Wait. Sighing deeply, I forced myself to surrender the situation, yet again, to God’s will, not my own.
One by one, my other family members began to appear. First Mamm, then Daed, then Thomas and Stephen. As Daed and the boys did the chores, Mamm sent me upstairs to wake Tabitha and Linda. After Daed and the boys came back in, we ate our breakfast of sausage, eggs, and the coffee cake. Afterward, Daed read the Christmas story, and then we all went into the living room. I stopped to gather the gifts I had for the others and then joined them, the morning light through the windows brightening the whole space.
We all exchanged our gifts. Tabitha had knitted me a scarf and Linda had made socks to match. Thomas drew me a picture of a bird in a tree, and Stephen made me a pinecone wreath that he said I could hang on my “little room” door. I passed around the cloth bags I’d made and the handkerchiefs I’d embroidered.
Mamm and Daed gave the girls new dresses and the boys new shirts and pants. We each got one small, personal item as well, and I opened my box slowly, eager to see what might be inside.
To my surprise, as I lifted the lid, I saw that it contained a book with an illustration on it of an Indian wearing buckskin. Eyes wide, I looked to my mamm, who explained, “It covers all the fashions in America during the 1700s. What everyone would have worn. Natives and Europeans. Rich and poor.”
“Where did you find it?” I asked.
“I asked at the bookstore. They did some sort of search…” As usual she’d didn’t give much of an explanation. She didn’t need to.
I was deeply touched, not so much for the gift itself as for what it represented. Their acceptance. Their approval. Their support.
Sure, this family of mine overwhelmed me at times, but hanging out with another family for such a long stretch had taught me much about my own. Maybe Mamm wasn’t the talker or the nurturer I wished she was. And maybe my sisters, every one of them, were the exact opposite of me. But I knew they loved me. I knew they were there for me. I knew I belonged to them, always.
The next day was Frannie’s funeral, which was held at Klara and Alexander’s house. The men and women of the family sat together up front, near the minister, beside the pine casket. Everyone else in attendance sat divided, as usual, into their two sides. I was on the women’s side, next to Mamm, while Daed sat with the men.
The service was long and somber. In attendance were Frannie’s family, many of their extended relatives, numerous members of their district, and other specially invited guests, such as me and my parents. Just as we were taking our seats, I noticed Ada greet a young couple at the door, and I had a feeling they were Daniel and Morgan, the friends she and Giselle had told me about from Switzerland, who were currently in the States. What a blessing they had been in the country and were able to come today.
The service had Scripture readings and a sermon, as usual. At the end, though Frannie’s name had yet to be mentioned, the bishop finally looked down at her casket and said, “Francis Lantz was eighty-four years old.” To eulogize her beyond that would be prideful and wrong.
After the service, the pallbearers carried the casket out to the hearse—an enclosed wagon with a black top. I followed as far as the porch and watched the wind whip against their bodies as they slid the casket onto the bed of the wagon. Mamm stepped beside me. “Your daed’s going to stay and set up the tables,” she said. “And I’m going to get the meal ready. Do you want to help me?”
I shook my head, surprised she’d thought to ask. She was offering me an out—but I didn’t need one. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll go to the cemetery with the family.”
Zed and I rode in the back of Alexander and Klara’s buggy, which followed behind the hearse. Zed sat close to me on the back bench seat, and though we didn’t talk, I reached out and took his hand for a while when I knew no one was looking.
During our short time at the cemetery, Zed angled himself to block the wind. Thankfully, the minister kept it short considering it was bitter cold and growing more so.
This was the part of Verna’s service that had gotten to me the most, but now as I gazed at the deep hole waiting in the ground to receive Frannie’s casket, I was filled not with terror but with peace. She had lived a good and godly life. She had known the Lord as her Savior. Surely she was now with the One who had numbered all her days.
By the time we returned to the house, the noon meal of soup and bread was ready to eat. The older people dined first, then we youngie took our turn. Zed and I ended up seated near Daniel and Morgan. They were so nice and friendly that soon the four of us were chatting away like old friends.
Nearby, Ada and Lexie were talking and laughing like sisters, and once again I was amazed at how close they seemed despite not having grown up together—or in fact even knowing about each other—until they were both adults. How nice it must be for Giselle to see her daughters get on so well.
I glanced around for Giselle but didn’t see her.
Conversation turned to Zed’s filmmaking, and then to my contribution as a costumer. When Daniel learned I was a seamstress, he asked what other sorts of work I did. As those around us jumped in and began to describe my various creations, he became excited and said he would love to see some of it if he could.
“I’m always on the lookout for authentic Amish handwork. We sell it in the gift shop at the hotel.”
Hearing our conversation, Ada leaned over and added, “Izzy’s multi-talented, you know. She is an amazing seamstress, but she’s also quite the caregiver.”
“Oh, right,” Morgan said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “You were the one who cared for Ada’s grandma.”
I nodded, surprised when she added, “So what’s next? You should think about working for Herr Lauten. We’ve been trying to find someone for him forever. You could come to Switzerland and be his caregiver—and you could do handwork for the shop while you’re there!”
“Switzerland?” I squeaked with a laugh. “Sure. Just let me get my things and we can go.”
Everyone laughed, but deep inside I had to wonder if the idea was all that crazy. I didn’t necessarily have the wanderlust I knew had driven Ada to travel a few years ago, but I did have a deep love of learning and experiencing new things. I also felt I had established a bond with Giselle, one that could only grow stronger if we lived near each other, at least for a while. Perhaps she might even mentor me. There was just so much about fabric and art she could share and that I yearned to know.
Once again, I looked around for Giselle but still didn’t see her. In fact, she seemed to have disappeared. I wasn’t quite finished with my dessert, but a gentle urging told me to go. I feared this day had been a greater struggle for her than for almost anyone else.
After excusing myself, I retrieved my cape and went out the back door to the daadi haus, but she wasn’t there. Next I headed toward the barn, but on the way a movement down by the creek caught my attention. There was someone there, a woman from what I could tell, though the hair was covered by a hat and she stepped out of view as soon as I started walking toward the willows. On a hunch I kept going.
As I neared the trees, I could hear the sound of someone sniffling.
“Giselle, don’t let me scare you,” I said. “It’s me, Izzy.”
She didn’t answer so I continued on, finding her with her back against a willow, her face streaked with tears, her eyes on the icy water before her.
She looked exhausted. Defeated.
Tormented.
I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to the water as well. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t just about her mother’s death.
It was also about what happened to her right here, so long ago, when Lexie was just a toddler and had almost drowned because of Giselle’s negligence. According to what Ella had told me, that event was the final straw that led the woman to give up both daughters for adoption and move away.
I stood next to her now, my back also against the tree, and thought about what I could say that might m
ake her feel better. I wanted to reassure her that her decision, though painful, had been a wise one, as Lexie and Ada had both been raised by loving parents in homes filled with faith and goodness. But I couldn’t think of how to say it without hurting her feelings.
I remained silent instead, offering only the comfort of my presence.
Finally, still staring down at the creek, Giselle spoke. “A piece of me, the selfish part, hoped they would never get over losing me. Instead, they have both gone on to become wonderful, loving, productive adults without my help at all.”
She barked a laugh through a fresh wave of tears. After a long moment, she added, “It’s just astounding how so many lives can be changed in an instant, you know? A mother falls asleep. A child wanders off. A creek nearly swallows her up…”
I said a silent prayer for wisdom as I leaned closer to Giselle, our shoulders touching. “God’s hand was on it, though,” I whispered. “He knew every one of those things was going to happen.”
She nodded, taking that in. “I guess you’re right about that.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Danke.”
I nodded, my eyes narrowing in concern.
“I’m okay,” she said, wiping at her face with gloved hands. “I just needed some time. This is a good thing, really. I had to come back to this place.” I thought she meant Pennsylvania, or the farm, but then she gestured toward the creek, and I realized she meant this exact place, this body of water.
I gazed at the creek, at the clear liquid that trickled between large rocks and frozen slabs of ice as it flowed downstream. It was about average-sized, as creeks go, but for Giselle I knew it loomed large. To her, it was a river. No, it was an ocean, one that had come between her and her mother, her sisters, and her children, keeping her away for all these years.
I thought suddenly of that poem I’d discovered on the bus ride from Indiana, by William Penn, and I asked if I could quote a line from it now.
“Sure.”
“It says, ‘Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.’ ”
She repeated the sentiment, and then she smiled through her tears. “Wow. So true. Me, my daughters, my mom, even my sisters—no matter what, no matter where we are, we live in one another still. We always have. We always will.”
Her voice choked on the last word as she burst into a fresh round of sobs. I embraced her then and she hugged me back, not for long but still I felt the hope of healing behind it.
We stayed there together a few more minutes in silence, but sensing her need for more alone time, I left her to her thoughts and started back to the house, my mind grasping at some new truth of my own as I went. I had just told Giselle that God knew what was going to happen back then. And I believed that. He knew that little Lexie would almost drown. He knew that in her grief and panic, Giselle would flee, leaving behind not just her toddler but her new infant too. He knew that someday all three would be together again, and that from that reunion would come great healing.
He also knew about me. He knew I would struggle for a while with the deaths of loved ones. And He knew I would fall in love with Zed and want to make a life with him.
Eyes wide, I realized one more thing He knew. He knew I wasn’t going to join the Amish church.
Before that moment, such a realization might have caused me to feel regret or sadness or even guilt. Instead, I felt nothing but peace.
“I’m not joining the Amish church,” I whispered aloud, just to make sure that the words felt right on my tongue. “I will still love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, but I will do so as a Mennonite instead.”
Again, a surge of peace filled my heart. Not only did God know, but to my very core, it felt as if He approved.
Movement up ahead caught my eye, and I realized Zed had come looking for me, wearing his coat and cap against the cold. “We need to talk,” I said as we met beside the fallow garden.
Without speaking, he took my icy hand in his and led me around the corner of the house to the stand of pines, which gave us some privacy.
“What is it?” he asked, peering deep into my eyes with concern.
I gave him a reassuring smile and then reached up and touched the handsome plane of his cheek. “I don’t want you to become Amish,” I said softly. “Though your willingness to do so says volumes about your faith and your love for me.”
His lips curved into a tentative smile as he waited to see where I was going with this.
“I want to join the Mennonite church instead. I believe it’s the right thing for me, and for—”
Before I could say us, Zed’s mouth was on mine. His face was cold but his lips were warm, sending rays of heat through my entire being. I kissed him back, just as fiercely, then held on tight, the two of us clinging to each other in the frosty stillness.
After our embrace, we stayed there a while, standing among the trees, gazing into each other’s eyes, and stealing a few more kisses. Somehow, being here and talking with this man about spending the rest of our lives together felt as natural and normal as could be.
We both agreed we shouldn’t get married until after he finished school, so the question was what my life was going to look like between now and then. We considered the idea of me moving back in with Ella so that we could be closer, but then Zed astounded me by bringing up Switzerland as another possibility.
“You never know, Iz. My mom has been wanting to go to Switzerland for years. Maybe the two of you could do it together.”
“What about us?” I asked, my heart filled with fear but also excitement.
“You and me, you mean?”
I nodded.
“I still have a year and a half to go before I graduate. As long as you’re back by then, I think it would be an incredible opportunity. Think of all you could see, not to mention all you could learn from Giselle about your craft.”
My heart surging with happiness, I hugged him tight, thanking God that this dear sweet man wanted and would always want for my life to be as rich and full—of experiences, of learning, of pushing myself—as his was.
Finally, the wind picked up and green needles showered over us like confetti, bringing the fresh scent of pine mixed with the cold. Nearly frozen, we had no choice but to head inside and join the others. As we walked side by side, I thought of what Giselle had said, how life can change in an instant. I thought of all the life-changing instances I’d witnessed of late. Frannie’s last, peaceful breath. The other deaths in my life. Zed’s accident that had thrown me into such a spiral.
My mind returned to Psalm 139 as he opened the front door and then stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. Just as surely as God knew my past and present, He also already knew the many things my future held, my future as Zed’s wife, helpmate, and very best friend.
I couldn’t help but smile to myself. In that same chapter, the psalmist proclaimed, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,” and I had to agree. Such knowledge was too wonderful. But it also brought great comfort.
And great joy.
EPILOGUE
I went to Switzerland three months later, in March. Giselle paid my way, and I worked as her assistant and Herr Lauten’s aide for more than a year, helping him organize his books and papers, along with daily care, and helping her organize her studio and expand her business. Giselle made regular appearances teaching fabric art, and she took me along for a few of those too. One time she even had me contribute to the class, but I didn’t enjoy it.
I preferred working behind the scenes.
Marta traveled to Switzerland with me, much to my parents’ relief, and stayed for eight months while her new business partner managed the practice in Lancaster County. It wasn’t a vacation for Marta—she taught classes at a birthing center in Bern, just over a half hour away. But her trip was a huge success, and I was sorry to see her go once her time there came to an end.
Daniel and Morgan became my close friends, especially as they were my bridge to t
he Mennonite faith. They attended a lovely little church in town, and though there was quite a difference between the services there and the Amish ones I was used to, the theology was similar, and that’s what was important. I found it to be a good fit, though sometimes I missed the sense of community that seemed more pervasive in the churches back home.
One of my biggest quandaries over there was clothing, because while I was no longer going to be Amish, I was definitely going to remain Plain—yet the congregation there did not observe rules of dress. In the end, it was Marta who suggested I adopt the garb of her district back home, and I thought that was a good solution. With her guidance, I slowly created a new wardrobe for myself, trading the capes and solid colors and straight pins of my Amish clothing for the modest dresses in simple prints, with buttons, of the Mennonites. At my request, Susie sent me several smaller Mennonite-style kapps, which she procured from one of her seamstresses.
Together, Giselle and I worked on the costumes for Zed’s film, doing the research, weaving the fabric, and sewing the garments all by hand. Otherwise, I used my sewing time to come up with more items for the gift shop, create prototypes, and implement some of Giselle’s designs.
Though I didn’t use a computer, Zed convinced me that the best way for us to stay close while so far apart was through face-to-face computer calls, so I relented in that one area. We soon fell into a routine and, using Giselle’s laptop, I was able to see and talk with him at least once a week, sometimes even more than that, which was wonderful.
He spent his spring semester in Los Angeles, learning screenwriting and visiting the “majors” and “minors,” which I learned were just nicknames for the larger and smaller movie studios that proliferated out there. Though he loved the experience, I could see that it helped shape in his mind a better vision of his own creative future. He came to realize that Hollywood held no interest for him as a long-term career goal. He wanted to be an independent filmmaker and focus primarily on documentaries, especially those on historical topics. I thought that sounded perfect. Somehow, I had never envisioned him making popcorn-munching, cineplex-going movies anyway.
The Amish Seamstress Page 36