Becky touched her hand. “I cannot imagine what yous are goin’ through. I just can’t.”
Instinctively, they both set to work again, weeding. The ensuing hush was somehow freeing, and Becky’s sadness faded from her pretty eyes. Grace refused the temptation to say what her girl cousins often whispered to each other: There was no use worrying over a relationship gone sour when there were lots of good fish in the deep blue sea. For now, Becky needed only Grace’s loyalty . . . and a listening heart.
And she needed Becky, too.
For that reason, she would not encourage Yonnie one iota.
When Grace and Becky had finished in the garden, Grace asked if Heather Nelson was around. “I met her at Eli’s today.” That was all she said, wanting to keep the promised confidence.
“Well, let’s just go and see if she’s back.” Becky led the way into the house, where a box of empty canning jars sat on the floor in the kitchen. “Who’s this from, Mamm?” she asked.
Marian brightened. “Susannah Stahl had extra, so she and Henry stopped by a little while ago. Guess they’re sorting through their cold cellar before all the berries start comin’ on in June.”
“We should have oodles, too, Lord willin’,” Becky said, nodding her head at Grace. The two girls had spent many happy hours together in the berry patches growing up.
Marian added, “Grace, your grandmother and I hope to sell all kinds of jam this summer.”
Grace wondered if Mammi Adah was hoping to make up for Mamma’s lost income at their roadside stand, with a bit of help from Marian, but she didn’t ask.
Becky’s younger sisters—Rachel, ten, and Sarah, nine—crept into the kitchen and sat on the wooden bench like two pudgy birds, their thick blond hair twisted into a bun. Seeing the close-in-age sisters made Grace think of Mandy, and because she didn’t want to be gone much longer from the house, she asked Marian if she knew where Heather might be.
“She’s been out all day,” Marian said as she sat down next to Sarah, who leaned her head against Marian’s arm. “Anymore, she’s gone a lot.”
Grace guessed Heather must have important things on her mind. “Will ya tell her I stopped by when you see her next?”
“We sure will,” Marian said, pinching Sarah’s cheeks.“Won’t we, honey-girl?”
Sarah nodded, eyes sparkling. It was clear she and Rachel were fond of Heather.
“Well, I should be headin’ home,” Grace said, moving toward the back door. “I’ll be seein’ ya.”
Becky followed her to the door, past the Stahls’ canning jars, and together they headed outside. “Mamm didn’t tell ya that most days now, Heather rushes out of the house to charge up her laptop batteries and her fancy phone that does near everything ’cept cook.” She laughed a little.
“Where’s she go for that?”
“A nearby coffee shop, I guess,” Becky said. She lowered her voice. “ ’Tween you and me, I think she’s more comfortable round my mother than me.”
“Wonder why?”
“Just a feelin’ I have.” Becky scrunched up her face. “For all the communicating she says she craves, she doesn’t seem to know the first thing about friendship. Erschtaunlich—astonishing.”
This surprised Grace. “Well, she seemed outgoing enough today at Eli’s.”
They had reached the end of the drive, and Becky sat up on the fence, her bare feet dangling. “Heather, bless her heart, started out ever so friendly—real curious about the farm and even wanting to help out some. But mighty quick she disappeared into a shell, almost like a turtle. Now I think she uses that college paper she’s writing as an excuse to be alone.” Becky sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand a’tall.”
“That’s odd.”
“She just pulled back.” Becky smoothed her apron, shaking her head. “Can’t tell ya what happened.” She looked toward the road. “Maybe she got scared . . . hard to say ’bout outsiders, really.”
They saw the Spanglers’ car coming down the road, zooming past a horse and buggy less than a quarter mile away. Grace cringed, holding her breath. “Right there’s one of the big differences ’tween the English and us.” She breathed a prayer for Jessica and Brittany and the things Jessica had shared with her.
Becky nodded and jumped down off the fence. “I best be goin’ inside for evening prayers. Dat likes to fire up the gas lamps ’bout now and get started with Bible reading.”
Grace glanced toward her own house, then at the sky. “My father does the same. Starts out with a song, though—‘They say I have nothin’, but they are wrong. . . .’ ”
Becky smiled, reaching for her hand. “Glad you came over, Gracie.” Then she added quickly, “Don’t be surprised if Heather does the same with you in due time that she did with me.”
Grace pondered Heather Nelson’s present absence from the Riehls’ as she walked up the road. According to Becky, the pretty English girl was just plain ferhoodled. She sighed. And no wonder, if she’s searching and hoping so hard for a cure for her illness. Whatever it is.
Hurrying toward home, she decided then and there she’d try to be a good and consistent friend, no matter how turtle-like Heather might just end up to be.
chapter
ten
Mighty babblich you are,” Judah said as he and Yonnie worked together, filling the sheep’s feeding troughs that Thursday afternoon.
“Sorry . . . don’t mean to talk your ear off,” Yonnie replied with a smile. “My next youngest brother’s a bit chatty, too.”
“Runs in the family?”
Yonnie paused a moment. “I guess you could say we talk so much because we’re fond of each other.”
“Oh?”
“My parents discuss everything, it seems. ’Course, it’s only natural to want to talk a lot with someone you love, ain’t?”
Judah had never considered this; he hardly knew what to say. But then, he rarely did. He turned his attention to refilling his feed bucket, the sheep pressing in hard against his legs, baa-ing all the while.
“It’s gut to voice your opinions, my father says,” Yonnie added. “Anytime he’s undecided on one thing or another, he talks it over with Mamm.”
Judah was thunderstruck. “She helps your father make decisions?”
“Why, sure.” Yonnie gave a chuckle. “Lots of couples check with each other, far as I know.”
“Well, ain’t so much that way round here.” And a gut thing, too.
Yonnie frowned. “That’s too bad. Mamm says no woman wants to live under the thumb of a man. If she’s to feel truly loved, her opinion has to matter to her husband.”
“Ain’t very Amish.”
“Well, livin’ here, I’m finding out there are nearly as many different church ordinances and ways of doin’ things as there are kernels on a corncob.”
He’s a thinker, this one.
“But bein’ best friends seems to work for my parents—it’s given ’em a relationship that’s prepared for the long haul.”Yonnie went to get more feed for his bucket, then carried it to the trough. “I hope to have the same sort of marriage one day.”
With Grace? Judah coughed, stifling his sudden amusement. Yet in spite of his urge to chortle, he could not dismiss what the lad had just shared.
Lettie knew she would be hungry well before breakfast if she didn’t get up from her nap. She couldn’t just skip supper that evening. Still groggy, she was disgusted with herself. Ach, sleeping in the middle of the day!
Yawning, she slowly rose from the bed and shuffled to the bathroom sink. She turned on the warm water and reached for a scented bar soap on the ledge. She paused, aware of the water dripping off her face and hands into the sink. It had been weeks since she’d shared a meal with family. Will they forgive me someday?
Reaching for the small white hand towel nearby, she patted her face dry. She touched her cheeks, her fingertips lingering over the crinkled lines around her eyes. When had they appeared? And my, but she was pale. Yet she must not st
are for long, as giving too much attention to her appearance was sinful.
Reaching for her brush, Lettie prepared to wind her thick hair back into a bun. She yearned to return to the comfort of the bed, but soon she set her Kapp on her head and went to find the cape and apron she’d removed prior to her nap. She found them slung over the chair where she’d left them hours before. They looked a bit rumpled now. “Won’t matter.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to pull on her dark hose and black leather shoes for the walk over to East Main Street, downtown. She’d spotted the sign for Miller’s Dutch Kitch’n after riding over winding roads from Sugarcreek, past Dunkard Road and Bob White Quality Feeds. Even her Mennonite driver, who’d hailed from nearby Berlin, recommended its delicious home cooking. “And don’t forget their three-dollar- off coupons!” he’d advised. The thought of a hot meal perked her up some, and Lettie checked her purse for the room key before pulling the door securely closed.
The evening was still plenty light as she made her way through the small parking lot to the narrow sidewalk, hoping the brisk walk might invigorate her. Walking certainly had helped back home. Here lately, though, she felt almost too tired to even eat at the end of the day. Exhausted in spirit, too.
As she went, she prayed for help in finding Minnie Keim, concerned at being gone from home this long. She’d kept track of the days on the little paper calendar she’d tucked away in her purse. No doubt her family was in turmoil over her leaving. Yet she couldn’t help wondering if they were also mighty put out with her, too. What if they don’t want me back? She sometimes caught herself considering this, falling prey to pity. But how could she expect sympathy when she’d brought all of this on herself?
As she walked, she noticed the area’s black V-shaped buggies, which still seemed peculiar to her. And small as this town was—even smaller than Bird-in-Hand—she felt awkward being the only soul out walking at this evening hour, when most folk were heading home for supper or already gathered round the table.
The restaurant had a hitching post in back and a rustic Alpine-looking exterior in front, complete with black shutters. As she entered, she noticed immediately how busy it was, even for a weeknight. With many people gathered around family-style tables that seated eight, and others sitting in booths along the windows, she hoped it might be easy to blend in. But hers was the only heart-shaped Kapp, a sure signal of her out-of-town status.
Once she was seated, a waitress about her age came over to take her drink order. The woman wore a blue short-sleeved dress with a white frilly-sleeved apron on top, a style Lettie had never seen before. The waitress smiled warmly, almost as if she knew her. “Welcome to Miller’s.” She glanced at Lettie’s prayer cap. “You ain’t from around here.”
Lettie shook her head. “No.” Secretly, she preferred the more graceful style of the Lancaster County Kapps, if she dared to think that way. Something about the seam sewn down the top made it prettier.
“Well, I hope your stay here is real nice,” the waitress said. Lettie noted the name Susan pinned to her apron. “What would you care to drink?”
“Lemonade’s fine.”
“Right away, then.” The cheerful woman left, leaving Lettie surrounded by numerous Plain folk in a sea of colorful shirts and dresses. She was intrigued by the aqua blue and even bright orange men’s shirts, having seen some of the same colors up in Kidron. But here, with so many Amish gathered in the dining room, most of them talking in their primary language, she suddenly felt like a fish flapping on a shoreline.
When Susan brought the lemonade and set it down, she asked if Lancaster County might be Lettie’s home. “I can tell by the style and color of your dress. And your Kapp.”
Still unsure of herself yet glad for the woman’s friendliness, Lettie smiled. “Jah, ’tis.”
The waitress nodded. “Here, we have many pleats in our prayer caps.”
Lettie could easily have said she was all too familiar with the ironed-in pleats and the heavily starched Kapp. She’d observed one such covering closer than she’d ever cared from a birthing bed while in intense labor. “If you don’t mind, I’m ready to order my dinner,” she said, realizing she’d been terribly abrupt.
Susan nodded and removed a tablet from her apron pocket. She clicked the pen several times, smiling. “What looks gut on the menu? Our specialty is broasted chicken—the best in three counties.”
“Everything looks delicious, really.” And because she had been rude to someone who might well be her own distant cousin, Lettie offered an apology. “I’m awful sorry.”
“Don’t fret. It’s all right.”
She still felt sheepish. “I’ll have the smoked sausage and a side order of corn nuggets.”
“Homemade rolls with that?”
Lettie nodded. “Some strawberry jam, too, please.”
“Sure.” Another welcoming smile and the waitress left Lettie’s table.
Beginning to feel hungry, she looked at the dessert section of the menu printed on the paper placemat. The angel food cake caught her eye. She just might have to indulge—she’d given up watching her weight years ago.
While she waited for her meal, she glanced around the large room, not daring to make eye contact with anyone. She recalled that the innkeeper’s wife in Kidron had told her of a woman who made a thousand Kapps each year, and in twenty or more different sizes. Such meticulous work had to be similar to piecing together a quilt. Takes perseverance, she thought, knowing it might take just that to find her son or daughter. Minnie Keim was surely the key to unlocking the past . . . leading her to her first child.
Lettie traced the tan latticework design on the burgundy tablecloth. She stared at the wall clock with its small pendulum across the room, then glanced at the wallpaper border of colorful fruit high on the wall. Feeling terribly conspicuous, she looked out the window at the flour mill across the street before reading every single word again on the menu. She was quite relieved when the waitress returned with the meal.
But she was startled, though somewhat pleased, when Susan later pulled out a chair and sat down with her. “I thought I’d take my break now . . . keep you company. That is, if ya don’t mind.”
“Well, it’s awfully nice, but you don’t have to . . . if there’s something else pressing.”
“I don’t have to do near half what I do round here,” the woman said softly. And leaning forward, she said, “I’ve lived here for a long time . . . worked here for quite a few years, too.” She bowed her head for a moment. “I daresay I’m as lonely as you look.”
“Ach, I . . .” In the Plain community, a woman stood out if she was by herself. And Lettie was fairly sure that’s what had prompted the waitress to feel sorry for her. Why else?
“Are you visitin’ someone in Baltic?”
“I hope to, jah.” She was hesitant to say the midwife’s name in the midst of all these people, unsure if the vivacious waitress just might announce it.
“I’m Susan Kempf,” the brown-eyed waitress said.
“Glad to meet ya, Susan. I’m Lettie . . . Lettie Byler.”
Susan glanced around the restaurant. “I know how it feels bein’ single in a world of couples and families.”
She thinks I’m a Maidel. . . .
“The sadness of loss . . . I see it in your eyes.” Susan sighed, frowning tenderly. “I’m a widow, too.”
“Oh, but you’re mistaken,” Lettie blurted out. “I’m quite married.”
Susan apologized, nearly falling over her words, her face red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I thought . . .”
“No hurt feelin’s at all,” Lettie was quick to say. “That’s understandable.” She admitted she was traveling without her husband.
“Well, I hardly ever see that.” Susan explained that most Amishwomen in these parts were accompanied by their husbands or another woman when they came to the restaurant.“You’re one courageous soul, I ’spect.”
She shook her head. “I’m an
ything but that.” She half expected her companion to ask why she’d come alone. Instead Susan asked where she was staying, and before Lettie realized where the conversation was leading, the thoughtful woman had invited her to stay at her big, empty house.
“For the time being,” Susan said.
“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’ve already paid the motel through this Sunday, so . . .”
Susan looked disappointed. “I just thought it might be more comfortable for you . . . and we could get better acquainted.”
“Maybe we’ll meet again, here, at the restaurant. Maybe for supper tomorrow?”
“Well, I’ve got some vacation days coming. . . .”
At that moment, several customers entered. Lettie was astonished to see Sylvia Fisher, an employee friend of Grace’s.What’s she doing here? Sylvia worked at Eli’s Natural Foods with her sister Nancy, who was also standing right there next to her near the cashier, talking and smiling.
Oh, goodness! Lettie’s heart sank; the girls would know her in an instant. She ducked her head. The Fisher girls would surely contact Grace if they spotted Lettie here.
“On second thought,” she said quickly, “maybe I’ll take you up on that, Susan. If the motel will refund the next three days, that is.”
“Well, let’s just see what they say.” Susan’s eyes twinkled. “Since you’ve already paid your supper bill, we’ll go through the kitchen to get my purse. My horse and buggy’s out back.”
Relieved at the prospect of leaving the dining room, Lettie rose and headed straight for the bustling kitchen. Whew! Too close for comfort!
As Heather packed up her laptop at the coffee shop, her father called to say he was only a few miles away. “Will you meet me for supper? I have a few stops to make first.”
“What are you hungry for?” she asked.
“Oh, you pick. I’ll bet you’ve discovered some great places to eat by now.”
She suggested the Bird-in-Hand Family Restaurant & Smorgasbord, and they met there some time later.
Her dad gave her a big hug in the parking lot. “I’ve missed you,” he said as they headed inside.
The Missing Page 8