I do? Startled, Heather rose and followed him around the inn and out front.
“Everything all right, honey?” he asked.
She inhaled quickly.
“Are you disappointed in the house? Am I moving too fast?”
The worried note in his voice stirred her heart. Why did he want to leave Virginia? Their lovely house held sentimental value for them both, especially with Mom gone. How could Dad possibly walk away from all the cherished reminders of their years together? Like hers, Dad’s life had become unraveled after Mom’s death. Maybe it was time for him to make a massive change, just as she had needed this time away for herself. But a permanent move?
“I’m fine with whatever you want to build, Dad—however you want to build it.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “It’s your house . . . it’s what you want.”
His features relaxed into a smile. “I want you to visit often.”
“Sure, Dad . . . and I will. If I can.” They headed through the parking lot toward the quaint farmers market, housed in a barnlike structure. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, gathering strength . . . or perhaps courage. She’d put this off for too long. “Dad, I’m sorry . . . it’s really hard to think about building a house right now. I’m happy for you, I really am. But I need to talk to you about something completely different. Something I should’ve discussed with you before.”
He stopped walking abruptly. “Honey, what is it?”
She paused, catching his eye. “I’m sick, Dad.” There was no turning back. “I wanted to spare you the bad news. . . .”
He winced. “What do you mean, sick?” His eyes were dark with concern.
She looked down at the ground beneath her feet. “This is so hard.”
“Heather, you’re scaring me—how sick?”
“It hurts to think of adding more worry to your life.” She began to tell him the results of the initial blood tests and the other medical findings. Everything she could possibly remember that had led to her cancer diagnosis.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Too long, and for that I’m sorry.”
Dad’s eyes were blinking fast. “I wish you’d told me right away.” He was frowning, struggling to absorb the news, to contain his emotions.
“Oh, Dad,” she whispered as he pulled her into his arms. “I couldn’t bear to tell you at all. And . . . I almost didn’t.”
“You’re my daughter.” There was a catch in his voice. “You’re all I have now.”
When he released her, she explained that the oncologist had said she needed to have chemo immediately. “But that’s a dead-end, in my opinion,” she said, quickly moving forward to the very different approach the local naturopath had suggested. “I really want to give this a try instead.”
“Heather . . .” He shook his head. “I think you should return home and start the chemo immediately.”
“Dad . . . please, no.”
“Why not?”
“Remember what Mom went through? It was a nightmare . . . and worse.”
“Well, her cancer was different.”
That’s what the oncologist said.
“Why not give it your best shot with medically sound treatment?” He was practically arguing now. “Then, if chemo doesn’t work, I’d be open to your little experiment.”
She’d figured he might respond this way. “You’re saying I should take the normal route, and if that doesn’t work, then I can get inventive?”
He nodded. “Precisely. Why not?”
“I want to do what Mom thought might have worked better for her.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Let me do this my way . . . please?”
“This lodge program you’re so keen on—it must have a hefty price tag.”
She’d wondered when to reveal this. “Not surprisingly, yes.”
He was quiet for a time, as though processing the reality of her words. But before they reached the farmers market, he raised her hand to his lips. “I have strong reservations about rejecting conventional medicine, Heather. It seems ridiculous. I want to hear what this so-called naturopathic ‘doctor’ thinks about your type of cancer before you decide anything.”
“LaVyrle’s pretty amazing. I think you’ll like her.”
“Well, liking your doctor and thinking you’re doing the right thing are worlds apart. But I do want to meet Dr. Marshall as soon as possible. Will you set it up?”
“Sure, Dad. Thanks.” She linked her arm through his and they turned back toward the inn again, this time in silence.
She felt the strength in his arm as they walked. The pastureland toward the north made her miss the Riehls’ farm setting, and she thought of Grace Byler, the friendly Amish girl over at Eli’s. Will she even remember my desire to meet with Sally Smucker?
They reached the entrance to the inn, and Dad stopped suddenly, his eyes searching hers. “In all fairness, I don’t want to get your hopes up. The lodge program sounds like potentially dangerous hocus-pocus to me. At best, a money-sucking gimmick.” He guided her through the lobby again, back to the quaint patio area and the blueprints. “I won’t let you do something foolish, kiddo.”
And I won’t let you stand in my way. . . .
“How about we sign off on that beautiful new house of yours first?” she suggested. When they returned to the pavilion, they found the Amishman sitting contentedly with his coffee, making pencil notations on the plan.
Please, please . . . be on my side, Dad. Heather sighed, hoping LaVyrle might somehow change his mind.
chapter
thirteen
Lettie hitched up Susan Kempf’s horse and carriage at midmorning and headed off to see Minnie Keim. Susan had graciously offered her best driving horse and buggy.
She clucked her tongue to the bay mare and held the reins. She’d long imagined this meeting with the woman who’d helped deliver her first wee babe. Lettie felt almost the same level of anticipation as before visiting the baby’s father, Samuel. When she passed the house Susan had pointed out as May Jaberg’s, she couldn’t help gawking. A curious thought crossed her mind: What if I could observe May’s older children from afar?
Watching the road now, she felt restless about meeting Minnie again. She was also quite relieved that Susan had offered to let her make the trip alone while she attended to household chores. Will Minnie remember my child . . . or the name of the doctor who placed my baby? Lettie wondered as she drove along the winding road. She’s delivered so many babies over the years.
Even at this hour, a dense mist hung close to the ground—a common occurrence in Holmes County, she’d learned. The sun would take some time to penetrate the damp fog. That and the long tunnel of a road, overshadowed by trees, gave her the unsettling sense of going backward through the years. . . .
In the mist Lettie saw that long-ago day. The day she had tearfully stood in the hayloft as young Samuel vowed his love. “We’ll be together, I promise you,” he’d said, gently pulling her down into the soft hay. “We love each other, don’t we?”
“We do, but . . .”
“With all my heart, I love you, Lettie Esh.”
She’d resisted only slightly that first time, enjoying his touch on her face, her hair. “Daed might check on the horses,” she’d whispered amidst his repeated kisses. “He always does, right after supper.”
But all too quickly she was lost in Samuel’s ardent embrace.
“We’ll build us a house, not far from here.” He had pressed her warm cheek against his own. “Trust me . . . won’t you? Oh, my darling girl.”
And she had trusted him. More than once. Sometimes in the haymow and sometimes deep in the woods under the light of the moon.
“If only I’d waited,” Lettie whispered, wishing away the shameful memory. She glanced at the little map Susan had drawn for her, aware of the narrow road ahead—and the pounding of her heart.
Lettie still could not dismiss her anger toward her mo
ther, who’d had it in for Samuel from the start. True, she and Samuel had been very young. Nearly too young to court, let alone to marry and raise their baby. Samuel had also been opposed to certain aspects of the Old Order church—he hadn’t wanted Lettie to go through with the expected church baptism. Wasn’t that the real reason I had to give away my baby?
Aside from the tidbits her mother had revealed to Dat, her father had known precious little about Samuel’s romantic interest. It had been Mamm who’d several times caught Lettie with Samuel as they’d read poetry to each other high in the barn. We were nearly able to touch the cobwebs in the rafters.
Guilt overtook her each time Lettie allowed herself to return to the past in her mind, as if the vivid memory of her first love sustained the transgression.
And here to think she held Minnie Keim’s address in her hands. She must thank the midwife for helping her understand, as a teen girl, what was happening to her that frightening day. The early contractions, the exhausting labor, and ultimately, the final excruciating pushes. After the birth, Minnie had stood with her back to Lettie, cradling the baby in her arms, whispering to Mamm for several minutes before leaving the room.
Both Minnie and Mamma know whether I birthed a son or a daughter. They know to this day. . . .
When Lettie pulled into the dirt lane, several kittens scurried in front of the horse. Clusters of cats and their kittens were typical at a dairy farm, and especially at such a large farm operation as this one looked to be. Lettie was surprised not to feel a speck of hesitancy now, so anxious was she to know the truth.
By the time she tied up the horse and straightened herself a bit, the scent of rain permeated the air. A few drops drizzled down from the thick haze as she headed across the sidewalk to the front door. It struck her as odd that the swing on the porch was positioned exactly as Judah had placed theirs at home. For a moment, she had to compose herself.
When she knocked, an older woman with graying hair and a sagging chin answered. “Why, sure, Minnie’s home. Let me get her for ya.” Lettie was heartened, then suddenly fearful. Her nagging thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. I’ve come too far . . . waited too long.
Minnie came to the screen door. She’d become a rather stout matron in the twenty plus years, but her face was as round and pink as Lettie remembered. Her hair was a mix of white and golden blond in the natural light of day, and she wore a gray dress and black cape apron over it, both similar to the style Lettie sewed for herself.
“Hullo?” Minnie opened the door a few inches. “My aunt said you’re askin’ for me.”
“Oh, am I ever glad to find you . . . at last!” Lettie said. “You delivered my first baby, years ago. You knew me as Lettie Esh.”
Minnie’s eyes swept her face. “Lettie, you say?”
“My mother, Adah, contacted you . . . then we came from Lancaster County and met you in Kidron.”
“The two of you?” Minnie’s brow pinched into a frown. “I’ve assisted hundreds of women, you must know. Most of the younger girls come with their mothers.”
Lettie nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. Not right away.”
Minnie moved out from behind the screen door, smiling for the first time. She suggested they walk down to the gazebo. “Can you stay for a while?”
“I surely can.” As long as need be . . .
“Tell me more. What were the circumstances of the birth?” asked Minnie.
“Well, I was unmarried . . . just sixteen.” She held her breath, aware of her disgrace once again. “My parents were opposed to me bringin’ up a baby without a husband, lest I never marry otherwise.” She sighed. How painful it was to rehash her family’s rejection of her . . . of her child. “I loved the father of my baby. Very much, in fact.”
“I s’pose he loved you, too,” Minnie surprised her by saying.
“That’s what fellas tend to say, jah.”
Minnie nodded slowly, a twinkle in her eye. “ ’Specially the ones who can’t wait for marriage . . . or won’t.”
They sat next to each other in the protection of the enclosed white gazebo, far enough from the house so as not to be heard. The humidity hugged the earth, a gentle rain falling around them. The sounds of spring were alive in the song of the chickadees pecking on seeds at a nearby feeder . . . small children calling back and forth behind the house. The question on Lettie’s mind demanded a voice.
“I don’t mean to put you out, but I was hoping you might remember me . . . and my mother. And, for my own peace of mind, whether I had a boy or a girl.” Lettie added suddenly, “And, too, if you might recall the name of the doctor who arranged the adoption.”
“Goodness, such a tall order.” Minnie’s expression was somber. She thought for a moment, frowning and studying Lettie.
“Mamm and I came to you in the spring—twenty-four years ago in April.”
Minnie silently took this all in.
“We’d come to help my father’s ailing aunt, as well,” Lettie said, hoping to trigger some recollection.
“Ah, sure . . . jah.” Minnie’s memory was flowering; her eyes held a glint of recognition. “If I’m not mistaken, wasn’t your Mamm interested in herbs—’specially those for teas?”
Lettie felt she might burst. “Jah . . . that’s Mamm.”
Minnie began to whisper to herself, as if solidifying the past. “Her name was Adah, spelled with an h.”
Tears spilled down Lettie’s face.
“And you . . . you were ever so young.” Minnie straightened her long dress, turning to face her. “If I recall correctly, my dear, you gave birth to a daughter.” A gracious smile appeared. “A healthy, pink-faced baby girl.”
Lettie’s heart leaped up. “A daughter, then?” She brushed back her tears. “All this time, deep in my heart, where I couldn’t get to it, so to speak, I believed I’d given life to a son.”
“Hopin’ for a miniature of his father?” Minnie seemed to understand so much of what she was feeling. Uncanny, unless Lettie’s emotions were typical of most women in her shoes.
“I was so lost then,” she confessed. “How I wanted to keep my baby . . .”
Minnie’s eyes were moist. “Oh, dear girl, you’re still lost, ain’t so?” She placed her hand over Lettie’s. “Lost, till you find your child.”
There was no holding back the tears. Lettie yielded to Minnie’s welcoming arms, sobbing just as she had on the day of the birth. But this time, someone truly cared how very fragile and heartbroken she was.
Before starting to cook the noon meal, Grace pinned Mammi Adah’s dress pattern to the fabric. She’d laid out the material on her grandmother’s kitchen table. That way, if she didn’t finish before time to set the table on Dat’s side of the house, she wouldn’t have to put everything away before dinner. Before I see Yonnie again.
“You were all smiles just a bit ago,” Mammi Adah said, moving away from the sink, where she had been washing some store-bought tomatoes. She went to the table and sat down, watching Grace work while she did some tatting. “What’s a-matter, dear?”
She didn’t want to mention the fellow who was showing up every single day. And with Dat’s blessing, too . . . of all things.
“Ain’t about your Mamma, I hope.”
Grace drew a long breath. Her mother was never far from her thoughts, but Mammi Adah surely knew that. After all, hadn’t they also been close at one time? “I mourn her leaving most when I’m alone in my room at night.”
Mammi stopped her tatting. “You know, if I didn’t have your Dawdi to look after, I might go lookin’ for her.”
“I’ve wondered ’bout that.”
“ ’Tis only natural.”
“I don’t know what it is ’bout twilight and after . . . when the darkness falls. Or maybe it’s just bein’ alone that helps me feel comfortable talkin’ to the Lord ’bout Mamma . . . and whatever made her leave us. That way I don’t cause others more sadness.
I just take it to the Lord. Don’t you?”
“Oh, honey-girl, I certainly do.”
Grace placed the left sleeve on one side of the table, away from the bodice, which she presently began to cut. “Mamma’s out in Ohio, or she was. For what reason? You must know something.” She held the pinking shears in her right hand, letting their point rest on the table.
Mammi Adah rubbed her forehead for the longest time. Then she looked at Grace. “I can’t possibly know what’s in your Mamma’s heart. Only the Lord sees that.”
“Sometimes I ask the Lord if He wouldn’t consider putting a gut word in for us with Mamma. Well, for me anyhow.” Grace’s voice quavered unexpectedly.
“Aw, honey-girl, it’s so awful difficult. For you, ’specially.”
“Instead of getting easier with time, it’s harder. The reality sets in more with each day.”
“Like it did when your aunt Naomi passed so suddenly . . .
In some ways, your mother’s absence is nearly like a death.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, not since Mamma’s short letter.
“ ’Course, Naomi never had a chance to say good-bye.” Mammi Adah shook her gray head.
Grace turned back to her cutting and pondered her grandmother’s words, struggling with her memory of Mamma on the road that night. “Jah, life’s too short not to stop and at least say good-bye.”
Mammi Adah reached across the table for Grace’s hand.
“Let’s not fret, dear.”
Grace looked down at their intertwined hands. “Mothers don’t leave their families on a whim. I’m convinced Mamma is missing because of something important . . . at least in her own mind.”
“I believe you’re right.” Mammi released her hand.
Grace began to pile up the pattern pieces and cleared off the snibbles and extra fabric. Ought she bring up the innkeeper’s remark about a midwife? Too hard to comprehend, she decided.
“It’s not like your Mamma to up and disappear without a powerful-gut reason,” Mammi Adah said thoughtfully.
“Well, I mean to find out what . . . the minute lambing’s done.” Grace hoped Adam might be able to spare a few days to accompany her to Indiana in early June or even sooner, though she hadn’t discussed the impulsive notion with him or with Dat just yet. And, things being what they were, there was no sense in bringing it up to Mammi Adah.
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