The Bridesmaid

by Beverly Lewis

  “Oh, Joanna, I’ll miss ya so.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as he searched her face, lingering over her brow, her eyes . . . and then her lips. She couldn’t help it; her resolve flew far away, and she longed for his kiss.

  A crow cawed loudly over their heads, and just that quick, Joanna shifted slightly, offering her cheek instead of what he’d surely prefer. And what she, too, so yearned for. Oh, to know the feel of his lips on her own! When Eben’s my husband, I’ll know, she reminded herself. We must wait. . . .

  She slipped gently out of his arms, smiling to comfort him. And he followed her, reaching again for her hand as they walked more quickly now to the phone shack, where Eben made his call for the cab. Too soon he’d be taken away from her, all the way to Indiana.

  Chapter 13

  That night, Joanna put pen to paper, writing the story of her heart. She included every emotion she’d felt during Eben’s wonderful visit, and after she outened the lamp, she could scarcely sleep, reliving again and again how he’d held her . . . and the sweet desire she saw so vividly in his eyes.

  As days passed, she attended still more weddings, assisting in the kitchen at several, and looked forward to the weekly quilting circle at Mary Beiler’s. Joanna’s older brothers and Dat worked to shred cornstalks for bedding and attended packed-out farm sales as far away as the eastern county line and into Honey Brook. Other older Amish farmers, weary of the cold, headed south to places like Pinecraft, Florida, and other sunny climes, once wedding season was past.

  Joanna and Cora Jane said precious little to each other all the while. Joanna had learned soon enough that things went more smoothly that way. She enjoyed going next door to sit with Dawdi Joseph twice a week, giving Mammi Sadie time to run errands or just to have a slice of pie and a quiet afternoon with her older sisters or Mamma. Joanna cherished the time with her Dawdi, though his memory seemed to be weakening. His recollection of Bible verses was perfect, but he was often hard-pressed to remember where Mammi had gone off to, or what they’d been up to just a day before. How long before he won’t recognize me anymore? she sometimes wondered.

  Besides time with her Grosseldre, Joanna also anticipated her occasional visits to see Cousin Malinda. And every other Friday evening a few minutes before seven o’clock, she dashed off to the phone shack to receive Eben’s calls, ignoring the looks Cora Jane sent her way.

  Yet as wonderful as the phone calls were, Joanna pined for Eben. Joanna recalled his suggestion that they trust God for their future. So much hinged on a day too far ahead . . . at least for her liking. How she longed to hear the three words he hadn’t said. Was he waiting for just the right moment to say “I love you”?

  Upon his return from visiting Joanna, Eben had been pleasantly surprised when his father agreed to let him take a day off from farm duties each week to work as an apprentice with the local smithy.

  The area blacksmith shop where Amish farmers came to have their horses newly shod was set back a ways from the main farmhouse, with its own lane. In just a short time, Eben had discovered how much he liked the work—everything about it from trimming and filing horses’ hooves with clippers and rasp, to measuring the new shoe against the hoof, and then heating it on the blazing anvil. Eben worked mighty hard, too—an experienced smithy could shoe a horse in less than an hour, shoeing anywhere between six and eight horses during the space of a typical day. Eben was determined to learn the particular skills involved, anxious to move forward with the hope of working alongside the Hickory Hollow smithy one day.

  Yet as Eben joked with customers and busily went about his duties, he couldn’t quash the concern that ever hovered in the back of his mind: His splendid plans for the future were for naught if Leroy did not return.

  Joanna fretted as the months dragged on without another visit from Eben. Winter melted into spring, and still he stayed away. Was he stepping back? To his credit, he continued to call her, and his letters arrived with the same frequency. He wrote of working with his father to run their big dairy operation, and also told about his apprenticeship with the smithy. Promising as that was, nothing further was said about Leroy or any type of backup plan if his brother didn’t come home.

  Joanna assumed that with so much responsibility resting on his shoulders, Eben was sacrificing any free time to write to her, and she was grateful. She did wonder if her worries were the fault of her active imagination. Or was she actually reading between the lines? Surely his thinking hadn’t changed. Surely the hope of leaving Shipshewana still remained strong.

  Trying not to lose heart, she occupied her time by making quilted potholders and embroidered pillowcases for market, as well as helping around the house and next door, too, at the Dawdi Haus. She was thankful for the opportunity to earn extra money at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market.

  As for her sister, when Cora Jane wasn’t sewing market goods with Joanna, she was still accepting buggy rides from the same fellow—Gideon Zook. Joanna envied the frequency of their outings under the stars, remembering that one sweet November evening in the sleigh with Eben Troyer. Oh, she hoped Eben still felt the same way about her! With all of her heart, she did.

  One March day, Joanna was delighted to receive a letter from her English friend, Amelia Devries. Not wanting to alert—or alarm—Cora Jane, she took the letter to her bedroom and closed the door, settling onto the chair next to the window. Feeling secure there, she began to read.

  Dear Joanna,

  Thanks so much for your recent correspondence!

  I hope you’re doing well . . . and still writing your wonderful stories. You might be surprised, but I often think about the one you shared with me when I was there visiting last summer. It was quite compelling—your characters seemed so very real!

  Have you ever thought of getting your stories published? If so, I would be the first to encourage you to do whatever it takes.

  Just recently, my own mother received a book-publishing contract. Mom jokingly says that if she can do it, anyone can. Of course—like you—she has been writing secretly for quite some time. So this is by no means a sudden success. . . .

  Joanna smiled at Amelia’s enthusiasm but was also cautious not to let the remarks go to her head. And she wasn’t about to get herself an agent or move heaven and earth to get published, not when seeking publication was frowned on by many Plain communities. It was the farthest thing from Joanna’s mind.

  Yet there were times when she privately considered what it might be like for other people to read her work . . . but precisely what form that might take, she really had no idea.

  It was April now—ten months since Joanna had first met her beau—and the flowering shrubs were starting to burst forth alongside Hickory Lane. A horse’s neigh caught Joanna’s attention where she sat at Mamma’s table beneath the gaslight, writing yet another letter to Eben. She was glad to have the house to herself this evening. Thankful, too, that Cora Jane had followed Mamma out the back door after supper dishes were put away, to hurry over the dirt field road to visit Mattie Beiler, longtime Amish midwife.

  Joanna smiled as she signed off: Yours always, Joanna. It was a good thing her nosy sister couldn’t be here to peer over her shoulder! Cora Jane had made it clear over the past months that she still frowned on Joanna’s Indiana beau. It didn’t help Eben’s case when he was still stuck in Shipshewana.

  Barefoot, Joanna rose and made her way to the rear screen door, where she looked out at the hazy sky, the humidity obscuring the sunset. Over in the pasture, eight mules meandered toward the barn—dark, lumbering figures against the coming twilight.

  She stared at them, sighing. It was such a long time since she’d delighted in snuggling with Eben, his smile ever so dear in her memory. More and more like just a pleasant dream. Her heart had never ached for someone like this. They were supposedly a couple. Yet at such lonely times, Joanna feared that nothing more might come of their long-distance courtship. After all, Eben had made only that one visit.

  If we co
uld just have more time together!

  Their days at the beach and last November’s visit and their phone calls were hardly enough to sustain a near engagement. Their relationship needed a shot in the arm—they needed to see each other again, face-to-face. And more frequently, too.

  Surely Eben also feels this way.

  Joanna noticed a golden barn cat squeezing beneath the newly painted white porch banister. All the while her father and his two older brothers discussed feed prices in their lineup of hickory rocking chairs. They also speculated who might get the most cuttings of alfalfa come summer.

  Leaning her head against the doorjamb, she enjoyed the sweet fragrance of Uncle Ervin’s pipe tobacco, though neither her father nor Uncle Gideon had ever taken up the habit. Bishop John disapproves.

  Joanna sometimes wondered about Eben’s bishop. Her beau rarely mentioned these kinds of things in his letters. Was their man of God patient and measured . . . kind? Or unyielding and stern, as she knew some to be—like their own bishop, John Beiler? Would it be difficult for Eben to transfer his church membership here, to relocate to Hickory Hollow at the appropriate time?

  Joanna didn’t see Mamma and Cora Jane anywhere just yet. Mattie’s husband had recently remodeled the kitchens in both the main house and the Dawdi Haus, and Mattie wanted to show them to Mamma. Nearly all the Amishwomen nearby had beautiful kitchens resembling most any modern one—except, of course, the stove and refrigerator ran on propane gas. Mattie had gone on about the “perty oak woodwork” this morning while having coffee here, and that had apparently sent Joanna’s mother running over there. The two friends were known to work well together, putting up jellies or jams in the space of a few hours, even after the day’s chores were done. And oh, the stories that flew from their lips . . . especially from Mattie’s, telling all about the many babies she’d caught through the years.

  Heading back indoors, Joanna gathered up her letter to Eben and went to her room, placing it in the middle dresser drawer for now. Her heart beat faster at the thought of his reading it in just a few days.

  Smoothing her hair bun, Joanna headed back downstairs and exited by way of the front door so as not to interrupt her father and uncles. She skirted the main house to visit her grandparents in the adjoining Dawdi Haus. Mammi Sadie often baked sweet cherry desserts—a favorite fruit of Joanna’s—and thinking of warm cherry cobbler with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top made her quicken her steps.

  There was no need to knock on the back door—she’d been told for years by Mammi to “chust come in,” which she did, pushing on the screen door and stepping inside.

  Sure enough, Dawdi and Mammi were seated at their kitchen table having dessert—still like best friends after all these years. “Hullo,” Joanna said softly. “Thought I’d drop by . . . see how you’re doin’.”

  “Oh, fine . . . fine,” Dawdi said, a bit droopy eyed as he forked up another bite. “Pull up a chair, won’t ya?”

  “Denki.” She did just that as her grandmother dished up an ample portion of cherry cobbler and placed it on one of several dessert plates nearby on the table, just waiting for company. The best baker round Hickory Hollow, hands down.

  Mammi Sadie looked flushed and reached into her dress sleeve to produce a white hankie, fanning herself with it. “A gut strong breeze would help to blow this humidity out of here, jah?”

  Joanna agreed as she took another forkful of the dessert, glad she’d come over. “Have yous had evening prayer and Bible reading yet?” she asked.

  Dawdi Joseph smacked his lips. “Gut thinkin’. Sadie, where’s the old Biewel?” He winked at Joanna. “Might as well let our young whippersnapper here do the readin’.”

  “Well, my German’s not so gut,” Joanna warned.

  “Mine ain’t much to boast about, neither.” Dawdi motioned toward the bookcase. “Look for the bookmark,” he added.

  Joanna rose and went to the shelf where the Bible for daily use was stored, as well as the old family Biewel with tattered edges. She lightly touched the latter, recalling that it had possibly come over in 1737 from Switzerland with some of their ancestors on the Charming Nancy. The Lancaster Mennonite Historical Society would love to have it for their secured archives, if they knew.

  Picking up the newer Bible, she found the spot in Psalms and returned to the table. She wished her grandparents used the English Bible so they could more easily understand the verses, like Eben said he did. Some of the young people around here did the same.

  “ ‘O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry. . . . ’”

  When she’d finished, she closed the Bible reverently, finding it curious that the reading was so fitting for her tonight. How good of the Lord God to be mindful of her sadness. Silently, Joanna breathed a thankful prayer.

  “Nice of ya to read for us,” Mammi Sadie said, scooping more ice cream and plopping another spoonful on Joanna’s plate without asking.

  She knows I crave homemade ice cream!

  Dawdi Joseph peered over his glasses. “Better save some for Reuben, or he’ll be disappointed when he gets here.”

  Mammi’s mouth dropped open. “Joseph, dear, your brother passed away nearly two years ago.”

  “What’re ya talking ’bout, Sadie Mae?”

  Mammi gave Joanna a quick frown, her cloudy blue eyes dim with concern.

  “I just talked to Reuben—yesterday, in fact. Why, sure I did.” Dawdi shook his head repeatedly, his face perspiring. “You keep gettin’ things mixed up.” He continued mumbling. “You were off somewheres baking pies and whatnot.”

  Wisely, Mammi Sadie said no more, her lips tightly pressed. Joanna had seen her handle worse things before, sometimes talking gently to Dawdi when he was disturbed or confused due to memory issues. Things like “I know it’s hard, Joseph,” or “I’ll stay right here till you feel better.”

  Mammi Sadie was as kind as Ella Mae Zook, and Joanna was glad she and Dawdi lived so close in their final years.

  Later on, after Dawdi Joseph wandered into the sitting room and Joanna was alone with Mammi, she asked about Dawdi’s fixation on the past. “His memory is so sharp ’bout the olden days, ain’t?”

  “Seems to be the way of aging,” Mammi replied. “For some of us, at least.”

  Joanna felt sorry for her grandfather but knew he was in the best of care with Mammi Sadie, whose mind was as clear as a bell. “You let me know when you’d like some time off, jah?” Joanna offered. “I’m happy to sit with him more than a couple times a week.”

  “I’m all right, really.”

  “Well, ya need to get out, too, don’t forget.”

  Mammi reached across the table and touched her hand. “I daresay it’s you, Joanna, who needs to get out more often, dear.”

  She nodded, guessing her grandmother had heard it from Mamma. “S’posin’ you’re right.”

  “Which reminds me, your cousin Malinda asked ’bout you the other day.”

  “Oh?” Joanna perked up. “Is she all right?”

  “I think so, but she misses her family at times, like some young brides do.”

  “I should go see her more often.” Joanna finished up her dessert.

  “Jah, I think she’d like that.”

  Joanna pushed her chair back and thanked her grandmother for the tasty dessert. Then, making her way toward the back door, she called “Gut Nacht” to Dawdi and decided to go see Cousin Malinda tomorrow. Malinda’s parents and younger siblings lived clear over on the other side of the hollow, so no wonder she sometimes seemed lonely.

  Might cheer us both up.

  Chapter 14

  Well, lookee here!” Malinda said, smiling after supper the next evening as she opened the back door and met Joanna on the porch. Her blond hair was parted perfectly in the middle and neatly pinned into a thick bun at the base of her slender neck. Beads of perspiration glistened on her temples.

  “I’ve been missi
n’ ya.” Joanna kissed her cousin’s moist cheek.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Oh jah . . . just keepin’ busy with planting the family vegetable garden and whatnot.” Joanna followed Malinda around to the potting shed in the side yard. “The heart of my garden,” Malinda liked to say. In the summer, it was a cool spot to relax or pray amidst stacked pots, drawers filled with seed packets, and book-sized shelves ideal for storing gardening magazines and guides. There were snips, pruners, and trowels in an old clay pot. Birdseed, sprayers, several spare buckets, hoes, rakes, and shovels, as well as kneeling pads, were well organized in many nooks and crannies. And along one windowless wall, Malinda had a pegboard where she stored garden shears, scissors, and a hammer for small repairs. She even had a comfortable old rocker in the corner.

  Joanna’s cousin lit a small lantern and pulled out two wooden stools, and they settled in for a heart-to-heart talk beside the wheelbarrows and a push mower.

  “Are ya goin’ to the quilting bee tomorrow?” Joanna asked, noticing the way fair Malinda beamed in the lantern’s light.

  “Maybe next time. I’m helpin’ my neighbor with spring house cleaning.”

  “We’re hopin’ to finish up one real perty friendship quilt,” Joanna added.

  Malinda continued to smile.

  Looking at her, Joanna sensed she had something on her mind. “You want to tell me something?”

  Malinda glanced over her shoulder, toward the barn. “Honestly, you might not be surprised at all.” She paused a second, her eyes twinkling. “So far I’ve only told Andy.”

  Joanna’s heart leaped up. “Oh, I think I can guess.”

  “Can ya, now?”

  Nodding, Joanna said, “Are you expecting a baby?”

  Malinda clapped her hands and laughed softly. “Well, aren’t you the schmaert one.”