Secret, The

by Beverly Lewis

  “I mustn’t let her get the upper hand ever again,” Lettie muttered, pushing Cousin Hallie’s letter deep into her pocket. She wished she might simply sit and write Hallie another note right back. But first things first.

  She rose. Joe had arrived with Grace from work, and they were probably wondering why the table wasn’t even set. No doubt, Grace was already tinkering around in the kitchen herself, if she wasn’t upstairs brushing her hair and pinning it up fresh. It wasn’t that Grace was known for vanity or putting on airs—far from it. She was one of the sweetest girls around, living up to the promise of her name early on.

  Looking longingly at the porch swing again, Lettie knew she must make a quick phone call. Did she have time to hurry up the road to the community phone shanty? Hopefully the gloomy skies would hold off their rain for a few minutes yet.

  Ach, I should’ve called sooner, she thought, knowing full well why she’d put it off this long.

  She breathed a prayer for strength . . . both for the birthday feast and for whatever lay ahead.

  For all of us.

  chapter

  ten

  Judah removed his straw hat in the hallway and plopped it down on his own wooden peg—one he’d used for twenty-some years. He smelled the pot roast cooking and a thought crossed his mind: How had Lettie ever managed before the bishop gave the nod for them to get a gas range and oven? It was hard to remember the days before that time, although he was mighty sure his wife remembered quite well. Adam, too, since he’d had the daily chore of hauling in the wood for the cookstove.

  He walked around to the kitchen, glad to see Mandy helping. Where’s Lettie? he wondered, not bothering to ask Mandy or Adam, who just that minute had come indoors. Adam’s unruly bangs were all combed down for a change. Seeing the washroom door standing open, Judah made his way inside and closed the door.

  Removing his glasses, he filled the sink with warm water, grateful for the hot water directly from the spigot. Long gone the days of carrying water from the springhouse and waiting around for his parents to heat it up for baths and whatnot.

  He splashed water on his face and lathered up with the homemade soap Lettie purchased from Preacher Josiah Smuck-er’s wife, Sally. The industrious woman had herself a small shop right in their house, out near the utility room. Being that she was married to one of the brethren, she’d gotten permission from the bishop himself to run the business. The man of God understood their plight.

  The plight of many Amish . . . With farming land dwindling and being divided up among marrying-age sons, no wonder folk kept moving out of Lancaster County to other counties and states—some even out of the country to Canada. A good many, in fact, over the years.

  He suspected several families in the church of scouting out places like Kentucky and Virginia to obtain farmland, places where Amish had already established small communities. Some had talked privately about starting a new church district down as far south as Georgia, and not only in Macon County. These days, it seemed there were Amish and Beachy Amish branching out nearly everywhere.

  But for Judah’s needs, Lancaster County was just fine. Really there was nowhere he’d rather be. Besides, with word from old Rudy Stahl that Adam was going to be given a good portion of Rudy’s land, Judah had only to be concerned with young Joe’s future land options.

  Won’t be long and I’ll be turning my pockets inside out for yet another courting-age son, he mused. Truly he didn’t mind seeing his offspring grow up and look ahead to starting their own families. And, just maybe, once he and Lettie had themselves an empty nest, they’d somehow manage to get things back on an even keel.

  He dried his face and put his glasses back on, glancing in the square mirror above the sink. “Goodness, but you’re gettin’ old,” he muttered.

  “Someone talkin’ in there?” Adam called through the door.

  “Can’t a man have some peace?”

  Adam chuckled. “Take your time, Dat. I just wondered . . . when’s supper?”

  Judah checked his watch. “Should be now.” He opened the door. “Better ask your Mamma, though.”

  Adam shook his head. “Joe said he saw her out front on the porch a little bit ago, but she’s not there now.”

  It wasn’t like Lettie to invite guests and then dillydally about getting the table set and all done up. “Could be she’s helpin’ bring Dawdi Jacob over for supper,” he suggested as they stepped into the kitchen.

  Adam nodded thoughtfully, then showed him a birthday card. “Want to sign this now, before Gracie sees it?” Glancing over his shoulder, Adam indicated he should hurry.

  Judah noticed the pen stuck atop Adam’s ear and reached for it. Happy birthday, Grace, from Dat, he signed simply.

  Adam retrieved the card and pen when Judah was done. He dashed out of the kitchen, leaving Judah there with Mandy, who was bustling about, checking on the roast and baked potatoes, carrots, and onions. Such tantalizing aromas—but where was Lettie?

  Going to the side door, he looked out and saw, in the near distance, the English neighbor girls walking this way, each carrying a present, an umbrella at the ready. Becky Riehl was coming up the driveway, too. Had Lettie invited others besides these three?

  He turned away from the door, wishing his wife were there to greet the young women. Feeling awkward, he was glad to see Adam returning and Jakob hobbling over from the other side of the house, through the sitting room. “Hullo there, Daed,” he greeted him.

  Adah and Lettie were right behind them, as was Joe, who sniffed the air, clearly ready to dig in to the delectable meal. “Looks like nearly all of us are here,” Adam said, trying unsuccessfully to slip Grace’s birthday card under her plate before she noticed. Mandy’s eyes were wide with disapproval, but Grace flashed him a smile.

  “Oh look! There’s Becky . . . and the Spangler girls, too!” Grace rushed to the door and ran down the steps to greet them.

  Judah looked at Lettie, who caught his eye and gave him a small smile, as if to say, It’s our daughter’s birthday . . . let’s be merry.

  He returned the smile, aware of a curious new light in her eyes.

  Soon their guests were welcomed by Lettie herself, who stepped into her comfortable role as hostess. She and Mandy carried the food to the table in Grace’s honor. They’d changed the normal seating arrangement considerably for the evening, putting Becky on one side of Grace, and Brittany Spangler—the darker haired of the two sisters—on the other side. Lettie, as always, sat to Judah’s right.

  “Time for the blessing.” He bowed his head and remained so for longer than usual, adding a special silent prayer for good health for Grace—and for a hard-working husband for her someday, too. Then he made a little cough and raised his head as he always did to signal the end of the prayer.

  Lettie reached immediately for the large platter and sliced an ample portion of roast for him first. Then she asked Grace to hold her plate and served another smaller portion to her. The two English girls glanced at each other, and Becky engaged them in casual conversation as Lettie saw to everyone’s plate, making sure each one had plenty.

  Seeing her so caught up in her hostess role, Judah couldn’t help wondering how long it might be before she grew weary of wandering about at night. How long before Lettie behaved like a good wife?

  He picked up his fork and cut the roast with it, so tender it was. Focusing now on the delicious meal at hand, he dismissed his scattered thoughts, falling into the pleasure of this fine feast.

  The talk around the table quickly caught Grace’s attention. Becky hadn’t waited long to begin describing several new quilts she’d put in the frame with her mother. Neither of them cared much for finishing off quilts, sometimes letting several sit around before finally stopping everything to sew the binding at last—“all at once, to get it over with.”

  “Oh goodness, I don’t mind doin’ bindings,” Mandy spoke up.

  “Well, piece work’s more fun,” Grace said, glad for Becky’s presence.
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  “Hard work, though,” Becky replied. “But I like choosin’ the colors.”

  “Me too.” Mandy leaned over the table. It was obvious from her attempts to be part of the conversation that she wished she’d been seated closer to them.

  After a short lull, Jessica Spangler announced her plans to marry her college sweetheart during Christmas break. “A festive time for a wedding, don’t you think?” At that, all the women at the table, including Mamma and Mandy, nodded in agreement. Adam, Joe, and Dat continued eating as if merely onlookers, present only in body.

  Then Mammi Adah surprised Grace by talking of Grace’s childhood and “her many firsts,” as her grandmother liked to refer to her little-girl antics. Grace cringed a bit, hoping Mammi would not take this too far. “The first time Gracie ever went off to school, her Mamma and I stood like two protective doe on the porch, creepin’ down the steps, then eventually out to the lane . . . watching our Gracie walk up the road with her big brother. She looked awful tiny to be a first grader.”

  “Too tiny, really,” Mamma added.

  “Kids all look that small when they first start out,” Joe piped up.

  “Did ya take a lunch bucket to school?” asked Becky, her brown eyes curious.

  Brittany laughed. “Sure she did—Grace used my old one that whole year.” She covered her mouth, trying to subdue her giggle. “Remember it, Grace?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “It was one of those funky California Raisins lunch boxes, and Grace couldn’t part with it when she came to play at our house.” Brittany leaned forward next to her sister, who was also nodding. “So I let her keep it.”

  Jessica continued. “It pictured a raisin singing into a microphone, and three girl raisins singing backup. It was too cute.”

  Half the table was snickering, and Grace couldn’t help laughing herself. When she looked toward the hushed end of the table, she noticed a small smile on Mamma’s face, but there was no hint of the same on Dat’s. His attention appeared set on the spread of food before him—all that mattered.

  As for Grace, she had two birthday wishes: She wished that the evening might last long past the supper hour. And she wished that Mamma might remain as happy as she seemingly was this very moment.

  The sky hung low in the trees bordering the side yard and the pastureland where Judah’s sheep grazed all day. Now that the rain had passed, a dark blue band lined the horizon to the east.

  Lettie forced her gaze away from the window as she helped Mandy clear the table. Grace’s friends had left for home, and Lettie wanted to give her birthday girl some time to do as she pleased.

  Mamm and Dat had surprised Lettie by staying around longer than usual following such a big gathering. Lettie felt both appreciative and perturbed. Glad, because her mother had an uncanny way of drawing any attention away from Lettie, and fairly annoyed because more than a full hour ago she’d hoped to write another letter.

  She assumed Grace’s supper had been everything her daughter had hoped for. Grace had been so cordial, accepting the tatted hankie from her grandmother with a pleasing smile, and later, offering plenty of oohs and ahs when the Spangler sisters each presented a gift—a floral-covered book of blank pages and a long, thin case of colored pencils. The latter was something Lettie could not imagine Grace using, or even wanting.

  Becky had held to tradition, giving Grace a simple homemade card, just as Judah and the boys and Mandy had—except their card had been store-bought. Regrettably Lettie had failed to sign it, thanks to her ill-timed phone call. She hoped Grace hadn’t noticed . . . but then, Grace noticed nearly everything. That was precisely why Lettie felt so anxious now as she inspected the kitchen and went to the next room to pull out a writing tablet, one of three she stored in the corner hutch drawer. She’d always kept stationery there, as well as a few nicer pens.

  The pretty yellow lined paper would help to keep her hand straight. Truth be told, she had much to make up for with dear Grace. With all of them, really.

  Grace and Mandy were curled up on the floor in the front room, playing checkers. Judah and the boys had naturally been in a big hurry to return to the barn, what with more lambs on the way. It was something of a rarity to have the kitchen table all to herself.

  Sighing, Lettie thought again of Cousin Hallie and the appealing way she described her loving marriage in her weekly letters. Was it truly possible for anyone to be so happy?

  Heather carried her laptop out to the deck and settled into her mother’s comfy chaise. She yearned to be close to nature, already anticipating the upcoming Pennsylvania trip. Opening her laptop, she began to write.

  Seven days have passed since my diagnosis, and I still feel perfectly fine. The whites of my eyes haven’t turned yellow, no fever yet, and I have zero pain.

  Hard to believe I’m supposed to be dying.

  Well, we’re ALL dying, aren’t we, from the second we’re born. But only some of us get to actually live a full life. . . .

  She glanced up and watched a bird in flight, its wings seemingly so fragile. Yet the delicate creature managed to fly using the wind current and its own strength.

  “Flying strong . . . just like me,” she whispered, although that wasn’t even remotely true.

  Her stuporlike cloud of denial had finally lifted that morning, and Heather wanted to know what she was up against. If she procrastinated on getting her treatment started, what symptoms had the doctor warned might develop?

  She typed in the address for WebMD, a credible online resource, and soon discovered her symptoms might someday include weight loss—up to ten percent of her total body weight—heavy night sweats, fevers with no apparent cause, itching, and a cough or breathlessness.

  She was confused because she had none of these symptoms, even though the oncologist had told her she was in stage IIIA. That meant the disease had spread to three lymph regions in her body, though the nodes remained small and painless.

  One thing led to another, and soon Heather was reading Web pages for holistic alternative treatment centers around the country, and even one in Salzburg, Austria. Wow, there was one situated on a private island in the Caribbean, too. Who wouldn’t feel better just being there? She spent the next hour online, viewing sites for fasting weekends, day spas, Candida cleanses, and alternative treatments ranging from detoxes to therapeutic massages and thermal water cures.

  Quite the gamut, she thought, baffled. One YouTube clip actually featured a man vowing his water diet would cure anyone of anything.

  Heather shook her head, sighing. Some of this was almost laughable. But people did impulsive things when their life was in jeopardy. How was it possible to sift the scams from what was legitimate, especially when so many of these places were charging an arm and a leg? They’re certainly not covered by insurance.

  She closed the laptop and stared at the sky. Despite her initial denial, she was ready now to make some choices based on her diagnosis. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the springtime sounds and smells. Didn’t she owe it to herself and to her family to give natural methods a try, at least for the summer?

  Yes, she definitely wanted to experiment with a natural approach before getting a second opinion from a medical doctor later. The Lancaster naturopath came to mind once again, and she decided to call Dr. Marshall’s office for an appointment.

  She might’ve helped Mom, if it hadn’t been too late. . . .

  While Grace waited for Mandy to determine the next move of her king on the checkerboard, she admired again the cute card from Becky. A hummingbird fed from a single pink flower, a vibrant sea of flower cups opening to the sun in the background. A legend she’d heard as a girl said that a hummingbird’s flight was unfettered by space and time . . . and carried all one’s hopes for lasting affection, greatest joy, and merriment. Grace paused to consider it, looking fondly at the expertly rendered likeness.

  Becky’s a wonder. . . .

  It was evident how many hours her friend had put into the picture
. Grace almost felt guilty for having received the many multicolored pencils in the fancy case from Jessica. Surely they were something Becky might better enjoy.

  “Your move.” Mandy looked up, eyes mischievous.

  Grace laughed. “Nice try. I see you’re goin’ to double jump me!”

  “If you’re not careful.”

  She smiled at her sister, then made her move.

  “You’re partial to board games, ain’t?”

  “Any time you want to play, I’m willing.” Grace also enjoyed cross-stitching and tatting, just as Mammi Adah did. And, on occasion, she liked to spin wool on an old treadle wheel Brittany and her mom had purchased at a flea market—a most unique hobby.

  “Are we still taking Willow for a ride tomorrow?” Mandy asked.

  “Fine with me.” She waited for her sister to move her checker.

  Mandy folded her arms, grinning because she’d made the perfect setup to block Grace. “There . . . how’d ya like that?”

  Not ready to be outwitted, Grace leaned closer to the board, studying her options. “Do you think our grandparents had a gut time tonight?” she asked.

  “Jah, why?”

  Grace shrugged, reaching across the board to move her king backward. Truth was, she worried all the foolish bantering at the table had not been overlooked by either her parents or her grandparents. But each year they put up with it, and rather graciously at that. Next year, though, things would be different with Jessica Spangler married and living elsewhere. And who could know about Becky? Mandy, too, for that matter.

  Grace did not include herself in the group of potential brides, although she wondered if she would still be residing in her father’s house on her twenty-second birthday. Would Henry decide to make her his wife at last?