The Missing

by Beverly Lewis

She forced her thoughts to this last visit, recalling Jessica’s eagerness to talk further, which Grace had encouraged her to do. “Let’s go walking sometime,” she’d said.

  Jessica’s mother had spotted the unused five-dollar bill on the table. And lo and behold if she hadn’t made an awkward comment about Grace’s needing it “for a rainy day.”

  Hurrying toward home now, she whispered, “We can take care of ourselves.” With or without Mamma.

  She shook her head as she neared the driveway and noticed Mandy standing at the mailbox on the front porch, holding up the mail and calling to her. “I think there’s a letter from Mamma!

  Oh, Grace, come quick!”

  A little burst of air flew from her lips as she picked up her skirt and ran to the front yard. Can it be?

  Mandy relinquished the letter to Grace, and together they promptly sat on the porch swing. Seeing it was addressed in their mother’s handwriting to The Judah Byler Family, Grace ripped open the envelope, her fingers shaking . . . and her heart pounding. Oh joy!

  She couldn’t help recalling all the happy times Mamma had sat here on the porch, scribbling off letters to Hallie Troyer, her Indiana cousin, or writing her account of the week in one of several circle letters circulating through the county.

  Quickly, Grace read silently.

  My dear family,

  I want you to know that I am well . . . and safe. So many times I’ve wanted to write to you or to call. I long to hear your voices once again.

  I wish I could explain why I am away from home, gone so far from all of you. It is ever so difficult right now. Please trust that I pray for you each day, my dear ones.

  I miss you terribly.

  With love,

  Mamma

  We miss you, too, thought Grace, fighting back tears. Yet she was puzzled. What could be so difficult?

  Glancing at Mandy, who’d snuggled up close enough for her to smell a hint of bath powder, she gave her sister the letter.

  Mandy held it tenderly, her eyes glistening. Then she read their mother’s note, soundlessly mouthing the words. When she was finished, she folded it again and gently returned it to the envelope. “Here, you keep it,” she said, placing it in Grace’s hand.

  “Have you looked at the postmark?” Grace pointed to the post office stamp: Kidron, Ohio. But Mamma had not written a return address. “It’s the same city as the inn’s address.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out Mammi’s note. “See?”

  Mandy peered at Mammi Adah’s writing. “So then, Mammi was right: Mamma’s somewhere in Kidron, if not at that very inn.” She looked at Grace.

  I miss you terribly, Mamma had written.

  Seeing her mother’s handwriting jolted Grace into action. “I’ll go right now and make the phone call . . . surely Mamma’s staying there.”

  “Where else, if not at that inn?” Mandy agreed.

  She sighed, not fully understanding why she’d felt so reluctant to call today.

  “You want me to walk with you?”

  Grace couldn’t decide if her sister’s presence beside the small phone booth would give her the moral support she needed or make her more nervous. But Mandy got up and followed her down the sidewalk and through the front yard. With each step, Grace felt an impending mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Just how close was she to finding a mother who might not wish to be found?

  chapter

  five

  The ring tone on her iPhone gave off a jingle, alerting Heather that someone other than a relative or a college friend was calling. She answered and was surprised to hear a congenial receptionist informing her there was an unexpected opening tomorrow morning at Dr. Marshall’s office.

  “Great. I’ll take it, thanks.” For a fleeting moment, Heather was absolutely elated. But as the receptionist gave the driving directions and the office suite number, she experienced a sinking feeling. After thanking the woman again, she hung up. She hadn’t expected this cloud of sadness. It was as if a door had creaked open, and she was being propelled through it to an unknown land.

  She breathed slowly, turning to look over her shoulder at the many enticing sweets in the display window across from her. Something told her this might be her last chance to indulge in the “Standard American Diet,” or SAD, as some online sources called it. In fact, one article had asserted the typical American diet could eventually kill you.

  Nice, she’d thought.

  Returning her attention to her laptop screen, Heather hit Save and closed her thesis. Then, opening another Word file, she began to add another section to her daily journal. She typed a new heading: Life As I’ll Soon Know It.

  Grace was glad Mandy wasn’t disappointed at her suggestion to wait outside the phone booth. Even so, she felt like a Laus— louse—excluding her sister this way. Still, it was better that Mandy not overhear the conversation. Who knew what might transpire? Besides, as Grace closed the door behind her, there didn’t seem to be enough air inside the shanty as it was. Or maybe she was simply breathing it all up too quickly.

  Trembling, she lifted the receiver and held it against her ear, listening for the automated prompts. Next, she punched in the phone card number.

  At last, a phone rang on the other end. Then . . . a woman’s voice.

  “Kidron Inn—Tracie Gordon speaking.”

  Grace’s thoughts froze.

  “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “I . . . I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I’m lookin’ for someone.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s my mother. Is she there, by any chance?” Suddenly Grace felt ever so silly, like a tongue-tied youngster. “Ach, her name’s Lettie Byler.”

  “No, not presently. But . . . she was.”

  Grace’s heart leaped up. “Oh, that’s wonderful-gut, really ’tis.” She hardly knew what to say next.

  “Lettie was here for several weeks, in fact.”

  Several weeks?

  “I wish you’d called earlier, dear.”

  “Me too. And I should’ve told you my name. I’m Grace Byler, calling from Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, where my mother lives.” Where she used to . . . Grace tightened her grip on the phone. “Did she happen to say where she was going?”

  “I really can’t say, no.” A short pause.

  Ach, please try to remember. . . .

  “Oh, wait.” The innkeeper’s wife spoke up suddenly. “She did say something about looking for a midwife.”

  Grace’s breath caught in her throat. A midwife? “My mother’s still in the area, then?”

  “She may very well be.”

  Grace felt her throat closing. So very close and yet . . . “Is there anything else you remember? Was she goin’ to see cousins in another state, maybe?” She just had to know more.

  “You know, now that you mention it, your mother did talk some about a cousin in Indiana—I do recall that.”

  “All right, then. Denki—thank you—ever so much.”

  “You are most welcome, Grace. And if there’s anything else I can help you with, please don’t think twice about calling.”

  “That’s kind of you. Good-bye.”

  The word midwife spun around in Grace’s head. And even though it was nearly suffocating in the phone booth, she stayed there for a moment after hanging up the receiver. “What can it mean?” she muttered, staring at the sky through the little window. And how could she begin to explain this to Mandy, who was waiting but a few feet away?

  And Dat . . . wouldn’t he know if Mamma was expecting a late-in-life baby?

  Leaning her head back so hard that her Kapp pushed forward, Grace decided she best not share that part of the conversation. What other reason might there be for Mamma to search out a midwife? Oh, goodness . . . what next?

  She struggled not to show her frustration. Taking a long, slow breath, she opened the shanty door and stepped outside.

  Mandy came rushing over. “What did you find out?”

  “Mamma’s not there—bu
t she was. It’s possible she’s gone to visit her cousin Hallie Troyer.”

  Mandy stared at her as if Grace looked ill. Did her confusion show on her face? “Sounds like Mamma’s movin’ from place to place. Why on earth?”

  Grace could do nothing but agree with her sister’s suggestion. Yet why would Mamma write them a letter saying she missed them, if she wasn’t heading home?

  “You goin’ to write to Cousin Hallie?” asked Mandy.

  “Well, I doubt Troyers have a phone, so maybe I’ll have to.” But what she really wanted to do was just go there and see for herself.

  “Mammi Adah surely has the Troyers’ address,” Mandy pressed. “Ain’t so?”

  “I haven’t decided what to do.” They moved out from under the shadow of the dense thicket of low branches.

  Mandy shook her head and gave Grace a sharp look as they headed home. “I don’t see why everything’s up to you, Grace.”

  “It’s not.” She wouldn’t let her ire up. After all, Mandy had every right to wonder. “What’s clear is Dat’s not able to go lookin’ for Mamma—not now, anyway.”

  “But even if he were free to go, I doubt he would,” Mandy blurted.

  “What a miserable thing to say,” Grace chided her . . . but she had thought the same thing earlier.

  “Jah, I have some time on my hands,” Yonnie said as Judah walked with him from the barn. “I’m caught up on my work over at the deacon’s place . . . for now.”

  “Well, there’s plenty to do here,” Judah replied.

  “And the injured mare needs tending to, jah?”

  Grace will be out there with Willow. Judah bowed his head.

  “Just can’t see how Willow’s goin’ to make it.”

  “My family once had to make a difficult decision about a horse,” Yonnie said. “Dat says he’s known some farmers to give up too quick. His motto is to just hold steady.”

  “Doesn’t seem right . . . with Willow still sufferin’.”

  Yonnie looked him square in the face. “Can ya give her more time?”

  Judah thought again of poor Grace. “All right, then. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Yonnie sure seemed to be one persistent fellow. But he’d grown up around horses, having helped his father and uncle raise them in Indiana, before moving here.

  Yonnie tapped his straw hat and hurried off to hitch up his horse and buggy. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow!”

  Judah was puzzled at his optimism. Yet he couldn’t fault Yonnie for his helpful spirit. Then, looking out toward the road, he saw Grace and Mandy talking as they headed this way. A smile formed on his lips, and he found himself curious at what might transpire if Yonnie bumped into his eldest daughter before he left for home.

  Knowing it was best he keep his distance on that, Judah muttered, “Ach, old man . . . just let things be.”

  What with so many interruptions this afternoon, Grace was glad she’d planned a supper of fried chicken and noodles with brown butter. “We best be showin’ Dat what Mamma wrote in her letter,” she told Mandy as they set the table for the evening meal.

  “You show him,” Mandy urged as she folded the paper napkins. “He’ll be eager for some word ’bout your phone call, too, won’t he?”

  Grace stewed. Really, what was there to tell? That Mamma had stayed exactly where Mammi Adah suspected she’d gone . . .but was now heading somewhere else? “Instead of comin’ home,” she murmured.

  “What?” Mandy turned.

  “Just thinkin’ out loud.”

  Mandy offered a reassuring smile and finished placing the utensils on the table. “You seem awful jittery. Is it the phone call? Something you ain’t tellin’?”

  “I’m more confused than upset. Can’t understand why Mamma’s staying away . . . and why she doesn’t just tell us what’s botherin’ her.”

  “Jah.” Mandy’s eyes turned serious. “Makes not a speck of sense.”

  Grace sighed, wanting to change the subject.

  Mandy asked quickly, “Is it too soon to call Dawdi Jakob and Mammi Adah over for the meal?”

  “No, go ahead. I’ll let Adam and Joe know we’re ready.” Going to the side door, Grace called to their brothers. She was aware of Dat’s footsteps overhead in his room, directly above the kitchen.

  She was just stepping back inside when Yonnie Bontrager waved to her from near the stable, where he had finished hitching up his horse. He straightened to his full height as he caught her eye. “Have a gut evening, Grace,” he said with a big grin.

  Uncertain why she was blushing, Grace returned to the kitchen to get the food on the table, all the while wondering why Yonnie had stayed this long. She doubted Dat would volunteer as much, and she wasn’t about to ask. Certainly not during the supper hour, when Dat’s mind would more than likely be on Mamma’s letter.

  With yet another prayer for her mother’s safe return, Grace slipped the envelope with its telltale postmark next to Dat’s white dinner plate.

  chapter

  six

  Alone now, Judah picked up Lettie’s note, his eyes hungry for word from his wife. The Judah Byler Family, she’d written on the envelope—the only mention of him. He read the short letter, noting that she’d simply signed off, Mamma.

  Not with love, Lettie.

  He placed the letter on the Bible and rose from the chair near the window where he’d sometimes sat with Lettie through the years. He leaned down to remove his socks. Tomorrow promised another long day of work, with new lambs still coming fast, according to the birthing schedule he’d meticulously planned. Soon, though, the numerous births would taper off and they would fatten the lambs for market.

  In the past couple days, Grace hadn’t again brought up going to Ohio to look for Lettie. He could only hope she might push aside that nonsense. How would it look to have two women from his household running about? Judah rose and reached for the dark green blind on the first window and pulled it flush with the sill. He did the same at the second.

  Removing his suspenders, his mind wandered to Willow, and he hoped for Grace’s sake—and the horse’s—that the vet’s treatment today might turn things around some. And Yonnie’s efforts, too, for whatever they were worth.

  He walked to his side of the bed, glancing once more at Lettie’s note. Why had she written? Did she think they’d forget her if she remained silent?

  Going to their shared dresser, he opened the middle drawer and removed a clean pair of pajama bottoms. Do you ever wonder what we’re thinking, Lettie?

  One thing was sure: He was tired of waking up alone. It was time his wife came home and fessed up about her disappearance.“Time for a long talk, too.”

  When he’d slipped off his work trousers and put on his pajamas, he pulled back the quilt and got into bed. “Why am I muttering to myself?” ’Tis laughable. He reached for the Good Book and his wife’s letter. Judah was mighty tired, but he read two psalms, one after the other, before going over Lettie’s note once more. Why hadn’t she written one just to him?

  Weary of the day, he pushed the letter beneath his pillow and fell promptly asleep.

  Heather woke up Wednesday thinking about a discarded necklace box she’d found last month when she was sorting through her bedroom closet. The small box where her mother had kept all of her baby teeth and her first snippets of soft baby hair.

  Stretching, she smiled at the memory of those childhood “treasures.” She slipped out of bed in her rented room, knowing it was wise to claim early the only bathroom on the second floor. She gathered up her brush, shampoo, and robe and darted across the hall.

  She showered in record time, and later, after she’d dressed and towel-dried her hair, she realized she had no interest in eating. Zero appetite. She was too nervous about her doctor appointment to share in Marian’s “big spread,” as the gregarious Amishwoman liked to describe breakfast. The Riehls’ house was packed to the rafters—each of the guest rooms filled. “Springtime in Lancaster County is a real draw for tourist
s,” Becky had explained yesterday while she and Heather had fed the chickens. All the quaintness had begun to wear off, but she hadn’t wanted to offend Becky, who had undoubtedly noticed Heather’s backing away since they’d first connected.

  She’s figured me out . . . like everyone eventually does, Heather mused, heading downstairs.

  Marian stood at the kitchen counter, wearing a plum-colored dress and matching apron, her blondish hair pulled into a smooth bun at her neck. The strings from her Kapp draped over her slender shoulders as if she’d pushed them back, and her clear blue eyes sparkled as she turned from stirring the pancake batter. “Well, you’re up mighty early, Heather,” she said, her smile contagious. “Can I pour some fresh-brewed coffee for ya?”

  “Coffee’s good, thanks.” She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but she supposed she’d have to endure it if she was to have her needed shot of caffeine.

  “I’m serving blueberry pancakes this mornin’,” said Marian cheerfully. For as much as the woman apparently enjoyed eating, Marian was quite thin. “Becky went over to Cousin Emma’s yesterday afternoon, where we rent a freezer, and brought back some of the blueberries we put up last August.”

  “Sounds delicious, but I need to leave for an appointment this morning.”

  “We picked more than a little mess of berries last summer . . . most of ’em with dew still sittin’ on them when we brought them in for breakfast.” Marian’s smile seemed to grow.“For some reason, more blueberries than even raspberries last year.”

  Heather turned to look out the window as she waited for the coffee. She missed her mom on mornings like this. The smell of pancake batter—one of the breakfast foods her mother often enjoyed making—brought so many happy thoughts flying back. At first, immediately after her mother’s death, Heather had resisted the memories. She’d existed merely in survival mode, as though moving through dense, deep waters. She’d gone so far as to remove all the pictures of her mom from her bedroom—it tore at her to see her mother looking so healthy and vibrant . . . so alive.

  But in recent months, she’d begun to welcome the past and was conscious that Mom was never far from her remembrance. With the realization of great loss had come a yearning for the memories.