Missing Your Smile

by Jerry S. Eicher

  They bowed their heads in silence, and when they raised them again, Anna dished the food out for him. She didn’t have to serve him tonight, but Menno allowed it, sensing that it helped her now that she had no children to mother.

  “Thank you,” Menno said, when she was done. “You always know exactly how much I want.”

  “If it makes you feel better, perhaps you can care for me someday.” Anna turned back to her own plate.

  “Cheer up.” Menno reached over to tickle her chin. “We have many more years together, and so many family members still to be thankful for.”

  She nodded, trying to smile.

  “Are there any family gatherings planned soon?” he asked. “We need to have more of them.”

  “Perhaps some of the girls will come over Sunday evening. I don’t know. Would that help?”

  “It would do us both good,” Menno agreed, watching her face.

  She tried to smile again, losing the attempt.

  “If our youngest just hadn’t turned out so badly,” she said. “What did we do wrong, Menno? And Susan was the best of the bunch.”

  “We’ll make it,” Menno said getting up and rubbing her back. “We will…with Da Hah’s help. And Susan will come home again.”

  Anna didn’t meet his eyes as he returned to his place and sat down. Silence settled over the table as they ate.

  When Menno stood, Anna said, “We have to butcher soon. I think several of the girls will go together with us. We can take the hog over to John and Betsy’s place since they have plenty of room.”

  Menno nodded, his eyes focused on the blank wall. He imagined the big city. What was the place like where Susan lived?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Susan stirred, raising her head from the table and noting the light of the kerosene lamp. She picked up the envelope from home and held it so the light fell across the front. For a long moment, she studied the letters before opening the end with a quick twist of her hand. A single piece of paper came out. At least it wasn’t a long letter. The pressure from home wouldn’t be too bad.

  My dearest daughter Susan,

  Greetings in the name of Da Hah. I am sitting here tonight, trying to write you something, but what can I write? I imagine you understand how it goes. We all miss you quite terribly. Your smile is no longer here to brighten our day. I hear a noise in the house and I look up expecting to see your face, but you are not here.

  How are you doing? I hope well. Bonnie’s sister surely must be taking good care of you.

  Betsy and Miriam stopped by last week, and Ada’s children are up once in a while. All the sisters said to tell you hi when I write next. I offered them your address, but they aren’t the greatest letter writers. I think the real reason is they don’t know how to write you, now that you have gone Englisha. Have you considered returning yet? We so wish you would.

  Are you really going the Englisha way, Susan? It’s so hard for me to believe you would. I keep thinking there is some mistake somewhere. Did you or didn’t you say when you left that your stay in New Jersey would be only until the winter or perhaps spring? The words seem so long ago, lost somewhere in the pain of my heart, and I can’t remember.

  I know I shouldn’t be taking this so hard, as you no doubt have your reasons for your actions, but I can’t help myself. I can’t help asking again and again, was there really no way you could have patched things up with Thomas, whatever your quarrel was? He looked so sorrowful in church the other Sunday. I never heard a word from him on what the problem was, so I guess you can be thankful for that. Some boys feel a need to run down their old girlfriends’ reputations until they are ruined.

  The fall weddings are beginning. Pete and Rose had theirs announced on Sunday. I expect there will be several more. Your daett is well along with his fall plowing, and the silo-filling crew was here last week. Somehow your daett still makes his rounds with the crew. I think it’s time he asked Deacon Ray if he doesn’t know of some young boy who can help us on the farm next year. I doubt if your father will agree to such a thing. He is stubborn like you are.

  I guess I had better close before I get the paper wet with tears. I really hope you come home soon, Susan. There has to be some way to work your problems out with Thomas. If not, there’s still no reason to run away from all of us. Your room still awaits you upstairs. I have left it just as it was when you left.

  Your mamm, Anna Hostetler

  “Mamm,” Susan whispered in the silent apartment, folding the piece of paper, “please don’t make this any harder than it already is. And of course Thomas is acting like a saint. He thinks he is one. Just wait until you discover he’s dating Eunice, and you’ll find out what he’s really like.”

  Standing up, Susan forced her thoughts to focus. Right now I have to fix supper. Think on that. And afterward, I need something—perhaps a walk to the beach. I could watch the moon rise over the water, which might be exactly what I need to lift my spirits. You can make it, Susan. You can make the city your home. I know you can. Keep that chin up now, and you’ll be okay.

  She walked over to the gas stove, turned on the burner, and reached for the frying pan. Thank Da Hah Laura had a gas stove. The microwave always seemed to glare at Susan from its place over the stove, its red blinking light showing the time. That was another barrier she had yet to cross. What must it be like to heat food with invisible rays from the Englisha world? Dangerous and scary, to say the least.

  Susan took the meatloaf out of the refrigerator, sliced two pieces, and added a chunk of butter to the pan. She dropped the meatloaf slices into the pan, leaving them to warm while she retrieved the bread and jam from the pantry. Setting the items on the table, she stood beside the stove, listening to the sizzle. When the pieces were browned on one side, she flipped them over.

  It was a meager supper by Amish standards, but good enough for tonight. When the meat was ready, Susan transferred it to the table and sat down. She closed her eyes to pray. One must pray over meals even in Englisha land. Perhaps especially in Englisha land.

  Outside, the day was ebbing. The streetlights would soon be turning on. What time did the moon rise over the ocean? The man hadn’t said, and she might well be too late already. But it didn’t matter, really. Even a risen moon over the water would fit her mood better than a lonely apartment.

  When she was finished, Susan dumped the plate and utensils into the kitchen sink and grabbed her coat from the closet. Was the key in her pocket? Yah, and this time she wouldn’t lose it. Was the sky clear? It was hard to tell with the streetlights on, but earlier there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.

  Closing the door behind her, Susan walked down Main Street, turning the corner at Cookman. The crowds had thinned out some, and the people were walking slower now. It might be a good idea to stop in at the concession stand and tell Laura where she was going. Not that she was back at the farm anymore or even a teenager who needed to report on her actions, but old habits die hard.

  “So what are you doing out?” Laura asked when Susan walked up. “I thought I let you off for the night.”

  “She couldn’t sleep,” Robby said with a laugh.

  Susan didn’t look at him. He deserved to be ignored.

  “I decided to take a walk to the ocean,” she said. “There’s supposed to be a full moon tonight.”

  “That would be nice,” Laura said. “I wish I could go along, but we have to close up the stand.”

  “Then I should help,” Susan offered.

  Laura shook her head. “Robbie, your dad just called and said he was coming after all, so there’s no need for you to stay. Why not go ahead and enjoy a walk with Susan?”

  “But I don’t need…” Susan started to say.

  “I’ll go with her,” Robby interrupted, swinging out over the side of the stand.

  “No, you won’t!” Susan glared at him. “You need to help your mom close up.”

  “Can I, Mom?” he turned to look over his shoulder, a mischievous look on his face.<
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  “We’ll manage,” Laura said. “So run along, unless Susan objects for some reason.”

  “See!” Robby gave Susan a sweet smile. “I’m a good boy. Can I come along, please?”

  “If you don’t tease too much—and don’t talk.”

  “I’m as mum as a clam.” He clamped his fingers over his mouth, his next words mere mumbles. “See, not a sound comes out.”

  “Okay,” Susan said unable to conceal a laugh. “But don’t forget.”

  Robby followed closely behind as she led the way. He was a funny boy, almost like a brother, Susan thought. But what was a brother like? When one had eight sisters, it was hard to tell.

  They walked in silence through the ever-thinning crowd. People seemed to have moved back toward the main part of town…or perhaps out to the boardwalk. Robby was keeping his vow of silence—too much so.

  “Talk,” she ordered, and he laughed.

  “It’s closer down this side street,” Robby motioned with his head.

  Susan glanced down the dimly lit street. It didn’t look any scarier than the barn at home or any number of other dark places on the farm. The feeling was different here though—in ways that were hard to explain.

  “Do you think we should?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “The street is dark.”

  “So? Does it never get dark where you grew up?”

  “I told you no teasing, remember?” she said, though she had to smile. So this was what having a brother is like.

  “So do you want to?” he asked again.

  “Sure, why not!”

  “Don’t be scared,” he said when they were halfway down the street. “Do you have bogeymen on the farm back home…like we do here?”

  Susan looked around. The light barely reached her, the shadows dark on the concrete sidewalls. Little squeaks came from somewhere, sounding like rats in the barn loft. But why would there be rats here in Asbury Park? “No bogeymen. Just witches and warlocks,” she said.

  “That’s really cute,” he said. “Miss Hostetler just made a joke.”

  “Who says it’s a joke? It might be true.”

  “So you have Amish brooms, and you ride them through the dark Amish cornfields?”

  “The fresh corn patches work best,” she said. “When the corn’s about knee high. Otherwise the tall stalks gets tangled up in the broom handle.”

  Robby laughed out loud as they approached an open lot with spooky wooden posts standing tall in the shifting light of the streetlamps.

  “Howdy there!” Robby hollered to one of them.

  “Shhh…,” she said. “You’re making a lot of racket.”

  “Who cares? No one can hear us with all that racket back on Main Street.”

  “That’s what you think. What was that squeaking back there? I hear it again now.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything,” he said. “Lots of creatures could be crawling around here. But the bridge is just ahead, so don’t worry. This is Asbury Park after all, and I grew up around here. It’s as safe to me as your barnyard was to you, I promise.”

  “And what do you know about my barnyard?” She looked over to him in the light of the streetlamps. “You think I’m a country girl, ignorant and stupid, don’t you? You probably think I grew up barefoot and shoveling manure from horse stalls.”

  He laughed.

  “Well, isn’t that the truth?”

  “Far from it, Miss Hostetler,” he said. “I see you as the paragon of beauty and virtue, sun kissed, your brow untouched by the sorrow and sweat of common man. You are a lady from the bounty land brought up to know splendor and glory undreamed of by such a commoner as myself.”

  “You are such a liar,” she teased back. “And a great big fat one. So shut your sugary mouth and tell me what you really think about me.”

  “I kind of like you, you know. I’ve never had a sister.”

  “That’s better. Now stop talking again. I want to watch the water while we’re crossing this bridge and listen to the ocean ahead of us.”

  “It sounds the same as it always does,” he said, not slowing down.

  “You sure aren’t much of a romantic type, considering your recent outburst. I would have thought better of you.”

  “Remember, I grew up around here,” he said. “It’s not romantic to me.”

  “That’s not an excuse to ignore such music as this. It will never grow old to me. Listen.” Susan paused. In the distance they could hear the gentle roll of waves coming in to meet the shore.

  “You are correct, as always,” he said, standing still, his hand on the steel railing. He tilted his head skyward. “Do you think we should listen here all night?”

  “Not if you’re going to keep talking.” She let go of the rail and barged past him.

  “Girls don’t like me, just like you don’t,” he said, catching up with her.

  “What has that got to do with anything?” She turned to face him. “Of course they do. Or at least one certain girl will. There’s someone out there for everyone.”

  “Really?” He snorted.

  “Don’t you believe in true love?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I do!” she declared.

  “Is that more of your farm wisdom? Perhaps the lore you learned riding through the cornfields?”

  “That’s not funny anymore.”

  “Okay, we’ll leave that point. I hate to disappoint you, but love is the product of the imagination, the trick of the gods to lure us into actions we would never do in our wildest dreams.”

  “You are a sad, sick human being, Robby. Do you know that?”

  “Strong words, young lady. Very strong words.”

  “Well, they’re true.”

  “So how has love worked out for you so far?” he asked, coming up beside her.

  She turned her face away from him.

  He went on. “Has it led you down the fairy path, promising you great things, whispering of the nectar of the gods, and then dashing the dream to pieces about the time you were ready to touch glory?”

  “You ought to be a poet,” she said.

  “You didn’t answer my question, young lady.”

  She took a deep breath. “God made love, and it’s good, and that’s the end of the question. You just have to find the right person.”

  “Merry hunting, my darling. Prepare to be disappointed.”

  “The heart that stops looking is the heart that dies. Mine isn’t dead yet,” she snapped.

  “Whee!” he said. “Please tell me the girl didn’t get all this from the farm.”

  “It comes from riding a broomstick above the tall cornfields,” she said.

  He laughed, his face turned toward the water. “I thought that subject was forbidden.”

  “Only until I bring it up again. That’s how it works, don’t you know?”

  “Quite,” he said. “Well, we still have the ocean before us, don’t we? It at least is true and faithful.”

  “So it is,” she whispered.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand to lead her across the wooden boardwalk. He motioned with the other, making a broad sweep across the sky. “Behold, great princess from the farm, the mighty ocean at night.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The breeze blew in from the ocean, soft on their faces. Dim lights from passing ships shone in the distance like pinpricks on the dark waters. A soft murmur rose from the sand as the waves rolled in.

  “You’re funny, Robby. You know that?”

  “Is that all you have to say?” he asked. “After all that effort I put in? I was trying to be good.”

  Susan let go of his hand, stepping forward. “Oh, but this is beautiful! I’ve never been out here at nighttime. Thanks so much for bringing me.”

  “You were coming yourself, and I just tagged along,” he corrected, looking out over the sandy stretch of beach. “But I’ll take the compliment. Let’s run on the sand.”

  “Just a minut
e!” Susan paused. With one hand she removed her shoes and held them loosely by her side.

  “You should have brought your bathing suit,” Robby said.

  “It’s too cold. And besides, I haven’t got one,” she said.

  “Oh that’s right. You have something against bathing suits, don’t you?”

  “Only when I’m wearing such things where the whole world can see.”

  “I bet you’ve never had one on in your whole life,” he said.

  “No, I haven’t,” she admitted, pausing to wiggle her toes. “The sand feels so different at night.”

  Robby held out his hand and said, “Come with me.”

  She took it, pulling back as he pulled forward, propelling herself with the momentum, feeling the soft footing shift under her feet.

  “Run,” he said, approaching the edge of the waves. “Run like you’ve never run before!” He let go of her hand and sprinted forward, becoming a dim shadow ahead of her.

  Susan hesitated. Should she give in to this feeling of abandoning one’s self? The world was somehow much larger out here. Ahead of her the horizon was shrouded in darkness, stretching on and on into nothingness. Underneath her feet the sand moved.

  “I’m coming!” she shouted. “Wait for me.”

  “Run!” he shouted back, his voice distant.

  She ran, her strides hesitant at first. There’s a certain trick to this, she thought. A way of planting my feet for the next push forward. These were lessons not learned on the farm. But this was a gut thing. Susan propelled herself forward, lifting her dress high. Who could see anyway in the falling darkness?

  The wind brushed against her cheeks. Her eyes searched ahead. Robby’s form was a dim blob ahead of her. Boys ran fast, but she had grown up on a farm. The time spent running to and from the back fields had not been wasted. With a burst of effort, she increased her speed. Robby’s form came into view and then seconds later, she passed him.

  “Whew!” he said, slowing down. “You did grow up on a farm.”