Cora Jane sat nice and still, saying no more. Looking at her sister just then, Joanna felt cheerless to think the two of them had been at something of a standstill since Joanna met Eben in Virginia. She tried to make small talk as she brushed Cora Jane’s beautiful hair, mentioning things like the next trip to the bakery and wanting to go and see Mammi Kurtz sometime soon. Things that didn’t hold a candle to what they’d shared before, sometimes late into the night, lying on each other’s beds.
But Cora Jane didn’t speak at all.
Joanna shaped the words in her mind: I’m sorry we’re at odds, she thought sadly. But tonight Joanna believed she could not bridge the gap if she’d wanted to. Cora Jane knew how she felt. Her sister was immovable in her thinking that Eben would never come here to live . . . that he was being less than forthright with Joanna.
Holding Cora Jane’s heavy hair in her left hand, Joanna brushed with long, sweeping strokes, again and again. We’ve fallen apart, she mused, hoping this gesture might somehow demonstrate her care for Cora Jane.
And because her sister remained silent, Joanna let her mind wander back to Eben as she continued to brush. Long as it had been since she’d seen him, she wished she had just one picture of Eben. But in keeping with their strict Ordnung—the church ordinance—she had none.
I scarcely remember what you look like, my love. . . .
Chapter 16
After Cora Jane left the room, Joanna raised the lid on her hope chest—there was scarcely enough room inside for the heirloom quilt. “I’ll make a place somewhere,” she whispered, eager to have the wonderful handiwork in her possession.
Then, digging deeper, she carefully removed a wooden letter box, a gift on her twenty-first birthday from Salina. Every letter Eben had ever sent was safely concealed inside.
She found her favorite—one he’d written in early winter—intending to read it for the hundredth time. She’d marked it with a pink heart on the envelope, so when she missed him the most she could always find it amongst his many letters.
Dearest Joanna,
How are you?
You might laugh at this, but I can hardly wait to see if there’s a letter from you every other day or so. Denki for writing as often as you do . . . it’s always wonderful-good to hear from you!
Here lately I’ve been getting up earlier than usual, going with my father to nearby farm sales. But even though I’m fairly busy this winter, I’m never too busy to write to you at night, my sweetheart.
I love being with you! And I wish I could see you again . . . soon.
She stopped reading and held the letter close, pondering his final words. “That’s the closest he’s ever come to sayin’ ‘I love you,’ ” she said softly, wishing with all of her heart he’d tell her so in person. Oh, to have that as a memory!
She slipped the stationery back into the envelope and found its spot again, then closed the pretty letter box, slipping it under two knotted comforters and other linens. Joanna then took out the large three-ring binder where she kept her many writings and removed her blue notebook. She carried it to her bed, eager to reread the scenes she’d written yesterday. It hadn’t taken long to learn that what seemed good on a particular day often read much differently the next. So she spent time reworking her sentences and paragraphs many times over—a rewriter, she liked to call herself.
Joanna tucked her feet beneath the long dress and apron, wishing her church district wasn’t so strict. However much some might frown on her spending hours each week bent over her notebook, she loved to express herself that way and couldn’t see anything wrong with it. What was she to do? She knew of only one Amish church district, one not far from Harrisburg, whose bishop had given a baptized Amishwoman permission to publish her novels, but they were based on the Plain life, so Joanna guessed that made them all right.
Writing had always been something she did just for herself, but since Amelia’s suggestion, the desire to be published sometimes tugged at Joanna during the day when she helped Mamma bake bread or sew. And at night, too, when it poked at her . . . in her dreams. Truth be known, if she could have anything at all, she longed to see something meaningful come from her writing. That, and to marry Eben Troyer.
When she wasn’t writing an actual story, she loved jotting down character traits and descriptions of people. Also ideas, things that popped into her head, including questions to explore, like the one she’d asked Cousin Malinda earlier today.
Just yesterday she’d asked Mamma’s opinion about the happiest time of her life, too, but the question was met with raised eyebrows, as if her mother were saying, “Think about something useful, child.”
Joanna’s oldest brother, Hank, married for some time, had given her a ragged frown when she’d asked him the same thing. He’d spouted his response all too quickly. “That’s easy enough! Courting age,” he’d said, perhaps implying that marrieds were strapped with responsibilities.
But it was the Wise Woman, Ella Mae Zook, who gave the most profound answer of all. “For me, right now—this moment—is the very best time.” She’d spoken with a faltering smile. “At my advanced age, I’ve already learned the hardest lessons, or should have, anyway. Everything we learn when we’re young is useful for the years ahead. Unfortunately, sometimes we never really learn the life lessons we’re supposed to. Sad but all too true, don’t you agree?”
Frail Ella Mae hadn’t spelled out what those lessons were, but Joanna understood her well enough to know she meant the gifts of the Spirit found in Scripture: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, and faith. Some folk called them the simple gifts.
Joanna whispered to herself, “Cherish each and every moment. That’s what Ella Mae meant.”
She took up her pen, continuing to work on her longest story to date, about an Amish couple deeply in love and separated by several states: At their first reunion, they talked long into the night, sharing their truest hearts.
Hearing a sudden creak behind her, she turned and saw Cora Jane standing on this side of the doorway, inching away.
Quickly, Joanna closed her notebook. “How long have you been there?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“Sounds like ya have a guilty conscience.” Cora Jane was staring at the notebook.
“Oh, sister . . .”
Cora Jane folded her arms. “Just take what I’m about to say as a warning.”
Joanna shifted forward on the bed. “You really can’t go through life bossing and judging everyone in sight. It’s not your place.”
“I’ve seen you filling pages and pages, sister. Sure doesn’t look like a letter to me . . . nor a diary. Who exactly are these people—and places—you’re writing about? Did ya make them up?”
Joanna blushed; she’d been caught. “So you’re sneaking round, snooping over my shoulder?”
“Then it is a story, jah?”
“Writing stories doesn’t hurt anyone!” Joanna justified her secret passion to Cora Jane, just as she’d always done to herself. Beyond flustered, she locked eyes with her sister. “I must answer to the Lord God and no one else for what I do. And I don’t believe writing the stories in my heart and mind is wrong, not really.”
“Have it your way,” Cora Jane said. “It sure seems you’re bent on that. But what I don’t understand is why you’ve kept this secret from me all this time. You shut me out of your life even before Eben came along, ain’t?”
Joanna groaned but said nothing more.
“Why, Joanna? ’Specially if there’s nothin’ wrong with it, as you say?” Cora Jane demanded. “First your worldly friend, Amelia, then a faraway beau, and now this fiction writing! Next thing, you’ll be slippin’ away from the People and running off to the fancy English world. It’s like I scarcely know you anymore.” With that, she turned and fled the room.
Joanna moved to the door and closed it soundly. Her sister was absolutely wrong to lump Amelia and Eben together with her love for writing. Oh, if only I’d been more careful!
>
A torrent of emotions plagued Joanna as she returned to her cozy nest on the bed. She found her place and tried to begin again. But her sister’s critical words echoed in her mind, clamoring for consideration until Joanna put her pen down and leaned back on the pillow, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Chapter 17
Joanna was startled awake the next morning at her mother’s call up the stairs. “Kumme now, Joanna, and help make breakfast!”
“All right, Mamma.” Joanna stretched, yawned, and got out of bed, still feeling groggy. She stepped across the hall to peek in at her sister, who was still in bed. “Cora Jane, time to wake up. Mamma needs us.”
“I heard her,” Cora Jane said sleepily, rolling over, her golden hair sprawled out all over the pillow. “She called for you!”
With a sigh, Joanna hurried to wash up. She recognized that Cora Jane was still rather young and in the process of maturing. But sometimes her prickly edges were hard to overlook, especially when she confronted others as she had Joanna last night.
Choosing to wear her gray choring dress, Joanna then quickly brushed her long hair and wove it into a tight bun, pinning it securely. No sense risking getting hair in the scrambled eggs!
Peering into her dresser mirror, she noticed how bright her eyes looked after a night’s sweet dreams of Eben. Closer in my dreams than in reality.
Suddenly it occurred to her that Ella Mae Zook might be someone she ought to consider talking to about her beau. After all, the Wise Woman lived just over the cornfield, so it was easy to visit without having to bother hitching up the horse and buggy.
Even though Ella Mae was one of her mother’s dearest friends, Joanna believed the older woman kept all shared confidences—she was a trustworthy soul. And ever so forthright, too, freely speaking her mind . . . even to the point of being downright batzich—spunky. So interesting, because the woman was nothing like Joanna’s own mother, nor any of the other respected womenfolk in Hickory Hollow. Joanna privately wondered if the Wise Woman managed to get by with her plucky nature because she was much too old to be put off church.
“’Tis a gut thing,” Joanna whispered as she set the white organdy Kapp on her head.
Dare I tell her about Eben’s predicament?
Perhaps Ella Mae might have some advice to give about their long-distance romance. Might it help to simply voice her sheer frustration?
Joanna decided to test the waters later this week and see what wisdom Ella Mae might offer her . . . over peppermint tea. At this point, any counsel would be welcome!
Cora Jane conspicuously picked at her bacon and eggs at the breakfast table, apparently also lacking any appetite for Mamma’s homemade sticky buns. Joanna wondered what ailed her. Was she still upset over last night, or was she dreading the quilting bee today over at Mary Beiler’s? Last Thursday one of Mary’s Ohio cousins, Linda Jean, had showed up wearing a bright pink dress, unlike any color ever seen round Lancaster County. Cora Jane brought attention to it in a most critical way, causing a stir at the quilting frame.
Chagrined, Joanna had felt for her sister and wished Cora Jane might show more kindness. “What if we simply made it our heart’s work to pray more and judge less?” Ella Mae had once said, years ago. And Joanna had never forgotten.
“I think I’ll stay home today,” Cora Jane announced across the table from Joanna. “Dat could use some help outside, ain’t?” She looked at their father, who wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“Well, now,” Dat said, “I thought you were headin’ to the bishop’s for the quilting bee.” He glanced first at Mamma, then back at Cora Jane. “All of yous.”
“That’s right, Cora Jane. We’re going to help finish the friendship quilt we started last week. And we need you.” Mamma meant business. But so did Cora Jane, her eyes widening even as she sat there.
“But I ain’t feelin’ so gut,” Cora Jane replied, sighing dramatically and placing both hands on her cheeks.
“Just that quick, you’re sick?” Mamma shook her head; she knew Cora Jane all too well. “If you’re under the weather, I know just the thing to get ya feelin’ up to snuff. A big tablespoon of cod liver oil should cure that in short order.”
Cora Jane pulled a hard frown. The matter was quite settled.
“The boys and I will finish planting Elam Lapp’s potato field by suppertime,” Dat said casually, obviously attempting to squash any more tetchiness from Cora Jane.
“Next comes the cultivating,” Mamma added, eyes still fixed on Cora Jane, who had managed to sit up tall and straight, the mere threat of fish oil lingering in the air. “You’ll be mighty busy, too, with spreading manure on the vegetable gardens,” she said to Dat, the ordeal of breakfast clearly behind them.
Joanna smiled as she listened to her parents’ everyday small talk. A kindly person was a content one. Sooner or later, Cora Jane would understand that, too.
Eben sat down to breakfast, waiting for Mamm to take her seat near Daed. There was much on his mind, not the least of which was Leroy’s letter. Keeping the news to himself was exhausting. It was as if the secret were weighing him down . . . refusing to be disregarded.
Glancing up, he saw his mother shaking her head. Then, slowly, she waved two pieces of paper, one in each hand. “What’s this here, Eben?” she asked, frowning as she came to the table. “Did Leroy write to you?”
Eben recognized the envelope he’d ripped in half last night. He had no choice but to fess up. “Ach, Mamm, I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” He glanced at his father, sitting squarely at the head of the table.
“Oh?” Daed said, his brow creasing into a hard line. “What’re ya talking ’bout?”
“Leroy says he’s comin’ home . . . maybe as soon as today.”
Mamm’s face broke into a smile. “Well, praise be!”
“I don’t know much else. He really didn’t say a lot.”
“’Tis best not to jump to conclusions, Mamma,” his father urged.
“It’s been a long time comin’,” Eben added. “Not to mention all the prayin’.”
“That’s the truth.” Daed motioned for Mamm to take her place so he could offer the silent prayer.
She quickly slipped onto the bench, and Daed folded his hands and bowed his head low. Eben did the same, heart beating fast. He’d hurt his mother, and just when he’d tried to spare her further pain. During the silent table blessing, he prayed that Leroy’s visit would be providential.
After the amen, Eben reached for the nearest platter and offered it to his father, then helped himself. He was grateful for the exceptionally hearty breakfast of cornmeal mush and sausage Mamm had taken the time to make.
He wondered how long it had been since Leroy had enjoyed such a breakfast but didn’t feel sorry for him. After all, Leroy had pushed the boundaries even as a youngster; it was his own unwise decision to leave the People.
Even so, Eben hoped his brother had reconsidered all the time he’d spent rubbing shoulders with the world. Might he be ready to settle down at last and assume his expected place on the farm?
What I wouldn’t give for that! Eben thought, assuming such a thing was highly unlikely. No, something else had to be up with Leroy. Why was he coming?
Chapter 18
Joanna’s mother breezed through the back door and began gathering up her basket of quilting supplies. “’Bout ready?”
“Perty soon, jah.” Joanna wiped off the counter and turned to the table, where she had her own quilting needles and thimble in a little box, ready to tuck into her sewing bag.
“Don’t want to be late,” Mamma replied.
Cora Jane was the one dawdling, still in her room. “I’ll see what’s keepin’ my sister.” Joanna hurried to the bottom of the stairs. “We’re hitched and ready to go,” she called up.
Joanna waited a moment, giving Cora Jane time to respond. She heard only the creak of footsteps, but they weren’t moving toward the stairs, so she called again, “Are ya comin’, sis
ter?”
A long silence.
At last, her sister replied, “I’ll be right down.”
“We’ll be waiting.” Turning, Joanna headed back through the kitchen, her navy blue canvas sewing bag slung over her shoulder and her writing notebook tucked safely inside. The notebook was her “insurance,” in case of a lull in activity. That way, Joanna could go somewhere alone and write if she wanted to, and no one would be the wiser.
Hurrying out the back door, Joanna could hardly wait to get to Beilers’. Bishop John and Mary seemed to go out of their way to make the quilters feel welcome every week. And Joanna loved seeing their darling children, especially making over the younger ones.
The day was already quite warm as Joanna walked across the yard, taking in the sweep of land in all directions. Spring had its own unique smell, a freshness and earthiness found in no other season.
Joanna stepped into the carriage and sat beside Mamma. “Cora Jane says she’s comin’.”
“She’d better make it snappy. We’re running behind.” Mamma smoothed her cape apron over her long dress. “You’re lookin’ perky, Joanna.”
For many reasons, she certainly felt good. “I’m eager to see how the friendship quilt turned out—all pieced together.” Joanna thought, too, of Mary’s ailing grandfather. “And it’ll be gut to hear how Abram Stoltzfus is doin’ this week.”
“Sadly, word has it he’s declining quickly . . . awful confused these days.” Mamma glanced at the house, a glint of frustration in her eyes. No question Cora Jane was a slowpoke today. “Mary says her Dawdi clearly remembers what he did years ago as a youngster, but he can’t recall his own grandchildren’s names.” She sighed loudly. “’Tis the saddest thing.”
“Jah.” Joanna thought of her own Dawdi Joseph. “Old folk tend to live in the past, ain’t so?”
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