“I’m glad you asked that,” he said quickly. “I want everything to be out in the open between us, from now on. My friendship with Arie is strictly that. She’s not my girlfriend.”
Will went on to say that Arie had come to visit her uncle and aunt for a few weeks, during which time Will had befriended her. “I heard she was struggling in her Old Order church back in Ohio, longing for more freedoms. She had some leanings toward a faster group, one kind of like the Jamborees.” Will looked mildly embarrassed at the reference to his former buddy group. “But because I experienced a conversion—or so the bishop calls it—someone thought I might be able to help Arie. That’s all there is to it,” he insisted. “No romance at all.”
“Maybe the interest is more on her side?” Ruth suggested, unsure why she was pushing so.
Will acknowledged that it might be possible. “I haven’t led her on, if you’re wondering.”
Should Ruth believe him, in light of his supposed change of heart? Will had never been deceitful about other girls before, though he’d let Lloyd Blank lead him off track. But that was over and done with, wasn’t it? And, by the looks of it, Will had brought Lloyd back to the Eden Valley church, too. Ruth recalled seeing them together yesterday at Preaching, their expressions solemn—no smirks like from some of the younger unbaptized fellows.
“Have you joined church, then?”
“I’ve been in touch with my Dawdi Kauffman, the deacon, ya know, and Bishop Isaac, too, lookin’ ahead to my baptism next fall, after the instruction classes.” Then, stopping on the road, he asked, “What ’bout you, Ruthie? Has there been anyone for you up there in Massachusetts?”
She didn’t know why, but she was pleased he’d asked. She told him about the singles group she attended once a month. “I’ve gone out with a couple of nice young men, yes. And more recently, one in particular.” She thought of Jim Montgomery. How would he feel if he’d seen Ruth so snug in Will’s arms this evening? She felt sad . . . maybe even a little guilty.
“I worried ’bout that,” Will said quietly while the moon peeked its white face over the eastern horizon. “You’re so pretty, Ruthie, and kind, too. I thought for sure I’d lost ya forever.”
Speechless, she felt the same wonderful-good emotions again, knowing his gentle look and words were for her. Oh, her poor mind was so mixed up!
“Would ya ever consider joining church back here, Ruthie? In due time, maybe?”
Her heart pounded in her ears. He must really care for her, to want an Amish-turned-English girl for his sweetheart. “It would mean giving up a lot,” she replied, feeling tentative. “That’s not something I can decide overnight. It would take some serious thought.”
“I’d do my best to make sure you were never sorry. I can promise ya that.”
Ruth’s head was filled with the things Tilly, especially, would be saying. Oh, she needed to slow things down, didn’t she? She must, somehow. Without a doubt, there would surely be a big discussion about this with her close sister. No one knows me better. “I’m not ready to make a decision, Will. Please understand.”
“Take your time, then, dear.”
It surprised her greatly, knowing Will as she had, that he did not press for an answer. So unlike him.
“I know the idea of us as a couple could take some gettin’ used to,” he said boldly.
People would think I don’t know my own mind if I come back here to live, she thought. But Ruth knew the bigger question was where God wanted her to be. She pondered all of this as she glanced toward her father’s house. “It’s so complicated,” she said before they parted.
“Will ya think ’bout it—pray, too?” he asked.
She agreed, albeit reluctantly, and turned to hurry up the driveway.
Tilly was getting settled in Anna’s room and decided to utilize some of the space in the second drawer for her few items, knowing it was more an excuse than a need. She opened the drawer and caught her breath.
The wooden box was gone. Was she mistaken about which drawer?
Breathing faster, Tilly pulled open the third drawer and found nothing.
Did Mamm move it?
She was stumped. At the sound of Ruth’s footsteps in the hallway, she quickly rose to stand in the doorway, wanting to greet her. “You were gone so long. Are you okay?” She noticed Ruth’s very rosy cheeks . . . too red to be from just the evening’s relatively mild air.
“I ran into Will Kauffman near the cemetery.” Ruth shrugged, looking sheepish. “I know, an unlikely place to meet.” Then she reached for Tilly’s hand. “I need to talk to you, sister.”
Tilly had a peculiar feeling, dreading what might be coming. “Sure, Ruthie, come in.” She stepped away from the door to let Ruth pass.
For as long as Tilly could remember, Ruth had been plainspoken about most everything in her life. Tonight was no exception as she began to lay out the matter regarding Will Kauffman. “He says he’s never stopped loving me.”
Tilly pulled the only chair in the room over next to the bed where Ruth sat, her long legs dangling off the edge. “Well, I guess one of the questions you must ask yourself is, Do you still care for him?”
Ruth listened, apparently receptive.
“And furthermore, do you care enough to return to Amish life?”
“How can I possibly know that?”
“About loving him or about returning?”
“It’s always been a bit hard for me to think of marrying anyone other than Will. Maybe because he was my first love, you know.”
“But?” Tilly prodded.
Ruth sighed and pushed herself up toward the head of the bed. “He’s not interested in going fancy—he made that pretty clear—so I’d have to give up everything back in Rockport.”
“Including your church friends . . . and living near me,” Tilly pointed out to see what she’d say.
“And many other things I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy.” Ruth’s face was solemn. And wonderful Jim . . .
“You’ll have to count the cost, I guess.”
Ruth was quiet for a moment. She leaned her cheek against her hand. “This has come up so fast, Tilly. I just don’t know what to tell Will. It’s not that he’s putting pressure on me, though. Not really.”
“That’s a good thing. I’d hate to see him push you into something you’re not sure of.” She didn’t want to add to Ruthie’s strain, either.
“I said I’d pray about it.”
Tilly smiled, touching her sister’s knee. “Do you really need to, Ruthie?”
“You must think I already know my heart.”
“Well, from what you’ve told me these past few years, I think you probably do know. You’ve moved in a different direction from the Plain life.”
Ruth slid off the bed and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Tilly. You’re the best sister ever.”
Tilly watched Ruthie shuffle across to her room, still concerned. If she’s not careful and spends more time with Will, she’ll likely become even more confused.
———
Feeling all wound up, Ruth sat in her room long after she’d put out the lantern. She pinched herself twice to make sure she hadn’t dreamed the meeting with Will. “He says he loves me,” she whispered.
Her mind was turning. What should she do first? Or should she do anything? After all, this was the very man who had broken her heart before. Could she really trust that he had changed his ways . . . and that his interest in her now was for the good of both of them?
Should I confide further in Tilly? Or Mamm? Oh, to think Will wants to court me!
Ruth’s pulse raced. She did not know her own heart. One minute she was elated; the next she was eager to return to Rockport . . . and to Jim.
Oh goodness, it had not been easy, all this time apart from Will. She’d thought for sure she was long over him . . . that he’d forgotten her. What did it mean that he hadn’t?
Dear Lord, what would You have me do?
Chapter 30
; Alone once more in Anna’s room and trying to regain her bearings, Tilly realized things with her sister might possibly be on the brink of monumental change. She set the chair back between the windows with a great sigh, then returned to the dresser drawer where she’d seen the wooden box nestled just yesterday afternoon.
She waited until the rest of the house was dark and still before she began to search in earnest. Just to be sure, she looked in all the other drawers again first before moving over near the maple washstand that had belonged to her maternal grandmother. She searched the cedar chest, too, then opened the only drawer in the table next to the bed.
Not seeing any other options in the room for concealing the box, she found the flashlight in the top dresser drawer and turned it on. Then, getting down on all fours, she peered beneath the bed as the flashlight bumped against the floor. There, on the far side, back under the headboard, she spotted the wooden box. Feeling strangely relieved yet also bemused, she went around to the other side and fished it out.
She rose and sat on the bed to open it and saw that the same letter was still very much there. Not knowing what to think, Tilly closed the lid and replaced the box where she’d found it and got ready for bed. Just knowing she hadn’t been wrong about seeing it before was enough to rest her mind—at least for now. Dutifully, Tilly put away the flashlight and snuffed out the lantern.
———
Ruth’s ears strained. She thought she’d heard a sound in Anna’s room. Was Tilly still up? Was she perhaps fretting over the things they’d discussed?
Holding her breath, Ruth waited, listening. Surely Tilly wasn’t staying up late and kneeling at the bedside, praying about all of that? Ruth climbed out of bed to check on her sister. Tilly had always looked out for her in this big old house. Shouldn’t Ruth do the same now? Thinking it was the sisterly thing to do, she made her way to the door of Anna’s former bedroom and quietly opened it.
To her shock, Tilly was down on her hands and knees with a flashlight, looking under the bed. Thinking it odd, Ruth stepped back, not wanting to spy on her dear sister. Yet she’d never felt so curious. Did she hear a mouse?
Ruth tiptoed back to her own room, shuddering at the thought of a rodent on the loose. She flew into bed and pushed her bare feet under the covers. Oh goodness, she hoped Tilly managed to stun the nasty critter with her flashlight.
Rodents were just one of the troublesome things Ruth would have to look forward to, living in a breezy old farmhouse—if she returned to live amongst the People, that is. An enormous if.
A permanent return to Eden Valley would mean she’d have to toughen herself up. I’ve gotten too soft living in the English world.
The next morning, Tilly was surprised to hear Ruthie talking about the possibility of a field mouse skittering about the upstairs, going on and on about it during breakfast, no less. Finally, Mamm asked her to just sit and think for a while, which Tilly thought was out of character for their mother, and a little comical, too.
Tilly kept wondering when Ruth might reveal that she’d spoken last evening with Will Kauffman. Or would she abide by the Old Ways and remain secretive, even though Ruth was clearly a modern Englisher now? No, Tilly doubted she’d keep it mum from at least their mother.
Not long afterward, Daed dashed in and said he was too busy to sit and eat with them, snatching up a banana and a sticky bun, along with a cup of coffee. From Mamm’s expression, Tilly guessed it was a rarity for him to do such a thing, and had he stayed, there would’ve been no more talk about Ruthie’s fear of mice. On the other hand, a dreaded undertow was always present when she and Daed were in the same room, so perhaps it was better this way.
Mamm got down to business after Daed left for the barn. “I think we should be able to finish sorting everything this afternoon,” she said.
“Next comes the packing,” Ruth said, her blue eyes wistful, though surely not over the challenge of the work ahead. No, she looked like a girl who was mighty flustered over her long-lost beloved.
“You seem befuddled today, dear.” Mamm prolonged her gaze on Ruthie.
She notices, too. Tilly kept her head lowered for fear her frown would give away what she knew.
The meal of dippy eggs, crispy bacon, and toast with Mamm’s smooth apple butter was memorable. Despite that, Tilly found herself contemplating her mother’s mysterious letter again, wondering over the possibilities. Had Mamm heard of someone else writing a loving farewell to a child? Yet if so, why weren’t there letters for all of her children?
Tilly could not imagine any of Mamm’s many sisters or cousins writing a letter meant to be opened only upon their death. Had it been Anna’s sudden passing that had prompted Mamm to do this? If so, Tilly felt guiltier than ever.
———
Ruth went to feed the poultry, and Mamma and Tilly were doing up the breakfast dishes when Mamm asked her, “Was Joseph harsh with you last evening, dear?”
“Oh, you know how brothers can be.” Tilly had no need to bash him, but didn’t feel it was necessary to repeat the conversation, either.
Mamm stopped washing the dishes and turned to shake her head. “I should think the passage of years might have soothed Joseph’s anger some . . . and your visit here with Ruthie, too.” Mamm filled the sink with more hot water. “I, for one, have forgiven ya, daughter. I truly have.”
Tilly drew in a deep breath—she’d already sensed the mercy in her mother’s sweet demeanor. “That means a lot to me, Mamm.”
Her mother smiled a little. “It wasn’t so easy after you left . . . not at first, I’ll admit.”
“And I compounded all of that by not keeping in touch with you. It was terribly wrong of me.”
“Well, and knowing Ruthie was getting mail from you when I wasn’t, nearly made me ab im Kopp—crazy in the head.”
Tilly had never considered this and felt awful. “Oh, Mamm . . .”
“I’m not sayin’ this to make ya feel bad, Tilly. Shouldn’t have said it at all. Let bygones be.”
Thinking it was the first talk of this kind they’d had in years, Tilly embraced the opportunity to say more. “It’s past time we aired all this, isn’t it?”
“Just so we don’t put up more walls by doin’ so.” Tears threatened to spill over as Mamm kept her hands deep in the hot, soapy water.
Tilly put her dish towel down and leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. “If only it were possible to talk openly like this with Daed. . . .”
“Jah, without getting his ire up.” Mamm shared a knowing glance. “He’s easily irritated, that’s for sure.”
Around me, she means.
Mamm bobbed her head and kept glancing up sheepishly, and Tilly suspected she knew what had set Daed off in the carriage.
“You should know that he told on himself ’bout the other night,” Mamm said. “Couldn’t keep it in, I guess.”
Tilly felt less animosity toward Daed, just hearing this.
“I took your side—informed him that you most certainly could keep Anna’s little Kapp, since the two of you were nearly joined at the hip.”
Tilly was astonished. “You spoke up?”
“And lest ya think otherwise, his sharp response to you has been eatin’ away at him.” Mamm finished washing the last of the dishes.
Daed must care. But if so, why did he seem to be taking great pains to avoid her at the table? Now’s not the time to ask. One hurdle at a time.
She contemplated the little wooden box again, not wanting to reopen a rift with Mamm by bringing it up. Tilly also recognized that the subject of Anna’s drowning had gone almost untouched between the two of them.
“You all right?” Mamm leaned forward to pull the plug to drain the water. “You look awful sad, dear one.”
Tilly shook her head. “There’s a lot on my mind, coming home and all.”
“Well, I certainly hope it’s not a hardship, bein’ here.”
Tilly put her arms around her mother. “You’ve endured so much beca
use of me. Especially Anna’s drowning.” She paused to swallow, her chest tight with so much emotion. “I really hope you know how much I love you.”
Mamm kissed her cheek. “And it’s a joy to have you and Ruthie here, believe me. But I certainly hope you don’t blame yourself for Anna’s drowning, dear. There’s no reason for that.”
“I do struggle with it,” Tilly admitted. “It’s one of the reasons I left. It was so hard to be here, with her dear memory all around.”
“Tilly . . . nee, you must not fault yourself. Has someone else blamed you?” Mamm’s concerned eyes searched her own.
Only me, Tilly thought sadly. “No one else,” she answered, still secretly wondering if Daed didn’t hold it against her. But she wouldn’t ask. With all the faults her father had found with her over the years, why would that be any different?
Chapter 31
Josie tucked her arm through Tilly’s after arriving that Tuesday morning. The endearing gesture reminded Tilly of their days as dear friends.
“Mind if we work together?” Josie asked, her eyes hopeful.
“I’d like that.” Tilly smiled.
Mamm had assigned them to the attic, to bring boxes down to the hallway on the second floor, where they were to make designated piles—giveaways, discards, things to save, and items to be set aside for a future auction.
To Tilly, there had always been something intriguing about their attic, although it wasn’t a typical one, like that in Mammi Lantz’s old farmhouse. The whole expanse of one side of her parents’ attic was partially finished, complete with a darling dormer window. As a youngster, Tilly had imagined what it might be like to have her room up there, perhaps with white lace curtains over the dormer, although Mamm would never have heard of it. Of course Tilly knew enough not to ask.
“Do you remember slipping away up here to tell secrets?” Josie asked, her voice hushed, as if entering hallowed ground.
Tilly smiled. “How can I ever forget?”
The River Page 17