A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  “We bought enough to make you a dress, too, Aenti Chelle,” Betsy announced. “That’s our surprise.”

  “Me? But I’m not attending you at the wedding.”

  “Nein, but you have been here for us. You’ve helped both of us, and our mamm is happy you have helped us when she can’t,” Betsy said.

  “This isn’t traditional.”

  Frances shook her head. “We’re in Pinecraft. Some things can be a bit nontraditional.” She clapped her hands. “Now, I’ve heard from your mother, girls. The fabric arrived in Ohio for your attendants there, and she is helping see to their dresses.”

  Betsy hugged the bolts of fabric. “Oh, I hope this works. I’m trying not to fret. Perhaps we should have had the ceremony in Ohio.”

  “But then, Steven and I couldn’t marry there,” Emma pointed out.

  They’d had this back-and-forth already. The sisters, one Mennonite and the other Amish, along with their betrothed, had somehow arranged for their bishop and pastor to agree to a same-day wedding celebration. Emma and Steven would wed first, married by their Mennonite pastor, then Betsy and Thaddeus would wed in a separate ceremony, married by their Amish bishop. Then both couples would celebrate with a large meal for all their guests.

  Like Pinecraft, they somehow would make it work.

  “Now, let’s get measurements for the three of you.” Frances motioned for them to follow. “We’ll do this in the guest room, in case the menfolk come traipsing through the house.”

  “We saw the buggy,” Rochelle said. “When did Tobias get it? Or did he build it?”

  Frances waved her hands before closing the guest room door behind them all. “Oh, he built the contraption. He bought a used double-seat golf cart at an auction, and started from there. He’s as excited as a little boy on the first day of summer. He can’t wait until the snowbirds come for the winter. He’ll be giving rides morning, noon, and night.”

  “I’m sure he will. The neighing horn was unexpected.”

  Frances chuckled. “When he found that horn in a mail order catalog, oh, mercy me, he went to the mailbox almost every day until it came in. . . . All right, who’s first?”

  “Aenti Chelle.” Emma nudged Rochelle’s elbow as Frances plucked a measuring tape from a nearby countertop, covered with stacks of fabric on both sides of a sewing machine.

  “Come, come,” Frances said.

  Rochelle stepped up to allow the older seamstress to take her measurements. Frances measured and wrote, measured and wrote, until she’d completed everything she needed to size the dress.

  “Thank you, Betsy and Emma. I never expected this.”

  “Mamm gave us the idea.” Emma beamed.

  Betsy and Emma then had their turns being measured.

  “Ah, one day, two weddings. You girls are smart,” Frances said. “Family and friends will only need to cook once for the wedding meal.”

  “That’s what we thought. Also, right after Christmas, before New Year’s, a lot of people will be in town anyway. And, no snow to deal with.” Betsy stood up a little straighter, and Frances stretched the measuring tape from Betsy’s waist down to her hemline.

  “Well, providing no other issues with this fabric, I will have these ready in late November. I have a pile of sewing to do before then, but don’t you worry, I’ll get these dresses finished. Now, your mother is sewing everything else in Ohio?”

  “Yes, mamm said she has measured our attendants, some of our cousins, and friends,” Betsy said.

  Rochelle glanced out the window as the women continued to chat about wedding plans. Thank You, God, for helping these young women in this most exciting time of their lives. There were the men, in the sideyard, talking beside the horseless buggy. What a clever, novel idea. Pinecraft was a Plain place, but you always prepared yourself for the unexpected. Like horseless buggies.

  Silas looked up, his gaze traveling to the house where it landed on the window. No, Rochelle was sure he couldn’t see her because of the brightness outside, but his intense expression almost made her believe he could.

  * * *

  “Will you stay for supper, Silas?” Uncle Tobias asked. “Henry Hostetler is coming by, and if I know Frances, she’ll invite the three young ladies inside to stay for supper, too.”

  “Well . . .” He pondered for a moment. Lena was working on a project with her lab partner and wouldn’t be home until later, and Matthew was already here, working on a pair of bicycles or whatever odd jobs his uncle could find for him.

  “It’ll save you some cooking. And, Henry and I have an idea we’d like to run by you.”

  “Ah, no cooking, and an idea to boot. Sure, we’ll stay.” And Rochelle is here.

  “Good. You know, until you and the kids came to town, we didn’t realize how much we miss having the younger crowd around. Ours have long-gone and flown the nest.”

  “But they visit you sometimes, right?” He’d last seen his cousins at Belinda’s funeral.

  “They do. But it has been good to have someone around all the time. Young Matthew, he keeps me on my toes, for sure.”

  Some banging and clanking came from the direction of the bicycle workshop.

  “I haven’t seen Matthew jump into anything with as much enthusiasm, since, ah, I’m not sure.”

  “He’s quite adept at mechanics. I showed him one of the electric motors, and we took it apart and put it together not long after lunchtime today.”

  “Hey, Dad.” Matthew left the workshop. He clutched a rag and was wiping his grease-covered fingers. “I found a bike. I’m gonna fix it up and sell it.”

  “Or, you can rent it,” Uncle Tobias said, clapping him on the back.

  “That’s great, Son.” In the two months they’d been in Pinecraft, Matthew had changed, for the better it seemed. Now he didn’t follow in his sister’s shadow, but had found his own interests, namely bicycles and fishing.

  “I might rent it to people, six dollars a day.” Matthew nodded. “If someone rents it for two weeks, it’s eighty-four dollars.”

  “You might not get six dollars, Matthew,” Uncle Tobias said. “I only charge five per day, and Mr. Kaufman charges only four for his older tricycles.”

  Matthew’s expression sank a little. “Oh, I see.”

  “But it’s a good idea,” Silas said. He didn’t know much about running a business and looked to Uncle Tobias for more input.

  “We can talk more at supper. Let’s go wash up and get the rest of the grease off your hands.” Uncle Tobias nodded toward the house, and the three of them headed inside.

  Feminine laughter met his ears as they entered the kitchen, where four women sat at a square table with a sewing pattern spread out between them. Rochelle looked up, gave him a small smile, then looked back at the papers in front of her.

  “So, I’ll put some extra strips of ruching about the shoulders and hem—on Emma’s and Rochelle’s dresses, but not for yours, and only two pleats, Betsy.” Aunt Frances jotted something on a note pad.

  “That’s right,” Betsy said. “It was enough to convince them to let us have our weddings together. I don’t want to make everything the same, especially our dresses, and especially something so fancy.”

  “I don’t know why Bishop was so skeptical of the two ceremonies.” Emma sighed. “I mean, we have the same family, even though our churches are different, and we see each other’s church friends in the village. We’re all together here, in one jumbled pile of Plainness.”

  Silas laughed and tried not to snort at young Emma’s observation. Her pointed frankness reminded him of Belinda. There weren’t a few smiles around the table, but Betsy appeared perplexed.

  “It’s so our out-of-town visitors won’t feel uncomfortable,” Betsy began.

  “I understand,” Rochelle said. “You’re just trying to find a common ground. And I think you have, literally.”

  “Anyway, we have about ten or eleven weeks until your big day,” Frances said. “I know everything will come together
.”

  A kitchen timer beeped, and his aunt hopped up from her chair. “There’s the pie. You all are staying for supper, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose we can. Betsy, Emma, do either of you have plans this evening?”

  “I need to go by the bakery tonight,” Betsy said.

  “I don’t have any plans. I was going to write a letter home,” Emma responded.

  “Why then, I suppose we can.” Rochelle stood. “But Frances, let me help with something. You have pie, so I won’t suggest dessert. What else can I help with?”

  “I’ve made a cheeseburger casserole. If you’d like, maybe run to Yoder’s Fresh Market and pick up something for a tossed salad. I have a few fixings and salad dressing I made earlier in the week, but not enough for all of us.”

  “All right, I can go.”

  “And if Silas likes, he can give Rochelle a ride in my buggy,” Tobias interjected. “I know he’s been wanting to give it a spin.”

  It was true. Silas did want to drive the glorified golf cart around, if only once. It would be fun. He shot a look at Rochelle, who stood.

  “Only if you look both ways before we cross Bahia Vista.”

  * * *

  Rochelle climbed inside the buggy, and Silas took his place behind the wheel on the front seat next to her.

  “I promise, I’ll look both ways.” His eyes twinkled. She hadn’t been in this close proximity to him in, well, since way back when.

  “I know you will. I was just teasing.” She smiled back at him.

  “Of course, you were.” He turned the key and the motor puttered to life. “Well, here goes.”

  She knew the girls would be staring and she’d hear about this later. However, tonight this was a simple trip to Yoder’s Market for fresh vegetables, just like she made twice a week from her home. Except never in a black horseless buggy and never with Silas Fry.

  He steered the buggy down the driveway and out onto the street, pressing the button for the horn as he did so. A whinny rang out. Silas pressed the button again, and Rochelle laughed.

  “Are you going to try it all the way to Yoder’s?”

  “Only if you keep asking me if I will.”

  She laughed again. Riding beside him was easy enough, pretending he was someone she’d recently met. A new friend. She focused on the houses they puttered past.

  “I like hearing you laugh,” Silas said.

  “I like finding a reason to laugh.” There’d been too many reasons to cry, and she was done with crying. Amazing, how changing one’s mind-set and focus could improve someone’s mood.

  “Well, I’d like to give you plenty of reasons to laugh.”

  She didn’t know how to respond, but didn’t turn her head to meet his eyes. She only nodded. A woman was toting a bag along the path from her driveway to her home and waved. Vera Byler. Rochelle waved back.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “Vera Byler. She works at Betsy’s bakery.” She didn’t add Vera might share the tidbit of news she’d seen Rochelle riding in Tobias Fry’s horseless buggy with the new widower at church.

  “Ah, Pinecraft Pies and Pastry. I’ve had some of their pie. Some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “True. Between Betsy’s shop and Yoder’s, Pinecraft will never, ever have a shortage of sweet things to eat.”

  They zipped along, but now Silas slowed the buggy as they approached the Bahia Vista light.

  “Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had to hit the brakes on a buggy before. Not like this.” They stopped beside an older man astride a three-wheeled cycle; his beard drifted on the breeze.

  “You’ve driven a real buggy? I thought your family’s always been Mennonite?”

  “We have.” The light clicked green, and off they shot through the intersection. “This was at a distant cousin’s, or second cousin’s, farm. Old Order. Swartzentruber.”

  “I had no idea your family had ties to the Swartzentruber Amish.” The Frys, connected to one of the most conservative Anabaptist groups. She couldn’t remember seeing Swartzentruber Amish visiting Pinecraft, although there might have been one or two. No, Pinecraft was deemed far too worldly by most of their branch of the Plain people.

  “Yup. I think I was ten or eleven at the time, and the older cousin let me drive the team. I was thrilled, scared to death of the horses. I don’t remember why we were visiting them.” Silas shrugged.

  “Huh.” She gripped the railing on the seat as they blipped up into the parking area at Yoder’s, then crept over to a small area away from the cars, where Silas could tuck the buggy into the space.

  “Yes, there’s still a lot we don’t know about each other.” Silas set the parking brake, then climbed out of the buggy. He moved to the other side and extended his hand to help her from the seat.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Rochelle looked down at his hand. It was only a helpful gesture. No need to overthink it or anything else about their interaction.

  A couple passed the buggy, glancing at its black square bulk, and smiled. Silas reached across Rochelle and pushed the horn button. Way too close for her comfort. As the “horse” neighed, Rochelle stared at her lap.

  Silas straightened up and smiled at the couple’s reaction to the horn.

  Rochelle wiggled from the seat and took a step away from the buggy. “I guess we should see about the salad and scoot back to your aunt and uncle’s.”

  “Guess so.” He touched her arm. “Rochelle, I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “We have a lifetime behind us since we’ve seen each other last. We’re two different people now. Would you, can we, just start from this point on, as friends?” All joking had fled his expression. “Rather than drag all of it out, and look at it again?”

  Rochelle raised her chin and made herself look him straight in the eye. “I think it’s an excellent idea. Friends.”

  “Good.” He nodded, and they continued on their way toward the bins of produce.

  * * *

  Rochelle, 19

  The medicine hadn’t worked this time. Rochelle could see it on her mother’s face, despite the bravery she also saw. God wasn’t answering their prayers. Other mothers, other women had beat uterine cancer.

  Uterine cancer. Harsh words to describe a disease claiming the part of her mother that had sheltered and helped nurture Rochelle and her sister as they grew inside her.

  When did one give up praying? When did she surrender to the knowledge that not too far from now, she’d be standing at her mother’s graveside, no matter what well-meaning friends said.

  “Just keep believing.”

  “Things will turn around.”

  “God will take care of her.”

  “God will make sure His will is done.”

  Rochelle didn’t want God’s will to be her spending the rest of her life without her mother. Someday, she wanted to sit at her parents’ kitchen table and tell her mother she would be getting married. Then someday, tell her mother she was carrying her first child.

  In the bottom of her soul, though, she knew those things wouldn’t happen, no matter what well-meaning people said.

  “Silas is coming up the porch steps,” her mother said, from her comfortable perch in the easy chair. Rochelle’s father had arranged the chair just so, in order for her mother to be able to see activities outdoors.

  Silas, the one constant in her life, a bright spot. He made her laugh on days when she didn’t feel like laughing at all.

  Thank You, God, for someone like Silas.

  7

  Silas managed to stuff himself with a slab of Aunt Fran’s cheeseburger casserole and a generous pile of Rochelle’s tossed salad. He stared at his empty plate.

  “Aunt Fran and Rochelle, I’ll stop trying to learn how to cook if I can eat this well every night.”

  “Silas, you can always come here for supper every night if you’d like. You know you’re welcome,” said Aunt Fran. She picked up his empty plate. “I’ll pull out
the pie after we get the table cleared and the coffee brewed.”

  “Oh, I can take care of my plate.” He moved to stand.

  “No. Let me fuss over you. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone to fuss over.”

  “You can fuss over me,” said Uncle Tobias. “I don’t mind.”

  Rochelle came in through the side door. “The girls are on their way home; Emma, to write her letter, and Betsy needs to get up at four for the bakery.”

  “I promise, we won’t keep you too long,” Uncle Tobias said. “If you’re not comfortable cycling home at twilight, we can strap your bike to the buggy and get you home safely.”

  “Thanks. I think I can manage fine riding my bike.”

  “Coffee’s almost ready,” Aunt Fran said from the kitchen. Rochelle joined her at the counter, where the women pulled cups from the cabinet.

  From where he sat, Henry Hostetler placed a three-ring binder on the table. The older man’s reputation preceded him. A widowed Mennonite man and self-employed contractor and fixture in the village, he reminded Silas of his own father with his strong yet quiet ways.

  “Now, I’m glad you’re here, Silas. And Rochelle. I’m not sure if you knew or not, Rochelle might, but earlier this past summer a few of us formed the Pinecraft Heritage Committee.”

  Silas glanced at Rochelle.

  “Yes, I’ve heard about the committee.”

  “Well, we’re looking to enlarge the committee. At our most recent meeting, we realized all we have are some old-timers in the group. There’s nothing wrong with old-timers, but . . .”

  “With age, comes wisdom,” Silas said.

  “Between the five of us, we have plenty, if you go by age. We add up to almost three hundred years of life experience. But what we don’t have is younger people’s perspective.” Henry glanced up; Aunt Fran set a mug of coffee in front of Henry and Uncle Tobias, while Rochelle settled onto the seat next to Silas.

  “We’ve been talking, and we want to invite you to join the group. Both of you.” Uncle Tobias smiled at Aunt Fran. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Both of us?” Rochelle asked. “But I’m a . . .”