My heart beat a little faster. “Could I see those papers?”
“Sure. They are still there in the right bottom drawer, in a manila envelope.” She opened the oven door and pricked the corn bread with a fork. As she stood, she added, “Now that I think about it, there were some documents in there too. You’re welcome to take a look if you want.”
I hurried into the living room and knelt beside the large pedestal desk. It was definitely an antique and well worn. The top was stained with ink, and the sides were marred. I knew Mamm hoped Daed would refinish it when he had some extra time. Scuffed up or not, I had always loved the desk, and as a child I used to sit at it and write and think, having no interest in what was inside. Now there was nothing I wanted more than to examine the contents of that bottom drawer.
I opened it and found the packet. Holding it to my chest, I retreated back to my room. After opening the envelope, I spread the contents across my bed, sorting the items slowly into piles. Sure enough, I found recipes, but also some official-looking documents, including marriage certificates, death certificates, birth certificates, and then a bundle of papers tied with a string.
I carefully sorted through the small stack, realizing these papers were all church related. There were a few death notices and a couple of letters about membership, but not for anyone I knew. Then again, I decided to compare the names to the family tree, just to be sure.
After that, I came across a document that made me do a double take. I didn’t recognize the names of the people involved, but what struck me was how odd it was to see something like this in writing. In the Amish church, any sin could be forgiven if the sinner was willing to confess and repent, but the process was always a verbal one, not something anyone would ever write down. Yet this looked to be just that: a confession and statement of repentance, signed by the sinner and his presiding bishop. Continuing on through the pile, I found several more of these, including one for a man who had conducted a dishonest business dealing and another for a woman who had stolen her neighbor’s cow. Then I came to another, and it stole my breath away. It was the church document Verna had told me about, the excommunication declaration and subsequent signed confession of Bernard, Gorg, and Abigail.
The ink had faded and the handwriting was hard to decipher, but I lit my lamp and held the brittle page underneath it.
The document was dated 11 April 1765, and the message was brief:
We, the undersigned, do willingly declare that we betrayed, both in word and deed, the Conestoga Indians, a tribe known to be peaceful, God-fearing, brothers and sisters in Christ.
We now confess these sins to God and His church, requesting to be reinstated to the fellowship and the faith.
At the bottom, it had been signed by four people: Bernard, George, Abigail, and somebody named Ingemar Joblenz, who I assumed was the bishop involved.
With the document still in my hand, I sank down on the edge of my bed. It wasn’t as if I’d found the rest of the chapbook, but at least now I knew that whatever happened to harden Abigail’s and the others’ hearts against the Conestogas hadn’t defined their entire lives. According to this, they had confessed and reconciled with the church in the end.
Late Monday afternoon, as I double-checked the bag I’d packed to take to Frannie’s, the sound of a buggy turning into our drive sent me dashing to the window. It was Daed! I’d been waiting all afternoon for him to come back from Rod’s.
I ran down the stairs and through the kitchen, grabbing my cape, banging open the back door, and tearing toward the barn.
He had pulled the buggy to a stop.
“Did you get the boxes?” I called out.
“Whoa,” Daed said, climbing down to the ground. “How about a hello first?”
I ducked my head, acknowledging my bad manners.
He nodded toward the back of the buggy. “Rod wasn’t sure where everything might be, but he did manage to locate one box of papers and he promised to root around for the rest.”
“Danke,” I said, both thrilled to get one box but disappointed to not have everything in my possession. With a new baby, Rod and Ruth Ann probably didn’t have much time to go poking around in the attic or basement. As soon as I had a day off, I would hire a driver if I had to and offer to do the poking around myself.
I hurried to the back, tugging on the wooden box until I could get both of my hands on it.
“I’ll carry it in,” Daed said, coming toward me.
It was heavy but not impossibly so. “I have it,” I said, lifting the box in my arms.
I took it straight to my room, knowing I only had about twenty minutes before supper—just long enough for a quick perusal. I went through it all, skimming the papers for the missing pages of the chapbook or another, intact copy.
Sadly, I found neither. Of course, other things of importance could be in here, so I decided to take the box to Frannie’s with me and use my downtime there to sort through it more slowly. But overall, I was deeply disappointed. I simply had to find those pages and learn the rest of the story.
The next morning, I told Mamm goodbye and then Daed drove me to Klara and Alexander Rupp’s farm, where Frannie lived.
On the way over, he asked about the box he’d brought the day before, if it had done any good and what, exactly, I’d been hoping to find. I reminded him of the chapbook and explained I was on a quest to recover the missing pages.
I sighed, gazing at a covered bridge up ahead. “I just don’t understand why anyone would cut up something like that.”
He didn’t comment right away, but a few minutes later, once we’d crossed over the creek, he ventured some guesses.
“There might have been shame—for someone in the family—in helping the Indians or in harming them. Perhaps there was fear. There were certainly Plain people who were terrified by the Indians and who didn’t protect them the way they should have.”
“But why destroy just half the book? If that was the case, why not just get rid of it completely?”
He shrugged. “Maybe someone didn’t want a particular person in the family to know the story but still wanted the early history of the family known someday.”
“Maybe so,” I said, wondering if I would ever find out.
NINETEEN
When we reached the Rupps’ farm, Daed offered to carry my stuff into the daadi haus for me, so we said our goodbyes in the driveway. As he loaded up and began walking toward the back of the property, I moved to the door of the main house and knocked on the door.
I expected things to be a little confusing at Klara’s, but I wasn’t prepared for the turmoil going on inside. Alexander let me in, saying as he did, “Izzy, ach, I’m ever so thankful you’re here.” He wore his work coat and gloves and looked as if he was heading out to the field. “They’re in the kitchen. Go on in.”
“Danke.”
“Izzy’s here!” he called out.
As soon as I stepped inside, he slipped out. I peeled off my cape, hung it on a peg to the right of the door, and headed through the living room to the kitchen.
Pots and pans were stacked on the stove and counters. Marta stood at the sink, tackling a mountain of dirty dishes. She wore a lavender print dress, and her rounded kapp sat back on her head a little too far, as if it had been knocked askew and she’d not had a chance to set it right again. She turned toward me and said a quick hello, swiping at the beads of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand, even though the house was cool.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
Klara, who was as thin as her sister Marta was plump, leaned against the counter with one hand and clutched the small of her back with the other. She greeted me too and then said, “We’re running a little behind. We had quite the day yesterday. Ada was over with little Abraham, but he got sick. She was afraid it was the flu, so she left in a hurry, hoping not to expose all of us.”
“And then I got called away for a birth,” Marta added.
“And then our neighbor need
ed Alexander’s help with a pipe that burst, and he didn’t get back until late. Needless to say, I couldn’t keep up with what needed to be done.”
“Wow. How’s Abe?”
Marta sighed. “I thought he just had too many cookies, but Ada said he threw up last night and was running a fever this morning, so I guess I was wrong.”
Poor Abe. I hoped the illness would run its course quickly and that no one else would come down with the same thing.
I looked to the two women and asked where to jump in. “Should I take over with the dishes?”
“No, why don’t you handle the linens,” Klara said. “We had a hospital bed and table delivered yesterday, and Alexander adapted it to work with a battery. It’s out in the daadi haus, right in the living room. The sheets should be out there as well. Once you’ve made up the bed, come back to help Marta.”
Marta glanced at me over her shoulder and added, “Thank you for coming to us like this, Izzy. There’s no one else we’d rather have.” She glanced at Klara and then back at me, adding, “I know it’s a sacrifice for you.”
I shrugged, thankful she hadn’t said “effort” or “stretch.” I considered reassuring her I was better in that regard since talking with Ella, but it was too complicated to go into right then.
“It won’t be easy,” Klara said, “but at least Ada should be able to spell you some. And as soon as my back is better, I’ll help. In the meantime, I’ll keep up with the organization of Mamm’s care—orchestrating meds, that sort of thing. We’ll all work together to get her better.”
It turned out the sheets weren’t in the daadi haus; they were still on the line. Ada had washed them the day before, but after she’d left in a hurry no one else had remembered to retrieve them. Thankful it hadn’t rained, I collected the sheets and the full load of towels that were out there too and hauled them all into the main house so Klara could tell me where everything went.
Once I’d dumped my load on the kitchen table, Marta helped me fold while Klara sat in a chair, icing her back.
“I know you folks are relieved Frannie’s finally coming home,” I said as I reached for a pillowcase.
The two sisters glanced at each other, and I was reminded that Frannie’s being sent home from the hospital was probably more of a hospice-type decision than an indication of any improvement. I asked about her prognosis and then braced myself for the answer.
“It was a hemorrhagic stroke, which is the worst,” Marta said.
Klara nodded. “She had one a few years ago.”
I knew that from Zed.
Marta continued. “Klara was with her this time and was able to get help for her immediately. So at least the damage isn’t as bad as it could have been, meaning she could have easily died. She can still talk, and her mind is mostly clear, but she’s very weak, much more so on her left side. She wants to come home. She thinks her time is close.”
“She wants to be with family,” Klara added, “so we’ve contacted the ones who live out of town, and it looks as though most of them are going to try to get here.”
“Really?” I asked, wondering if that included Zed. His Christmas break wouldn’t start for another ten days, and though I would love to have him here sooner, I hated the thought of him missing school, especially at the end of the semester.
“First to arrive will be our niece Lexie,” Marta said as she folded a towel. “She lives in Oregon, but she’s coming out as soon as she can. Once she gets here, my patient load will lighten enough that I can jump in more with Mamm.”
I nodded. Zed was crazy about Lexie. He would be thrilled to learn she was coming.
“Is her husband coming too?”
“James? Not at first,” Klara said. “Maybe later, if need be.”
I assumed “if need be” probably meant if and when Frannie died. “Who else?” I asked, suddenly grateful Ella had brought me up to speed on all of the family dynamics.
“Zed, once school gets out on the thirteenth. If Ella is able to get away from the bakery by then, she will travel with him. Luke would most likely come as well.”
Both women were quiet for a moment, and then Marta added in a soft voice, “Giselle. Our sister from Switzerland. She might come.”
Klara made a face.
Marta turned to her and spoke defensively. “It would be good for Mamm. You know how much she longs to see her.”
Klara shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but not really pulling it off. “Personally, I think it would be too much for Mamm right now. For everyone, really.”
Marta’s eyes filled with tears, something I’d never seen before. “I don’t think that should be a factor in anyone’s decision. We don’t have much time left. If Giselle is ever going to come, she should come now.”
My hand practically trembled as I placed the folded pillowcase on the table, unnerved by Marta’s tears and the tension in the room. No one said a word for a long moment. I searched for something to say that would set the sisters on a different course. “Where will everyone sleep?”
“Klara and I have been talking about that,” Marta said. “Giselle may want to stay in a hotel, but Lexie—and James, if he comes—can stay at Ada’s. Zed, Ella, and Luke will stay with me.”
I turned to Klara. “I’m surprised Frannie hasn’t insisted everyone just stay here so they’ll all be around her as much as possible. Certainly, this big old house has enough bedrooms.” Even as I said it, I realized it may have come out sounding presumptuous, but neither one seemed to take offense.
Marta answered for her sister, a towel tucked under her chin as she folded it in thirds. “That was the original plan, but with Klara’s back out, I’d rather not burden her with any extra cooking and cleaning if we don’t have to. Of course, anyone who really wants to stay here would no doubt be welcome to, I’m sure.”
She glanced at Klara, who paused a long moment and then replied, “Ya, anyone except Giselle.”
The medical van carrying Frannie arrived just after lunch. We were ready for her, the sheets tucked into the corners, her favorite quilt spread across the bed, and her house scrubbed clean. We managed to get her inside and all set up, and then she fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.
There was still more to do in the main house, and Alexander needed to get back outside, so once Frannie was asleep, Klara and Marta left her in my care and returned to their other duties. After so much noise and commotion, the daadi haus felt blissfully silent, the only sound the steady if somewhat raspy breathing coming from the bed.
Glancing around the tiny living room, which was nearly eclipsed by the large hospital bed, I decided the best place for me to sit when I was with her was on a small padded chair to her right, between the bed and the wall. The room was cramped but not uncomfortably so, with a recliner shoved in on the other side of the room next to a settee. As in the main house, the daadi haus had an open floor plan, so from where I sat I could see the whole kitchen, as well as the hall that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms.
Later, I would dig out my handwork and pass the time that way, but for now I simply watched Frannie sleep.
Without her kapp, I could see how thin her hair was. Her face looked peaceful, her eyelids nearly translucent, and her skin amazingly unwrinkled considering her eighty-four years. I thought of my own Mammi and how I used to sit by her side for hours at a time when I was little, right up until the evening before she died.
As I had told Ella when she and I talked about it, I was heartbroken after Mamm explained that my grandmother had died during the night. I hadn’t expected it. I’d thought she’d go on staying in bed, with me visiting her and holding her water glass and listening to her stories, until I was grown. Why hadn’t anyone prepared me? Instead, it was one of those times when my mamm and sisters said I was being too sensitive and over-reacting and not being able to accept God’s will. That wasn’t it. I just felt the loss, deeply.
Thinking of that time now, I was nearly on the verge of tears. But then I heard footstep
s outside and managed to pull myself together just as the door was opening.
“Getting settled?” Marta asked, coming into the room and stepping toward her mother.
I simply nodded.
She rested her hand on the silver bars at the foot of the bed. “Mamm’s meds are in the kitchen, and the next dose is at three. If Klara doesn’t bring her pills out here to you, be sure to go in and get them. She’s resting her back now, and she may fall asleep.”
“Of course. No problem.”
“You’ll see that I brought easy-to-swallow things for Mamm to eat, like soup and yogurt. She should be able to take that kind of food without too much trouble.”
“Thank goodness she can still swallow.”
“I know. I’m afraid her mobility will be limited, though.”
I nodded. I expected that. I could handle the physical care just fine. It was the emotional part that concerned me.
“And, of course, there are groceries in the fridge for you.” Her eyes looked tired. “Though you’re welcome to have some of the soup too if you would prefer that.”
“Danke,” I said, thinking of all the times I’d fed Freddy soup when he was ill. Marta and I had made a pretty good team back then, and I felt sure we would find our rhythm again this time as well. “Which bedroom should I use while I’m here?”
She gestured toward the hallway. “There are only two. Use the guest room at the end of the hall.”
“Okay.”
“If you have any work for Susie, I’d be happy to deliver it. I drive by there nearly every day.”
“Wonderful. I’ll give some to you tomorrow.” I’d finished the last runner while on the bus ride home from Indiana, but I still needed to press it.
Marta glanced at her watch. “I’m heading out for now. Do you have everything you need?”
I assured her we were all set and would be fine. She didn’t seem too confident about that, but I didn’t take it personally. She was worried about her mamm, that was all.
We’d been so busy since I arrived that I hadn’t had the chance to unpack, so after she left I decided to start with that. Daed had left my stuff—my handwork bag, a small suitcase, and the box from Rod’s—piled in a corner of the living room. I carted it to the back bedroom in two trips and then hung up my clothes and used a drawer in the bureau for everything else.
The Amish Seamstress Page 23