“It’s perfectly understandable that you’re a bit muddled, given the fact that you’re still mourning your loss.” Mary Ruth reached over and gently patted Michelle’s arm. “And now here you are sitting with grandparents you didn’t even know you had.”
Michelle blotted her lips with a napkin. “Yeah, I am pretty overwhelmed right now.”
Willis handed her the bowl of mashed potatoes again. “Bet you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten a bit more and have had a good night’s sleep.”
All Michelle could manage was a slow nod. She only hoped that would be the case, because at the moment, she felt like she might cave in.
When Mary Ruth and Willis retired to their room on the main floor that night, she began to fret. “I hope we didn’t bombard Sara with too many questions. She seemed so edgy during supper—especially when we brought up her birthday.” She turned to face Willis, who was already situated under the bedcovers. “Do you think Rhoda wasn’t a good mudder to Sara? Is that why she said no one made a fuss over her birthday?”
“If you’ll remember, she corrected herself.” Willis yawned and fluffed up his pillow. “I can’t imagine our dochder treating her own flesh-and-blood child poorly.” He removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. “No reading for me tonight. I’m bushed.”
“It’s been a long, busy day.”
“I hate to bring this up, but I’m sure you must realize that, according to Sara’s age, our daughter was definitely with child when she ran away from home.”
“Jah, I know. It was mentioned in Sara’s letter to us, remember?”
“I do remember, but since some of the words in the letter were unreadable, I thought—even hoped—we may have read that part wrong.”
Mary Ruth drew in a breath, but couldn’t seem to fill her lungs completely. It was difficult reliving this past event—especially when she’d always felt as if they might be responsible for Rhoda leaving. Perhaps she and Willis had been too hard on her—trying to enforce rules that their daughter was good at breaking. There may have been a better way of dealing with Rhoda than chastising her all the time. Maybe she thought her parents didn’t love her and wouldn’t have understood if she’d told them the predicament she was in.
Would we have been understanding or driven her further away by our disapproval? Tears sprang to Mary Ruth’s eyes, and she whisked them away with the back of her hand. “You’re right, Willis, and I wish she had told us so we could have helped her deal with the situation.”
“According to what our granddaughter wrote in the letter, Rhoda was too ashamed to tell us.” Willis’s eyebrows gathered in. “Maybe she felt with me being one of the church ministers, it would have been an embarrassment to us. She might have believed that if word got out that a preacher’s unmarried daughter was expecting a boppli, it could have affected our standing in this community.”
Mary Ruth sank to the edge of the bed and undid her hair from its bun. “I wanted to ask Sara this evening about her father but thought it could wait. She seemed overwhelmed enough with all our other questions.”
“True, and that was good thinking on your part. We can talk to Sara about her father some other time.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We need to be careful what we say about Rhoda to her daughter. Wouldn’t want Sara to think her mom was a bad person.” Willis heaved a sigh. “That girl was a handful. There’s no doubt about it. Always close-lipped about what she was doing with her friends and staying out later than she should have, which caused us both to worry. But we still loved her, although I could always tell she was dissatisfied with the Amish ways. If we could go back and do it over, I’d try to approach the situation with our daughter differently.”
“Jah.” Mary Ruth sighed as she started brushing out her long hair. “Sara made no mention of her father during our supper conversation either. Is it possible that Rhoda raised her alone?”
Willis shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think it’s a question that does need to be asked. Maybe after breakfast tomorrow morning, when we’re showing her around the farm, I’ll bring up the subject.”
Mary Ruth moved her head slowly up and down. “Just be careful how you approach it, Husband. Sara just got here, and we don’t want to say or do anything that might scare her off. We’ve lived with the pain of losing our dochder all these years, and I certainly don’t want to take the chance of losing our grossdochder too.”
Alone in her room, a strange feeling came over Michelle. Mary Ruth had said when she’d first brought Michelle upstairs that this used to be her daughter’s bedroom before she left home. She felt weird knowing this was where her pretend mother used to sleep. The real Sara should be sleeping here, not me. It was too late to back away from this. She was here, and the Lapps seemed pretty pleased. If Michelle could fake it for a while longer, until she figured out what she needed to do, everyone would be happy. At least until the real granddaughter showed up. Then a bomb would drop right over Michelle’s head.
Turning her thoughts in another direction, Michelle gazed with anticipation at the four-poster double bed. Instead of using shabby covers over a skinny single bed coming down from the wall, she would sleep under the beautiful quilt that covered this bed. The two windows in the room both faced the backyard. Only a dark green shade covered them, but Michelle didn’t mind the lack of a curtain. At least there would be no noisy vehicles outside, with blaring horns and screeching brakes moving down the street throughout the night. Except for the clock downstairs, she probably wouldn’t hear much noise at all.
Studying the rest of the room, she noticed a wooden nightstand positioned on the right side of the bed and a tall dresser against the opposite wall. At the foot of the bed sat an old cedar chest. Michelle had placed her suitcase on top of the chest, but had only opened it to take out her cotton pajamas and personal items. She was too tired to hang up her clothes tonight. It could wait till morning.
Even though scantily furnished, the bedroom was as spotless as the rest of the house she’d seen so far. The only source of light, other than the windows, was a battery-operated lamp on the nightstand, which Michelle had turned on as soon as she came into the room.
I shouldn’t be here, she thought. This room did not belong to my mother, although I wish it had. And I would give almost anything to have caring grandparents like Willis and Mary Ruth.
Michelle had never known her mother’s parents, or her dad’s either. The only thing she’d been told about them was that they lived somewhere in Idaho. She had never even seen any pictures of them. Michelle often wondered if her grandparents were bad parents, and that’s why her mom and dad had turned out the way they had. Maybe both sets of grandparents were abusers or heavy drinkers. She and her brothers were probably better off not knowing them. There had been enough anxiety in their young lives just dealing with explosive parents.
Sure wish I knew where Ernie and Jack are right now. She had tried several times to locate them but always came up empty-handed. Hopefully they’d gone to good homes and had made something of themselves. “Not like me,” Michelle muttered. “I’m going down a one-way street that leads to nowhere.”
Michelle reflected on all the questions that had been thrown at her since arriving at the Lapps—especially during the evening meal. She’d been so nervous about saying the wrong thing, it had diminished her appetite for what should have been a delicious supper. Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t eaten too much. If Michelle ate like that on a regular basis, all those carbs could pack on the weight.
Thinking back on the conversation they’d had about her birthday and Sara’s mother, Rhoda, Michelle hoped she’d been able to cover her tracks well enough by saying she felt a bit rattled. It was certainly no lie, for by the time she helped Mary Ruth do the dishes, she was exhausted from the stress of trying not to say the wrong thing. She suspected there would probably be more questions tomorrow, and she’d be riding an emotional rollercoaster again.
Guess I’ll wait and deal with all that i
n the morning. Right now I need to go down the hall to take a shower and brush my teeth. After a good night’s sleep, maybe I’ll wake up with a clearer head and a better idea how to proceed.
How thankful she was that the Lapps had indoor plumbing and not an outhouse, like that reality TV show had mentioned. Michelle didn’t think she could last a day without indoor bathroom conveniences.
When she pulled back the covers a short time later and climbed into the comfortable bed, Michelle’s breathing became consistent and the need to sleep took over. Even the grandfather clock down in the living room, bonging out the hour, didn’t disturb her rest.
Chapter 4
Michelle sat up in her bed with a start. What was that irritating sound? She climbed out and padded over to the window.
Lifting the shade, she grimaced. An enormous rooster stood on top of the woodshed, crowing for all he was worth.
She looked at the clock on her nightstand and groaned. It was five thirty in the morning, and dawn had slowly cast a glow on the yard. She sniffed the air. Was that the hearty aroma of coffee she smelled? It wasn’t a mocha latte, like they’d served at the coffee shop in Philly, but it smelled almost as good. Someone was obviously up and in the kitchen downstairs.
Michelle glanced around her room again. It still looked the same, only this morning, with the bedcovers in disarray, it appeared lived-in at least.
I can’t believe I’m actually here. What a stark difference, waking up this morning on a farm, when less than twenty-four hours ago she was still in her stale, dinky apartment in Philly.
Gazing out the window again, she became aware that the loudmouthed rooster had suddenly gone quiet. Thank goodness. Why couldn’t you have done that sooner so I could’ve slept in?
Michelle observed how the clouds took on amazing hues of pinks and purple, then faded into orange as the sun made its full appearance. How long had it been since she noticed the sky’s beauty and how pretty a sunrise could be?
Watching the clouds change to a puffy white as the sun rose higher, Michelle relived yesterday, meeting the Lapps at the bus station, and then the trip here to Strasburg. It was so different driving out of the city, once they got past King of Prussia, and observing how the landscape changed. No more skyscrapers and huge business offices blocking the view as they drove farther from the Philadelphia region. Instead, she’d seen several small businesses along the road they traveled. But even they became sparser as farms, silos, and fields dotted more of the landscape. Once in the country, she could see into the distance for many miles. A day later, here she was, the guest of an Amish couple who owned a farm. Michelle never would have believed this situation possible when she closed the door in Jerry’s face.
I wonder what he had to say if he went back to my apartment last night and found me gone. Sure am glad he has no idea where I went, so there’s no way he can track me down. Her fingers clenched. I hope I never meet up with another guy like Jerry. He was a loser.
Eager for a cup of coffee, Michelle got dressed, went to the bathroom to freshen up, and hurried downstairs. She found Mary Ruth and Willis at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee in their hands.
“Well, good morning, Sara.” Mary Ruth was all smiles. “Did we wake you with our chatter down here? We thought you might sleep in this morning.”
“No, you didn’t wake me. The crowing rooster did.”
“That’s Hector.” Willis chuckled and shook his head. “No need to set an alarm clock, thanks to our predictable and feisty old bird. He’s been with us longer than any of our chickens.”
Michelle wondered if Willis’s reference to the rooster being feisty meant the chicken was mean. If so, she’d have to remember to give him a wide berth.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee, dear?” Mary Ruth rose from her chair.
Michelle held out her hand. “No, that’s okay. I’ll get it myself.” After helping Mary Ruth do the dishes last night, she remembered where the mugs were kept, and the coffee pot was clearly visible on the stove. So she helped herself and joined them at the table.
“What would you like for breakfast, Sara?” Mary Ruth gestured to the refrigerator. “Thanks to our hens, who are laying well right now, we have plenty of eggs There’s also a slab of bacon. Did we tell you that Willis raises hogs?”
“No, I don’t believe you mentioned it.” Most likely because you were too busy asking me questions.
The thought of eating bacon and eggs this early in the morning made Michelle’s stomach feel queasy. She usually didn’t eat much for breakfast anyway. “No thanks. I’ll just have a bowl of cold cereal. If you have any, that is,” she amended.
“Why, yes we do. In fact, Willis eats a bowl of bran flakes almost every morning, in addition to eggs, pancakes, or whatever else I serve for breakfast. He and I both had bran cereal for our breakfast this morning. We wanted to eat before Willis did his chores.”
Willis bobbed his head before adding a spoonful of sugar to his cup.
Bran flakes? Michelle took a sip of the darkly brewed coffee and tried to keep her composure. The last thing she wanted was a bowl of bran flakes. “Think maybe I’ll stick with coffee.”
“Oh my … That’s not enough for breakfast.” Mary Ruth shook her head. “If you don’t want bacon and eggs, or cereal, then how about a banana muffin? Ezekiel King brought some fresh honey over the other day. You might enjoy having some of that on your muffin.”
“Okay.” Michelle mustered up a smile. “A muffin sounds good.”
While Mary Ruth went to get the muffin and honey for Michelle, Willis finished his coffee, then set the mug in the sink. “As soon as you’re done eating, Sara, why don’t you come outside and I’ll show you around the place? I’d like to introduce you to our buggy horses and some of the other animals we have—including the hogs.”
Pigs? I bet they smell bad. Oh goody. I can’t wait for that. Michelle offered Willis a phony smile. Maybe life here on the farm wasn’t better than living in the city after all. “That’d be nice,” she said to Willis. “I’d love to see your animals.” If she was going to keep up this masquerade, she’d have to at least act interested in her pretend grandparents, as well as in their critters and anything else that pertained to them.
When Michelle walked with Willis and Mary Ruth through the double doors and entered the well-built, oversized barn, the odor of straw mixed with horse flesh and manure caused her to sneeze. She reached into her shirt pocket for a tissue and blew her nose as a fluffy gray cat darted between her legs. “Yikes!”
“Do you have allergies?” Mary Ruth’s brows wrinkled a bit.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been around animals that much—especially horses.”
“Your mother was allergic to cats. The minute she got around them her nose would start running and then came a sneeze.” Mary Ruth patted Michelle’s back. “I bet you take after her.”
Michelle noticed the sadness in the woman’s brown eyes. No doubt she missed her daughter and wished she could have her back.
“Speaking of Rhoda …” Willis leaned against one of the horse’s stalls. “When we were talking yesterday, you never made mention of your father.” He reached under his straw hat and scratched his head. “Did your mother raise you alone?”
Michelle’s gaze dropped to the ground. She felt her body heat rising. What am I supposed to say? I can’t very well tell them about my own lousy father. Or my horrible mother, for that matter.
Michelle blew her nose again, stalling for time. She’d need to think fast on her feet and come up with some decent answers if she was going to make the Lapps keep believing she was their granddaughter.
“Um … Actually, my dad and mom are divorced.” Wrong answer, Michelle. She knew right away from Mary Ruth and Willis’s slumped posture and stony expression that this was something they did not want to hear. As Michelle recalled the reality TV show, she remembered someone saying that the Amish didn’t believe in divorce. She hadn’t thought much about it at the
time, but apparently it was true.
“I am deeply sorry to hear that,” Mary Ruth said. “Does your father live near you, and do you see him often?”
Oh boy. Michelle rubbed her forehead. “No, after the divorce, my dad split. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
“That’s a shame.” Mary Ruth’s tone was soothing. “Do you know if your father used to be Amish?”
Yikes! Now how am I supposed to know that? Michelle squirmed, feeling like she was on the hot seat. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not sure. My folks never talked much about their past to me.” At least that was the truth. Michelle’s hole of deception seemed to grow deeper with most everything that came out of her mouth.
To avoid telling more lies, Michelle changed the subject. “So whose horse is that, and what’s its name?” She pointed to the horse in the stall closest to them.
“That’s my mare, Bashful.” Willis reached over the gate and stroked the horse’s brown ears, which were tipped with white.
The horse nickered in response, then lifted her head over the wooden slat and nudged Willis’s chest. “Bashful does well with me but tends to be kinda shy around people she doesn’t know.” After rubbing her soft muzzle a few seconds, Willis opened his hand to reveal a sugar cube. “You didn’t think I’d forget your treat, now did ya?” He spoke tenderly to the horse.
It was cute to see how gently Bashful scooped up the cube. Maybe someday, if I’m here long enough, she’ll eat out of my hand too.
Michelle looked at Mary Ruth. “Does the horse across from Bashful belong to you, Mary Ruth?”
“Yes. Her name is Peanuts, but once again, I really wish you would call me Grandma.”
“Sorry. I keep forgetting.” While Michelle was far from perfect, she didn’t make a habit of telling lies. But her decision at the bus station in Philly had entrapped her in this huge web of lies.
The Hope Jar Page 4