“You may actually feel worse before you feel better,” the naturopath had warned during the appointment. “Nausea, headaches, cramping, skin eruptions—all of these symptoms can occur as diseased cells and toxins leave the body . . . but they are early signs of recovery.”
Heather realized this was going to require a steely commitment on her part. A lodge stay would mean not eating any solids, enabling her body’s energy to go toward healing rather than digestion. Plant-based juices and broths would free her body of toxic buildup. And in addition to daily liver and colon cleansing, steam baths and saunas, she would learn to do a dry-brushing technique to detoxify her largest organ—her skin. But the juice fasting was central to it all. “Consuming freshly extracted organic greens and veggies will detox your body at the cellular level,” LaVyrle had explained, giving her an approximately one-hour crash course on health and wholeness.
Heather had jokingly said, “Garbage in, garbage out?” when LaVyrle spoke of feeding the body the right kinds of foods to prevent disease and to maintain optimum well-being.
Surprisingly, after all of this, Heather had maintained her determination to give the natural way her best shot, starting today, by purchasing the list of necessary herbal teas and food supplements, including zinc and B and C vitamins.
So, with LaVyrle’s encouraging remarks lingering in her mind and a Band-Aid in the crook of her elbow, Heather left the lab and headed for her car. She wanted to get to Eli’s Natural Foods, on the east side of Bird-in-Hand, right after lunch at a local natural foods restaurant . . . before she lost heart or began to second-guess LaVyrle’s holistic plan for eating and living. Aside from the snippets of information her mother had shared before she passed away—most of which had come from books on strategies for fighting debilitating disease—Heather had never received so much information on naturopathic medicine from a reliable source.
She slowed as she spotted the Wellness Lodge, operated year-round by LaVyrle and her staff. She already knew its exterior rather well, having driven by it several times, intrigued by its stately presence. The place was something of a contrast to the Riehls’ quaint homestead, although both boasted similar white signs on the front lawn near the road. The brick red farmhouse-turned-lodge was actually within walking distance of her father’s newly purchased land. Broad white shutters trimmed the front and side of the house, and a large bay window gleamed to the left of the black entry door. All around were purple lilacs dense with blossoms. The yellow-green hue of draping willows beyond highlighted Mill Creek, which ran through the large piece of property.
While creeping past the lodge, Heather was amazed again at her luck in getting into LaVyrle’s office weeks ahead of the initially scheduled visit. Or was it luck? She could not dismiss the significance of that as she considered she was now steering toward a new path, a major fork in the road of her life. And to think I have Mom to thank for setting all of this in motion. . . .
“Time to kick those CD22 B cells in the teeth,” she said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “And time to level with Dad about my diagnosis.”
Heather drew a long breath and remembered the phrase Marian and Becky Riehl often said as they went about their daily chores—“Lord willing.”
“That too,” she whispered.
Lettie Byler locked the motel-room door behind her and removed her lightweight shawl and blue cape and apron, dropping the garments onto the nearby chair. She glanced around the small yet clean room. The off-white walls were brighter than even hers back home, but the gray carpet and matching drapes made the place gloomy, nearly depressing—such a contrast to her pleasant room at the Kidron Inn. Tracie Gordon had been quite apologetic when she had informed Lettie that the entire bed-and-breakfast had already been reserved for the past week. Thankfully Lettie had managed to acquire another room in the Kidron area for much of that time, at least until she felt she’d made every attempt to locate Minnie Keim, the midwife who’d assisted with her first baby’s birth.
Twice, prior to leaving Kidron, Lettie had slipped into the weekly livestock auction, where farm folk bid on dairy cows, hogs, sheep, and goats. Though the place was packed with mostly men, she’d encountered a few women—wives and daughters of the bidders—hoping to talk to someone who might know Minnie or her husband, Perry.
As Providence would have it, on her walk back from the auction one Saturday afternoon, Lettie had stopped to toss a stray ball back to a towheaded schoolboy. He was standing around the U-Wash It, of all things, with his two younger brothers, all three of them wearing wide-brimmed straw hats. The adorable trio had been waiting for their mother to finish scrubbing down their black buggy for Preaching services the next day. When she heard Minnie’s name, the pretty blond woman had brightened, certain the midwife had relocated to near Baltic. “Minnie’s staying with an uncle and aunt, is what I heard.”
“Why’s that?” Lettie asked.
“Her husband got laid off recently,” the woman said, sympathy pinching up her face. “Lots of folk have fallen on hard times lately.”
So Lettie had come here to quaint little Baltic, a few short miles southeast of Charm. It had been something of a godsend to find this affordable place, one offering a discount for longer stays. Even so, she’d decided she might not need to be here much longer. Already she had nearly exhausted her few leads in this rural town, as well as the outlying areas north and east of here. All but one slim lead, which had come from an Amishwoman she’d met in Kidron, a talkative clerk at Lehman’s Hardware who had known Minnie’s only daughter, Dora. She had been told that Dora’s fiancé worked at Green Acres Furniture, just north of Mt. Eaton. So Lettie had traipsed all over that area, including Apple Creek and the surrounding villages, surprised at the sight of many red barns, something she’d rarely seen in Lancaster County. She’d also hired a Mennonite girl to drive her around Goose Bottom Valley, in Walnut Creek, but had come up empty-handed. No sign of Minnie, Dora, or Dora’s fiancé.
Lettie was beyond perturbed that the folk she’d encountered hadn’t the slightest inkling of Minnie’s present whereabouts. Some said she was possibly visiting extended family in Wisconsin, while others said she sometimes did missions work in South America. Even the post office no longer had a residential address listing for her. Lettie was beginning to think Minnie Keim had gone missing.
In her heart, she refused to give up her search, but her physical body was weary of the continual roadblocks. She could only wonder if the midwife had become reclusive out of necessity. Was it possible the benevolent Amishwoman who’d arranged the adoption of Lettie’s baby was doing something other than midwifery now? Minnie had been the one responsible for acquiring the trusted doctor, a man highly regarded by her and the local Plain community. Both Lettie’s mother and the sympathetic midwife had assured her that all was taken care of properly. In short, Minnie had been anything but flighty or elusive back then, but the years had a way of diminishing one’s memory.
What she did recall was being told by her mother not to fret, that the doctor had already set up the baby’s legal adoption with a local attorney. But with which law office? she wondered now. Was I ever told his name . . . or the doctor’s?
Trudging to the mirror, she lifted off her Kapp and began to pull the hairpins from her bun, letting down her waist-length hair. My mother made me remove my prayer veiling and hair bun for the birthing. . . .
The frightful day rushed back, and Lettie felt as helpless in that moment as she had in the hours before and after delivering her first baby. The precious child she’d never seen and never held had been born so far from home, in an inn full of strangers. So unlike her children with Judah, who were born upstairs in Judah’s and her own bedroom, with their father sitting near the window, eagerly waiting to hear each newborn’s cry. Such blessed births those had been, yet even they had been overshadowed by the first.
“ ’Tis best this way,” Mamm had repeated the midwife’s words to Lettie hours after her firstborn was bundled away. “For th
e baby and for you, dear one.”
“Dear one,” she whispered now. Shaking off the injustice, she let her thoughts drift homeward. She pictured Grace or Mandy finding her letter in the mailbox, the girls vying to read it, their heads nearly touching.
“How can I bear this?” Lettie whispered. In her mind’s eye, she saw Judah coming in from the barn to wash up. “Mamma wrote us,” one of the children might say, handing him the envelope. Would he be curious enough to look for the postmark, see Ohio, and wonder why she had chosen to travel there?
He never knew what happened to me in Kidron, she thought with a mix of regret and sorrow.
There were times when she wished her mother had not demanded their secret be kept from Judah. The unsuspecting young man had married a girl he had scarcely courted. She was not the innocent bride Judah Byler had assumed he was getting. And for that, Lettie was still sad. Sad . . . and terribly sorry.
Yet she had never dared question her parents. Why had she been so willing to let Dat and Mamm make all the decisions for her, whisking her away? Oh, but she knew. As their daughter, Lettie had been expected to obey, to go along with whatever they had deemed right and good for her. Her idolatry of Samuel had created a wound in her family, and giving up her baby was her punishment. Certainly she had let her parents down, and there was no forgiving that. No forgetting, either.
She had been so terrified those weeks and months. Afraid Samuel would no longer love her, cast her away if he discovered she was with child. At night she stared up at the sky from her bed, terrified that her future was doomed . . . that if Samuel left her and the secret got out, not a single boy in the church district would ever want her. She would end up living her life as a Maidel, trapped with her unyielding parents.
And now here I am alone, and by my own doing. . . . The past continually plagued her, as did a new and growing fear that the longer she stayed away from home, the angrier Judah might become. Had she waited too long already?
Lettie pulled her hair over to one side and lowered herself onto the bedspread. Will I be put off church soon? she thought, becoming anxious about the Bann and shunning.
She gripped the edge of the pillowslip as tears rolled down her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. Oh, dear Lord, help me, she groaned, feeling lost. She must find Minnie Keim. Somehow she must. And the doctor, too, who would surely know something about her baby. Anything.
A train rumbled through the downtown crossing, and its whistle startled her. She curled up on the bed, tucking her chubby bare feet beneath her long skirt. Ever so spent, Lettie gave in to sweet and irresistible sleep.
Grace watched her fifteen-year-old brother dart across the yard, lean and nimble as a katydid. “Hope you cooked enough,” Joe said, glancing back over his shoulder at the barn as he came into the kitchen.
“Enough what?”
“Food, silly.” Joe’s light brown hair was matted under his ratty straw hat, which he had just removed to fan himself. “Yonnie’s goin’ to be putting his feet under your table today.” His brown eyes sparkled as if delighted.
“Today?” She drew in her breath.
“And every day, prob’ly . . . ’cept for Saturday and the Lord’s Day.” He scratched his oily head. “Dat wants him workin’ here, seems. At least till birthin’ season is past.”
“Dat does?” She puffed the words out of her mouth.
Joe nodded. “Yonnie’s mighty gut with the frail lambs. That’s his job, makin’ sure the new ones that’re rejected by their mothers are bottle-fed frequently.” He went on, lauding Yonnie as if he was his long-lost brother.
“You best be washin’ up,” she told him and headed back to the table. Grace did not like this unforeseen turn of events, not one bit. Her hands shook as she filled each glass with water.Cooked enough food, indeed!
chapter
eight
At dinnertime, Yonnie sauntered indoors with Adam and Joe to wash up. Grace felt awkward and disconcerted with Yonnie staying for the noon meal. And he was looking her way, of all things.
“Where would ya have me sit?” he asked quietly, drying his hands.
In your own kitchen, she thought. His steady gaze unnerved her as he waited for her response. Did her expression give her away? Could he tell she was displeased?
“Right there’s fine.” She pointed to an empty spot on the bench down near where Dawdi Jakob always sat.
Not only did he slide in next to her grandfather, but he chattered like a magpie before the silent blessing. Dat’s frequent blinks seemed to suggest Yonnie’s yammering surprised him, as well.
After Dat’s prayer, Yonnie lost no time in dishing up a generous portion of beef stew. Grace had made hot biscuits, too, serving those alongside dishes of pickled beets, chowchow, and Mamma’s delicious dill pickles.
But she could hardly wait for the meal to end. Goodness, but other than Adam and Joe, she’d never fed another young fellow in this kitchen, including her former fiancé.
She sat stiffly next to Dat, in her mother’s usual place, her hands fidgeting beneath the oilcloth. She picked at her apron and tried to avoid Yonnie’s eyes. This fellow seemed downright indifferent to their traditional ways—either that or he was just plain stubborn.
Like her father and brothers, Yonnie cleaned his bowl several times. Grace lost count how many. If there was anything to be relieved about, it was that Yonnie brought an air of surprising ease with him, an arresting confidence she’d not seen in other men his age.
As he talked with Joe and Dawdi Jakob, who seemed quite friendly toward him, she considered that Becky must be right now pining for Yonnie, next farm over. Clenching her teeth, Grace reached for her water glass. I must talk to her soon.
Then, because Mandy had insisted earlier that her sweet tooth needed some attention, Grace brought out two snitz pies made with dried apples. Her sister could not conceal her delight; food always seemed to do the trick with her. And the pies weren’t lost on Yonnie, either, she noticed.
When the pies were gone but for a few slices, Yonnie thanked her across the table. “Denki, Grace . . . a wonderfulgut meal.”
She could hardly believe her ears. What a peculiar thing to do! Although there was no denying how nice such a compliment was to hear, rather than the slurping and burping men traditionally used to show appreciation at the table.
Later, when the kitchen was empty, except for Mandy at the sink, Joe pulled Grace aside. He steepled his fingers. “You’re scheduled to work at Eli’s today, ain’t?”
“Jah, and I need to leave right quick.” Grace noticed the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes and drew a long sigh. “Joe . . . why are you askin’?”
“Just thinkin’ something might be a gut idea,” he said.
“Listen, I’ll be walkin’ to work if it’s not you who’s drivin’ me. Ya hear?”
Joe’s expression changed from comical to more serious as he glanced in the direction of the barn—and probably Yonnie. He ran his hand through his light brown hair, making his bangs stand straight up. “All right, then.” With that he headed for the hallway to get his straw hat. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he called back.
Mandy started giggling. “What was that about?”
“Pure nonsense,” Grace told her. But to herself, she wondered why her younger brother wanted to push her off on Yonnie for the drive to Eli’s. Why, when Joe surely knows what Adam thinks about me ending things with Henry Stahl?
While removing expired items from the shelves, Grace pondered her next step in finding her mother. Should she write to her mother’s cousin Hallie—ask if Mamma was visiting there? Considering how mysterious Mamma had been, she realized that contacting Hallie might present a problem, especially if Mamma hadn’t gone to Indiana . . . or if her cousin wasn’t aware of Mamma’s leaving home.
No sense in embarrassing Mamma further, Grace thought, no matter how badly I want to locate her. She was deep in thought, wishing she might somehow call a community phone in Hallie�
�s area and find out something, when she sensed someone standing nearby.
She turned to see a tall but slight young woman. “Ach, sorry.
I must’ve been daydreaming.” Grace stood up quickly.
“No problem.”
Grace balanced her clipboard on top of several cans on the second shelf. “Can I help you? I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all.” The young woman looked to be close to Grace’s own age. “Do you carry herbal teas? Especially Japanese green tea. I understand it’s a detoxifier and an antioxidant.”
Grace nodded. “Sure, follow me.”
The customer nodded and looked around. “It’s a little dark in here.”
“Jah. Our fancy English shoppers sometimes find it hard to get accustomed to the gas lamps.”
The girl tilted her head, a peculiar expression on her pretty face. “There’s no electricity?”
“No.”
“Wow.” The customer’s eyes lit up. “How do you refrigerate your foods?”
“We use gas-run refrigerators in the store.”
The young woman seemed befuddled; then she said, “Well, I see you carry organic carrot juice. And bulk foods, as well as organic meats and cheese. Eggs too. Hey, I think I’ve hit the jackpot.”
Grace shook her head. “Beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, just an expression. You know, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?” The girl laughed. Her brown hair fell forward and she reached back, pulling it high into a ponytail and securing it with a hair tie from her pocket.
“I don’t know much ’bout jackpots and rainbows.” Grace smiled, going along with her little joke. “Here we are.” She pointed out an array of herbal teas.
Leaning over, the girl asked if she knew how to choose the best ones for anti-inflammatory benefits.
“Oh, I’d be cautious ’bout sayin’, really. You best look through that book.” Grace pointed to the reference material they kept on hand to answer customers’ questions. “We can’t recommend any particular product.”
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