Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed seeing the historic station again. Now, still pensive about Let-tie’s troubling request, he almost timidly entered the nearly palatial-looking terminal. The place seemed to be in the process of restoration. He recalled having read something about the restoration online, as well as in the Lancaster New Era.
The ceiling soared to a glass-paned insert high overhead, and the words To Trains were engraved on the wall over a portico. Even at this hour, the waiting area was scattered with would-be travelers, and he spotted Lettie over in the far corner, sitting alone on a tall-backed wooden bench. She was crocheting a scarf. He considered her forlorn state momentarily, noticing the streaks of gray in her blond hair for the first time. Then, pulling the piece of paper from his pocket, he slowly approached her. “Excuse me, Lettie.” He reached down to give her the paper.
She started, obviously surprised to see him.
“I found this in my car. Is it yours?”
A light came into her sad eyes. “Ach, I would be a cooked goose without it.” She smiled broadly. “Ever so gut of you to bring it.”
Still anxious about her safety, he felt compelled to sit with her. “I thought it might come in handy,” he said.
She nodded, obviously pleased. “Oh my, you have no idea. . . .”
“Well, I’m glad it’s helpful.” She hadn’t invited him to sit, but there he was all the same. “Lettie . . . I . . .” He paused, cautious as to what he should say. “I’m concerned for you.”
She looked down at her hands, the crochet hook poised to make the next loop. “You mustn’t be. Really.”
He noticed her sack lunch and the book she’d brought. “I don’t wish to meddle.” He assumed Judah and Lettie Byler were as amicable at home as they appeared to be in public. Yet if so, why was she here in secret?
She smiled weakly, then began crocheting again. Instinctively, he sensed their conversation was over.
Not thinking, he touched her arm. “If you ever need help—from either my wife or me—please don’t think twice about calling.”
Slowly, as if painfully, she nodded, lifting her eyes to his. He saw tears wetting her cheeks and took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “You’re very kind,” she said, accepting it and dabbing at her face. “Very kind.”
“I mean it . . . no matter where you’re going,” he emphasized. Then, when she’d returned his handkerchief, he remained there awhile, temporarily unable to say yet another good-bye.
At last he rose and walked across the marble floor. It was then he recognized Sadie Zook’s cousin among those waiting for trains. Pete Bernhardt traveled weekly to the Big Apple on business and was sitting across the way, his briefcase propped near his feet.
Because he’d known Pete for many years, Martin was about to head over and say hello, but Pete glanced up furtively and quickly looked away. Confused by that, Martin hesitated. Why so distant?
Then it struck him—had Pete witnessed his exchange with Lettie Byler?
Offering a wave, Martin felt quite embarrassed by what Pete might presume to have seen. He made his way out the door and down to the parking lot, mortified for having taken even the most benign liberty with Judah’s attractive wife—sitting beside her, offering his handkerchief.
Martin opened his car door and got in. Janet would be up making breakfast before she put the finishing touches on their packing. They were eager to get an early start to their own outof-town trip today. He needed to do his part in fueling up and having the car washed, the reason he’d chosen to drive the car instead of his usual van.
As he turned the key in the ignition, he found himself breathing a prayer for Lettie, a vulnerable Amishwoman traveling quite alone.
chapter
fourteen
Grace awakened with a jolt, having fallen back to sleep. Still wearing her robe beneath the covers, she was vaguely aware of the sound of steady rain on the roof. She stretched but instead of relief came a profound feeling of melancholy and fatigue. Bits and pieces of the predawn hours slowly emerged in her memory. Finding a letter from Mamma . . . racing down the road . . . watching helplessly as Mamma stepped into a strange car.
Grace sat up in bed, her heart pounding. Had she simply dreamed this nightmare?
Moments passed as she attempted to sort through the panic. But no, it was true. She hadn’t imagined it at all.
Grace peered with one eye at her exquisite chime clock. Seven o’clock. Ach, I overslept.
Leaping out of bed, she nearly tripped on her robe and could not find her slippers. I’m misplacing too many things. She thought again of Mamma’s letter as she moved to the window and looked out on a dim and foggy morning. It was impossible to see even to the edge of the yard, let alone out to the road. She pressed her fingers against the pane, feeling the chill through it and remembering Henry’s visit.
How overjoyed she had been. Now she felt so grief stricken in comparison as the recent events of her life mingled—Henry’s proposal and her mother’s departure—like the intricate weaving of a variegated rag rug.
Grace felt terribly out of sorts. Something had gone completely off beam for Mamma to pack a suitcase and leave.
After forcing herself to go through the motions of getting dressed, she hurried downstairs to start breakfast, late as it was, and realized Mandy was still asleep. A glance around the corner into the front hall revealed her father’s and brothers’ work boots were missing. The men had already gone to look after the baby lambs. New ones were arriving every few days now, just as Dat had planned it. The round-the-clock checking on the expectant ewes kept him and the boys up off and on during the night.
Didn’t they wonder about breakfast—why Mamma wasn’t up and cooking? She found it curious no one had even called to awaken her for the task. What did they make of Mamma’s absence? Did they assume she, too, had overslept?
Hearing sounds coming from the kitchen on the other side of the house, she guessed Mammi Adah was making eggs for Dawdi Jakob. The air caught in her throat as she thought how saddened they also would be by Mamma’s disappearance.
Once it’s known.
Turning on the faucet, Grace filled the kettle, thinking that on such a dismal and rainy day the men would want coffee. The mid-spring day more resembled autumn in temperature and dampness.
Glad that Mandy had gathered the eggs yesterday, she brought out the bowl filled with fresh ones and set it down on the counter. She turned on a burner and set the frying pan on the stove, plopping a chunk of butter in the center. Dat’s stomach would be growling and so would Adam’s and Joe’s. They liked scrambled eggs made with bits of bacon and cheese, but today she wouldn’t take the time for any of that. Fried eggs are quicker.
Still in disbelief, Grace gritted her teeth and wished she might know what to say when they came in. Suddenly she realized she’d stepped immediately into Mamma’s role without even considering it.
She set the flame to a gentle heat, then cracked the eggs against the edge of the pan before dropping them in. Placing a lid on top, she turned to stare out the window. Still not hearing Mandy, she walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Daylight’s a-wastin’!” she called, waiting to hear the thud of her sister’s feet on the floor before she resumed cooking.
In a few minutes, Mandy came dragging down, barefoot and in her bathrobe. “Why’d ya let me sleep in?” she asked, sounding nearly accusing.
“I overslept, too.”
Mandy slumped onto the bench next to the table, leaning her head into her hand. “I’m so tired . . . can’t seem to wake up.”
“Jah, the weather’s downright gloomy.”
Mandy looked out the window. “It’s really makin’ down.”
“Well, we need rain.” Bracing herself for the question that was sure to come, Grace faced the stove, putting salt and pepper on the yolks, which were now nearly done. Dat liked his slightly runny, but everyone else wanted their yolks firm. “Would you mind toasting some
bread right quick?” she asked Mandy. “Wash your hands first, though.”
“Ach, you sound like Mamma.” Mandy sauntered to the sink and turned on the water. “Why’re you cookin’ breakfast anyway?”
“Why not?”
Just then, Adam and Joe came in through the side door, even though Dat always urged them to use the front door that led to the hallway, with its specified places for work boots and outerwear.
“Is Dat with you?” Grace asked, glancing toward the door.
“He took off with Sassy and the buggy earlier . . . didn’t say where he was headed,” Adam said, referring to his own driving horse.
“He was in a big hurry. Must be an important errand,” Joe said as he clumped over to the sink, where Mandy was standing, drying her hands.
“So early?” Mandy said. “What’s open this time of day?”
Grace cut in, “Better take off your boots. Leave ’em outside.”
“They’ll get rained on,” Joe said, removing his and leaving them on the oval rug near the door. He looked up at the three of them . . . minus their mother. “Where’s Mamma?”
Grace glanced at Adam, who seemed oblivious. “Well, she’s not here,” she said, heart sinking.
She’s left us. . . .
“So you’re makin’ breakfast?” Joe said. “It better be gut.”
She took the spatula and lifted the eggs out of the pan and set them on plates. “How many eggs can ya eat?” she asked Adam, then Joe.
They each claimed their usual three, along with two pieces of the buttered toast that Mandy provided.
“Maybe Dat went to fetch Mamma,” said Mandy out of the blue as they all sat down.
Grace was caught by surprise. What did her sister mean?
“She’s not in the barn,” said Adam. “Has anyone seen her?”
“Not this mornin’,” Mandy said.
“Could be Dat’s taken her to visit one of her sisters,” Joe suggested.
Grace squeezed her hands tightly beneath the table and looked to Adam for the table blessing, since he was the oldest male present. She bowed her head when he did, praying the silent rote prayer she’d learned as a child.
“Why would ya say that . . . what you said before?” Joe asked Mandy when they started eating. “That Dat went to fetch Mamma?”
“Because,” Mandy replied. “Don’t ya know she goes out walkin’ at—”
“Mandy, you’d best be eatin’,” Grace interrupted.
Her sister frowned, clearly resenting Grace’s rebuke. “We all best dig in now,” Grace suggested, feeling sick to her stomach.
Judah was on his third pass down the road and garnering stares from the neighbors. He’d even ventured as far east as Monterey Road, near Eli’s Natural Foods store and back, keeping his eye out for any sign of Lettie. He’d driven past several of her cousins’ houses, as well as all of her siblings’, not stopping to inquire after her . . . not wanting to worry anyone needlessly. But he assumed if Lettie had gone merely to visit, someone would’ve come out to hail him.
Feeling mighty weak now, he knew he ought to head home. Yet he was hardly ready to face questions from Adam or the others, and surely there would be some.
Waving at the neighbor up the way, Judah tipped his hat when he was greeted with “Guder Mariye” and a big wave.
If Lettie’s gone, my children won’t be the only ones asking questions.
“And I have nothin’ to appease their curiosity.” He clucked his tongue to spur Sassy onward, observing his fine sheep grazing in the distance.
He waved to the next neighbor, Marian Riehl, who was out on her porch, beating rag rugs. He’d heard from someone, he didn’t recall who, that the Riehls were getting a long-term paying guest. This struck him as both curious and practical. Andy and Marian were hard-pressed to make ends meet, as many were. Plain folk were thinking twice these days about having gas-run appliances—some wished they could return to wood-fed stoves.
He wondered how his mother-in-law must be feeling now about her doggedness in wanting more modern kitchen appliances.
Shaking his head, he also considered what Adah Esh would think if she’d received the kind of letter Lettie had written to Grace. Perhaps Lettie had shared her plan with someone besides Grace.
If Naomi were still alive, she would undoubtedly know.
As Judah surveyed the rain-drenched landscape, he could see patches on the ground where samara had fallen last year and were already beginning to take root. He was anxious for the sunny days of May, another week away.
Lettie will miss watching her beloved mourning doves if she stays away too long. He recalled her fascination last spring as she’d observed the males accompanying their mates to possible nesting sites, the male birds gathering twigs and other material for the female that built the nest. Lettie had stood and watched at the kitchen window for nearly half an hour just after dawn one day. Judah had offered to make a ground feeding tray for them, since they weren’t hoppers like some birds, and Lettie had been so pleased, giving him a rare smile.
Will she miss the late-blooming honey locust? he wondered. Surely she’ll return for harvesting elderberries and peaches. Surely . . .
He rubbed his neck and shoulders—the pain at the nape of his neck had become a searing ache. No more putting off the dreaded breakfast scene. It was past time to head home. By all indications, his wife had flown the coop. For how long, Judah did not know.
Dat took his time unhitching Sassy from the family buggy, then headed toward the house, cutting across the drive and through the side yard. Grace noticed he’d worn his winter hat instead of the straw one and was all dressed in black. Like for Preaching service, she thought, stepping away from the window, her heart pounding.
He looked ashen as he came into the kitchen. Grace had cleaned off the table and washed the dishes, not knowing when he might return. With Mandy upstairs making her bed and straightening her room and the boys back in the barn monitoring the new lambs, the house was uncomfortably quiet. She felt ever so strange, knowing all she did about Mamma . . . wondering what her father knew, if anything.
She moved silently to the cupboard and again took out the frying pan, ready to make breakfast for Dat if he wanted it. Mandy would be down soon enough, she was sure, which would help things along, as well. Unless Mandy once more brought up Mamma’s absence.
Dat had broken his own rule about not using the side door. He’d come in stocking footed, having removed his work boots and left them outside since the rain had stopped. “Am I too late for some eggs and toast?” he asked, his face angst ridden.
“Not at all.” She turned and set the gas flame where she liked it. She longed to fill up the dreadful void, the aching emptiness between them, but she knew better than to ask where Mamma was. That would be deceitful. Yet, because he didn’t utter a word about her taking over the cooking duties, she guessed he knew something. Perhaps they’d had words in the night?
Dat went into the washroom and decisively closed the door. She heard the click of the lock, as well, which was not at all like him. He—all of them—simply shut the door. The whole family respected a closed door, no matter the room. “A closed door is closed for a reason,” Mamma had often said when they were little.
By the time Dat appeared again and took his place at the head of the table, Mandy reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a scowl. “Did ya find her?” She planted herself next to their father.
“Your Mamma, you mean?” Dat eyed them both.
Grace carried the food over, the eggs cooked to Dat’s liking, and put the plate in front of him. She waited, wondering what more he might request. And if he might say where he’d gone.
“She’s nowhere to be found.” Mandy leaned forward, her elbows on the table, hands supporting her chin. “Where on earth could she be?”
“I don’t know,” Dat muttered.
“She’s not usually gone first thing in the morning,” Mandy declared, turning to look at Grace.
> Dat bowed his head for the blessing, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. When he’d said amen and picked up his fork, he whispered, “ ’Tis a mystery.”
“Well, where do ya think she is?” Mandy folded her hands on the table.
Grace gently touched her shoulder. “Let Dat eat in peace.”
Mandy frowned at her, getting up. “Sorry,” she muttered and left by way of the side door.
Dat continued eating, his eyes fixed on his plate while Grace went to scrub out the frying pan for the second time. In spite of her father’s blank expression, she sensed he knew something.
She turned, her hands still in the sudsy water. “Mamma wrote me a letter ’bout her leaving.” Pausing, she quickly dried her hands and crossed the room to him. “She must’ve left it on my dresser in the wee hours.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Dat’s face, and then he nodded. “I saw it.”
“You read it, then?”
“Jah.”
He must’ve taken it.
Grace sensed how awkward he surely felt. “Well, I never would’ve known how to share it with you, Dat, anyway. None of it made sense.”
His eyes were sad, and she lowered herself to sit on the wooden bench to the left of her father, in Adam’s spot. “I went lookin’ for her right away, all through the house.”
“So did I,” he said.
“And then I saw her running up the road. A car stopped to pick her up. I could hardly believe my eyes.”
At that, he frowned and ran his hand over his untrimmed beard. He sighed ever so deeply.
“Where do ya think she went, Dat?”
He sat motionless. “Haven’t the slightest notion.”
She heard him breathing, yet he said no more. So many questions ran through her mind, but he was clearly in no shape to tend to them just now. Surely he had dozens of his own.
Getting up, she returned to the sink.
“A reserved man can be hard to live with. . . . A woman might never know where she stands,” Mamma had said. At the time, Grace had hoped her mother was referring only to Henry.
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