“Ya, how are you?” Mamm asked, stepping to the end of the bed.
“Gut. So much better there are no words.”
“Well,” Mamm said, chuckling. “It sounds as if my Izzy is some caregiver.”
Frannie smiled. “She is, of course, but there’s more.”
“Oh?” Mamm stepped closer but as she did the sound of footsteps fell again on the porch. I hoped it would be Alexander. It wasn’t. Klara shuffled in, holding her back as straight as possible.
“Oh, my,” she said as she stepped inside. Looking at her mother, she added, “You’re having quite the gathering. I take it you’re having a good day.”
“Ya,” Frannie responded. “The best.”
“She was just about to tell me her good news,” my mamm said.
“Oh?” Klara looked from Frannie to Marta to me and then finally to my mother, who, in a moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty, said, “Weren’t you, Frannie?”
“Ya, I was.”
Again there was a pause.
Finally Klara said, “And?”
Marta took a step toward Klara. “Giselle is coming. She already bought her ticket.”
Klara froze.
My mamm must have felt the tension because she said, “I’d best go so I’m home before dark.”
Seemingly relieved by the interruption, Marta thanked her and so did Frannie. I walked her to the door. “Leave me a message,” she said.
I nodded and told her goodbye.
Once I’d closed the door, I made a point of heading to the kitchen, out of everyone’s way, but the room was silent until finally Klara spoke.
“When is she coming?”
“Tomorrow night,” Marta said.
“And when is Lexie arriving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Well, at least that gives you a chance to talk to Lexie ahead of time and let her know her biological mother will be here too.” She stepped away from the bed. “I guess I’ll go leave that same message for Ada now.”
I felt a pang of concern for Klara as I watched her leave. She walked slowly toward the door and left without saying goodbye. She seemed frail and much older.
Marta, still at her mother’s side, reached out and took Frannie’s hand.
Later, once everyone was gone, Frannie awoke from a nap and I fed her a bowl of soup. Then, as I ate one too, I showed her the embroidered bookmark. She held it tenderly in her hands. The blue thread had nearly faded, making the words hard to read. She traced them with her fingers as I said, “My help cometh from the Lord.”
“Ah,” she said. “Psalm 121:2. My mother quoted that verse at times, I think as a reminder to me. But it was a favorite of my grandmother’s also.” Obviously it had been a favored verse of someone else’s too.
I told her I planned to make bookmarks like this for her daughters and granddaughters.
“That’s a wunderbar idea,” she said. “Danke.”
I sat back down with one of her nightgowns to mend. There was a small tear in a shoulder seam. As I stitched the worn fabric, she stared at her hands.
“A penny for your thoughts,” I finally said.
She raised her thin eyebrows and said, “I was just thinking about Klara. We all came to terms with the truth in the family a few years ago. I thought healing had taken place then—and I think it did. But she’s still unsettled.”
I didn’t respond, hoping my silence would encourage her to say more.
She sighed. “Guess it’s just our nature, ya?”
“Maybe once she sees Giselle in person she can put it all to rest.”
Frannie didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.
I finished the nightgown and then cut out the bookmarks from fabric I’d brought along. I also had some interfacing with me that I would use between the two pieces of linen, but first I would do the embroidery.
At nine o’clock, Frannie stirred and awoke enough for me to get her ready for bed. She assured me she wouldn’t have any trouble getting back to sleep. She was right. By ten o’clock she was snoring gently.
I took the lamp with me down the hall to my room and dressed for bed myself. As I climbed in under the sheets, I picked up Native Americans in Colonial America from the nightstand. I knew I shouldn’t read about something so troubling at bedtime lest I have nightmares, but I needed to push the events of the day out of my mind, and I knew a little research could help with that. I still wanted to learn more details about the massacre itself, so I flipped through the book to where I’d stopped before.
I skimmed several pages, trying to focus on the facts and not the gory details. The account said that twenty Conestoga were left living at Indian Town at the time of the massacre, but only a handful were there the morning in mid-December when the attack took place. The rest were off working.
Following the massacre, the remaining Conestoga were moved to Lancaster Workhouse for their protection, but the killers came back two weeks later and completed their mission by murdering those Indians as well. Of course, that was the official version. Remembering the article Zed had left for me at Ella’s house, I knew the Indians may not have been hiding in the Workhouse but rather praying in a church when it happened. Either way, what had been done to them was unconscionable.
I skimmed to the end of the chapter, where a Christian Shawnee chief was quoted as saying, “The white man prays with words while the Indian prays in his heart.”
Closing the book, I couldn’t help but agree with him to an extent. Lying there, I thought about all the suffering the Native Americans had endured at the hands of the settlers, and for some reason it made me want to cry. I knew violence had been on both sides, but tonight my heart was with the Indians.
A branch scraped against the siding, startling me. I twisted down the wick in the lamp until it went out, and then I scooted down so the quilt was up to my nose.
That’s when the tears finally began to come.
As they did, I tried to figure out what was making me so sad. It wasn’t just the story of the massacre.
It was the thought of Frannie dying, I supposed. It was the thought of Zed showing up and not loving me the same way I loved him. And Lexie coming out from Oregon. And maybe even Giselle arriving. Wiping my eyes, I decided that most of all it was the drama of the Lantz family.
I wasn’t sure if I could handle it or not.
The next morning, as Frannie napped and I was finishing up the breakfast dishes, I heard a knock on the front door. When I answered it, I was surprised to find my daed standing there, holding a box.
I gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”
He smiled. “I imagine so. I went out to Rod’s again. He said he finally had a chance to take a good look around for Verna’s papers and was able to track down everything.”
Grinning, I glanced toward the driveway and my father’s buggy. “So there’s more?”
“Ya, but not with me. All that was left besides this box was a big wooden trunk too heavy to move.” Daed must have seen the disappointment on my face because he quickly added, “Rod told me to let you know you’re welcome to come out and look through it anytime you want. And for now at least you have this.”
He was right. With a grateful smile I took the box from his arms and thanked him for his efforts. He simply nodded and said he had to be on his way. He had a table to deliver.
The moment he was gone, I checked on the still-sleeping Frannie and then carried the box straight back to my room. Placing it on the foot of my bed, I took a deep breath, opened the lid, and began to dig in. The contents didn’t seem promising at first, but eventually I struck gold. Within the first fifteen minutes I found three more copies of the chapbook!
Ecstatic, I flipped through the first one only to find that it had been cut at the same place as the one Verna and I had found. I grabbed the second. It had also been cut. So had the third, although not quite as close to the margin. I could make out a few letters, but no words, along
the edge. Incredible. Someone really had intentionally removed the rest of the story, just as Verna and I had thought, but not just in that one copy. They had done it in all of them.
For a moment frustration nearly overwhelmed me, but that feeling soon turned to determination. I had to learn the whole truth of this situation, no matter what.
I couldn’t fathom what horrible thing could have happened to Abigail and Gorg to turn them into Paxton Boys’ sympathizers and almost be excommunicated. Especially not after Abigail had so dearly loved Konenquas. My imagination soared, but nothing I came up with made sense.
A short time after noon, as I sat beside Frannie’s bed working on a bookmark for Klara, a knock startled me.
Frannie stirred a little but didn’t wake. I put my work on the edge of her bed and hurried to the door, expecting a member of my family again.
Instead, I swung the door open and found Lexie Jaeger Nolan, Frannie’s granddaughter. She hadn’t changed at all and was still as beautiful as ever. Today her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her brown eyes smiled. “Izzy,” she said, giving me a hug.
She came inside and stepped to the foot of the bed as I closed the door behind her.
Her eyes immediately fell on the sleeping Frannie. Lexie asked, “How is she?”
“Tired this morning. She has good days and bad. Some when she’s super alert. Others where she wants to sleep.”
“Is she eating?”
“Ya, but just soup and porridge. A couple of spoonfuls of yogurt. But not much.” I grabbed my embroidery off the bed. “You should wake her. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
I moved away from the bed so Lexie could take my place. She took her coat off and set it on the chair and then leaned down closer to Frannie. “Mammi,” she said. “It’s me. Lexie.”
Frannie stirred a little, opened one eye and then closed it.
“Mammi,” Lexie said again.
The older woman turned her head toward us. This time she opened both eyes. “Giselle?”
“No, Lexie.”
“Oh, you’re here.” Frannie reached for her granddaughter. “I’m so glad you came.”
Lexie patted her grandmother’s hand and asked how she was.
“So happy we’re all going to be together.”
“Ya,” Lexie said, although her voice sounded hesitant.
Frannie’s voice cracked. “You’ll get to meet Giselle. At last.”
“Ya,” Lexie said again, this time hitting the right inflection. “Aunt Marta just told me.”
I stepped to the end of the bed, pretty sure I had a front row seat to a story better than any Englisch movie as I imagined Giselle and Lexie—birth mother and daughter—together at last.
Footsteps fell on the porch again, and this time when the door opened, in came Klara.
“Lexie. I thought it might be you,” she said without even a hello first.
The younger woman rose and stepped toward her aunt, giving her a hug.
Klara spoke quietly. “Are you as apprehensive about all of this as I am?”
“I’m not sure,” Lexie said, her voice barely a whisper. “I only just found out a few minutes ago from Aunt Marta.”
Klara nodded and they were both quiet for a moment.
“How is Ada?” Lexie asked, and I remembered that the two sisters, separated as small children by adoption, had become the best of friends once they were reunited as adults.
Klara smiled. “So excited about seeing you. She’s going to come by with the kids after a while.”
“Yay!” Lexie replied, a grin lighting up her pretty face. Then she looked at her watch and added, “At some point I should take a nap. I’m exhausted from the flight. Do you mind if I crash on your couch later?”
“If crash means sleep, then by all means, feel free. Better yet, why don’t you use one of the empty bedrooms upstairs?”
Lexie thanked her and then Klara said to come on over when she was ready. “I’m going to go ice my back.”
After she left, Lexie offered to spell me. “You could go for a walk,” she said. “Or have some time in your room.”
That’s when I realized I hadn’t had much space to myself, but I hadn’t missed it either. Sitting with Frannie was so peaceful that I hadn’t needed my usual quota of quiet.
Nevertheless, I took Lexie up on her offer, grabbing a pen and paper and then stopping in the entryway to slip on my boots and cape. I’d been thinking about Abigail’s chapbook and the minute possibility that a copy might have ended up in a local library or museum or historical society somehow. When I’d mentioned that to Verna, back when we first discovered the chapbook, she’d told me it wasn’t likely. But now, with nowhere else to look, I decided to give it a shot anyway, just in case.
I stepped onto the pathway, taking in the vast pewter sky that looked as if it might send down a snowstorm at any time. I headed straight to the barn, to the bench where Alexander and Klara kept their phone. Thankfully, a phone book was next to it and I opened it, looking for places to contact and then making a list of local historical societies and museums. I didn’t want to take time to call now, and I was never all that comfortable using a phone anyway, so I decided I would give the list to Zed once he got home and let him follow up on it.
As I left, some movement caught my eye, and I turned and spotted Alexander at the far outside corner of the barn, praying. I hurried on, not wanting him to see me. I veered off to the left, breathing in the cold air as I reached the trail along the creek. It was too muddy and the water was too high to walk beside it, so finally I came to a stop, exhaling slowly, the vapor from my breath swirling in front of my face.
I enjoyed the quiet for a long moment, thinking about the sight of Alexander on his knees before God. I knew he had forgiven Giselle for all she had done to him and Klara back then, which just went to show what a good man he was. No doubt, today’s prayer was for his wife, for her anxiety over the return of the sister who had wrought such havoc in their home so long ago.
On the other hand, I thought, if not for Giselle and all that she’d done back then, Klara and Alexander would never have had the opportunity to raise Ada. Perhaps as he prayed for his wife to have peace in this coming situation, he might also be adding in just a little thanks too for the blessing of the wonderful daughter she had become to them both.
The sound of a buggy coming down the lane urged me back to the daadi haus. Ada and her children had arrived, and I didn’t want to miss them greeting Lexie for anything.
Alexander caught up with me by the time I reached the buggy in front of the main house, and he took the reins from Ada. I helped little Abe down. His hat fell off as he landed on the ground, revealing his dark curly hair. I patted him on the head and then swung Mel and Mat down too.
Christy climbed out of the buggy last. At seventeen, she was truly beautiful with her strawberry blond hair and brown eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. She moved toward me gracefully with a cheery hello, and then she took Abe’s little hand as we headed to the daadi haus, with Mel and Mat right behind.
“Remember,” Ada said to the smaller children. “Inside voices. Mammi is very ill. We need to be extra considerate. After we’ve visited a while, you can help your grandfather with the chores.”
Abe nodded his head and the girls spoke in agreement behind us. Before we reached the porch, Lexie bounded out of the little house.
“I thought I heard voices out here!”
Ada rushed into her sister’s arms. Christy and Abe were next in line, and Lexie oohed and aahed over them both. Mel and Mat hung back a little until Lexie said, “Come on, you two.” The twins obeyed and she enveloped them in her arms.
When she finally pulled away, she said, “Let’s go. Mammi is anxious to see all of you.”
I followed, pulling the door shut behind me. As they chatted, I headed to the kitchen to put on the kettle, thinking hot chocolate might be a good idea for the children. And I could make tea for Christy, Ada, and Lexie.
/> Soon, overhearing the conversation, I was drawn back into the living room.
Frannie was asking Ada, “How do you think Giselle will do here?”
Lexie put her arm around Ada, pulling her close.
Ada’s back was to me, but I could hear her words. “I think she’ll feel unsettled and with good reason, but I hope that after a few days she’ll adjust. Mamm too.”
“Ya,” Frannie said. “I hope so.”
The kettle began to whistle, and I asked Ada if it would be all right if the children had hot chocolate. She said it would and I busied myself making it for them, putting the three mugs on Frannie’s little kitchen table. I helped Abe onto a chair. Mel and Mat stood stirring their hot chocolate and then taking little sips. I added more milk to Abe’s.
Then I started the kettle for tea.
“Do you think we can go over to Mammi Klara’s now?” Mel whispered.
“Not until your mother says so,” I replied.
When the girls finished their hot chocolate, they carried their mugs to the sink. Then they came back to help their baby brother. Ada looked over and told them, “You can go find Mammi Klara. Tell her I’ll be in soon.”
TWENTY-THREE
The afternoon grew quiet once Ada and the kids left and Lexie went to the main house for a nap. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the calm before the storm as I sat by Frannie’s side. Around four Lexie returned to the daadi haus. It felt as if we were both holding our breath, waiting for Giselle to arrive. As the time drew closer, Lexie seemed to grow more and more nervous, something I hadn’t expected of her. She was always so confident and assured. The truth was, I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her, the anticipation of meeting her birth mother, face-to-face, for the first time.
Would they look anything alike? Act anything alike? Be anything alike?
Lexie sat for a few minutes by Frannie’s side, watching her sleep, but then she popped back up and checked her phone. A few minutes later she was up and getting a glass of water.
I tried to help distract her by chatting a little, about how Ella was doing and what the Home Place was like. Then about Frannie’s stroke. And finally about the mild weather in Oregon.
The Amish Seamstress Page 27