by Sarah Price
At home, though, Grace knew that Maem suspected something. She always seemed to be watching Grace, catching her when she daydreamed about Menno. Anna Mae and Benny didn’t seem to notice any changes in her behavior. At fourteen, Anna Mae focused on her home vocational studies, while Benny focused too much on enjoying his rumschpringe years.
“What are you thinking about, Grace?”
It was early September now and Menno had surprised her with a picnic by the river located on Mills Creek Road. As always, he was impeccably dressed and wore clean boots. He never had any dirt or tears on his clothes or his shoes. She sat on the bench of a picnic table and stared at the water flowing downstream. He perched himself on top of the table, watching her instead.
“Summer goes by so quickly, ain’t so?”
He nodded. “For sure and certain.”
Grace sighed. “I’ll miss summer, I reckon, but I do so love the autumn season and the holidays. Such a happy time of year with baptisms and quilting bees and . . . ” She paused, blushing for a moment. She was about to mention the wedding season but felt that was too forward. He might infer that she was suggesting something.
“You can say it,” he said, smiling.
Catching her breath, she looked up at him, suddenly aware that he had read her thoughts. As usual, his green eyes twinkled.
“I like it when you blush, Grace Mast,” he teased. “Your cheeks get such a pretty pink color.”
Embarrassed, she pressed her hands to her face as if hiding her unintentional display of emotion.
He laughed and reached down to pull her hands back. “Silly Grace,” he went on. “You know that we’re getting married this November, don’t you?”
At this announcement, neither a request nor a proper proposal, just a casual announcement, she gasped. “Menno Beiler!”
In one quick movement, he slid down from the top of the picnic table and sat next to her on the bench. His one hand continued to hold hers. It felt strange to have someone holding her hand, his skin soft and warm, even if she could feel a few calluses on his palm. “Why, Grace Mast! Did you ever have any doubts?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head, playfully teasing her. “Would you think I’d be spending my time with you if I didn’t have that intention in mind?” Then, with a more solemn tone, he quoted, “‘Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun.’”
She wasn’t certain how to respond. Clearly he was proposing to her with the assumption that he didn’t really need to ask: he knew she would say yes if he did. And he was correct. But despite his forwardness in the matter, it was something that deep down she had known to be forthcoming. That she wanted to be forthcoming.
“I . . . I reckon I’d best tell Maem and Daed, then,” she whispered.
For a second he seemed to consider this thought. Her parents hadn’t hidden their displeasure about Menno’s attention to Grace. Her maem often scowled when he came to the door, and her daed barely said more than a quick greeting that sounded more like a grunt than a “hello.” But Grace didn’t care. As she sat on that picnic bench holding his hand, she knew she wanted to be known as Menno’s Grace for the rest of her life.
“Mayhaps I’d best tell them with you,” he said firmly. “If you’re to be my fraa, Grace, I want to be by your side, through the good and the not-so-good. If they are to be upset or displeased, we will face it together. I would not put you into the lions’ den without the protection of angels.”
She smiled at his analogy and nodded her head in consent.
When they returned to her parents’ farm, Grace noticed that it was unusually quiet. No kittens played in the driveway, and Anna Mae’s push-scooter was not in its usual place on the porch. Even Benny seemed to be missing, for his courting buggy did not occupy the open space in the horse stable.
They know, Grace thought.
Inside the kitchen, both Maem and Daed sat at the kitchen table as if they had been waiting for Grace and Menno to arrive. Daed’s hands rested upon the Bible, and Grace noticed that he tapped his fingers against its cover. Just inside the doorway, she stopped and pressed her lips together, waiting for him to look up in case he was praying. Rather than look up, he sighed.
“Daed?”
“‘Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.’” His words seemed sorrowful. He turned around and stared at her, his eyes flickering only once to where Menno stood by her side. “Marriage is forever.”
Swallowing, Grace felt the sudden dryness of her throat. “I know that, Daed.”
“And this is your decision, then? Marrying a man with such a past?”
Why are they so opposed to Menno Beiler? she wondered. Are they unable to forgive his past transgressions during his rumschpringe? Forgiveness was core to the Amish faith. And, after all, he had taken his kneeling vow. His lust for wandering the country and courting Englische girls was long gone. In that moment, she felt anger toward her parents, her father mostly, for their inability to display one of the key values they had preached about so often.
“It is.” When she spoke, her tone was stronger than she felt.
Now it was Maem’s turn. “And it has to be now? You barely know each other.”
Grace shifted her eyes from her father to her mother, but she did not respond. How could she possibly explain that although they had been courting only a short time, she loved him? Besides, it was the getting to know each other that intrigued Grace the most. He was, by far, the most interesting young man she had ever met. She suspected a future with Menno Beiler would be far from rote and routine.
“You have your baptism in October and now a wedding to plan in November?” Maem shook her head, clearly unhappy with the projected timeline. “We haven’t even made your wedding quilt yet!”
“That’s not so important, Maem.”
Menno cleared his throat, indicating that he wanted to speak. He had removed his hat and held it in his hands, before his waist. Grace was amazed at how calm he appeared. “I’m to take over my daed’s farm, and by spring, I’ll have the grossdawdihaus ready for Grace to move in. We’ll live there until my parents are ready for their life-right.”
Just as Menno, the youngest son, would inherit the Beiler farm, one day Benny would inherit their father’s farm. Unlike other cultures where the oldest child tended to inherit the bulk of property or investments, the Amish usually let the younger children move into a smaller section or mini-house attached to the main house. When Benny became older and married, he would live in the grossdawdihaus with his wife until Anna Mae married and moved out. By that time, Maem and Daed would move into the grossdawdihaus as their life-right, their right not to worry about being taken care of in their old age. The children would pay their bills and help care for them. It left a strain on Benny, but the other children would help out as well as their parents aged.
“There’ll be plenty of time to make a quilt in winter,” Menno added matter-of-factly.
“Nee,” Maem said. “There will be no quilting bee in the winter.”
Grace caught her breath and stared at the floor. Quilting bees were always such a happy time, one of the bright spots in what usually would be a long, cold, gray winter. Women would gather and share fellowship as they stitched the pattern of the young woman’s quilt. Each stitch was made with community love, they would say. When the quilt was finished and the edges bound, it would be folded and neatly stored in the young woman’s hope chest until the day she married.
However, Grace hadn’t expected Menno to appear in her life, so her hope chest remained empty.
“A young woman must have a quilt before her wedding!” With a deep, heavy breath, she looked at her husband and said, “Best be bringing up that quilting frame from the basement. We’ll set it up in the empty gathering room.”
“Maem, are you sure . . . ?”
Her mother pursed her lips and didn’t appear very happy. Whether Maem was unhappy about her determination to make a quilt before the wedding or the fact that Menno was her selected, Grace didn’t know. But she watched as her mother seemed to work out the logistics in her head. “Won’t be time to invite other women to help. They’ll be busy with preparations for winter and such. We’ll just have to make a simpler quilt pattern.”
Throughout all of this, Daed remained silent. His eyes stared at the wall, focusing on nothing. Grace wished she knew what he was thinking. If she had hoped for a blessing from her father, clearly it was not coming. After Maem’s declaration of the simpler quilt pattern, her father stood up and headed toward the first-floor bedroom, his Bible clutched in his hands. He paused at the doorway as if he wanted to say something. With his back turned toward them, he remained silent and opened the door. He looked like a defeated man as he passed through the doorway and shut the door behind him.
For a moment, Grace wanted to apologize to Menno for her father’s behavior. To his credit, Menno looked completely self-composed. If Daed hadn’t forgiven or forgotten Menno’s rumschpringe, Menno was not bothered.
The next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. After morning chores, Maem took Grace to the store to pick out fabrics for the quilt. They had decided on the very simple pattern called Lancaster Diamond. While it needed more quilting, the piecing of the top was simple enough that Maem would not need anyone to help her. That’s what she said to Grace, anyway. Grace wondered why invitations were not discussed and no extra cooking was planned to accommodate the anticipated guests for a quilting bee. She never thought to ask her maem; to do so would be disrespectful. Besides, she was busy piecing the quilt top, and by the weekend, she had finished it. She also had drawn the quilting pattern on it and pinned the batting and backing, so once Daed and Emanuel rolled it onto the quilt frame, it was ready to be quilted.
But no one came to quilt.
Every day after morning chores, Grace sat in the straight-back chair and quilted her own wedding quilt. After school, Anna Mae would try to help out by lending a hand for an hour. On a few occasions, Maem sighed, and after washing her hands and drying them on her apron, she joined Grace at the frame. But most of the quilting was done by Grace. She suspected that her daed’s attitude about the upcoming wedding had affected her maem, and Maem did not have the heart to host a quilting bee or help much with the quilt in the face of her husband’s displeasure.
Toward the end of the week, however, an unexpected visitor showed up at the door: Menno’s maem and sisters. Grace watched with curiosity how Maem greeted them, as if they were old friends. The sisters were quiet and merely reached out to shake Grace and Maem’s hands.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Maem said, and she sounded as if she actually meant it. Grace frowned, wondering at this change in her mother’s behavior. Both of her parents had been rather quiet since the day they learned of her betrothal. Now, with the Beiler women standing in her kitchen, Maem seemed to be her old self.
“We heard there was some quilting going on,” Menno’s mother said, smiling at Grace. “Is that the wedding quilt, then?” Without waiting for an invitation to enter, Barbara Beiler crossed the room and looked down at the quilt. “Oh my!”
Grace couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or horrified.
Barbara waved to her two daughters. “Linda, Bethany, come see!” Obediently, they joined their mother. “It’s going to be a beautiful quilt. Such small stitches, Grace. You are a fine quilter, I reckon.”
The compliment helped Grace loosen up. “Danke, Barbara.”
“And I see the colors match Menno’s eyes.” Barbara nodded her approval. “How sweet.”
Grace glanced at her mother, wondering if she had noticed that only green colors, with a touch of cream, had been picked out for the quilt.
Barbara wasted no time occupying the lone empty chair next to Grace. She glanced at her two daughters. “Linda, mayhaps you can find more folding chairs, ja? A bride should have help with her wedding quilt, and I’d love to share my love of the Lord while stitching, praying, and sharing fellowship with Grace. Oh, and Bethany, did you bring in that pumpkin bread I made this morning?”
From behind her back, Bethany produced a large loaf of bread wrapped in plastic wrap. “Right here, Maem.”
Suddenly, the room became full of noise and activity. Barbara Beiler talked as she quilted, often asking Grace questions, and even including Grace’s mother in the conversation. The two sisters sat earnestly beside their mother, quilting without adding much to the dialogue with the exception of when Barbara sang a hymn. Grace loved to sing and knew the hymns by heart. Slowly, she began to feel happy, enjoying her makeshift quilting bee, even if only three people attended it. They were three people who loved God, loved family, and, apparently, loved her.
2015
The woman seated next to Grace pushed back her chair and announced that her back ached. Grace looked up, her memory interrupted, and was surprised to see it was almost noon. The younger women were already busy in the kitchen, laughing and chatting with each other as they prepared the meal for the women. She caught sight of Rose King, her pink dress as bright as her smile and covered with a perfectly clean black apron. Even her prayer kapp was clean and freshly starched, the two strings hanging down her back with a small, crisp bow at the end.
Grace didn’t care for the way the young girls wore their prayer kapps nowadays; when she was growing up, she would have been brought before the bishop for such an infringement. But that was then and this was now.
Other women started to stand, collecting their quilting materials: scissors, needles, thread, and thimbles. After the meal, most of the elderly women would leave, Grace among them. Her back ached too and so did her head. This quilt that was being made with community love by so many women would most likely be finished in just two sittings. The memory of her own quilting, fifty years ago, stirred old emotions—disappointment in her parents strongly conflicting with her love for the Beiler family.
Indeed, without the help of the Beilers, it would have taken Grace much longer to finish that quilt. At the time, Grace couldn’t help but feel as if she was being punished—for what, she did not know. After all, it was her mother’s duty to organize the quilting bee. Since she hadn’t, Barbara Beiler, not having heard any news of a quilting bee, had taken it upon herself to show up and provide extra hands to help her future daughter-in-law.
For that, Grace had been most thankful.
Today, Grace better understood why her parents had been so resentful of Menno, but she still questioned their inability to follow their own faith and extend forgiveness to him.
That thought made her head ache.
“You feeling all right, then, Grace?”
The hand on her arm felt soft and light. Grace turned to look at whomever had approached her. Rose King. “Oh ja, indeed. Right as rain in spring,” Grace said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I’m quite glad you came today,” Rose said. She looked over at the quilt and a smile broke out upon her face. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?”
The look of joy and glow of happiness that exuded from the young woman standing before her made Grace feel better. Young love, she thought. God’s gift to man and woman. “Your color choices are quite nice for the chosen pattern, Rose. Autumn colors, especially that rich orange block. Reminds me of October pumpkins!”
“Oh!” Rose gasped. “I almost forgot! Stay right here, Grace Beiler.”
Like a giddy schoolgirl, Rose hurried through the other women as they made their way to the table. Grace could barely see her as she disappeared into the mudroom. A few moments later, she returned, holding a brown paper package in her hand. With a big smile, she held it out to Grace.
“What’s this?” Grace asked.
“I made something for you.”
“You did?”
Rose nodded
and gently pushed the package into Grace’s hands. “Someone left a note in our mailbox. The writer asked that I make this for you and give it to you today.”
Perplexed, Grace’s mouth fell open as she looked from Rose’s glowing eyes to the package and back to Rose again. “Who wrote such a note?”
Rose shrugged. “It wasn’t signed, but definitely it was a woman’s handwriting.”
“Oh, help!” Grace didn’t know what to make of this. First the handkerchief and now this? Perhaps Mary had been correct in assuming that a secret sister was behind it all. Carefully, she began to unwrap the package. A few of the other women watched, curious to see what Grace was holding.
As the brown paper fell away, Grace knew right away what she held in her hands. For a moment, she thought she might become emotional. Taking a few deep breaths, she managed to meet Rose’s gaze. “Pumpkin bread?” she asked. “Someone told you to make me pumpkin bread?”
“Are you surprised?” Rose laughed. And then, just as suddenly, she became somber. “You do like pumpkin bread, ja?”
Grace held the pumpkin bread in her hands, staring at it as if it were the most beautiful gift she had ever received. The memory of Barbara Beiler accepting Grace into the family began with the day she had marched into Maem’s kitchen and told Bethany to fetch the fresh loaf of pumpkin bread she had baked that same morning for everyone to share.
Did she like pumpkin bread?
Lifting her eyes, she looked at Rose and smiled. “Oh, Rose,” she said softly. “It’s my most favorite kind of bread. Danke, dear friend. Danke.”
It was all Grace could do to remain focused on the singing before the meal. Her mind stayed, instead, on that loaf of pumpkin bread given to her so long ago by Menno Beiler’s mother. Who could possibly have known about the importance of that particular gift, fifty long years ago, and how much its memory would mean to her? Especially at a quilting bee?
For the rest of the meal, Grace sat silent, deep in thought, wondering who, indeed, was this very clever and well-intentioned secret sister.