The River

by Beverly Lewis

  He ignored her. “Some things have to be said, Tilly. Life doesn’t always make sense.”

  “Nee, Daed. And life here didn’t always make sense to me, either. Not before I learned about this anyway.”

  He shook his head, then groaned, eyes watering.

  “Even so . . .” She could hardly speak, considering how upset he looked. “You were always a good provider, Daed—took such good care of Mamm and the family. A God-fearing man.”

  He knotted up the quilt with both hands. “When you were an infant . . . all I could see was another man’s child, Tilly. A brutal man, at that. Yet I watched your mother fussin’ over you, lovin’ you as if nothin’ terrible had happened. You belonged to her, Tilly, no matter what we knew . . . but not to me.”

  “Ach, Daed . . .” As if a light had burst forth, she could sympathize with her father’s reluctance toward her . . . and his enduring pain.

  For the first time ever, she actually felt sorry for him.

  “I wish I could roll back the years.” He struggled to get the words out. “And, honestly, I don’t know how you will, but I hope you’ll forgive me for my sin of omission. Someday.”

  His hand shook as he reached for her.

  She stared at this offering of reconciliation. Tilly clenched her teeth to hold back the tears. “You’re forgiven, Daed. Of course you are.”

  Tears streamed down his flushed face. “I understand why you didn’t want to stay here, not with your tough childhood . . . and my failings.” He went on to explain how he’d wanted to do right by her, to raise her to be a good Amishwoman like Mamm. “Instead, I was much too harsh and overprotective,” he admitted. “Always keepin’ an eye on you—surely ya must have expected I was just waiting for you to make mistakes . . . and sometimes maybe I was. And Anna’s drowning didn’t help none.” He raised his sorrowful eyes to her. “I feel certain you must blame yourself for that, daughter. You must think I blame you, too. That you disappointed me in not lookin’ after your little sister that day . . .” His voice trailed off.

  She bowed her head. “Jah . . . I do. Ever so much.”

  He drew a long breath. “You had nothin’ at all to do with Anna’s death. You must cast off that false blame and forgive yourself.” He was weeping now. “Please, you must, Tilly-girl.”

  She choked back her own tears, disbelieving. “If only it were that easy.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Ich verschteh—I understand, Tilly. I do.”

  She took yet another bold step toward him. And trembled as she leaned to kiss his tear-stained cheek.

  That evening, during family worship, Daed managed to walk to the small front room from the bedroom and sit in his favorite chair. He read from Psalm 51. “ ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.’ ” Tilly thought his tone was gentle and even somewhat expressive. It was as if their frankness earlier, their heartfelt exchange, had dispelled the sometimes humdrum feel of his reading. He articulated the Scriptures as though they meant everything to him, as if he was a man who wanted to live, and to live for a very long time.

  Daed glanced at Tilly as he continued. “ ‘Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.’ ”

  Tilly looked at Ruthie, worrying how Daed would take the news that there was no hope of his daughter’s return to the People. Perhaps it was a good thing they were leaving for home tomorrow.

  Chapter 39

  Ruth was aware of the barrenness of her former room that evening. Only the bed remained, and Anna’s old room looked equally empty. It dawned on her that she and Tilly would be sleeping on this side of the house for the last time tonight. Saturday morning, Lord willing, Sam and Josie were planning to move in, and they and their children would occupy the house for their first night there as a family.

  It felt unsettling to reflect on life’s cycles—the comings and goings of people. Including Will Kauffman. “Good thing I found out about him before I made plans to move back here,” she murmured, closing her suitcase. “Thank goodness.”

  Tiptoeing across to see if Tilly was still up, and pleased that she was, Ruth tapped on the door. “Did Melvin talk to you about going to the park tomorrow—to the Conestoga River?”

  The lantern was lit on the small table next to the bed, and its light cast shadows on the far wall. Sitting there all cozy in bed, Tilly looked up from her book and shook her head. “Haven’t heard from him, no. What time did Melvin say he wanted to go?”

  “Well, he doesn’t want to detain us, so right after breakfast makes sense.”

  Tilly nodded. “That should work.” She indicated she wanted to try to be home in Rockport by midafternoon if possible. “I’m homesick . . . really miss Kris and the twins.”

  “Seems like we’ve been gone for weeks.” Ruth took a seat on the bed when Tilly motioned for her to join her. Ruth got situated, facing her sister with her legs stretched out toward the headboard. “Does it to you?”

  “Nearly a lifetime in some ways.” Tilly encouraged her with a smile.

  She’d noticed that Tilly and Daed had seemed uncommonly at ease with each other this evening, as if the old tension had drained away.

  Not wanting to pry, she simply nodded. “And just so ya don’t think I’m clamming up on you, I’m ready to tell you why Will’s not for me.”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “Mamm always said if a fella is too interested in many girls before marriage, the chances of faithfulness afterward aren’t so good.”

  Tilly’s eyes were softer . . . gentler. “She’s as wise as anyone we know, jah?”

  Ruth agreed. “Come to think of it, seems like Mammi Lantz told me the same thing back when I first started going to Singings and other youth activities.”

  “If we’re wise, we can learn from the people who love us,” Tilly said. “Provided we pay attention.”

  Ruth contemplated that, glad to be here with Tilly, finally opening her heart. “But what if I never have youngsters so that I can pass on what I’ve learned?”

  “Oh, sister . . . you will.” Tilly reached to take her hand, smiling sweetly. “The Lord has someone special picked out for you. And you can rest in that.”

  “Well, it’s not Will Kauffman.” Even though it felt a bit like something in her had died—again—Ruth knew that for sure. “And I’m so glad I didn’t tell Mamm and Daed anything definite about returning. What a mistake that would’ve been!”

  “You spared them an emotional roller coaster, for sure.”

  “Still, we’ve had such a good time here with our family; I don’t want to spoil a second more of it.” Ruthie thought again of her father’s shaky condition. “There’s something else I’ve wanted to share with you,” she continued. “I’ve met someone at church back in Rockport . . . someone you and Kris know well.” For the first time, she told Tilly about going out with Jim Montgomery.

  “Oh, Ruthie, he seems just wonderful! Jim’s always one of the first ones to sign up to help, and he attends all the Saturday men’s breakfasts with Kris.”

  Ruth couldn’t contain her smile. “Has Kris considered him for me, maybe?”

  Tilly’s expression was suspicious. “Well, I’m not really sure about that, but I do know he speaks highly of Jim.”

  This was news to Ruth. “Maybe now that I know my feelings for Will are truly a thing of the past, I can give Jim’s and my relationship a chance.” She rose and blew a kiss to her sister. “Tomorrow will come quick, you know.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  Ruth smiled and paused in the doorway, lingering there. “I’m going to miss this big old house.”

  Tilly looked over at her and nodded slowly. “You know something? I am, too.”

  Ruth wiggled her fingers in farewell and left the room.

  ———

  Tilly continued reading until she started to nod off. Somewhere in her haze, she heard footsteps in the hallway and wond
ered if Ruth was still restless and moving about.

  When Tilly looked up from her warm spot, Mamm appeared in the doorway, wearing her heavy white bathrobe. She smiled timidly and came all the way in, closing the door behind her. “Mamm? Are you all right?”

  “It’s awful late, I know. But I just had to walk over and talk to you before tomorrow comes.” Mamm sat on the edge of the bed, near where Ruthie had perched earlier. Her waist-length hair hung straight down her back, the beautiful thick locks glossy in the lantern light.

  “I hope Daed’s okay,” Tilly said, her first concern for him.

  Mamm drew a breath, then placed a hand on her bosom and pursed her lips. “My dear.” She stopped as soon as she’d begun, seemingly unable to go on.

  Does she know that it’s all out in the open between Daed and me?

  Tilly waited, then wondered if she ought to help this along. “Did Daed share something personal with you, perhaps?”

  Mamm nodded and fixed her eyes on Tilly. “We talked for a long time before retiring for the night. And now, well, I can’t sleep a wink. Ain’t the best thing at this hour, hashin’ out such a weighty topic, I’ll say. Not sure we would’ve stayed up that late if things weren’t so private for us next door, just the two of us.”

  Tilly felt she might split in half if she didn’t speak. “Was I out of order, saying what I did? If so, I’m sorry.”

  A cloud fell over her mother’s face. “Honestly, I’m relieved yous talked things through . . . but it ain’t for just anyone to know, mind you.” Mamm patted Tilly’s hand. “And hearing Daed’s made his peace with ya, well, that’s worth everything.”

  Tilly reached for her. “Oh, Mamm, since you’ve told me, I’ve put myself in that woodlot, in my mind.”

  “But you were the result, Tilly. You, my precious girl.”

  It was hard for her to think that her mother had suffered so for Tilly’s own life. “I love you, Mamm. I hope you know how very much.”

  “The Lord gave me beauty for ashes . . . and you must never doubt that, my dear.”

  And joy for mourning, thought Tilly.

  She clung to her mother as the darkness of the past was swallowed up by the truth’s radiant light. Oh, she wanted to purpose in her heart that no more harm befall this dearest of mothers. Angelic, Daed had described her.

  Moments later, when Mamm was ready to head back to the Dawdi Haus, Tilly slipped on her own robe and went with her, the flashlight shining brightly. “Sweet dreams,” Tilly said.

  “You too, dear.”

  Tomorrow will soon be here. She thought of Ruthie’s remark and hurried back around to the main house, recalling Anna’s joy in scampering about that very area, calling for Tilly. “Come an’ play with me.”

  “My little shadow follows me, even now,” she whispered, heading inside. “In my heart.”

  After extinguishing the lantern, Tilly fell right to sleep, dreaming that Anna was still alive. And it was her very best dream in many years.

  Chapter 40

  As the crow of Daed’s rooster pierced the golden dawn, Tilly awakened feeling more like herself. She welcomed the fact that her mother had shared so freely again last night, especially on the heels of Tilly’s conversation with Daed. It made coming home all the more precious.

  Buoyed by the memory of her father’s gentle words yesterday, she slipped out of bed and went to push up the shades. Standing at the window, she tried to memorize what she saw up and down Eden Road. Field work was in full swing, and she relished the view from north to east and back again. Oh, the many times she’d dug her fingers into the rich black soil, helping Mamm plant her colorful annuals—finding plump earthworms just below the surface.

  She raised her face to the sky, nearly indescribable with a luminous sunrise. Elongated wisps of rose-pink clouds provided the perfect mirror to reflect the golden shades.

  Tilly was ever so thankful for this new day—a day when she looked forward to seeing her darling Kris and their sweet girls again. She could just imagine being wrapped in her husband’s strong arms. Tonight!

  Josie arrived right on time, after Tilly and Ruth came back to the main house from having breakfast with Daed and Mamm in their cozy new kitchen.

  She joked that this was her “biggest and best fall cleaning ever” and seemed excited to get settled into the house. “My sisters and a few cousins are comin’ to help finish up the scrubbing,” she said, her pretty face aglow.

  “You’re going to love living here and raising your family,” Tilly told her while they stood in Mamm’s former kitchen, surrounded by sunbeams.

  Josie glanced about the large, empty room. “I can’t tell ya how happy Sam is.”

  “And you’ll be close to Daed and Mamm, too.”

  “It’s an honor to keep an eye out for them.” Josie smiled. “I really mean that.”

  Thanking her, Tilly reached to clasp her hand. “I hope you’ve forgiven me for going silent all those years.”

  “Oh jah . . . don’t worry yourself. Really.”

  Don’t worry yourself. . . .

  Tilly smiled; her dearest friend sounded like her.

  Forgiveness is a matter of the heart, she thought and thanked the dear Lord above.

  Sammy and Johanna were sitting quietly on the floor in the opposite corner, building a block tower together, chattering in Deitsch. Johanna kept her little hands out, waiting to knock down the blocks without warning. “Your children resemble each of you,” Tilly commented. “They really do.”

  “We’re thankful for such healthy little ones.”

  Their talk eventually turned to a few larger pieces of furniture Mamm had pegged earlier for auction. Josie mentioned that Daed said she and Sam might have first dibs on those. “Ain’t that nice?”

  “So good to hear. That way, the house can continue to remind all of us how it looked when my parents lived here.”

  Josie’s face burst into a smile, and she reached to hug Tilly, clasping her arms. “Does that mean you’ll come back and see us? Will ya stay with us, too, just maybe, with your husband and children?”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Are ya kidding?” Her sister-in-law gave a merry laugh. “Sam and I would really like that.” Josie glanced at her children. “So would Sammy and Johanna.”

  “I’m sure my parents would enjoy it, too.”

  “Drop me a note now and then, all right?” Josie went to get her purse and pulled out a small tablet. “Won’t ya jot down your address for me? I know your Mamm has it, but I don’t want to trouble her for it.”

  Tilly obliged, finding Josie’s enthusiasm to be very sweet, even contagious. She wrote her mailing address and gave her another hug.

  Josie seemed reluctant to say good-bye and went along with Tilly out to the car, where Ruthie was loading the suitcases into the trunk. Ruth also had a box of things from her hope chest she was trying to squeeze in.

  “I’m glad you’ll be living in Daed and Mamm’s house,” Ruthie said, giving Josie a quick embrace. “Have a happy life here. . . . I know you will.”

  Tilly waved again, and at that moment, she wished she and Ruthie were heading straight out to the old Lincoln Highway, and then east toward home. But their brother Melvin was waiting, and so was the river.

  Chapter 41

  I’ve just spotted my sisters a-comin’,” Melvin told Susannah as she pounded down her bread dough at the kitchen counter. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Do ya expect to be gone long?”

  He shook his head. “The girls have to get on the road if they want to make it home by sundown.”

  His dear wife gave a gentle wave, and he reached for his jacket and pushed his black felt hat down on his head. Outdoors, he waited for Ruthie to move from the front seat to the back when she insisted he ride up front with Tilly. “Ain’t necessary,” he protested, but Ruthie had her way. A right spunky one, she was.

  He didn’t have to wonder why Tilly was quiet during the drive. Just as well
, he thought, taking in the sights as they swiftly moved farther from his home and familiar surroundings. It was strange to see other farmers’ fields zipping past so quick-like. Goodness, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to riding in a car, or, for that matter, a rented van.

  When they arrived at the park, he saw that the area hadn’t changed much in nine years, with the exception of the trees and the undergrowth along the riverbank. But of course it was deep autumn now. As he recalled, the place had been greener than green that long-ago Sunday in July when he and his family met up with Daed and Mamm and the rest for the picnic.

  He’d never forgotten the crest of the river that fateful day. The swiftness of the water, too. Little Anna never had a chance, he thought, wishing he’d been standing closer to where she’d fallen in. I might’ve saved her.

  The thing that got Melvin through the worst times—and surely his parents, too—was the hope of seeing Anna again in Glory. He needed to just set his mind on that and not let it fade away.

  “What do you recall most about that day?” Tilly asked, falling in step with him while Ruthie wandered off on her own.

  He’d come for this very reason—to remember. “Well, it was Ruthie, Josie, and little Anna—the three of them—moseying toward the river, if I’m not fuzzy on that. The older girls were laughing and talking, but Anna was smirking, looking back at me. Hard to forget that.” Melvin coughed a little, nearly overcome. “I thought she was daring me, wanting me to do again what I’d just done ten minutes before.”

  “Oh? What was that?”

  He led Tilly slowly to the river’s edge, close to the actual spot on the embankment where Anna had tried to mimic Melvin’s stunt that terrible day. “Poor little girl, she saw me and must’ve thought it was easy to balance herself—and right there, of all places.” He pointed to the exceptionally narrow ridge where he’d last seen Anna, her tiny wavering arms stretched wide. “She tried to walk as though on a tightrope, hovering frighteningly near the roaring river.” He shook his head. “It was my blunder . . . I’m to blame for it. Shoulda been more responsible.” He mopped his eyes with his kerchief now, unable to continue.