Secret, The

by Beverly Lewis

  It’s the last day of April, and I’ve been in Lancaster County for only a little more than twenty-four hours. Mom loved coming here so much, yet I miss her less here than when I’m home.

  Well, about my first day back in Plain country. I observed marked differences between Emma, a Mennonite shopkeeper who allowed me to recharge my phone, and Becky, with her Amish customs. Becky wouldn’t think of owning or driving a car, or having anything run on electricity.

  As much as I love my high-tech toys, there’s an undeniable appeal to the simple life. That’s saying a lot for moi!

  I do think it’s a good thing I was born modern, though. I couldn’t tolerate living in this thoroughly male-dominated society, even with the trade-offs. Getting to run barefoot half the year sounds good to me!

  Of course, I plan to indulge my modern side, too. The thirty-two shops at the Kitchen Kettle Village await. Looks like a hoppin’ place!

  I’ve already pinpointed three additional things I’d like to do—“must-sees,” according to Marian and Becky. First are the back-roads tours offered by the Mennonite Information Center;the second, a visit to Central Market, on the square in downtown Lancaster. And finally, the Landis Valley Museum looks fascinating. Mom and Dad took me there when I was nine, I think.I loved it then, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it even more now. This is definitely what the doctor ordered. (Well, not exactly!)

  Heather glanced across the table at Becky, who had almost completed her drawing. Maybe this trip wasn’t what the doctor had ordered, but for today, it was all the medicine she needed.

  Judah stood at the footboard and stared at Lettie’s side of the bed, his eyes lingering on her pillow. How long had it been since they’d held each other? Turning, he reached for the Good Book, bearing its weight to his chair near the bureau. He sat with a groan. Opening to the Proverbs, he read: “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.”

  The lantern on the dresser shone brightly, yet in it he saw his future, which looked downright lonely. If Lettie did not return, she would eventually be cut off by the church—no matter that she was already estranged from him.

  No wonder . . . the peculiar way we started out, he recalled. At the first Jakob Esh had been something of a go-between for Lettie and himself. Not that Judah hadn’t laid eyes on her years before and decided she was something to behold—a real catch and a natural with a baseball bat. He would have pursued her then, except she was only fourteen. Her pretty face—ach, her eyes—he’d carried the memory into his dreams. He’d set his sights on her as the girl he wanted to wed and settle down with to have a family. But being two years older, he’d waited for her, without making his intentions known.

  My first mistake, he’d thought many times since.

  Lettie, it turned out, had a mind of her own when it came to boys. Judah hadn’t foreseen that Samuel Graber, with all his fancy leanings, would beat him to the punch.

  Little good it did him in the end, he thought.

  Sitting in the stillness of his room now, Judah knew it wouldn’t have mattered a whit back then had he realized how off-putting Lettie might become. He’d loved her in spite of her sullenness and determination to have her own way. Besides, now that they were married, what could he do about it? Under God, they were joined till death separated them.

  He wiped his brow. It was one thing to speak downright pointedly to Andy Riehl, admonishing him not to put credence in gossip. It was quite another to chop off the grapevine at its root.

  chapter

  twenty-eight

  Heather pulled on her jeans, peering down at the loose-fitting waistband. This pair had fit well the last time she’d worn them, so why were they getting baggy now, after all the rich Amish food she’d been eating since arriving two days ago? Saggy jeans annoyed her, and these certainly were getting there.

  How had she managed to drop a few pounds—every girl’s ambition—while pigging out on Marian’s mouthwatering meals? Was this proof that a disease actually lurked within her body?

  Once downstairs, she followed Becky out to the chicken house, where she watched her scatter chicken feed. Heather reached into her own bucket and mimicked Becky, enjoying the swarm of chickens near her feet, some flying with a great swoosh through the air. “Wow, are they starving or what?”

  Becky laughed. “You’d think we never feed ’em.” She explained that as a young girl she’d been afraid to carry them water or to throw feed from her apron. “The chickens would fly right at me,” she said. “Nearly knocked me down.”

  These were definitely some ravenous critters. Puck, puck, they carried on, feisty in their frenzied pecking of feed.

  “Come, let’s water the horses next.” Becky motioned to Heather and glanced at her tennies. “You might want to wear older shoes or my brother’s boots, maybe?”

  “Or run barefoot?” Heather couldn’t help it; she giggled just like Becky. She tried to ignore the fears brought on by her weight loss—at least till her appointment with Dr. Marshall.

  Thursday was typically market day, but Grace was scheduled to work at Eli’s later this afternoon. Since she was needed at home to cook the noon meal, going straight to Bart after breakfast would work best.

  On the way to the phone shanty, she was surprised to see Dat just hanging up the receiver. His hair was all clean and shiny, minus his straw hat. “You must be headin’ somewhere, too,” she said.

  “Martin’s comin’ by in a few minutes,” he replied.

  “Oh, would ya mind if I share the ride?”

  Dat shook his head. “Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  They turned back toward the house, walking along the left side of the road, as she’d always walked to school. Here lately, those days seemed like another lifetime ago.

  Dat didn’t mention where he was heading, so she decided not to mention her destination, either—not unless he asked outright. She wondered how he’d react if he knew. Likely he won’t say anything.

  Her father’s lack of communication could be maddening at times—Mamma had all but admitted to feeling the same. Like any married couple, she and Dat had experienced disagreements. Why was it, once two people tied the knot, their troubles seemed to surface?

  Grace had secretly read a love poem in one of Mamma’s books. According to that, marital happiness was simply a matter of being willing to give yourself fully to your beloved. Had Mamma read it, too?

  Something akin to dying to one’s self, as the Lord commands?

  She walked silently with Dat, pondering these things and wondering if she might ever feel so terribly frustrated with Henry . . . years from now.

  Enough to leave him?

  Once again, Grace was amazed by how talkative Dat could be as he hashed over the planting season and the weather with Martin Puckett while they rode. Was he bending over backward to indulge their driver because of the appalling rumors?

  It surprised her, as well, to see what a short distance Dat was going today by van. Normally he’d hitch up the horse and buggy to go to the bank, his first destination. He mentioned to Martin he needed to withdraw some cash to pay his bill at the harness shop, which was his next stop.

  Martin pulled over and parked.

  “Won’t be but a minute,” Dat said.

  Even though she was anxious to get to Bart, Grace didn’t mind sitting and waiting for her father. His errands wouldn’t take long, and it would be no time before she and Martin were on their way south.

  The banking line was longer than usual, and here Judah had been so sure he’d beat the morning crowd. He had filled out his withdrawal slip before ever leaving the house, and he noticed several other Plain folk ahead of him, mostly young mothers with children in tow.

  Where are you today, Lettie? he wondered while watching two small girls play behind their mother’s long skirt.

  When he stepped up to the teller window, he handed the clerk his withdrawal slip with the requested amount and his account number, along with his pic
tureless ID—like a driver’s license of sorts, without the photograph. The English locals had made this provision for the many Amish residents, and he was mighty grateful not to have to squabble over the church ordinance on yet another issue. Enough of that went on already.

  “I’ll need your code word, please, Mr. Byler,” the clerk said, sliding a small blank piece of paper toward him.

  Quickly he scribbled the name of Grace’s beloved horse, Willow, and returned it to the clerk. She counted out the bills and handed him a receipt and a printout of the balance of his account.

  Looking at it, he realized there had been a mistake. “Excuse me,” he said. “The balance is too low.” He leaned forward, not wanting to make a scene. “Much lower than I expected.”

  The clerk asked if he wanted to see a list of his recent account activity, to which he nodded. She ran it through the printer, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Martin’s van in the parking lot. He almost wished he’d come by horse and buggy instead, not wanting to keep Martin—and Grace—waiting. Of course, he couldn’t have predicted the bank mix-up. The nagging pain in his neck worsened.

  The clerk handed him the sheet and pointed to the transaction for Wednesday, April 23. Five thousand dollars had been withdrawn in the form of cash that day.

  His breath caught in his throat, but he managed to thank the clerk and move away from the teller window.

  Lettie?

  Staring at the printout, he shuddered to think his wife had withdrawn money from their joint account without asking, or even mentioning it after the fact. Nearly the sum total of her earnings from last summer’s market sales had vanished on the day of Grace’s birthday.

  So, Lettie must’ve planned her trip down to the penny, Judah thought. Truly, it appeared she was not coming home any time soon . . . if ever.

  When Dat appeared at the bank entrance, looking ashen, Grace wondered if perhaps there had been a problem. But he quietly got in the front seat next to Martin without saying a peep about anything amiss.

  Naturally, he wouldn’t, she decided. Yet it seemed odd that he had ceased his previous chatter.

  By the time they arrived at the harness shop, Grace wondered if her father might be feeling ill. As Martin turned into the parking area for the harness shop, Dat said, “Listen, Martin, I think I’ll stay round here for a while.”

  “Fine by me,” Martin replied.

  “What do I owe ya for Gracie and me?”

  Martin told him the amount, then added, “It’ll be a while before I get back here to pick you up, if that suits you.”

  “Oh, I can easily hitchhike a buggy ride home.” Dat glanced at Grace just then. “I’ll see ya for dinner at noon, jah?”

  That was all he said—no inquiry about where she might be going today. Doesn’t he care to know?

  She nodded and forced a smile. Mamma had always said Dat’s appetite for food was one of his primary concerns. When he closed the door, she felt overwhelmed by sadness.

  As they rode, Grace observed the familiar landmarks on South Ronks Road . . . then Fairview Road and eventually down to the main street in Strasburg. She looked longingly at the creamery on the northeast corner as they waited for the red light. Henry had taken her there late last summer, when they’d first started dating, coming all this way for ice cream on a Saturday night. He’d been so uncomfortable and shy, he’d said scarcely one word that evening, she recalled.

  Sighing, she leaned her head against the window, not sure who baffled her more these days: her father or her fiancé.

  Judah breathed in the rich, leathery scent of the harness shop. It was one of his favorite places for that reason alone. Intensely aware of his mounting neck pain, he wondered if he might be on the verge of a stroke. His great-aunt had suffered with such pain for months prior to the brainstem bleed that eventually took her life.

  There were times when he could not make sense of what he truly felt about Lettie’s departure. And now this—it was unthinkable for her to withdraw such a large sum without discussing it. Was her need for money the reason she’d struggled so to tell him? And why hadn’t she contacted him or anyone else since leaving? Her exasperating silence struck him as uncaring and downright cold.

  He reached in his pocket to fish for an aspirin and found none. If the excruciating pain didn’t subside soon, he’d have to see a doctor. Prob’ly should’ve before now, he thought, waiting his turn for the smithy, who was finishing shoeing a horse.

  Hurry up and wait today . . .

  Hazily, he heard his name spoken behind him.

  “Judah Byler! I was hopin’ to see you this week.”

  Turning, Judah saw a tall blond man in his early twenties. He’d slipped in the door unnoticed till now.

  “Yonnie Bontrager.” The young fellow offered an engaging smile and a solid handshake in return. “Will you spare me a minute, sir?” He explained that he’d planned to stop by the house. “But since you’re here . . .”

  Judah nodded, unsure what the boy could want.

  “Gut, then.” Yonnie’s grin was infectious. “I’ll wait out by my buggy.”

  When the smithy finished up with his other customer, he caught Judah’s eye and hurried to the back room to get Judah’s repaired harness. Soon he returned, hauling it out and laying it down on the long table. “You’ll be glad to know the amount came to less than we’d agreed on. Don’t hear that too often, jah?”

  Judah nodded and pulled out his wallet. Every little bit helps . . . ’specially now, he thought. While tallying up the correct amount of cash, he recalled the bank clerk’s hushed counting of these same bills. And his sinking feeling when he realized Lettie had taken so much for herself.

  He slung the harness over his shoulder and headed outside. Yonnie stood near his horse and open carriage.

  “Here, let me help.” Yonnie took the harness and carried it to his own buggy, lugging it inside. “Looks like you could use a ride home.” Going around to the driver’s side, he hopped into the courting buggy. “That is, if you don’t mind ridin’ in my new wheels.”

  One ride’s as good as another, Judah decided and got in.

  Yonnie’s eyes grew serious now as he reached for the reins. “If it’s not too forward, I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Speak your mind,” Judah said absently.

  Yonnie pulled out onto the road, letting the horse trot a ways before speaking again. “Would it be too much to ask . . . well, to give your blessing for me to court your daughter Grace?”

  Judah had never heard of such a request. Certainly, among some of the more conservative Mennonites—even the Brethren folk—the potential groom was expected to ask the girl’s father for her hand in marriage but not prior to merely courting. “I believe Grace is spoken for,” said Judah, looking at Yonnie.

  “Puh! I’m too late, then?”

  “You’d know better ’bout who’s pairing up at Singings and whatnot.”

  Yonnie raised his eyebrows. “Glory be, if Grace’s spoken for, she doesn’t look too happy ’bout it.”

  Judah flinched. Grace was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but not for the reason Yonnie now assumed. “Tell you what: I won’t stand in your way if Grace wants ya. How’s that?”

  Yonnie patted his hat and gave a whoop. He clucked his tongue and the horse moved from a trot to a near gallop.

  Now, here’s a boy in love, thought Judah, thinking back to his own courting days.

  There had been a mighty stir among the area youth when Samuel Graber started showing up at Singings before the appointed time. He was only fifteen, if that, when he first came and sat high on the bales of hay, just watching the youth sing. Nearly staring them down, some said. Gawking, said others.

  Then, when some of the couples started pairing up, Samuel wandered around the barn, always with a book tucked under his arm and a pencil stuck atop his ear. Some of the girls thought he was getting ideas for poetry, but Judah didn’t know what to make of that. Sometimes he struc
k up a conversation with a couple, or several girls, and other times he simply strolled along the perimeter of the social gathering. Then, after a time, he went and sat again, making drawings of faces and profiles in his notebook, or writing snippets of rhyme.

  There was enough hearsay to know this Samuel was mighty strange. And Samuel seemed to know, somehow, that he wasn’t truly accepted by the other youth, but that didn’t seem to discourage him one iota. He continued to overstep his bounds by attending all the youth-related events.

  Then, along about the time Lettie Esh started attending the get-togethers, Samuel suddenly quit coming. Later, word had it he was seeing Lettie on the sly at her house—according to two of her sisters, anyway. Samuel was known to go over there several times a week, which was considered giving a girl the rush—nobody did anything like that. Not that Judah had heard of, anyway. Still, none of that seemed to matter to Lettie, and the two of them were frequently seen after the common meal on Sundays, their heads nearly touching as she sat behind the barn with him, watching him write in his so-called poetry book.

  Meanwhile, Judah realized he’d dallied and hadn’t acted quickly enough. More of an observer than a go-getter, he’d lost his chance with Lettie—and to Samuel, of all fellows. Samuel, who wasn’t too keen on following the Lord in holy baptism, or taking the required instruction to join church. Some said he was working on getting Lettie to “see the light, too” and making other disturbing remarks against the church.

  Judah figured if that was the kind of fellow he was, then Let-tie must be on the fringes, too, or heading there. So Judah began seeing other girls, hoping to find a devout, hard-working wife from among the remaining group of eligible young women.

  Months passed, and by the time he heard that Lettie Esh and her mother had gone to assist an ailing aunt out in Ohio for a time, Samuel Graber and his poetry books were long gone.