“My brother, Mahlon, likes to fish. Dat does, too.”
“Well, White River’s where all the big fish are in Arkansas,” Gloria said, pushing her slightly wavy hair under her white head covering, a most unusual cup shape with many darts sewn in the sides. “And I mean big.” She set down her thermos and stretched out her hands to show the size, and Leona noticed her cape dress had several long, pretty seams. “Don’t tell my brother Adam I told ya, but once he got hooked when he went fishing with our younger cousin. Right in the head!”
“Ach, must’ve hurt!” Leona shivered at the thought.
Gloria nodded as her twelve-year-old brother darted past them to catch up with the other schoolboys. Adam’s gray cloth suspenders did not make an X on the back of his cocoa-colored shirt like the boys’ here, and the brim of his straw hat was narrower than any Leona had ever seen, with a yellow-gold band around it. Awful fancy . . .
Gloria mentioned her three-year-old brother, Jonas, who was already following their father around in the barn, and eighteen-month-old baby brother, James, who waddled around the house after Mamm. “Daed calls him our little penguin.”
They giggled over that before Gloria returned to describing their former community—the bluegrass music at the old downtown square, the rodeo at the Fulton County Fair, and the giant fried turkey legs served there. Most of it sounded pretty foreign to Leona, yet Gloria talked so fondly of her beloved home, Leona asked why they’d left it behind.
She shook her head. “Not sure—but there must be reasons, knowin’ my father.” And that quick, she changed the subject to her butterfly collection and asked when Leona might drop by to see it.
“Tomorrow?” The word flew right out.
“Des gut, then.” Gloria smiled and reached for Leona’s hand. And from that day on, they were nearly inseparable.
Later, back home after Preaching, once Leona had rested in her room as her parents required, she sat at the kitchen table and read several psalms from her mother’s large Biewel while Dawdi Benuel, who lived next door in their Dawdi Haus, sat in the rocking chair nearby, his head bobbing through his nap.
After she finished reading, she carefully thumbed through the onionskin pages, noticing several bookmarks—one with tiny dried, pressed flowers from the Holy Land. Purchased at Maggie’s Country Store, Leona thought, smiling.
There was also a get-well note, and when she examined it closer, she recognized the handwriting of a younger Gloria.
“She must’ve written this when I was staying with them,” murmured Leona, noting the date. When Mamma suffered with pneumonia . . .
Gloria’s sentiments, though childlike, were tender and caring.
Dear Millie Speicher,
I’m awful sorry you are sick. Don’t worry about Leona, ’cause she’s all right. We’re making sure of that! I hope you get well soon!
From your neighbor,
Gloria Gingerich
Seeing the sweet gesture made Leona appreciate Gloria all the more—ever a reservoir of joy, it seemed. Mamma hadn’t told Leona about the note, but that didn’t surprise her. Mamma was typically reserved about most things. All the same, Leona was glad to see she had kept it.
Leona found herself waiting again for Gloria that evening, just outside the deacon’s white two-story barn. It was Leona’s ninth Singing since her sixteenth birthday, June 28, and the thrill of being old enough to be included with die Youngie still made her pinch herself. She especially liked sitting with Gloria to join their voices in song. Gloria had been coming for more than a year now, and Orchard John was mighty sweet on her.
Leona herself was being pursued by Gloria’s brother Adam, a recent turn of events that tickled her friend. Gloria had even whispered, “My brother’s gonna fall for you, and then you’ll be part of our family for real!”
They had laughed at the notion, but Leona knew she would like nothing better. And Adam was awfully fun to be around. Cute too!
Searching now in all directions, Leona still saw no sign of Gloria, nor of Adam. They said they were coming, Leona recalled as she slipped silently inside the barn, purposely hanging back from the rest of the youth in hopes of waving the Gingeriches over if they arrived late.
One of the parent sponsors blew the pitch pipe to give the starting note, and the unison singing began. Not wanting to stand out, Leona moved quietly to the far end of the long wooden bench and sat down.
Amidst the lilting strains of “Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” her mind wandered back to the early months Gloria and her family had spent in Colerain.
———
The first time Leona went to Gloria’s house and met her mother, she learned that, like her, Gloria was the only girl in her family. Jeannie Gingerich had made over Leona’s pretty blond hair, then surprised her by giving her a gentle hug.
A few months later, following Christmas, Leona’s Mamma became ill with pneumonia, so bad off that she was hospitalized for a while.
At school, Leona was startled to pieces when she was pulled aside by the teacher for her hair being all strubblich . . . and for wearing soiled clothing. She hadn’t packed an adequate lunch, either, but the teacher’s expression was sympathetic as Leona whispered that her mother was in the hospital, and Dat too busy to look after her properly. “I haven’t been able to keep up,” she’d admitted.
When Gloria insisted during afternoon recess on knowing why their teacher had taken her aside, Leona told her. After school, Gloria had walked the whole way home with Leona, where she strode up to Dat, who was pitching hay to the livestock. Right then, she’d boldly asked if Leona might be looked after by her mother for the time being. “Leona’s always willkumm,” she said.
Leona held her breath, surprised Gloria would offer so much without first checking with her own parents.
Dat looked at Leona, his face serious, his cheeks ruddy. Leona wondered if he’d noticed her mussed-up hair and clothing, too, or how hard it was for Leona, having fallen behind on household chores while going to school. Even so, she felt sure he would mention that one of her many aunts could look after her instead. “Ain’t necessary,” he said. “She’s fine here.”
But Gloria’s eyes were big and pleading, and she was not backing down.
For what seemed longer than a minute, Dat stared over their heads toward the Gingeriches’ vast meadow, his profile stock-still. Then, thoughtfully, he looked back at Gloria before agreeing to her plea, provided the idea had her parents’ blessing. “Well, I guess you folk are mighty handy, close by as you are. All the better for keeping Leona in school.”
After her father had visited Gloria’s parents to make arrangements, Leona packed up a few changes of clothing and went to stay with them, settling into their daily pattern of barn chores and kitchen duties.
During their free time, she and Gloria gathered pinecones and grapevines and acorns to make wreaths. Together, they had admired such decorations at the farmers market, and young though she was, Leona tried her own hand at it.
Leona was also present when Gloria asked her father for a puppy, saying it was all she’d ever dreamed of. Not long after that, Arkansas Joe took the two girls to choose a dog from a nearby farm family that had more puppies than they could manage. A light seemed to flicker across Joe’s face as he knelt down with the girls and played with the puppy. Was it joy at fulfilling his only daughter’s wish? Leona wondered.
Sweet Gloria had kindly insisted that Leona name the adorable beagle–cocker spaniel mix. Leona had taken a full day to decide on Brownie, which Jeannie had declared the perfect name for the bright-eyed puppy. Everyone had agreed.
Spending her time with the Gingeriches had sealed Leona’s loyalties. Not only was she impressed by Gloria’s parents’ open affection for each other, but she appreciated them for taking her under their wing and including her in that same circle of love.
With all of her heart, Leona thanked the Lord above for bringing such wonderful-gut neighbors so unexpectedly into her life. And sometimes, while s
haking rag rugs on the back stoop or feeding the chickens with Gloria, Leona caught herself imagining what it would be like to belong to this family, not just as a friend but for real.
CHAPTER
3
Halfway through the two-hour Sunday Singing, refreshments were served: cookies and cake, and cups of hot cocoa. Leona again scanned the crowd for Adam and Gloria, yet there was still no sign of them.
They must’ve changed their minds. . . .
Not long after, Orchard John walked over and asked Leona, “Know anything ’bout Gloria and Adam?”
“Last I heard, they were comin’,” she told her cousin.
Deacon Mose Ebersol’s eldest son, nineteen-year-old Thomas, joined them, his light brown bangs cut straight across his forehead. “Are ya lookin’ for the Gingerich girl?” he asked Orchard John.
John nodded right quick. “I thought for sure she’d be here.”
Tom shook his head. “I doubt she’s comin’ tonight.” He took a sip of his cocoa. “Not after . . . well, not now.”
Neither of them questioned him. Being a minister’s son, Tom had always been close-lipped, but something in his expression revealed concern.
“I doubt she’s comin’,” Tom had just said. What did he know?
Leona recalled Preacher Miller’s unexpected visit last week to see Arkansas Joe, and Gloria’s and Jeannie’s peculiar reactions. And now, Adam had stood her up for their date tonight. She couldn’t help wondering why.
Even after nearly all the fellows and girls had paired up and ridden away in courting buggies, Leona paced the cement barn floor, continuing to wait for Gloria and Adam. Tom had lingered as well with his deaf brother, eighteen-year-old Danny, the two of them standing outdoors for a time. Probably Danny had ridden with Tom tonight. Plenty of brothers liked to double-date in one buggy.
Eventually Tom stepped back inside and moved toward her as if wanting to say something. Partway there, though, he turned back and left without speaking, slipping out into the night to drive Danny home.
Alone now with only the sound of a horse neighing, Leona went to stand in the barn’s wide doorway and stared out at the glimmering stars. She still hoped her dearest friend might yet arrive, if only to clear things up . . . to soothe Leona’s worries as a dreadful feeling grew in her chest. “It’s nothing,” Gloria might say. “Nothing at all.”
Disheartened, Leona waited another half hour before heaving the barn door closed and trudging toward the dark road. Alone.
Tom Ebersol arrived home early after the Singing, signaling once more that neither he nor Danny had invited a girl to go riding—something that had been the case for Tom for several months now. His father didn’t come right out and inquire, but Tom presumed he was thinking, No girls caught your eye . . . again?
Of course that was far from the truth, though it was okay for Dat to think it as the two of them sat hunched over the kitchen table, chins on fists, playing a serious game of checkers and making short work of Mamma’s pumpkin walnut bread. Danny had already headed for his room to read, not as interested in table games.
Tom strategized his next couple of moves, trying to keep his focus on the wooden checkerboard instead of on pretty Leona Speicher. She had been even more pleasing to him without Adam Gingerich waiting on the sidelines.
“Ready to make your move?” Dat’s question jolted Tom back to the game.
He sat there a minute, redirecting his thoughts, hard as it was. “Es dut mir leed—I’m sorry.”
“Your mind must be elsewhere, son.”
His father was right, but now wasn’t the time to come clean. So Tom made the best move he could, given Dat’s imposing line of black checkers, including two kings.
Dat reached for one of the kings, gripping it between his callused fingers while he murmured in Deitsch. Tom gave in to musing about Leona once more; anyone could see she was enamored with the Gingeriches, including, it seemed, Adam, which made it nearly impossible for Tom to get her attention. Tom recalled how very much like a loving father, and upstanding church member, Arkansas Joe had appeared to be today, after church. He wondered if she had any inkling that Joe wasn’t always as pleasant and engaging as he appeared to be. The man could also be hotheaded. Joe had talked up to Preacher Miller here recently, which was unwise. Tom had long had a feeling about the man that he couldn’t put his finger on. Over the years, he’d heard rumors that certain tools Joe had “borrowed” from fellow farmers sometimes had a way of disappearing. More recently, Joe had joked about the length of the second sermon. “Too bad the seats are so hard—I could have taken a gut long nap!”
Yet if trouble was brewing, Tom secretly hoped the Gingerich family might return to Arkansas, unlikely though that was. Church members who got themselves in hot water rarely held a defiant stance for long.
Truth be told, it wasn’t Tom’s place to sit in judgment of Arkansas Joe or anyone else, for that matter. But he couldn’t forget that sitting across the checkerboard from him was his deacon father . . . a silent source of knowledge on any members who might be misbehaving.
He was worried for Leona, and for what might happen if she ever learned the truth about the family she so loved.
———
Dat won two out of three games before Tom called it a night and headed just around the corner of the kitchen to his room. In the stillness, he sat on his bed and bowed his head in prayer.
Later, he considered again the notion that Adam might not be such a good choice for Leona, considering his uneasiness about Adam’s father. After all, she’d grown up here in Colerain and was known to hold fast to the Old Ways, like the rest of her family.
He pulled on his pajamas and then raised the shade to see the moon rise. The stars seemed exceptionally bright against the ink-black sky. He recalled seeing Adam with Leona after the Singing two weeks ago, observing how she had responded with a smile when Adam spoke to her, and the way they sat close in his open carriage. Am I wrong to care, when she’s not mine to love?
After a moment, he got into bed and reached for the quilt, wondering how long Leona had stayed around by herself after tonight’s Singing before going home. He’d come close to offering her a lift, but he’d chosen to do the right thing and back away.
Still, as sleep eluded him, Tom wondered if he shouldn’t have made an attempt.
I’ll keep biding my time.
CHAPTER
4
Gloria helped her mother with the washing the next morning, then began rummaging through the pantry with Mamm while the clothes hung on the line. Later, that afternoon, she asked to take the family buggy over to Maggie Speicher’s little store in Bartville, several miles away. “All right with you, Mamm?”
“Be mindful not to make this hard on Leona.” Her mother turned away, a tear in her eye as she announced she was going to start making supper.
“It’s hard enough on me.” Gloria followed her into the pantry. “Leona’s my best friend.”
Her mother’s movements were quick and jerky as she began reaching for various home-canned items. “I’m sorry, Gloria. I’m frustrated, too,” she admitted. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to pull up stakes.”
A look of sadness passed between them.
“Mamm?” Gloria wished there was something she could do to help her feel better.
Her mother blew out a long breath. “Best you be goin’ to speak to your friend now, Gloria.”
“I’ll break it gently.” The words caught in her throat. There was no easy way to do what her father had urged at the noon meal.
Heavyhearted, she left her mother and went to the utility room for her lightweight black jacket. She had no clue how to ease Mamm’s obvious exasperation.
Outdoors, she reached down to pet Brownie, then hitched up the horse to the family carriage. Daed had been gone much of the morning to assist a nearby farmer with a big brush pile. They’d burned heaps of pruned branches and deadfall from various trees before he had gone over to Eden Valley
to pay a visit to another farmer. He’d said nothing about why, though, and it made her nervous.
The smell of smoldering ash lingered in the air as Gloria climbed into the carriage and headed down the road, toward the narrow bridge, then west all the way to Farmdale Road.
Daed’s still workin’ with neighboring farmers, she thought, trying not to get her hopes up. Maybe he doesn’t want to send any signals. This worried Gloria all the more. What’s he got up his sleeve?
When she arrived at Maggie’s inviting shop, with its yellow exterior and bold black door and shutters, she stepped down from the buggy and tied the mare to the hitching post. Walking toward the entrance, she offered up a silent prayer, more for Leona than for herself, though she needed wisdom, and that for certain. How can I do this without falling apart?
Opening the door, Gloria heard the bell jingle. Leona turned from the nearest display table, where she was arranging cloth placemats and other table linens, her eyes widening. “Gloria! Oh, am I ever glad to see ya here. What a gut surprise!” Leona hurried to greet her as Maggie made a sale at the cash register. Maggie smiled and waved at Gloria but kept talking to the customer.
Leona offered to show Gloria their new shipment of soy candles. “Kumme, you must have a look-see. You might like one for your Mamma’s birthday next month.”
Gloria held her breath, aware how pleased Leona was at her dropping by. And to think everything’s on the verge of changing. . . .
Try as she might, Gloria could not push aside Preacher Miller’s—and then Deacon Ebersol’s—visits here lately, and the ever-present look of aggravation on Daed’s face. Or was it determination? And there was his insistence that she visit Leona today. “’Tis only right that you’re the one to break the news,” he’d said, nodding his head, his bushy beard bumping his shirt.
“You okay?” Leona tilted her head like she sometimes did, eyeing her.
The Wish Page 2