The Missing

by Beverly Lewis

  As Grace scurried up the road, past her house, she noticed her father’s sheep all clustered in one corner of the meadow and the vet’s horse and buggy parked in the driveway. Breathing a prayer for Willow, she headed straight to the Riehls’, hoping Mandy or Mammi Adah hadn’t spotted her out on the road. She was in no mood to talk of more sad goings-on in the neighborhood.

  She turned into the Riehls’ lane and saw Becky hitching up one of their driving horses to the gray family carriage. “Wie geht’s?” she called to her best friend.

  “Just fine . . . you?” Becky raised her head, her sad face evident.

  Grace hurried to her side. “Oh, you’re crying!” Is everyone in tears today?

  Becky nodded slowly. “Jah, silly me.”

  “No, no. That’s all right.”

  Becky buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Gracie . . .”

  Grace placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, and she glanced about to see if anyone was watching. “Let’s go somewhere and talk privately, all right?”

  “Just help me finish hitchin’ up the horse.” Becky brushed her tears away. “I promised Mamm.”

  Grace did what she could to speed up the process, but her friend couldn’t keep the words back, and she began to pour out her sadness over Yonnie Bontrager, the handsome fellow she’d had her heart set on. “I thought he liked me. Honest, I did.”

  “I thought so, too.” Grace didn’t mention having seen Yonnie heading home alone last Sunday night, following Singing.

  “Oh . . . I don’t know what’s the matter between us.”

  Grace pondered that. “Hard to know with some fellas.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  She looked kindly at Becky. “Did Yonnie give you anything to go on . . . I mean, did he explain why—”

  “He just quit askin’ me to go walkin’—out of the blue, really.” Becky breathed in slowly, blinking her eyes. “He’s been backing away the last couple of youth gatherings.”

  “Aw, Becky . . . I’m sorry to hear it.” Grace had observed Yonnie with Becky often enough to believe they had something special.

  Becky rose and patted the horse’s mane for the longest time before she spoke again. “To tell the truth, I prob’ly liked him more than he liked me.”

  “I don’t see how that can be.”

  Becky placed her hand on her heart, a faraway look in her eye. “He’s nothin’ like he used to be. . . .”

  Some fellows lost interest all too quickly. “Well, best to find out before you’re engaged or . . .” Grace stopped, thinking of Jessica’s parents.

  “Or married?”

  “All I’m sayin’ is, it might be for the best if you part ways . . . since he’s actin’ like this.” She touched Becky’s arm. “I’m awful sorry he’s made you so sad.”

  They walked together into the house, and Becky’s mother, Marian, greeted Grace with her usual bright smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m glad you dropped by. What can I give yous to snack on?”

  Grace suddenly remembered why she’d come. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the five-dollar bill from Mrs. Spangler. “Our English neighbors down the road need a dozen eggs.” She held out the money.

  “You can just put that away. No need to make money off our neighbors. They’ve done so many favors for us!” Marian promptly went to the gas-run refrigerator and pulled out a carton containing a dozen eggs. “These were gathered yesterday afternoon.”

  “Des gut.” Grace accepted the eggs and opened the back door as she thanked Marian. She thought she heard the mournful neigh of a horse carried on the wind. Anxious to check on Willow and hear what the vet had suggested, she walked as fast as she could without breaking the eggs.

  Please, Lord, help Willow recover.

  “As you know, Willow’s not just a drivin’ horse for us,”Judah Byler told the vet, Jerry Wilder. “She’s become a family pet.” Especially to Grace.

  Jerry did a visual inspection of the mare’s knee joints on all four legs, looking for any swelling. He was a stocky man with dark brown hair and glasses, and although he was definitely an Englischer, he wore a subdued gray long-sleeved shirt and tan suspenders like an Amishman. Jerry had been looking in on all the Bird-in-Hand farmers’ livestock for the past thirty or more years, and Judah appreciated his deliberate way of making decisions—not an impulsive bone in the man’s body.

  Judah touched Willow’s head to calm her some as her ears pricked forward. Her eyes were focused on Jerry as he felt now for any unusual bumps, cuts, or heat, explaining everything as he went. He ran his hands along the mare’s shoulders and hips, then lifted each foot to probe its frog and sole. “I’m looking for any bruises or foreign objects . . . checking to see whether the frogs are full of dirt. So far, it all looks good,” he said of the first two legs.

  He asked Judah to hold Willow still while he stepped back to see if she was distributing her weight equally on all four feet. “Just as you said, her right front leg is the culprit,” he noted, indicating that it was cocked slightly. “She’s certainly favoring that one.”

  Jerry straightened and shook his head. “Unless I’m completely off beam, Willow’s ailing with the founder, which may have caused her injury. Coupled with her age, it’s not good news.”

  Judah kept his hold on Willow; the mare appeared alert, although he knew she was not frightened. “Can she pull through?”

  “Well, quite honestly, it would be a wonder.” The vet put his hand on the horse’s nose and patted her slowly. “I’d suggest extra attention from family members. If she starts to resist walking, call me and we’ll X-ray her hoof. I’ll give her medication for pain today.” He eyed the stall. “Also, make some soft bedding with sawdust or black walnut shavings . . . that’ll be more comfortable for her.”

  “All right, then,” Judah said.

  “Hope I’m wrong, but ultimately, I think you’ll have to do the humane thing.”

  Judah shuddered to think of putting Willow out of her misery. What would it do to Grace? She appeared strong, but he was convinced her show of courage was for the benefit of her brothers and Mandy. And undeniably for me, too. Losing Willow would be like losing a friend. One too many losses . . .

  “You know how to reach me, Judah.”

  He nodded.

  Jerry offered a partial wave of the hand. “Good luck now.”

  We’ll need that and more.

  “I’ll call ya . . . if need be.”

  The wind came up, scuffling old leaves across the vet’s path as Judah stood and watched the man leave. He reached back and squeezed his sore neck. Then, with a great heaviness, he turned back to the stable, to Willow.

  “Awful sorry, girl.” Bending low, he gently rubbed the injured leg.

  “Dat?”

  He turned, not having heard Grace come into the stable.

  “Well, you snuck up on me.”

  “Didn’t mean to.” She knelt quickly, leaning her face against one of Willow’s good legs. “She’s goin’ to make it, ain’t so?”

  He recited what the vet had told him, his heart going out to her. He left out the part about putting Willow down but said, “She’s got the founder.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “Ach . . . no.”

  “It’ll be a miracle . . .” he began, then stopped. His daughter knew what was at stake.

  “Well, I’m praying, Dat. Is that childish, beseeching the Lord for an animal?”

  Empathy welled up in him. “Ain’t for me to say.” He couldn’t help but offer her a tender smile.

  “All right, then. I won’t quit.” She rose to kiss Willow’s nose.

  The warmth in Judah’s heart made him feel alive. But only after Grace had returned to the house did the tears prickle at the back of his eyes and distort his vision, then roll down his face unchecked. The Lord giveth . . . and taketh away.

  chapter

  four

  After Grace’s hot dinner of baked roast and potatoes, steamed car
rots and cauliflower, homemade applesauce, and red-beet eggs—even homemade root beer to drink—she confessed to Dat and the others that she hadn’t yet made the call to Ohio. She didn’t explain what had caused the delay. Mammi Adah had looked surprisingly relieved, Grace recalled as she carried the food scraps to the compost pile behind the barn.

  Tomorrow will be soon enough. The less she contemplated calling, the easier it might be in the long run.

  Enjoying the feel of the thick grass under her feet, she considered Dat’s kindly way when they’d talked in the barn earlier, there with Willow. Despite the sadness of the moment, she was truly heartened at how gently he’d shared the news with her, father to daughter. She’d never heard him speak so freely to a woman.

  She was moseying across the backyard, returning to the house, when she heard horse hooves on the driveway. She looked to see who was coming. There, as big as you please—and all smiles, too—was Yonnie Bontrager, perched high in his new courting buggy.

  What’s he doing here?

  Remembering Becky’s sadness over him, she did not wave back, not even when Yonnie caught her eye and smiled. Like last Sunday night. She recalled his friendly grin as he left the Singing without Becky. What would happen if word got out that Yonnie had come by?

  What’ll Becky think? Dismayed, Grace hurried around the side of the house and up the steps. Reaching for the kitchen door, she slipped inside before Yonnie could speak to her. She dashed to the utility closet for the mop and bucket and prepared to wash the kitchen floor. There was more than enough work to keep her busy before returning to Carole Spangler with the eggs from the Riehls’ hen house.

  Hearing Dat and Adam call a cheerful “Willkumm” to Yonnie outside, she assumed he’d come to borrow a tool. She shook off the image of handsome Yonnie sitting in his buggy, nonchalantly holding the reins. True, she’d enjoyed his company quite a lot before Henry Stahl had started seeing her regularly. But that was back last year, when Yonnie and his family had first arrived from Indiana, and Yonnie had only asked her to go walking after Singing a few times. He’d explained at length that he’d purposely chosen not to own a courting buggy while he decided whom to court, as if testing to see how she’d react. His was a serious, even careful approach to courtship. To think Grace had been so certain he would decide to court her friend.

  Grace stooped to get into the corners with the string mop.Goodness, but Yonnie had ridden right past the Riehls’ house to come here! Did he have the slightest idea how fond Becky was of him? Ain’t my place to say. Besides, Becky was her first concern. Before any thickheaded fellow!

  When Grace had mopped the dirtiest traffic areas, she poured the gray water outside, rinsed out her sponge, and scrubbed her hands. Another quick look around indicated the buggy was still on the premises.

  Then, of all things, she saw Yonnie himself standing near the barn door, carrying a baby lamb like Dat sometimes did. Shocked, she assumed Dat had given him some mighty quick instruction on tending lambs. A full-grown sheep would view him as a stranger and shy away, for sure.

  Just why had Yonnie come?

  Judah removed his straw hat and scratched his head. He had no idea what to make of this young whippersnapper who’d shown up so spontaneously. By all appearances, Yonnie had come to assist with the newborn lambs, but after giving the boy some pointers, something in his gut made him think otherwise.

  The lad’s father, Ephram Bontrager, had moved here last year with plans to take over his aging uncle’s buggy-making business. “Since there are no farm chores to tie me down just now, I figured I’d stop by here to see if you can use my help,” Yonnie had said. “I don’t expect any pay.” Yonnie went on to explain that his father wouldn’t need him at the buggy-making shop until Ephram was the only one running it. “Till my uncle retires.”

  Now Judah found himself chuckling. He wondered how Grace might feel, especially if the boy was bold enough to stay on for supper. It was still befuddling how this young man had nearly tackled him at the harness shop not long ago, asking for permission to court Grace. He couldn’t help but wonder what on earth his daughter thought of Yonnie’s peculiar way of doing things.

  Taking note of some slipshod work in the bedding areas, Judah called to Adam and Joe. Clumps of straw were strewn about, not having been shaken out hard enough or broken apart from the tight baling.

  “Guck emol datt—Look at that!” He pointed out the muddled mess and leaned down to pick up a bundle of straw. “No excuse for this.”

  Adam was first to nod, being the oldest. But it was Joe who fessed up. “Was my fault, Dat. I was in a rush.”

  “Well, that never pays.” Judah wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. No way . . . no how. Shaking his head, he sighed, thinking unexpectedly of Lettie. The same old regrets continued to play in his head.

  Hindsight was powerful-good; he knew that. But there’d been no chance to make it up to her . . . no time to hear her out.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Adam and Joe making right the sloppy arrangement of straw in the non expectant ewes’ bedding areas. The boys were talking low but fast in Dietsch. He had no desire to listen in—there was enough of that going on in the house. He’d caught Lettie’s mother, Adah, lingering near the doorway in the hall last evening, observing his Scripture reading time with his children. Just why, he had no idea. Truth was, Adah and Jakob were both mighty edgy here lately, ever since Lettie’s leaving. Downright strange it was—like they were keeping mum about something.

  He caught sight of Yonnie again. The lad was coaxing a thin-looking lamb to drink from a baby bottle as doggedly as one of his sons might. Like he might want to be a sheep farmer, too.

  But no, Judah wouldn’t let his mind wander in that direction. He assumed Grace already had herself a beau. Even if she went around with a long face—like Yonnie had pointed out that day in the harness shop—it didn’t have to mean she was unhappy with her intended. Her Mamma’s gone, for pity’s sake!

  “Judah,” called Yonnie. “This here lamb’s not takin’ to the bottle.” He slid the nipple right out of its mouth. “See? No suction.” He shook his head, blue eyes exhibiting concern. “No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get this one to latch on.”

  The more Judah worked with sheep, the less he felt he knew. Just like most anything . . . a man’s always learning till the day he dies.

  “Keep rubbing the nipple over its gums,” he suggested.

  Yonnie nodded and walked away with the lamb’s head still snuggled against his shirt. He headed outdoors again, turning to pull the barn door shut.

  Not so much lambs but sheep were as wary as any animal the Lord God had made. They were typically terrified of strangers, so Judah had given Yonnie a pair of his old work trousers right quick, to introduce Yonnie to the herd that way. Sheep were also known to wander away. Judah had more than enough fence crawlers—restless sheep—who kept forcing their way through the fence. And the worst of it, they tended to pass on the same habits to their offspring. A bad example to the whole flock.

  Ach, like Lettie, he thought and wondered if she would even respond positively to his searching for her. Like the Good Shepherd and that one little lost sheep . . .

  Heading to the opposite end of the barn, to the mule and horse stalls, Judah looked in on Willow. She was calmer now, after the vet’s pain medication.

  With yet another glance at the old mare, he took down his favorite shovel and began to muck out the stalls. The smell scarcely fazed him after all these years. Was that how a person could find himself in boiling hot water? By just sitting, oblivious to the temperature slowly rising over time?

  Like a marriage slowly eroding over the years . . .

  With each heave of manure, he considered the ministers’ stern remarks this morning. Should he have gone looking for his wayward wife, as the bishop had suggested? Shouldn’t Judah be the one making the call to Ohio, instead of Grace?

  Thus far he hadn’t lifted a finger to contact Lettie or br
ing her back. It wasn’t that he didn’t care to; he wanted her to return on her own, because she loved him. And deep down in the core of him, he was afraid she’d refuse to come home even if he asked.

  So much has changed. . . . He’d pursued her at the outset as a young fellow, when Lettie reached courting age. But later, after her return from Ohio with her mother, their getting hitched had been mostly his father-in-law’s doing. Jakob had gotten the wheels rolling for Judah to marry Lettie right quick.

  He turned to see Yonnie still cradling the feeble lamb in his arms like an infant. “Ach . . . didn’t see ya there.”

  “Sorry, but this one needs more attention.” Yonnie eyed the lamb. “Its ribs are stickin’ clear out.”

  Judah propped up his shovel and wiped his hands on his work trousers. “Give him here.”

  “Ain’t a male,” Yonnie said, his blue eyes twinkling.

  He took the lamb and the bottle and slowly worked the nipple around the small animal’s mouth, then dribbled several milk droplets on the lamb’s tongue. Judah held his breath, hoping the gentle approach might do the trick, though he felt ill at ease, being the object of such scrutiny.

  “She’s awful frail,” Yonnie said, moving even closer. Thankfully, the young fellow did not touch the lamb’s head. Any movement, and this undernourished newborn could easily become distracted . . . lose the slight suction she had on the bottle now.

  Judah heard the steady, even, rhythmic swallowing before the familiar clicking sound of suckling. He was relieved as the lamb began to relax in his arms. This one could most likely be saved.

  “I believe you’ve got a knack,” Yonnie said. “A gift from the Father’s own hand, my Dat would say.”

  Yonnie’s unexpected admiration made Judah downright nervous. Honestly, he wished the lad would just keep quiet.

  Having finally delivered the eggs to the Spanglers, Grace realized she was favoring the far side of the road as she came upon the phone booth. Simply knowing the booth was there made her feel guilty for putting off the call. What am I so afraid of?