Secret Sister

by Sarah Price

  Surprised, Grace turned around and did not see anyone there, until she looked down and saw one of the Yoder children, Lizzie’s granddaughter, standing before her with a sheepish grin on her face.

  “Why, look at you,” Grace said, forcing a smile for the blond-haired little girl. “My, my, how you have grown! I remember when you were just born!” Her tone of voice was a pitch higher in the manner that adults tend to talk to small children. Yet it exuded warmth and kindness that caused the girl to giggle and roll her cheek against her shoulder in delight. Then she pulled a small package from behind her back and handed it to Grace before she skipped away, quickly disappearing into the gathering crowd.

  “What’s this?” she asked out loud, even though no one stood before her. Obviously, her secret sister had struck again. Grace glanced around the room, hoping to spot someone watching, but no one seemed to be paying attention to what just happened. Returning her attention to the package, wrapped in white tissue paper, Grace decided to open it. Right there. It wasn’t just her curiosity about the contents; it was a need to figure out who was sending her these gifts!

  The paper crinkled as she slid a finger under the pieces of tape, lifting up the back of the wrapping. Carefully holding the paper in one hand so that it didn’t fall on the floor, she withdrew the item inside. And when she saw it, she gasped.

  The entire room evaporated from her consciousness as she was transported back to her own wedding day, to the very moment when she stood beside her mother in the glow of a lamp in that back bedroom. She felt the happiness and joy the gift had brought to her heart fifty years ago. Forgotten was the misery and pain of the loss that, at that moment in time, had yet to happen.

  She held the gift, clutching it to her chest, her eyes misty as she enjoyed feeling eighteen and happy once again. The memory felt real, perhaps the first time she had had such a sensation of elation since long before Menno passed away. And in her ears she heard the voice of her mother as Maem had handed to her a special gift, one almost exactly like the little blue journal that Grace now held in her aging hands: “In times of hardship, reflect on the past and remember all of the good that God has given us.”

  The merit of her mother’s sage advice, offered fifty years ago, was just as applicable today. Over time, Grace had sometimes forgotten to practice that advice. Yet the gift, an innocent gift given by a secret sister who most certainly could not have known of its profound significance, reminded Grace that God loved her and had indeed provided her with a good life. She just had to focus on those events and memories instead of the painful ones. The only problem was that Grace wasn’t certain she knew how.

  CHAPTER SIX

  November 26, 2015

  ON THANKSGIVING MORNING, the sun shone outside, a welcome change from the previous overcast days. Grace stood at the front windowsill, her fingertips lightly pressed against the white-painted wood, lifting her chin so that her cheeks could feel the warmth. She shut her eyes and stayed there, enjoying the peaceful moment.

  The previous day, she had dug out all her old diaries. She sat on the sofa, the diaries spread out around her. They represented her fifty years with Menno. Ten five-year diaries in all, with only one incomplete: the final year of her most recent one. She had stopped journaling when Menno first took ill. At the time, she abandoned the diary with complete consciousness, justifying it because his care took precedence over anything else in her life. In hindsight, she knew the real reason why. Subconsciously, she hadn’t wanted to write the entry that would, undoubtedly, reflect the worst event in her life: his death.

  While she read them, she found herself smiling at the short entries. She could remember writing many of these entries, and the memories that flooded back, especially about the children when they were younger, made her forget, even if for a short while, the pain of loss.

  At eleven o’clock, she wrapped her black shawl over her shoulders, pinning it with a large safety clip, before picking up a small box from the table and carrying it to the door. She had offered to bring some food to Hannah’s house for the Thanksgiving meal: cookies, two pumpkin pies, and some canned beets from her pantry. Balancing the box on her hip, she managed to open the door and step outside.

  If the sun had warmed her face earlier, the reality of the cold air on her face hit her the second the door shut behind her. Luckily, Hannah lived only two houses down the road. The walk in the brisk air would do her some good, anyway, she rationalized as she fought the urge to return to her house and not go at all.

  Each step toward Hannah’s house separated her from those diaries, the happier memories that she needed to hold on to at the present moment. Instead, she was reminded that, on the first important holiday since Menno’s death, she was not going to be sharing her meal with her family. Instead, she would be the widow invited to the neighbors’ house, the pity guest who got to watch the Yoder family enjoy each other’s company.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. Be thankful for the invitation and rejoice in the love of God.

  Several buggies were already parked in the driveway, the horses standing inside the large garage that had been converted into a stable. The gate was open and she could see them watching her, their ears twitching as they ate their hay. She missed having a horse and buggy, but she had made the right decision to give it to Ivan’s family. They needed it and could take proper care of it, especially during the cold winter months.

  “Come in, come in,” Hannah said, opening the door even before Grace knocked. She had been waiting for Grace to arrive. “It’s right cold out. Come and let me take that box from you, now.” Without waiting, Hannah took the cardboard box from her hands and passed it to one of her granddaughters.

  “Danke,” Grace said, feeling a little less like a pity guest when she saw the big smile on Hannah’s face. Such a genuine welcome warmed Grace’s heart. Truly she was thankful for having such a good friend and neighbor as Hannah Esh.

  Grace’s eyes glanced around the room and took in the sight of nearly thirty people sitting on a variety of chairs in the large gathering room. Wooden and metal folding chairs were set up along the perimeter of the room. Mostly older people sat there while the younger women busied themselves in the kitchen.

  She recognized several of the men and women who sat on the chairs, their feet crossed at the ankles and most with their arms folded over their chests. The women mostly sat on the far side and talked among themselves, some of them crocheting. Grace noticed Hannah’s oldest daughter, Katie Sue, talking with Hannah’s mother, Miriam, who, despite her age, appeared alert and in great health.

  “Go take a seat now,” Hannah urged, nudging Grace in their direction. “You know my maem. She’s been asking for you all morning!”

  Obediently, Grace walked through the room and in the direction Hannah indicated. Several children ran by, their feet bare, for they had left their shoes at the front door, which Grace noticed as she tried to navigate around them. From the kitchen came wonderful smells: turkey, ham, bread. A long table was set up in the living room, a much larger room than typical for most Englische-converted homes. The entire atmosphere began to relax Grace, and she realized that she truly felt joy at sharing this special, if not bittersweet, fellowship with Hannah and her family.

  “Why, Grace Beiler!” An aged, weathered hand reached out for hers. Grace accepted it, the coolness of Miriam’s thin skin a reminder of how Menno’s hands had felt just before he died. But Miriam still had a spark of energy and life in her eyes. “You’ve been hiding in your haus, then!”

  Grace greeted Katie Sue before sitting next to Miriam. “You look well,” she said to the older woman. In truth, she did. With the exception of the clacking of her false teeth and the deep wrinkles under her eyes, Grace never would have known that the woman who sat before her was almost ninety years old.

  “Feeling well too,” Miriam said cheerfully. “God has blessed me with extra time for another holiday gathering. Can’t beat that.”

  Both Grace and Katie Su
e laughed at Miriam’s upbeat attitude.

  “Hear tell that you have a new great-grandchild over at the old farm,” Katie Sue said.

  “Soon, but not yet.” Grace looked around the room and realized that Miriam’s attitude was one that she needed to adopt: feeling blessed, rather than accursed, for having survived Menno. With Menno gone, maybe now she could try to mend broken fences with Ivan. His upcoming visit would certainly provide an opportunity to do so. She missed being around young children, hearing their silly questions and watching their eyes brighten as they learned new things. And reading those diaries had reminded her that she still had family, even if Menno walked with Jesus.

  Miriam continued to talk, unaware that Grace had drifted off into a daydream. “Wish He’d bless me with ninety more years,” the older woman said in a saucy way. “Want to see what happens to these great-grand-kinner. Why, when I was growing up, things were so different. Weren’t hardly no cars on the roads at all! And those picture films! We didn’t have to worry about our youth sneaking off to see them fancy painted women!”

  While she listened to Miriam share stories from when she was younger and comment on how much things had changed, Grace couldn’t help but smile to herself.

  Miriam’s words made Grace try to remember how much things had changed since she had been a young child and later a mother. Despite their age difference, Grace’s memories of her own childhood were similar to Miriam’s. Now, as a grandmother, she suddenly saw the world with a different set of eyes. By the time her grandchildren were her age, life would be different indeed. Certainly things had changed since her own children had grown up.

  Things did change. And when change started, it seemed to take on a life of its own.

  In the fifty years that she had been married to Menno, how much their world had transformed! Ephrata and the surrounding towns had grown from small rural farming communities to more metropolitan areas, both from tourism and suburbanites. The strict conservative bishops and preachers from her youth had died and been replaced with new ones, men who recognized that some compromises were needed in their lives. Telephones began to show up in shops and barns. Kerosene lanterns were replaced with battery-operated lamps. Youths accepted jobs in the world outside their religious confines.

  Such change happened so gradually that, until Miriam mentioned it, Grace hadn’t really given it much thought.

  For the next hour, Grace visited with other guests, most of them related to Hannah or her husband. Most of all, though, she enjoyed watching the children. She watched the little ones running back and forth, playing with toys and laughing. The sound of laughter brought back memories of her own children during a period of her life that, despite some pain, was the happiest of times.

  1966–67

  The blood in the toilet told Grace all she needed to know: the baby was gone. It was her second miscarriage since their marriage, almost twelve months ago. Unlike her first pregnancy, her second one had been kept secret from Menno. She didn’t want to get his hopes up only for him to be disappointed again. It was better that only she suffer rather than her dragging him into the despair of losing a second baby.

  Still, as she sat on the floor with her arm across the top of the toilet and her forehead pressed against the side, she felt the tears streaming down her face.

  All she desired was to give Menno that one gift all men wanted: a child, preferably a son. While every parent wanted a healthy infant, for the farming family, a son as the firstborn would make the joyous event even more special. Boys grew into men, and men worked alongside their fathers in the fields and dairy.

  Even more, she wanted a baby for herself. She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to be a mother to Menno’s baby so that she felt settled and part of the Beiler family. It had taken Grace a little bit of time to adapt to living at the Beilers’ farm. She certainly couldn’t deny that she missed her own family, especially when she quickly learned that there were many ways to live, even among the Amish.

  Barbara Beiler ran her family with an iron fist when it came to discipline and respect; but she also gave her children the right to decide about their own futures and the right to make choices in life. Menno was a perfect example. During his rumschpringe, he seemed to be on a wild journey in life. Barbara had let him make his own choices, offering him love and support even if she hadn’t quite understood his reasons. Now that he had settled down, and with Grace, definitely a favorite of hers, Barbara could breathe a sigh of relief that Menno had come back into the fold.

  What remained unsaid was that he too could have been a casualty like Benny.

  Without doubt, the pain and suffering within Grace’s family lingered far longer than most people permitted. Birth, life, and death were inescapable. After the proper period of mourning, life continued for everyone else. After all, life was God’s will. So was death, she reminded herself.

  Uncertain what to do, she finally decided to reach out and flush the toilet. Tears streamed down her face as she worried whether or not that was proper. By her calculations, she had been a little over nine weeks pregnant. Maybe ten. Now, as of just a few moments ago, she wasn’t pregnant at all.

  She wondered when the baby died. Was it today? Was it yesterday? She worried that it was something she had done. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything unusual such as reaching up to a top shelf or bumping into something like a counter or table. Like Benny’s death, there was no explanation for why her baby was gone.

  God’s will.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Grace?”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand and struggled to her feet, hoping her cheeks weren’t too red or her eyes too puffy. “I’m in the bathroom,” she called back, trying to sound natural. After running cold water from the faucet and splashing it on her face, she took a long look in the small mirror over the sink. While she may have masked her swollen eyes, she couldn’t hide her sorrow. Plus, she really needed to lie down for a while. The cramps in her stomach hadn’t gone away after her body released what had been her baby.

  When she left the bathroom and entered the kitchen, she saw him seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He glanced up and smiled at her. “There’s my Grace,” he said and reached out his hand for her to take. “I’m finished with my chores for the morning. Thought we might take a ride over to your parents’ and see how your daed and Emanuel are doing with the haying.”

  She couldn’t imagine facing her mother right now.

  “I’m not feeling so well,” she said, her voice soft and her eyes downcast. “Mayhaps I might need to rest a spell.”

  The gleam in his eyes, so hopeful, indicated that he wondered if she might be trying to tell him something else.

  “It’s not that,” she mumbled. “Stomachache is all.”

  He pulled her into his arms and gently sat her on his lap. One of the things she had grown to love about Menno was how affectionate he was in the privacy of their small house. He treated her with tender care and thoughtfulness, never shy to reach out and touch her or hug her. Of course, in the company of others, he remained very standoffish and reserved, for public displays of affection were not allowed and could be cause for a stern lecture from their bishop.

  “Grace,” Menno said, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It will happen when it happens.” “What if it doesn’t happen?” she whispered, hoping that her voice didn’t quiver. “What if something is wrong with me?”

  He laughed, a comforting sound. “There’s nothing wrong with you. In fact, I think you’re as near perfect as any person could be.” Then he leaned over to kiss her cheek. The whiskers on his chin tickled her skin. That was one thing she wasn’t used to: his mustache-less beard. Even though she knew that married Amish men must grow a beard, she missed his clean-shaven face. He looked much older with his beard. “Now let’s get you tucked in for a nap, ja? And I can even fetch you a cup of tea.”

  “Meadow tea?” she asked, a gentle smile on her face
as she tried to sound appreciative of his offer. “Warm?”

  “Warm.”

  By the time their first anniversary arrived, Grace fretted that she still had not conceived since her second miscarriage. Menno seemed unfazed by the fact that, unlike most newly married couples, they were not celebrating their anniversary with a baby in their arms. In moments of great panic, Grace did her best to emulate his steady calmness. It didn’t always work.

  Spring arrived and brought a new hope that life was forming within her womb. Once again, she kept the news to herself so that she didn’t raise false hopes in her husband. This time, however, when several weeks turned into months and she felt the need to pin her dress a little looser around her midriff, she felt, in her heart, that God had blessed her at last.

  Sitting outside at the picnic table under a large oak tree, Grace set down the pants that she had been sewing for Menno. She shut her eyes and lifted her face to the warm breeze. She liked working outside during the warmer months, especially since their house was so small. The vibrant colors created a prettier backsplash than if she merely sat inside. Besides, she wanted to see the growing cornstalks as they waved in the breeze and smell the comforting, familiar scent of farm life.

  One day, she thought, as she rested her hand on her stomach, this farm would be the backbone of this baby’s life. As Menno’s parents aged and his younger sisters married, they would eventually move into the smaller house so that Menno and his family would live in the larger dwelling. It was the normal cycle of life on an Amish farm.

  “Grace,” he said as he slid onto the bench beside her.

  She hadn’t heard Menno approaching from the barn. Smiling, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. His short-sleeved work shirt was dirty on the front with a small tear at the seam of his collar. She made a mental note to fix that right away. “It’s a beautiful day, ja?” she said.

  He remained silent, his eyes studying her face. She wondered what he saw. Did he see how hard she tried to please him? How much she loved him? How happy she was to be his wife?