When she’d managed to dry her eyes and gather her wits, Joanna headed through the maze of cornstalks, over the field lanes, and past the corncrib toward home.
Chapter 37
The afternoon birthday celebration for the bishop’s wife the next day turned out to be a hen’s party with a mystery meal, complete with cryptic descriptions of the menu items and various group games, including Dutch Blitz for all twenty or so women present. The atmosphere was as festive as any Joanna had ever been a part of, and jovial, too. For a while she actually forgot herself and entered into the gaiety, relishing the fun.
Dear Mary, wearing her best royal blue dress and matching cape apron, looked a bit sheepish about receiving so many pretty cards, as well as a few handmade gifts from close relatives and friends. As gracious as Joanna had always known her to be, Mary dutifully thanked each of them before the party disbanded.
On the way out the back door, Joanna was surprised when Preacher Yoder’s round-faced wife, Lovina, stopped her and quietly said her husband wanted to meet with her again. “But he’s goin’ on a trip, so it won’t be for a week or so.”
Why’s she telling me this now—so I can worry myself sick?
“He wants you to know he’ll contact your father when the time is right,” the older woman added, a serious look on her face.
Joanna felt self-conscious about being singled out like this, especially at such a happy gathering. “Is this concerning—”
“He’ll speak directly to you,” Lovina Yoder said, touching her arm. “All in gut time.”
Nodding, Joanna said she’d wait to hear further from her father about this. But now her stomach was churning. How long would she have to wait for the next scolding? At least she could honestly tell the preacher about her prayer of contrition . . . and about having turned her back on writing make-believe stories, hard as it was. Something she’d decided to do to demonstrate her willing heart before God, and her love for the People.
“Denki,” Joanna said softly, though really there was nothing to thank her for.
“Have a nice day,” the preacher’s wife said, smiling now.
Nice day? How on earth?
Joanna was relieved Cora Jane hadn’t attended this get-together. Cora Jane was feeling crushed enough for having started all this by going to the deacon in the first place. But Salina was there, although she hadn’t observed Joanna’s encounter with Lovina. Here she came just now, out the back door, having stayed inside a bit longer to visit with the birthday girl.
“Can I get a ride home?” Salina asked Joanna, hurrying her pace. “I should prob’ly walk, but I need to start supper soon.”
“Sure.”
On the ride there, Joanna relived the unpleasant encounter with Lovina Yoder, whom she rarely spoke to, considering the woman’s age and stature in the community.
“You’re awful quiet,” Salina said. “Hope ya don’t mind goin’ out of your way.”
“Not at all.”
Up ahead, Joanna noticed Jake and his brother Jesse driving their market wagon home. Jake spotted her and waved.
She watched as Jake headed down the way, toward the Lantz home. Are we merely friends? she mused, wondering if this was a swift answer to yesterday’s prayer in the phone shack. Should I let him court me after all?
Salina sighed and it brought Joanna’s attention back inside the buggy. “I’m feelin’ tired today.”
“The heat’s getting to all of us, jah?”
Salina agreed. “Ain’t that the truth, though we can’t complain compared to the high temperatures they’ve been having in Ohio and Indiana this week.”
Indiana . . . Had Salina mentioned that state for any particular reason?
But her sister went on to talk about a number of circle letters she was writing to distant cousins out there in the Midwest. “Didja know we have a third cousin named Maria Riegsecker who lives in Shipshewana?”
Joanna sucked in a breath at the mention of Eben’s hometown. “Never heard of her,” she managed to say.
“Jah, she was a Witmer like Mamma but married into an Indiana family. She’s been askin’ for Noah and me to come visit and bring the children, too. She runs a candle store and wants me to come and pick out whatever I’d like.”
“How nice,” Joanna replied absently. Maria? Had Eben ever mentioned her before? She didn’t recall. “How long have you been writing circle letters with her?”
“Four years now. Maria’s awful nice—kindhearted and generous. Says she has lots of empty bedrooms just waiting to be filled up when we visit.”
“Sounds like you’d have a gut time.”
“I think so, too, but getting Noah to take off during the summer is out of the question.”
“How old a woman is Maria?”
“Mamma’s age, I’d guess, although I really don’t know.”
“She makes candles, ya say?”
“All kinds of colors and scents. Hundreds of ’em, and they sell right off the shelves in her little shop above their stable.”
“Sounds pretty,” Joanna said. “I hope you can go sometime, Salina.”
“Maria lives right off the main street, she says, within walking distance of the Blue Gate Bakery, where she likes to go to purchase apple dumplings and pecan rolls.”
“Now you’re makin’ my mouth water!” Joanna smiled. “If you go, I’ll send along some money for you to pick out a candle or two for me, all right?”
“Well, by the sound of it, Maria would be happy to treat anyone in the family,” Salina said. “You could come, too . . . help look after the children, maybe?”
Just thinking of being anywhere in the vicinity of Eben’s neighborhood and not seeing him tore at Joanna’s heart. “I don’t know how I could get away, even in the fall,” she said.
They were coming up on Salina’s house—Joanna could see the front yard jutting into view, just around the next bend. All this talk of Shipshewana was making her head spin. It was a good thing she was close to dropping Salina off.
“Nice to see you havin’ a gut time today at Mary’s.”
Joanna nodded. “I did.” Except for the preacher’s wife.
“Say, if you’d ever like to join in on Maria’s circle letter, just let me know.” Salina paused, then opened her pocketbook and fished for a notepad and pen. “Here, I’ll jot down her address for ya, if you’d like.”
It was funny seeing Salina so insistent, but Joanna did like the idea of writing to someone who was creative with something other than flowers or quilts. “Sure, I’ll be glad to write her,” she said, not sure when she’d have time.
“Denki for the ride, sister!” With that, Salina got out of the carriage and walked toward the house, waving without turning around.
Looking at the slip of paper in her hand, Joanna saw that the street name was Peaceful Acres Lane. Same as Eben’s address!
“First the phone rings nearly off the hook . . . then I spot Jake. And now this,” she said to herself as she hurried the horse toward home. She thought of the beautiful quilt and smiled as she recalled her prayer last night, asking God to make the path clear. Goodness, but the path, if it could be called that, was all ranklich—tangled up!
Chapter 38
The following Saturday, Joanna went riding again with Jake. When she asked, he confessed that the tales he told were true ones, some of which he’d heard from his grandfather. “He liked to embellish nearly everything,” Jake told her.
“So they’re family stories, then?”
“Oh jah, who’d ever think of makin’ such things up? Real life is much stranger than fiction, ain’t?”
Fiction. There it was again.
“Have you ever read a made-up book?” she asked.
“Oh, maybe a handful of mystery novels.” He glanced at her, looking mighty dapper in his white dress shirt and black vest. “Have you?”
“Well, since we’re becoming such gut friends, I’ll tell ya a little secret.”
He leaned his head ov
er. “I’m all ears.”
“I’ve read quite a few novels, actually.”
“Love stories, maybe?” He chuckled. “Make-believe—all lies, ya know.”
“But a reflection of our relationship with the great Lover of our souls, I like to think,” she stated.
He looked surprised, then nodded, evidently in agreement.
They were getting along so well, Joanna was thankful she’d agreed to continue seeing him. Maybe Jake was the answer to her prayer. Maybe in time he could help her forget Eben, once and for all.
That night, she and Cora Jane whispered and giggled, and Joanna told her all about Jake’s convincing tellings. But she kept back their discussion about fiction, still sensitive about her former story writing. Would she be up to facing Preacher Yoder when he returned? Joanna couldn’t help but worry about what he had up his sleeve.
After the ironing was done on Tuesday, Joanna and Cora Jane went over to Mammi Sadie’s and helped her put up sweet corn all afternoon. It was the hottest day in August thus far, but none of them complained, not with the thought of delicious canned corn to enjoy come autumn and winter.
While the corn was simmering, Joanna slipped her grandmother a little poem of encouragement she’d written earlier that morning upon arising, knowing how stressful Dawdi’s situation was for dear Mammi. His mind was slipping more often these days.
“Well, aren’t you nice!” Mammi Sadie said, opening the poem. She read it silently, tears springing to her eyes, then opened her ample arms to Joanna, who couldn’t help feeling ever so joyful at this heartfelt response.
“Heard you’ve written a lot of these poems for various folks,” she said.
Joanna was reticent to own up. “Oh, it’s just something I do to spread cheer.” And keeps me honest before the Lord God, too, she thought, wishing her passion for story writing would fade for good.
Dawdi Joseph began to babble about his brothers and other relatives who’d passed away. But when he talked of his school days, his eyes sparkled, especially as he recalled the happy memory of helping raise cocker spaniel puppies to sell.
“Did ya ever get attached to any of the pups?” Cora Jane asked, drawing him out as he sat near the back door, just rocking.
“Oh jah . . . there was one black one with the saddest eyes you ever did see, and the way he’d just sit and look at ya, cock his little head, and nearly talk to ya . . . well, it warms my heart.” Dawdi’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, revisiting the past. “In the end, that one went to our neighbors down the way. Mighty nice, too.”
“You must’ve visited him sometimes, then, jah?” Joanna asked, hoping to keep their grandfather with them in the present a while longer.
“Why, sure I did.”
“What did you name him—or did you?” Cora Jane asked, smiling at Joanna and giving her a knowing glance.
Dawdi nodded. “Called him Jigger. My, my, what an active pup he was. It seemed right.”
“ ’Cause he nearly danced a jig when you saw him?” asked Joanna. She enjoyed seeing Dawdi so caught up in the recollection.
“Oh, goodness, did he ever.” Dawdi went quiet and stopped rocking. Then, stretching his arms, he yawned and started murmuring, like he was talking to himself again—the way he often did these days.
“When was the last time you saw Jigger, Dawdi?” asked Cora Jane.
“Well, now, I ’spect he’s round here somewheres.” He scooted back his chair, straining his head to look. “Here, Jigger, ol’ boy . . . c’mon to your friend Joseph. Here, Jigger . . . Jigger.”
Heart breaking, Joanna had to turn away. She wondered if Mary Beiler’s own Dawdi Abram ever lost track like this. As she recalled, Mary hadn’t mentioned him at her birthday party. Perhaps because it was meant to be a very happy day.
Only eight women showed up at Mary’s for the weekly quilting frolic. Joanna and Cora Jane helped stretch out the quilt, and then all of them worked to put it into the big frame. Because Mary was left-handed, she sat at one of the corners of her choosing and the rest of them filled in, finding their spots across from or near sisters or cousins. Cora Jane whispered that she wanted to sit right next to Joanna, which pleased Joanna no end. In time it would be like they’d never had a falling out at all.
Neither Ella Mae nor Mattie was in attendance. When Joanna asked about both women, Mary said Ella Mae was suffering with a miserable summer cold, and Mattie had stayed home to look after her. “A woman that age has to be careful, ya know?” Mary said as she picked up her thimble and needle.
Joanna agreed and smiled over at her. Dear Mary, always thinking of others.
And then, as though Mary had been privy to Joanna and Ella Mae’s talk the day they’d put up peaches with Mamma, she said she’d been reading in the Old Testament. “The book of Ruth, actually . . . and it just struck me again how much love Ruth had for Naomi.”
“For whither thou goest, I will go. . . .” Joanna hadn’t forgotten that verse, either. It felt to her like yet another nudge back to Eben, and she wondered if she ought to make a list of everything pointing in his direction. Then maybe I should make another list for Jake.
“What’re you thinking ’bout?” Cora Jane leaned over to ask.
“Why, was I smiling at nothin’ again?”
Cora Jane giggled a little. “It’s like I can read your expressions anymore.”
“Well, that’s what sisters do, jah?”
Cora Jane nodded and glanced at her again, all smiles.
That night after family worship, Joanna read the entire book of Ruth, lingering on the verse Ella Mae had quoted.
“Is this a sign from God?” she whispered, staring at the tall gas lamp with its shiny glass chimney from her spot on the bed.
Then, admiring the old wedding quilt again, she thanked the Lord God for this legacy of faith passed down to her. And for divine guidance in her life.
She rose and placed her Bible back on the dresser, and as she turned, her eyes fell on the hope chest. I ought to put my writing notebooks somewhere else, she thought. They were such a temptation. So many feelings raced through her, she scarcely knew what to think.
She started when a knock came at the door. “Come in, Cora Jane,” she said.
“Well, it’s Mamma.”
Stepping to the door, Joanna opened it. “Jah?”
“Your father’s receiving a visit from Preacher Yoder on behalf of our elderly deacon.” Mamma’s face looked pale in the lamp’s amber light. “Preacher wants you there, too.”
Lovina Yoder’s words flew back to her, and Joanna dreaded what was to come. “When’s he comin’ by?”
“One of these mornings, your father says.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Mamma frowned hard, her lower lip trembling. “Sorry to be the one to tell ya. Your father, well . . .”
“I know—he’s a busy man,” Joanna said, excusing his wariness.
Nodding, Mamma patted Joanna’s arm. “I’m here, if ya want to talk ’bout it.”
These were the gentle words she needed to hear. “I’m not afraid, Mamma. All right? Please don’t worry.”
“I’ll pray.” Mamma turned to leave.
“Denki,” Joanna said, wishing her story writing hadn’t caused such a stir and put an ache in her mother’s heart. And poor Dat’s, as well.
Chapter 39
The light coming from within the barn Thursday evening was a stark contrast to that of the gas lamp in the kitchen. Eben’s father had summoned him to the makeshift office in one corner of the old barn for an unexpected “meeting, of sorts”—or so Daed had called it. The lantern light glowed eerily on such a dark night, and the animals were restless. Eben could sense something amiss, and not only in the atmosphere. His father’s face was unusually grim.
For the past few weeks, Eben had noticed something quite different about his father and even considered perhaps Daed might be ill. Yet it was the oddest thing—some days he seemed entirely optimistic, then th
e next day downright dreary. Eben had never known Daed to be unsettled like this, and he wondered what might be on his mind. Maybe he was going to bring up some newfangled gadget that would make work easier for them both. If so, was it something the bishop approved?
Daed awaited him, sitting slumped at his beat-up wooden desk. He looked tired . . . defeated.
What’s troubling him?
Immediately, Eben thought of Leroy. Had his father received news from him? But then again, what could be worse than Leroy’s leaving the People, his heart no longer kneeling in contrition before almighty God?
So why’d Mamm urge me here on his behalf? Eben wondered as he entered the murky glow of light. “You wanted to see me, Daed?”
“Pull up a chair, son.” His father sat straighter, filling his lungs slowly. “Need to bend your ear awhile.”
Eben took a seat, ready to listen.
“I’ve come to a hard decision. One I’ve been mulling over for long enough now.”
Eben’s shoulders tensed into knots as he braced for the news that, nearly overnight, had the power to grow gray hair in his father’s beard, and plant more crinkles around Daed’s eyes and mouth. The weight of it had seemingly cloaked him with a gray pallor.
“Some days ya get the bear, other days the bear gets you,” Daed began.
Never before had Eben heard this saying from Daed’s lips—so uncharacteristic of him. What could it possibly mean?
Even though Joanna had pleaded with her mother not to worry, she had tossed about for half the night, doing plenty of that herself. And upon rising the next morning, her legs felt as wobbly as newborn calves. She made her way downstairs to shower and dress, then helped Mamma make breakfast. All the while, she kept her eye out for an early arrival by Preacher Yoder, in case he chose to appear today. It was well-known in the hollow that Preacher Yoder liked to arrive early, often surprising folk as he checked up a bit.
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