by Sarah Price
At this Charlotte laughed, although it sounded more like a giddy giggle. “You say that every year, Mammi, and then you never do it! I suspect you like Honey Brook just as much as you like Quarryville!”
“Mark my words, Charlotte! One of these days I shall make good on my threats!”
Mother and daughter laughed as if sharing the greatest joke between the two of them. Eleanor immediately saw the resemblance, if not in looks then at least in personality. Like her mother, Charlotte talked a lot, more often about nothing than something, however. The constant chatter seemed to fill the air and lighten the mood.
“Honey Brook?” Mary Ann said, her face lighting up at the name. Eleanor could see that the wheels of her mind were turning, and she suspected she knew why. “Isn’t that near Narvon?”
Widow Jennings laughed and leaned forward to touch Charlotte’s knee. “Suddenly Honey Brook doesn’t seem so desolate and far away to one of our guests!”
“Oh, now, Mammi!” Charlotte replied. “I won’t even try to guess who the lucky young man is to have captured Mary Ann’s attention!”
Mary Ann flushed and looked away. Eleanor felt a small sense of satisfaction in her sister’s embarrassment, although she would have preferred for Mary Ann just to remain silent about Narvon in the first place. Almost two weeks had passed without so much as a word from John Willis. Mary Ann sent letters every two days, sneaking out of the house when she thought Maem was napping and Eleanor not paying attention. In the afternoons when Maggie brought in the mail, Mary Ann would hold out a moment of hope that Willis responded, only to be gravely disappointed to learn he hadn’t.
“Perhaps the Detweilers might come visit us in Honey Brook, hmm?” Widow Jennings offered on behalf of her daughter.
“What a wunderbarr gut idea!” Charlotte turned to her two nieces. “Isn’t there a big fund-raiser coming up soon?”
Lydia, the younger of the two women, nodded her head. Her pale skin reminded Eleanor of a porcelain doll. It was more than apparent that Lydia did not live, or work, on a farm. “Oh ja. The firehouse fund-raiser! We promised to donate baked goods to help them raise money.” She looked at her sister. “Right, Annie?”
“That’s the perfect occasion!” Charlotte said, ignoring Annie’s attempt at a response.
“I want to go too!” Maggie said, too loud for a soon-to-be young woman.
Eleanor gave her a look to be silent. No one needed to remind Maggie that she had school, and even more important, if all the girls were to go, Maem would be left home alone. That was something Eleanor simply could not allow to happen.
“They always have such a gathering for the bake sale!” Charlotte seemed pleased with herself for having thought of the idea to include Mary Ann and Eleanor. “I dare say that neither one of you girls will walk home that evening!”
At this Widow Jennings held up her hand. “Now, now, dochder! Don’t set your sights on introducing either one of the Detweilers to your Honey Brook men. It appears that both are spoken for!”
“You don’t say!” With a wide smile Charlotte stared at both Mary Ann and Eleanor. “Dare we ask the names of these soon-to-be unavailable men?”
Widow Jennings could barely contain herself. “We have quite the mystery around the one of them,” she said. “All we know of Eleanor’s intended is that his name begins with F!”
“F?” Charlotte seemed to think about this for a long minute. “Frederick? Francis?”
This time it was Jacob who spoke up. “Wasn’t there a young man riding through here just the other day? Fisher was his last name.”
Simultaneously Widow Jennings and Charlotte gasped.
“The F name at last!” Widow Jennings cried and leaned over to playfully tap Jacob on his arm. “I told you it wasn’t necessarily his first name, didn’t I?”
Eleanor felt the heat rising to her face. Fortunately her maem called her over to help in the kitchen. As soon as she started to walk away, she could hear the conversation shift to something else and said a silent prayer of gratitude. If they had begun inquiring further and mentioned Edwin’s first name, she knew that she’d have no hope of responding in a way that maintained her privacy.
Mary Ann and Maggie went outside to watch the Millers’ children while Eleanor helped her mother and Leah with the food preparation. The distraction kept Eleanor’s mind from wandering to her worries about Edwin and her mortification of Jacob revealing Edwin’s last name. If earlier she had thought the social outing a pleasant diversion, she now felt differently.
“Dear Miss Eleanor,” a soft voice said from behind her.
Eleanor turned, surprised to see Lydia standing there, that same soft smile on her face.
“I have been so looking forward to meeting you. And I’m delighted to hear that you’ll be coming to Honey Brook. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Politely Eleanor smiled. “Widow Jennings can be rather kind with her compliments.”
“Oh no,” Lydia said. “Not from my grossmammi. We share a mutual acquaintance, it seems.”
“We do?”
Lydia nodded, the simple untied strings from her white prayer kapp brushing against her shoulder. “Ja, we do. The Fishers.”
Eleanor caught herself from reacting. “My sister-in-law, Fanny?” She couldn’t imagine Fanny saying anything nice about her or any of her family, unless it was to praise them for moving out so expeditiously.
“Her family, ja,” Lydia said. “And I do so want to discuss something with you. I’ve heard how practical you are in both thought and action.”
Practical. The word hung between them, and Eleanor could not help but translate that to mean that she had a reputation for being proper and refined in matters of outward appearances. Too proper and refined, Eleanor scolded herself, according to Mary Ann. The accusation continued to haunt Eleanor as, even now, she felt the harsh sting of self-reproach.
“I was wondering,” Lydia began, walking a step behind Eleanor as she set the table, “how much you know about Fanny’s mother.”
“Fanny’s maem?” Caught off guard, Eleanor paused. Why would Lydia be interested in her? “I’ve met her once or twice, if I recall rightly, but I know very little about her.”
“Ach.” Lydia stopped following Eleanor for a second and stared into the distance. She appeared distracted and disappointed at the same time.
Continuing with setting the table, Eleanor glanced over toward Lydia’s aunt Charlotte and sister Annie. Charlotte was as animated, if not more so, than her mother while Annie merely sat there on the sofa, quiet and demure with nothing to contribute to the conversation. While curious as to why the two sisters had accompanied their aunt, Eleanor knew better than to ask. One thing she did know was that there was something odd about Lydia, especially how she lingered around her without offering to help. While Lydia appeared to present a righteous front, her lack of action spoke louder than her facade.
“You must think I’m terribly forward for having inquired about your relationship with the Fisher family,” Lydia said at last.
Eleanor forced a small smile. “Truly I hadn’t thought about it either way.”
Lydia, however, seemed intent on talking about it. “I don’t want you to think me too presumptuous in presuming such intimacy since we have just met.”
Eleanor merely made a soft noise in the back of her throat in response. While she hadn’t thought that before, she now wondered why Lydia was bringing more attention to the very behavior she worried that Eleanor thought poorly of.
“I . . . it’s just that . . . ” Lydia smiled demurely, and at once Eleanor sensed something was amiss.
“Truly, Lydia,” Eleanor said. “I thought nothing of the inquiry. Fanny is, after all, my sister-in-law. If you are familiar or wish to be familiar with the Fishers, it is only natural that you would inquire. Think nothing of it.”
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Lydia took Eleanor’s arm and led her toward the hallway. Once they were alone, Lydia foc
used her attention on Eleanor and lowered her voice so that no one could overhear. “I am familiar with the Fishers, but I have yet to meet the mother. I was hoping that you might know something about her character.” She wetted her lips as if they were unusually dry and with apparent great effort continued talking. “You see, I have no one to confide in and I have heard so much about you. I feel that I can trust you.”
Eleanor felt discomfort with the implied soon-to-be confidence. She knew nothing of this woman and did not want to be intimate with her. However, she wasn’t certain how to respond. “Lydia, surely you could confide in your schwester.” “Nee, I cannot.”
With a sigh Eleanor said, “While I don’t know your secret that needs confiding and I’m not one to want to be privy to such things, I can assure you that my lips will never speak of whatever you wish to tell me.”
Apparently that was just the answer Lydia wanted to hear. She lit up and leaned forward. “I’m to marry into the Fisher family this autumn.” It took Eleanor a moment to comprehend what Lydia had just said. There were only two young men of eligible age. “You’re to marry Roy Fisher?”
Lydia laughed a little too loudly and pressed her hand against Eleanor’s arm. “No, silly. I’m to marry Edwin Fisher. Didn’t he tell you? I thought he had said you’d become such good friends.” She turned her gaze on Eleanor and seemed to examine her closely—too closely.
Eleanor tried to remain calm, but she knew that her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. Was it possible that Edwin fancied Lydia? Or had he been engaged to her all along? “No, Edwin never told me. When . . . when did you become acquainted with him, if I may ask?”
Suddenly Lydia seemed animated as her nervousness disappeared. “Why, a few years back! He courted me during our rumschpringe. Since they live two church districts away, I have yet to meet his maem, you see. I have heard she is rather opinionated, and, vell, I was hoping you might have some pointers for me. I do want her to like me! So very much!”
As Eleanor realized the implication of Lydia’s words, she began to feel light-headed and dizzy. All of this time she had been so confident that Edwin cared for her, and then, after his visit last week, when he appeared so unhappy and distant, she feared that it was his perception that she lacked interest in him. Now, however, she learned that, all along, it was Edwin who was not interested in her!
“Oh my,” she whispered to herself.
“Kum esse!” Leah called from the kitchen.
Lydia tightened her grip on Eleanor’s arm. “Promise to never speak a word?”
Barely able to move, never mind think, it was all Eleanor could do to respond with a simple, “Ja, of course.”
For the remainder of the visit Eleanor sat quietly next to Mary Ann, neither young woman more than picking at her food. Their silence went unnoticed by their host and his mother-in-law as they gossiped and joked with Charlotte and the others. With nothing else required of Eleanor except the occasional smile or halfhearted attempt at laughing, she could think of only one thing: the pain that she felt in her heart as she realized Edwin Fisher was not just lost to her but had never been hers to begin with.
Chapter Sixteen
FOR THE NEXT few days Eleanor remained extra pensive, trying to focus on the chores around the house and the sewing for their growing client base so that she could forget the feeling of distress that filled her chest. She often found herself washing already clean dishes or resewing a tear she had already repaired, forcing her to take out precious stitches and redo her work.
At night she read the Bible, her eyes often scanning the same line over and over again without comprehending the verse she read. And after she blew out the small kerosene lantern on her nightstand, she lay on the bed, staring into the darkness, her mind racing and her heart beating. With sleep eluding her, she arose feeling wearier than when she retired the evening before. And each day repeated the cycle.
After the shock of hearing Lydia’s confession, Eleanor found that she could think of nothing else. Her mind replayed the joyful manner with which Lydia had shared her secret. How unjust when one person’s joy creates painful angst in another!
Try as she might, Eleanor could not make sense of Edwin and his behavior. She also found it difficult to think of him as a man without scruples, for only a dishonorable man would lead a woman to think he favored her company over others. That was when she began to wonder if she had been wrong. Could it be that she had misread Edwin’s conversations and glances, his smiles and attention, and that he had only been pleasant and polite? Or had Mary Ann been right in claiming that she should have expressed herself more openly in case Edwin was interested in her but doubted her feelings for him? What if he didn’t know how she felt? And if he had known, would he have called off his engagement to Lydia? Still, knowing now that he had been engaged to Lydia that entire time brought Eleanor full circle, as she returned to the question of whether she had misread Edwin’s feelings.
At those moments, when the disappointment in Edwin rose deep within her broken heart, Eleanor doubted her own ability to judge the character of others. Perhaps people she thought were good, truly righteous, and honorable were not. She knew everyone had sin, for only Jesus was perfect, but for her entire life, Eleanor had believed that, for the most part, people were good at their core.
Now, after all that had happened in such a short period of time, she wasn’t so sure.
She wondered about Christian Bechtler, who had yet to return after his abrupt departure from his own picnic. No one seemed to know where he was, or perhaps it was that no one seemed to care. He was a man everyone was so glad to see yet no one seemed to talk about. Of course Eleanor remembered that Widow Jennings had confided in her that Christian had a sullied past involving a young woman. Yet, in the short time she’d known him, Eleanor sensed that he was righteous and good-hearted, a man of God and not the world. Could her opinion of Christian be in error too?
And, of course, she couldn’t help but consider Willis. His lack of correspondence with her sister worried Eleanor, especially when she watched Mary Ann. Her sister still waited by the mailbox each day, although her numerous letters to him remained unanswered. The look of despair on her sister’s face as she walked back toward the house, her feet dragging along the dirt lane and her hands empty save for the occasional bill, made Eleanor wonder at Willis’s callousness. Had he intentionally deceived her sister?
That he fancied Mary Ann, Eleanor had no doubt. She knew that a young man could not fake the emotions he displayed toward a woman. Not in such an open manner anyway. His words, his actions, and even his looks in Mary Ann’s direction all indicated that his feelings were true and honorable. However, Eleanor was baffled by one question. If Willis truly loved her sister, why hadn’t he responded to Mary Ann’s letters?
By Thursday Maem was beside herself with the quiet that had fallen over the house. She alone had noticed Eleanor’s subdued behavior, but as always, she refused to interfere when it came to personal matters. Eleanor appreciated that. The last thing she wanted was to disclose the secret she had so innocently promised to keep.
However, it didn’t help that Mary Ann began to sulk around the house, unable to focus on sewing or tending to even the most basic of chores. A dark cloud seemed to linger over her head, her mood black and her spirits down. She took to mumbling under her breath as she paced the floor waiting for the postal truck. Her appetite suffered as well, and she hadn’t eaten one morsel of food since the day before last. No matter how much Eleanor tried to coax her to help with the increasing pile of clothes clients dropped off, Mary Ann barely even acknowledged her. Instead, she continued pacing the floor until exhaustion forced her to sit down for a few minutes. With each passing day, her hope seemed to fade just a little bit more.
The noise of an approaching car engine broke the silence and caused Eleanor to look up. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Two o’clock.
“The mailman’s here, Mary Ann,” she said softly, returning h
er attention to the garment in her hand.
Slowly, and without any indication of excitement, Mary Ann stood up from where she had been sitting and walked to the door. Her feet shuffled against the floor and her shoulders hunched over as she disappeared outside.
Eleanor wished she could ease her sister’s burden, but she had her own issues to contend with. Besides, their approach to courtship had been so different that Eleanor wasn’t certain how to comfort her. While there was not much Mary Ann could do now, Eleanor often wondered just how much her sister should not have done. Perhaps Mary Ann’s willingness to be so open about their courtship had simply scared Willis away.
“Poor thing,” Maem said, watching Mary Ann from the open door. “She’s suffering so. I just don’t understand this Willis! Such a good reputation and from a fine family. And his interactions with Mary Ann . . . why, I thought for certain they would be wed this year!”
Eleanor was about to respond when she heard another voice, one she easily recognized. Widow Jennings must be walking down the lane with Mary Ann. Her loud voice and easy laughter filled the air, increasing with each step. Finally she seemed to burst into the room, her energy filling every corner of the house.
“So busy working!” She shook her head and clicked her tongue as she assessed the different piles of clothing Eleanor was working on. “And inside too? Tsk, tsk. On such a beautiful day!”
Eleanor glanced at her mother and then at Widow Jennings. “The sun is hard on the eyes when sewing,” she said.
“True, true.” Without being invited, Widow Jennings sat down in a chair by the kitchen table. “I bring an invitation!” She smiled broadly and looked at each of the three women. “One that, I dare say, shall bring a smile to some very sober faces in here!” Reaching into a pocket of her dress, she withdrew a white envelope. “My dochder, Charlotte, invites all of you to accompany me to Honey Brook. For the firemen’s fund-raiser!” She handed the letter to Eleanor. “Just think. The festival is next Saturday. We will leave on Thursday and have a baking party in the afternoon on Friday. Their church service is Sunday, and I can personally attest that their preachers are as good as, if not better than, our own!”