by Sarah Price
All of her life she had followed what was taught at home, school, and church: “Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?”
From her parents’ initial inability to accept Menno, to forgive him of what, in hindsight, were small infractions during a young man’s rumschpringe before he accepted Christ as his Savior; to Benny’s death on the night of her wedding; to the many miscarriages she had suffered; to the loss of two of her grown children, Grace wanted to ask, “Why?” She wanted to talk with someone and be reassured there were reasons for all of the sadness. Yet she never had and most likely never would.
Reaching up, Grace covered Lizzie’s hand and said the words that had followed her throughout her entire life: “It’s all right.”
She knew that Lizzie hadn’t meant to stir up so many memories when expressing her opinion of the biggest threats to the future of the Amish. When she replayed Lizzie’s words and tried to remove her personal emotions from the equation, Grace knew that her friend spoke the truth. Her own family statistics played into Lizzie’s theory.
“Come, help me carry the coffee,” Grace said. “I left the tray in the other room.”
Almost thirty minutes passed before the bishop signaled that it was time for the visit to end. He stood up and extended his hand to shake Grace’s, thanking her for her hospitality and wishing her God’s blessing. Lizzie followed him, talking some more about their upcoming visit to see several of the older patients at the retirement home on Wednesday and inviting Grace to join them.
“Ja, ja,” Grace said in a noncommittal way. A retirement home was the last place she wanted to visit, especially just a few weeks before the holiday. Her spirits were already down enough. To wander the corridors of institutional housing? To see aging parents, basically abandoned by their children and grandchildren? No, Grace didn’t care for that idea at all. Despite how her life had turned out, Grace had not been raised that way.
As she shut the door behind the Yoders, she leaned against it, engulfed in her thoughts. The grandfather clock chimed from the sitting room. Eight o’clock. For no particular reason, she decided to leave the coffee cups and plates in the sitting room. She’d clean them in the morning. Instead, she turned the knob on the propane light in the sitting room so that the gentle hissing ceased, the light along with it. Carrying the kerosene lamp to light her way, she walked the short hallway into her room before she remembered the envelope in her pocket.
Her secret sister.
Grace had forgotten the initial reason for the Yoders’ visit: to deliver the envelope.
Setting the lamp on her nightstand, Grace sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled the envelope from her front pocket and stared at it. Nothing unusual stood out, no markings or postage. Just her name: Grace Beiler. Once again, she tried to analyze the writing, staring at it to see if she recognized the penmanship. Female, she thought. Definitely a female. But it was different from the other packages and letters. For a moment, Grace wondered if her secret sister might be trying to disguise her handwriting on purpose.
Inside the envelope was a rectangular piece of paper. It was small, lavender in color, with little white flowers bordering the edges. In block letters, someone had written the words “1 Peter 4:12–13.” While she had read the entire Bible many times throughout her life, Grace didn’t know that verse off the top of her head and contemplated waiting until the morning to return to the sitting room and retrieve her Bible. But curiosity outweighed practicality, so she picked up the lamp and returned to the dark room she had just left.
Once she settled back into her recliner and situated her reading glasses on her nose, she reached for the weathered, leather-bound Bible that had carried her through so many years. It felt warm in her hands, like an old friend. For a moment, she remembered how she had reacted to Lizzie’s comments that evening and felt guilty. How many times had she turned to this book, a place that offered comfort and hope during days of distress? Who was she to think that her life should lack suffering when so many others around her endured much more adversity and tribulation?
“Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.”
She reread the verses, not once but twice. It was as if the secret sister could read her mind! Grace sat there, her mouth opened slightly, not caring that the room grew cold and the flame of the lamp flickered because the wick was too low. The words resonated in her head as if she heard them for the very first time.
All these years, she had been so afraid to ask, “Why?” while all along, what she should have been asking was “Why not?”
If Peter had preached this to followers of Christ in the years immediately after his resurrection, then those people had questioned their faith too. She suddenly understood that part of being a Christian included dealing with fiery trials and suffering the pain of unanswered questions. Perfection in faith was an ongoing struggle, not a smooth journey, simply because Christians were human.
She was not alone.
And in her hands she held the answers to all of her questions. Through Scripture, the verses and wisdom that were the Word of God contained in the book within her hands, she could find her answers. For years, she had read and reread the many books of the Bible. She remembered her mother reciting Proverbs to teach her and her siblings lessons in life. She remembered sermon after sermon in which the bishop and his preachers referenced the Bible before relating it to issues within the community or in the world outside.
But tonight, perhaps truly for the first time, the Bible spoke to her. It was as if God wanted to personally comfort her.
The realization hit Grace as she sat there in her recliner, the open Bible on her lap and the piece of lavender paper still in her hand. Long after the light flickered down to a mere wisp of a flame, Grace stayed there in awe of the important lesson she had learned tonight, one that she suspected Menno knew but hadn’t shared with her. It had taken the simple scripture reference written by an unknown hand to make the message clear.
And for that, Grace said a prayer of gratitude for her secret sister, whoever she was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
December 16, 2015
WITH CHRISTMAS JUST under three weeks away, the market was bustling with people even on a midweek morning. Hannah and Mary each pushed a narrow shopping cart down the aisles while Grace followed behind, carrying a small plastic basket as she navigated through small throngs of people. She hadn’t really needed much food, perhaps just some fresh vegetables. The little chest freezer in her small laundry room was packed with meat and vegetables for the winter. On the wall over it were four shelves, each brimming with homemade canned food: applesauce, beets, chow-chow, tomatoes, even cauliflower.
But Hannah and Mary insisted that she accompany them.
Grace knew they wanted to get her out of the house. She had relented because she wanted to pick up a few items for Ivan’s visit.
Ever since moving to this community, Grace had dreaded going to market. Unlike at the farmhouse where the closest market was located along a winding back road and free from Englischers, the market nearest her present home was a large discount shopping center; the parking lot was filled with dirty minivans and pickup trucks. Even though most of the people who patronized the store were locals, Grace could still feel their eyes glancing at her, as if she were some oddity on display.
She disliked that feeling.
Over the years, the gaping stares from strangers only got worse. The more the builders developed the land, promising a perfect country life to the families living in suburbia, the more the area became exactly what the new residents sought. And Grace was trapped living in a section of Akron, just bordering Ephrata Township, that straddled two divergent cultures. That translated into more
interactions with the Englische as well as the inappropriate gawking of strangers, especially tourists.
She’d never get used to it.
“Grace? Grace Beiler?” someone called out.
She stopped walking and turned in the direction of the voice. A young woman walked up to her and extended her hand in greeting. It took Grace a second to recognize her. “Catharine Yoder?” Grace shook the hand, startled to see the schoolteacher standing before her. Since Catharine lived with her parents, Grace wondered if she was shopping for her mother. “Is your maem along with you, then?”
Catharine shook her head, her big chocolate-brown eyes shining and a warm smile on her face. “Nee, I’m alone today,” she replied, her voice full of cheer. “Picking up some dry goods to make more sugar cookies for the school program.” She hesitated and leaned closer to Grace. “You will be coming, ja?”
“Oh, heavens to Betsy,” Grace said, laughing just a little that Catharine would think to ask such a question. Of course, with this being her first year teaching, Grace thought, the young teacher might not realize how much the school program meant to her. She reached out and touched the young woman’s arm. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Her answer pleased Catharine, and she almost bounced on the balls of her feet, her joy so apparent. “Wunderbarr!” she exclaimed. “The students have something special planned. I know my grossmammi is curious as all get-out to know what it is!” There was a playful gleam in Catharine’s eyes that made Grace smile, for she could well imagine. Lizzie Yoder loved insight into any news that other people didn’t know. If lying weren’t a sin, Grace suspected Lizzie might be apt to tell people she already knew what this surprise was.
“Speaking of my grossmammi,” Catharine said, a more serious look upon her face, “there is a group of people headed to the retirement center this afternoon to visit with Eli King and Jane Hostetler. I wonder if you are going?”
The retirement center. There it was again. Lizzie had mentioned it the other night after her unexpected visit at Grace’s house. Now, once again, the weekly visit to the retirement center was an issue staring her in the face. Grace fumbled for words, but her tongue seemed tied as she tried to come up with a response.
“Ja, vell,” she said slowly. Oh, how she didn’t want to go! The glow on the young woman’s face was more than Grace could take. In Catharine’s eyes, Grace saw hope and love, complete faith for the future, all the things that she had felt so many years ago. How could she possibly say no? “I reckon I could join them . . . ,” she finally admitted.
Catharine returned to her joyful self. “Oh, that’s right gut, then. I’ll be certain to stop by my grossmammi’s and tell her you’ll be joining the group.”
With a big smile and a light bounce to her step, Catharine continued down the aisle, pausing briefly to greet Hannah and Mary before she turned the corner, disappearing as she headed down the next aisle.
Oh, to have that energy! Grace thought with a slight bit of envy, even though she knew it was a sin. She missed feeling young and animated, the prospect of raising her young children with the future wide ahead of her. She missed the country, living with the smells and sounds of the farm that engaged her senses and filled her with love for God’s creation. And more than anything, she missed being a part of a family: her family.
2010
The smell of fresh-baked bread and sugar cookies permeated the air of the kitchen. Grace leaned over one of the loaves and inhaled deeply. She shut her eyes to truly absorb the yeasty fragrance of what she considered a symbol of love for her family. Nothing said “I love you” louder than fresh-baked goods.
It had been fifteen years since they moved into the grossdawdihaus so that Ivan could raise his family in the main house. Besides, with both Susan and James gone, they had no need for the larger house anymore. Returning to the small home where she had started her marriage with Menno brought back bittersweet memories. Her familiarity with the house provided her with comfort, while the realization that this would be the last stop on their journey together gave her sorrow.
“Mammi Grace!” a little boy’s voice called out as the door flung open. The noise of boots being kicked off and coats dropped on the floor was quickly followed by the patter of bare feet.
She smiled and turned around, lowering herself to embrace her five-year-old grandson, Samuel. Behind him, his older sister Barbie followed, holding the hands of Ivan’s youngest child, two-year-old Benjamin. All three children were dressed alike, the boys’ shirts and Barbie’s dress a pretty dark blue. Jane had a tendency to ensure that the children wore the same colors, especially the younger ones. While she claimed it made laundry days easier, Grace never understood that argument. Instead, she secretly wondered if the real reason was that Jane wanted her clothesline to look pretty with the same-colored clothing fluttering in the wind to dry.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Grace said. She glanced up at Barbie who, at seven years of age, should have been in school. “You’re home early, then?”
“Maem’s not feeling well,” Barbie said, her eyes downcast and her voice soft.
Immediately Grace looked concerned.
Jane was almost nine months pregnant with her and Ivan’s sixth child. Their oldest son, Levi, worked alongside Ivan, while their oldest daughter, Lydia, would not be called to stay home since her studies were more advanced than Barbie’s. Grace wondered why no one had come to fetch her to help or watch the children.
“Is she all right, then?” Grace asked.
Barbie nodded in her typical shy manner. “She’s sleeping.”
Samuel stood on his tippy toes, and with his nose pressed against the edge of the counter, he peered at the cooling rack filled with still-warm cookies. “Are those there sugar cookies, Mammi Grace?”
“Hmm,” Grace quipped, putting a finger to her cheek as if pondering the answer to his question. “I do believe they are, Samuel. And I don’t quite think I can eat them all by myself. Do you know someone who might be willing to help me?”
Without hesitation, Samuel raised his hand and jumped up and down. “Me, me, me!” His brown eyes sparkled as his curly brown hair flopped onto his forehead.
Little Benjamin imitated his brother and lifted his pudgy arm into the air too. Only when he tried to jump up, he stumbled and fell down.
Laughing, Grace opened a cabinet door and pulled out a plate so that she could serve the children some cookies. “What would winter be without warm sugar cookies?” she said cheerfully. “Why, I can’t think of a time when we didn’t have sugar cookies in the colder weather.”
Without being told to do so, the children sat down at the table, Barbie helping Samuel to crawl up and sit beside her on the small bench. She kept her arm around his waist so that he wouldn’t fall. Quietly, the three of them waited to be served, Samuel bouncing up and down in anticipation.
He reminded Grace so much of Benny that sometimes she got confused. Her grandson’s outgoing behavior and tendency for sassiness stood out among the other grandchildren, that was for sure and certain. She often watched young Samuel and smiled, remembering some of the antics of her younger brother when they were growing up. And, of course, little Benjamin did everything he could to emulate Samuel.
Grace suspected that Ivan and Jane would have their hands full when those two boys hit the sweet age of sixteen.
After the children finished their snacks, Barbie carried the plate to the sink while Grace wiped the cookie crumbs from the tabletop. Meanwhile, the boys scrambled into their coats and boots, eager to play in the snow. In their hurry they left the door open, despite Grace’s calling out for them to close it.
“Those boys,” she said, shaking her head and clicking her tongue in mock disapproval. On the surface, she knew that she had to play the role and instill good manners by feigning concern over their lack of consideration. But deep down, she adored her grandchildren and secretly delighted in the younger two being so mischievous. The gust of cold winter wind began
to fill the room and she shivered, quickly crossing the floor to shut the door.
Then she turned her attention to Barbie. Grace put her hand on her hip and sighed. “Reckon I should go check on your maem, ja? If she’s feeling poorly, mayhaps you and I should make supper tonight, do you reckon?”
Barbie gave a simple shrug of her shoulders, still too young and insecure to know how to respond to such important questions. For a long moment, Grace stared at her, realizing that she was growing up before her eyes. It didn’t seem so long ago that Barbie had been born. A pretty baby with the same color green eyes as Menno, petite little Barbie was soft and sweet. She had been named after Menno’s mother, but within a short period of time, it was clear that the name was the only thing the grandchild shared with her paternal grandmother. As she became a toddler and then a young child, her personality more reflected Grace’s at that age. Or, Grace thought with a sad feeling in her heart, her dear sister Anna Mae’s.
“Let’s go, then,” Grace said, trying to stop the lump from forming in her throat at the thought of Anna Mae.
She missed her sister. Throughout the early years of her life, they had a special bond. When Anna Mae met Jonas Wheeler, the widower with two young children, an instant spark flamed up between the two of them. He was in Lancaster visiting with an old friend, or so he had claimed. Grace suspected he was looking for a new mother for his children. The farming community where he lived didn’t have as many prospective brides as Lancaster County. As for Anna Mae, Grace wasn’t certain if she fell for Jonas or for the two children.