by Leslie Gould
I shook my head. “He’s self-righteous. And self-absorbed.”
“Addie!”
“It’s true.”
“He’ll be a good provider. He cares for you.”
“But he doesn’t love me.”
Now she shook her head. “I think I helped put ridiculous ideas in your head. I’m sorry. Forget Jonathan. It’s never going to work. We all need to make the best of things. That’s what I did.”
“By never marrying? By living with your sister—who hardly even appreciates you—all these years?” I stood. “I’m not going to follow your example.”
“Of course not,” she said. “You’ll marry Phillip.”
I rushed past her, grabbing the rose from her table, my other hand clutching the piece of paper inside my pocket.
The next afternoon, standing under the clothesline, I pulled a bed sheet from the basket at my feet and flung it over the wire. Taking a pin from my mouth, I clipped it and then, scooting the near-empty basket along with my bare foot, clipped the other end. Then I picked up one of Daed’s T-shirts to pin next.
“Addie!”
I turned. Cate, appearing weary, walked toward me across the lawn, a casserole dish in her hands. “I brought you a lasagna.”
I shook my head. “Your family is the one with the new Bobli. Why are you bringing us food?” It wasn’t as if anyone was sick or injured—except for Timothy’s silly sprain, which didn’t count.
“I thought it might help you out a little. I know things have been stressful the last few days.” She stopped beside me. “Have you heard?”
“What?” I whispered, still hoping it wasn’t true.
She tilted her head, a look of concern spreading across her face. “That Jonathan left this morning for Big Valley.”
Even though I knew that was the plan, the T-shirt fell from my hands. Cate stooped and plucked it up, holding the casserole dish with one hand.
“Who told you?”
“Mervin and Martin. They stopped by this morning.”
“How is Mervin?”
“Fine.” Cate shook her head a little. “Still a little shaken, though.”
I swallowed hard. “What did your father say when he heard the news?”
Cate looked around and then whispered, “That foolish people do foolish things. Meaning all involved, except Jonathan. And you, of course.”
“And there’s nothing your Dat can do to help?”
Cate took a deep breath. “He said he’d keep trying.”
“Tell him I appreciate it.” Although at this point I couldn’t think of anything he could do. I hung the T-shirt and then pulled another from the basket. “How is Betsy?”
“Good. She’s at our house. Come over and see her and little Robbie. He’s a sweetheart.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said, “but I can’t.” I motioned with my hand to the fence. “Daed’s forbidden me from going any farther than the garden.”
“Oh dear,” Cate said. “Maybe he’ll change his mind with Jonathan gone.”
“Maybe,” I echoed, but I doubted it, unless it was to go on a date with Phillip.
I heard a rustling behind me and spun around, expecting Timothy. I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of George.
He smiled and stepped between Cate and me, forming a little circle. “This is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.” He nudged me. “I think even Timothy is feeling bad.”
“I doubt it,” I said, grabbing another T-shirt.
“I’ve got to go,” Cate said.
I gave her a one-arm hug. “Denki,” I whispered, taking the casserole from her.
“Come see me when you can,” she said.
After a final good-bye, she turned and made her way slowly toward the willow. George and I watched her until she ducked down to the creek.
Then he turned toward me. “It will all work out,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“Maybe if I run away to Big Valley . . .”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “I have an idea.”
I crossed my arms.
“But that’s not why I came out. Mutter wants you.”
“Why? So she can lock me inside the house?”
He shook his head. “Aenti Nell is going to see Hannah. Mutter doesn’t feel up to it, but she wants you to go along.”
“At the clinic?”
“No, she’s home. Aenti Pauline left a message.”
“Does Hannah want visitors?”
He shrugged. “It sounds as if she wants you.”
I wrinkled my nose and handed George the casserole. “Tell Mutter I’ll be right in.”
Daed agreed to let me go, and Aenti Nell and I stopped at Onkel Bob’s on the way, rushing in to tell Betsy hello and see the Bobli. Betsy, happy to see us, showed off Robbie, but she seemed extra tired. So did Cate—more so than when she’d visited earlier.
“I took a couple of turns with him last night,” Cate said, as if that explained it.
Betsy and Levi still lived with his parents, so I wasn’t surprised Betsy felt more comfortable with the Bobli at her old home than at her in-laws. Although Levi’s mother had lots of experience with babies, it was probably easier for her to ask Cate for help.
But now Cate appeared worn out—more so than even Betsy. I followed her into the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Her violet blue eyes filled with tears.
“What is it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t tell Betsy. She didn’t know . . .”
“What?” I prodded.
“I miscarried. Only Pete knows. And now you.”
“Ach, I’m so sorry.” I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight. So much joy and heartache, all wrapped together. I admired my cousin for her sacrifice, for not sharing her pain that would mar Betsy’s joy. Cate was the most generous person I knew. I was sure I could never be as selfless.
“I can’t believe you brought us dinner. . . .”
“I made it yesterday,” she said. “Before I knew.”
“When did it happen?”
“This morning.” She pulled away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “I wasn’t very far along.”
“You still need to rest,” I said, amazed she was able to think of me in her grief.
“I’m going to now,” she said. “And you should get going.”
Once we were back in the buggy, Aenti Nell clucked her tongue and said she didn’t think Betsy had what it took to be a mother.
“Of course she does,” I said.
“She’s been too pampered,” Aenti Nell said. “And leaving Levi’s parents to stay with her family . . . That’s bound to cause hard feelings.”
“Please don’t say that to anyone,” I pleaded. “That would only get a rumor started.”
“Your mother’s right. Bob’s spoiled those girls.”
I shook my head. “No, he’s loved them. And still does. He was patient with them. And it paid off.”
She clucked her tongue again, indicating she didn’t agree, as we rode along. I focused on the fields—the corn stood nearly waist high now. The alfalfa was ready for a second cutting. The soybean plants had grown thick across the ground.
Granted, things were strained between Aenti Nell and me since her declaration against my relationship with Jonathan last night, but I’d never known her to be so quiet. I gathered she didn’t like my not agreeing with her that I needed to go “back” to Phillip or about her view of my cousins.
Once we reached Aenti Pauline’s, Aenti Nell oohed and aahed over Sarah’s hope chest that had just been delivered, while I acted as if I hadn’t seen it before. It was Sarah’s thirteenth birthday, and she was pleased with her gift. She’d been born the day before I turned six. I remembered it well. I was so sure, after holding her, my next sibling would be a girl.
I had to wait three long years to find out I was wrong. But once I held Billy, I didn’t care. And when it was time for Joe-Joe to come along, I just exp
ected he’d be another boy.
Hannah and I slipped out the front door, over to the swing hanging from the oak tree in her yard.
Deborah and Katie were on it, but when they saw us coming Deborah said, “Hannah, do you want the swing?”
Hannah simply nodded and the girls scurried away, as if they were frightened by their oldest Schwester.
We barely fit on the swing, but still we sat together.
“Molly stopped by. She said Mervin is fine,” Hannah said.
“Jah,” I answered. “That’s what Cate said too.”
“And that Jonathan’s been sent away.” Her head bumped against mine.
I wasn’t sure if Molly needed to tell Hannah everything. “Jah,” I replied again.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said.
“Things will work out,” I said, trying to sound confident.
“That’s what my counselor keeps telling me.”
“Will you keep seeing her?”
“Jah. Mamm and Dat saw her with me yesterday. And we’re all going again next week.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine Onkel Owen agreeing to that.
“She told them their support would help me get better.”
“Did she say what’s wrong?”
“Jah. It seems I have a genetic predisposition toward depression. Mamm told them about your mother. And our grandmother too.”
I sat up a little straighter. “Did they prescribe something for you?” Perhaps Mutter’s moods could be helped too.
“We’ll talk about it if counseling doesn’t help. But in the meantime, I’m to get enough sleep—they gave me a tincture to help with that—and get enough exercise. So I have a good excuse to ride as much as I like. And I need to eat right. All of the things my Mamm told me to do that I wasn’t doing before.”
I stood. “Let’s go for a walk, then.”
Hannah started to laugh.
“I’m serious,” I said and then smiled. “Let’s go down to the end of the pasture. To the blackberry bushes.”
As we walked along, five of the horses began to follow us. Hannah cooed at them and rubbed their necks, one by one. I did too, but not with as much enthusiasm as Hannah. She finally pulled away, but the horses continued to follow us.
When we reached the fence line she said, “It wasn’t that bad at the clinic. Everyone was really nice. Sometimes I felt as if my parents didn’t care much, but now I think they do.”
I nodded. I was sure her parents cared too.
“The counselor helped me see that I’m having a hard time becoming my own person.”
I reached for a blackberry that was nearly ripe and plopped it in my mouth as I thought about what Hannah had said.
She continued. “She said I need to figure out how to grow up safely, by not putting myself at risk.”
“Just how bad were you feeling?” I ventured.
“Ach, Addie.” Tears filled her eyes. “There were times I didn’t want to live. Times I even thought about . . .” Her voice trailed off. “But I talked that through with the counselor. That helped. If I have a bad spell again, they’ll try some medication—more than what they gave me at the clinic—if the talking doesn’t help.”
Hannah turned toward the field. “Another interesting thing the counselor said was that generous people are less likely to be depressed. She encouraged me to give to others—to play with my little Schwesters and read to Mammi Gladys, to not just think about myself.”
I plopped another blackberry in my mouth, mulling over what my cousin had said. One of the horses nudged me, so I gave her a blackberry too and then giggled as her wet mouth nuzzled my palm.
Mutter was one of the least generous people I knew. Plus, she had little empathy for others and seemed oddly competitive, mostly with Aenti Pauline. I was sure Mammi Gladys’s criticism of her daughters had contributed to my Mutter’s selfish behavior.
George the Generous, on the other hand, was never depressed. He was always thinking about others. And so was, so far, Billy the Brave.
Did Timothy have bouts of depression? Was that why he drank?
I couldn’t help but wonder what came first—my mother’s depression or her lack of generosity.
Unaware of my racing thoughts, Hannah continued. “Talking honestly with my Dat and Mamm helped—a lot. The counselor said they’re trying to do their best and that a lot of parenting is experimenting. That made me think of your parents.”
I bit into another berry. “Why?” It was a sour one, and I made a face.
“Addie.” Hannah’s voice sounded like my Mutter’s. “They do care about you.”
I spit out the berry. “They care more about how things look than about me.” I sputtered, getting the rest of the seeds out. “They think my pleasing them is the same as my honoring them.”
Hannah held up her hand. “But they’re doing what they think is best for you.”
“Maybe if they educated themselves a little . . .”
“Exactly,” Hannah said. “Hopefully, my Mamm will tell yours about the genetic predisposition. Maybe she’ll get some help. And I’m hoping my Mamm will say something to yours about girls our age needing to become our own person—individuals—even though we’re Amish and told being part of a community is more important. We can do both.”
I shook my head. My mother would never believe it.
Hannah picked a blackberry and held it between her thumb and index finger. Her expression darkened. “I still don’t see why you don’t just marry Phillip.”
“Hannah!” I balked. “How can you say that?”
“Sure we can become our own person, but it’s not like we have a lot of choices, not in the long run, not as far as marriage.”
She was contradicting what she’d just said. “Of course we do,” I responded. It wasn’t like the Amish had arranged marriages or anything. I didn’t know anyone who’d been forced by their parents to marry someone they didn’t love—although I was sure my parents wanted me to be the first.
Hannah sighed, still holding the berry. “But we really don’t. We’re limited to an Amish beau, and someone we’ve met, right? Most likely someone who lives nearby. And then if our parents don’t like his family—say if he’s a Mosier—then that’s out of the question. Or if he decides not to join the church. Or if he—”
“Hannah, you’ve said this before. I halfway believed you then but not anymore. It’s not hopeless. Not for you. Not for me. I assure you, I’m going to marry Jonathan Mosier. If you have your heart set on Mervin, it will work out.”
She dropped the blackberry on the ground and stepped on it, then lifted her foot, looking down at the purple mess of pulp. She stepped away from it. “We’ll see, won’t we? For both of us.”
I smiled sympathetically, even though I had a hard time empathizing. I knew exactly what I wanted.
To me, that seemed better than being despondent and unsure. True, I didn’t know how to get what I wanted. As much as I’d wanted Jonathan to come up with a plan, I knew all we could do now was wait for God’s leading. However, knowing God was in control gave me confidence to carry on. And that knowledge had come directly from Jonathan’s words. Honestly, I was surprised by my optimism—and pleased.
“I don’t mean to sound simplistic,” I said to Hannah, “but have you been able to pray about how you’re feeling? Ask God for direction? For his reassurance?”
“My counselor talked about that,” Hannah said. “I’ve tried, but I don’t feel like he’s listening.”
I nodded. “I feel that way sometimes. Or that he’s listening but with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot, fed up with me.” Looking a lot like Daed.
Hannah smiled for the first time all day. “Jah,” she said.
“But that’s not how he sees us,” I said, pulling three long blades of grass from along the fence line. “Think about how your Mamm looks at little Maggie.”
“Like she can do no wrong?”
“Exactly,” I said, tying a knot at the en
d of the blades of grass.
“But we do wrong.” Hannah’s eyes were big.
“That’s right, but he forgives us. And sees the good in us.” I began braiding the grass together. “He’s not mad and ready to pounce. He sees our potential, what he made us for.”
She was frowning now. “How did you know I felt that way?”
“Because I’ve felt that way too, for a long time. But it’s changing.” I surprised myself that I could feel so optimistic, even with Jonathan so far away. I was trying so hard to be brave, trying to abide in Christ’s teaching, trying to let God’s love—and Jonathan’s—change me.
Hannah stood statue still for a long moment and then said, “I’m tired. I’m going to go take a nap.”
As we walked back through the pasture, the horses following us again, I finished braiding the blades of grass, knotted the end, and handed it to Hannah. She dangled it for a moment and then held it against her face.
“Denki,” she said. “And not just for this, but for the words too. I’ll think about it.” Her eyes teared as her gaze met mine. “I’m sorry about Jonathan leaving.”
“Denki.”
She shook her head. “Molly said she’s really sorry for what both you and Jonathan have had to go through.”
“He’ll be back.”
“Molly doesn’t think so. You really should go back to Phillip. If you don’t, you’ll be stuck in your parents’ house forever.”
“Ach, Hannah, don’t say that. You just said we need to become individuals, to have a say in our lives.”
“Well, your parents will only allow that to a certain extent,” she said. “Everyone thinks you should marry Phillip. Your parents, of course. My Mamm. Molly. Phillip. Everyone.”
Even Aenti Nell. “And you too.” My voice wavered, “Jah?”
Hannah bowed her head. “There’s nothing else for you to do, Addie. It’s inevitable.”
CHAPTER
18
I’ll never know if Mutter had already seen the hope chest Jonathan made me and found an excuse to get me out of the house, or if she just found it that afternoon.