The Missing

by Beverly Lewis

  At moments like this, she wished Grace was here. Or her sister Naomi . . . if she were still alive. But not Mamm. No, it was distancing enough whenever she thought of her mother’s conspiratorial whispering to Minnie as the midwife had held Lettie’s newborn so close in her arms. All those years ago . . . What had her mother so urgently advised Minnie that fateful day?

  I may never know. Lettie headed for the back porch, drawn especially to the wicker chairs with plump blue-checkered pillows. There were yellow tulips in long, rectangular planters set around on the rustic wooden porch. She settled into the chair facing toward the little town of Baltic. Why was it so reminiscent of home? Was it Susan’s thoughtfulness—so like Grace?

  Her eyes scanned the farmland before her as she relaxed. There were no sheep to be seen in any of the pastures nearby. Was lambing not a profitable business here? For a fleeting moment, she almost turned to ask Judah his opinion, startling herself.

  Old habits . . .

  She closed her eyes and soaked in the birdcalls surrounding her. She breathed in the sweetness . . . the calm. Was it a tranquil moment before the storm ahead? Or would a peaceful resolution eventually come by talking with Dr. Josh in Nappanee? She hoped her cousin Hallie might respond promptly.

  Gazing at May Jaberg’s house, watching her school-age girls trimming the hedges, she let herself fall into a daydream. After some time—she didn’t know how long—she heard Susan talking with someone in the house. Turning, Lettie glanced at the driveway and saw a horse and buggy parked there. Had she been so deep in thought, she’d missed hearing its arrival?

  Just as the unfamiliar buggy began to pull away, Susan called to her. “Oh, Lettie, come quick!” Her voice was shrill, as if something dreadful had happened.

  Lettie rose immediately and hurried into the house, where she found Susan in a heap on the wooden kitchen bench, rocking back and forth, her hands covering her face. “No . . . no . . . this just can’t be.”

  Lettie rushed to her side, kneeling down. “Ach, Susan . . . what is it?”

  “Edna, my younger sister . . . was out in the buggy with four of her little children and the new baby.” Her hands trembled and Susan’s face was ashen as tears slid down her cheeks. “The buggy was hit by rocks as she drove to market. Two-year-old Danny was hurt badly.”

  Lettie, still kneeling, gripped her hand. Oh, poor, dear child . . .

  “I must go and help Edna with the baby and the other children.” Susan returned the squeeze, then rose to head for the stairs.

  “Of course.” Lettie would have offered to go, too, but she felt frozen with dread. Help Susan’s poor sister, O Father . . . and her injured little boy! She was overcome with tears for Edna and her son.

  When Susan returned from upstairs, the woman’s eyes were puffy and red. “Should you be drivin’ alone?” Lettie asked.

  “The town’s a little less than forty minutes away by buggy . . . I’ll be fine.” Susan pulled her shawl off the peg. “Help yourself to whatever you find. There’s plenty of food in the pantry.”

  “Denki.”

  “I’ll be back before dark.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  Susan must’ve sensed what was churning in Lettie’s heart. “I travel this route several times a month.” She wiped her eyes and sighed loudly. “Such a hard time for my sister. The authorities are urging Edna to press charges against the boys who did this. She’ll have to go to court sometime soon.”

  Susan didn’t mention the town where Edna and her family lived, which was just as well. Sometimes ’tis best not to know, Lettie thought.

  “Take your time, won’t ya?” she urged.

  “You wanted to cook in my kitchen, jah?” They shared a sad smile. “May Jaberg will be happy to drive you if need be. She also has a telephone . . . if necessary.” Susan’s face was tear-streaked as she kissed Lettie’s cheek. “Make yourself at home.”

  Lettie followed Susan down the back steps to help hitch the horse to the carriage. In the field, just beyond the fence, several farm boys in overalls with fraying hems joked and called to one another, their glee carried back and forth on the wind.

  Later, when Susan was safely on her way and the back of the buggy was a small black dot, Lettie turned and climbed the steps into the house again. The quiet was nearly more than she could bear as she stood at the kitchen window, peering out at the bright day. Sunlight played off the rickety tin roof of the neighbors’ woodshed, and birds of every species clambered to the sky.

  She wouldn’t consider a visit to May today. She was too distraught . . . too emotional. She felt nearly raw at the thought of Edna’s suffering, yet Lettie knew the police would not convince Edna to file criminal charges. The Good Book instructed them to forgive “seventy times seven,” and Edna and her husband would do just that, in spite of their wee son’s injury. How many times had her own bishop instructed them to turn the other cheek?

  Will Judah forgive me someday, too? The uneasiness came from the depths of her heart. Lettie feared having to reveal her secret sin, protected in her consciousness for so long. Will I have the courage to tell my husband about Samuel’s and my baby . . . when the time comes? And how will Judah react when he hears?

  As if looking for answers, Lettie wandered to the room where she was staying. On the bureau she found her favorite poetry book and tenderly opened to “The Bridge” by Henry W. Longfellow. Silently, she read the entire poem, but her eyes lingered on two particular stanzas.

  And forever and forever,

  As long as the river flows,

  As long as the heart has passions,

  As long as life has woes;

  The moon and its broken reflection

  And its shadows shall appear,

  As the symbol of love in heaven,

  And its wavering image here.

  “ ‘As long as life has woes,’ ” she murmured, weeping not only for little Danny, Susan’s wee nephew, but for herself, too.

  A sudden and gripping terror besieged her, and she found herself worried . . . wondering if her first child was even alive. Lettie closed the poetry book, enfolding it in her arms like a baby.

  What if my searching is all for naught?

  chapter

  twenty - four

  Heather dreaded tomorrow’s consultation with LaVyrle. She had no idea what her father might say. Will he voice his opinions too freely?

  The pending visit kept her from fully enjoying her time with Dad even as he kept her occupied all morning and afternoon, making snap decisions about paint and bathroom tile, sink and commode styles, and every other little detail that went into building a house. It had taken the entire day, but she overlooked it—his company was even more precious now that she might lose it. And, true to his word, Dad never once brought up her illness.

  Between catalogs and store samples, they talked fondly of Mom. So much that Heather wondered if he was still coming to grips with what had gone wrong with her treatment. If so, wouldn’t he consider doing things differently this time? A second chance of sorts? Didn’t most people wish they could go back at some point and redo at least a part of their past?

  On the return ride to the Riehls’ place, her dad pulled over and parked near the house site. He craned his neck forward, leaning on the steering wheel as he admired his property once again. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  She had to agree. “When will they start excavating?”

  “Josiah says in a few days, once the building permit’s acquired. Meanwhile, I’d like to get our present house ready to put on the market, even though it’s an abysmal time to sell. Thankfully there’s plenty of equity in it.” He talked of having some loose ends to attend to at work, saying he hadn’t told his boss that he was thinking of taking early retirement. “But with the other house to sell, there’s no rush on that.”

  She was intrigued by his fascination with building, something he and Mom had never endeavored. Times like this, seeing him so invigorated by the challenge ahe
ad, she wanted to take a mental picture and file it somewhere safe.

  “Don’t forget, we have a date tomorrow,” he said out of the blue.

  She nodded, not looking forward to the discussion with him that was sure to follow the conference with LaVyrle. Unless, of course, things go well . . . And while he rambled on about his need to secure an electrician—something Josiah wouldn’t be handling—she reconsidered the idea of touring Grace’s herb garden today. It’s not as if it’s going anywhere. And as understanding as Grace had been, surely she wouldn’t mind if Heather bailed.

  Her mind wandered to Grace’s missing mother, and she felt sincerely sad. The loss of a parent—that, she could identify with.

  She picked at her shirt as they pulled up to the familiar sight of Andy and Marian’s house. Their young daughters were watering the flower beds out front.

  “Well, here you are . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dad leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for hanging out with your old man.”

  “Oh, Dad.”

  “It was fun . . . at least for me.”

  She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

  Chipper’s good, Heather thought, opening the door. Tomorrow will be a different story.

  Grace kept so busy with the washing and folding, as well as working the afternoon shift at Eli’s, she forgot all about Heather’s interest in seeing the herb garden until twilight. Hurrying to the front door, she looked toward the Riehls’ house and saw Heather’s car parked in the driveway. Maybe she forgot, too.

  Grace had felt sure she’d gone out of her way to make the English girl feel welcome. Goodness, the poor thing was terribly ill . . . she needed all the information about natural healing she could get. But surely the visit to Sally had been helpful, and she knew Heather would soon be returning to the naturopath.

  Standing there with mending in her hand, Grace suddenly remembered Mammi Adah’s dress—all pressed and waiting to be worn. She made her way to the sewing room and left her mending in a neat pile on the table. “I ironed your dress,” she told her grandmother, who was fussing over square arrangements for a yellow-and-green baby quilt. “It’s all ready.”

  Mammi looked up, smiling. “You did a nice job, Gracie . . . as always.”

  “Let me know when you need another one sewn. I’m happy to help.” Grace noticed the baby quilt Mammi Adah was working on and felt she might burst. For days now, she’d wanted to ask the gnawing question. Gathering her wits, she said, “I didn’t tell you something, Mammi . . . after I called the Kidron Inn. I should’ve, I guess.”

  Mammi’s smile faded to a frown.

  “This might sound strange to you—well, I know it will.”

  “What, Grace?”

  She was ever so hesitant to say. Even so, looking into her grandmother’s eyes, Grace believed she could trust her with this concern. “Why would Mamma want a midwife? Could it be . . . well, could she be with child?”

  Mammi’s eyelashes fluttered. “What would give you that idea?”

  “The innkeeper’s wife said as much—about the midwife, I mean. I didn’t want to mention it to anyone.” She paused. “I almost didn’t.”

  Mammi had a peculiar glint in her eyes. She was still for a moment, looking up at Grace. “Well, I ’spect that’s something your father might know.”

  Grace shook her head. “ ’Tis too awkward to bring up.” She would not think of it . . . much too embarrassing. And, anyway, knowing he and Mamma had differed terribly on something before Mamma left was enough. Was it about a baby?

  “I can’t imagine that your Mamma’s in the family way, no.” Mammi’s face was suddenly moist with perspiration. She picked up one of the quilt squares and fanned herself.

  “You’ll keep it mum, won’t you?” pleaded Grace.

  “Upon my word.”

  Worried that she’d somehow revealed something she shouldn’t have, Grace carried the newly finished dress to Mammi Adah’s bedroom. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she hung the garment on a wooden peg near the bureau. Ach, I’m sorry, Mamma . . . if I spoke out of turn.

  Adah tried her best to concentrate on placing the pastel-colored squares for the baby quilt. So Lettie must be looking for the midwife who’d delivered her firstborn. That, and that alone, had to be the reason she’d left her family.

  Adah’s heart felt heavy . . . guilty. She was disturbed no end by her own response to Grace’s innocent question. I distorted the truth to my own granddaughter! Lied, truly . . .

  She stepped back to study the layout of squares on the table. The crib quilt would be a welcome addition to daughter-in- law Hannah’s baby items. If Adah wasn’t mistaken, son Ethan and Hannah’s seventh child was due in another couple of months.

  Stopping her work, she let out a little gasp. Could Hannah’s coming baby be part of Lettie’s angst . . . and her unexpected search?

  Staring at the pattern of colors before her, Adah felt both eager for another new grandbaby and terribly convicted for her outright deceit. She would not confide in Jakob, as frail as he was. No, she must carry the weight of Lettie’s pain deep within herself. Yet she knew full well that even if Lettie did come home, that would not necessarily make things better here. Particularly if word about the past got out, her return could make things even worse!

  Oh, if only there was some way to make amends to her daughter. Adah placed her hand on her heart, thinking of all the years of Lettie’s sorrow. Jakob and I brought all this on her, she thought miserably.

  Judah hung back near the doorway and peered into Adah’s kitchen. He wanted to talk to Jakob man-to-man, and thankfully Adah was nowhere to be seen. She must still be working on the baby quilt for yet another grandchild—or so Grace had mentioned in passing a few minutes earlier, when he’d inquired after her grandmother.

  Grace had seemed downright skittish as he came through the sitting room toward the main hallway. He couldn’t be sure if that was due to Yonnie’s presence . . . or Lettie’s absence.

  He cleared his throat so as not to startle Jakob. The older man turned and waved him into the room. “Ah, Judah . . . come, pull up a chair. Rest your weary bones.”

  There was no getting around it: The day had been long. And he was growing tired of the routine of lambing season. He had no use for small talk, not with Adah’s movements upstairs so unpredictable. No, what he had to say, he ought to just get out in the open. “I’ve been thinking . . .” he began, faltering. “ ’Bout Lettie.”

  “As you should be” came the chilly reply. “She’s been gone much too long.”

  Judah sat straight as a twig, looking across at the old man who’d brought Lettie to his attention all those years ago. “Is there anything in my wife’s past that might explain her flyin’ the coop like this?”

  At the question, Jakob looked stunned. Then he shook himself a bit, pulling on his old suspenders. Through the open kitchen window, Judah could see the sun falling behind the horizon.

  “Now, son . . . why would ya think such a thing?”

  Not once since he and Lettie had become man and wife had Jakob referred to him as son. But Judah was not inclined to sit there and be grilled with unnecessary questions. “Either ya know somethin’ or you don’t,” he replied. “Easy as that.”

  Jakob scratched his wrinkled face, letting his callused fingers run down his long gray beard. “Not sure why you’re so ferhoodled tonight, Judah.”

  “Just wonderin’ if you’re holdin’ something back.”

  Jakob shook his head slowly, as if a burden had descended upon him.

  “Is there something I ought to know?” Judah’s ire was up but good. For days Jakob had been avoiding him . . . not even making eye contact at their shared mealtimes. He’d figured Jakob was feeling poorly, like Adah kept saying. But she, too, was acting strange, if not distant. And why would that be?

  He looked again at Jakob, whose eyes seemed stripped of their usual life. Goodness, but Judah knew this man as well as he knew his own sons, and he could tell
something wasn’t right.

  “What is it, Jakob? What can you tell me ’bout Lettie?”

  Lettie had decided to wait up for Susan. She had a pot of water on the stove, ready to steep tea as soon as Susan arrived. She’d also kept busy baking chocolate chip cookies as a surprise, wanting to cheer up her friend after what would surely prove to be a difficult day.

  When she heard the buggy pull into the driveway, Lettie hurried outside to help unhitch the horse. Once the chore was done, she led the animal to the stable as Susan plodded toward her home, having said little about the day.

  Lettie got the horse settled in for the night with feed and extra water. Then, breathing a prayer, she made her way back to the house, the light from several gas lamps glowing in the back windows. Like golden faces shining into the darkness . . .

  “Would ya like some sweets?” she asked when she’d entered the kitchen. She washed her hands, then dropped the tea bags into the teapot.

  Susan sat at the table, her face wan. “Ach, such a hard day.”

  Lettie sat across from her and slid the plate of cookies toward Susan. “Maybe these will help some.”

  Susan gave a half nod and reached for one. “I’m all tuckered out.” She began to describe her visit. The chief of police had come to her sister’s house, demanding that Edna fill out papers against the rock-throwing boys. “It was just terrible. And the authorities were baffled as all get-out . . . why she and her husband wouldn’t consent.” She removed her Kapp and rubbed her temples in a circular motion. “They just don’t understand our way. And no explanation we gave was convincing a’tall. Edna simply refused to cast blame.”

  Lettie had heard before how perplexing Englischers sometimes found the People’s determination to forgive as almighty God had commanded.

  “One man even said the boys who did this should be taken out and shot.” Susan shook her head sadly. “Such hatred.”

  Lettie empathized with her friend. “Where were Edna’s children durin’ all this?”