Faith glanced over at her father, a tall, muscular man with a good crop of cinnamon brown hair and a beard that was peppered with gray. He cleared his throat loudly, the way he’d always done whenever it was time to bow their heads for silent prayer. Faith leaned close to Melinda, who sat in the seat beside her. “Close your eyes now; we’re going to pray.”
Melinda’s forehead wrinkled, and Faith realized that the child didn’t understand. How could she? Faith had quit praying a long time ago, and she hadn’t taught her daughter how to pray, either. “Shut your eyes,” she whispered in Melinda’s ear.
Melinda did as she was told, and everyone else did the same. Several seconds later, Papa cleared his throat again, and all eyes opened. Everyone’s but Melinda’s. Faith squeezed her hand, and when Melinda still didn’t open her eyes, she quietly said, “You can open your eyes now.”
Melinda blinked and looked around the table. “But nobody said nothing. When I watched Little House on the Prairie on TV, Laura’s pa always said the prayer out loud.”
Mama opened her mouth as if to say something, but Brian spoke first. “We offer silent prayers here.”
“But if it’s silent, how does God know what you want?”
“We pray in our minds,” Grace Ann said. “God hears what we think same as when we speak.”
Melinda seemed to accept that explanation, for she gave one quick nod, grabbed the glass of milk sitting before her, and took a drink. She smacked her lips as she set the glass down. “Umm. . . that’s sure tasty.”
“It’s fresh milk taken from one of our best milking cows early this morning,” John said, smiling over at Melinda.
“Can I milk a cow?” she asked with a look of expectation. “Laura helps her pa milk their cow on Little House, and it looks like a lot of fun.”
“Milking cows is hard work, but I’d be happy to show you how,” Faith’s father said. It was the first time since he’d come into the room that Faith had seen him smile. Maybe he was glad to have her home. At least he seemed pleasant enough with Melinda. To Faith, he hadn’t said more than a few words, and those were spoken with disdain. Well, it didn’t matter. Faith would be leaving in a few weeks or months—however long it took for Melinda to become used to her new surroundings. The only thing that really mattered was Melinda developing a good relationship with her grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Everyone in the family could give Faith the cold shoulder for the rest of her life, and it wouldn’t matter.
She looked around the table at the somber faces of her family. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of caring about these people or worrying about whether they accepted her. Her life was on the stage, yodeling and cracking funny jokes for English folks who paid money to enjoy the entertainment she offered. It wasn’t here in Webster County, where everything she did was under scrutiny.
“I wanna learn about all the animals on this farm.” Melinda nearly knocked over her glass of milk as she wiggled around in her seat.
“Be careful now, or you’ll spill something,” Faith admonished.
“She’s just excited about seeing the animals,” Mama said, smiling at Melinda.
Susie, who sat on the other side of Melinda, reached over and touched Melinda’s hand. “If you’d like, we can go to the barn after we’re done eating, and I can show you the kittens that were born last week.”
Melinda’s head bobbed up and down. “I’d like that.”
Faith remained silent throughout most of the meal, only responding when she was asked a question or Melinda requested more to eat. Susie made up for Faith’s lack of conversation, as she chattered nonstop, offering to show Melinda all sorts of interesting things in her father’s barn, and telling her how much fun it was going to be to have someone close to her age living with her.
Melinda, too, seemed eager, and it was almost as if the girls had known each other all their lives. It made Faith feel guilty for not having brought Melinda to meet her family sooner. Well, better late than never, she thought as she poured another glass of milk for Melinda. Besides, we might not have been welcomed before.
They had just finished supper and the women were clearing away the dishes, when a knock sounded on the back door. “John, would you get that?” Papa asked before he drank some coffee from the cup Mama had placed in front of him moments ago.
John slid his chair away from the table and left the room. A few seconds later, he was back with Bishop Martin at his side. Except for his hair and beard turning mostly gray, the portly man looked almost the same as he had when Faith had left home ten years ago.
“Come in. Have a cup of coffee,” Papa said, motioning for the bishop to take a seat at the table.
The bishop smiled and shook his head. “I can’t stay. Just dropped by to let you know that tomorrow’s church service, which was going to be held at Henry Yoder’s home, will be held at Isaac Troyer’s place.”
Papa’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Henry’s mother, who lives in Kentucky, is real sick, and Henry and his family had to hire a driver to take them there.”
“That’s too bad. Sorry to hear of it.”
Mama moved from her place in front of the sink and gave Faith a little nudge with her elbow. “Since the bishop is here now, don’t you think this would be a good time for you to tell him what’s on your mind?” Before Faith could respond, Mama looked over at the bishop and said, “Our daughter Faith’s come home, and she wants to join the church.”
Faith swallowed hard and nearly choked. She hadn’t expected to see the bishop quite so soon. She needed more time to prepare for this—to think through what she wanted to say.
“Is that so?” Bishop Martin eyed Faith curiously as he tipped his head. “Where have you been all these years?”
“She’s been on the road, yodeling and telling jokes in the English world,” Papa spoke up before Faith could formulate a response. He motioned toward Melinda. “Right out of the blue, she and her daughter showed up on our doorstep a little while ago.”
The bishop opened his mouth as if to say something, but Faith spoke first. “My husband died a few months ago, and I decided it would be best for Melinda if we came here.”
“I see.” He gave Faith a quick nod. “Since you weren’t a member of the church when you left, you won’t be expected to offer any kind of confession to the church, but I think, given the circumstances of your leaving home in the first place, it would be good for you to give yourself some time to readjust to things before you take instruction to join the church.”
A huge sense of relief settled over Faith as she nodded. “Yes, I think that would be best.” This would give her a chance to get her daughter settled in, and no one would suspect that her real plans were to leave Melinda here and be on the road again.
“I still can’t believe our daughter’s come home,” Wilma said to Menno as the two of them got ready for bed that night.
He pulled the covers to the foot of bed. “Jah, well, it sure seems odd to me that she would return home after this much time. It makes no sense at all.”
“You heard what she said, Menno. Faith’s come home because her husband is dead and she wants a stable home to raise her daughter in.”
“You think she’s telling the truth?”
Wilma took a seat on the edge of the bed and pulled the pins from the bun at the back of her head. “What reason would she have to lie about her husband dying?”
“That’s not what I meant. If she says her husband’s dead, then I’m sure it’s true.” Menno flopped onto his side of the bed and punched the pillow a couple of times. He had a hunch there was more to the story than Faith was telling. Unless their daughter had changed a lot from when she was a girl, it was quite likely that she had something more up her sleeve than just looking for a stable home for Melinda.
“I sure hope she stays for good this time,” Wilma said as she began to brush her waist-length hair. “I don’t think I could stand losing her again.”
“I’d l
ike to believe she will stay, but she’s been living in the world these last ten years.” He reclined on the bed and raised his arms up over his head as he rested against the pillow. “Do you really think she can give up all the modern things she’s become accustomed to having?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I’m hoping—”
“I don’t trust her, Wilma. I think Faith is probably down on her luck and can’t find a job now that her husband’s gone, so she needs a place to stay for a while.” He frowned. “Mark my words. In a couple of weeks, Faith and her daughter will be on the road, and we’ll probably never hear from them again.”
Wilma’s eyes widened, and her chin quivered slightly. “Oh, I hope that’s not the case.” She reached over to touch the Bible on the nightstand beside their bed. “Proverbs 22:6 says, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.’ We did our best to teach Faith and the rest of our kinner about God’s laws and His ways, so now we must trust that she has come back to those teachings.”
“Jah, that’s all we can do. Trust and pray,” he mumbled as his eyes drifted shut.
As Faith helped Melinda get ready for bed that night, her head pounded like a blacksmith’s anvil at work. It had been all she could do to keep from telling her folks and the bishop what her true intentions were, but she knew Melinda would never adapt to the Amish way of life unless Faith stayed for a while and helped her fit in. It would be too traumatic for both of them if Faith left the child with strangers. No, the best thing was for her to pretend she was home to stay until she felt the time was right for her to leave. She just hoped she wouldn’t be pressured to join the church, because that would be impossible if she planned to leave.
“How come everyone in your family kept starin’ at me during supper?” Melinda asked from where she sat on the bed. “And how come they dress different than us?”
“They were probably staring because you’re so cute and they were happy to meet you.” Faith tweaked her daughter’s turned-up nose. “And they dress different than we do because they’re Amish and they believe God wants them to wear simple, plain clothes, not fancy things like so many other people like to wear.”
Melinda’s forehead wrinkled. “Maybe some were happy to see me, but not Grandma Stutzman. She frowned when you told her who I was.”
“That’s because she was so surprised.” Faith sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of the child’s hand. “As I told you before we left Branson, I hadn’t seen any of my family for ten years, and they didn’t know I had a daughter.”
Melinda sat with a sober expression, as though she were mulling over what Faith had said. Then her face broke into a smile. “Susie’s real nice, and I think she likes me.”
Faith nodded. “I’m sure she does. I believe you and my little sister will become good friends in no time at all.”
“When we went out to the barn after supper, she let me pet the baby kitties and even a couple of the horses.” Melinda crawled under the covers and snuggled against her pillow. “I’d better go to sleep now so I can get up early and help Grandpa Stutzman milk his cows.”
Faith smiled and bent to give her daughter a kiss. It was seriously doubtful that Melinda would be awake early enough to milk any cows, but it made Faith feel hopeful about things, knowing her father had shown an interest in Melinda. Too bad he hadn’t taken much interest in Faith when she was a child.
As Melinda drifted off to sleep, Faith lay on her side of the bed, wondering how she would handle being separated from her daughter when the time came for her to leave. Would she be welcome to return for visits? How long would she need to stay here in order for Melinda to fully adjust?
Chapter 4
Noah looked forward to going to church at his friend Isaac Troyer’s place. Isaac and his wife, Ellen, had been married four years and already had two small children. Noah enjoyed spending time with other people’s children. He figured that was a good thing, since it wasn’t likely he’d ever have any of his own.
“Got to be married to have kinner,” Noah muttered as he scrambled a batch of eggs for breakfast.
“Couldn’t quite make out what you were saying, but I’m guessing you were talking to yourself again, jah?”
Noah turned at the sound of his mother’s voice. He hadn’t realized she had come into the kitchen. “I guess I was,” he admitted, feeling a sense of warmth cover his cheeks.
“You’ve got to quit doing that, son.” Mom’s hazel-colored eyes looked perky this morning, and Noah was glad she seemed to be feeling better. Yesterday she’d looked tired and acted kind of shakylike.
His mother shuffled over to their gas-operated refrigerator, withdrew a slab of bacon, and handed it to Noah. “Some of your daed’s best.”
He chuckled. “All of Pop’s hogs are the best. At least he thinks so.”
Mom’s head bobbed up and down, and a few brown hairs sprinkled with gray peeked out from the bun she wore under her small, white head covering. “My Levi would sure enough say so.”
“You’re right about that. Pop gets up early every morning, rain or shine, and heads out to feed his pigs. Truth is, I think he enjoys talking to the old sows more than he does me.”
Mom’s forehead wrinkled as she set three plates on the table. “Now don’t start with that, Noah. It’s not your daed’s fault that you don’t share his interest in raising hogs.”
“That’s not the problem, Mom, and you know it.” Noah grabbed a butcher knife from the wooden block on the cupboard and cut several slices of bacon; then he slapped them into the frying pan. The trouble between him and Pop went back to when Noah was a young boy. He was pretty sure his father thought he was a sissy because he liked to cook and help Mom with some of the inside chores. That was really dumb, as far as Noah was concerned. Would a sissy work up a sweat planting a bunch of trees? Would a sissy wear calluses on his hands from pruning, shaping, and cutting the Christmas pines English people in the area bought every December?
Mom took out a container of fresh goat’s milk from the refrigerator. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Your daed will be in soon from doing his chores, and I don’t want you all riled up when he gets here.”
Noah grunted and flipped the sizzling bacon. “I’m not riled, Mom. Just stating facts as I see ’em.”
“Jah, well, you have a right to your opinion.”
“Glad you think so. Now if you want to hear more about what I think—”
“Your daed loves you, Noah, and that’s the truth of it.”
Noah nodded. “I know, and I love him, too. I also realize that Pop doesn’t like it because I’d rather be in the kitchen than out slopping hogs with him, so I’m trying to accept things as they are.”
Mom sighed. “None of my boys ever enjoyed the pigs the way that husband of mine does.”
Noah realized it was past time for a change of subject. “I baked a couple of lemon sponge cakes while you and Pop went to town yesterday. One with sugar and one without.”
“Are you planning to give one away or set both out on the table at the meal after our preaching service?”
Noah pushed the bacon around in the pan, trying to get it to brown up evenly. “The cake I made with a sugar substitute is for us to have here at home. I figured I would give the one made with sugar to someone who might need a special touch today.”
“Guess God will show you who when the time is right.”
“Jah. That’s how it usually goes.”
“I just hope you don’t develop baker’s asthma from working around flour so much.”
Noah snickered. “I don’t think you have to worry none. That usually only happens to those who work in bakeries and such. One would have to be around flour a lot more than me to develop baker’s asthma.”
Pop entered the kitchen just as Noah was dishing up the bacon and scrambled eggs. Noah’s father had dark brown hair, with close-set eyes that matched his hair color, but his beard had been nearly gray since his lat
e fifties. Now Pop was starting to show his age in other areas, too. His summer-tanned face was creased with wrinkles, he had several dark splotches on his hands and arms, and he walked with a slower gait these days.
“Something smells mighty good this morning,” Pop said, sniffing the air. “Must have made some bacon.”
Noah’s mother pointed to the platter full of bacon and eggs. “Our son has outdone himself again, Levi. He made sticky buns, too.” She nodded toward the plate in the center of the table, piled high with rolls. Noah had learned to make many sweet treats using a sugar substitute so Mom could enjoy them without affecting her diabetes, and he knew how much she appreciated it.
“You taking the leftover sticky buns to church?” his father asked after he’d washed his hands at the sink.
“Guess I could.” Noah smiled. “I also made a sugar-free lemon sponge cake.” Noah made no mention of the cake that he planned to give away. Pop liked lemon so well, he might want that one, too.
Pop smacked his lips. “Sounds good to me.”
Noah smiled to himself. His dad might not like him spending so much time in the kitchen, but he sure did enjoy the fruits of Noah’s labor. And Pop hadn’t said one word about Noah not helping out with the hogs. Maybe it was a good sign. This might be the beginning of a great day.
“I can’t believe how much our two boys are growing,” Barbara Zook said to her husband, David, as they headed down the road in his open buggy toward Isaac and Ellen Troyer’s home. She glanced over her shoulder at their two young sons. “I made a pair of trousers for Aaron but two months ago, and already they’re too short for his long legs.”
David smiled and nodded. “Jah, it won’t be long and both our boys will be grown, married, and on their own. Someday we’ll be retired, and Aaron can take over the harness shop.”
She reached across the seat and gently pinched his arm. “Don’t you be saying such things. I want to keep our kinner little for as long as I can.”
Going Home Page 3