlorn now as the day her sister had died.
Grace hadn’t realized it, but she was holding her breath. Her mother seemed to look right past her, alert to something far beyond the porch. Grace felt compelled to turn and look, as well, but she saw only the first iris spears in the side garden near the springhouse and, farther away, Dat’s flock of sheep. The new lambs followed the ewes ever so close.
Turning back to her mother, she noticed tears spilling down her face. “Aw, Mamma, won’t ya say what’s makin’ you cry so?”
For a second, her mouth opened slightly, and Grace thought her mother might respond. But all she said was “You go on ahead now, Gracie.”
“All right, then. I’ll leave ya be.” Despairing, she opened the screen door and slipped inside.
chapter
seven
Lettie watched her daughter go, her heart breaking. She pressed her bare feet against the wooden slats of the porch, painted white every year by dear Mandy, who had plenty to do since Grace had begun working at Eli’s. The swing squeaked its familiar sound, bringing a sense of solitude to her mind, pushing her thoughts back to happier days.
We were happy . . . weren’t we?
She’d sat on this swing—in this very spot—to rock tiny Gracie when she was brand-new. Oh, that first summer following her birth was a jumble of smiles and tears . . . and precious moments holding her daughter near, letting tiny Grace nurse at will. So happy she was to have another cuddly babe in arms. Adam, already a towheaded toddler of eighteen months, often crawled up and planted himself next to them, his sweaty little head against her arm, his skin nearly sticking to it at times, so close he was. The three of them swinging on the porch, waiting for a breeze.
Sometimes the neighbors would come bearing sweet, ripe watermelon. Thoughtful Marian Riehl had heard that Lettie was suffering from the baby blues, no doubt. Marian and her husband, Andy, would cut generous slices of the cold fruit and perch themselves on the porch steps or the railing and eat clear down to the rind. Sometimes Judah and Andy would joke to see who could spit the seeds the farthest.
She smiled, remembering the fun they’d shared together, surrounded by laughter and stories. Marian’s little Becky hadn’t even been born then.
Becky, she thought now. Not Rebekah, as anyone would have supposed. Marian had come calling to ask her opinion on the name when the wee babe was just three days old. It seemed Marian and her husband were at odds on a name, and Marian wanted Lettie’s say-so, too, which at the time had seemed downright comical to her. Less comical, though, was Andy Riehl, who all too often looked for opportunities to dig in his heels, much to Marian’s dismay. Lettie found little to like about the man. Theirs is a thorny marriage, she thought.
Shrugging the memory aside, she heard Grace’s voice, mingled with those of her parents. And with a push of her big toe against the porch, she made the swing move faster and wished the crickets were out in full force this evening. Their refrain was sure to drown out any inside talk among Mamm, Dat, and Grace. Soon, very soon, the insects’ chorus would return . . . come summer.
Lettie breathed in the cool evening air. How she needed solitude, craving it even more with Grace’s coming milestone birthday.
Where have all the years flown?
Oh, but she knew. They’d vanished into the seasons, year after year . . . going the way of all good and lovely things.
Like love . . .
She could not even remember
the last time she and Judah had given affection—not even a peck on the cheek. It wasn’t that they’d meant to come to this place in their marriage; she guessed they’d simply fallen out of each other’s hearts.
She covered her face with her hands, knowing what would happen if she was bold enough—and insensitive, too—if she were to reveal her heart to Grace. But no, her daughter couldn’t begin to understand. And Judah? Doubtless her husband would simply view her revelation as yet another reason to retreat deeper into his own skin.
Judah’s own world . . .
So, even though she’d given it great consideration since the barn raising last month, there was no question in her mind that she would be on precarious footing with everyone if her well-guarded secret was unveiled.
No, she must not take a risk like that.
Her husband, Jakob, wasn’t but ten minutes into the reading when there stood Gracie in the doorway to the hall, coming slowly toward them.
“Just a minute, Jakob.” Adah leaned forward in her chair, slipping her tatting behind her. “Gracie? You hungry, dear?”
“Mamma says there are leftovers. . . .”
Pity’s sakes, the girl looked like she might cry.
“Aw, why don’t you just have some of ours?” Adah reached for the nearby pillow and stuffed it behind her to better conceal the birthday hankie. She rose and motioned for Grace to follow her to the kitchen. “Your Dawdi was just reading Scripture, but maybe he’ll come join us, so you can hear, too.” She said this louder than usual, hoping Jakob might take the hint.
When he did, Grace brightened and pulled out a chair. She sat down and leaned into her hands as Jakob came along and placed his big leather Bible on the table. “Haven’t seen much of yous lately,” Grace said, looking up at him.
“You’re such a busy girl . . . all that workin’ over at Eli’s.” Jakob sat down, giving her a sidewise smile. “What’d you bring me this time?”
“Oh, go on with ya,” Adah said. “She doesn’t have to bring free samples every day.”
Grace was now smiling to beat the band, which pleased Adah. “I doubt you’d have wanted what they were samplin’ today, Dawdi.”
He looked at her, mischievous as all get out. “I guess I’ll bite. . . . What was it?”
“Spicy beef jerky, the hottest you’ve ever tasted.”
Jakob’s head pushed back with laughter. “Well, you just never know till ya try something, ain’t?”
Grace shook her head. “I spared you, Dawdi. I can guarantee you’d be havin’ yourself a terrible sour stomach ’bout now.”
“Then I guess I oughta be thankin’ you, jah?” He reached for Grace’s hand and squeezed it quickly, then let go, still beaming.
Adah reheated the tuna macaroni casserole and warmed up the remaining buttered peas in a smaller saucepan. From where she stood at the gas range, she could no longer see Lettie outside on the swing, but she would have heard her if she’d already come inside.
Stirring the macaroni, Adah wondered what it would take to get things back on an even keel. Looking fondly at her granddaughter and husband sitting so comfortably, surrounded by the golden circle of light from the gas lamp overhead, she felt a little lump rise in her throat. Jakob’s hair was peppered with gray, and these days he had to stand gingerly for a few seconds before proceeding to walk, his legs a bit wobbly after getting out of his chair. And their dear Grace, so full of youthful energy, surely ought to be getting married before too long.
She’ll follow in her brother’s footsteps, no doubt.
This minute, the warmth of family spread its wings over her . . . over the three of them. And Adah did not want a single thing to spoil its sweetness.
“You’re comin’ for supper tomorrow, jah?” asked Grace, breaking the stillness.
“Couldn’t keep me away,” Jakob said, looking at Adah.
“I’ll bake your favorite dessert, Gracie,” said Adah. “Carrot cake with butter frosting.”
“Mamma doesn’t like to make much to-do ’bout birthdays, ya know,” Grace said unexpectedly.
“Well, if you could mark the day however you’d choose, what would ya do?” asked Adah.
Grace stared down at the table. “Well, let’s see. You’d all sing the birthday song, for sure.” She raised her head slowly. “I do like hearin’ Mamma’s perty voice rise up above all the others. Oh, ever so much.”
That joyful side of Lettie’s rarely seen anymore, thought Adah.
“And, without thinkin’ too hard, I’d prob’ly like to spend a good part of the day with Becky.” Grace squinted her eyes, as if expecting a retort. “And with Adam.”
“In other words, with your closest friends,” Adah said.
“Jah.” Grace smiled warmly at them both. “But don’t misunderstand, I’d take yous along, too, if I could.”
“Take us where?” Jakob leaned forward again.
“To the ocean. Someday I want to see it for myself . . . not just in books.” Grace glanced toward the window. “There must be something mighty special ’bout the roar of it, ya know?”
“And the extent of it,” Adah added.
“To think you can see nearly forever . . . well, out to the edge of the world, so to speak.” Grace was lost in a daydream, something Adah had never noticed before. Thank goodness she’s not the dreamer her mother always was!
Jakob waved his hand. “Well, maybe that driver could take you to see that there horizon line you’re talking ’bout. What’s his name?”
“Martin Puckett?” said Grace. “A right cheerful fella, I’ll say.”
“Jah, that’s who. Maybe Martin’ll drive you, Becky, and Adam out to the ocean one of these days.”
That brought the biggest smile to Grace’s face, but it didn’t last long, because just then Adah heard the front screen door smack shut. Grace’s face paled, and her gaze found Adah’s and held it awkwardly for a long time.
chapter
eight
Grace’s birthday began like any other day except for one thing: She was awakened by Mandy, who slipped into the room and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Happy day . . . happy year, sister!” Mandy announced, all smiles.
Squinting up at her, Grace stretched and yawned. “Ach, you’re up even before me.”
Mandy sat on the edge of the bed, her long, reddish-blond hair flowing over her round shoulders, clear to her chubby waist. “I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday, Gracie.” She tried to suppress a yawn but did not succeed. Laughing softly, she said, “We have something special planned.”
“Honestly?”
Mandy bobbed her head up and down, eyes shining. Then, pretending to seal her lips, she whispered, “That’s all I’ll say.”
Grace loved her playful sister, who always seemed to have something interesting or mysterious up her sleeve. “Well, the day will go by quickly, I’m sure.” She sat up and looked at the wind-up alarm clock on the small table next to her bed. “I best be getting ready for work.”
Mandy stood up, still clad in her long white cotton nightgown. “And must you work tomorrow, too?”
“Nee—no, not that I know of.”
“Well, gut, then . . . we’ll have us some sister time, jah?”
Mandy’s sleepy eyes sparkled.
“What were ya thinkin’?”
Mandy walked to the doorway and turned, her face beaming. “How ’bout if we take Willow out to the meadow and ride her bareback? That’d be such fun!”
Their horses were meant for pulling carriages and market wagons, not riding, as Mandy well knew. Some bishops were rather opposed to the latter. “What would Dat say to that?” asked Grace.
Mandy wore a mischievous grin. “Well . . . if you must know, I already said something to Mamma.”
“Jah? And?”
“She doesn’t think it’s anything to worry ’bout, as long as we aren’t out on the road . . . ya know, showin’ off.”
“All right, then . . . if Mamma says not to flaunt, we w
on’t.”
Mandy fluttered her fingers in a little wave and left the room.
Grace jumped out of bed and closed the door. She picked up her brush and began counting the strokes as she brushed her hair. What will come of this day?
She knew one thing: She didn’t feel a speck older than yesterday, even though the calendar said otherwise. She pulled on her robe and raised the green shade all the way, then sat near the window to read from the Psalms. When she was finished, she prayed a blessing on the day and for all those she might encounter, gathered up her clean clothes, and headed downstairs for a warm bath before the rest of the family awakened. Her father had spent a lot of time and money putting two modern bathrooms in the house. One on their side and one over where Dawdi and Mammi lived. She sometimes wished for a washroom upstairs, as well . . . just down the hall a few steps from Mandy’s and her bedrooms. But Dat had said they must make do with what they had. As it was, Mammi Adah was mighty happy about having a fancy indoor bathroom. She enjoyed the convenience of a nice big tub and modern facilities, especially during winter months.
Grace reached for the shampoo and lathered up, taking special care with her hair, eager for it to be shiny and clean.
What will Henry do for my birthday?
She hurried along, stopping herself each time she felt the urge to hum, holding back. Truth was, she wondered if Henry’s shyness, even awkwardness, might hinder him from wanting to celebrate.
Today she wished to get a head start on breakfast, even though Mamma might surely have something planned already. Still, Grace wanted to get the day off on the right foot to make certain things were just as they should be.
Several other years, on landmark birthdays such as sixteen—the start of courting age—her mother had surprised them with homemade waffles and specialty soufflés or, Grace’s very favorite, cinnamon rolls and a spritz of chocolate syrup in her coffee.
Such happy memories of gathering round the table for a delicious birthday breakfast. She allowed herself to hum. A few more minutes won’t hurt, she decided.
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