“At least.” But she knew precisely. A girl never forgot her first love.
He leaned back. “What brings you to Ohio? Business or pleasure?”
My visit with you, she thought.
Her mind—no, her heart—was whirling. So much to say. “Well, I’m in the area for several reasons,” she managed to respond, embarrassed at his keen attention.
“You’ve come alone?”
She nodded. “This trip, jah.”
“You must still live in Bird-in-Hand, I assume?”
She said she did. “I married Judah Byler,” she added quickly.
“Judah?” He glanced at the ceiling, as if trying to place him. “Why, sure . . . I remember now. He was kind of a reserved fellow, wasn’t he?”
She nodded only slightly, wanting to change the subject . . . needing to. “I heard of your wife’s passing from Sarah, when your sister was visiting in Bart some weeks back. I’m so sorry to hear it.”
He thanked her, saying that Emmie’s passing was something of a blessing, because she’d suffered for so long. Then he went on. “Well, I’ll be . . . I had no idea Sarah was back there. When was this?”
“In March . . . she came to see a relative’s new baby.”
“Ah yes, our grand-niece.” He scratched his head. “Guess I failed to even send them a card. Emmie handled that sort of thing, you know.” He chuckled. “I’ve got so much to catch up on.”
“Have you lived in Fredericksburg very long?” she ventured.
“Three years now,” he said. “I’d always wanted to own a welding shop, and when this one came up for sale—less than four miles away—I snatched it right up.” He rose suddenly, going to his books. “Here’s another one of my dreams come true,” he said, waving his hand at the shelves of books. “Would you care to see some of my favorites?”
“Poetry?”
“Is there anything else?” He laughed and the sound brought her joy. “Emmie used to say my poetry books were my Bible, but that was only a joke.” Still, he was obviously attached to his fine collection of Browning, Frost, Dickinson, and several other poets she hadn’t heard of.
He brought Alfred Lord Tennyson to her and ran his finger down the list of poems on the first page—“Audley Court,” “The Beggar Maid,” “The Blackbird,” “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” . . .
“ ‘A hundred summers! can it be?’ ” he quoted from “The Day-Dream.”
Oh, she was sixteen again . . . shooing flies away from her face as she sat high in the haymow, listening intently to the rhythmic sway of his voice, the mesmerizing way he had with each stanza and measure of phrase. As if he were born to read poetry to her and to her alone.
“Emmie said I was a dichotomy—part grease monkey, part rhymester.” He glanced toward the window, surely thinking of her just now. “Not sure where she ever heard that.”
“Rhymester?” Lettie asked.
He nodded. “Guess it’s strange, but I never wrote a poem for my late wife. Wasn’t much good at it, I guess.”
He was, after all, more an interpreter of poets, she remembered, though he’d tried his hand at rhymes.
“I once wrote a decent one, though,” he said quietly. His gaze found her. “It was the day my father told us we were leaving Lancaster County.”
She sighed, heavyhearted now at the prospect of hearing what she knew he was about to say.
“I wrote the poem for you, Lettie.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on the arms of his chair. “I had no way of knowing how to get in touch,” he said. “No one seemed to know where you’d gone, or why you’d left.”
“I was out here, in Ohio . . . came with my mother to help my father’s very ill aunt.” She took a long breath. “But that wasn’t the only reason we came, Samuel.”
She’d imagined this very moment for more than a month—had even practiced her words. Somewhere in Samuel’s dining room, a clock was ticking. And out on the pretty porch the wind chime tinkled, the sound ever so haunting as it drifted through the window screen.
Samuel’s face was pensive now.
Ach, how I loved him.
Pursing her lips, she tumbled over the waterfall of the past. “The reason I’m here is to make a confession. One I should’ve made years ago.”
Seeing his furrowed brow, she paused and felt the distance of their years apart.
“Lettie?” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “What is it?”
She swallowed hard, willing herself to find the courage. “Truth is, I never should’ve left you, Samuel. Not without tellin’ you the truth.”
His fingers fidgeted on the piping along the edge of the chair.
“Ach, but I was so deceitful. And I have paid dearly for it. And . . . I’m ever so sorry.”
He frowned tenderly. “Whatever you have to say . . . please, feel free to say it, Lettie.”
Samuel had always made it easy for her to speak her mind. Her heart. “I had a baby,” she said softly. “Ours.”
He sat motionless, eyes wide. “We . . . have a child?”
She bowed her head, staring at her folded hands. “It was wrong of me not to tell you.” She was afraid she might cry. “I was nearly five months along when Mamm and I went to Kidron to stay . . . where I gave birth.”
“Oh, Lettie, I wish I’d known.”
She shook her head, drawing a shallow breath. “It was never my idea to keep such a secret—or to give up the baby.” She pulled a hankie from her sleeve. “Ach, this has weighed on me for so long.”
His face was drawn, pale. “Who else knew?”
“Only my parents at first.” She sighed heavily. “And of course my great-aunt. Then, much later, I confided in my closest sister, Naomi, but she passed away several years ago.” She told him how she’d stayed then at the same inn she’d chosen this visit, having the baby there.
“A boy or a girl?” he asked tentatively.
“Mamma hired an Amish midwife, and together they decided it was best, all round, that I wasn’t told. I never even got to see or hold the baby,” she said sadly. “Honestly, though, I had a strong feeling I’d birthed a son.”
“This is all so shocking.” Samuel’s face was filled with angst. “You see, Emmie and I always wanted children. Very much so,” he said quietly. “We yearned for our own, but Emmie wasn’t well for much of our marriage. And now you say that I had a child all along.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “And I missed it all, all the growing-up years.”
“I know, Samuel. I know. . . .”
She’d heard of Samuel and Emmie’s childless marriage from Sarah, who’d revealed the sad news when they walked together at the barn raising. “This is one of the reasons why I came lookin’ for you,” she said. “My heart broke for you, Samuel, when Sarah said you’d lost your dear wife . . . and you’d never had children.”
He glanced at the window, eyes blinking as he seemed to calculate the years. “Our child must be close to twenty-four by now.”
Brushing away tears, she nodded. “Born April twenty-ninth that year.”
Six days later than Grace’s own birthday . . . and only two days from the anniversary of Naomi’s passing. Tears slid down Lettie’s cheeks.
His eyes probed hers. “Do you have any idea where he or she might be?”
She explained that she’d hoped to find the midwife while in Kidron, with no success. “I wanted to find our child first, before coming to see you.”
A way to attempt to bridge the chasm between them, she’d realized. Oh, but their unresolved parting had taken its dreadful toll on her. And after stumbling upon Samuel’s sister, Lettie had purposed in her heart to find both Samuel and their child, to set things right. During the long nights of wandering, she’d prayed for both her child and for Samuel. Deep in thought, she’d wished for a way to find their child, but had no idea where to look. Aside from Kidron, Ohio.
“That was very thoughtful of you . . . and generous, too,” he said.
“Well, I’
m still searching for the midwife—anyone who might know something, but I’m discovering there are many hurdles.” Lettie closed her eyes, reliving the questions that continually plagued her. Does my child know how much he or she was loved? Is my son or daughter happy? Healthy?
“I would have helped you raise the baby . . . would have married you.” Samuel’s voice was strained. “That was my intention, Lettie, you must know. But I was young and my father moved us away in a failed attempt to keep his wayward son in the church,” he said. “Poor excuses, I know, but I was under my father’s roof then.”
She understood. “I, too, was under the control of my parents.” A little sob escaped. “Ach, Samuel, believe me, I wanted to keep the baby, but my parents—my mother—forced me to give the child away.”
He shook his head sadly.
“A private adoption was arranged by a local doctor after the midwife took the baby away . . . that day.”
“I’m so very sorry,” he said. “What you went through . . . alone.”
“It was a closed adoption, too, which is why this has taken much longer than I first expected. I immediately began making contacts after seeing your sister Sarah.” She paused. “I have no idea how long it’ll take.”
Samuel grew silent again, unquestionably lost in a blur of musings.
A lengthy silence prevailed; then he rose and went to stand near the bookshelves. “I took advantage of you, Lettie . . . when we were young. I apologize for that.”
“We both knew better.”
He walked to the window, his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’d like to help with your search,” he said. “But I’m tied to my work here. Perhaps I can at least assist with your travel costs.”
“Mighty kind of you, but that’s not necessary, really.” She thought of the money she’d withdrawn for the purpose of supporting her search. “Besides, my husband would not approve.”
His eyebrows rose. “Judah didn’t accompany you to Kidron, then?”
“It’s lambing season.” She gave her best excuse, not wanting to admit to having kept Judah in the dark about the trip. And the bigger secret—her child out of wedlock. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She rose and made her way to the door.
“Please, Lettie, let’s stay in touch.” He followed her outside to the porch. “How can I contact you?”
She mentioned the inn. “But I won’t be there much longer. So it’s best if I contact you, all right?”
He nodded and smiled sadly. “I appreciate your coming.” He touched her elbow. “I’m sure you’ve considered this, but you have to realize there’s always the possibility our child doesn’t wish to be found.”
“Such news could turn a person’s life upside-down, for certain,” she agreed. “Might find it horribly upsetting . . . even reject the notion.”
“And . . . what if he or she doesn’t know about being adopted? It’s a terrible risk.”
“Jah, ’tis.” Overhead, the wind chime was surprisingly still. “And I can’t be gone from my family indefinitely.” She was needed at home, for gardening and canning . . . and for the fall wedding season.
For Adam’s wedding. And for Judah.
Oh, how much she had to share with her husband. He wasn’t the easiest to talk to, but he was a good man, and he’d weathered her ups and downs through the years. Judah had no knowledge whatsoever of the baby she’d conceived with Samuel—her cherished secret.
I owe Judah an apology, too. . . .
“Well, I really must be goin’.” She moved toward the steps.
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” he said. “Be safe, Lettie.”
She turned to wave. Then, seeing her driver parked across the street, she hurried to the van, breathing more freely now. She’d accomplished what she’d come to do.
The first of many difficult steps.
That night Lettie dreamed of Judah and saw his dear face once again. He was carrying a wee lamb in his arms, giving it a baby bottle to spare the lamb’s life.
Your father’s such a gentle shepherd, Lettie had once said at the table in front of all of them, even though he was truly considered a sheep farmer. Adam had nodded, looking right quick at Grace.
When she awakened, she felt the familiar pangs of homesickness. Yet her long journey had just begun. She would search for her firstborn child, the newborn taken from her much too quickly. Torn away from her . . . out of her life.
She wept for the infant she’d lost. Mamm had deprived her of laying eyes on that sweet bundle—“the sinful result of forbidden love,” she’d said so many times Lettie believed she was, in fact, consigned to hell.
“I must forgive Mamm, too,” she said, rising to meet the day. “And Daed.”
There were times when she honestly wondered if her husband and children would even want her back . . . if they knew her secret. And if she didn’t return soon, there’d be dire talk of the Bann, too. She could easily fall into despair thinking about all that her family must be struggling with now, in her absence. And not just the amount of work left over from her leaving. No, there must be a terrible sense of rejection and the anguish of not knowing where she was or why she’d want to abandon them.
Yet, on the other hand, Lettie felt strangely relieved, as if a very heavy burden had been lifted from her. Not allowing herself to dwell on bleak thoughts, she opened the window and welcomed the warm May morning, a breeze catching the curtain, making it flutter.
I’ve come this far!
On a tree branch nearby, a jenny wren chirped happily. Then, moving away from the window, Lettie gathered up her clothes and began to pack to the cheerful song of the little bird. She was determined to locate the Amish midwife. Somehow, she would.
A favorite verse of Judah’s came to mind—one from the prophet Isaiah, in the Old Testament. And the Lord shall guide thee continually.
Bowing her head, she asked God to do just that.
chapter
thirty-three
Grace could hear the muted sound of voices coming from the Singing as she slipped around the back of Deacon Amos’s barn and leaned hard against a tree trunk facing the cornfield. The bark was still warm from the sun, fair as this Lord’s Day had been. Yet the day had also been a difficult one.
Sighing, she gathered her wits. She’d exited the barn without Henry, who had been milling about with a group of singles—fellows who were not yet engaged or seriously courting anyone. Surprisingly, Yonnie Bontrager had been among them. Surely he and Becky will pair up, like usual, she thought, glad for this moment of respite behind the barn. There, where the ministerial brethren sometimes came and stood in a cluster, hashing out church issues and whatnot.
Pressing her hands against the tree’s rough bark, she soaked up the quiet. It was impossible not to contemplate the thorny evening ahead of her—ahead of them. She’d glanced at Henry several times as they were singing with the rest of the group, pondering how best to do what she knew she must. She’d waited too long already, and she wondered what he might think of her when all was said and done.
Henry has no passion for life, she thought. Nor for me . . .
She stared at the night sky, letting her gaze drift over the wide expanse of stars and the blackness beyond. With all of her heart, she’d wanted their relationship to be mutually affectionate. And she had waited for him to make the first move toward marriage, all those months after they’d become serious . . . yearning for his marriage proposal. To think all the while Mamma had been silently suffering her own relationship problems.
The stars seemed much farther away this night, and she found herself reaching up and pinching her fingers to frame an especially bright one. Some of them were six million light years away, she’d read in a school book. In that moment, surrounded by the majesty of God’s creation, she felt ever so small.
Ach, my wants and wishes seem petty just now.
She willed herself to be content with her soon-to-be lot, since breaking up with Henry Stahl would mean
certain Maidelhood.
“A reserved man can be hard to live with,” Mamma had said. Remembering bolstered Grace’s courage. Mamma would be in favor of her breakup with Henry.
Just then, she heard voices coming from the side of the barn. Right away she knew it was Adam and his fiancée, Pris-cilla. Grace leaned to peer around the tree and held her breath to listen.
“You were gawking at me,” Priscilla spouted off. “And your face was none too approving.”
“Aw, now, Prissy . . .”
The sound of sniffles traveled to Grace. “You must not like the color of my dress,” Priscilla continued. “Is that so, Adam?”
“Never said that.”
She heard rustling now, like one of them was pacing in the tall grass a few yards from her hiding place.
They’re arguing like this . . . over a dress? She wondered if Adam had endured other such sassy encounters.
Grace had recently seen her sister, Mandy, with a new beau, Becky Riehl’s cousin. Mandy had seemed so comfortable, even joyful. In fact, this very night after the singing portion of the gathering was through, Grace had noticed several other blissfully happy couples . . . talking face to face, smiling and laughing.
Grace shook her head, annoyed at her brother for putting up with such an outspoken girl. Adam deserved better.
Then and there, the thought of so many lacking relationships weighed on her, and she hurried away from her spot to find Henry before she lost her nerve.
More than a half hour later, Grace was still waiting for Henry. He was certainly taking his time. Was he discussing fieldwork with the other fellows, perhaps? She’d considered simply leaving and walking home, but she made herself stay put right near the barn door.
Dozens of couples streamed out from the Singing as the night progressed. And such a lovely evening it was . . . still mild from the balmy day. Mandy and her beau strolled out through the open barn door, laughing and holding hands.
Waiting with as much patience as she could muster, Grace noticed Yonnie Bontrager walk through the door by himself. How peculiar it seemed, since she was accustomed to seeing him with Becky. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for her friend, having seen her earlier in the long line of girls. But Becky was nowhere around.
Secret, The Page 25